Mez’Barris dismissed him with a wave and closed her eyes.
“What news?” High Priestess Taayrul, Mez’Barris’s daughter, asked tentatively.
“Go to Melarn and tell Matron Zhindia that she and I need to parlay,” Mez’Barris replied curtly, and she waved her daughter away.
Her wince was telling, though, and all in the room understood that the spy Terondarg had not delivered welcome news.
All in the room wisely followed Priestess Taayrul out of Mez’Barris’s chamber.
The matron mother of the Second House moved over and flopped into her chair, trying to sort out her next move-any move-that would somehow repair the damage of this day. She had known that the demons would inflict little pain to House Do’Urden with the Baenres and Bregan D’aerthe so near, but the critical point to the assault was to facilitate the death of the abomination, the surface elf posing as a matron mother of Menzoberranzan.
But Dahlia had escaped, and worse, Mez’Barris now had learned that her spies within the Do’Urden compound, the guards to Matron Darthiir Do’Urden who had allowed the demon encroachment to her chamber, had been discovered. Those Barrison Del’Armgo warriors had admitted their crimes.
“The mind flayer,” Mez’Barris muttered under her breath, solving the riddle, for surely the matron mother’s pet illithid had aided in extracting the information. What couldn’t Quenthel Baenre find out? Mez’Barris wondered-and feared.
“She will make a spectacle of it,” Mez’Barris said. Terondarg had told her that the trial would be public, as would the transformation.
The transformation.
Her warriors would be turned into driders in full view of the city, in full view of those who had dared conspire with Matron Mother Mez’Barris to bring about the fall of Matron Darthiir. Those driders, no doubt, would become the core guard for the abomination, a poignant reminder to Mez’Barris and to all who would quietly stand with her of the consequences of going against Matron Mother Quenthel Baenre.
It had not been a good day.
CHAPTER 14
She stayed close to the back wall, alert and ready, but with no weapon in hand, staring across the low-burning fire to the open door across from her. There was movement out in the hall. Doum’wielle could sense it, and Khazid’hea did as well.
Soon, my Little Doe, the sword promised. You will regain your leverage.
The priestesses will interrogate me, Doum’wielle reiterated, the strong fear that had kept creeping into her mind as this pivotal day moved nearer to reality.
I will protect you from their inquisitions. The day is ours!
A black feline face appeared in the doorway, peeking in from the right, and before Doum’wielle could react, the huge panther leaped around the corner and into the room, ears flat, fangs bared.
“Guenhwyvar!” Doum’wielle said, as happily as she could manage. The panther paused, ears coming up.
“Oh, Guen, dear Guen!” the half-elf, half-drow said, clapping her hands together. “You must save me, please!”
She knew this cat fairly well, and recognized that Guenhwyvar, so intelligent, understood most of what she was saying. The panther padded a step forward, silently, sniffing the air.
Then Guenhwyvar whirled when Doum’wielle yelled, “Behind you!” But it was too late, and the stone door slammed shut. The panther hit it hard, clawing and pressing to no avail.
And Doum’wielle slipped out the secret door behind her, and closed that, too, securing the locking bar, trapping the panther in the room. She moved down a side hallway and around a corner to find Tiago, smiling widely, coming to meet her.
“He is mine,” the drow declared, and led the way back toward where they knew Drizzt was scouting.
In a tower in Menzoberranzan, Gromph watched the trap spring. The archmage shook his head, not thrilled with the timing here-too much was at play in Menzoberranzan and the last thing he needed now was more complications.
He tried to imagine how the return of Tiago might help with the situation, but he couldn’t see much to gain, particularly with that wretched half-elf Armgo creature along beside him.
At least House Do’Urden was secure for the time being, and Quenthel would not soon call on him.
Gromph waved his arms and barked out a sharp chant. A few moments later, he disappeared, arriving securely into his prepared chamber in Q’Xorlarrin. He stepped out of the small room to consider the main chapel of the city, across the way and over the primordial pit. Gromph’s second spell created a disembodied orb through which he could see while a third rendered that orb invisible, and off it flew at tremendous speed.
A fourth spell turned Gromph into a floating wisp, ghostly and barely tangible, and a fifth made him invisible. Off he went, passing locked doors as if they were open portals, gliding through the forge room where several drow craftsmean and wizards looked up curiously, sensing something.
But while the hair on their necks might have stood up in warning, even the greatest of the dark elves in that room could not begin to decipher the wards against detection the archmage had enacted, and he was beyond them before any even realized that something had passed.
“The archmage is in Q’Xorlarrin,” Kimmuriel informed Jarlaxle only moments later.
“Good,” the mercenary leader replied. “I have long grown bored of this game. Let us finish it.”
“Our play must be subtle,” Kimmuriel warned.
“Have we a play to make?”
“Jarlaxle always has a play to make.”
The mercenary leader reset his eye patch to his right eye and shrugged and grinned, clearly accepting that as a compliment. In this one particular case, however, both truly hoped that Kimmuriel was wrong. Better for them all if it played out perfectly without any intervention.
“I do not expect to find the archmage in a good mood,” Kimmuriel said.
“My brother is never in a good mood. That is his weakness, and why he is so predictable.”
Kimmuriel didn’t often sigh, but he did so now. Jarlaxle might be taking Gromph lightly, but the psionicist could not afford to do so. If Gromph found them in Q’Xorlarrin at this critical time and in that critical place, would he consider it a coincidence? Or might he figure out that Kimmuriel’s scrying gemstones included a bonus to Kimmuriel that allowed him to also spy on Gromph?
In that instance, the consequences would likely prove rather unpleasant.
Drizzt crept along from shadow to shadow, scimitars in hand in these close quarters. He had seen little sign of anyone about, or anything amiss, but his warrior sense told him differently.
And where was Guenhwyvar?
He moved to the doorway of a wider room, the ancient furniture inside broken and cast about. He noted the absence of cobwebs, which were prevalent in many of the other rooms. He wrapped his fingers anxiously around his scimitar hilts.
He heard a call then, a low and long roar, more sad than excited, he thought. He clutched the blades tighter.
Then came a tapping noise, rhythmic and determined, from across the way, in the corridor beyond.
Drizzt held his position at the side of the door, his eyes widening when a dark elf-Tiago Baenre! — stepped into the room through the opposite door.
“Well, Drizzt Do’Urden,” Tiago said, obviously perfectly aware of Drizzt’s position. “Shall we end this at last?”
The brash young warrior stepped into the room. Drizzt could have pulled Taulmaril and let fly, but he did not. Instead, he marveled at Tiago’s shield and sword, which seemed to him as if made of star-stuff, with glittering diamonds encased in the nearly translucent blade and all about the buckler, which resembled, too, a spider’s web. He thought of the dragon fight, when he had seen Tiago up in the darkened sky, when he had first looked upon that sword, and the shield that had unwound to defeat his lightning arrows.