«Perhaps Matron Q'Xorlarrin is right,» Miz'ri Mizzrym said quietly, in an obvious attempt to steer the conversation in a new direction. «Perhaps we should consider not just who knows, not just who moves against us—covertly or otherwise—but who might be allying together against us. If even two or three of the other nations come together as our enemies …»
She let the thought trail off, and the other drow in the chamber looked uncomfortable, considering its obvious conclusion.
«We need to know what's going on,» she continued, «at the very least. Our spy network among the duergar, the illithids, and other deep races has not been best used of late or perhaps isn't as strong as we would like. But what's m place should be funneling more information back to us about the intentions of potential threats.»
«Oh, it should be doing more than that,» Byrtyn Fey said. Triel raised her eyebrow in slight surprise, for the voluptuous matron mother of House Fey-Branche did not often find interest in discussions so far removed from her own hedonistic pleasures.
«It should be looking for possible weaknesses among our enemies. It should be exploiting those weaknesses, setting potential allies against one another, and perhaps, it should be on the lookout for dissatisfied elements of those traditional enemies, elements that might even consider a new alliance.»
«What, are you mad?» Mez'Barris snapped. «Allying with outsiders? Who is there to trust? No matter how we approach such an alliance, the moment we reveal that we cannot receive blessings from our own goddess, potential allies will either laugh uproariously or trip over themselves running to spread the news.»
«Don't be dense,» Byrtyn snapped right back. «I know how fond you are of the straightforward, brutal-truth method for everything, but there are better, more subtle ways of luring an ally into your bed. Potential suitors need not know about your shortcomings until after you have partaken of their charms.»
«Not being able to defend our own city from attack would be too obvious a shortcoming to try to hide,» Zeerith said, frowning. «Our own charms will have to be most convincing to blind such potential suitors from the truth. Still, the idea has merit.»
«It is impossible,» Matron Mez'Barris said, folding her thick arms and leaning back as though dismissing the discussion. «The risk of discovery by our enemies would only be magnified, and the rewards are certainly not worth it.»
«Spoken like a hag with few to share her bed,» Byrtyn said smugly, stretching languidly to make certain her own well-rounded figure was plainly visible through the sheer fabric of her shimmering dress. «And one who's always trying to convince herself that she's better off without them, anyway.»
Several of the other high priestesses gasped at the insult, but Mez'Barris only narrowed her piercing red eyes, staring daggers at Byrtyn.
«Enough!» Triel said finally, interrupting the glaring contest between the two matron mothers. «This bickering is pointless, and it's beneath us all.»
She looked pointedly at both Mez'Barris and Byrtyn until both of them ceased their glowering and turned their attention back to her.
If only Jeggred were here, the matron mother of House Baenre thought.
Triel wondered briefly if she should be disturbed that she was once again wishing for the draegloth's soothing presence in the face of such adversity. It was something else she had caught herself doing often of late, and she feared what it symbolized. Perhaps she had grown to rely too much on external protection rather than her own abilities. She feared that it was a weakness, and weakness was definitely something she could ill afford in the current climate.
No, she corrected herself, not just now, not ever.
But the need for allies, however brief and volatile such alliances tended to be, were a necessary part of her life.
Maybe Byrtyn is right, she thought. Maybe that's what Menzober-ranzan needs: an ally. Another nation, a race from the Underdark, to aid the noble Houses until this crisis has passed.
Triel tightened her jaw and shook her head softly, determined to banish such silly notions from her mind.
Nonsense, she told herself firmly. Menzoberranzan is the strongest city in the Underdark. We need no one. We will prevail as we always nave, through cunning, and guile, and the favor of the goddess. Wherever she is. …
I know very well the state of things in Menzoberranzan,» Triel said, looking eye to eye with each matron mother present. «The crisis we face tests us—tests us more severely than any ever confronted by the ruling Houses in all the city's history—but we cannot let it get in the way of resolute administration of the city. The moment we begin to squabble, the moment we do not show a united front to the other Houses, to Tier Breche or Bregan D'aerthe, is the moment we show it to the rest of the world, and by then all is already lost.
«For the time being, we continue to show patience. Discussion of ways to deal with the crisis is welcome—calm, respectful discussion—«and Triel once again inclined her head toward the two matron mothers—«or suggestions for new ways to explore what has happened to Lolth, but there is to be no more of this talk of fear or cowardice, and no more of these Insults. That is the behavior of foolish males or the lesser races. We conduct the business of our Houses and our council as we have always done.»
Triel made certain to catch each and every matron mother with her own gaze this time, staring intently into each pair of red eyes in turn, wanting to ensure that everyone present got her message—that and to ensure that she was showing a strong face.
Slowly, one by one, the other matron mothers nodded, willing, at least for the time being, to acquiesce to the Baenres demands.
Wielding power always requires such a delicate touch Triel reminded herself as the group broke apart and the other high priestesses went their separate ways, returning to their homes. Like a supple switch, if you swing it about too vigorously, you just end up breaking it on the slave you are trying to goad.
TWO
«I told you coming this way was a mistake,» Pharaun panted as he pulled up from his headlong run.
The passage before the drow wizard ended abruptly, blocked by a great gray mass of spongy material that completely filled the tunnel. Turning back to face the direction from which he'd come, the dark elf quickly sloughed off his finely crafted knapsack, lowered it to the rocky floor, and scooted it out of the way with his foot.
«Don't gloat, Mizzrym,» Quenthel said, her scowl heavy, stumbling up beside him.
The five snake heads that dangled, writhing, from the whip at the Baenre high priestess's hip rose up and hissed their own displeasure at the wizard, duplicating their mistress's mood, as usual. Quenthel yanked the scourge free of her belt and took up a position beside Pharaun, waiting.
The draegloth was right on the haughty drow's heels. Jeggred bore not one but two heavy bundles, and when the four-armed fiend reached the pair of dark elves, he tossed the supplies to the floor, apparently not the least bit winded from bearing them. He flashed a savage, twisted smile that exposed his yellowish fangs and turned around, advancing a few steps to position himself between Quen-chel and anything that might come from the other direction, a low growl rumbling deep in his demonic throat.
The Master of Sorcere was in no mood for putting up with the high priestess's foul temper, and he grimaced as he considered several spells. Settling on one, he fished around in hispiwafwi, fetching from a pocket inside the extravagant cloak the reagents he would need to weave the chosen magic. Eventually, he produced a bit of squid tentacle. He had warned them they would be trapped if they came this way, and so had Valas, but Quenthel had insisted. As usual, it was up to Pharaun to extricate them all.