A half-full chalice of fortified mushroom wine sat on the smooth, white desktop beside the remains of Gromph’s meal. Near the chalice and silver plate sat one of Gromph’s two personal scrying crystals. Unlike his crystal ball, unlike the great lens in Sorcere’s scrying chamber, the crystal on his desk was not smooth surfaced, but rather was a head-sized, irregularly-shaped piece of brown, black, and red banded chrysoberyl. Those in the World Above called it “cat’s eye,” and its properties as a scrying medium were highly valued.
Unfortunately, a chrysoberyl scrying crystal typically did not have the range of most other types of crystals. Still, for close work, there was nothing better. And Gromph’s crystal had an added benefit: He could cast certain types of spells through it.
The crystal sat cradled in a triangular stand of unusually-textured gray stone. An eye motif decorated the stand. Gromph had sculpted it from the spheroid body of an eye tyrant that he had petrified in battle long ago.
“An unusual scrying crystal,” Nauzhror observed. “I have never seen its like.”
“It is of my own making,” Gromph replied. “And I have never recorded the process of its creation.”
Nauzhror only nodded, eyeing the crystal.
Gromph took a sip from the mushroom wine. The bitter taste left a pleasant tang on his tongue. The wine fortified his will. He put his fingertips to the faceted surface of the crystal. It felt cool, though the magic within it sent a charge through his hands. He moved his fingers over its surface, tracing its edges, attuning it to his will.
Nauzhror and Prath watched in expectant silence.
Gromph closed his eyes and let his mind see the lines of power that flowed within the chrysoberyl. He waited for the connection between the stone and his mind to coalesce.
There.
He smiled, feeling the crystal as an extension of his own mind, his own senses. He opened his eyes, still connected to the crystal, and gave a satisfied nod. The bands of color in the crystal had bled together to turn the crystal black. As he watched, the black gave way to a misty gray.
“It is ready,” he said, as much to himself as to Nauzhror and Prath.
“Indeed,” said Nauzhror. “Are we to be of assistance, Archmage?”
“Yes,” Gromph answered. “But not with this. Be patient, Nauzhror.”
Prath leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees. He eyed the swirling gray mists in the crystal, and asked, “Archmage, I presume you will scry House Agrach Dyrr. Why not use the Scrying Chamber for this task? The crystal there is—”
Before Gromph could answer, Nauzhror answered in the same tone he might use with a particularly dense student, “Because only Baenre are to know of this. There may be spies other than Vorion within Sorcere’s walls.”
Gromph cocked an eyebrow. Nauzhror’s analysis impressed him; the Master wizard saw much. Soon, Gromph would have either to move him up Sorcere’s ranks or, if his ambition proved too great, kill him.
“Master Nauzhror offers one reason among several,” Gromph said, giving the Master of Sorcere a look of reserved approval. “Another is that I know my offices to be shielded from Yasraena’s scrying. I cannot be as certain regarding the wards around the scrying chamber without first performing a thorough check. We do not have time for that. Still a third reason is that I will need you both here, in my office, to further my deception.”
“Deception?” asked Prath.
“Need?” Nauzhror asked.
Gromph regretted his word choice the moment it exited his mouth. Nauzhror’s expression showed an ill-concealed eagerness at Gromph’s declaration of “need.” Even Prath looked mildly taken aback.
Gromph sealed the breach.
He stared coldly into Nauzhror’s pudgy face and said, “My need is one of convenience, Nauzhror. Nothing more. Any Baenre mage will do. Perhaps another would be better suited than you. Do you wish to be dismissed?”
The multitude of possible meanings for which «dismissed» might be a euphemism hung in the air between them.
Nauzhror shook his head so rapidly that his paunch shook. “No, Archmage,” he replied. “Not at all. I am honored to be of any small assistance in these weighty matters. I merely want to understand what it is you are planning.”
“And you will,” Gromph replied. “In time and only in part.”
Gromph eyed Prath, whose expression showed no challenge whatever. Gromph was mildly disappointed.
“I am pleased to be of service too, Archmage,” said the apprentice unnecessarily.
“I know,” Gromph replied. Hours before, Prath had shaved off his own flesh to supply Gromph with a needed material component. He still bore a divot in his finger from the wound.
Prath was loyal, but Gromph had little love for loyalty. It was too fickle a sentiment, easily shattered, easily manipulated. Gromph demanded not loyalty but obedience, and he ensured it through fear of his power. He decided that he would have to keep a close eye on Prath going forward, though the apprentice would be useful over the next few hours.
“Well enough, then,” Gromph said. “Let us first determine the nature of the challenge.”
He concentrated on the crystal, and whorls of color began to swirl within the gray mist. Prath and Nauzhror watched intently. Both pulled their chairs closer to Gromph’s desk.
“The lichdrow’s phylactery must be within House Agrach Dyrr,” Gromph said, speaking his thoughts and his hopes aloud. “Or at least it must be accessible through House Dyrr.”
“A reasonable supposition, Archmage.” Nauzhror scratched his cheek and said, “But even if the phylactery is in the House, will it not be too heavily warded for divinations to locate it?”
Gromph replied, “It will.”
Gromph pictured House Agrach Dyrr in his mind—the moat, the bridge, the wall of stalagmites and adamantine, and the adamantine keep within. He had been within House Agrach Dyrr many times in the past. He called upon those memories to focus his vision.
“Then how do you propose to find it?” Nauzhror asked.
Gromph smiled through his concentration and said, “I’m not going to find it.” He let his underlings share a confused look before he added, “I’m going to find everything but it.”
Confusion stayed written in Prath’s expression, but Nauzhror’s face showed dawning realization.
“Cunning, Archmage,” Nauzhror said, and Gromph heard genuine admiration in his voice.
Gromph did not acknowledge the compliment but instead let his mind sink farther into the crystal, let his consciousness float on its many facets.
“What is he going to do?” Prath whispered to Nauzhror.
He need not have kept his voice to a whisper. Gromph could maintain concentration while holding a conversation or while burning in the Hells’ fires.
“Excluding the possibilities,” the Master of Sorcere answered. “Watch and learn, Prath Baenre.”
Prath seemed to want to ask another question but held his tongue.
The mists in the crystal parted, and House Agrach Dyrr took shape in the facets. Nauzhror and Prath leaned farther forward, put their elbows on Gromph’s desk.
Gromph forced the crystal to change perspective and saw the House as though from the ceiling of Menzoberranzan’s cavern.
House Agrach Dyrr was built in a series of concentric circles, with a domed temple of Lolth centermost. A wide moat in a deep chasm surrounded the complex. The chasm ended at the very edge of a high, worked wall of nine stalagmites, each as thick around as a giant’s waist and as tall as a titan. Walls of adamantine stretched between the stalagmites. A second, lower adamantine wall ringed several inner structures.
Gromph moved the scrying eye downward, near the moat chasm, and saw that bodies floated face down in the water, burned, bloated, or cut down. Many were drow, some were orc and ogre, some were unrecognizable.