War Of The Spider Queen - Condemnation Part 20

"There is no such"

"You answer too quickly. I asked you to imagine it, if you can," Seyll said. She stood and moved away, turning her back on Halisstra. "I will wait."

"I can't imagine such nonsense. It's an empty fantasy, signifying nothing. We're not meant for such things; no one is, not dark elf, not light-elf, not even the insipid humans. Only a fool dwells on dreams."

"Yet, for the sake of argument at least, would it not seem a pleasant thing?" Seyll said over her shoulder. "You must entertain impossible dreams all the time. All thinking creatures do. Perhaps you've dreamed of having your enemies in your power, or of a lover you couldn't take, or of rising to the station you truly merit."

Halisstra snorted, truly irritated, and shook her hands in her manacles.

"If you can imagine the destruction of all your enemies at once," Seyll pressed, "you can certainly imagine the faithfulness of a friend or a G.o.ddess pleased by your loyalty, not your sacrifice."

"All G.o.ds demand sacrifice. You delude yourself if you think Eilistraee is any different. Perhaps you're simply too weak-minded to understand your bonds." Halisstra looked away and added, "You have succeeded in boring me again. You may leave now."

The priestess walked to the door. She rapped once on the rusty iron and waited, turning back to face Halisstra.

"What if I show you that you're wrong?" she said softly. "Tomorrow night we dance in the forest for Eilistraee's delight. I will bring you there, and you will see for yourself what our G.o.ddess demands of us."

"I will have no part of it," Halisstra snapped, finally irritated enough to forget her resolve to feign a grudging conversion to the surface dwellers' vapid beliefs.

"Your faith in your Spider Queen is so weak you can't bear to watch us dance?" Seyll asked. "Listen, watch, and judge for yourself. That's all I ask."

The endless black gale that shrieked up through the vertical streets of ruined Chaulssin welcomed Nimor's return with a barrage of gusts so powerful that even he was momentarily rocked on his feet. His white hair whipping around his head like a wild halo, the Anointed Blade paused a moment in his steps to allow the blast to die away.

He could not remain long in the City of Wyrmshadows, not while Menzoberranzan's army marched and the Agrach Dyrr contingent tramped along without him, but he wasn't in such a hurry that he couldn't tarry a moment in the hidden citadel of his secret House. Nimor Imphraezl was a prince of Chaulssin, after all, and the magnificent ruin, the h.e.l.l-carved citadel, was his domain. He had not been born there, of course, nor had he spent his childhood years in the shadow-haunted city. The place was too perilous for the young, so the Jaezred Chaulssin fostered their princes in a dozen minor Houses in as many cities throughout the Underdark. From the time he reached adulthood and came into his ancient birthright, though, Nimor had regarded the windswept ruin as his own palace.

The gust pa.s.sed, at least as much as any blast of wind ever did in the black chasm yawning around the city, and the a.s.sa.s.sin continued on his way. Menzoberranzan was little more than an hour distant through the Plane of Shadow, and so it was fairly easy for Nimor to manufacture an excuse to absent himself from the marching column to tend to some "personal matters." Even if Andzrel Baenre summoned the House captains to a sudden council of war during Nimor's absence, he took little risk in leaving for a short time. The army moved quickly, as armies go, but no one would find it overly suspicious for a n.o.ble to tarry in the city for a short time before riding out to catch up to the column.

He reached the great, spiraling stair cut through the heart of Chaulssin's stone mountain and ascended quickly, taking the steps two at a time. In the great hall at the top, he found the patron fathers a.s.sembled again, cl.u.s.tered together in twos and threes as they traded news and fomented plots to advance the House during their time of remarkable opportunity. Grandfather Mauzzkyl turned to level his fearsome glare upon Nimor as the a.s.sa.s.sin entered.

"Once again you keep us waiting," he said.

"I beg your forgiveness, Revered Grandfather," Nimor replied. He drew up into the circle with the others and made a small bow. The winds outside the chamber moaned eerily in the distance. "I was summoned to a council of war that I did not think it wise to miss."

"One might say the same of this gathering," observed Patron Father Tomphael.

Nimor forced a smile and replied, "I have been working for some time to cultivate a particular ident.i.ty and level of responsibility among Menzoberranzan's defenders, Tomphael. That sort of effort is not to be lightly thrown aside. Until the revered grandfather instructs me otherwise, I will keep you waiting when it is necessary to protect our plots against the Spider Queen's favored"

"Enough, Nimor," Mauzzkyl rumbled. "How do things proceed in Menzoberranzan?"

"Very well, Revered Grandfather. Crown Prince Horgar Steelshadow of Gracklstugh marches an army of nearly five thousand duergar on Menzoberranzan. The matron mothers have decided to meet the duergar in the field instead of awaiting a siege, since they fear the belligerence of other Underdark realms. I have, however, arranged for the crown prince's army to steal a march on the Menzoberranyr, and I also have command of a contingent of troops who can be turned at the right moment to help a.s.sure the outcome we desire. Finally, I have convinced the cambion warlord Kaanyr Vhok to bring his army of tanarukks against Menzoberranzan as well, though I am less certain of the Scoured Legion. Vhok may or may not show, and if he does, he has little allegiance to our cause."

"You intend to destroy the forces of Menzoberranzan in detail, then," Patron Xorthaul observed. The black-armored priest stroked his chin. "What if the Menzoberranyr prove more resilient than you expect, and defeat the duergar instead? Or Kaanyr Vhok proves unfaithful? It might have been better to lure a smaller force into your trap, Anointed Blade. Your first play is too risky."

"If I had presented the duergar as less of a threat, the matron mothers would have been sorely tempted to ignore them altogether. As matters stand, one of three results may come of the battle between Gracklstugh and Menzoberranzan. The duergar might win, it could be in effect a draw, or the drow could prevail. We're doing what we can to deliver Menzoberranzan's army into the crown prince's hands, but even if he fails to destroy the Lolthites outright, there is an excellent chance the duergar will badly maul the Menzoberranyrin which case, the duergar may weaken our enemies so badly we can overthrow them ourselves. At the worst, if Gracklstugh is routed, well. . . other than the failure of our plan, we lose little."

"Remember, Patron Xorthaul, our strategy against Menzoberranzan is a strategy of attrition," Mauzzkyl said. "The city is too strong to take in one stroke, so we must bleed it to death with a dozen cuts."

"Menzoberranzan's wizards will certainly divine the existence of such a great army so close to their city," Patron Tomphael, himself a wizard, observed. "The matron mothers will recall their force, or reverse your ambush on the duergar instead."

"Our allies in Agrach Dyrr have helped us with this," said Nimor. "Gromph Baenre has vanished. The Masters of Sorcere are quite naturally testing each other's resolve and resources to determine who shall be the next archmage."

"There are many powerful wizards serving the city's Houses, Nimor," Tomphael replied. "They will not be distracted by an opportunity at Sorcere."

Nimor permitted himself a rueful nod and said, "True, but as we well know, House wizards tend to spend a lot of their time spying out the weaknesses of other Houses. So far, no one seems to have come forward to dispute the version of events I advanced to the Council."

"It would be no more than the better part of wisdom to set your plans with the a.s.sumption that your plots will be unmasked at the most inconvenient time possible," Patron Xorthaul said. "What will you do if some raw apprentice in some second-rate House happens to scry the approach of the crown prince's army, and the matron mothers recall theirs? They might stand a siege forever."

"Now you understand," Nimor said patiently, "why I went so far as to approach Agrach Dyrr with an open offer of alliance, and decided to risk bringing Kaanyr Vhok into the equation. We need the Fifth House against that very possibility, to admit Horgar's armyor the Scoured Legioninto the city, if it comes to that."

Mauzzkyl folded his arms and lowered his fiery gaze.

"In either case, we shall have them," the revered grandfather said, a smile of dark satisfaction twisting his features. "If Kaanyr Vhok betrays you, you still have Agrach Dyrr. If Agrach Dyrr betrays you, you have the cambion. I presume that Dyrr and Vhok know nothing of each other?"

Nimor said, "I thought it best to reserve at least one surprise against each of my ostensible allies, Revered Grandfather. It seemed wise to me to make certain that I would have as many options as possible, for as long as possible, in developing the attack on the city."

"Excellent. What a.s.sistance might we provide you?"

The Anointed Blade considered the question. He was sorely tempted to say none at all, and claim all the glory of the victory to come, but the time was coming when his ability to move from place to place would be limited by the role he played at the head of Menzoberranzan's army, and he needed help in handling Kaanyr Vhok. Besides, if the Sceptered One proved unfaithful, he could blame whomever had been sent to the warlord.

"We should gather our strength and be ready to strike when our allies play their part in reducing Menzoberranzan's defenses," he said.

"We do not have any great force at arms, Anointed Blade," Mauzzkyl said. "I will not commit the Jaezred Chaulssin to a pitched battle."

"I understand, Revered Grandfather." If they gathered all their strength in one place, the secret House would hardly amount to the numbers of a single minor House of Menzoberranzanthough the Jaezred Chaulssin could have an impact out of all proportion to their numbers. "I need one of my brothers to go to Kaanyr Vhok's Scoured Legion and steer the warlord in the right direction. My responsibilities in Menzoberranzan's army and my efforts to guide Horgar Steelshadow and the renegade Agrach Dyrr do not permit me sufficient time to look after Kaanyr Vhok as well as I would like."

Mauzzkyl nodded and said, "Very well. Zammzt, there is nothing left for you to do at Ched Nasad. I want you to go to Kaanyr Vhok and serve as our voice in his camp. Do whatever you must in order to keep his army aligned against Menzoberranzan, but you will answer to Nimor."

The plain-faced a.s.sa.s.sin replied, "Of course, Revered Grandfather."

He glanced over at Nimor, but did not allow his thoughts to show on his face.

"I approached the warlord through his consort, Aliisza," Nimor told Zammzt. "She is an alu-fiend and a sorceress of no small skill. She knows that I represent a society or order of some kind, so she should not be surprised to receive another of us."

Though I doubt she'll extend you the same welcome she gave to me, he told himself.

"When do you expect the Menzoberranyr to first encounter Horgar's army?" Mauzzkyl asked.

"Four days, I think."

"Do what you can to sow dissent and uncertainty, Anointed Blade," Mauzzkyl said. "The time for subterfuge and stealth is ending. The Jaezred Chaulssin leave the shadows and take the field. Destroy the matron mothers' army and bring your duergar allies to Menzoberranzan as quickly as possible. We will meet you there, and we will see if the Masked Lord favors us or not."

Nimor bowed again, then turned and strode away from the a.s.sembled patron fathers. Something would go amiss in his plansomething had to. One could not create such an elaborate collision of so many disparate forces without some of the components falling by the wayside. As best he could tell, though, the Jaezred Chaulssin were prepared. The longer he could keep secret the deadly maneuverings of his allies and his House, the better his chances for success.

Perhaps I will encourage Andzrel to appoint me chief of the expedition's scouts, Nimor thought. No need to trouble the Baenre with irrelevant reports of armies on the move, after all.

The dark elves of House Jaelre proved to be suspicious and ungracious hosts. Ryld had expected to be shown into an audience room of some kind, where they would meet a clan matriarch and bribe, threaten, or persuade her into allowing them to consult with the priest Tzirik. However, nothing like that occurred. Since they refused to surrender their weapons, the Jaelre drow ushered the company into a small, disused guardroom that had once warded the ruined castle's main gate.

"You will wait here until Tzirik chooses to receive you," the female commanding the watch told them. "If you attempt to leave this room, we will take that as a sign of hostile intent and fall on you at once."

"We are a high emba.s.sy from a powerful city," Quenthel said in response. "You mistreat us at your peril."

"You are slaves of the Spider Queen, and most likely spies and saboteurs," the captain replied. "Lolth holds no sway here, spider-kissing b.i.t.c.h."

She closed and locked the iron door before Quenthel could summon a suitable retort, though the fierce agitation of her snake-headed whip certainly hinted at the depths of her anger.

"Do we intend to remain confined here, like rabble locked up in a debtors' gaol?" Jeggred snarled. "I have half a mind to"

"Not yet, Jeggred," Quenthel countered.

She paced back and forth angrily, her mouth working in silent fury. Pure ire fueled Quenthel with relentless energy. Confinement in a small room with her pent-up anger would be difficult for all of them.

Danifae watched her, then restrained Quenthel's agitated pacing with a gentle hand on the Baenre's arm.

"What is it, slave?" the priestess snapped.

"Your zeal is admirable, Mistress," Danifae said, "but, please, we must be patient now." She shielded her hands as best she could and added, Remember, we may be watched.

"She has a point, dear Quenthel," Pharaun said. "You don't want to start a fight against the very people we came to see. Your hard words and proud manner play better at Arach-Tinilith than on another G.o.d's doorstep."

Quenthel turned a look of such icy hatred on the wizard that Danifae put up a hand to steady her. Danifae herself shot Pharaun a venomous look, contempt twisting her beautiful features.

"Silence, Pharaun," the battle captive snapped. "Your smug arrogance and endless baiting play better at Sorcere. At least the Mistress has the strength of her convictionsall you have is cynicism."

Danifae studied Quenthel's face and offered her a shy smile.

"Save your anger for later, Mistress," the battle captive said softly. "Surely the G.o.ddess will be more pleased if you exact an accounting of the faithless after you've wrung the usefulness from them than if you destroy the tools required to serve her."

Quenthel allowed herself to relax. She drew a deep breath, and took a seat at a barren wood table on which a flagon of water stood.

"Fine, then," Quenthel breathed. "We will see what happens."

That, Ryld guessed, was about as close as Quenthel would ever come to admitting that she had been wrong about something. With little else to do, the company settled down to endure whatever wait the Jaelre chose to test them with.

Long hours pa.s.sed. The night faded into an overcast morning, which then gave way to a gray, rain-soaked afternoon.

Studying what portions of the old castle he could see from the slitlike windows, Ryld came to the conclusion that Minauthkeep was not half so ruined as it first appeared. The Jaelre had cleverly repaired much of the ancient structure while leaving the outward appearance mostly unchanged.

Eventually, as the wait grew interminable, the weapons master settled back against the wall of the chamber and allowed himself to drift off into a light trance, Splitter bared across his lap in case he needed it quickly.

He was roused from Reverie near nightfall, when the iron door of the chamber abruptly boomed with three forceful knocks. The lock turned, and the watch captain of the previous night entered, with several more Jaelre guards behind her.

"You are summoned before High Priest Tzirik," she said. "You are to disarm yourselves here. The wizard must consent to have his thumbs bound together, and the draegloth will be manacled."

"I will not," Jeggred snapped. "We're not your prisoners, to be dragged before your master in chains. Why should we do for you what you lack the strength to make us do?"

"You came to us, half-breed," the captain said.

"Mistress?" Danifae whispered.

Without taking her eyes from the captain's face, Quenthel drew out her whip. Weighing it in one hand, she seemed to struggle with herself, then she tossed it to the corner of the chamber.

"Yngoth, watch over our arms," she said to one of the hissing vipers. "Strike dead any who would tamper with our belongings in our absence. Jeggred, you will permit yourself to be bound. Pharaun, you as well."

Ryld sighed and set Splitter on the floor, kicking the blade to within striking distance of Quenthel's vipers. Valas discarded his kukris as well. With a grimace of distaste, Pharaun stepped up and held out his hands. A Jaelre drow tied his thumbs together with stout cord, a measure that would make it very difficult for the mage to make the complex gestures and pa.s.ses needed for many of his spells. Jeggred's large upper arms, the long ones with the wicked claws, were chained together, but his smaller humanoid arms were left free.

The draegloth rumbled.

"Be still, nephew," Quenthel said, then she turned to the Jaelre captain. "Take us to the priest."

The watch captain nodded to her soldiers, who formed up in a tight phalanx around the Menzoberranyr, swords drawn. They marched the company out of the guardroom and into the depths of the keep. The company was shown into a large hall or gallery appointed as a shrine to Vhaeraun, the Masked Lord. Ryld studied the temple with some interest. He'd never set foot in a place dedicated to any deity but Lolth. At the upper end of the hall, across from the entrance, a great half-mask the size of a tower shield hung from the wall, overlooking the shrine. The symbol was made of beaten copper, with two black disks to mark the eyes.

Two males waited for them. The first was young, dressed in black leather armor that showed off a well-muscled chest. A curved kukri was thrust through his belt, and a small green asp was coiled around his arm. His left leg was encased in an awkward harness of iron and leather, and he moved stiffly. The second was unusually short and stocky, with brawny shoulders and a bald pate, dressed in a breastplate of black mithral and masked with a ceremonial veil of black silk.

"The visitors, my lords," the watch captain said.

The veiled priest studied them. His expression was virtually unreadable behind the veil.

"Valas Hune, as I live and breathe," he said at last. "Well, this is a surprise. I haven't seen you in more than fifty years." He hesitated a moment longer, then strode forward boldly and clapped the Bregan D'aerthe scout on the shoulders. "It has been too long, old friend. How are things with you?"

"Tzirik," Valas said. He smiled back, his dour face stretching with unaccustomed enjoyment, and he took the priest's hand in a firm grip. He glanced around the chamber. "I see you have finally achieved the Return you were always talking about. As far as how things go with me, well, that will take some explaining."

Tzirik studied the company carefully.

"A Master of Sorcere," the priest said, "and another of Melee-Magthere."

"Master Pharaun Mizzrym, an accomplished wizard," Valas replied, "and Master Ryld Argith, a weapons master of no small skill."

"Gentlemen, if Valas vouches for you, you are welcome guests in Minauthkeep," the priest said. When he looked at the others, his face hardened, geniality fading into sharp appraisal.

"The draegloth is Jeggred," Valas said, "a scion of House Baenre. The lesser priestess is Danifae Yauntyrr, a highborn lady of Eryndlyn, late a battle captive. The leader of our company is"

"High Priestess Quenthel Baenre," Quenthel interrupted, "Mistress of Arach-Tinilith, Mistress of the Academy, Mistress of Tier Breche, First Sister of House Baenre of Menzoberranzan."

"Ah," Tzirik said. "We rarely have dealings with those of your persuasion, let alone a priestess possessed of so many impressive t.i.tles."

"You will find me possessed of more than t.i.tles, priest," Quenthel replied.

Tzirik's face went cold.

"Lolth may rule in your buried cities," he said, "but here in the night of the surface world, Vhaeraun is the master." He turned and gestured to the crippled male behind him. "In the interest of common courtesy, may I present my cousin, Jezz of House Jaelre."

The younger male limped forward.

"You are a long way from home, Menzoberranyr," he said in a rasping voice. "That, more than anything, spared you. The spider-kissers we feud with come up from Maerimydra, a few miles south of here, but we have not met folk from Menzoberranzan in quite some time."