R.A. Salvatore's War of the Spider Queen: Dissolution, Insurrection, Condemnation

by Richard Lee Byers; Thomas M. Reid; Richard Baker

  You have to turn on me, she signaled. Convince them that you’d just as soon see me dead. Then get help. Go to House Maerret.

  When Danifae gave an almost imperceptible nod, Halisstra reached out and slapped her. Hard. The blow sent the battle captive falling backward, skidding across the floor. Danifae’s eyes widened as her hand flew up to her cheek, but before she could open her mouth to spoil the effect, Halisstra screamed at her.

  “How dare you suggest such a thing! I would never consider it!”

  Danifae’s red eyes narrowed, and whether the venomous look was genuine or part of the ploy, Halisstra wasn’t sure.

  “Then rot in a cell until they put your head on a pike, Mistress.” She stood, deliberately brushing her backside, straightening the flimsy silks that did little to conceal her curvaceous body. “If you won’t, then I’ll do it and save myself.”

  Danifae turned to Ssipriina and said, “Mistress Zauvirr, I humbly beg you to help me procure my release from her.” She sneered this last as she jerked a thumb down at Halisstra, who was still sitting on the floor. “I’m sure we can come to some sort of arrangement that you would find gratifying enough to release me from my servitude.”

  Ssipriina alternated between looking at the battle captive before her and the noble daughter on the floor, blinking in surprise at the outburst. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then snapped it shut again.

  Danifae, taking advantage of the silence, continued, “I’m just now starting to recall conversations with Mistress Halisstra that I think might implicate her. Given a few moments alone in her chambers, I could recall even more evidence that proves her foreknowledge in these disgraceful, treasonous acts.”

  She looked down at Halisstra, a knowing smirk on her face.

  Despite the fact that she knew her servant was playing the part—at least she hoped that’s all it was—Halisstra shuddered at the look on Danifae’s face. Not having to try very hard to look scared, Drisinil’s daughter took another deep breath.

  “Matron Mother,” Halisstra said, “I assure you I had absolutely no previous awareness of any possible plots of my mother’s. My battle captive is obviously lying to you, trying to save her own worthless hide in exchange for damning me with false accusations. You cannot possibly accept the word of a battle captive. She would tell you anything to see me come to a bad end.”

  Ssipriina looked down at Halisstra for another moment and laughed.

  “Of course she would, silly girl, and how fortunate for me.” The matron mother turned to Danifae, smiled, and said, “Perhaps we can come to some sort of an agreement. Go and see what you can uncover.”

  Danifae smiled and bowed deeply to Matron Mother Zauvirr, then turned to depart. As she spun on one heel, she looked down at Halisstra, sneering.

  As Halisstra let her gaze follow the backside of her servant, she heard Ssipriina take a deep breath.

  “Now, what to do with you . . .” the matron mother said in a most unpleasant tone.

  Faeryl Zauvirr loomed over her prisoner, smiling in delight. The beads of dampness that glistened on Quenthel Baenre’s forehead ran in rivulets into her eyes, making her blink and squint. Her mouth was frozen in a grimace of pain and misery, though it was difficult for her to effect any other expression, with the rothéhide-bound dowel wedged so deeply into her mouth. The bit was held tightly in place with braided cord tied tightly behind her neck. Her long white hair was matted limply around her head and spread across the top of the table upon which she lay.

  Faeryl stepped back from the table where Quenthel was stretched tightly, her wrists and ankles locked into manacles at either end of the long, narrow rack. The high priestess’s naked body was taut, like the string of an instrument, and coated in a sheen of sweat that glimmered in the light of the braziers, but still Faeryl was not satisfied.

  “Perhaps we should try the needles again,” the ambassador mused aloud. “They fit so easily beneath the toenails, and it is such fun.”

  Quenthel grunted and shook her head, her red eyes wide.

  “No? Then maybe there’s something in here that I can use to amuse myself,” Faeryl said, turning to one of the braziers and sorting the tools resting in it. “Some of these are glowing nicely, now. I’ve heard that these blunt ones are especially good for the eyes.”

  The grunts increased in rhythm and went up an octave.

  Faeryl put her face back down in front of Quenthel’s again, but she was no longer smiling.

  “We’ve only scratched the surface, Mistress Baenre,” she spat, once again stringing the honorific out. The sarcastic tone was becoming second nature to her. “We’ve got endless hours to enjoy this, and I want to make sure you experience every last little ‘pleasantry’ Jeggred inflicted on me.”

  Quenthel closed her eyes as a muted groan passed the bit shoved in her mouth.

  Faeryl supposed the high priestess might be trembling, or perhaps it was simply the quivering of muscles, strained from being stretched so long. She chuckled and turned to examine the other prisoner.

  Jeggred had been bound tightly to a stout column, lengths of chain encircling him from ankles to chin. The bonds were so tight, the draegloth could move only his head, which he tossed from side to side as he strained to break free. He snarled as Faeryl looked at him.

  “Oh, I know,” she cooed, stepping closer. “You want to gut me, don’t you? You want to spill my blood and dance in it.”

  “You will die a slow, painful death,” the fiend rumbled. “I will see to it personally.”

  Faeryl waved her hand in front of her nose.

  “Stop talking, you vile beast. Your breath is most foul.”

  Jeggred only growled.

  Faeryl fixed him with her gaze and said, “Do you remember the things you did to me?” She almost shuddered but forced herself to remain still. “I am going to repay you for it . . . every bit of it. I’ll send your carcass back to Triel when I’m through.”

  Jeggred smiled.

  “You can’t begin to understand the methods of meting out pain. My attentions were but a part of those methods, and there is nothing you can conceive of that I will notice at all.”

  “Oh, really?” Faeryl replied, her lips pursed. “We’ll see. My advisors have told me what things you feel and don’t feel. ‘He resists the burn of acid and fire, and he will not suffer from cold and lightning,’ they said. But we’ll find something. Yes, we will. Maybe sound, hmm? There is something you don’t like, and when I discover what it is, you’ll enjoy it for endless hours. I promise you.”

  There was a soft step upon the stone floor near the doorway. Faeryl turned in irritation to see what the intrusion was all about. It was Zammzt.

  “What do you want?” Faeryl demanded.

  She knew the aide was there at her mother’s behest and that she was undoubtedly being summoned to attend to the matron mother. It didn’t make her very happy, and though she could not take her annoyance out on her own mother, she could easily do so on the ugly male. The dark elf bent his knee and dipped his head slightly.

  “I beg pardon, Mistress Zauvirr, but your mother requires your immediate presence in the audience chamber.”

  “Of course she does,” Faeryl snarled. “If she has the slightest notion that I am not indisposed, she finds something for me to do.”

  When Zammzt hesitated for the slightest of moments, Faeryl gave him a cold stare.

  “Well,” she asked, “what are you waiting for? Go tell her I’m on my way!”

  Zammzt scurried out of the torture room and disappeared around the corner, his piwafwi flying behind him. Faeryl returned her attention to Quenthel.

  “I’ll come back and visit with you some more in a bit,” she said, “and when I do, I really want to give those needles another try. Maybe the fingernails this time, hmm?”

  The bound form on the rack emitted a whimper.

  “Oh, good, I’m pleased that you like the idea, too.”

  Danifae Yauntyrr didn’t really
expect Matron Mother Zauvirr to grant her free run of the entire House, and her suspicions were correct. As she departed the audience chamber with a final sneer back in Halisstra’s direction, she was also careful to note Ssipriina’s slight nod at two of the guards standing near the door. As she stepped through the portal, the guards silently and unobtrusively fell in behind her. The battle captive pursed her lips in the slightest hint of frustration, but she wouldn’t have expected anything else. It really didn’t matter. She’d just have to put on a bit more of a show.

  Ignoring the two House Zauvirr soldiers who followed her, Danifae made her way back to Halisstra’s private chambers, where she also took Reverie so that she could attend to the noble drow’s every need. She guessed that the guards would not be so invasive as to follow her in, and again, her intuition was right. She strode through the door and shut it behind her. Once she was alone, she began to pace, mulling possibilities over in her mind.

  Halisstra had just provided her servant with a perfect opportunity to free herself from the other drow’s subjugation. Danifae almost laughed at her mistress’s gullibility, thinking that Danifae would run to try to save her. After ten years as Halisstra’s battle captive, Danifae wanted nothing more than to be rid of the wretched drow and her domination. She wanted nothing more than to return to Eryndlyn. The problem was, with Halisstra’s binding in effect, Danifae wasn’t sure she could actually get free, even with Ssipriina Zauvirr’s help. In fact, she suspected that once she actually did turn on Halisstra and provide the “proof ” of Drisinil’s daughter’s guilt to the matron mother, Ssipriina would simply let her perish along with Halisstra.

  Danifae knew she had to ensure her own freedom first and not depend on another for it. But how?

  She hated the effect of the binding, for it was insidious in its effectiveness. Though Danifae didn’t truly believe it, she sometimes wished that the compulsion of the binding fully controlled her mind, rather than merely restricting her ability to distance herself from Halisstra. She told herself that it would have been better to serve the Melarn daughter as a mindless zombie rather than of her own accord, attending willingly to avoid the consequences of straying too far from her mistress. It locked her to Halisstra as surely as a length of chain around their ankles.

  In the early years, Danifae wanted desperately to throttle her mistress, but Halisstra’s death would bring about her own, and Danifae would experience her own demise in a slow, excruciatingly painful manner. That was the nature of the binding. It sustained her somehow, kept her alive as long as Halisstra willed it. Distance was not a factor, but the moment Danifae disregarded Halisstra’s wishes and went her own way, she had no doubt that the other drow would simply let her wither away like a mushroom with its roots hacked off. Displease the dark elf, and with a thought, Danifae would succumb. By the Dark Mother, she hated it.

  The binding’s magic was alien to Danifae. She didn’t understand what was required to sever it or if it even could be severed by any hand other than Halisstra’s. The risk of discovery was too great to allow her the chance to inquire, and besides, Halisstra rarely let her servant out of her sight. With Halisstra under arrest, Danifae had the perfect opportunity to follow through, to finally find out what could be done, and there was no time. Halisstra was going to die unless Danifae convinced Ssipriina Zauvirr to find a solution to her problem, and she doubted that the matron mother would lift a finger to help her, even with her promises of damning testimony against the daughter of Drisinil Melarn. That only left Danifae with the option of actually saving Halisstra.

  Damn her! the battle captive silently screamed as she sat on her mistress’s Reverie couch, pounding a pillow for good measure. She wanted to rip the stuffing out, but long years of the fear of punishment had trained her to resist letting her emotions get the better of her, and she stayed her hand. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she considered the situation.

  The next problem, she realized, was that even if she somehow managed to extricate Halisstra—and by extension, herself—from this mess, life as they both knew it might very well be over. They might survive the coup, but even then, where would they go? Without Lolth’s blessings to aid them, it was an especially bleak outlook.

  Making up her mind, Danifae decided the next thing to do was to figure out who in House Melarn was still Halisstra’s ally. The first thing she considered were the House guards. They had disappeared, and she had a pretty good idea why. Ssipriina had likely already gotten to them and given them the standard offer: change allegiance to House Zauvirr, or find themselves unemployed or dead. She doubted there were any who would still rally to Halisstra, but she had to at least look.

  Danifae opened the door to the hallway and was slightly surprised to find the two guards who had followed her no longer present. She supposed that they assumed she wouldn’t try anything as long as the House was locked down and had decided to go find something more interesting to do.

  Just makes it easier for me, she thought, smiling as she slipped out.

  She hurried on her way.

  The audience chamber of House Melarn was pretty much as Faeryl expected to find it. Her mother was seated on the lofty oversized chair atop the dais at the front of the room, surrounded by her advisors, while House Zauvirr soldiers were spread inconspicuously but generously throughout the chamber. Faeryl absently wondered how her mother had managed to usurp control of the audience chamber without an argument from the House Melarn guards. Whatever lies she told them must have worked.

  “There you are,” Ssipriina said impatiently. “Come here. I want to go over your story once more before the others get here.”

  Faeryl sighed but dutifully approached the throne.

  “Mother, I have the details memorized. I think I can—”

  “You will go over them with me and continue doing it until I am convinced, you ungrateful brat! You will not stop until then.”

  Her mother looked entirely too comfortable in the throne, which was certainly grander than anything they had in their own manor. That was the difference between a merchant House and a truly noble House.

  Faeryl longed to return to the dungeons, where she could rule over her charges in peace. She hated having to attend to her mother’s demands. Where Quenthel was concerned, even if it was a little pond, at least she was the big fish. It was always that way. At the storehouse, when she’d orchestrated the transport of the prisoners, she had been in charge, however briefly. Under the scrutiny of her mother, she was the petulant child once more.

  Faeryl dreamed of holding the reins of power someday, but being the fourth daughter in her House, and having been sent to Menzoberranzan to represent House Zauvirr and House Melarn, to boot, she recognized the limitations to her chance to rise to the top. Even were she to someday sit upon the throne Ssipriina Zauvirr was hoping to claim through her orchestration of the day’s events, Faeryl would still answer to others.

  “Now,” Ssipriina said, ticking off points one by one on her hand, “you were forced to come with Quenthel and the others. You notified me at the earliest opportunity what House Baenre was planning. We set up an ambush to catch them, and only then did we discover that Drisinil was in on it. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Mother,” Faeryl responded sullenly.

  “Good. When the matron mothers get here, stay out of sight until I call for you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “And stop that. It’s childish and petulant.”

  Faeryl frowned, but she clamped her mouth shut.

  “That’s better,” Ssipriina said. “Now I think we need to get those males summoned here as quickly as possible. Zammzt, I think that’s a job for you.”

  When a knock sounded at the door to their room, Pharaun expected to see Quenthel standing there. It was late, and the Master of Sorcere was beginning to wonder if something untoward had befallen the high priestess and her two companions. As he opened the portal, though, the wizard was instead surprised to discover a str
ange and rather plain-looking drow in the livery of a noble House.

  “I beg forgiveness for disturbing you,” the male said, “but I am seeking the wizard Pharaun Mizzrym and the warriors Ryld Argith and Valas Hune.”

  Pharaun kept his body planted firmly between the visitor and the interior of the room, shielding the other dark elf ’s view of it. Behind him, he could hear Valas and Ryld unsheathing weapons.

  “Who are you?” the wizard asked, considering which spells remaining in his repertoire would suffice to defend himself against an attack.

  “My name is Zammzt. I come at the behest of Matron Mother Ssipriina Zauvirr of House Zauvirr, Matron Mother Melarn of House Melarn, and Quenthel Baenre of House Baenre. Are you one of the three?”

  “Perhaps,” Pharaun answered, gauging the fellow’s potential as a threat. The drow was, at the very least, radiating a number of magical auras. “It would depend on why you’re looking for them.”

  “Mistress Quenthel is a guest of Mistress Drisinil Melarn of House Melarn. I am here to extend an invitation to you to join them for a banquet in your honor.”

  “Oh, how delightful,” Pharaun said. “I assume that you can escort us there, as well?”

  “Indeed, Master, uh . . .”

  The mage rolled his eyes and said, “Pharaun. I’m the wizard.”

  “Certainly, Master Mizzrym. I have been instructed to escort you to House Melarn.”

  “I see. Well, then can you give me a moment to clean up? I’d hate to attend a dinner in my honor looking like this,” the wizard said, gesturing at his piwafwi.

  “Certainly, Master Mizzrym. I am at your convenience. The dinner will not start without you.”

  “Excellent,” Pharaun replied. “Give me just a moment, and we’ll be right out. You can wait for us down in the common room.”

  With that, he shut the door and turned to his companions.

  “Either she got caught or she decided she was not getting treated well enough by the inn staff,” Valas said, frowning.