“You can’t be serious! Look around,” he said, gesturing out toward other parts of the city, where the distant glows of more and more fires were visible through the ever-thickening smoke. “The whole city is in turmoil.
“Use your ears,” he continued, gesturing in a different direction, where the screams of the fighting and dying echoed off the walls of the huge cavern. “We’re running out of time. I’m sure the whole city is choosing sides and taking the battle to the streets, and yet you want to tempt fate by trying to go after more of your trinkets? I think—”
“Listen to me, boy,” Quenthel spat, her face livid. “We just went through this with your warrior friend. You will do as I say, or you will be left here to die. If you’ve forgotten who I am, allow me to remind you that I am High Priestess Quenthel Baenre, Mistress of Arach-Tinilith, Mistress of the Academy, Mistress of Tier Breche, First Sister of House Baenre of Menzoberranzan, and I will no longer tolerate your snide remarks and your haughty insubordination. Do you understand?”
As if to back up her words, Jeggred stepped forward and with a menacing growl took hold of the collar of Pharaun’s piwafwi, bunching it up in his clawed fist.
The wizard glanced over to Ryld, who still looked weakened from his fight with the spider. Nonetheless, he had his hand on the hilt of Splitter and was stepping forward, ready to come between the draegloth and the mage. But Pharaun could tell by the warrior’s expression that he was trying to determine just how badly he really wanted to choose sides at this juncture.
Jeggred whipped his head around and snarled, “Don’t even think about it, weapons master. I will tear out your stomach and feast upon it if you interfere.”
Ryld’s expression tightened as he took offense at the draegloth’s threats, but Pharaun gave a quick, subtle shake of his head to warn the warrior off.
“Mistress Quenthel, since you are so passionate about recovering your valuables,” Pharaun said, trying to make his voice sound jovial, “then let’s make haste, before the opportunity is wasted.”
Quenthel smiled, obviously pleased at having successfully asserted herself and regained the upper hand.
“I knew you would appreciate the importance of my decision,” she replied, turning away.
“So, wizard, how do you propose we cross over to the Flame and Serpent?” she asked, appraising the devastation alongside Pharaun. “What magic do you still have up your sleeve that can get us there quickly and safely?”
“None, Mistress Baenre,” Pharaun replied in all seriousness. “I have consumed over half of my magic for the day, and I’m not even certain how we’ll get out of the city.”
“That’s not good enough, Mizzrym.”
“I have a counter-suggestion,” the mage said, pursing his lips. “Let me go get the goods while you and the rest of the group wait here and rest. It’s out of the way, fairly easily defended, and I can find you again when I come back. I have a spell to get me to the inn and back quickly, I just can’t take all of you with me.”
Quenthel scowled, thinking, and Pharaun wondered if, as often as she frowned so severely, the high priestess even realized she was making such a face.
“Very well,” Quenthel said at last, nodding. “Do not dawdle.”
“Oh, I don’t intend to. The less chance there is of large chunks of this doomed city falling atop me, the better off I’ll feel.”
Quenthel turned and explained the plan to the rest of the group. Everyone nodded in agreement, ready for a respite.
Ryld pulled Pharaun aside and asked, “You are coming back, aren’t you?”
Pharaun cocked an eyebrow and replied, “Besides having a fondness for you, my brooding weapons master, I still truly desire to get to the bottom of this mystery. My chances are better with you all than without.”
Ryld looked at him for a long time before nodding.
“Be careful,” he said, turning to find a seat against a wall of the alley, his crossbow out.
“How do you intend to cross the city?” Halisstra asked.
Her face was drawn and tired. Still, her eyes glittered red, as with some new determination.
“I have a spell of flying that I can use to get there and back again fairly quickly,” Pharaun answered. “Unfortunately, I would be much better off if I were not visible, but I have already played that particular trick today.”
“Maybe I can help,” the daughter of what once was House Melarn said. “Mistress Quenthel, that wand you just confiscated from me would serve us well, with your approval.”
“What is it?” the high priestess asked, seemingly pleased by the deference shown her.
“A spell that will render him invisible, even should he attack a foe,” Halisstra replied. “I assure you, it will not harm him.”
Quenthel scowled and looked at Pharaun for some sort of confirmation. The wizard nodded. He still believed the two females newly added to the group were trustworthy, and they certainly wouldn’t be in much of a position to turn on the rest of them now.
“Very well,” Quenthel said.
She produced the wand and passed it back to the other female. Halisstra took it, offering her thanks to the high priestess. She targeted her wand at Pharaun.
“Wait,” the wizard said.
He produced a feather from inside his piwafwi. Using the feather as part of the casting, he enchanted himself with the ability to fly.
Tucking the feather back into its customary pocket, he turned to the priestess and said, “All right, go ahead. It’s always easier to cast when you can see your own hands.”
She smiled faintly and nodded, then summoned the magical energy from the wand. In but a moment, Pharaun was totally invisible. Halisstra offered the wand back to Quenthel.
“No,” the high priestess said, shaking her head. “You can keep it. I think you learned your lesson.”
“Yes, Mistress,” Halisstra said with a smile that did not reach her eyes. She tucked the wand away and went to sit down once more, beside Danifae.
“I’ll be back shortly,” Pharaun said.
He rose into the air before anyone could think to reply.
Danifae watched as the wizard disappeared, and she sensed when he departed the alley. Shaking her head, she sat back and watched the weapons master and the scout, both of whom paced, apparently eager to be away from there.
This is a strange lot I’ve wound up with, she decided. They are competent, and yet they bicker and argue unlike any group of dark elves I’ve ever seen.
The battle captive looked over at Quenthel, who was speaking quietly with the draegloth, Jeggred.
She’s certainly an interesting one, Danifae decided.
It wasn’t the first time she’d encountered a female like the high priestess—confident yet blustering at everything and everyone.
Still, Danifae thought, letting her eyes linger appreciatively over Quenthel’s form, she’s a fit leader.
Danifae turned her thoughts Halisstra. The First Daughter of House Melarn looked visibly shaken at the physical loss of her home, even though Ssipriina had already wrested possession of it from her. Danifae wondered how her mistress would hold up under that kind of duress. Certainly, there was no lamenting the destruction of House Melarn on her own part, but Danifae could imagine how it would feel if her own family had been wiped out in such a fashion. House Yauntyrr might well have been destroyed, for all she knew. It had been far too long since she’d last seen it. She didn’t even know the fate of Eryndlyn itself in the current crisis, much less her own House.
“Let us come with you,” Halisstra said to Quenthel. “Let us help you find the priest of Vhaeraun.”
Danifae looked at her mistress sharply.
“What makes you think we’re going to try to find the scout’s friend?” Quenthel asked.
“I-I beg forgiveness, Mistress Baenre,” Halisstra stammered. “I merely assumed—”
“Assumptions are best left to that miserable wretch, Pharaun,” Quenthel warned.
Hali
sstra bowed her head.
“Of course, Mistress Baenre,” she said. “Nonetheless, I would humbly ask that you permit me and my servant to accompany you. Our chances of survival are much greater if we stay together, and as you know, I have nothing left for me here.”
The dark elf pursed her lips, obviously trying to control her emotions. Danifae thought it somewhat unbecoming, showing so much of her passion, but she would never say so, especially not in front of others.
Quenthel tapped her lips with her finger and nodded as though she understood the pain of Halisstra’s plight, though Danifae seriously doubted the high priestess held any true compassion for Halisstra’s situation.
“Yes, well, as long as you can continue to make yourself useful, and if you are willing to do what I say, then I see no reason why you cannot continue to travel with us.”
Danifae cringed. No doubt this would take her farther away from Eryndlyn, not closer. She was going to have find a way to break the binding, and soon, and she thought perhaps the wizard had that capability. It would be easy enough for her to manipulate him into helping her, the way she caught him eyeing her all the time. Easy, indeed.
Halisstra bowed her head again in thanks and said, “If it is not too presumptuous, Mistress Baenre, may I ask what your intentions are?”
“Well, once we manage to get out of this city,” Quenthel replied, emphasizing the words to show of what a daunting task that would be in and of itself, “I think we might actually pay a visit to this friend of the scout’s. However infuriating the Mizzrym boy can be in so many other ways, he does occasionally have a good idea or two.”
That’s why you can’t afford to alienate him or cause him bodily harm, Danifae surmised.
It wasn’t difficult to see that Pharaun was really the most valuable member of the team. That raised the question of who was really the leader. Quenthel by default, but Pharaun by subtle necessity.
That will bear watching, Danifae thought with a smile.
Ssipriina surveyed the troops she’d assembled in the courtyard of her estate and grimaced. So few remained of what she’d started the day with. Would they be enough? She let her gaze roam over them . . . soldiers, priestesses, wizards. How many had she lost in the destruction of House Melarn? How many more in the hours since, battling the rival Houses, her own duergar mercenaries, succumbing to the guardian spiders?
The matron mother shook her head, thinking of that debacle. It was certainly a blunder, but she refused to label it ill-conceived. Animating the creature to fight for her House had been clever, an idea her allies had all endorsed. Certainly, none of them had been able to foresee that the mental link used to control the spiders was in some way tied to their connection to Lolth. Without the goddess, there was no link, but once Ssipriina and the others had figured that out, it was too late. They had all missed that, and she refused to accept sole blame for it.
Still, the damage could have been contained, if only that doublecrossing fool Khorrl had done his duty. She had paid him a matron mother’s ransom. He should have jumped at her every beck and call, but instead he turned his back on her, gathered his mercenaries, and was preparing to pull out of Ched Nasad all together. The loss of his support was a tough blow, but what galled her more was how foolish he’d made her look—foolish in the eyes of her peers.
The other matron mothers, upon hearing that the duergar were no longer in House Zauvirr’s service, had washed their hands of the alliance, immediately withdrawing their support for Ssipriina’s claims. They had their own Houses to consider and couldn’t afford to weaken themselves further in a lost cause.
Lost cause! Yes, she had been made to look foolish, and she would not have that. Ssipriina Zauvirr would show them what a lost cause was.
Let the rest of them distance themselves from her. Let them rot at the bottom of the chasm. She was not going to let these setbacks foil her plans. Half the city might burn, but when the smoke cleared, House Zauvirr would sit at the top of the heap.
Khorrl Xornbane was going to pay as well, but would her remaining troops be enough? Between her own House and those from House Melarn who had switched allegiance, she had assembled a potent army, but so many had been lost.
That was Clan Xornbane’s fault, too. They’d let the battle around House Melarn get out of control. It was their horrible firepots that made the stone burn, that allowed the House to fall. It was needless destruction, brought about after needless fighting.
Ssipriina had no doubt that the gray dwarf captain had spoken the truth. Zammzt could very well have been behind the premature exposure of her mercenaries, but why? Which matron mother was he in league with? Which of them had something to gain by watching her plans build up, then teeter to disaster? There were so many, but she would have to determine that later.
Ssipriina would miss Zammzt. She needed his efficiency, his battle acumen. She didn’t have enough strategists to put in charge of the forces she’d assembled. The ugly male would have served in that capacity nicely. Faeryl would be a suitable replacement, but she’d not been seen since the chaos at the end of the gathering of matron mothers. Ssipriina suspected that her daughter had perished when the estate crumbled into the bottom of the cavern.
Foolish girl, the matron mother thought. Good riddance. Sighing, Ssipriina shook herself out of her musings and swept her gaze one last time over her undersized army. They would have to be enough. She would lead them herself, and they would be enough.
“Gather yourselves,” the matron mother said, moving to a protected place in the middle of the milling mass of drow. “It’s time to claim what’s ours.”
chapter
eighteen
Pharaun tried to stay near the perimeter of the city as he made his way toward the Flame and Serpent. For one thing, he didn’t relish the thought of being crushed at any moment by falling debris from above. Though it had only happened once, he’d been far too intimately involved with it than he cared to remember. He would avoid a repeat incident, if he could.
Secondly, the wizard knew that navigation would be easier if he followed the wall of the chasm, rather than trying to work his way through the central section of the city. Even then, the thick smoke caused him difficulty in flying. He was surprised at how haze-choked the cavern had become. More than once, he nearly careened off a trench wall, still intact web street, or building. Nonetheless, he still considered the challenge of navigating through that to be far safer than having to maneuver through the center of Ched Nasad, where the sound of fighting was constant. Occasionally he heard explosions, loud pops, and howling winds in the distance as fierce magical battles raged. Arcane forces were being unleashed on gathering troops. There was no doubt about it—the entire city was engaged in a desperate struggle for control of the streets.
Mostly, the reverberations of conflict reached the mage’s ears from his level or below. What had in all likelihood begun in the plaza outside of House Melarn had quickly spread, engulfing the citizens and visitors all across the city, on every level. The wizard wondered how many had actually managed to flee into the caverns surrounding the City of Shimmering Webs. Though the team from Menzoberranzan had been indisposed for much of the initial martial activity, he recalled that, since their escape from the collapse of House Melarn, they had seen surprisingly few ordinary folk in the streets. Of course, that was also because they’d spent most of their time high in the city, where only the nobles prowled. Farther down, in the lower sections, he imagined a much different scene. There, he supposed, the general rabble had gotten caught up in the fighting, much like the rebellion back home.
The uprising had taken a decidedly different twist than the insurrection in Menzoberranzan, though. The insurgents involved in the upheavals in Ched Nasad were the noble Houses themselves. Their own infighting was the flash point. Pharaun counted himself fortunate that the Houses of Menzoberranzan had proven less prone to petty backbiting. If they had, there might not be a city for him to return to. The mage grimaced, thinking o
f Gromph’s attempts on Quenthel’s life, and his own sister Greyanna’s failed efforts to kill him.
There might not be anything left, he thought, before this is completely finished.
As he neared the section of the city where the inn was located, the wizard noticed that the damage was less severe there. In fact, the Flame and Serpent was thus far unscathed. Immediately he saw the reason why. A horde of mismatched drow and other creatures, probably residents of the inn, self-reliant mercenaries, and whatnot had formed a perimeter defense around the place. It didn’t appear that they were under fire at the moment, but an intense battle must have raged there earlier, judging by the number of bodies present.
Not wanting to be either attacked or drawn into the midst of the siege, Pharaun elected to circle around to the back side of the inn and enter it that way. He recalled the window of the room he shared with Valas and Ryld, the one that looked out on the wall of the massive cavern that Ched Nasad called home, and he made for that. He approached from the roof and settled down between the wall of the building and the wall of the trench. It was just wide enough for him to levitate down between the two, and he hovered there while he contemplated how best to get through the opening without attracting attention.
He had just the spell, the Master of Sorcere realized, a minor incantation that would open the window from the inside, so that he wouldn’t have to break it to get through. Reaching into his piwafwi, he fumbled around in three or four pockets before he found what he was looking for. He pulled out a brass key and tapped it softly against the window as he uttered the words that would complete the spell. The window opened without resistance, and Pharaun squirmed inside the room.
The wizard, the weapons master, and the scout had taken all of their belongings when they’d left the inn upon being summoned to attend the “party” in their honor. That seems almost a lifetime ago, Pharaun mused as he made his way out the door and down the hall to Quenthel’s chambers.
Upon reaching the door, the mage hesitated, wondering if the high priestess had placed some sort of protective enchantment on it before leaving, but then he remembered that Ryld and Valas had invaded the room when they came seeking healing magic. Chuckling, he tried the door and found it locked.
R.A. Salvatore's War of the Spider Queen: Dissolution, Insurrection, Condemnation Page 69