Siege of Darkness tlotd-3

by Robert Salvatore

  "Glabrezu," he said with all respect, recognizing the beast.

  Glabrezu's canine maw curled up in a snarl, and its eyes narrowed as it scrutinized Jarlaxle, privately confirming that it had found the correct dark elf.

  "Baenre cok diemrey nochtero," the tanar'ri said in a growl, and without waiting for a response, the gigantic beast lumbered about

  and waddled away, crouching low so that its head did not scrape the corridor's high ceiling.

  Again, several brave, stupid drow moved as if to pursue, and again Jarlaxle, smiling now more widely than he had in many weeks, held them back. The tanar'ri had spoken in the language of the lower planes, a language that Jarlaxle understood perfectly, and it had spoken the words Jarlaxle had longed to hear.

  The question was clear on the expressions of all the unnerved drow standing beside him. They did not understand the language and wanted desperately to know what the tanar'ri had said.

  "Baenre cok diemrey nochtero," Jarlaxle explained to them. "House Baenre will prevail.»

  His wry smile, filled with hope, and the eager way he clenched his fists, told his soldiers that such a prediction was a good thing.

  *****

  Zeerith Q'Xorlarrin, matron mother of the fifth house, understood the significance of the makeup of the gathering. Triel and Gromph Baenre attended primarily to fill the two vacant spots at the spider-shaped brazier. One of those places rightfully belonged to K'yorl, and since they were gathered to fend off K'yorl, as the avatar of the Spider Queen had bade them, she hadn't been invited.

  The other vacant place, the one filled by Gromph, was normally reserved for Zeerith's closest drow friend, Matron Mother Ghenni'tiroth Tlabbar. None had said it aloud, but Zeerith understood the significance of the Baenre son's presence and of the matron mother's failure to appear.

  K'yorl hated Ghenni'tiroth—that was no secret—and so Ghenni'tiroth had been left open as a sacrifice to delay the intrusions of House Oblodra. These other supposed allies and the goddess they all served had allowed Zeerith's best friend to perish.

  That thought bothered the matron mother for a short while, until she came to realize that she was the third highest-ranking drow in the meeting chamber. If the summoning was successful, if K'yorl and House Oblodra were beaten back, then the hierarchy of the ruling houses would surely shift. Oblodra would fall, leaving vacant the third place, and since Faen Tlabbar was suddenly without a proper matron mother, it was feasible that House Xorlarrin

  could leap past it into that coveted spot.

  Ghenni'tiroth had been given as a sacrifice. Zeerith Q'Xorlarrin smiled widely.

  Such were the ways of the drow.

  Into the brazier went Gromph's prized spider mask, a most magical item, the only one in all of Menzoberranzan that could get someone over the House Baenre web fence. The flames shot into the air, orange and angry green.

  Mez'Barris nodded to Baenre, and the withered old matron mother tossed in the lump of sulphur that the avatar had given her.

  If a hundred excited dwarves had pumped a huge bellows, their fire would not have been more furious. The flames shot straight up in a multicolored column that held the eight watchers fast with its unholy glory.

  "What is this?" came a question from the front of the room, near the only door. "You dare hold a meeting of council without informing House Oblodra?"

  Matron Baenre, at the head of the table and, thus, with her back directly to K'yorl, held up her hand to calm the others gathered about the spider brazier. Slowly she turned to face that most hated drow, and the two promptly locked vicious stares.

  "The executioner does not invite her victim to the block," Baenre said evenly. "She takes her there, or lures her in.»

  Baenre's blunt words made more than a few of the gathered drow uneasy. If K'yorl had been handled more tactfully, some of them might have escaped with their lives.

  Matron Baenre knew better, though. Their only hope, her only hope, was to trust the Spider Queen, to believe with all their hearts that the avatar had not steered them wrongly.

  When K'yorl's first wave of mental energy rolled over Baenre, she, too, began to foster some doubts. She held her ground for some seconds, a remarkable display of will, but then K'yorl overwhelmed her, pushed her back against the table. Baenre felt her feet coming from the floor, felt as if a gigantic, unseen hand had reached out and grabbed her and was now edging her toward the flames.

  "How much grander the call to Lloth will be," K'yorl shrieked happily, "when Matron Baenre is added to the flames!"

  The others in the room, particularly the other five matron mothers, did not know how to react. Mez'Barris put her head down and

  quietly began muttering the words of a spell, praying that Lloth would hear her and grant her this.

  Zeerith and the others watched the flames. The avatar had told them to do this, but why hadn't an ally, a tanar'ri or some other fiend, come through?

  * * * * *

  In the sludge-filled Abyss, perched atop his mushroom throne, Errtu greatly enjoyed the chaotic scene. Even through the scrying device Lloth had prepared for him, the great tanar'ri could feel the fears of the gathered worshippers and could taste the bitter hatred on the lips of K'yorl Odran.

  He liked K'yorl, Errtu decided. Here was one of his own heart, purely and deliciously wicked, a murderess who killed for pleasure, a player of intrigue for no better reason than the fun of the game. The great tanar'ri wanted to watch K'yorl push her adversary into the pillar of flame.

  But Lloth's instructions had been explicit, and her bartered goods too tempting for the fiend to pass up. Amazingly, given the state of magic at the time, the gate was opening, and opening wide.

  Errtu had already sent one tanar'ri, a giant glabrezu, through a smaller gate to act as messenger, but that gate, brought about by the avatar herself, had been tenuous and open for only a fraction of a moment. Errtu had not believed the feat could be duplicated, not now.

  The notion of magical chaos gave the fiend a sudden inspiration. Perhaps the old rules of banishment no longer applied. Perhaps he himself might walk through this opening gate, onto the Material Plane once more. Then he would not need to serve as Lloth's lackey; then he might find the renegade Do'Urden on his own, and, after punishing the drow, he could return to the frozen Northland, where the precious Crenshinibon, the legendary Crystal Shard, lay buried!

  The gate was opened. Errtu stepped in.

  And was summarily rejected, pushed back into the Abyss, the place of his hundred-year banishment.

  Several fiends stalked by the great tanar'ri, sensing the opening, heading for the gate, but snarling Errtu, enraged by the defeat, held them back.

  Let this wicked drow, K'yorl, push Lloth's favored into the flames, the wretched Errtu decided. The gate would remain open with the sacrifice, might even open wider.

  Errtu did not like the banishment, did not like being lackey to any being. Let Lloth suffer; let Baenre be consumed, and only then would he do as the Spider Queen had asked!

  * * * * *

  The only thing that saved Baenre from exactly that fate was the unexpected intervention of Methil, the illithid. The glabrezu had gone to Methil after visiting Jarlaxle, bringing the same prediction that House Baenre would prevail, and Methil, serving as ambassador of his people, made it a point to remain on the winning side.

  The illithid's psionic waves disrupted K'yorl's telepathic attack, and Matron Baenre slumped back to the side of the table.

  K'yorl's eyes went wide, surprised by the defeat—until Methil, who had been standing invisibly and secretly at Matron Baenre's side, came into view.

  Wait for this to end, K'yorl's thoughts screamed at the octopus-headed creature. See who wins and then decide where your alliances lie.

  Methil's assurance that he already knew the outcome did not disturb K'yorl half as much as the sight of the gigantic, batlike wing that suddenly extended from the pillar of flame: a tanar'ri—a true tanar'ri!

  Another glabr
ezu hopped out of the fire to land on the floor between Baenre and her adversary. K'yorl hit it with a psionic barrage, but she was no match for such a creature, and she knew it.

  She took note that the pillar was still dancing wildly, that another fiend was forming within the flames. Lloth was against her! she suddenly realized. All the Abyss seemed to be coming to Matron Baenre's call!

  K'yorl did the only thing she could, became insubstantial once more and fled across the city, back to her house.

  Fiends rushed through the open gate, a hundred of them, and still more. It went on for more than an hour, the minions of Errtu, and, thus, the minions of Lloth, coming to the call of the desperate matron mothers, swooping across the city in frenzied glee to surround House Oblodra.

  Smiles of satisfaction, even open cheers, were exchanged in the meeting room at the back of the Qu'ellarz'orl. The avatar had done as promised, and the future of Lloth's faithful seemed deliciously dark once more.

  Of the eight gathered, only Gromph wore a grin that was less than sincere. Not that he wanted House Oblodra to win, of course, but the male held no joy at the thought that things might soon be as they had always been, that he, for all his power and devotion to the ways of magic, would, above all else, be a mere male once more.

  He took some consolation, as the flames died away and the others began to exit, in noticing that several of the offered items, including his prized spider mask, had not been consumed by the magical flames. Gromph looked to the door, to the matron mothers and Triel, and they were so obsessed with the spectacle of the fiends that they took no notice of him at all.

  Part 3 RESOLUTION

  How I wanted to go to Catti-brie after I realized the dangers ofher sword! How I wanted to stand by her and protect her! Theitem had possessed her, after all, and was imbued with a powerful and obviously sentient magic.

  Catti-brie wanted me by her side — who wouldn't want the supportiveshoulder of a friend with such a struggle looming? — and yet she did notwant me there, could not have me there, for she knew this battle was hers tofight alone.

  I had to respect her conclusion, and in those days when the Time ofTroubles began to end and the magics of the world sorted themselves outonce more, I came to learn that sometimes the most difficult battles are theones we are forced not to fight.

  I came to learn then why mothers and fathers seldom have fingernailsand often carry an expression of forlorn resignation. What agony it must befor a parent in Silverymoon to be told by her offspring, no longer a child,that he or she has decided to head out to the west, to Waterdeep, to sail foradventure along the Sword Coast. Everything within that parent wants toyell out "Stay!" Every instinct within that parent wants to hug the childclose, to protect that child forever. And yet, ultimately, those instincts arewrong.

  In the heart, there is no sting greater than watching the struggles ofone you love, knowing that only through such strife will that person growand recognize the potential of his or her existence. Too many thieves in theRealms believe the formula for happiness lies in an unguarded treasuretrove. Too many wizards seek to circumvent the years of study required fortrue power. They find a spell on a scroll or an enchanted item that is far beyond their understanding, yet they try it anyway, only to be consumed by the powerful magic. Too many priests in the Realms, and too many religious sects in general, ask of themselves and of their congregations only

  humble servitude.

  All of them are doomed to fail in the true test of happiness. There is oneingredient missing in stumbling upon an unguarded treasure hoard; there is one element absent when a minor wizard lays his hands on an arch-mage's staff; there is one item unaccounted for in humble, unquestioning, and unambitious servitude.

  A sense of accomplishment.

  It is the most important ingredient in any rational being's formula ofhappiness. It is the element that builds confidence and allows us to go on toother, greater tasks. It is the item that promotes a sense of self-worth, thatallows any person to believe there is value in life itself, that gives a sense of purpose to bolster us as we face life's unanswerable questions.

  So it was with Catti-brie and her sword. This battle had found her, andshe had determined to fight it. Had I followed my protective instincts, Iwould have refused to aid her in taking on this quest. My protectiveinstincts told me to go to Bruenor, who would have surely ordered the sentient sword destroyed. By doing that, or taking any other course to preventCatti-brie's battle, I would have, in effect, failed to trust in her, failed torespect her individual needs and her chosen destiny, and, thus, I wouldhave stolen a bit of her freedom. That had been Wulfgar's single failure. In his fears for the woman he so dearly loved, the brave and proud barbarianhad tried to smother her in his protective hug.

  I think he saw the truth of his error in the moments before his death. Ithink he remembered then the reasons he loved Catti-brie: her strength andindependence. How ironic it is that our instincts often run exactly opposite from what we truly desire for those we love.

  In the situation I earlier named, the parents would have to let theirchild go to Waterdeep and the Sword Coast. And so it was with Catti-brie.She chose to take her sword, chose to explore its sentient side, perhaps at great personal risk. The decision was hers to make, and once she had made it, I had to respect it, had to respect her. I didn't see her much over the next couple of weeks, as she waged her private battle.

  But I thought of her and worried for her every waking moment, andeven in my dreams.

  Chapter 12 WORTH THE TROUBLES

  "I have tricked tanar'ri to go to your city, Menzoberranzan, and soon I must force them back," the great Errtu roared. "And I cannot even go to this place and join in their havoc, or even to retrieve them!" The balor sat on his mushroom throne, watching the scrying device that showed him the city of drow. Earlier, he was receiving fleeting images only, as this magic, too, struggled against the effects of the strange time. The images had been coming more strongly lately, though, and now the mirrorlike surface was uncloudy, showing a clear scene of House Oblodra, wedged between the fingers of the Clawrift. Fiends great and minor stalked and swooped about the walled compound, banging strong fists against the stone, hurling threats and missiles of rock. The Oblodrans had buttoned the place up tightly, for even with their psionic powers, and the fact that the fiends' magic fared no better than anyone else's, the otherworldly beasts were simply too physically strong, their minds too warped by evil to be much affected by telepathic barrages.

  And they were backed by a united army of drow, lying in wait

  behind the fiendish lines. Hundreds of crossbows and javelins were pointed House Oblodra's way. Scores of drow riding sticky-footed subterranean lizards stalked the walls and ceiling near the doomed house. Any Oblodran that showed her face would be hit by a barrage from every angle.

  "Those same fiends are preventing the third house from being attacked," Errtu snarled at Lloth, reminding the Spider Queen whose army was in control here. "Your minions fear my minions, and rightly so!"

  The beautiful drow, back in the Abyss once more, understood that Errtu's outburst was one part outrage and nine parts bluster. No tanar'ri ever had to be «tricked» into going to the Material Plane, where it might wreak havoc. That was their very nature, the most profound joy in their miserable existence.

  "You ask much, Lady of Spiders," Errtu grumbled on.

  "I give much in return," Lloth reminded him.

  "We shall see.»

  Lloth's red-glowing eyes narrowed at the tanar'ri's continuing sarcasm. The payment she had offered Errtu, a gift that could potentially free the fiend from nearly a century more of banishment, was no small thing.

  "The four glabrezu will be difficult to retrieve," Errtu went on, feigning exasperation, playing this out to the extreme. "They are always difficult!"

  "No more so than a balor," Lloth said in blunt response. Errtu turned on her, his face a mask of hatred.

  "The Time of Troubles nears its end," Lloth said
calmly into that dangerous visage.

  "It has been too long!" Errtu roared.

  Lloth ignored the tone of the comment, understanding that Errtu had to act outraged and overburdened to prevent her from concluding that the tanar'ri owed her something more. "It has been longer to my eyes than to your own, fiend," the Spider Queen retorted.

  Errtu muttered a curse under his smelly breath.

  "But it nears its end," Lloth went on, quietly, calmly. Both she and Errtu looked to the image on the scrying surface just as a great winged tanar'ri soared up out of the Clawrift, clutching a small, wriggling creature in one of its great fists. The pitiful catch

  could not have been more than three feet tall and seemed less than that in the massive fiend's clutches. It wore a ragged vest that did not hide its rust-colored scales, a vest made even more ragged from the tearing of the tanar'ri's clawed grasp.

  "A kobold," Errtu remarked.

  "Known allies of House Oblodra," Lloth explained. "Thousands of the wretches run the tunnels along the chasm walls.»

  The flying tanar'ri gave a hoot, grasped the kobold with its other clawed hand as well, and ripped the squealing thing in half.

  "One less ally of House Oblodra," Errtu whispered, and from the pleased look on the balor's face, Lloth understood Errtu's true feelings about this whole event. The great tanar'ri was living vicariously through his minions, was watching their destructive antics and feeding off the scene.

  It crossed Lloth's mind to reconsider her offered gift. Why should she repay the fiend for doing something it so obviously wanted to do?

  The Spider Queen, never a fool, shook the thoughts from her mind. She had nothing to lose in giving Errtu what she had promised. Her eyes were set on the conquest of Mithril Hall, on forcing Matron Baenre to extend her grasp so that the city of drow would be less secure, and more chaotic, more likely to see inter-house warfare. The renegade Do'Urden was nothing to her, though she surely wanted him dead.