Annihilation (11 page)

“The tanarukks are mostly in the east, then?” Gromph asked.

“As one would expect, Archmage,” the weapons master risked. “They marched from below Hellgate Keep, which lies to our east. The duergar are from Gracklstugh.”

Gromph let a breath out slowly through his nose.

“I never thought I’d live to see the day,” Triel murmured. “Gracklstugh …”

“The tanarukks are more formidable foes,” Gromph went on, ignoring his sister. “Tell me that more than House Hunzrin are holding against them.”

“Barrison Del’Armgo fights well in the south of Donigarten,” Andzrel replied, “against the largest concentration of the Scoured Legion.”

“Mez’Barris will have her heroes,” Triel sighed.

“North?” Gromph asked.

“Barrison Del’Armgo again, with help from the Academy, holds the Clawrift,” replied the weapons master, “mostly east into Eastmyr. The duergar are thin there. There have been reports of illithid incursions—mostly one or two at a time—in the east, from beyond the Wanderways.”

“The flayers sense weakness,” Gromph said. “They’re scavengers. They’ll harry us when they can and disappear entirely when they can’t. Some of them can prove … irritating, but they’ll wait till we’re weaker—if we let ourselves get weaker—before they appear in force.”

Neither Triel nor Andzrel risked comment on that.

“And the other Houses?” asked Gromph.

“They protect themselves,” Triel answered. “They patrol the immediate surrounds of their manors, assist in keeping the peace in the streets, and I’d prefer to believe, they await command.”

“Well,” said Gromph, “I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough. Still, I’d have liked more allies within our own damned city.”

“Tier Breche is with us,” Triel said, “though I doubt I have to tell you that. In Quenthel’s absence, Arach-Tinilith answers only to me. I know you have done well in your return to power at Sorcere, and Melee-Magthere will always fight should one raise a blade against the City of Spiders.”

“Your gold has paid for the mercenaries, I assume,” Gromph said.

Triel shrugged and replied, “Bregan D’aerthe is on extended contract, though the Abyss knows where Jarlaxle’s been. It’ll take every dead duergar’s gold teeth to replenish our coffers in the end, but in the meantime, Bregan D’aerthe act as infiltrators and scouts and are moving forces throughout the city to monitor and support the lesser Houses.”

“Much of what we’ve told you today, Archmage,” Andzrel offered, “came from Bregan D’aerthe reports.”

“Good for them,” Gromph lied.

“Menzoberranzan will stand,” Andzrel declared.

“But not forever,” Triel added.

“Not for long,” said Gromph.

There was a long silence. Gromph spent the time watching the flickering of valuable battle magic being spent against House Agrach Dyrr.

“What will be left?” asked Triel after a time.

“Matron Mother,” Andzrel said, “Archmage, in my opinion the greatest threat from within the city is no longer Agrach Dyrr but Barrison Del’Armgo.”

Gromph lifted an eyebrow and turned to look at the weapons master.

“Even without any of the lesser Houses at their side,” the warrior went on, “they are the greatest threat to the First House’s power. Matron Mother Armgo is already making overtures to many of the lesser Houses, especially Hunzrin and Kenafin.”

“And?” Triel prompted.

“And,” Gromph broke in, finishing on Andzrel’s behalf, “they could bite off Donigarten.”

“Our food supply,” Andzrel added.

Gromph smiled when Triel’s face turned almost gray.

“Yes, well,” the archmage said, “all things in their turn. Barrison Del’Armgo will answer for their ambitions only after I’ve cleaned up a more open insurrection.”

“Dyrr?” Triel didn’t have to ask.

“It’s time for our old friend the lichdrow to die again,” Gromph replied. “This time, permanently.”

Danifae counted the warriors in front of her—eight armed with spears, and a row of a dozen crossbowmen behind them—and waited.

“Welcome to the City of Portals,” one of the spearmen said, his blood-red eyes darting quickly, alertly, between Danifae and Valas. “If you reach for a weapon or begin to cast a spell, we’ll kill you before you get a single breath out.”

Danifae flashed the male a smile and was gratified to see his gaze linger on her. If Valas were going to attack, he would have at that moment. He didn’t, so Danifae found herself in the position of having to trust him again.

“Who are you, where are you from,” the guard asked, “and what is your business in Sschindylryn?”

“I am Valas Hune,” the scout answered. He paused and reached
up slowly to the neck of his
piwafwi
. When he drew his cloak aside, the guard’s eyes fixed on something. Danifae was sure it had to be the insignia of the mercenary company to which Valas was attached. “My business here is to resupply. Give us a day or so to gather what we need, and we’ll be on our way.”

The guard nodded and looked at Danifae.

“And you?” he asked. “You don’t look Bregan D’aerthe.”

Danifae chuckled playfully and replied, “I am Danifae Yauntyrr. And you?”

The guard was puzzled by the question.

“She is a battle-captive in the service of the First Daughter of House Melarn,” Valas answered for her.

Danifae felt her skin tingle with suppressed rage. What kind of scout volunteered such information? Or did he mean to put her in her place by reminding her that while he was free, she was not?

The guard smiled—leered almost—and looked Danifae briefly up and down.

“Melarn?” he said. “Never heard of it.”

“A lesser House,” Valas answered again before Danifae could speak up. “It was destroyed with the others in the fall of Ched Nasad.”

The guard looked at her again and said, “That means you’re free, eh?”

Danifae shrugged, saying nothing. She, unlike Valas, wasn’t about to give away information. The last thing she needed was for anyone to know that she’d come to Sschindylryn to address that very question once and for all.

“We want no trouble with Bregan D’aerthe,” the guard said to Valas. “Get your supplies, then get out. Menzoberranyr are less than popular here.”

“Why would that be?” asked Valas.

The guards visibly relaxed, and half the crossbowmen slipped
the bolts off their weapons and stepped back from the firing line. The spearmen put their weapons up but still stood ready.

“It’s your fault,” the guard replied, “or so they say.”

“What is our fault?” Danifae asked, not certain why she identified herself as Menzoberranyr, having never even been there.

“They say,” the guard said, “that it was a Menzoberranyr who killed Lolth.”

Valas laughed, letting a generous portion of contempt coat the sound.

“Yes, well …” the guard finished. “That’s what they say.”

“This way,” Valas said over his shoulder to Danifae.

The battle-captive nodded, took stock of her belongings, and followed the scout past the guards and toward the wide, open gate into the city proper. As she passed him, Danifae gave the guard captain a playful wink. The male’s jaw opened, but he managed to catch it before it dropped.

When she was certain they were out of earshot of the guards, Danifae drew closer to the Bregan D’aerthe scout. Valas flinched away from her touch then seemed to force himself to relax. Danifae, making careful note of his reaction to her, leaned in very close. With a greater than necessary exhalation of hot air from her husky, hushed voice, Danifae whispered into his ear.

“I’m not going with you,” she told Valas.

“Why not?” he answered, matching her discreet volume but not her flirtatiousness.

“I never enjoyed shopping,” Danifae replied, “and I have errands of my own.”

For a moment it looked to Danifae as if Valas were actually going to argue or at least press her for more information.

“Very well,” he said after a few seconds. “I have a way of calling you when it’s time to go.”

“I have a way of ignoring you if I’m not ready,” she replied.

Valas didn’t respond, though that time Danifae was sure she’d broken through his impenetrable armor. She turned away and stepped into the crowd that was flowing past the columned, temple-like structure that surrounded the gate. Within seconds she had effectively lost herself in the strange city, leaving the scout behind.

The city of Sschindylryn was contained in a single pyramid-shaped void in the solid rock some unfathomable distance below the surface of Faerûn. The pyramid had three sides, each more than two miles long, and the apex was two miles above. Bioluminescent fungus grew in patches all around the smooth outer walls, giving the whole city an eerie, dim yellow ambient light. The drow who called the city home lived in houses constructed of stone and brick—unusual in a dark elf city—that were built on stepped tiers. The outer edges of the city were actually trenches carved into the stone floor of the pyramid. In the center, a sort of huge ziggurat rose up into the cool, still air. There was no physical way in or out of the city. No tunnel connected the cavern to the rest of the Underdark. Sschindylryn was sealed. Locked away.

Except for the gates, and there were thousands of those.

They were everywhere. In only the first few blocks Danifae saw a dozen of them. They led to every corner of the Underdark, onto the World Above, perhaps beyond to the planes and elsewhere. Some were open to the public, left there by no one remembered whom. Others were commercial ventures, offering transport to some other drow city or trade site of the lesser races for a fee. Still others were kept secret, used only by a chosen few. Gangs controlled some, merchant costers controlled more, while the clergy maintained hundreds.

On the narrow streets Danifae passed mostly other dark elves, and all of them seemed, like her, concerned entirely with their own business. They ignored her, and she did likewise. As she walked,
she became increasingly aware that she was in a strange city, alone, looking for a single drow who was very likely still making every effort to hide.

House Agrach Dyrr had been part of the political landscape of Menzoberranzan for more than five thousand years. Only House Baenre was older.

For most of that time, Houses Baenre and Agrach Dyrr had maintained a close relationship. Of course there was never trust, that wasn’t something that existed in any but the must tenuous and rudimentary form in the City of Spiders, but they had had certain arrangements. They shared common interests and common goals. Agrach Dyrr had fulfilled its role in the city’s hierarchy. It went to war with the city, defended itself against rival Houses, destroyed a few from time to time as necessity dictated, and in all things followed the teachings and the whims of the Queen of the Demonweb Pits.

Matron Mother Yasraena Dyrr enjoyed pain. She enjoyed chaos, and she enjoyed the blessings of Lolth. When that last bit went away, things changed.

From their palace on the wide shelf of Qu’ellarz’orl, the Lichdrow Dyrr had stood with his much younger granddaughter and watched the city turn against them. Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate, the lichdrow knew. He had turned against the city, and he had done it with precise and careful timing. He had made the final decision, as he always had in times of greatest peril and greatest opportunity. Yasraena did what she was told, occasionally being made to feel as if it was her idea in the first place, sometimes merely given an order.

Most days, the youthful matron mother was as much in
command of the House as any of the city’s matrons. When it truly counted, though, the lichdrow stepped in.

The palace of House Agrach Dyrr was a ring of nine giant stalagmites that rose from the rocky floor of Qu’ellarz’orl, surrounded by a dry moat crossed at only one point by a wide, defensible bridge. In the center of the ring of stalagmites, behind a square wall of spell-crafted stone, was the House temple. That massive cathedral was more than a symbol to the drow of House Agrach Dyrr—it was a sincere and passionate proclamation of their faith in the Spider Queen.

In the past months, though, the temple had grown as quiet as the goddess it was built to honor.