R.A. Salvatore's War of the Spider Queen: Dissolution, Insurrection, Condemnation (62 page)

“The city is about to boil over,” Pharaun said when he was finished casting. He took a seat on the couch and avoided looking directly at Quenthel.

He knows he’s about to catch it, the high priestess thought.

“What do you mean? Who’s been watching you? And what were you doing out there, anyway? Didn’t I instruct you to get some rest and meet back here before the evening meal?”

“Actually, you did not, Mistress,” Pharaun answered as the other two found places to lean against the far wall. “You said that
you
were going to rest, and you specifically told us to leave you alone. Under such circumstances, I didn’t see the wisdom in disturbing you with trivialities like a refreshing walk.”

Quenthel sighed. Once again the wizard was twisting her words around, using them to his advantage.

“As for who was watching us, I can’t say. It might have been nothing, just a curious mage checking out some unusual-looking characters as a matter of course and moving on. Then again, it could have been someone specifically worried about us. I didn’t see who was scrying. When I returned, I pulled out my grimoires and studied a spell that would detect scrying, though not stop it from happening. If I give a signal, everyone must be silent.”

Quenthel nodded once, curtly, knowing that the wizard was taking wise precautions.

“Very well,” she said. “What did you discover while you were strolling through the city that makes you believe it is about to ‘boil over’?”

“It’s true,” Valas said quietly from his corner. “The lesser races are growing restless. We witnessed an attack today.”

“So what?” the high priestess responded. “They squabble among themselves all the time back home.”

“Yes, but this was a gang of them, assaulting a priestess,” Ryld said. He was glowering, though at whom, Quenthel was not sure. “They were bold enough to kill her in front of everyone in an open plaza.”

“They would dare?” It was Faeryl, sitting on the edge of the bed, her red eyes glittering with anger. “And you did nothing?”

“Truth be told, she was quite inebriated,” Pharaun said, reclining on the couch. “Still, she provided us with the proof we needed. Ched Nasad’s clergy suffers the same, ah . . . challenges that you do, Mistress.”

Quenthel had folded her arms beneath her breasts and moved to stand in front of the wizard.

“You did nothing to aid her?” she asked, turning her gaze toward the other two males, watching as they looked away, some notion of guilt on their faces.

Pharaun shrugged and said, “To have interfered would have only drawn attention to the fact that we were in the city, Mistress. If we are to continue to investigate, we must maintain our inconspicuousness. Besides,” he added, leaning forward again, “she was pleading for Lolth to return to her, right there in the open courtyard. She had clearly lost her resolution and was not, in my most humble opinion, fit to serve the goddess.”

“In your—!” Faeryl seethed. “The opinion of a mere male is counted upon for very little in most issues. In the matters of the sisterhood, it matters not at all!”

She stood, taking a step toward the wizard. With a gesture from Quenthel, Jeggred was instantly between them. The ambassador shrank back from her one-time tormentor.

“Faeryl, my dear, in this you are usually correct,” Quenthel said in her most soothing voice. It was one she rarely used, but in this instance she believed it was warranted. For his part, Pharaun gaped at her, which made her smile. “But, my dear, think on it,” the high priestess continued. “The wizard is actually correct, though he may have stumbled upon this conclusion accidentally, addled with brandy though his mind seems to be. I understand your fears, but you must not let them eat away at your logic. If a priestess loses her faith in such a public spectacle, does she do her sisterhood any service?”

Faeryl shook her head as she backed away from Jeggred, returning to her spot on the bed.

“No, of course not,” she mumbled at last. “She shames us all with her cowardice.”

“Precisely,” Quenthel said, nodding sagely, “and as foolish as it was for them to be out and about in the first place, these three silly boys would have only caused more harm to our progress if they had made a spectacle of themselves as well.”

“Forgive my impudence, Mistress Quenthel,” Faeryl said, her tone dreary. “I have returned home to find my city on the brink of implosion, where thralls dare to assault priestesses in open markets. As you love Menzoberranzan, your city and homeland, so I love Ched Nasad and do not wish to see her come to this end. I forgot myself in a moment of emotion.”

Quenthel dismissed the apology with a wave of her hand.

“Understandable, in this time of crisis,” she said, “but you must learn to control that emotion if we are to move forward.”

“Do I take it, then, that you believe there is still more to be uncovered?” Pharaun asked.

“Perhaps,” the high priestess answered, pacing once more. “I am willing to hear what the rest of you think, before I make my decision.”

It was Valas who spoke first.

“I think it’s unsafe to remain in the city for long, Mistress,” the diminutive scout said. “We have discovered what we came here to learn, and I think it would be wise to return to Menzoberranzan before riots fill the streets and we get caught up in another slave revolt, or worse.”

“I agree with Valas,” Ryld added. “It is clear to me that the clerics here have handled the vanishing of Lolth less well than you and yours back home. There is little they can do for us.”

Quenthel looked to Pharaun, knowing he would have something completely different and unorthodox in mind.

Pharaun shifted a bit, eyeing the other two males before saying, “I think we might do better to investigate further. Valas opened my eyes to another possible avenue of study, one that I would like to take advantage of. There are other races who venerate the Dark Mother besides drow, and it would behoove us to discover whether or not they, too, suffer her loss.”

Quenthel nodded and said, “An interesting idea, but not one of much practicality. We are not loved by many others, and I doubt that those who worship Lolth would too freely impart such secretive information to us. Notice how we haven’t been too forthcoming ourselves, even to the dark elves of our sister city. However, as there is still business I consider unfinished here, we will not be going just yet.”

“Yes, precisely,” Pharaun replied. “While you’re busy with all that, I plan to at least look into my theory. I think I might know of a way to confirm it by tomorrow.”

“I have other work for you tomorrow,” Quenthel said, giving the wizard a cold gaze. “Faeryl, Jeggred, and I shall pay a visit to the storehouses of Black Claw Mercantile and take what rightfully belongs to House Baenre while the three of you find a means to transport it back. I intend to get out of the city with those goods as quickly as possible. The caravans are long overdue in Menzoberranzan, and we are here to make sure due payment is made.”

Pharaun scowled briefly, and Quenthel was expecting an argument, but the wizard merely stood, nodding again.

Pharaun was surprised when Quenthel asked him to remain behind for a moment after dismissing the rest of the group, along with specific instructions to Jeggred to keep an eye on Faeryl, instructions that made the ambassador actually tremble. The wizard stood silently as Quenthel closed the door, then he cocked an eyebrow at her when she asked him if his detection spells were still in place.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, they are,” the mage responded. “The divination should remain in place for a full day.”

“Good,” the high priestess said, nodding in satisfaction. “You’re pretty talented with divining information, are you not?”

Pharaun could not help but grin but sat on the couch as he spread his hands ingenuously, wondering why she, of all drow, would pay him a compliment.

“I manage to get by,” he said.

“I want you to do something for me,” Quenthel said, biting her lip.

Pharaun tipped his head to one side, surprised, for it was not at all like her, especially in recent tendays, to pay him a compliment, much less ask a favor of him.

We are indeed a long way from Menzoberranzan, he thought wryly.

It would give the wizard leverage if he could perform a genuine task for her, but of course the first notion that popped into his head was the prospect of being played. Shrugging, he motioned for her to speak further.

After a lengthy pause, the high priestess said, “I want you to determine the identity of someone.”

“ ‘Someone?’ ” Pharaun asked. “Surely you have more for me to work with?”

“Yes . . .” Quenthel answered, biting her lip again, “someone who was trying to kill me.”

Pharaun sat upright on the couch, looking directly at the female in front of him.

“Kill you?”

He was surprised, not because it was so inconceivable that Quenthel was the target of an attack—merely being the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith brought with it a host of enemies—but because she had decided to trust him enough with this confidence and the task. If that was indeed what she really wanted. Maybe she was just trying to occupy his time, keep him from something else. A hundred possibilities swirled in his head.

“Someone back in Menzoberranzan sent several demons after me,” Quenthel said. “Sent them right into the Academy. Fortunately, my prowess was sufficient to fend off the attacks, but I would like to put a stop to them before we return. It is a waste of both the lives of my charges and the magic I have been forced to consume in the effort.”

Pharaun nodded, thinking. Someone powerful enough to bend demons to his will had to come from Sorcere, he reasoned. Certainly, plenty of mages in the school of magic had the wherewithal, but how many of them were so interested in eliminating Quenthel Baenre?

“I will look into it,” the Master of Sorcere said. “If I can determine who sent the fiends in your direction, you will be the first to know it.”

“Good,” Quenthel said. “You will tell no one of this, not even the other members of our expedition.”

“Of course not, Mistress,” Pharaun replied. “This issue is between the two of us, and the two of us only.”

“Very well,” the high priestess said, indicating that the meeting was at an end. “Ferret out my enemy, and when we return to Menzoberranzan in triumph, I will make certain you are duly honored for your part. Your future at Tier Breche will be as bright as Narbondel.”

Pharaun bowed low as a gesture of thanks.

If by that you mean I will glow with the flame of a thousand of your killing spells, he thought, then we shall see.

“I look forward to the accolades, Mistress Quenthel,” the mage said aloud, and with that he pulled the door open for her and followed her out to attend to the evening meal with the others.

Gromph sat at his bone desk, mulling over his inability to peer into the Demonweb where Lolth resided. None of his usual scrying spells had been successful, and he was growing irritated. He was considering ways to get around this dilemma when the message arrived. It was a mere whisper, but Gromph nonetheless recognized Pharaun Mizzrym’s magically transmitted voice.

Reached Ched Nasad. City in chaos; matron mothers ruling in name only. Investigating new possibility, more information next communication. Quenthel to visit Black Claw tomorrow.

Gromph’s mouth tightened at the mention of his sister.

Hopefully, she will not come back, he thought.

The archmage knew of the spell the other wizard was using to communicate, and he was aware that he could whisper an answer to his counterpart. Unfortunately, he had not prepared for this. Thinking quickly, he whispered a few instructions.

“Focus attention on gathering information to aid our own situation. Keep me apprised of all new possibilities. Report on success at Black Claw with next—

“—contact,” Gromph finished, but he knew that the spell had winked out before he’d managed to utter the last word. He shook his head, disgruntled, but he knew the Mizzrym was clever enough to figure out what he meant, regardless. Whether he would follow those instructions or not was an entirely different matter.

The Baenre wizard sat back in his chair, contemplating for a moment, pondering what condition the expedition team was likely to be in. He especially wondered how his sister fared and if the strain of his own attacks, coupled with the journey, had taken their toll. He certainly hoped so.

He suspected that she and Pharaun were clashing on a regular basis. The wizard was too independent, too full of himself to know when to placate the high priestess, and she had been too long inside the Academy, too used to getting her own way, unwilling to listen to advice, no matter how reasonable.

That’s my sister, the archmage thought, frowning.

It often seemed to Gromph as if both of his sisters made poor decisions for no other purpose than to spite others. Even if Quenthel did survive her journey, Gromph thought she might very well be ripe for the slaughter when she returned.
If
she returned. If Quenthel were to lead the expedition into disaster in Ched Nasad, it would certainly be to Gromph’s advantage. He could be rid of both her and the Mizzrym fop in one very charming blow. Yet, the fate of Menzoberranzan might very well rest on their shoulders. Was sending them off together the wisest choice?

Still uncertain what his next step would be regarding his own investigations of Lolth’s domain, but with a whole new set of issues to deal with, Gromph arose from behind his bone desk and hurried to find his sister.

Triel scowled slightly when she saw Gromph enter the audience chamber. It was not a time for public petitioning, and though her brother was hardly some common supplicant, she had hoped to avoid any visitations for a while. The matron mother straightened herself in the overly large throne as her brother approached. The archmage bowed low and stepped close, further irritating the matron mother. She liked everyone to keep a little distance.

Gromph kept his voice low, leaning in so as to nearly whisper, “Triel, I have news.”

Triel doubted the guards outside, flanking the doors, were going to hear a normal conversation, but her brother had not become Archmage of Menzoberranzan through carelessness. She inclined her head to listen.