R.A. Salvatore's War of the Spider Queen: Dissolution, Insurrection, Condemnation (68 page)

“I found out something today, too,” he said quietly.

Ryld opened one eye and looked at the wizard.

“Oh?”

Valas leaned forward on the edge of the bed.

“Have you determined what has happened to the Dark Mother?”

Pharaun chuckled and said, “Not exactly, but I did learn that her disappearance has not been limited to our own race. Other species feel her loss, as well.”

“I don’t know whether to consider that good news or not,” the scout said, sitting back again.

“Nor do I,” Pharaun agreed, “but I have also learned that something is sealing us out from the Demonweb Pits. I have attempted to scry there in hopes of learning something of the goddess’s condition—indeed, if she yet exists—and I could not penetrate inside. A barrier protects it and keeps me, and others, outside.”

“A barrier? You’re speaking now of things I have no experience with,” Ryld said. “What kind of barrier?”

“A potent one. I was nearly blasted into powder for my troubles,” Pharaun said, a wry smile on his face. “I have tried it before, even spoke with Archmage Gromph before we left Menzoberranzan. He has experienced similar problems.”

“It sounds as though whatever the Spider Queen is doing, she does not wish to be disturbed,” Valas said.

“If it’s her who’s doing it,” Ryld countered. “Perhaps another god has erected the barrier to prevent us from seeing her.”

“Exactly!” Pharaun said eagerly. “Surely someone knows—or can find out—what we cannot discover.”

“I thought that’s what our mission was . . . to discover Lolth’s fate,” Valas said. “That’s why we’ve come here.”

“Yes, you are correct,” Pharaun said, nodding, “though this business with storehouses of magic items seems to have become a higher priority. In the interest of bringing us back to the more fascinating part of our little expedition, I have an idea. I want to enlist help from the outside.”

“Help? From whom?” Ryld was sitting up, too.

The wizard began to pace again as he explained his plan to his companions.

“A mere mortal, even someone with my acumen, can’t penetrate the veil that has settled over the Demonweb Pits. Something is obviously intent on keeping us out. We need to enlist someone else’s help in finding out what’s going on there. Someone not of our own ilk.”

Both of the other drow were watching the wizard intently, doubt plain on their faces.

“You can’t mean . . .” Ryld said.

“Another god.”

The weapons master seemed aghast. Valas said nothing but might have been contemplating the possibilities of such an act—and the ramifications.

“Perhaps a higher being,” Pharaun continued, “especially one in close proximity to the Demonweb Pits—from one of the other layers of the Abyss—could, or possibly even already has, discovered more than we can possibly hope to on our own. Maybe we can convince one of them to tell us what has transpired or is transpiring inside.

“Not directly, of course,” Pharaun added hastily, “but through an intermediary . . . a follower.”

“You play a dangerous and foolish game, Pharaun Mizzrym,” Ryld said, shaking his head. “The Dark Mother may find such a course blasphemous, a betrayal to the faith.”

“Or she may congratulate me on being so innovative, so willing to examine and explore, whatever the risk. The other choice is to admit defeat, return to Menzoberranzan, and sit on our hands as our way of life ends.”

“Quenthel will not be happy with this plan,” Valas cautioned. “She will most likely consider it a personal affront to her.”

“Yes, well, Quenthel is too focused on lining House Baenre’s coffers to appreciate the larger picture before us. I’m beginning to wonder how wise a choice she was to lead this expedition. Don’t stare at me like that, Ryld. . . . You’ve questioned more than a few of her decisions since we departed.”

“Never openly. Not to her face.”

“She’s not here now, is she? My friend, I play with fire, I know that, but if I don’t act where my heart lies then I’ve failed our race far worse than she. I’m content to steer things from behind the scenes, letting her believe she controls our tempo, our course, but such a method requires patience, more than a little frustration, at times, and the possibility of being thwarted or exposed. It would stand a much greater chance of success if the three of us worked together to maneuver her. I could use your help.”

Valas had his chin in his hand, thinking. Ryld shook his head, lines of worry creasing his brow.

“You fight against millennia of tradition and habit, Pharaun,” the weapons master said. “I can’t say that I welcome the idea of returning to Menzoberranzan no better off than when we left, but usurping the high priestess’s authority might very well see our heads on the parapets of House Baenre.”

“The wizard has already been at it for a couple of tendays . . .” Valas said.

“Perhaps, but until now, it was simply him against her; he hadn’t brought us into it.”

Pharaun clicked his tongue in exasperation.

“Do you honestly think that she won’t hold us all responsible, regardless of the relative levels of involvement?” the Master of Sorcere asked. “She will blame you simply because you are a male, Master Argith.”

Slowly, Ryld nodded.

“I suppose you’re right,” he said. “It still doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“I’m not suggesting we bind her with cord and throw her in a box, Weapons Master. All I’m asking is that you support me when I make a suggestion, that you back me, however subtly, when she and I disagree. Help me convince her that moving forward, rather than back to Menzoberranzan, is the wiser course of action.”

“You make sense,” Ryld replied, “but right now, your idea is just that. We must find someone willing to serve as the conduit. Do you know of any such creature?”

“I do,” Valas said quietly.

Pharaun crouched down in front of the scout and asked, “You do? Who?”

“There’s a priest I know, a follower of Vhaeraun.”

“Vhaeraun,” Ryld said in a clipped tone. “I doubt we’ll receive any aid from him
.
”

“Perhaps, but Tzirik is actually an old associate of mine,” Valas replied.

At Ryld’s surprised look, the scout added, “When you wander the wilds of the Underdark as much as I have, you have to be decidedly more pragmatic than in the cozy confines of Menzoberranzan. Tzirik Jaelre owes me a favor. If we can get to him, I think he might help us.”

Valas turned to Pharaun and added, “Assuming, of course, that you have a notion of what he should do once we get there.”

Pharaun replied, “I will when we find this priest. In the meantime, you keep this Tzirik Jaelre to yourself until I have words with Quenthel. At the right moment, mention that you know him, and we’ll show her the wisdom of seeing this through to the end.”

“I only hope the end comes later, rather than sooner,” Ryld said grimly.

Halisstra couldn’t breathe. The blood pounded in her ears, making it difficult to hear what Matron Mother Zauvirr was saying. She didn’t want to listen, anyway.

“I wish it wasn’t true, Halisstra, I really do, but there’s no getting around it. We caught her in the act, and when we confronted her, she wouldn’t surrender. Your mother tried to flee, and the soldiers just did their jobs. By the time I got to her, I couldn’t help her.”

Halisstra shook her head, trying to rid her thoughts of the hated words. Her mother, dead. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be!

“No!” Halisstra cried out, pushing Danifae away. Her battle captive, all flimsy silks, was reaching out to her, trying to comfort her. “You’re lying!”

She struggled to spin free, to get out of the room, but she found all avenues of escape cut off. Matron Mother Zauvirr’s troops seemed to be standing idly by, as though they were merely guests in someone else’s home, but they were strategically placed about the room to guard the doors. She looked around for some of her own family’s soldiers, but there were none to be found. Matron Mother Zauvirr had planned well, delivering her devastating news from a position of strength.

Wilting, Halisstra sank down to the floor, unsure what to do. Only Danifae settled down next to her, making soothing noises and trying to reach out to calm her. She didn’t want to be calmed. She wanted to slap the other drow, smack her across the room, but she knew better. If she had any hope at all of surviving this horrid situation, she would need the battle captive’s aid. She had to think.

It wasn’t so much that her mother was dead. Of course that didn’t bother her. In other circumstances, she would have delighted in it, but there weren’t any other circumstances. Her mother had been caught in an act of open treason against the city, or so Ssipriina claimed, and Halisstra had no way to refute it, despite the fact that it was a ludicrous notion. Her mother would never risk herself so openly, especially not aiding foreigners, regardless of how good the relationship was between their Houses. Not to mention the fact that smuggling the goods from Black Claw Mercantile out of the city would ruin House Melarn. There was nothing to gain from it and so much to lose.

Of course, when Ssipriina arrived in House Melarn’s audience chamber, sat right down in Drisinil’s throne and made her revelation, the unspoken implication was there. Drisinil was not acting alone. When the rest of the council learned of it, they would likely find Halisstra just as guilty of the crimes as her mother. They would imprison or execute everyone in the family, dissolve House Melarn, and divvy up its assets. Unless she found a way to counter it.

She had no doubt that Ssipriina was behind it all, was somehow benefiting from the destruction of House Melarn, but in order to make it work, she would have to eliminate Halisstra, too. Halisstra had to move fast, but she knew that the other drow wasn’t about to let the First Daughter of House Melarn out of her sight. Her only chance to get help was to send Danifae, and that would only happen if Ssipriina Zauvirr believed the battle captive was more interested in saving her own skin than in supporting her mistress.

Halisstra glanced over at Danifae, taking a deep breath to calm herself, then began to flash signs at her servant, working secretively so that only her companion could see.

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.”