R.A. Salvatore's War of the Spider Queen: Dissolution, Insurrection, Condemnation (80 page)

“We struggle to see inside the Demonweb Pits,” he explained, “but perhaps another god would not suffer the same difficulty. In this instance, with the proper sacrifices and deferential behavior, we might just be able to ask for a little audience in order to find out.”

“Few of his ilk would even consider helping us,” Quenthel said, waving her hand in dismissal, “and we know of none to even ask.”

As Quenthel turned her back on him during her pacing, Pharaun looked over at Valas and nodded in encouragement.

Tell her,
he signed.

Taking a deep breath and nodding, Valas said, “I know one.”

Quenthel turned to face the diminutive scout.

“What?”

“I know a priest of Vhaeraun,” Valas replied. “An old acquaintance of mine, Tzirik Jaelre. I think he would be willing.”

“Really,” Quenthel said, eyeing Pharaun and Valas alike, as though suspecting that the two were collaborating. “What makes you think he would help us?”

The mage carefully studied the tabletop in front of him.

She is too clever for her own good, he thought, knowing that if he admitted his foreknowledge, Quenthel was as likely as not to dismiss the whole idea just to spite him.

“He owes me a favor,” Valas replied. “At the very least, he owes me enough to hear us out, even if he refuses. I don’t think he’ll refuse.”

“How convenient. Pharaun?”

The wizard looked up, pretending to be thinking about something else.

“Hmm? Oh, yes. Well, it is very convenient that Valas knows someone who fits the bill. I wish you’d said something earlier,” he said to the scout, “but I guess we can’t all conceive of these flashes of brilliance. If Valas vouches for his friend then I say, what do we have to lose?”

Quenthel opened her mouth, possibly to retort, by the look on her face, but she never got the words out. A shock wave far stronger than any they had felt previously coursed through the House, knocking them and most of the furniture over.

“By the Dark Mother!” Halisstra screamed, stumbling against a wall. “The whole House is coming down!”

Ssipriina Zauvirr and several guests stood atop an observation tower overlooking House Zauvirr. Leaning against the balustrade, she stared out over Ched Nasad. Her abode was not far from House Melarn, but in that direction, the matron mothers could see very little but thick smoke. Despite the obscuring clouds, the fighting around House Melarn still raged, and the sound of it reached the matron mothers even high on the tower.

“This has gotten out of control,” Umrae D’Dgttu said grimly, standing beside Ssipriina. “Your agent said nothing of this stoneburning fire when we agreed to this plan.”

“Yes,” Ulviirala Rilynt chimed in, pacing back and forth behind them, her numerous bracelets, rings, and necklaces clanking with each step. “I dislike the idea of so much destruction, especially right now.”

“Nonsense,” Nedylene Zinard scolded, also leaning against the railing very casually but with her back to the unfolding scene of ruin. She seemed more interested in her lacquered fingernails than in the activity around her. “We knew going into this that we might have to be aggressive. If we are to remake this city to our liking, now is the time to act, and we can let nothing stand in our way. Not the other Houses and not our own misgivings. Sometimes you have to break a few lizard eggs to make an omelet. Sometimes you have to kill a few slaves to win the day.”

“Perhaps,” Umrae D’Dgttu said, her whip-thin frame belying her puissance as the most powerful cleric among them, “but this is unnecessary. You should not have summoned us to install you as a new member of the Council until you eliminated
all
of the Menzoberranyr. Allowing that wizard to weave his lies did not help your cause.”

ShriNeerune Hlaund snorted. “The wizard’s lies were inconsequential. Ssipriina was a fool to send her mercenaries out so prematurely.”

“I did not do that!” Ssipriina retorted. “Someone else gave them the signal before it was time. I still held out hope that we could resolve the dissolution of House Melarn bloodlessly. These fire pots were not my idea either. The gray dwarves procured them from somewhere else without my knowledge.”

“So you’re saying that you don’t even have control over your own House?” ShriNeerune sneered. “And you expect us to continue to back you? I should have known better than to support a merchant House.”

Ssipriina’s fists clenched, and she dearly wanted to strike the dark elf belittling her, but she held them at her sides.

“I’d be careful, if I were you,” she snapped, staring coldly at the offending drow. “I’m still the one those grays answer to, and right now, we’re winning. You could find yourself on the other side of the battle very quickly.”

“Enough,” Umrae said, stepping between the two of them. “What’s done is done. Now is the time to fight, not argue. Ssipriina, did you bring it?”

Ssipriina kept her stare steadily on ShriNeerune’s face for a moment longer, her eyes narrow in anger, but then she turned away. “Yes, of course,” she answered. “I have it right here.”

“Then let’s do this,” the thin matron mother said, motioning for the five of them to gather together. “It’s time to claim our legacy.”

Ssipriina nodded and produced a small bundle wrapped in black silk. Undoing the covering, she revealed a crystalline statue of a spider, as black as darkness itself, broken into several pieces. The head and the abdomen were separated, as were two sets of four legs, one for each side of the figurine. The five matron mothers gathered around as Ssipriina held the cloth in the palms of her hands, the collection of parts sitting atop it, stretching her arms out for them to see.

“It has been many years,” Nedylene said, reaching out with her lacquered nails and lifting one set of legs to examine them. “The city will tremble before our might. Let us begin.”

“Hold them steady, Ssipriina,” Umrae warned.

She took hold of the abdomen of the statue. One by one, the other three matron mothers each took up a part. They looked from one to another, and finally, when Umrae nodded, they fitted the pieces together, making the figurine whole.

“Quickly, now!” Umrae hissed, and Ssipriina wasted no time re-wrapping the completed statue in the cloth.

Already, the matron mothers could see that the bundle was squirming, growing larger.

“Hurry!” ShriNeerune hissed. “Throw it!”

Ssipriina did. She reached back and hurled the bundle out into the void, as hard as she could, and as one the five matron mothers watched the wiggling cloth tumble away from House Zauvirr.

The cloth fell away, and the assembled drow gasped as one. The statue had transformed into a living thing, a spider as black as the crystal it was born from, and it was growing rapidly in size. In the blink of an eye, it was the size of a rothé, and as it disappeared past the side of the web street it was still growing.

Ssipriina watched, awed, as the creature shot forth a string of webbing at the street, attaching a line to anchor itself as it fell. Then it was gone, vanished from their vantage point.

The five dark elves waited breathlessly, hoping to catch another glimpse of the thing they had created. The strand of webbing had jerked taut and visibly vibrated as it dropped straight down. Obviously, the spider was still attached to it. For a moment, there was nothing to see, though all five matron mothers strained to do so, anyway.

When the first black leg stabbed into view, feeling for a foothold on the web street, Ssipriina felt her heart skip a beat. The appendage was longer than she was tall. Slowly, delicately, the spider lifted itself into view, and all five matron mothers took an involuntary step back from the balustrade, even though their creation was dozens of yards away from them. It was as large as the street was wide.

“By the Dark Mother,” someone breathed. “It’s magnificent!”

The giant spider righted itself atop the street, and Ssipriina could hear the screams of those below, screams of terror as the spider was spotted. It began to scurry in the other direction, toward the masses of soldiers still fighting several streets away.

“By the Abyss,” Umrae groaned.

“What? What is it?” Nedylene asked, worry in her voice.

“There is no link,” Umrae replied, her eyes closed in concentration. “I can’t control it.”

Halisstra could feel her sense of impending dread growing. While House Melarn had not collapsed all together, as she had so direly predicted back in her rooms, it had certainly shaken violently more than once, and to her senses, familiar with every hallway, chamber, and nuance of the dwelling, it seemed to lean very slightly to one side. As impossible to fathom as the idea was, Halisstra wondered if the place was still stable. She wanted desperately to get outside and see for herself just what was happening in the city. The drow couldn’t imagine violence so potent as to be able to physically disturb House Melarn.

The dark elf priestess was leading the others toward her mother’s chambers, where she was certain Quenthel’s personal belongings had been taken after the Mistress of the Academy had been imprisoned. Though she would have some competition from Aunrae Nasadra, Ssipriina Zauvirr would certainly claim much of House Melarn’s bounty for herself, including the high priestess’s personal items, to keep as trophies of her affront to the city of Menzoberranzan, if nothing else. It remained to be seen if everything Quenthel Baenre had in her possession upon arrival in the city was still there.

The more she thought about the actions of Ssipriina and the other matron mothers, the more incensed Halisstra grew. Beyond the consequences of turning on House Melarn, they were potentially offending the most powerful House in Menzoberranzan. Plus, the course of action they had taken seemed to Halisstra to be a symbolic thumbing of the nose at the very idea of even
trying
to discover what was going on with Lolth.

At least Quenthel and the others are trying to figure something out, she’d told herself more than once since her entanglement with them. Lolth might value devotion, but Halisstra didn’t believe the goddess expected her servants to sit back and wait for her to come save them, even if they showed overzealous dedication or sacrificed a thousand gray dwarves.

Truthfully, Halisstra had found herself wondering just what Lolth wanted.

Halisstra passed through a large intersection and turned down a new pathway, one even more lavishly decorated, if that were possible, with plush carpeting, murals, and images of House Melarn triumphs. They were entering Drisinil’s personal quarters, and Halisstra was fearful that a large contingent of House Zauvirr guards would be posted to protect the chambers, insurrection outside or not. The dark elf ’s concerns were well founded, for as she rounded a corner, she spotted a squadron of troops milling about, blocking access to the door beyond, which led into Drisinil’s private residence.

“What are you doing down here?” Halisstra demanded, hoping to throw the soldiers off-balance with her commanding tone. “You are needed on the parapets at once!”

“I don’t think so,” the sergeant said, eyeing the motley group following the First Daughter as he raised his sword and pointed it at her. “We received word that the traitor had escaped, and now you appear right here, conveniently for us. I’m afraid we have orders to kill you and anyone aiding you.”

The soldiers fanned out, brandishing their weapons as they advanced.

Halisstra’s first instinct was to bring her mace up to defend herself, but her hand was empty, for Quenthel had not yet permitted her to rearm herself. Danifae, who was at Halisstra’s side, was no longer bound, but she had no weapon, either. Danifae did, however, carry a small knapsack with some of their other belongings. Quenthel had agreed to let them stop at Halisstra’s chambers and pack a few things before departing, for if the House continued to thrash about like it had, there was no telling when they might have to evacuate, and there would be no better chance later.

Out of the corner of her eye, Halisstra saw her attendant falter a step, too, but before the soldiers could close the gap, a blur of yellowish-white fur flashed between the two drow, slamming into the front rank of troops with a deep, unsettling snarl and a whirl of arms and claws. There was a sickening sound of rending flesh before Halisstra realized that the draegloth, Quenthel’s personal bodyguard, was the source of the carnage.

Halisstra’s gasp of surprise came only after three of the soldiers, including the sergeant, went down screaming before the onslaught of the creature, their bodies horribly mangled and their blood splattered everywhere. Several other soldiers began to surround the draegloth, trying to stay clear of the fiend’s savage claws, but at the same time looking for ways to press the attack. Jeggred crouched, watching his multiple foes as they swarmed around him, lashing out with their swords but unwilling to get in close enough to do any good. A handful were already backing out of the fray, producing hand crossbows.

Another figure darted past Halisstra, and a third, and she settled back against the wall as Ryld and Valas entered the fight. The larger of the two, whom she had found striking when they first came face to face, was wielding his greatsword in a manner she found comforting. The blade seemed light and easy in his hands as he carved half the face off of one soldier and spun to swipe through the midsection of a second enemy in the same motion. The diminutive one, on the other hand, seemed content to slink up behind one of the drow soldiers still trying to find an opening inside Jeggred’s deadly reach. The guard never heard or felt Valas coming, and when the scout planted his kukri into the small of the soldier’s back, a flash of energy accompanied the stroke. The soldier arched his back in agony and crumpled to the ground as Valas pulled his blade free and stepped aside, disappearing into the shadows again.

“Get out of the way, foolish girl, and let them do their work,” Quenthel snapped at Halisstra from behind.

The daughter of House Melarn glanced back over her shoulder to where the high priestess was standing. She saw the wizard producing some odd ingredient or another, which she knew meant he was preparing to fling a spell. In front of him, a rapier seemed to dance of its own accord in the air, as though it was defending him from any foes who might try to get close to him. She pressed herself against the wall to allow him ample room then sidestepped her way back to where Quenthel waited. On the opposite side of the passage, Danifae was doing the same.