Extinction

Chapter Thirty-six

Gromph waited in the great chamber of House Baenre’s temple, watching through Kyorli’s eyes as members of the House guard dragged in prisoners, bound at the ankle and wrist, for execution. A company of soldiers from House Agrach Dyrr had attempted to break out of their compound after House Baenre pulled its troops away to fight the tanarukks, but fortunately soldiers of House Xorlarrin had been able to capture them. House Baenre had claimed its share of the resulting prisoners, who were being “sacrificed” in the temple—for all the good it would do. With the goddess silent, did it really matter?

As yet another captive from House Agrach Dyrr was hustled into the temple—one, unlike the others, not too badly damaged—Gromph stepped into the path of the House guard who was dragging him in and held up a hand. The guard came to an immediate and obedient halt.

“Yes, Archmage?”

Gromph squatted, bringing Kyorli down to the level of the prisoner. Using the rat’s eyesight, he stared into the eyes of the captive, who glared defiantly back at him.

Yes. They might just do.

“This captive is not to be exec—sacrificed,” he told the guard. “Take him to Sorcere, instead, and deliver him to Master Nauzhror. Tell the master that I require the battle-captive … for my own purposes.”

From deeper in the temple—behind the adamantine doors that led to Lolth’s inner temple—came a high, sharp scream, followed by a drow voice pleading. Slaves, meanwhile, carried the body of the last soldier to have been executed past the spot where Gromph stood and flung it outside at the feet of a riding lizard. A moment later Gromph heard a crunching, gulping noise—the sound of the lizard enjoying its victory feast.

The prisoner looked back and forth between the body being consumed by the lizard and Gromph, as if trying to decide which was the lesser evil.

“Thank you, Archmage,” the Dyrr cousin said. “I’ll serve you well.”

Gromph smiled and said, “Perhaps you will. Part of you, anyway.” Then, standing, he addressed the guard. “Take him away.”

As he waited for the “sacrifices” to end, Gromph craned his head back and squinted up at the temple ceiling. Using Kyorli’s eyesight, he could see movement—the quick scurrying of the spiders whose webs filled the great dome above—but no detail. The webs were a white haze, their lines indistinct. Kyorli could see only a limited distance. Rats relied more upon smell and whisker touch than they did on eyesight.

Gromph would have to be careful. Triel had learned from Andzrel about what had happened to Gromph. But for the time being she had been fooled by Gromph’s assurance that the potions had fully restored his vision. Like the other nobles of House Baenre, she took no notice of Kyorli—the familiar often rode on Gromph’s shoulder—but if she learned that the Archmage of Menzoberranzan was blind, she could deem him weak. And the weak—in House Baenre, as in all the noble Houses of Menzoberranzan—were swiftly dispensed with.

Keeping that in mind, Gromph turned as he heard footsteps approaching from behind the adamantine doors. Looking through Kyorli’s eyes, he picked Triel out from among the priestesses who fanned out into the great chamber.

“Matron Mother,” he said, bowing deeply. “I have news. Good news.”

Triel strode over to where he stood. Whiskers tickled Gromph’s cheek as Kyorli strained forward, sniffing eagerly. Gromph saw lines or red crisscrossing the matron mother’s face and hair, sprays of blood from the flayings she’d recently inflicted. The serpents in her whip swayed gently, tongues dabbing at the bright blood that had stained a weblike pattern across the front of her white tunic.

“You’ve heard from Quenthel?” Triel asked.

Gromph nodded and said, “I have.”

Ever aware of the political web and his place in it, Gromph omitted any mention of Pharaun. Gromph’s underling would be spoken of only if specifically asked about.

“Quenthel and the others have discovered the whereabouts of a ship of chaos and plan to sail it to the Abyss,” he told Triel. “There they will find out what has become of Lolth. Our troubles will soon be at an end. Assuming, that is, that our sister proves worthy of the task you have set her.”

Just as Pharaun hoped she would, Triel smiled at the barb Gromph had tossed.

“Our sister is less brilliant than some, but she is loyal... when it suits her,” Triel conceded. “Especially in matters concerning Lolth.”

Gromph swore silently as Kyorli’s attention wandered to one of the spiders that had descended, suddenly, just in front of them. Triel’s face was a blur, and he couldn’t read it—but causing Kyorli to whip her head around suddenly could reveal his weakness.

The archmage nodded thoughtfully and said, “I see.”

“Do you indeed?” Triel asked, and her tone was slightly mocking.

Thankfully, the spider Kyorli was watching swung behind Triel, bringing her into the rat’s field of view. Staring out through Kyorli’s eyes, Gromph saw Triel’s fingers moving.

Then you know that Quenthel has been to the Abyss more than once, she signed.

“Of course I do,” Gromph answered smoothly. “You covered up her death quite carefully, but I have my methods of learning our House’s darkest secrets. Where else would Quenthel’s soul have gone, during those four years that elapsed between her death and eventual resurrection, but to serve her goddess in the Abyss? I can see why you chose her. I only wonder...”

“What?” Triel snapped.

“Why the goddess sent her back,” Gromph continued. “Quenthel certainly was a loyal servant. Wouldn’t Lolth have wanted to keep her close to hand?”

“Perhaps she had other plans for Quenthel,” Triel answered. “Assuming the leadership of Arach-Tinilith, for example, which is precisely what happened.”

“Or carrying out her current mission,” Gromph added. “It’s certainly within the powers of the goddess to have seen this crisis coming and have prepared years ago to meet it.”

“Indeed,” Triel answered. “Who better than someone who knows the terrain to lead an expedition to the Abyss?” She paused. “Is that all you have to report?”

Gromph bowed and said, “For the moment, Matron Mother. I’ll let you know as soon as I receive another report.”

Dismissing him, Triel strode away.

Sighing his relief, Gromph shook his head. If Triel knew he was still blind, she was letting it pass. If Lolth had been granting her spells, Triel herself and any number of other priestesses could have restored his eyesight in a heartbeat. The fact that none of them could do it was just another reminder of the powers they no longer commanded. Leaving him his pretense of sight would only help Triel maintain her own pretense of power.

As he made his way out of the temple, Gromph wondered what Quenthel would find in the Demonweb Pits and why she had been returned to Menzoberranzan all those years before, only to lead an expedition to her own afterlife. Perhaps his sister had indeed been tapped by the Spider Queen for some higher purpose. If so, upon her return to the City of Spiders the balance of power could shift in her favor—certainly would if she was successful in her quest. He would have to keep an eye on Quenthel. So to speak.

Aliisza crouched on the ledge overlooking the lake and stared down at the ship below. It was of demonic manufacture—that much was clear from the bone and living tissue that had gone into its construction. On the deck stood four drow and a draegloth—Pharaun and his companions.

The wizard and the priestess Quenthel were arguing—just as they had been when Aliisza had first encountered them near Ammarindar. Behind them, the draegloth taunted an uridezu demon that appeared to be bound in place to the deck. The uridezu strained forward, teeth gnashing, as the draegloth held a rat out by the tail—then bit its head off. The other two drow—the mercenary and the pretty little female that irritated Aliisza so—seemed to be keeping out of the argument, waiting patiently for it to end.

Aliisza’s eyes lingered on Pharaun who was dressed elegantly, as always, and with that lovely long white hair. She was glad to have found him again, but her timing seemed to have been off. From the snatches of argument that drifted up to Aliisza’s perch on the cliff it seemed the group of drow would soon be departing—though there was apparently some question about how many of them would make the journey. Someone—or something—had to be fed first... Ah. That was it.

“That’s a ship of chaos,” Aliisza said, proud of herself, then thought, Now that is a detail Kaanyr will want to know.

“Where do you plan to sail it to, my dear Pharaun?” Aliisza mused. “The Abyss?” She laughed and tossed her curly black hair.

“Surely you’d rather stay here and spend some time with me than visit that nasty goddess of yours. I, at least, am alive.. and responsive to your prayers.”

Chuckling, she decided to delay her report to Kaanyr Vhok—who was all too busy with that dreary siege of his, anyway. Instead she’d stay in the Lake of Shadows and have some fun.

Pleasure, she mused, should come before business.

Always.