Maestro

CHAPTER 11

They sat about a circular table, agreed upon because none would therefore be at the head, but Catti-brie and everyone else in attendance understood who was driving this meeting and its agenda.

They were in Illusk, the ancient Undercity of Luskan, and down here, the drow ruled. Down here, dark elves patrolled the corridors, hand crossbows at the ready, speaking to other patrol groups with flashing fingers. Down here, Gromph Baenre was in control.

Athrogate and Ambergris flanked Catti-brie, and she looked to them now for their opinions. Unsurprisingly, both shook their heads at her solemnly and determinedly, clearly in no mood for another of Archmage Gromph’s lectures.

When Catti-brie looked at the others around the table, she noted mostly hesitation and discomfort, except from Lord Parise Ulfbinder, tap-tapping his fingers together in front of him, seeming eager and smiling widely. That one was only interested in knowledge, Catti-brie reminded herself. He had about him a demeanor of distance, as if he was unaffected by the events that unfolded even right in his face. Catti-brie didn’t know the Netherese lord well, of course, but from her time with him, and from what Jarlaxle had told her of him, she had already come to understand that Parise Ulfbinder was an explorer and student, more concerned with attaining knowledge than with his own power or safety.

He was not her enemy, nor was Lady Avelyere, who sat beside him.

“Pray tell us, Archmage, why you have assembled us,” Lord Parise asked. “If you are interested in reviewing the information we have brought to this city, then I am sure I will need more time to unpack my belongings and catalogue my scripts.”

Catti-brie stared at Gromph as Parise rambled on, noting that the drow didn’t blink, and that the scowl did not diminish upon his handsome, but surely dangerous face. She wondered if Gromph would silence the Netherese lord. Was this meeting to become Gromph’s attempt to dominate this entire mission?

“I brought you here that you might hear my news,” Gromph said, a perturbed element clearly evident in his melodic voice. “If I wished to know what you had brought, I would have asked.”

“Well, that one’s in a bit of a fit, sister,” said Ilnezhara.

“He’s the frost of a white dragon biting his bum, I expect,” Tazmikella replied.

Catti-brie’s eyes went wide and she held her breath, expecting catastrophe at the not-subtle reminder of the dragon fight in the Silver Marches, where Tazmikella and Ilnezhara had killed the son of Arauthator, the great White Death, and had chased the mighty white dragon off, as well. More than a few rumors hinted that Gromph had played a role in luring Arauthator to that battlefield, and his expression twisted as confirmation to that very notion.

Beside Catti-brie, the dwarves both giggled, and Gromph’s face screwed up even tighter. How dare anyone speak to the Archmage of Menzoberranzan, to the great Gromph Baenre, in such a manner!

But these were dragons, Catti-brie reminded herself. As mighty as Gromph might be, was he truly in the mood for a fight with a pair of clever dragons?

“We have among us a sage,” Gromph said, and he relaxed a bit, purposely it seemed to Catti-brie, to show that he was not insulted. He motioned to Parise Ulfbinder, who nodded humbly at the compliment.

“A sorcerer,” he said, and Lady Avelyere bowed her chin.

“Some … wizards.” Penelope Harpell seemed less than amused by his rather insulting pause.

“And a Chosen,” Gromph said with a derisive snicker aimed at Catti-brie, “though she cannot seem to decide if she is wizard or priestess.”

“She might be better at both than any o’ either ye’d find,” Athrogate interrupted.

“Dwarf fodder running about the stone, the greatest of the drow, Netherese lord and lady, a pair of dragons, and …”-again with that clearly insulting pause-“humans.

“We hold among us the knowledge of many races, the understanding of wizardry from three different eras and from many different styles,” Gromph continued. “We access the Weave, but from perspectives and training of great variance. That is our strength in seeking the secrets of the Hosttower of the Arcane.”

The archmage paused and stood up, pacing imperiously.

“Wizardry and spells divine,” he muttered, and nodded toward Catti-brie and Ambergris with faked deference. “But there, too, are other powers.”

“Necromancy,” said Lord Parise.

“It is mere wizardry, distorted,” Kipper Harpell argued.

“A separate art!” Lord Parise insisted.

“That, too, will be properly in place. Jarlaxle has sent to us a necromancer named Effron, who carries an artifact of great power, taken from a skull lord,” Gromph explained.

Lord Parise held his breath at that, quite aware of the necromancer named Effron, and his unsavory relationship with Parise’s closest friend and secret ally in this endeavor, Lord Draygo Quick.

Catti-brie, too, perked up at the mention of Dahlia’s son. She looked to Ambergris, who had been a traveling companion of Effron’s in the last days of the Spellplague, to find the dwarf beaming with excitement at the news.

“But no,” Gromph continued, “I speak of an entirely different power, one equal to those divine and arcane.”

One of the mind, they all heard in their heads, though it took some of them a while to understand that it had been a telepathic impartation.

“You see, Chosen of Mielikki, you are not the only one here who brings magic from two different sources,” Gromph explained.

“Well, this is news,” Tazmikella said. “The Archmage of Menzoberranzan is a psionicist, is he?”

“Gromph Odran?” Ilnezhara teased.

Gromph sneered a bit at the mention of the cursed House, and the reminder that Kimmuriel was still out there beyond his grasp.

“I am only beginning to explore this strange art,” Gromph admitted, “but I have witnessed enough to understand that it is a beautiful thing, and one that can be entwined with the Weave.”

“With Mystra’s Weave?” Catti-brie asked, though of course she knew of what he was speaking. Given Lolth’s failure to take the Weave into her domain, Catti-brie thought a reminder of which goddess held the Weave might be appropriate, and perhaps a bit humbling to the haughty drow wizard.

In response, Gromph offered a bored, somewhat scowling look.

“I have arranged for a representative of the hive-mind to come among us,” he explained. “The illithids are quite interested in this most unusual and powerful endeavor.”

“Oh grand!” Parise Ulfbinder said without a hint of sarcasm, and clapped his hands.

Catti-brie sighed, not surprised at that reaction.

“You are bringing a mind flayer into Luskan?” Ilnezhara asked, seeming much less enthusiastic than the Netherese lord.

“A stinkin’ squid head?” Athrogate demanded. “By the hairy bum o’ Moradin, ye’ve lost yer sense, drow!”

Gromph’s stare alone seemed as if it might prove enough to explode Athrogate’s head-so much so that Catti-brie actually feared the Archmage was launching a psionic attack upon the black-bearded dwarf. But Athrogate remained unbothered and unshaken, and didn’t shrink back a bit from the glare. In fact, he returned it with a grin that seemed to welcome any challenge.

Catti-brie reminded herself that there were two undeniable truths in the Realms: It was very easy to overestimate a drow and even easier to underestimate a dwarf.

And both races could, and usually did, use that mistake to their respective advantage.

The notion followed to a deeper level with Catti-brie, a poignant reminder to her that the physical trappings of an individual-race, gender, attractiveness, size-played such an important role in perception of everything else related to that individual, indeed could sometimes outweigh the quality of action or words.

It was such an absurd notion, when she stripped it down to that level, and so, in this tense moment, with so many powerful beings sitting about, the woman couldn’t help herself and began to laugh. And not just a titter, but an actual laugh, a belly laugh, a reaction to absurdity that had everyone in the room staring at her as if she had lost her mind.

Gromph turned his glare upon her. The dragon sisters seemed perplexed for a moment, then they, too, began to laugh.

“What’re ye doin’, lass?” Athrogate said with obvious concern.

It took Catti-brie another few moments to comport herself. When she did, she planted her hands firmly on the round table and stood up, commanding attention.

“We are here under dangerous circumstance for common gain, personal insight, and to be a part of something grander than our individual lives,” she said. She took a moment to look around at all gathered, letting her gaze settle on each for some time to acknowledge them individually.

“We all have different reasons for being here, and will find different gains both for ourselves and, for some, for those we have come to represent,” she continued. “There are possibly competing interests here, but they are within a common goal. And each of these competing interests, as much as they might diminish another’s, are muted and countered by third interests and fourth. I can see in looking around that there is to be no supremacy here, as much as any of us might desire it.” She paused and offered a sidelong look to Archmage Gromph. “And so I insist that any additions to the collection be agreed upon by all at the table. There will be no shifting of the balance.”

“The illithids are coming,” Gromph stated.

“Surely they are aware of our efforts here,” Lord Parise added. “There is little of any importance that escapes their view. And do not doubt that their contribution will be great-perhaps as great as any here assembled.”

“But they are ugly things, aren’t they?” Ilnezhara asked.

“Squid heads,” Athrogate grumbled.

“I doubt you not, Lord Parise,” said Catti-brie. “The larger question I have, the larger concern I have, is whether or not their presence will give advantage to any personal agendas above the common goal.” Again she ended with a glance at Gromph, who stared at her now with open contempt.

“Doubtful,” said Tazmikella. “They are illithids, mind flayers. None here can discern their desires, let alone trust any alliance with them. They are as foreign to us, even to my sister and me, as we are to the houseflies we might swat. In all the millennia, none have quite sorted the true intentions and motivations of the mind flayers.” She, too, turned an eye to Gromph, and finished pointedly, “Not even the Archmage of Menzoberranzan, who, after a recent disaster, should be most concerned among us regarding the intentions, motivations, and methods of those psionic beasts.”

“Then do we allow them audience with our efforts?” Penelope Harpell asked.

“They already are aware of what is happening here,” said Catti-brie. “So the audience is a foregone conclusion, whether we allow them into our circle or not. Is there anything we could truly hide from an illithid hive-mind?”

“Particularly since one sitting here seems to think ’em friends?” Athrogate added and gave Gromph a sidelong glance.

“At this point, that would hardly matter,” said Tazmikella.

“They will greatly enhance our efforts,” Lord Parise put in. “The knowledge of the race is extensive, perhaps beyond the knowledge of any other race of beings. Their libraries are alive within their own thoughts, forefront in their everyday existence. They need not dust off ancient tomes to try to recover what their ancestors might have gleaned. It remains within their collective thought, ever and always.”

“You seem to know much of them,” said Catti-brie.

“I do, and with extensive experience.”

“Then we are agreed?” Catti-brie asked.

“Squid heads …” Athrogate muttered.

“Best cooked with wedges o’ lemon, and fried deep,” Ambergris added.

Catti-brie couldn’t suppress a bit of a laugh at the dwarven banter around her, but she maintained a modicum of seriousness and looked all around, eliciting agreeing nods from each of the other delegations.

“Then we are agreed, Archmage Gromph,” she said at length. “Your illithid emissary, or delegation, is welcomed here.”

“No delegation,” said Ilnezhara. “Just one.”

“And we will watch him carefully,” added Tazmikella.

“Aye, not to doubt that,” said Athrogate, who wasn’t joking at all at that moment.

After that bit of important business, the meeting turned to the progress each member was making in his or her assigned tasks. Almost all the recounting involved research and the names of various tomes being studied, with only three exceptions.

The dwarves detailed the rebuilding of the root of the tower, informing the group that they had recovered enough large pieces to fairly reconstruct it-as soon as the durned wizards figured out how to magically join the stuff back together. As they finished, Ambergris turned the floor over to Lady Avelyere, who was leading the way in locating the pieces of the tower, which had been blasted all around the island, into the water, and back into Luskan, and some of which, apparently, had been stolen by the greedy citizens of Luskan as mementoes, perhaps, or for their own use in the construction of ships or homes.

“I have honed my spells of seeking to catch the emanations of the strange ancient magic still imbued upon the tower shards,” the woman explained. “With permission, I would like to bring in some members of my Coven, to expand our vision many-fold.”

The others all nodded, except that Gromph also waved absently, clearly to signal that he was not intimidated by whatever army of sorcerers the likes of Avelyere could summon.

When she finished, the floor at last came to the dragon sisters.

Ilnezhara rose and spoke first, explaining the insights she had garnered from an ancient silver dragon who resided in the area and had often viewed the Hosttower of the Arcane from high above. She added a delightful anecdote the silver had recounted, for Catti-brie’s benefit no doubt, of a dwarf flying about in a flaming chariot.

Then came Tazmikella, who wore a sly smile. “We have found another ally in this,” she announced, and she sat down and seemed as if she would say no more.

“Would you care to elaborate?” an annoyed Gromph asked at length.

“Not really,” said the dragon.

“We would not wish to miss your reactions when our dear friend arrives,” Ilnezhara added.

“This is unacceptable,” said Gromph, and all the others bristled, too, except for Catti-brie, who looked at Tazmikella and got a wink in reply.

“Acceptable or not, it is our choice,” Tazmikella replied.

“You will know later this day, Archmage Gromph,” said Ilnezhara. “When our friend arrives, we can send her on her way, if that is the decision of this table.”

“Oh, it won’t be,” Tazmikella answered her sister, and both laughed.

Catti-brie kept her gaze on Gromph through it all, judging the simmer in his amber eyes. She recognized the explosive rage there. This one wasn’t used to being trapped into a role where he was not supreme-not by any other than the most powerful matron mothers of Menzoberranzan, at least. And he clearly didn’t much like it.

But he had erred, badly, back in the Underdark. He had cost himself dearly by bringing Demogorgon to Menzoberranzan, and thus, he was not in a position of power here.

And it was driving him quite mad.

Catti-brie lingered as the others departed so that she would be the last in the room with Gromph. He noted her intent long before the rest had gone, and sat staring at her from behind his tapping fingers. He had a way of flaring his eyes to make it seem as if some great catastrophe was about to befall all within his line of sight-and no doubt that look often preceded exactly that.

Catti-brie was neither impressed nor concerned.

“A grand speech you gave,” Gromph said when at last they were alone. “Lined with laughter to profess confidence. An amazing act, after all.”

“No act,” the woman replied.

“Then foolish confidence.”

“Simple truth of the matter before us.”

“You mistake your position here,” said Gromph. “I did not destroy you in the primordial chamber of Gauntlgrym, out of deference to those around me because I expected you might be of use to me going forward. Now, in this, you are of use to me-perhaps-but do not make the mistake of believing that the annoyance and insubordination you offer will not ever outweigh the perspective gain.”

“Insubordination? So we are still there? Perhaps it remains you who misunderstands the situation at hand and the hierarchy in place here at the Hosttower.”

A snarl escaped his lips.

“I do not claim rank above you, but neither do I concede the same,” Catti-brie said.

“Shall I show you the bared power of the archmage?”

“A threat?”

Gromph lifted his hand and slowly began to turn it in the air, palm rotating to face up. He looked as if he was gathering magical energy, and Catti-brie could feel that he was doing just that.

“Hold!” she demanded.

“Wise choice.”

“Oh, if ye insist on continuing, then know ye’ll be findin’ a willing opponent,” Catti-brie clarified, her reversion to Dwarvish brogue a clear sign, even to her, that Gromph was indeed getting her hackles up. “But know that ye’re thinkin’ to wage a fight ye canno’ win.”

“You have no idea, young human.”

“Not so young,” the woman replied. “And sure but I’m old enough to understand the jar o’ worms ye’d be opening. If ye beat me-”

“No doubt,” Gromph said evenly.

“Then Drizzt would kill you,” Catti-brie replied with equal enunciation and tone.

Gromph snorted as if that notion was even more preposterous-and Catti-brie knew it probably was. Could Drizzt, could any warrior, ever even get close to this mighty spellcaster?

But she didn’t back down. “And King Bruenor would send every dwarf in Faerun to hunt ye and kill ye. Every one. Not to doubt, and oh, but they’d come for ye by the thousand.”

Gromph seemed to be paying more attention then.

“And Jarlaxle, such a dear friend of me husband, would reveal ye to the Matron Mother o’ Menzoberranzan,” she stated. “Oh, but he would. So for just yer stubborn pride, ye’d throw all the best chances away, would ye now?”

She paused and rose, and brushed some hair from the front of her magical blouse, and in doing so, brushed away, too, her Dwarvish edge.

“I am not your enemy, Archmage Gromph,” she said in proper Common. “We are allied in this endeavor, and when the Hosttower is rebuilt, I have no interest in the structure or its hierarchy, other than continuing the flow of its magic to hold the primordial in check. And I have learned enough of the ancient magic here, of how it was constructed and the safeguards that were placed upon it and still remain in the residue of the tower, to understand that the magical flow to Gauntlgrym is something that no one will be able to do anything about once we are finished with our work. Not even you, should you claim the title as Archmage of the Hosttower of the Arcane, as I expect is both your and Jarlaxle’s plan. And so, you see, dear Archmage Gromph, that I simply do not care about your personal designs regarding the lordship of the Hosttower beyond our alliance here, no more than I care that Jarlaxle rules Luskan from the shadows. It is not my affair, and so I am not your enemy. We would both be better served to keep it that way.”

Gromph kept tap-tapping his fingers together, staring at the woman for a long, long time.

Catti-brie recognized that to be as solid an answer as she was going to get from the angry wizard, so she smiled again shook her head, and walked past Gromph to the doorway beyond.

For all her confidence, she was indeed quite relieved when she reached the hall and closed the door behind her.

The wind blew cold off the dark waters of Luskan Harbor, carrying drizzle with the smell of brine.

Catti-brie was so engaged she hardly noticed the chill or the wetness as she stood with her shawl tightly wrapped around her. To her right stood Ilnezhara and Tazmikella. On the other side, Lord Parise Ulfbinder and Lady Avelyere whispered quietly with Penelope, Kipper, and the other Harpells. Back behind them all, Archmage Gromph sat on a grand chair he had summoned from nowhere, one finger casually rubbing across the lips of his handsome face. Catti-brie understood that there was something dangerous in that look from Gromph. Likely, he spent as much time considering the weaknesses and vulnerabilities of his allies as he did in focusing on the monumental task at hand.

Catti-brie purposefully and repeatedly reminded herself of that truth. Her personal experiences with drow on the surface of Faerun, with her husband of course, but even with Jarlaxle and his associates, were not indicative of the methods and ethos of the sinister culture of Menzoberranzan.

She could not tell herself that truth too often.

Archmage Gromph was tied to Jarlaxle now not out of temperament, but out of necessity. He was a product of Menzoberranzan, who had thrived in those shadows and by all accounts instigated more than a little of the calamity around him.

This was not Jarlaxle. This was Gromph Baenre. This drow was dangerous.

The woman silently nodded as she played through the reminder, telling herself to be ever vigilant.

But then she imagined Gromph towering over her, in a very different light. His amber eyes bored into her, devouring her every inch of flesh. She saw his lips. She both heard and felt his breath. In her mind’s eye, he raised his hand and freed some mysterious magic, and goose bumps grew upon Catti-brie’s arms.

A confused Catti-brie dismissed the thought forcefully, rejected it and silently berated herself.

She meant to turn and scowl at Gromph then, just to reassure herself, but was distracted when, all around the principal wizards, a thousand dwarves halted their work, the whole area going suddenly quiet. Catti-brie looked on curiously, her gaze going from one group of dwarves to the next, when she realized that they were all looking in the same direction: out to sea, to the southwest.

The woman turned back slowly, noting the other wizards and sages around her, jaws inevitably dropping open, and the dragon sisters smiling.

She was not surprised, then, but surely amazed, when she again gazed out to sea, then high above the surface to the gray and black outlines of the heavy cloud cover, and to one cloud in particular that she soon realized was much more than a cloud.

Its bulging front took firmer shape: the curving wall of a huge tower.

It seemed of like substance to the other clouds-perhaps it was-but it revealed more definite shape than its fellows as it drifted out of the bank: towering, running walls of gray, the rest of the giant floating castle.

As if that wasn’t enough to transfix the gathering and all of those looking on from the mainland of Luskan as well, a sudden noise to the side startled most, including Catti-brie.

Gasps of surprise turned to coos of appreciation of the image in front of them as a pair of copper-colored dragons flew up for the immense castle of clouds floating in the air. That giant structure settled into place just offshore, and the dragon sisters flew up over the wall and disappeared from view for few moments. They reappeared, coming back for the gathering, bearing between them a giant litter, a giant throne, with a huge, blue-skinned woman seated upon it. She held a bejeweled scepter across her bosom and a crown of glittering gold and rubies was set upon her head, pinning back her thick and flowing white mane.

The dragons set her down in front of the gathering. The wizards held their ground, but many of the dwarves fell back into more defensible positions.

The cloud giant rose and slowly advanced, Ilnezhara and Tazmikella becoming human women once more and flanking her advance. She moved directly up to Catti-brie and gave a respectful bow-one which, even if she had bent fully perpendicular at the waist would have still left her head high above the human. Though she was similarly proportioned, the giant queen stood thrice Catti-brie’s height, at least.

“I am Caecilia,” she said in a loud voice, but with a quality that still gave it some delicacy. “My friends Ilnezhara and Tazmikella here thought that I might be of service to you, and in an endeavor that they knew I would find most wondrous.”

“We welcome any who would aid in our most important quest,” Catti-brie said, trying to sound calm, but surely overwhelmed. She remembered then to reciprocate the bow, albeit she did so with far less grace than Caecilia had managed.

“With your blessing then,” Caecilia replied. She turned back to the distant castle, lifted her hand, and shot forth a bolt of brilliant white light.

“I will require a large tent and a large bed, of course,” she said. “I trust that you will see to my proper accommodations.”

“Of course, Lady,” Catti-brie replied, and that last word left her mouth awkwardly. Was she to call this giant “Lady,” after all? What rules of etiquette might apply to a giantess?

Up above the bay, the giant castle began to recede, floating back into the thick overcast to blend to practical invisibility. Many lifted faces continued to stare up that way, unsure if the massive structure was gone or simply hiding in the clouds.

Only gradually did the dwarves and others go back to their work, with Caecilia going off with the dragon sisters to be brought up to date on the efforts. Catti-brie took a deep and steadying breath, reminding herself that these amazing sights and guests were all for the good. Her focus had to be on the Hosttower. If it could not be rebuilt, then Gauntlgrym would fall to utter ruin.

She turned away from the cloud bank, shaking her head, steeling her resolve.

And then she saw Gromph, sitting on his throne, staring at her, amused, or perhaps bemused.

The fantasy of the archmage bent over her, kissing her, touching her, returned suddenly-so quickly, unexpectedly, and powerfully that Catti-brie staggered for a step and nearly stumbled.

Gromph was smiling.