Maestro

CHAPTER 2

Is she coming forth?” Saribel asked when Tiago returned from Matron Mother Darthiir Do’Urden’s private chambers.

“She is barely awake, as usual,” the warrior spat in reply, his voice full of contempt, as it always was now when he spoke to his wife. Saribel had become more resolute and forceful of late, particularly concerning Tiago’s disastrous obsession with the rogue Drizzt Do’Urden, and clearly that had not set well with Tiago.

Because he thought her his lesser, Saribel knew, despite the fact that she was a woman and a high priestess. She was not a Baenre by blood, and that, to Tiago, was all that mattered.

He would learn differently, Saribel mused.

“Ravel and the others await us in the chapel,” Saribel said. “We are quite tardy.”

“Is Braelin Janquay in attendance?” Tiago asked, referring to the newest noble of House Do’Urden, gifted by Matron Mother Quenthel Baenre to serve as the garrison commander.

It was not a gift that Tiago had appreciated, nor Saribel for that matter. Braelin had come to them from Bregan D’aerthe, reputedly as a stand-in for Jarlaxle himself, who was now nowhere to be found. Much of House Do’Urden’s cobbled-together garrison was composed of Bregan D’aerthe soldiers. In that reality, how much power might the newcomer wield?

Too much, likely, as far as Tiago and Saribel were concerned.

When the couple entered the chapel to find the other House nobles waiting, Saribel was greeted by another of the new leaders, one whose arrival had greatly mitigated her fears of Braelin Janquay-and also exacerbated Tiago’s misgivings.

“It is good to see you once more,” Jaemas Xorlarrin, Saribel’s cousin, said with a bow. He took her hand and kissed it.

Saribel looked past Jaemas to her brother Ravel, a fellow wizard and good friend of Jaemas. It was clear that Ravel was glad that cousin Jaemas had joined House Do’Urden.

“Is Faelas to number among our ranks soon, as well?” Saribel asked.

“Shall we rename Do’Urden to Xorlarrin, then,” Tiago answered before Jaemas could, “that we might suffer the same grim fate as that doomed and fallen House?”

“Ah, well met again, young Master Baenre,” Jaemas said, and he pointedly left it at that, turning his attention immediately back to Saribel.

“Matron Mother Zeerith and High Priestess Kiriy send their regards and trust that you are well,” he said.

“I am,” she replied, though she couldn’t help but give a little wince at the mention of Kiriy, the highest ranking priestess of House Xorlarrin, just below Matron Mother Zeerith. Whispers spoke of Kiriy, who was also Matron Mother Zeerith’s eldest daughter, possibly joining House Do’Urden as well, in which case, so much for Saribel’s designs on ascending to the position of Matron Mother of House Do’Urden.

“Where are they now?” Tiago asked.

“Quite well and quite safe,” said Jaemas. “Planning the next moves of House Xorlarrin, of course.”

“You mean, of what is left of House Xorlar-”

“Do not think that we suffered great losses when the dwarves came for Gauntlgrym,” Jaemas interrupted.

“None but your city.”

“For now. But we are stronger.” He looked back at Saribel and offered just enough of a wink to let her know that he made these claims just to anger Tiago. “Much stronger. So many wondrous items came from the Forge before we were forced back because of the failures in the Silver Marches.

“The dwarves emptied their citadels and swept across the land,” he continued, somewhat dramatically. “It would have taken much of Menzoberranzan’s combined strength to hold them off, as they were led by King Bruenor Battlehammer himself, and by that rogue from this very House.”

“Drizzt?” Saribel asked, and she glanced at her husband. When Tiago and Doum’wielle came tumbling back into House Do’Urden at the end of one of Archmage Gromph’s teleport spells, Tiago had told her that the half-drow Doum’wielle had stolen his kill, and so had slain Drizzt back in Gauntlgrym.

“He is dead,” said Tiago.

Jaemas laughed. “Nay, he is quite alive. Indeed, it was he who defeated the demons Marilith and Nalfeshnee, with the help of his black panther. I witnessed it myself in the battle for the lower halls of Gauntlgrym.”

“You are mistaken!” Tiago insisted.

Saribel shook her head at the anger evident in Tiago’s voice. Such obsession would never end well.

“Braelin Janquay can confirm, I expect,” Ravel chimed in, turning to Braelin, who remained silent. His position as a known associate of Jarlaxle, who was almost certainly still loyal to Jarlaxle, did not encourage him to speak.

“Jarlaxle was in the cavern during that fight,” Jaemas confirmed, instead. “Indeed, it was he and Kimmuriel Oblodra who suggested that it was time for a withdrawal, and with good cause. Both of them knew of Drizzt Do’Urden’s presence in the battle.”

All eyes turned again to Braelin Janquay, with Tiago’s gaze predictably intense.

“I was instructed by Jarlaxle to report to House Do’Urden, and it was made clear to me that my time in Bregan D’aerthe had come to its end,” he answered, to a few snickers.

But Tiago wasn’t laughing. He strode defiantly up to Braelin, his eyes flaring threateningly. “What do you know?”

Braelin matched his stare. “I just told you.”

“Perhaps your corpse would tell my priestess wife differently.”

“Surely such an event would tell much to Jarlaxle.”

“You think I fear Jarlaxle?”

“I had always assumed you to be intelligent.”

A little snarl escaped Tiago’s lips and his hand went to the hilt of Vidrinath. But another hand, Ravel’s hand, settled on his forearm. When Tiago turned to the House wizard, he found Ravel shaking his head. Jaemas similarly warned Tiago away from this dangerous course.

“I know what I saw, and what I saw was surely the rogue named Drizzt Do’Urden,” Jaemas said. “Faelas will confirm. Drizzt was there, very much alive, in the battle of the lower chambers. There is no reason to believe him dead, no reason at all, whatever you might have seen when you were removed from Gauntlgrym.”

Saribel scrutinized her husband carefully now, watching his expression go from murderous rage to something else. Intrigue, perhaps.

The high priestess shook her head, knowing where this new path would soon enough lead. She half expected Tiago to run from the House right then and charge off for Gauntlgrym in pursuit of the rogue.

“You do understand that Demogorgon cut a swath of destruction across Menzoberranzan before departing to the open Underdark?” Ravel remarked, which told Saribel that he, too, had noted Tiago’s rather naked intentions. “And that the Prince of Demons is out there in the tunnels, likely not far?”

“And so many other demons, as well,” Braelin Janquay added, “including other demon lords if the reports are to be believed.”

“Do you purport to instruct me?” Tiago asked with a derisive snort of incredulity.

“No, but now is not the time,” Ravel bluntly stated.

Saribel did well not to sigh out loud with relief that her brother was taking the lead. Tiago would listen to him, and no one else in this room.

“Matron Mother Baenre is vulnerable because of the disaster wrought by Archmage Gromph-or at least, one that is being attributed to him,” Ravel reminded them all. “And if she is vulnerable, then so are we.”

“You think House Baenre vulnerable?” Tiago scoffed.

“I think that they need to close up and concern themselves with their own situation right now,” Ravel argued, and from his tone it was clear that he, like so many others, was becoming quite weary of Tiago’s obsession. “Matron Mother Baenre did not construct House Do’Urden with such distinguished nobles as we see here in this very room in order for us to rely upon her for our own security. Our eyes must be turned nowhere but to the corridors and walls of House Do’Urden in this dangerous time. We have been graced by the matron mother in adding Jaemas Xorlarrin and Braelin Janquay to our ranks, one a Master of Sorcere and the other a senior member of Bregan D’aerthe and confidant of mighty Jarlaxle and Kimmuriel. Our foot soldiers here once knew loyalty to Bregan D’aerthe, and they are an ally that will serve us well now.

“But only,” he continued, quite animatedly, “if we as the leaders of this House properly take and execute control of the situation and inspire confidence in our cobbled-together garrison.

“Faelas Xorlarrin is not far afield of us,” Jaemas added before Tiago could angrily retort, as his expression showed him most certainly preparing to do. “And there are others at Sorcere who would quietly support us if the need arises. When House Xorlarrin set off to create Q’Xorlarrin, we did not cut ties to the Academy. And now that that House-my House-wanders unmoored, it is likely that more of our resources will flow House Do’Urden’s way.”

Though his words were aimed at Tiago, Saribel did not like the sound of them, either. Any members of Xorlarrin that joined Do’Urden would only bolster High Priestess Kiriy and Matron Mother Zeerith’s plans. Plans that she knew would move Saribel away from the throne. She did not believe Dahlia, that abomination known as Darthiir Do’Urden, would live long in this tumultuous time, and Xorlarrin resources made her earlier calculations more urgent.

She looked to Tiago and saw that he could not suppress his wince at what amounted to a dangerous warning from Jaemas. None in the fledgling House now, other than perhaps a few minor soldiers in the garrison, had any ties to House Barrison Del’Armgo.

Indeed, House Do’Urden had become a de facto combination of House Xorlarrin and Bregan D’aerthe, with only Tiago Baenre holding any other direct in-House influence. The moment of joy that left Saribel thinking she might have gained the upper hand against Tiago was tempered only by the fact of Tiago’s family name, Baenre, and his noted standing with Matron Mother Quenthel.

“That will be up to the discretion of the matron mother, of course,” Tiago said coolly, composed again. “It is well known that Matron Mother Zeerith wisely seeks the counsel of Matron Mother Baenre at every turn, that she went to build her failed city at Matron Mother Baenre’s behest, and that it was Matron Mother Baenre’s decision to send the demon army to Q’Xorlarrin to allow Matron Mother Zeerith her retreat with most of her House intact.”

He turned to Braelin, his expression perfectly awful, as he finished with confidence, “Bregan D’aerthe’s tribute soldiers and House Xorlarrin’s attempt to rejoin the ranks of Menzoberranzan will be orchestrated by the will or whim of the matron mother.”

Tiago spun about and motioned to Saribel for her to follow as he strode out of the chamber.

“Drizzt alive!” he said to her when they were alone. “I had him! His head should stand on a pike outside this, my House, as a warning to all who would go against Tiago Baenre.”

“Your House?” she dared remark, and Tiago spun on her, eyes wide. “Your obsession with the rogue Do’Urden wounds us all,” Saribel pressed, and for a moment, she thought Tiago would strike out at her. “Ravel has tired of it, or could you not hear that clearly in his warnings to you?”

“Drizzt Do’Urden will fall to me,” Tiago promised. “And this is already my House, do not doubt. On a word from me, Matron Mother Baenre would cast out any of you.”

“There is a matron mother in the other room,” Saribel reminded him, motioning toward Matron Mother Darthiir’s private chambers.

Tiago scoffed.

“She sits on the Ruling Council,” said Saribel, as convincingly as she could.

“She is a useful puppet for Matron Mother Baenre,” Tiago replied. “And to me.”

“I know what she is to you, husband.”

“Do you, truly?” His laugh sent a chill to her bones.

“I am the future Matron Mother of House Do’Urden,” Saribel proclaimed. “You would do well to never forget that.”

Tiago laughed at her, and Saribel felt a scream of rage boiling up within her.

“Or perhaps the future Matron Mother of House Do’Urden will be borne by Matron Mother Darthiir,” Tiago retorted, and then, lewdly, he added, “by the beautiful Dahlia.”

“You disgust me.”

Tiago laughed and started away, and he pointedly unstrapped his weapon belt before he had even reached the door to Dahlia’s private quarters.

Saribel glanced around, feeling trapped. She wanted to go to Ravel or Jaemas, or perhaps even to Braelin Janquay, to see if she could build some support against Tiago. She understood the driving power of ambition-she was full of it herself, and indeed, was surprised by that, since she had always been the least of Matron Mother Zeerith’s children in the eyes of all around her, even in her own eyes. Her oldest sister Kiriy was the High Priestess of House Xorlarrin, but the next eldest child, Berellip, had always been presumed to be the truly ascendant daughter. Even her brother Ravel ranked higher in Matron Mother Zeerith’s eyes than she, Saribel had always understood, but had privately never accepted. She hadn’t even realized that until her marriage to Tiago, until she had been given the surname of Baenre. With the power of that House behind her, why would she not assume the mantle of House Do’Urden upon Dahlia’s surely-impending demise?

She would be the matron mother and her husband would serve as patron and weapons master.

But now it seemed that Tiago was both her ladder and her anchor. Could she rally the others against him?

She wanted to believe that she could, and tried to talk herself into that belief. But she was shaking her head the whole time she was trying to formulate some plan.

In the end, Tiago was a Baenre, and a shining light in the eyes of the matron mother. That mattered. In fact, Saribel’s best chance at her own ascent, particularly in light of the possible arrival of Kiriy or even Matron Mother Zeerith, rested wholly on her husband’s lineage and her new surname.

Tiago was a Baenre. Saribel was now a Baenre. That mattered above anything House Xorlarrin, Matron Mother Zeerith, or Bregan D’aerthe might desire.

Saribel’s private contemplations were stolen by a soft whimper from the other room, where Tiago was claiming ownership of the seed of succession.

Or was he fooling himself?

Saribel found some hope in the scene when Tiago had returned through Archmage Gromph’s gate. The mighty Gromph, in that event, clearly revealed his feelings for a half-drow abomination by casting Doum’wielle Armgo to the side of a distant mountain to die in the cold. Considering Gromph’s bold action against a member of House Barrison Del’Armgo and the lack of any response from the Second House in retaliation, was it likely that Matron Mother Baenre would let a half-iblith child assume the throne of House Do’Urden?

Even with the consideration that Tiago was her ladder to success, the knowledge that others would not tolerate Dahlia for long gave Saribel some comfort. She wanted Tiago to fail even more than she wanted herself to succeed. A sound from the room, the soft but sharp cry as Tiago violated Dahlia, only crystallized those feelings.

Matron Mother Quenthel Baenre reclined calmly on her divan, one leg freed of her decorated dress by a slit that reached to her hip. She clicked her long fingernails together and played with the multiple golden bangles on one slender wrist, all the while wearing an expression of complete boredom.

Tiago Do’Urden moved from foot to foot in front of her, barely able to contain his explosive temper.

But he had to contain it. The matron mother had cut him short at the utterance of his first word, informing him that she was not quite ready for what had been proposed in the meeting he had demanded. Now it had become a test to see if he could properly adhere to the lead of the matron mother. Quenthel had silenced him with an upraised finger, and was letting it stretch out interminably, just to prove that she could.

“You are wasting my time,” she said some time later, turning a glare that was both bored and threatening over the upstart weapons master.

“Matron Mother?”

“Yes, I am, as you must never forget. You requested this audience and I have granted it.”

“But you …” Tiago started to protest. He thought better of it and said instead, “I did, but only because it is a most urgent issue.”

Quenthel swung about on her jeweled and silken divan to place her feet flat on the floor, facing him directly.

“House Xorlarrin …” Tiago explained, shaking his head as if trying to sort it all out as he blurted the words. “They grow bold under the banner of Do’Urden.”

“They?”

“Saribel and …”

“High Priestess Saribel?” Quenthel interrupted, her correction a clear warning.

“Yes, my wife.”

“No,” Quenthel corrected. “She is not your wife. You are her husband, the mate of High Priestess Saribel Xorlarrin Baenre Do’Urden. Do you understand that distinction?”

Tiago could barely spit out a response. Where was this sudden attitude shift coming from? He had been the leader of the Xorlarrin expedition to claim Gauntlgrym as a drow city, even above High Priestess Berellip herself. Tiago had held no small measure of sway in every movement and decision of that expedition, because of the insistence of Matron Mother Quenthel. Now she would side with dimwitted Saribel Xorlarrin over him?

He knew he had to take a different tack. “Her …” He paused again, wanting to keep Saribel completely out of the reference. “Ravel Xorlarrin,” he corrected, and then again, “Ravel Do’Urden has been joined among the House nobles by his cousin Jaemas and other wizards of House Xorlarrin.”

“They are without a home, of course,” Quenthel replied. “And House Do’Urden must fend for itself against treachery that may yet come.”

“I understand …” Tiago started to reply.

“I do not care if you understand or not,” Quenthel scolded. “Why would I? You are the weapons master of House Do’Urden, answering thus to the Matron Mother of House Do’Urden.”

“She is …” Tiago started to retort. But when Quenthel’s hand came up, holding her vicious, snake-headed scourge, Tiago wanted no part of that. Favored nephew and noble or not, he was, after all, just a male, and had felt the bite of such punishing tools far too many times in his short life. He sucked in his breath and fell to his knees in supplication.

“Stand up, you fool,” Quenthel commanded, and he did, quickly, and dared look into her eyes.

“You are Baenre,” she said. “You know the way of things. Are you so bound up in your pride that you do not understand the opportunity before us now? House Xorlarrin has been dislodged from Q’Xorlarrin, and we’ll not march against that fortress to drive out the dwarves. Not now, not anytime soon.”

“Drizzt Do’Urden is there,” Tiago dared to whisper.

The matron mother’s scourge snapped and Tiago recoiled in fear as the snake heads hissed and spat and bit in the air just in front of his face.

“Do not ever speak that name to me again,” Quenthel told him. “He is an inconsequential tick, and every time you speak of him or consider him, he bloats on the blood of House Baenre. The dwarves have reclaimed Gauntlgrym. The tunnels between us and them are thick with demons, including major demons, including demon lords. Shall I march an army through such a force to do battle with entrenched dwarves? Would that satisfy your hunger?”

“No, Matron Mother,” Tiago said weakly.

“I choose not to protect House Do’Urden at this time, and know that you have enemies,” Quenthel bluntly stated.

That declaration hit Tiago hard. This wasn’t a choice, he knew, but a necessity. Only then did he realize how much damage Archmage Gromph’s recklessness had truly wrought, not necessarily to Menzoberranzan but surely to House Baenre. Quenthel wouldn’t help defend House Do’Urden because she couldn’t help, because she was feeling the pressure of the other Houses, all outraged over the arrival of Demogorgon in Menzoberranzan at the hands of the archmage, the Elderboy of House Baenre and the arcane extension of Matron Mother Baenre.

Tiago pieced some things together then, and he did well not to gasp aloud as truths became clear to him. Jarlaxle had told the Xorlarrins to leave, so Jaemas had declared. Jarlaxle had arranged the truce with King Bruenor that had allowed Matron Mother Zeerith and her family to escape, Tiago had learned from Ravel soon after that meeting in House Do’Urden’s chapel. And Bregan D’aerthe answered, most of all, to Matron Mother Baenre. Was it possible that Matron Mother Quenthel had surrendered the city of Q’Xorlarrin to pull back reinforcements she feared she would need for the security of House Baenre?

“Matron Mother Zeerith’s troubles may well save your House,” Quenthel explained. “So yes, Jaemas Xorlarrin is now Jaemas Do’Urden. As is Faelas, though he will retain his proper surname while he serves as my eyes in Sorcere.”

“Until Gromph returns?”

Quenthel laughed at that. “Was Gromph obliterated by Demogorgon? Devoured?”

“He is the Archmage …”

“He was the Archmage,” Quenthel corrected.

Tiago felt as if he couldn’t breathe. This was too much, too quickly. He calmed by reminding himself that times of chaos were times of opportunity.

“So, Faelas …” he said leadingly, thinking he had sorted it out.

“Is a Master of Sorcere.”

“Sorcere will need a new archmage.”

“Worry about your House,” Quenthel warned.

“I could do more to prepare House Do’Urden carrying the imprimatur of the matron mother.”

“You are the weapons master of House Do’Urden. Only that. I thought I had made that clear.”

“Yes, Matron Mother,” he blurted, and lowered his gaze as he saw the scourge coming up once more.

“High Priestess Saribel will understand the way forward. That is all you need to know, and that is what you have no choice but to trust.”

“Yes, Matron Mother,” Tiago replied, and he was fuming then, but wise enough to make sure that he did nothing to make that apparent. Quenthel waved him away, and he was glad to be gone, and quickly.

As soon as he exited the room, Quenthel waved her hand and slammed the door behind him, an exclamation point to the finality of his obsession with Drizzt Do’Urden.

“I told you,” Quenthel said to Minolin Fey as she came out of the room’s side door, having heard the entire conversation. “He is possessed of the same dangerous hubris as Gromph.”

“A fatal hubris, no doubt,” said the young woman accompanying Minolin Fey.

Quenthel, still not looking over, swallowed hard. She didn’t want to look upon Yvonnel, especially now that Yvonnel was physically entering young adulthood, and was so beautiful, so physically, magically, painfully beautiful, that her appearance alone mocked any who thought themselves her equal.

“You did well, my daughter,” Yvonnel said, and she giggled and added. “My aunt.”

Both of the older women wore sour expressions at that comment, which only made young Yvonnel dance a bit more and smile a bit wider.

“Even with Tiago properly settled in House Do’Urden, we must move quickly now,” Yvonnel said more seriously, moving up to stand in front of Quenthel. “Convene a Council.”

“They will not likely come,” Quenthel replied. “The Houses have gone into defensive crouches-it grows increasingly difficult to pry soldiers from them for the patrols beyond our cavern. All expect some fighting soon, House against House, or with demons coming forth. We know not if Demogorgon haunts the ways just outside the city.”

“Some are surely trying to determine when a rival will be properly weakened by serving on such a patrol,” Minolin Fey said, and both of the others turned unappreciative glares her way, a not-subtle reminder of her lowly place in such powerful company.

“The seats will suffice and the votes will be binding, by the word of Lolth,” Yvonnel said.

Quenthel considered that for a moment then nodded. She, Sos’Umptu, and Matron Mother Darthiir would be easy enough to arrange, of course.

“We cannot outlaw secretive internecine war,” she replied. “Without personal instructions from a handmaiden or communion with Lolth herself, none would accept our authority to make such a dramatic change in the customs of Menzoberranzan.”

“But we can demand that all participate in the defense of Menzoberranzan,” Yvonnel said. “And we must shut the city down, and quickly, both physically and magically. No dimensional doorways, no divination from without. The physical ways in are few, and we can defend them, but we deal with demon lords now, and so must defeat any of their magical attempts to breach the city before they even try.”

“That is a tremendous task.”

“It is, and it will require diligence and great attention from all priests and wizards alike.”

“And so we name Tsabrak Xorlarrin as Archmage of Menzoberranzan,” Quenthel reasoned, nodding.

“Tsabrak, who holds close ties to House Do’Urden now,” Yvonnel agreed. “His sister, his brother, his cousins. Have you found any contact with Matron Mother Zeerith?”

“She is with Bregan D’aerthe, I am certain. An associate of Jarlaxle’s, Braelin Janquay, delivered the message that High Priestess Kiriy Xorlarrin might be interested in returning to the city if a proper position in a fitting House could be found for her.”

“High Priestess of House Do’Urden, of course-or eventual matron mother.”

“I prefer her younger sister Saribel,” Quenthel said. “Tiago will keep that one close and she is more easily controlled. I have never been fond of Kiriy. She is headstrong and convinced that her heart is ever in league with the wishes of the Spider Queen.”

Yvonnel smiled and nodded. “We are blessed,” she said with uncharacteristic kindness. “The illithid has given us both insight to the ways and memories of the Eternal. Mine is more pure, of course, but I am pleased by the insights of the Matron Mother of Menzoberranzan.”

Quenthel leaned away a bit, staring skeptically at the beautiful young woman, even shaking her head in denial.

“I thought I was to serve you,” Quenthel dared to say “perhaps even from the halls of Arach-Tinilith in the Academy.”

“We are stronger right now with you as matron mother,” Yvonnel replied. “We, House Baenre, and the city we control. Call the Ruling Council together-make it not a request, but a command. Demand unity in securing the city and so execute that unity. Declare the new Archmage Tsabrak, and remind any who balk at the proclamation that he was the voice of Lolth in darkening the skies above the Silver Marches.”

“There will still be an attack on House Do’Urden,” Quenthel warned.

“Hunzrin and Melarn,” Yvonnel replied. “Undoubtedly. And I am counting on it.”

She laughed again and skipped out of the room, Minolin Fey in her wake, leaving Quenthel dumbfounded and off-balance, which had been the whole point, Quenthel realized after a moment of reflection.

Back in her own chambers, Yvonnel dismissed Minolin Fey, secured her room with multiple glyphs and wards, and fell into a deep communion with the Abyssal Plane, using the imparted memories of Yvonnel the Eternal to formulate a demonic name.

She watched the summoned form materialize in front of her, like a great, half-melted candle of mud, tentacle arms dripping with Abyssal goo.

Yvonnel, so gloriously groomed and perfectly formed, winced at the grotesque handmaiden, and even more so when the yochlol said, “You summoned me, daughter of House Baenre?” in that watery, gurgling, mud-like voice.

“Could you not assume a more … pleasing form, Yiccardaria?” Yvonnel asked.

The handmaiden giggled, which sounded very much like water bubbling through a thick muddy puddle, and waggled her tentacles about as she turned, spinning round and round. Faster and faster she twirled, and the movement seemed more blurry still from the sheen of brown mist the handmaiden left in her turning wake. The brown cloud settled as she stopped, and now she was a drow woman, beautiful in form, delicate and naked and with long, thick white hair that hung to her waist.

“Do you approve?” Her voice was no longer muddy, but clear as a shining silver bell.

“I do,” Yvonnel said. “And you have my appreciation, Handmaiden, both for the transformation and for coming to my call.”

“I would not have come, were it not the will of the Spider Queen.”

Yvonnel bowed again.

“We have much to discuss,” Yiccardaria said, moving over and running the back of her fingers gently over Yvonnel’s soft cheek.

It was a test, Yvonnel knew, to see if she could sort through what her eyes and nose and skin were telling her-to hold onto the truth that this was a lump of smelly goo teasing her.

“I had much I wished to discuss with you,” Yvonnel replied, taking the yochlol by the wrist and moving her hand aside. “That is why I requested your presence, after all. But it would seem that you come with information that you believe I should know.”

“Astute,” the yochlol said, pulling away with a giggle. “I approve of your transformation and will relay my pleasure to the Spider Queen. Perhaps more so …” She reached to touch the beautiful young drow woman again.

“It was Gromph who brought Demogorgon to Menzoberranzan,” Yvonnel said, trying to keep focused on the matters at hand. She had never known a handmaiden to behave like this, and wasn’t quite sure what it might be about, beyond her initial inkling that the spy for Lolth-every handmaiden was a spy for Lolth, first and foremost-was testing her.

And she couldn’t deny her body’s reactions to the exquisite creature.

She thought the yochlol was trying to seduce her as a test of her willpower-a ridiculous challenge indeed for one of Yvonnel’s understanding and intelligence. But then she understood: The handmaiden was testing her corporeal body, not her willpower, to see if this form Yvonnel wore was real or illusion. The physical reactions, involuntary and ignorant of willpower, would reveal that to the spy.

The handmaiden laughed again and danced away, staring knowingly at the young Yvonnel, whose nipples had visibly hardened under the soft shirt.

“Gromph summoned Demogorgon,” Yvonnel said again, this time more sternly.

“Not without help,” Yiccardaria replied. “Great help, and of most of which the Archmage remains unaware. Understand that Gromph Baenre did more than summon Demogorgon.” She laughed again, and Yvonnel had to force herself not to lean forward too eagerly.

“Let me tell you of the Faerzress,” Yiccardaria said.

“I know …” Yvonnel started to interrupt, but the handmaiden didn’t slow.

“Of what it was and what it is, and of the demon lords who have come through. The Lady of Chaos wishes you to know these things, and the source of the ritual Archmage Gromph performed.”

“And of how it might benefit … me,” Yvonnel said with a wicked grin, and now it was the yochlol’s turn to offer a respectful bow.

Yiccardaria spoke for a long time after that, revealing Lolth’s brilliant deception of Kimmuriel Oblodra, and thus, Kimmuriel’s subsequent deception of Gromph.

“The barrier of the Faerzress is wounded,” she explained, “and so the demon lords have passed through, though they’ll not so easily return. And if they do return …” she paused and laughed and let Yvonnel sort out the logical conclusion.

It was not a difficult maze to navigate. With the demon lords playing on the Material Plane in Faerun’s Underdark, Lady Lolth would fashion the Abyss more favorably to her own demands and desires.

Yvonnel found herself quite in awe of the Spider Queen at that moment, as she reflected on the events of the last few decades. After the murder of Mystra and the advent of the Spellplague, Lolth had made a play for the Weave in a failed effort to create the Web of magic. Then Lolth had lent her support to the chromatic dragons in their attempt to resurrect the catastrophe of Tiamat, weaving that grander purpose into a useful war in the Silver Marches.

And now, even as all of that, too, had fizzled, Lolth had done this next thing, perhaps the greatest upheaval of all.

How beautiful was this goddess, the Spider Queen, to so willingly and agilely assault the stability of the planes, to weave new upheavals even as the last ones were falling back to previous normality?

“The Spider Queen?” Yiccardaria teasingly asked.

Coming out of her contemplation, Yvonnel realized she had worn her thoughts too near the surface, and the handmaiden had read them all too easily. She looked at Yiccardaria with puzzlement for just a few moments, trying to decipher the question.

“You so easily name any of Lady Lolth’s ploys as failure,” the yochlol remarked. “Perhaps the failure is in you.”

It took a moment for Yvonnel to decipher those last two remarks in the context of each other, but when she did, a wide smile spread over her face, and more beautiful still did Lady Lolth seem to her.

“No, not the Spider Queen,” she said, “the Lady of Chaos.”

“Good, good,” purred Yiccardaria. “I came to teach you a lesson and you are a fine student indeed.”

“I requested your presence because I am in need of information, Handmaiden,” Yvonnel replied.

“Yes, and I leave you with one who will better serve your desires, and who will remain at your side and at your whim until you decide otherwise.”

With that, the yochlol-turned-drow began to transform again, not as dramatically as before-not physically, at least, but more fully, Yvonnel realized when she sensed the life energy of the yochlol departing.

But still, a naked drow woman stood there in Yiccardaria’s place, though only for a moment before the tiny, emaciated creature tumbled to the floor, seemingly too weak to even stand.

Yvonnel moved over and prodded the wretched and dirty drow with her foot, rolling her over just enough to look upon her face.

From the memories of Yvonnel the Eternal, this young Yvonnel knew this drow. Her first reaction was one of near murderous fury.

“K’yorl Odran,” she mouthed, hardly able to spit out the name in her abject shock.