Night of the Hunter

CHAPTER 23

The grin on Gromph Baenre’s face did little to calm the Armgo nobles standing around the throne of Matron Mez’Barris. “The husband of Minolin Fey graces us with his presence,” High Priestess Taayrul announced to her Matron, and Gromph understood that the sleight had certainly been practiced by Taayrul and approved by Mez’Barris. Taayrul was a sniveling little witch, after all, and would never expose herself to the wrath of Gromph without her powerful mother’s blessing, and indeed, demand.

“By the determination of Lady Lolth herself,” Gromph replied, and lightly, as if taking the insult without a care. “I would be a poor servant to ignore the Spider Queen’s direct command, and a fool to ignore her determination that my child will be favored.”

“Child?” Matron Mez’Barris asked.

Gromph merely smiled wider.

“Then you will elevate Minolin Fey to Matron of House Baenre, perhaps,” Mez’Barris pressed. “Now that your sister Sos’Umptu has moved on to serve in House Do’Urden, the path to ascent seems rather simple.”

“The path to ascent would go through Matron Mother Quenthel,” Gromph replied. “Hardly simple, for there is no more difficult path to walk in all of Menzoberranzan.”

“Difficult, yes, but we have a way.”

Gromph matched the matron’s sly look with a smirk and chuckle, which had the ever-wary Priestess Taayrul staring hard at him, and across from her, Weapons Master Malagdorl, an impulsive oaf, even took a threatening step Gromph’s way, his hand going to his sword hilt.

“You have already had this discussion with Priestess Minolin,” Gromph said.

“Are we to pretend that our many plans never happened?”

“That would be wise, yes.”

“Or perhaps I will go to Matron Mother Quenthel and tell her of your designs against her,” Matron Mez’Barris warned.

“Yes, let us go forthwith,” Gromph casually replied, and that had the nobles of Barrison Del’Armgo whispering and looking at him curiously. “Or better, perhaps …” The archmage paused and began some spellcasting.

Malagdorl drew his weapon, Taayrul began to pray and Matron Mez’Barris leaped from her chair at the affront. To enter the audience chamber of a rival House and cast a spell unbidden by, and in the presence of, the matron …

Gromph paused and looked at Mez’Barris incredulously. He shifted his gaze just a bit to the side, to Malagdorl, and the archmage’s smile reappeared, and this time it was one threatening a sudden and brutal death.

“You don’t need to be so on edge, Matron of Barrison Del’Armgo,” Gromph assured her. “Though if your weapons master advances another stride, you will need to replace him.”

Matron Mez’Barris glared at her impetuous son and hissed at him until he moved back beside the throne and sheathed his great sword.

“This is a time of unity,” Gromph explained. “View every step the matron mother has recently taken through that prism, and you will see the reasoning of her design.”

“Will House Melarn agree with that assessment?”

“House Melarn?” Gromph asked innocently, and Mez’Barris narrowed her eyes. She wanted to call him out, the archmage knew, but she could not. If she elaborated on the affront to House Melarn, she would, at the same time, be admitting that House Melarn had put those soldiers and driders into the abandoned and sequestered House Do’Urden in clear violation of the orders of the Ruling Council.

She would even be hinting at her own complicity in creating the garrison the Baenre’s had cleared from that restricted House, for surely there were Barrison Del’Armgo soldiers among that garrison. Such open secrets could never be admitted, even if all knew the truth.

“The Melarni ascend to the Sixth House with the departure of the Xorlarrins,” Gromph replied. “That will satisfy eager Matron Zhindia.”

“They are more powerful than Houses ranked higher, and they are more devout,” Mez’Barris reminded him.

“If Matron Zhindia is as devout as you claim-and I do not dispute that,” he quickly added, seeing Mez’Barris’s scowl, “then she will know that the Spider Queen will not sanction any inter-House warfare at this time. Indeed, should she move against Fey-Branche, she will find Houses Mizzrym and Faen Tlabbar allied with her enemy.”

The matron scowled more profoundly, clearly anticipating Gromph’s next remark.

“And all of them allied with House Baenre,” he stated. “Our entire might will turn against House Melarn, and destroy Zhindia’s family as fully as Matron Mother Yvonnel destroyed House Oblodra in the Time of Troubles. Do not doubt that the Spider Queen would favor this.”

“Have you come here to threaten-”

“Quite the opposite, Matron.” Gromph cut her short and offered a bow as he spoke. When he came up, he lifted his arms in the same pose as when he was spellcasting earlier. He froze there and looked to Matron Mez’Barris for permission to continue.

Malagdorl was already leaning forward again, his face a scowl, and how Gromph wanted to simply make him vanish, to obliterate him to nothingness.

The archmage remembered that he was an ambassador here and settled for the fantasy of melting the impudent weapons master.

Matron Mez’Barris held up her hand to hold Malagdorl back, then motioned for Gromph to continue.

The archmage began to chant softly. His fingers glowed with black energy and he drew a doorway in front of him, trailing lines of blackness as substantial as if he had been painting on a canvas.

The completed lines shimmered and sparked and bled blackness within the square Gromph had drawn, until the whole shimmered like a curtain, a black portal.

Mez’Barris and her children and all the Armgo guards stood ready, many glancing around as if expecting an open portal to the Abyss itself, as if expecting a horde of demons to come roaring into their audience chamber.

But it was no horde, just a solitary figure, and that figure was not demonic, but was, rather, a drow, a female drow: the Matron Mother of Menzoberranzan.

In glancing around, it occurred to perceptive Gromph that the nobles of this Second House looking at the spectacle of Matron Mother Quenthel would have been less shocked if it had been the demon horde instead.

“Matron Mez’Barris, am I welcomed in your home this day?” the matron mother asked.

The Matron of Barrison Del’Armgo stared at her arch-rival, not knowing what to make of any of this. She swallowed hard as her gaze slipped to the portal, still shimmering, still open. Her expression revealed her fear: Was there a Baenre army ready to pour through at the matron mother’s command?

“Of course, Matron Mother, if you come in the name of the Spider Queen,” Mez’Barris properly replied.

“I am the Matron Mother of Menzoberranzan,” Quenthel imperiously replied. “Where I go, so goes the Spider Queen, in name and in heart.”

“Y-yes, Matron Mother,” Mez’Barris replied, stammering just a bit in surprise, and she wisely lowered her gaze.

Quenthel’s assertion of power had hit the perfect tone, Gromph understood, and he did well to hide his grin.

“There is no threat here, Matron of Barrison Del’Armgo,” the matron mother said. “I am here in solidarity and alliance. We look outward now-the Spider Queen will not accept intrigue among her matrons. Not now. You are under House Baenre’s protection.”

Gromph held his breath at that explosive remark, and he saw the expressions of Mez’Barris and her two children tightening immediately, yet again.

“We do not need Baenre’s protection,” the proud Mez’Barris retorted, but Quenthel went on undeterred.

“And House Baenre is under yours,” she said, stealing her counterpart’s bluster.

Indeed, Matron Mez’Barris stammered indecipherably for a few moments.

Now Gromph did smile, and almost chuckled. Quenthel was playing her. She had moved Mez’Barris to a place of pride and stolen it away with her own humility in the course of two simple sentences!

“We go to war, Matron Mez’Barris,” the matron mother said, squaring her shoulders to reflect the gravity of the declaration. “Tsabrak Xorlarrin prepares the battlefield, and House Do’Urden will lead the march from Menzoberranzan and Q’Xorlarrin.”

“Your mother went this way before,” Matron Mez’Barris warned.

“I am painfully aware of that,” the matron mother replied, the personal reference a reminder that she, Quenthel, had been slain on that very adventure.

“Your mother sent forth the greatest army Menzoberranzan has dispatched in the modern age, and we returned wounded, one and all.”

“A mistake that will not be replayed,” Quenthel assured her. “Our force will be modest this time, for no great drow army is needed in the coming battle.”

Mez’Barris and the others looked at her curiously. “What goal …?” Mez’Barris started to ask.

“We have a vast army already assembled and awaiting our lead,” the matron mother explained. “A kingdom of orcs, entrenched upon the land, that will sweep down upon the peoples of the cities and citadels in the region known as the Silver Marches. Woe to the dwarves in the mines who turned us back a century ago, and woe upon their fellows in two nearby citadels as well. Woe to the darthiir, the elves in the Moonwood, and woe to the great cities of Sundabar and Silverymoon.”

“Grand claims.”

“An army of tens of thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands,” Quenthel told her. “An army that was put in place for just this day. An army waiting for us to come and prod it forward.”

“And so we will march,” Mez’Barris said. “A collection of all the Houses, or of Do’Urden alone?”

“House Do’Urden is a creation of the Spider Queen’s bite,” the matron mother explained. “For Lady Lolth, this action is personal, a stab at the heart of a fellow goddess. All the Houses will send representatives. I would expect proud Barrison Del’Armgo to complement the warrior ranks. That is at your discretion, of course, though I tell you openly that House Baenre will be well-represented.”

“By Sos’Umptu, who will lead this force,” Mez’Barris reasoned, but Quenthel shook her head.

“Sos’Umptu will not go,” the matron mother said firmly. “She leads House Do’Urden in the interim only, directing Bregan D’aerthe in their work to reclaim the House. We will determine suitable leaders for this force we send, but among them …” She paused and smiled.

Gromph liked that touch, noting that she had Mez’Barris leaning forward in her throne.

“The orcs will carry the fight to the peoples of the Silver Marches and they will be led by …”

Again she paused, holding the thought for many heartbeats. Her delay soon had Mez’Barris’s two children leaning forward eagerly.

“By the son of Barrison Del’Armgo,” the matron mother finished.

“Malagdorl?” Matron Mez’Barris incredulously replied.

“By Tos’un Armgo,” Quenthel corrected, “wielding the sword of Dantrag Baenre, marching in the name of Daermon N’a’shezbaernon, House Do’Urden. We will wreak carnage upon the Silver Marches from behind a throng of orcs. We will repay them for our defeat that century and more ago, and we will ruin the name of the apostate Drizzt, to Lolth’s glory.”

“Drizzt?” Mez’Barris echoed incredulously. “I care not for Drizzt Do’Urden!”

“But the Spider Queen does, and so you shall,” the matron mother replied. “Go and pray and seek guidance, you and Taayrul and all the priestesses of your House. You will see. We are called now, there is no doubt.”

Mez’Barris and her daughter exchanged concerned looks, but Quenthel had them, Gromph knew, and he nodded, silently congratulating his sister, who did indeed seem more like his mother.

“There is no intrigue now among us,” Matron Mother Quenthel said with a snap of finality that brooked no debate. “This is not the time.”

“And so House Baenre gains two seats on the council!” Mez’Barris reminded, a flash of anger in her red eyes.

“No,” the matron mother replied. “Sos’Umptu will not remain as Matron of House Do’Urden.”

“Then who?”

“We will know,” was all that Matron Mother Quenthel would offer.

“But still, House Do’Urden is the matron mother’s creation, and so to the matron mother’s control,” Mez’Barris reasoned.

“If the son of Barrison Del’Armgo performs well, then perhaps Matron Mez’Barris, too, will find alliance in the reconstituted House Do’Urden-if Matron Mez’Barris is wise enough to properly support the quest of Lolth, of course. Perhaps then we will both have gained a second voice on the council.”

With that tempting tidbit, the matron mother bowed and stepped through Gromph’s portal. The archmage lingered in the audience chamber for a few moments, weighing the expressions and reactions of the Armgos.

I will not forget our conspiracy, or your weakness in seeing it through to fruition, Mez’Barris warned him, using her silent handcant instead of speaking aloud in case Quenthel could hear her on the other side of that magical door.

“Go find a handmaiden and discuss the matter,” Gromph replied. “You will learn wisdom in my … weakness, and humility to temper your dangerous pride.”

He bowed and stepped through, and the magical door disappeared.

“We’ll not hold Luskan for long if you insist on keeping such a sizable force here in Menzoberranzan,” Jarlaxle dared to say to Matron Mother Quenthel when she and Gromph paid him a visit in the Do’Urden compound.

“Beniago has the city well in hand,” the matron mother replied. “Tiago is not far away, and the Xorlarrins will march to his call.”

“Tiago is on his way back here, so it is said, although he seems to be taking his time about it,” Jarlaxle replied, rather slyly, tipping his hand that he might know more than his counterparts regarding the movements of the brash young warrior.

Which he did not.

“And are the Xorlarrins not foremost in your plans to march to the east?” Jarlaxle went on. “Surely you will include Matron Zeerith’s garrison among your army.”

Jarlaxle noted Gromph’s angry scowl. The archmage, standing behind the matron mother, even offered Jarlaxle a disgusted shake of his head to warn him away from this line of questioning.

Because he had called Quenthel’s bluff, Jarlaxle realized. Keeping him and Bregan D’aerthe bottled up here at House Do’Urden would certainly leave their well-constructed network in Luskan too weak to resist any pushback from the more conventional forces up there; the other high captains would move on Ship Kurth if they thought they could be rid of Beniago, and more than that, if they thought they could grab their city back from Jarlaxle’s hold.

“I have less than four hundred soldiers,” Jarlaxle elaborated. “In total. More than a hundred are out and about the Underdark and the surface, as scouts and emissaries. You have more than two-thirds of the remaining garrison here.”

Gromph held his breath, as if he expected their sister to lash out at Jarlaxle, the mercenary leader realized, but Quenthel took a long pause and seemed to be seriously considering Jarlaxle’s words.

“That leaves Beniago with less than a hundred to hold our place among a city of thousands-and thousands of veteran pirates and scalawags,” Jarlaxle said.

“It is said that one drow warrior is worth a hundred enemies,” Quenthel replied.

“Many things are said. Few are true,” Jarlaxle dared to press. “Whatever the demands of Lady Lolth in the east, it would not be wise to lose Luskan in our pursuit of her favor. This is our trade route to the surface, and has already brought great wealth and power to Menzoberranzan, including strange and mighty artifacts from the Empire of Netheril. And it is a trade route, though going straight through Q’Xorlarrin, which is solidly controlled by House Baenre.”

“Neither you nor Beniago seem eager to claim that family name,” Quenthel reminded him.

“Would you have us do so?” Jarlaxle asked innocently, knowing the answer, and Quenthel had to concede the point. “Through Luskan, through my organization, you will track the trading, and ultimately control the power, of Q’Xorlarrin.”

“You overestimate your importance to me.”

“Matron Shakti Hunzrin would disagree,” Jarlaxle replied without hesitation, referring to the Matron of the Eleventh House. Even though she was not on the Ruling Council, Shakti Hunzrin carried an inordinate amount of power, because House Hunzrin was among the greatest economic forces in the city, thanks to an elaborate trade network spidering out far beyond Menzoberranzan’s borders.

Matron Mother Quenthel turned and glanced at Gromph, who shrugged almost apologetically before nodding his agreement with Jarlaxle.

“You have secured the alliance with House Barrison Del’Armgo,” Gromph reasoned. “Matron Mez’Barris is fully within your web. Given our stated alliance to House Do’Urden, none will dare move on House Do’Urden at this time without Barrison Del’Armgo’s nod, which Matron Mez’Barris will not dare give.”

Quenthel settled comfortably then, mulling it over.

“May I return to Luskan?” Jarlaxle asked after a short silence.

“No,” the matron mother sharply replied, and then more calmly, “No, but you may return half your foot soldiers from House Do’Urden back to Beniago’s command.”

“I am to join in the procession to the east, then,” Jarlaxle said with enough of a sigh to show that he would consider that a tedious task indeed.

“No,” Quenthel said flatly.

Her answer surprised the mercenary. From everything she had said, and everything he had heard elsewhere, the work in the east would be that of diplomacy more than combat, after all. And who better for that task than Jarlaxle?

“It will not be a large force that we send to the east,” the matron mother explained, but perceptive Jarlaxle heard something else in her dodge, something personal regarding him, he suspected. “Our posture there is as advisors, directing the orc thousands. I’ll not repeat Yvonnel’s mistake. Win or lose in the Silver Marches, the price will not be high to Menzoberranzan.”

“You are stirring a wasp’s nest,” Jarlaxle warned.

“And letting the wasps bite where they may,” Quenthel agreed.

Jarlaxle mulled that over for a bit. The idea that Menzoberranzan would start a war and care so little about the outcome did not seem correct to him. Not at all.

He considered his surroundings, and considered the target. He spent a long while studying Quenthel.

Was this about Drizzt? Drizzt had once killed Quenthel, after all, and quite painfully.

“House Do’Urden will lead the fight in the east, but you will remain right here, by my side and at my call,” Quenthel said flatly.

Because of his relationship with Drizzt, Jarlaxle understood, but did not dare say.

The mercenary bowed, recognizing the meeting to be at its end.

“So the march against the Silver Marches will be led by Tos’un, the Patron of House Do’Urden,” Gromph said to Quenthel when they were back in his quarters at House Baenre. “And by Tiago, Weapons Master of House Baenre.”

“Well reasoned,” Quenthel replied. “And where is the prideful whelp?”

“He will be along,” Gromph assured her. “Will you send Sos’Umptu to the east?” he asked, eager to change the subject, for he did not want to fill the volatile Quenthel in on Tiago’s excursion to Icewind Dale.

“Mez’Barris already asked as much.”

“Tell me personally,” Gromph bade her.

“No,” she answered after pausing for a moment to take a close measure of Gromph. “Priestess Saribel will serve.”

“How many of our House will go?”

“Few,” Quenthel replied. “The city will send perhaps a hundred warriors in total, with a score of that number from House Barrison Del’Armgo and the rest of the ranks filled with weapons masters of lesser Houses, eager to make their reputation. The contingent of priestesses, again from lesser Houses, will serve Saribel, and Q’Xorlarrin will supply the contingent of wizards-all of them, save one.”

“Me,” the archmage remarked, and he made sure he didn’t sound enthusiastic about the possibility.

“Nay, your lackey,” Quenthel corrected to his surprise and delight. “Whoever you decide that to be. Your duty is simple, my Archmage: You keep a direct line open to Tiago’s fortress in the east, wherever he makes it. We would converse with him regularly on the prosecution of the war, and we will go to him with a sizable force if necessary, or recall him if prudent. I’ll not lose Tiago in this excursion.”

“Because he will help House Do’Urden rise to legitimate promise, affording you a second vote on the Ruling Council at your will,” Gromph replied.

“After our glory in the east, House Do’Urden will ascend in rank, favored by Lolth,” Quenthel agreed, and Gromph understood then that Quenthel was determined about two things in the east: that Tiago would not fall and that Tos’un Armgo would.

He saluted his clever sister with a bow.