Night of the Hunter

CHAPTER 6

"Driders,” the soldier reported. “A trio at least, holed up in the rear chamber of the former chapel.”

Matron Mother Quenthel looked to Gromph.

“Melarni,” he confirmed.

Quenthel Baenre looked to Vadalma Tlabbar, one of the other three matron mothers who had accompanied her this day. Vadalma had ruled her fanatically devout House, Faen Tlabbar, for less than a century, but in that time had earned herself an amazing reputation for sadism and promiscuity. She would copulate with anything or kill anything, so it was said, and sometimes at the same time.

And Vadalma was always plotting, Matron Mother Quenthel knew, much like Vadalma’s dead mother, Ghenni’tiroth. Yes, like her. The memories of Yvonnel, given to Quenthel by the illithid, explicitly warned of the fanatical Tlabbars.

“Should I have them killed then?” Matron Mother Quenthel asked her three escorts.

“Yes,” Matron Miz’ri Mizzrym of the Fifth House answered immediately, drawing a laugh from Zeerith Xorlarrin. Miz’ri pointedly looked to Vadalma as she answered.

Miz’ri had heard the rumors, too, the others understood, for by all whispered accounts, a quiet alliance was being forged. House Faen Tlabbar and House Melarn, considered the two most fanatical in their devotion to the Spider Queen but each taking their rituals and practices in different directions, were hardly friendly with each other. Their priestesses at Arach-Tinilith argued constantly, sometimes violently, over the proper ways to show their love of Lady Lolth. Still, despite the disputes, the quiet whispers about Menzoberranzan now hinted that Matron Vadalma had recently been approached by agents for House Melarn, offering a truce of sorts.

It made sense, as these four matrons understood all too well. With House Xorlarrin leaving, there would be a major opening on the Ruling Council, and every House below Xorlarrin would vie for that coveted position. Perhaps House Melarn would go to war with House Mizzrym, the Fifth House, then ascend to the fourth rank as House Faen Tlabbar, House Melarn’s secret ally in their endeavors against Miz’ri’s family, climbed into the vacant third spot.

“Matron Vadalma?” Matron Mother Quenthel asked innocently.

“I do not think it wise to destroy driders of any House, or of no House at all,” the Tlabbar leader answered. “They suffer by living. That is why they are driders.”

Matron Mother Quenthel turned her smirk to Gromph.

“She has a point,” the archmage agreed.

“Flush them out and capture them,” Baenre ordered. “Take them in webs to House Baenre for … retraining.”

“Matron Zhindia of House Melarn will protest,” Zeerith Q’Xorlarrin warned. “But then, she is always protesting, is she not?”

“How many have we defeated already who are quietly associated with her House?” Matron Mother Quenthel asked, and she moved to the balcony of the loft and looked down over the wide audience chamber below, where the defeated resistance, some alive and shackled, others dead and piled, had been brought. “By what right does Matron Melarn utilize this place?” She spun on the others fiercely. “By what right do any enter here, in this most cursed of locations?”

“Until now?” Matron Zeerith asked, right on cue. She and Matron Mother Quenthel had practiced this very exchange, after all.

“Until now,” Matron Mother Quenthel replied. “Now we are sanctioned by the goddess. So says First Priestess Sos’Umptu Baenre, who is First Priestess of the Fane of the Goddess, which is near to this place.”

“And so says First Priestess Kiriy of Xorlarrin,” said Zeerith.

“And Sabbal, First Priestess of Mizzrym,” Miz’ri was proud to add, turning to Matron Tlabbar with a smug expression as she spoke. And why shouldn’t she appear so? Matron Mez’Barris Armgo hadn’t been invited along-indeed, it was likely that some of the wayward dark elves the Baenre forces had chased out of this compound had belonged to House Barrison Del’Armgo, while others had been merely Houseless rogues, and most others had been of House Melarn. If the rumors of House Melarn trying to ally with House Faen Tlabbar were true-and it seemed from Vadalma’s sour expression that such was indeed the case-and that House Faen Tlabbar was entertaining the possibility, this expedition had likely put a screeching end to that unified march.

“And First Priestess Luafae of Faen Tlabbar,” said Vadalma, clearly trying to bring some determination and exuberance to her tone.

Matron Mother Quenthel almost laughed at her.

Almost.

Just close enough so as to let the others, Vadalma included, know that she wanted to laugh at her, but, out of deference to Vadalma’s station, the temperate Matron Mother Quenthel had restrained herself.

Matron Mez’Barris Armgo paced around her chapel, huffing and snorting and shaking her head. “What are you about, Quenthel?” she whispered to herself.

House Baenre had sent a sizable force to West Wall, to the old Do’Urden compound, scouring the place, and beside Quenthel had gone the matrons of the three Houses ranked immediately below Baenre and Barrison Del’Armgo. It seemed an almost unprecedented power play, so startling from the weakling Quenthel, a warning to any Houses thinking to climb into the top hierarchy that any such attacks would be met by a unified alliance of overwhelming power.

And perhaps it was, as well, a threat to House Barrison Del’Armgo. Matron Mez’Barris did not fear any of the other Houses individually; even House Baenre would never openly attack her. The cost would prove far too high.

But all four of these together? Might this be the start of a great realignment? The creation of a grander tie between Menzoberranzan and the fledgling city of Q’Xorlarrin before Matron Zeerith and the rest of her family departed for their new home?

Weapons Master Malagdorl entered the chapel then, his stride fast and anxious.

He nodded back at Matron Mez’Barris’s inquiring look.

“Witch,” Mez’Barris said under her breath. Malagdorl had been sent to Melee-Magthere to speak with spies House Barrison Del’Armgo had placed about Aumon Baenre, Quenthel’s son. It was an open secret in Menzoberranzan that House Baenre had sanctioned House Xorlarrin’s journey to the complex known as Gauntlgrym, but in light of these new developments, Mez’Barris suspected more than a simple sanction. Malagdorl’s nod spoke volumes: Quenthel had arranged that expedition, Mez’Barris knew now, for as she had suspected, the brash upstart warrior, Tiago Baenre, had traveled with the Xorlarrins.

Tiago was the grandson of Weapons Master Dantrag, whom Mez’Barris hated. Dantrag had been the greatest enemy and rival of Uthegental, her beloved warrior son, the greatest weapons master Menzoberranzan had ever known, so Mez’Barris believed and preached.

“Gol’fanin, too,” Malagdorl said, and Mez’Barris nodded, her lips disappearing in a profound scowl. Gol’fanin, the greatest blacksmith in the city, had traveled with Tiago Baenre to the legendary Forge of the Delzoun dwarves. Mez’Barris could well imagine what that might portend.

She looked at Malagdorl pitifully, and dismissed him with a wave. Did he understand, she wondered? Did her rather dimwitted grandson realize that Tiago would come back armed to kill … him?

No sooner had Malagdorl departed than First Priestess Taayrul poked her head in through the ornate door. “Minolin Fey has arrived, Matron,” she said quietly.

“Take her to my private chambers at once,” Mez’Barris answered. “Quietly. And let no word go forth that she is here. House Melarn will likely come calling soon enough. Matron Zhindia is surely outraged by the brash move of Quenthel Baenre, and no doubt House Melarn has lost many foot soldiers this day.”

“Driders and captured drow foot soldiers were just carted from West Wall to Qu’ellarz’orl,” Taayrul solemnly replied. “To House Baenre, it is presumed.”

Matron Mez’Barris snorted and shook her head. Quenthel had truly surprised her with the boldness of this move. She had never thought the sniveling Baenre whelp was possessed of such courage.

To openly abduct Melarni driders?

“Put the garrison on war footing,” Matron Mez’Barris said suddenly.

Taayrul’s red eyes widened. “Matron?”

It had been an impulsive command, and one of great consequence, but as she considered the events transpiring, Mez’Barris found herself agreeing with that impulse even more. “Recall all of Barrison Del’Armgo, noble and commoner. Close the gates and prepare every defense.”

“Matron,” Taayrul said with a respectful bow, and she scurried away.

Leaving Mez’Barris alone with her worries.

Soon after, the four matron mothers and their elite escorts rejoined Archmage Gromph in the wide nave of the two-story chapel of House Do’Urden. Only a short while before, the four had watched, Matron Mother Quenthel and Matron Miz’ri with great amusement, as the three driders, cocooned in webbing, were dragged past them by struggling foot soldiers.

“It has been so long since I looked upon this place,” Matron Mother Quenthel said. “I had forgotten how much it resembles the Baenre Chapel, although far less magnificent, of course.”

“Indeed, it is amazing that a House with a chapel of such design could have fallen so far from the Spider Queen’s favor,” Matron Vadalma put in, the sweetness of her tone doing little to cover the cattiness of her remark.

But Matron Mother Quenthel merely smiled at her. It didn’t matter, Baenre knew, because the plan was in full execution and the other three had bought in wholly. When first they had entered this abandoned compound in Menzoberranzan’s West Wall district, following an army of Baenre foot soldiers and wizards and beside the archmage himself, Vadalma Tlabbar and Miz’ri Mizzrym had both worn sour expressions. They had learned soon after the secret invitation the gist of this little adventure, no doubt, particularly since those invitations had come from Matron Zeerith and not from House Baenre, but had been sent in deference to the demands of House Baenre.

Through the maze of the complex’s entry caverns, the four matrons had been greeted over and over by Baenre warriors, dragging out the many rogues who had come into this place unbidden and without permission.

None were supposed to be in here, by order of the Ruling Council, but it was an ill-kept secret in the city that Houses Melarn and Barrison Del’Armgo used this place as training quarters.

In a powerful stroke, then, Matron Mother Quenthel had struck a blow against both of those Houses, the uneasy Second House and the ambitious Seventh. If Baenre’s choice of dining with House Fey-Branche during the Festival of the Founding hadn’t warned House Melarn to temper those ambitions-indeed, if the appearance of Lolth’s Avatar at the dinner, if the rumors were to be believed, hadn’t done so-then surely this bold strike would make the demand crystal clear to Matron Zhindia Melarn.

And Zhindia could not even raise her grievance at the next iteration of the Ruling Council, because this place, once the home of Malice Do’Urden, the birthplace of the infamous Drizzt Do’Urden, could not be inhabited or visited, by direct and unambiguous edict of the Ruling Council.

Until now, when the First Priestesses of the four Houses in attendance had independently confirmed to their matrons that this mission was Lolth’s will.

And so by Lolth’s will and by Baenre’s power, House Do’Urden was cleared that day of vagabonds and secret militia.

And so by Lolth’s will, in accordance with Lolth’s demand, House Do’Urden was ready to be reconstituted.

Minolin Fey noted the agitation in Mez’Barris’s movements as the Matron swept into the room.

“You have seen the events of this day?” she asked, moving right to the point.

Minolin Fey nodded. “They have not been secret about it.”

“Four Houses, striking together.”

Minolin Fey shrugged as if it should not matter. “The Do’Urden compound is forbidden ground,” she said quietly and calmly.

“I note that Fey-Branche was not invited to Matron Mother Quenthel’s little excursion,” Mez’Barris said slyly. “House Baenre pulls her allies in close in this time of upheaval, and yet, there you are, alone and with a hungry and ambitious House Melarn watching.”

Minolin Fey forced herself not to wince. House Baenre had guaranteed its alliance to House Fey-Branche at the Festival of the Founding, but indeed, the events of this day had not reassured Minolin’s family.

“Matron Mother Quenthel makes more of a statement by those she did not invite, it would seem,” said Mez’Barris, twisting the knife a bit.

“As with your own?”

Matron Mez’Barris laughed easily and took a seat on a chair of overstuffed pillows just across from Minolin Fey. “We refused her invitation,” Mez’Barris said. “They have more than enough force to expel a few Houseless rogues, and I have better things to do than follow Matron Mother Quenthel on her ridiculous excursions.”

A few Houseless rogues, Minolin Fey thought, and didn’t hide her knowing smile. Not so Houseless, most, she knew well, and not a few of them were tied right back here, to House Barrison Del’Armgo. Which was why, of course, there was no possibility that Matron Mother Quenthel had invited Mez’Barris along on the assault, despite the matron’s claims to the contrary.

Mez’Barris’s lie revealed her fears, and thus, her weakness, Minolin Fey silently reassured herself.

“Do you think Matron Zhindia Melarn will attack House Fey-Branche while the Baenre soldiers are still in the field?” Matron Mez’Barris asked. “Or will she wait until Quen-Matron Mother Quenthel’s little play is ended?”

Minolin Fey merely smiled-not because she was confident that Mez’Barris was wrong, but because even if House Fey-Branche was wholly razed, she knew herself to be above the fray. Indeed, by Matron Mother Quenthel’s private decree, one sanctified by the Avatar of Lolth herself, Minolin was of House Baenre now, the secret wife of Gromph, the expectant mother of the future Matron Mother of Menzoberranzan. But of course, Mez’Barris Armgo didn’t need to know any of that.

“What are we to do about this?” Mez’Barris asked, rather sharply, shocking Minolin Fey from her contemplation.

“Do?”

“Be not coy,” said Mez’Barris. “Matron Mother Quenthel has struck out against House Melarn this day …”

“And against your own House,” Minolin Fey interjected.

Matron Mez’Barris looked at her as if she wanted to lash out.

“If we are being … not coy,” Minolin Fey said.

The matron paused for a long while, staring at Minolin Fey hard. “Matron Mother Quenthel has gathered her power together, and is daring House Melarn to retaliate, but to the side. Indeed, she seems to be goading House Melarn to strike at House Fey-Branche, and were that to pass, and were I to support Matron Zhindia of House Melarn, Matron Mother Quenthel and her lackeys would not intervene.”

“You have already said as much, in fewer words,” Minolin Fey dared to reply.

“What are we to do about it?” Matron Mez’Barris asked slyly, leadingly. Minolin Fey looked at her blankly.

“What are you going to do about it?” Mez’Barris clarified, and after a few more heartbeats of uncomfortable silence, she added, “We are allies, yes? Long have we planned for this inevitable day. Perhaps it is time now for us to seal that alliance, Barrison Del’Armgo with Fey-Branche. I can hold Matron Zhindia at bay-House Melarn would not attack Fey-Branche without my blessing. Not now. Not when Matron Mother Quenthel has gathered her allies so tightly about her.”

“What am I to offer the balor?” Minolin Fey asked.

“Errtu was banished by a son of House Baenre. Defeated on a cold field in the World Above. Surely he is not enamored of Tiago’s family. You offer him the chance to repay Matron Mother Quenthel.”

“Errtu is patient. Perhaps he would prefer to exact his revenge on his own, in time.”

“You have spoken with the balor?” Matron Mez’Barris asked bluntly.

“Not recently, and not directly. I cannot summon him, of course, since he is banished from our plane of existence, and I do not often travel to the Abyss, particularly not to parlay with one as unpredictable and dangerous as Errtu. I do not wish to find myself as a cell mate to Matron K’yorl.”

“We have discussed this,” an agitated Mez’Barris said.

“The sword of Tiago Baenre has altered our … possibilities.”

“We will go to Errtu together,” Mez’Barris offered. “We will bring the archmage as well. Yes, it is time for him to assert control.”

“Gromph will not go against Matron Mother Quenthel. Not now.”

“He knows of our plan-indeed, it was his plan to begin with!” Mez’Barris argued.

It was true enough, Minolin Fey had to admit. The three of them, none favoring Matron Mother Quenthel, had indeed plotted Quenthel’s downfall. With Lady Lolth venturing into the realm of the arcane, the drow wizards, even though overwhelmingly male, sought to gain newer and higher stature, and of course, none stood to gain more than Gromph Baenre, the great Archmage of Menzoberranzan, the oldest and, by many estimations, the most powerful drow in the city. Perhaps Gromph would even be officially recognized as the Patron Father of House Baenre. Such things were unprecedented, but then, so were these curious and chaotic times.

Mez’Barris Armgo certainly would support the ascent of Gromph, mostly because her House would, in that circumstance, almost surely be elevated above House Baenre, at long and deserving last. But also because she and Gromph had developed a mutual understanding over the past few decades.

At least, that had been the case, Minolin Fey thought but did not say. Unbeknownst to Mez’Barris, much had changed in the Festival of the Founding.

“Errtu will give us Matron K’yorl,” Mez’Barris insisted, referring to the Matron of House Oblodra, a drow family skilled in the strange magic of psionics. In the Time of Troubles, when normal magic had gone awry, K’yorl had tried to take advantage of her House’s sudden imbalance of power, but alas, Matron Mother Yvonnel Baenre had channeled the power of Lolth and dropped House Oblodra into the chasm known as the Clawrift. For her insolence, K’yorl Odran, Matron K’yorl, had been gifted to the demon Errtu, where she remained, tormented, to this day. “Her hatred of House Baenre is beyond sanity, and her powers … yes, with House Oblodra a distant memory, Matron Mother Quenthel will not be prepared to deal with the bared powers of K’yorl. She will destroy Quenthel, and we will be rid of the witch!”

“Bregan D’aerthe’s Kimmuriel is said to be of House Oblodra, and quite skilled-”

“He will never get to Quenthel’s side in time!” Matron Mez’Barris insisted, so agitated now that she had dropped the use of the proper title for her rival.

Minolin Fey merely smiled. She had gone that morning for her first … encounter, with Methil El-Viddenvelp, who was now, it seemed, firmly in the court of Matron Mother Quenthel. Even if freed and their plan enacted, K’yorl would not be nearly as effective as Matron Mez’Barris hoped, Minolin Fey suspected.

“Gromph will not go against Matron Mother Quenthel,” Minolin Fey said again. “Not now, perhaps never. And so our plan is moot.”

“We do not need him!”

“You do not need him,” Minolin Fey said. “If you wish to go to the Abyss to deal with Errtu, then may Lady Lolth go with you, because you will need her.”

“Your House stands alone,” Matron Mez’Barris reminded her. “I am your one hedge against the wrath of House Melarn!”

“My House? My House does not fear Matron Zhindia.”

“Fey-Branche is no match for-”

“Fey-Branche is not my House,” Minolin Fey said, tired of the discussion, and confident that she had learned all that she might this day.

Matron Mez’Barris stared at her curiously.

“I am Minolin Fey-Baenre,” she announced boldly, standing, “wife of Gromph, servant of Matron Mother Quenthel Baenre.”

“You dare?” an outraged Mez’Barris cried.

“The Avatar of Lolth appeared at House Fey-Branche in the Festival of the Founding,” Minolin Fey explained. “It is not merely a rumor, Matron. It is the truth. And that truth has sealed a bond between House Baenre and House Fey-Branche. You might wish to relay that truth to Matron Zhindia Melarn before she does something rather stupid.”

Minolin waved her hand and cast a quick spell of recall, and said, “I go … home.”

The corporeal form of Minolin Fey seemed to fall apart then, bursting into a multitude of fast-dissipating black balls of insubstantial smoke, leaving Mez’Barris Armgo staring dumbfounded at this most curious, and surely most dangerous, turn of events.