Daughter of the Drow (29 page)

“Where is she?” the matron demanded. “Where have you hidden her?”

Gromph understood at once, for over his sister’s head loomed the magical image of Lloth, crafted by his might and magic. The beautiful illusion smiled down at him with sardonic amusement in its golden eyes. His eyes, and those of his unexpectedly resourceful daughter.

The wizard pointedly disengaged the matron’s grasping hands. “You might be more specific,” he requested coolly. There is no shortage of females in Menzoberranzan.”

“You know who I mean,” spat out Triel. “Liriel is not at Arach-Tinilith. You gave her permission to depart, and left me to look the fool. Tell me why she left, tell me where she is, tell me everything she has done!”

Gromph shrugged. “Liriel said only that she had personal matters to attend. It is not my custom to question the actions of a Baenre female.”

“Enough!” shrieked the priestess. “There is no time for such games. Where is Liriel, and where is the artifact?”

There was a moment of stunned silence. “Liriel said nothing of an artifact,” Gromph said slowly.

Triel believed him. The familiar, covetous expression on the wizard’s face convinced her beyond doubt. Artifacts were rare, even in magic-rich Menzoberranzan, and it was unlikely Gromph would permit his daughter to possess such an item if he knew of its existence, and its dangerous power.

“Then you don’t know Liriel has found a way to take drow magic to the Lands of Light,” she stated.

Gromph shook his head slowly, more in wonder than in denial. “I did not know what she had, what she planned to do. Of course I would have taken it from her.”

“And so you must,” insisted Triel. “If you do not, the artifact will end up in the Sorcere, its secrets open to all. Find it and bring it here. You and I alone will share its power, to our personal benefit and to the glory of House Baenre.”

“And what of Liriel?”

Triel shrugged. “Half of Menzoberranzan is seeking her. With or without your involvement, the girl is not likely to live out the day. No one will know whose hand dealt the blow, and it is better her efforts strengthen House Baenre.”

“But what of that?” Gromph asked, gesturing toward the golden-eyed image of Lloth that loomed over the altar. “Seldom does Lloth speak so clearly Surely it would be folly to ignore such a sign.”

“Look again,” Triel said dryly.

Even as she spoke, the image shifted and the eyes took on their usual crimson gleam. An instant later, they were amber once again.

Gromph understood at once. The Lady of Chaos delighted in pitting her followers against each other, not only for her own pleasure but in the belief that the strongest drow emerged from the struggle. Liriel might have found Lloth’s favor, but that was no guarantee of a long, happy life.

The archmage did not hesitate. It will be done,” he agreed.

“What, no regrets?” Triel mocked him.

“Only that I did not act sooner, and alone,” he said bluntly.

The matron smiled, recognizing the truth of his words. “That time is past, dear brother,” she purred. “We have an alliance now, you and I.”

She tucked her arm companionably into his and drew him out of the chapel. “We have much to discuss, for it has been an eventful night. Lloth has decreed the city be at peace so we might rebuild our strength. For now, House Baenre retains its rightful place, but we must shore up our defenses against the day this peace will end.”

Gromph allowed his sister to lead him away. He knew Triel was manipulating him, appealing to his desire for power and influence. Yet as he strolled from the chapel, arm in arm with the deadly female, he knew the alliance would be a true one for as long as it benefited them both.

News of the meeting and its events spread fast, traveling from the great houses even into the humble homes and businesses of the Manyfolk district. Before the great tune-clock Narbondel marked the beginning of the new day, nearly everyone in Menzoberranzan knew Lloth had declared a time of truce. No one knew exactly what to make of this, and throughout the city speculations and rumors were served up along with the morning meal.

In his tower chambers overlooking the Bazaar, Nisstyre pondered these new developments. On the one hand, the break in the constant, striving warfare promised better trade, and that was certainly good news for the Dragon’s Hoard. But the merchant’s real purpose, his life quest, would not be served if Lloth regained her full strength in Menzoberranzan.

He was not pleased when his lieutenant came to the door with news that a Hunzrin priestess demanded audience. Nisstyre had no desire to see any member of the Spider Queen’s clergy. But before he could give the order to have the female sent away, she pushed past the lieutenant and strode into the room.

The priestess stood stiffly before his desk, her arms full of books. Nisstyre leaned back in his chair and took in the unpromising details: the purple-trimmed black vestments of a student priestess, the symbol of a minor house, and the fanatic expression on her pinched face.

“Yes?” he inquired. The single word managed to convey a staggering lack of interest or encouragement.

“I am Shakti of House Hunzrin. And you,” hissed the priestess, you do not worship Lloth!”

Nisstyre’s coppery brows rose. “I take it the art of conversation is not among the subjects taught at Arach-Tinilith.”

“You are also a wizard,” Shakti continued, inexorable in her purpose. “A powerful wizard, yet you have not taken the test of loyalty to Lloth required by all who practice magic in this city. You stir up discontent among Lloth’s faithful, and turn them to Vhaeraun, that so-called god of thievery. For any one of those offenses, you could be dipped in melted cheese and staked out for the scurry rats to devour!”

“Hmm,” Nisstyre murmured appreciatively. He considered this scenario for a moment, no doubt tucking it away for future use, before he turned his attention fully upon his visitor.

“I will say this for you, priestess, you have a creative touch where torture is concerned. And yet,” he added, leaning forward and fixing her with his unnerving black gaze, “some might call you unwise. Suspecting me of such power, you come here, to my place, to threaten me?”

“I’m here to do business,” she corrected him. “I want you to hunt down a certain female. I will pay you well.”

He waved away this offer. “Surely there is someone more suitable to the task than the captain of the Dragon’s Hoard. The city does not lack for assassins and bounty hunters.”

“You will notice I did not ask you to kill the female,” Shakti said with careful emphasis. “I ask only that you find her and bring her possessions to me. What you do with her is entirely up to you, so long as she is not seen in Menzoberranzan again. Surely you can handle so simple a task.”

“So could a mercenary band, at a much lower price. The city has many such bands. Go hire one of them.”

“I cannot,” she said reluctantly. “I cannot risk word getting back to any of the city’s matrons. Lloth has forbidden one priestess to slay another.”

“I begin to understand your dilemma,” Nisstyre said with a touch of amusement. His reputation for handling questionable deals with great discretion had brought him many similar offers over the years. “How unpleasant for you, being forced to do business with a suspected heretic. But why me, especially?”

Shakti threw the books on his desk. “You sold these books. They tell of the surface world and are forbidden in the city!”

“So we’re back to threats now,” the merchant observed. “I must say, this is getting rather tiresome. Unless you have something interesting to offer me—”

“I offer you Liriel Baenre!”

Nisstyre received this announcement with a moment’s silence.

“You needn’t shout,” he admonished the young priestess. He kept his face carefully impassive except for the faint, sardonic smile that curved his lips. “I admit the offer has a certain appeal, but of what practical value is a Baenre princess to a merchant band?”

Shakti put both hands on the desk and leaned in. “Liriel Baenre carries a magical device that could be very helpful in your work. It is a matter of much conflict among the priestesses of Lloth. I can say no more about it at this tune, but bring it to me, and I will share its secrets with you.”

“But you are a priestess of Lloth.”

“That, and perhaps more.” Shakti met his gaze squarely. “From time to time, a cleric of Lloth is sent into a rival church as a novice, to act as the eyes of Lloth. The Spider Queen permits this spying, and sometimes encourages it. It may be possible for a priestess of Lloth to work with those who follow Vhaeraun. Information can be spoken both ways, to the benefit of all. It is an enormous risk. I am willing to take it.”

Nisstyre gazed at Shakti Hunzrin for a long time, weighing her sincerity and considering the immense value of her offer. He measured the hatred in her voice when she spoke

Liriel’s name, the fanatic gleam in her eye, and decided to accept the alliance. But, unlike the priestess, he was not willing to speak so openly, or commit himself to so dangerous a course.

“The Dragon’s Hoard is famous for acquiring nearly anything, regardless of the cost,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “I will get you your princess, but I warn you, the reward had better be worth the trouble.”

“Trust me,” she agreed grimly.

The concept was so ludicrous that both merchant and priestess burst out laughing.

Alone in his study, Nisstyre pondered the strange alliance he had made. He had accepted Shakti Hunzrin’s offer, not only to place a spy in Lloth’s stronghold of power, but also to learn more about the magical device the priestess had mentioned. He thought he knew what this device might be.

The wizard thought back to the battle in the forest of Rashemen and the amulet he had taken as his sole prize. When his patrol did not return to Menzoberranzan with the amulet, Nisstyre had written off the entire excursion as a loss. Then came his meeting with Liriel and the recovery of his lost patrol. Nisstyre did not find the amulet on the bodies of the drow soldiers, nor on the two slain in the cavern, nor among the skeletal remains he had later recovered from the deepbat lair. He’d assumed the amulet was lost somewhere in the cave, perhaps even ingested by a dragazhar. Liriel’s attention seemed to be focused entirely on her unknown foe, and on the need to ensure that this enemy did not follow her into the Underdark. It did not occur to

Nisstyre that Liriel might have taken the amulet. Apparently, it should have.

The last person to possess the amulet had been an impossibly strong human warrior, a man Nisstyre had left to die in the forests of Rashemen. The drow wizard had assumed the amulet’s magic caused the human’s fierce battle rage. If that were so, what use could Liriel make of it, and why should the priestesses of Menzoberranzan should want it so desperately?

Nisstyre pushed back his chair and strode from his study. In all of the city, there was one drow who might have the answer to these questions.

Kharza-kzad Xorlarrin paced his room, frantic with worry and indecision. Zeerith Q^orlarrin, his younger sister and liege matron, had left him just moments before after a most disturbing interview.

Liriel, it seemed, had gotten herself into very serious trouble. The old wizard had been afraid something like this might happen to the impetuous young girl. To some extent, Kharza-kzad blamed himself If he had understood more about his student’s plans, perhaps he could have done something to avert this disaster. He knew Liriel had been to the surface, of course, and that she had acquired some new magic there. He had not imagined Liriel might have found a human artifact, and he would never have thought anything human-made could possess much power or cause such controversy.

To take drow magic to the surface! Kharza-kzad was staggered by the implications of such a thing. But that prospect, fearful though it might be, was not the thing that put the old wizard into a frenzy of grief and worry.

He excelled in the creation of magical wands, particularly those used for battle. His wands were the prized possessions of many a battle wizard, and hundreds of Menzoberranzan’s enemies had fallen before his magic. Yet he himself, Kharza-kzad Xorlarrin, had never killed.

The old wizard was not sure how many drow could make such a claim, and he was quite certain few would boast of it. He had never really considered the matter before, never envisioned those who would fall before his wands of destruction. Now he rued his isolation, his dedication to his solitary craft. Had he witnessed a few battles, wielded just one of his own weapons, perhaps he would be better prepared to take the life of his student. For Matron Zeerith had ordered him to hunt Liriel down, take the amulet, and leave no trace of its former owner.

It did not occur to Kharza-kzad that he might refuse Zeerith’s command. He was a drow of Menzoberranzan, a lowly male despite his power and his honorary position at the Sorcere, and he was bound by law to honor the will of a ruling matron.

The wizard’s fingers, wizened and dry, clasped the grip of the wand tucked into his belt and he steeled himself for what must be done. Yet the familiar object felt foreign in his hand, as foreign as the dreadful task before him.

In a locked room in the Hunzrin fortress, shielded by magical wards to keep out the prying eyes of her kin, Shakti chanted the words of a clerical spell. It was risky to invoke Lloth in her cause, but if the goddess was not truly with her, Shakti preferred to know this now.

The young priestess had been one of the last to leave the Baenre chapel after that eventful meeting. House Hunzrin’s humble rank had ensured that she had a seat near the back of the room, and she had lingered there to observe the other priestesses, to watch who exchanged conspiratorial glances and who stalked out scowling with rage. And in the shadows of the chapel she, Shakti Hunzrin, had seen what few of Menzoberranzan’s priestesses divined: the true will of Lloth.

The enormous magical illusion, the shapeshifting spider-drow, looked out over the Spider Queen’s faithful with golden eyes and the face of Shakti’s hated rival. Yet when the chapel was nearly empty, the illusion shifted again, and the drow eyes flickered back and forth from amber to crimson. To Shakti, the message seemed clear.