Bruenor’s nostrils flared, but Catti-brie interjected, “If we fail in this you will have no halls worth defending. Not here, at least.
“But if we succeed . . .” she added, as the dwarves began to grumble. “The primordial is secure and we will understand so much more of the magic that built Gauntlgrym. It might well be that the Hosttower’s the secret to getting the magical gates up and running, too.”
That ended the meeting on an upbeat note, as Catti-brie had hoped, but by the time Bruenor and the other dwarves emerged from the war room into the throne room for the ceremony committing Pwent’s statue, they wore dour expressions once again.
Bruenor went right to the throne and hopped upon it, settling back with his hairy chin in his hand as he stared at the sarcophagus of Thibbledorf Pwent being set in its final, heroic pose on the wall a dozen strides away, about ten feet above the floor on a shelf the dwarves had carved. From there, Pwent would look over the hall, a guardian just above the fray, overlooking and protecting his king.
King Bruenor did gain some comfort from that sight, and was comforted, too, by the sensations of the godly throne. He had the distinct feeling, as clear as a whisper in his ear, that the sentient spirits within the Throne of the Dwarven Gods agreed with his decision to aid in the reconstruction of the Hosttower.
Between that and looking at Pwent, Bruenor felt strangely calm, given the shock of this day’s news. He knew that he was not alone here, and that his friends, even including Jarlaxle, were no small matter.
He let other dwarves speak of Pwent at the dedication, and hardly listened. He did not need to hear tales of Thibbledorf Pwent to know the truth of that most wonderful shield dwarf. When they were done Bruenor brought the cracked silver horn up to his lips on impulse and blew a discordant note, summoning the battleraging specter of Pwent.
As always when there was no enemy apparent, the defending spirit hopped about wildly, scouring every shadow and nook.
The others thought nothing of it and turned their attention to Bruenor, who led them in a toast to Pwent.
Except for Jarlaxle, who watched the spirit and noted that this thing, supposedly unconnected to Thibbledorf Pwent’s actual spirit and soul, supposedly a simple and little-thinking manifestation of a bodyguard, paused and let its stare linger on the sarcophagus statue that had just been set on the wall.
And in those nearly translucent eyes, Jarlaxle noted something.
Recognition?
I
s 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?