Tangled Webs (19 page)

There was a metallic creak of plate against plate, and one of the empty armor suits stirred to life and began to advance on the messenger. The young man tumed toward the sound just as a spiked metal gauntlet lashed out. His head snapped sharply to one side, and bits of broken teeth clattered to the floor like so many bright pebbles. Before the messenger could cry out, the empty metal hand struck again, and then again. Calmly, efficiently, the armor suit went about its grim task.

The baron and his scribe looked on with impassive eyes, for they were too accustomed to such events to feel much of a response. Once they’d watched such executions with horrified fascination and just a touch of perverse pleasure. Now it was mere routine. Nor did either man blink when the armor suit blurred and melted, reforming itself into the mirror likeness of the dead messenger. This, too, was a commonplace event.

Semmonemily was a doppelganger, a shape shifting being able to adopt any form it chose. By taking the place of the slain courier, the doppelganger could retum to Waterdeep with altered missives.

The creature was one of the baron’s most valued allies. The other was the wizened scribe seated at the writing table, bottles of valious-hued inks before him and quill poised. This scribe was also a shapeshifter of sorts, for he could perfectly duplicate the writing of any man alive. As Khaufros spoke, the scribe bent over his parchment, transmuting the original messages into unimpeachable copies, subtly changed to reflect the baron’s will.

Information was power; that was the basic tenet of the Kraken Society. But those who wished to know true power understood that it was not enough to gather informationone had to control it. And, upon occasion, create it.

Shakti Hunzrin was becoming accustomed to annoying disruptions. Since the day she had entered Triel’s service as traitorpriestess, she had been expected to attend the Baenre matron’s every whim. But this night’s summons was by far the most abrupt and the most unusual.

The Black Death ofNarbondel, the dark hour of midnight and the time when Menzoberranzan’s magical timepiece was enchanted anew, had come and passed. Shakti had been comfortably asleep in her bedchamber, her door guarded by vigilant golems she’d enspelled to ensure that her dreamless slumber would end with the coming of the new day. Such precautions were not unusual among future matrons who had no wish to mysteriously die in their sleep.

But this night the stone guardians did not attend their given task. Shakti awoke with a start, literally shaken from slumber by one of her own golems. Its stone fingers closed around her upper arms; its impassive stone eyes retumed her startled gaze.

Then she was hauled out of bed and thrust toward a glowing door that had appeared in the center of the bedchamber. Before she could so much as curse the offending golem, the thing gave her a shove that sent her reeling through the luminous gate.

Shakti landed on her rump, her night robe hiked up around her plump thighs and her hair flying in wild disarray around her furious face. By the Mask ofVhaeraun, she vowed grimly, Triel would pay for this indignity!

“Welcome, priestess,” said a cold and unexpectedly masculine voice.

The Hunzrin priestess froze. She knew that voice, as did all of Menzoberranzan. Those who cared to listen heard it every day, when the archmage celebrated the darkest hour by casting a spell of renewal upon Narbondel. But what, she wondered with extreme foreboding, did Gromph Baenre want with her? And by all that was dark and holy, how many Baenres would she be forced to endure?

“I am delighted to entertain one of my daughter Liriers former classmates. Please, take a seat,” Gromph continued, his manner an ironic parody of the gracious host. “I’m sure you can find one that is more to your liking than that carpet.” Shakti scrambled up and smoothed her robe decently back into place. Mustering all the dignity she could, she seated herself across from the archmage’s polished table. Never had she been so close to the dreaded Gromph Baenre, and only with great effort did she refrain from staring. He was an exceptionally handsome male, young and vital in appearance despite his reputed seven centuries of ill-spent life. His eyes were of the same rare amber hue as his daughter’s, but Shakti had never seen that expression of icy calculation in Liriers golden eyes. The wizard reached for a bellpull on the wall. “Will you have wine? Or tea?”

“Nothing, thank you,” Shakti retumed flatly. His polite manner was a subtle but obvious form of mockery, and the proud priestess bitterly resented any male—however powerful-taking his amusement at her expense. “I would not presume to take so much of your time.”

” Gromph laced his fingers and placed them on the table before him. “You fit my sister’s description well; she says that you are ever one to attend to the business at hand. Matron Triel is seldom wrong, of course, and I readily admit you have worked wonders in matters of agriculture. Your contribution to the restoration of the farms and rothe herds has not gone unnoticed. But I must draw your attention to another matter, one that remains unresolved.” The archmage held out his hands to her, palms up. Although they had been empty a moment before, cradled between them was a tiny bowl of dark red crystal. It grew rapidly until it was identical in every respect to the scrying bowl given to Shakti by the drow god Vhaeraun. The priestess stared, too stunned to hide her astonishment.

“You are acquainted with my daughter,” Gromph continued in his cool, measured tones. “Yet I doubt you understand the half of Liriers value. She is a wizard of no little ability. Did you know I arranged and supervised her training myself? And do you think I would go to such trouble for no purpose?”

Shakti could do no more than shake her head, but Gromph seemed to consider the answer sufficient.

“I am sure that you, of all people, can understand the importance of one who has a foot firmly in two camps. Of course I knew that Liriel would someday attend ArachTinilith, would be trained as priestess to Lloth. But I had her first, and the earliest marks on the mind cut the deepest! Liriel was created to be one of my strongest supporters-a Baenre priestess who is first and foremost a wizard. Despite the recent unpleasantness with the amulet, she still could be useful to me,” Gromph concluded, “and I want her back.”

The archmage leaned forward, his amber eyes intent upon Shakti’s face. “It has come to my attention that you have sought assistance from beings from the elemental plane of water. If; as you suspect, Liriel has taken to traveling the waterways of the surface, this was not an unwise choice. Yet I understand that your threats and blandishments met with rebuff; is that not so?”

Shakti managed to mutter something in the affirmative. “Not surprising. As a priestess of Lloth, you are accustomed to the creatures of the Abyss—entities of pure evil. The creature you have summoned is more complex; thus your methods must be more subtle.”

Shakti’s mind reeled as she tried to take in the implications of Gromph Baenre’s words. How could he know so much? And more importantly, what did he plan to do with this knowledge?

The archmage plucked a bit of parchment from the empty air. “In the interim since your foray into the plane of water, I have gone to no little trouble to leam about the creature you summoned. On this parchment is written her true name. Use it only as a last resort, for there are easier ways to command the loyalty of this being. She calls herself Iskor, and she deals in information. She is messenger for a god worshiped on the elemental plane and, apparently, by many creatures of the sea. As you surmised, Iskor is not content with her role and wishes to amass power ofher own. Thus she also carries information to creatures that make their homes in the surface waters. Promise to be her eyes and ears into the Underdark, and demand that in retum for your aid she will seek out Liriel.”

“You want the amulet,” Shakti stated, more to buy time to gather her thoughts than for any true purpose.

This seemed to amuse Gromph. “Of course. Who would not? But I also want Liriel. See that she is retumed alive.” The archmage rose to his feet. “That will be all. You should have all the information you need. If you require more, I will know. Kindly do not approach me directly. That might be… inconvenient.”

Shakti could well imagine why. She would never accuse the archmage of Menzoberranzan of consorting with Vhaeraun, but what other explanation could there be? Where else could Gromph have acquired that scrying bowl? Or have learned so much about her plans? Or have gotten past the god-given wards on her chamber? Yes, she had a very good idea why Gromph Baenre had no wish to be seen in the presence of his sister’s traitorpriestess.

But no matter what powers he might command, what information he possessed, Gromph needed someone like Shakti. The archmage was tied to Menzoberranzan by the task of enchanting N arbondel-an honor that was also a chain with links forged anew with the coming of each midnight hour.

The young priestess found no pleasure in this realization, for it was well known that no one who had dealings with Gromph ever did better than break even. For that matter, few survived. There was nothing to be gained by this enforced alliance, and much at risk.

Shakti had little choice but to agree to the archmage’s demands. But if some means of escape presented itself, she vowed to take it.

Iskor, the water wraith, slipped into the door that led from her home on the elemental plane of water to the hidden city of Ascarle. The passage was brief but exhilaratinglike swimming through a cloud of merrily roiling bubbles. On the other side she emerged from a pond filled with brightly colored fish, exploding upward into the dry and brittle air with the exuberance of a playful sea lion.

Iskor liked this new world and her role in it. She even liked the illithid that watched her with expressionless white eyes. Evil and ambitious Vestress was a marvelous creature, even if she was an air-breather.

The water wraith assumed corporeal form little by little as she emerged from the water. Her face and body took the form of a sylph-a beautiful water nymph-but with skin and hair as transparent as finest glass. Iskor would have been invisible, but for the tiny, effervescent bubbles that whirled through her. She looked like a fountain contained within some exquisite sculpture.

Iskor smiled at the illithid and came forward to grasp both of the creature’s purple hands in her glassy fingers. “Oh, Vestress, you will be so pleased at my news!”

The illithid disentangled herself as inconspicuously as possible. By all means, continue. Good news has been scarce enough of late.

“I recently met a most unusual traveler to my home plane,” the water wraith continued with girlish enthusiasm. “A drow! A priestess who makes the Underdark her home! At first she was rather tiresome—all threats and demands-but now she offers information on her dark realm in exchange for services that only creatures of the sea can provide. Would she not make a wonderful addition to the Kraken Society?”

Indeed, Vestress was more than a little intrigued by the prospect of adding a drow to her band of informants. The illithid herself had left the Underdark many, many years ago, under circumstances that did not permit her to maintain ties with her homeland. It would certainly be very useful to have such an informant. But Vestress did not like to offer Iskor too much encouragement, lest the annoyingly bubbly creature spin off into new heights of euphoria.

And what might these services be? the illithid inquired, her mental voice projecting extreme disinterest.

“The priestess seeks the return of a drow female who escaped the Underdark. She was last seen in a city known as Skullport. Do you know it?”

Well.

“Splendid! The runaway is a drow wizard by the name of Liriel Baenre. She is young and easily marked by her golden eyes. It is believed that she took to the sea-where bound, no one knows. Upon this drow’s return to the Underdark, my new contact-Shakti-will pledge herself to the Kraken Society. I took the liberty of telling her about the society and offering her this honor,” Iskor concluded, beaming.

You may tell your contact we will see to Liriel Baenre, Vestress agreed, steeling herself for Iskor’s response. The water wraith, predictably enough, gave out shrieks of glee and spun in a giddy little dance.

In all, this struck Vestress as a promise easily kept, for the illithid had already received Rethnor’s report and she knew that a female drow sailed aboard the Ruathen ship that was inexplicably causing so much trouble. Vestress intended to send forces to intercept the pirate ship and capture the drow; as it happened, she had need of the services of a drow wizard.

The only part of the bargain Vestress disliked was that she must retum the wizard to the Underdark. But, no matter. Iskor’s new acquaintance sounded promising: devious, innovative. It might be amusing, mused the illithid, to bring this Shakti to Ascarle, as well. Surely one of themwizard or priestess-could rid Vestress of her little problem on Ruathym. If there was an existing conflict between the two elven females, so much the better. In the illithid’s opinion, there was nothing like a deadly competition to sharpen wits and skills.

And so Vestress waited calmly until the water wraith’s glee wound down, and then she laid out to Iskor the terms meant to entice an Underdark drow to travel to the realm of the Kraken.

Xzorsh pursued the Elfmaid with all possible haste, for he was eager to rid himself of the grisly trophy in his bag. He was also concerned by the sudden appearance of the merrow, for he suspected those four might be part of a larger band. He had his duty to Hrolf; but he also wished to return to the ranger outpost to see what had become of Sittl. The promised reinforcements had not arrived, and Xzorsh feared for this friend’s safety.

It was night when the sea elf found the ship. The drow girl stood alone at the rail, gazing out over the water as if deep in thought. But Xzorsh did not doubt that she was watching for him, or that she knew he was near-drow eyes were reputed to be even sharper than those of the sea folk. She gave no indication that she saw him, but she stretched languidly and dropped her cloak to the deck, then spun away and began to dance in the moonlight.