"You know, Faeryl," the Mistress of the Academy purred, "You're actually right."
Faeryl only blinked at Quenthel, terror in her eyes.
"You said before that I couldn't leave you here. Sadly, it's true. There's no telling what other spells you might still have tucked away in that clever little mind of yours. Jeggred, my pet, repay her for the things she did to us. Take your time . . . enjoy the moment."
Quenthel strolled out of the room, along with Ryld, but Pharaun remained, as did Halisstra and Danifae.
Faeryl's first scream rang in Pharaun's ears, echoing in the small cell. The draegloth had not yet touched the ambassador, but as the wizard watched, smiling, Jeggred moved closer. Her screams rose in pitch, and they were suddenly silenced as Jeggred casually reached out with one large clawed hand and grasped her by the neck, just beneath the collar she wore, cutting off her air. Madly, Faeryl began to flail at the fiend, but he easily lifted her up and extended his arm out fully, so that the naked drow's feet rose off the floor, kicking at the air. She pummeled feebly at the draegloth's arms, and just as she was fading, Jeggred released her, watching as she crumpled to the floor, gasping for air. Before she could fully regain her breath, he reached down and poked a single claw up under her chin.
Pharaun saw that the talon penetrated deep into the soft tissue, probably through the dark elf's tongue, pinning her mouth shut. Faeryl squealed in pain, but it was a muffled cry. She reached up to try to pull the fiend's hand away, but he slowly, relentlessly began to lift her, forcing her to scrabble to her feet, clinging to his arm with both her hands to support her weight and keep the talon from plunging deeper, penetrating the roof of her mouth. Higher and higher the draegloth lifted, until at last Faeryl was on her tiptoes, frantically trying to lift herself off this impaling spike by her arms alone, tears streaming down her face.
Jeggred merely held her there, watching her squirm, using his two smaller hands to caress the ambassador. He brought his other hand up and flicked a claw across her exposed throat, slicing through her vocal chords.
With blood streaming from the gash in her neck, her red eyes wild with terror, Faeryl tried to scream, but all that issued from her was a muffled, wet gurgle. Jeggred laughed and let her dangle, unable to cry out at all.
Danifae and Halisstra turned away, but whether satisfied or disturbed at the fiend's display of ruthlessness, Pharaun was not sure. He was the only one who remained in the cell, and he couldn't draw his eyes away from the scene before him.
Blood ran down Faeryl's neck and chest, and her struggles were growing more and more feeble. Finally, perhaps growing tired of this sport, Jeggred raked at her again, across the abdomen this time, slicing cleanly so that her entrails were freed. The fiend let her drop to the ground at last, and Faeryl crumpled at the draegloth's feet, though Pharaun could see that she was not yet dead.
The ambassador blinked in shock and occasionally thrashed weakly as Jeggred crouched down. When Pharaun realized the demon was preparing to feast, dining on Faeryl even as she lay there, still conscious but too weak to fight him, the wizard finally had to turn away. The wet sounds of the demon at his meal followed him out into the hallway.
* * *
Gromph Baenre did not relish the latest message he had to deliver, for several reasons. First and foremost, it was not good news, and however much he was removed from the source of the report, he was still the messenger. Ordinarily, he wouldn't mind for that reason alone, for there were few individuals in Menzoberranzan who could actually take out their displeasure on him, the most powerful mage in the city. Of those few, most held on to only a shell of their former power and were relying on him to conceive of a way to restore it. No, being the bearer of bad news this day would not be as risky as it might on other days, but then he didn't often have to deliver such unpleasant information to his sister.
That brought the Archmage of Menzoberranzan around to the other cause for his distress. Triel Baenre was at home, which meant that Gromph had to go visit her, rather than the other way around. He detested leaving Sorcere, detested having to go to the Great Mound even more, and certainly didn't like doing any of it under such circumstances. It was yet another reason for him to add to his list of reasons why he wanted the crisis resolved. He was tired of all the inconvenience it was causing him personally.
As he flew over the streets of Menzoberranzan on his way to the Great Mound, Gromph peered below in consternation. He had sent word to the appropriate individuals in charge that more troops were to be dispatched, but he had yet to see the results of his orders. The disquiet below was growing again, and if they weren't careful, the nobles of the city would find themselves right back in the middle of another uprising.
Well, Triel could put her foot down again, he supposed, insist that the other matron mothers respond promptly when the call came for more soldiers, but he doubted it would make them quicken their pace one whit. They were going to tend to their own Houses first, High Council be damned.
Approaching the edge of House Baenre, Gromph settled himself to the balcony outside his sister's audience chamber. The guards on duty there peered at him warily for a moment, but when they saw who it was, they stiffened in salute. Ignoring them, the archmage walked briskly past them into the council chambers themselves, hoping to find Triel there. She was not.
Clicking his tongue in exasperation, Gromph passed out of the large audience chamber and into the hallway beyond, which led to her personal quarters. Arriving at the door to her suite of rooms, the archmage was greeted by a pair of stoic females, robust specimens who were well armed and apparently trained equally as well in the art of combat as divine magic.
The pair of guards crossed their heavy maces before the door.
"She is not to be disturbed," one of them said, her stare flat, making it clear she would brook no argument, brother or not.
Gromph sighed, making another mental mark to the tally of reasons he hated doing this. No matter how many times he had to push his proverbial weight around to get to see Triel in her private rooms, the matron mother's personal guards never made it any easier on him the next time. He'd had enough of it.
"I'm not going to stand here and argue with you about this, today. You've got one minute to tell her it's me and let me through, or I will leave you as two piles of smoking ash on her doorstep. Do I make myself clear?"
The flat stares turned mildly baleful, but after some careful consideration, the one who spoke finally nodded curtly and slipped inside, shutting the door behind her and leaving her partner to stare icily at the archmage while he folded his arms and tapped his foot.
Just when Gromph was seriously considering whether or not to make good on his threat, the door opened and the guard appeared again, motioning him through. Arching his eyebrow as though to say, "what else did you expect?" he pushed past her impatiently and shoved the door shut behind him.
Triel was not in the front room, though that didn't really surprise the wizard. Usually, if she was going to bother to be presentable for guests, she would see them in the audience chamber. He figured his odds were about even as to whether he'd discover her in the bedroom or in the baths, most likely with a lover. He tried the bedroom first, with no luck.
Moving through into the bathroom, Gromph found his sister, alone except for a pair of attendants, eyes closed and soaking in an oddly scented oil bath. The odor permeated the room and made him cough.
Triel opened one eye and looked at the wizard, then closed it again, making no move to greet him.
"You really shouldn't threaten my guards like that," she said, a bit testily. "They're standing there to keep the likes of you out, you know."
"A thousand apologies, Matron Mother," Gromph answered. "I will be certain to avoid helping you in the future. Please do drop by sometime and I'll be sure to keep you waiting outside my offices."
This time, both of Triel's eyes opened, but instead of growing angry, she appeared worried.
"What is it?" she asked. "Your news must be particularly unpleasant for you to behave so boorishly."
Gromph had to chuckle, but it was a bitter laugh.
"You know me better than most, sister. I suppose I should give you more credit. You're correct, though, the news is bad, and it comes from several fronts. Our patrols are telling me that traffic is picking up on the outskirts of the city. Nothing definitive, but they're growing fearful that we're due for some sort of aggressive act from somewhere, and soon."
"What sort of traffic?" Triel asked, shifting in the bath so that an attendant could begin to scrub her back with a rough cloth.
"Hard to say. Enough species come and go as it is, but they have reported an inordinate number of troglodyte sightings the last few days."
Triel made a noise in her throat, and at first Gromph wondered if it was in response to the ministrations of the attendant, but he realized it was derisive when his sister said, "Troglodytes? They've never been able to muster any sizable threat against us. You came all the way over here and harassed my guards to tell me that? Please."
Gromph clicked his tongue in vexation and strode across the tiled floor to take a seat on a long bench along one wall.
"No, of course not, but don't be so quick to dismiss any potential threat. More than enough generals saw their last battle from underestimating the enemy. We're vulnerable to any attack right now, and you know it."
"Fine, I'll take it under advisement," Triel said. "So, what else do you have to tell me? I'd like to enjoy the rest of my bath, but if you insist on giving me more bad news, I don't think I shall be able to."
Gromph shook his head.
"Yes, there is more bad news," he said.
"Oh, wonderful."
"I'm hearing bad things from our expedition to Ched Nasad."
The matron mother rolled over and sat up, shooing away the attendant. She seemed unconcerned that her upper body was exposed to him, though Gromph ignored that fact.
"What kind of bad things?" she asked, her tone grave.
"The last communication I received reported that riots were beginning. I haven't heard anything since, and the next reports are overdue."
"How long?"
"Two days. I already relayed that information to you."
"Do you have a means of contacting him?" Triel asked.
"Yes, but not for a while, and not really for the kind of conversation I suspect you'd like for me to have with him. Even with what I can do, I'll have to make preparations to use the appropriate magic."
"Fine, do that. In the meantime, what are your thoughts?"
Gromph considered the question then said, "Do I believe they are alive? Let's give them some credit. They are an enterprising lot, and I have no doubt that they can take care of themselves. That's half the reason you sent them away, isn't it?"
Triel's eyes narrowed slightly as she stood and let the oil cascade from her body.
"I do want them to succeed," she said. "It aids us nothing for them to perish, regardless of whatever benefits we both receive for having a few specific ones out of the way."
She motioned for the attendant to bring her a towel and had it wrapped around herself.
Gromph's stare was carefully neutral.
"I want them to succeed, too," he said. "My issues aside, this crisis affects every aspect of my studies and pursuits. My point was, if they were ingenious enough to be considered a threat here, I think they can take care of themselves in Ched Nasad."
"Find them," the matron mother commanded, "and let me know when you do."
"Even if I have to threaten your guards again?"
"Even if you have to leave them as piles of ash on my doorstep."
Gromph nodded and turned away as Triel began to dress with help from the two attendants. The archmage stopped and turned back to face his sister.
"Oh, and one more thing."
Triel looked over at her brother and asked, "Yes?"
"Will you please remind the other matron mothers of the importance of timely response to threats inside the city? I asked for reinforcements for several specific sections three hours ago, and they were still not in place when I came to visit."
"Again?" Triel sighed. "Yes, of course I will speak to them again."
"You know," Gromph added, almost as an afterthought. "It would probably help if House Baenre spared some extra soldiers for the cause. A show of good faith and all that."
"Really? Do you think we can afford to spare them?"
"I know of two right outside this door who could be put to far better use," the archmage replied, giving his sister a last, meaningful stare.
* * *
"Explain to me again what you think I have to gain by trusting you," Quenthel said, gnawing at a strip of dried rothé meat.
The seven of them were hiding in a mess hall in an unused wing of House Melarn. Only Jeggred was no longer hungry, having sated himself back in the dungeon.
It certainly took Faeryl a long time to die, Pharaun thought, shuddering, as he sat watching the draegloth lick himself clean. The wizard was having a hard time blocking out the image of the drow, still moving, still watching, even as the fiend had begun to feast.
Ryld and Valas stood guard near the door, both of them obviously anxious to be on their way. The rumbles from beyond the walls had ceased for the moment, and Pharaun wasn't sure whether that boded well or ill for them. If the fighting had been quashed that quickly, it was only a matter of time before Ssipriina began searching for them again. He was eager to be away, too.
As Quenthel continued to inhale the food, Halisstra pursed her lips and tried again to defend her usefulness to the Menzoberranyr.
"I can get you out of the House without notice," she said. "I know the best routes to take. If we encounter any of Ssipriina's guards along the way, I might be able to dismiss them without incident. Until you're safely out of the city, having the two of us accompany you is to your benefit."
Quenthel nodded as she ate.
"Perhaps," she said, pausing to sip from a waterskin. "Or perhaps you would simply like to lead us into ruin in your own way, maybe by lulling us into trusting you so that you can betray us to Ssipriina. For all I know, you still hold me responsible for the death of your mother, or are at the very least angry about my intentions."
Halisstra rolled her eyes where Quenthel could not see, and Pharaun had to quell a bemused smirk.