War of the Spider Queen 2 - Insurrection (15 page)

Damn her! the battle captive silently screamed as she sat on her mistress's Reverie couch, pounding a pillow for good measure. She wanted to rip the stuffing out, but long years of the fear of punishment had trained her to resist letting her emotions get the better of her, and she stayed her hand. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she considered the situation.
The next problem, she realized, was that even if she somehow managed to extricate Halisstra—and by extension, herself—from this mess, life as they both knew it might very well be over. They might survive the coup, but even then, where would they go? Without Lolth's blessings to aid them, it was an especially bleak outlook.
Making up her mind, Danifae decided the next thing to do was to figure out who in House Melarn was still Halisstra's ally. The first thing she considered were the House guards. They had disappeared, and she had a pretty good idea why. Ssipriina had likely already gotten to them and given them the standard offer: change allegiance to House Zauvirr, or find themselves unemployed or dead. She doubted there were any who would still rally to Halisstra, but she had to at least look.
Danifae opened the door to the hallway and was slightly surprised to find the two guards who had followed her no longer present. She supposed that they assumed she wouldn't try anything as long as the House was locked down and had decided to go find something more interesting to do.
Just makes it easier for me, she thought, smiling as she slipped out.
She hurried on her way.
* * *
The audience chamber of House Melarn was pretty much as Faeryl expected to find it. Her mother was seated on the lofty oversized chair atop the dais at the front of the room, surrounded by her advisors, while House Zauvirr soldiers were spread inconspicuously but generously throughout the chamber. Faeryl absently wondered how her mother had managed to usurp control of the audience chamber without an argument from the House Melarn guards. Whatever lies she told them must have worked.
"There you are," Ssipriina said impatiently. "Come here. I want to go over your story once more before the others get here."
Faeryl sighed but dutifully approached the throne.
"Mother, I have the details memorized. I think I can—"
"You will go over them with me and continue doing it until I am convinced, you ungrateful brat! You will not stop until then."
Her mother looked entirely too comfortable in the throne, which was certainly grander than anything they had in their own manor. That was the difference between a merchant House and a truly noble House.
Faeryl longed to return to the dungeons, where she could rule over her charges in peace. She hated having to attend to her mother's demands. Where Quenthel was concerned, even if it was a little pond, at least she was the big fish. It was always that way. At the storehouse, when she'd orchestrated the transport of the prisoners, she had been in charge, however briefly. Under the scrutiny of her mother, she was the petulant child once more.
Faeryl dreamed of holding the reins of power someday, but being the fourth daughter in her House, and having been sent to Menzoberranzan to represent House Zauvirr and House Melarn, to boot, she recognized the limitations to her chance to rise to the top. Even were she to someday sit upon the throne Ssipriina Zauvirr was hoping to claim through her orchestration of the day's events, Faeryl would still answer to others.
"Now," Ssipriina said, ticking off points one by one on her hand, "you were forced to come with Quenthel and the others. You notified me at the earliest opportunity what House Baenre was planning. We set up an ambush to catch them, and only then did we discover that Drisinil was in on it. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Mother," Faeryl responded sullenly.
"Good. When the matron mothers get here, stay out of sight until I call for you. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Mother."
"And stop that. It's childish and petulant."
Faeryl frowned, but she clamped her mouth shut.
"That's better," Ssipriina said. "Now I think we need to get those males summoned here as quickly as possible. Zammzt, I think that's a job for you."
* * *
When a knock sounded at the door to their room, Pharaun expected to see Quenthel standing there. It was late, and the Master of Sorcere was beginning to wonder if something untoward had befallen the high priestess and her two companions. As he opened the portal, though, the wizard was instead surprised to discover a strange and rather plain-looking drow in the livery of a noble House.
"I beg forgiveness for disturbing you," the male said, "but I am seeking the wizard Pharaun Mizzrym and the warriors Ryld Argith and Valas Hune."
Pharaun kept his body planted firmly between the visitor and the interior of the room, shielding the other dark elf's view of it. Behind him, he could hear Valas and Ryld unsheathing weapons.
"Who are you?" the wizard asked, considering which spells remaining in his repertoire would suffice to defend himself against an attack.
"My name is Zammzt. I come at the behest of Matron Mother Ssipriina Zauvirr of House Zauvirr, Matron Mother Melarn of House Melarn, and Quenthel Baenre of House Baenre. Are you one of the three?"
"Perhaps," Pharaun answered, gauging the fellow's potential as a threat. The drow was, at the very least, radiating a number of magical auras. "It would depend on why you're looking for them."
"Mistress Quenthel is a guest of Mistress Drisinil Melarn of House Melarn. I am here to extend an invitation to you to join them for a banquet in your honor."
"Oh, how delightful," Pharaun said. "I assume that you can escort us there, as well?"
"Indeed, Master, uh . . .”
The mage rolled his eyes and said, "Pharaun. I'm the wizard."
"Certainly, Master Mizzrym. I have been instructed to escort you to House Melarn."
"I see. Well, then can you give me a moment to clean up? I'd hate to attend a dinner in my honor looking like this," the wizard said, gesturing at his piwafwi.
"Certainly, Master Mizzrym. I am at your convenience. The dinner will not start without you."
"Excellent," Pharaun replied. "Give me just a moment, and we'll be right out. You can wait for us down in the common room."
With that, he shut the door and turned to his companions.
"Either she got caught or she decided she was not getting treated well enough by the inn staff," Valas said, frowning.
"Either way, it is no good for us," Ryld added. "And I was just beginning to enjoy not being under any matron mothers' thumbs."
"Well, then . . . which is it, good masters?" Pharaun asked them both. "Out the window or to a dinner party?"
Ryld and Valas looked at one another.
Finally, Valas sighed, "Dinner."
"Very good," Pharaun said, "but before we go, I want to spend a few moments in contemplation of my grimoires. I have a feeling I might be in need of some arcane fortitude before the night is over."
"Yes, I think that's wise," Valas agreed. "Ryld and I could stand a bit of healing magic, if there's any to be had."
"Why don't you two go search the priestesses' room and see what you can turn up?" Pharaun suggested. "I know Quenthel had that wand, but she's likely to have kept it with her. There might be a potion or two, though."
The scout nodded, and he and Ryld slipped out of the room.
Pharaun opened up his haversack and pulled out his spellbooks, which were conveniently on top. That was the thing he truly loved about his magical carry-all. Whatever he needed always seemed to be on top. He sat down to peruse the pages.
The wizard could not recoup all of the incantations he had cast during the course of the day, as he would need to spend several hours resting before his body had recovered sufficiently for that, but he had wisely decided to hold off on committing the full compliment of spells to memory that morning, so he had an opportunity to choose four or five that would best suit the occasion.
Now, Pharaun wondered, what sorts of magical wizardry would be particularly useful for a dinner party?
He settled on his choices and began to study.
Nearly an hour later, the Master of Sorcere looked up at the sound of the two other males reentering the room.
"Ah, perfect timing," he said. "I think I'm ready to go. Did you have any luck?"
Ryld answered, "It took a bit of rummaging, but we managed to confiscate two potions from Quenthel's belongings. That's one more thing we agreed that you get to tell her when we see her next."
Pharaun chuckled, "Well, I must say, the draughts did you a world of good. You're certainly much more presentable than you were a mere hour ago. Are we ready, then?"
"I believe so," Valas replied. "We did a quick surveillance of the inn, and it appears that our escort is alone. Nothing suspicious about him so far."
"Then I suggest we leave at once," the Master of Sorcere said. "I'm starved, and I fancy a taste of something better to drink than the swill we purchased last evening."
Ryld and Valas exchanged looks, and the three of them found their way to the common room. The drow who called himself Zammzt was there, waiting patiently, but the look on his face told Pharaun that he was beginning to get a little nervous.
Probably wondering if we gave him the slip, the wizard thought. Worried about what he'd tell the matron mother when he had to report back that we wouldn't cooperate.
The stroll to the House would have been pleasant, Pharaun decided, if the streets weren't plagued by the occasional angry mob. Twice, the four of them had to make a quick dash down a side street or float to another level to avoid being engulfed in a tide of troublemakers. At one point, Pharaun thought he'd have to blast a way through the throng with a bolt of lightning or a ball of fire, but it never came to that. In order to keep up with them, Valas was forced to transport himself by way of an extradimensional doorway. This from an item Pharaun had, until then, been unaware the scout carried.
"You know," he said as they moved into the highest levels of the city, where the most lavish of the nobles' manors were located, "I quite seriously doubt we should remain for the full evening."
"What, you think the city is growing too dangerous?" Valas asked wryly. "If we had given it any thought, we might have considered packing our supplies and bringing them with us."
Pharaun slowed a step, thinking, but then he proceeded, saying, "You're right, but if the situation warrants it, I can return for the goods myself later."
The four drow arrived at last at House Melarn, an impressive bulge in the upper reaches of the city. The whole of the thing was stacked above the level of the street and also hung below it, and it covered an area two or three blocks wide and just as deep. To Pharaun, it looked like a massive cyst of some sort, which, he supposed, had been the intent of the architects who'd fashioned it.
The food and spirits had better be worth it, the wizard thought, sighing as he followed the others inside. Right now, it just looks like a prison.
* * *
Aliisza loathed the form she'd chosen for herself, finding it ugly and without civility. Oh, certainly any orc who spotted her would have thought her beautiful, but the alu-fiend considered the race repulsive as a whole. Still, it had its advantages.
At the moment, that advantage was that Pharaun would not recognize her. Following the wizard and his two drow companions through the web streets of Ched Nasad, being led by a fourth drow—whom she found to be rather unattractive—Aliisza didn't want her lover of earlier in the day to spot her. As well, she found it easier to avoid notice as one of the baser creatures rather than as one of the dark elves. The drow citizens might have outnumbered the rest of the other races combined, but they appeared to be fearful of being alone in public, and though Aliisza certainly didn't fear for her own well-being, she thought it best to draw as little attention to herself as possible.
Besides, she found that she could overhear more interesting conversations if she was not in dark elf form. The other beings tended to stall or whisper whenever they saw any drow about, but they were not so mindful of their words when it was just an orc, beautiful for her race or not. Aliisza could certainly understand why.
There was talk of rebellion or of invasion everywhere she went. Half the inhabitants seemed to think the crisis in the City of Shimmering Webs was an opportunity to end the drow reign once and for all, while the other half believed that someone else was already in the process of doing just that and that everyone already living there would pay the price for it. One thing was constant, whatever other opinions were revealed: Everyone blamed the dark elves for their problems.
It was the drow, she heard, who had angered Lolth. She had turned away from the city, leaving it to fend for itself. Others said that Lolth had grown weak and ineffectual from the complacency of her worshipers, and this had allowed other deities to overwhelm her when she wasn't expecting or prepared for it. The most intriguing rumor of all, of course, was the tale that seemed most recent. Spreading like wildfire, it claimed that the matron mothers had discovered a traitor in their midst, one of their own who had collaborated with a high priestess from beyond the city to bring Ched Nasad low.
There were a dozen variations on that story. The traitors consorted with demons, the traitors were actually demons in disguise, the traitors were stealing from the city, the traitors were preparing to attack the city. . . .
Aliisza had little doubt about the veracity of the story, for she suspected that the high priestess must be Quenthel. Somehow, the Menzoberranyr had been apprehended in the middle of her little scheme, the one Pharaun regretted mentioning. She was curious about Pharaun's role in the rumor, or the portion of the story that included a matron mother. The alu-fiend wondered if Pharaun had been swept up in the events or if spending the afternoon with her—she shivered with delight at the memory of it—had allowed him to stay clear.
Even if he hadn't gotten entangled in the matron mothers' schemes thus far, he was bound to eventually. She knew this with a certainty born of having seen the political machinations of her own kind drag even the most unwilling creatures into its webbing. Pharaun would have a part to play in the unfolding events, as much for his inquisitive, forceful nature as for his relationship with the priestess he so casually followed.
Regardless of what the wizard wanted, he was in the company of a stranger, someone obviously of a noble House by the insignia on his piwafwi, and he didn't seem to be under duress or coerced. Perhaps he didn't know what was going on. Aliisza would have to puzzle on that some more. One thing was certain, however: The effect the rumor was having on the populace was not good.