R. Salvatore - Archmage

Kimmuriel started to respond, but bit it back, and Jarlaxle smiled knowingly, quite pleased that his psionicist friend was clearly realizing the context of his remarks. After all, Kimmuriel had only made the demeaning quip concerning Jarlaxle telepathically to Gromph.

And Kimmuriel had no reason at all to believe the Jarlaxle could so eavesdrop on a psionic communication.

Which of course, Jarlaxle could not. He had merely guessed regarding Kimmuriel’s silent interactions with the archmage. But now, of course, given Kimmuriel’s reaction, Jarlaxle knew that his guess had hit the mark.

“How many of our scouts will you need to find Tiago?” a shaken Kimmuriel asked, trying to change the subject.

“Just you,” Jarlaxle replied, and the psionicist cocked an eyebrow suspiciously.

“If Tiago is alive, then he’s after Drizzt, and so will not be far afield of Bruenor’s march,” Jarlaxle explained. “I have Athrogate and Amber already in place among Bruenor’s entourage. Use your psionic energies to see through the eyes of those the dwarves march past and we will find Tiago, and so you can deliver to Gromph that which he desires.”

Kimmuriel nodded and left, and Jarlaxle leaned back against the wall, considering the whole of that encounter. Something was going on that was beyond his understanding. Something with Kimmuriel, probably perpetrated by Kimmuriel, and likely involving Gromph. He wasn’t afraid that Kimmuriel was trying to be rid of him to claim sole leadership of Bregan D’aerthe. Quite the contrary-Kimmuriel wanted Jarlaxle around so he did not have to assume the mundane burdens of such a role.

No, it was something else, Jarlaxle figured, something extraneous to him, something beyond the scope of, and purview of, Bregan D’aerthe even.

Seven dwarves led the vast procession of the Silver Marches army from the Surbrin Bridge, marching in ranks of two, three, and two. King Bruenor Battlehammer centered the leading formation in the second rank, flanked by Bungalow Thump and Connerad Brawnanvil, with Amber Gristle O’Maul and Athrogate close behind as his personal bodyguards.

Two other bodyguards had joined Bruenor’s personal entourage at the beginning of the march, gifts given to him by King Emerus Warcrown in his last declaration as leader of Citadel Felbarr. And to be sure, the dwarf lasses Fist and Fury-Mallabritches and Tannabritches Fellhammer- could not have been more thrilled at their permanent assignment, especially when their old friend Bruenor positioned them right in front of him.

Right in front of all of them, leading the march!

Matron Mother Mez’Barris Armgo of the Second House of Menzoberranzan tried not to look shocked when, yet again, major demons entered the chamber of the Ruling Council.

“Is this to be the new normal, Matron Mother?” she dared to ask a very smug Quenthel Baenre when Nalfeshnee-a most horrid beast with a great rounded belly and leathery wings too small to support its great girth-wobbled out of the room, mercifully taking its stench with it. The ridiculousness of the bulky creature’s appearance somehow added to the menace of the beast, as if Nalfeshnee and other demons of his type were intentionally mocking conventions of beauty. “Are we to be entertained by the antics of demons with each meeting, instead of discussing the very real problems we now face in the wake of the disaster in the Silver Marches?” Mez’Barris continued.

“Disaster?” the matron mother replied incredulously. “We scarred the land, sacked a great human city, and left the kingdoms of Luruar in disarray. And all for the cost of a few drow lives. Disaster? Do you think Lady Lolth would agree with, or appreciate, your description, Matron Mother Mez’Barris?”

“I think we gained nothing, nor did the dragons.”

“That is your opinion. To my eyes, our journey to the World Above was well worth the effort and the cost of a few warriors, mostly males.” She paused there and smiled wickedly at Matron Mother Mez’Barris. “And only a very few noble drow.”

Only two, actually, they both knew, and both those fallen from House Barrison Del’Armgo, if the rumors of Tiago’s survival proved true.

“Do the demons trouble you?” Matron Mother Baenre asked. “They are servants of the Spider Queen, are they not? The physical manifestation of chaos itself. We should consider ourselves blessed that so many have chosen to haunt our city.”

Even Matron Mother Baenre’s allies on the Ruling Council bristled a bit at that-except for Sos’Umptu, of course, who sat with the same smug expression as her sister the matron mother, and Matron Darthiir Do’Urden, the surface elf named Dahlia, who sat with the same blank stare that she always brought to council. The demons were growing unmanageably thick about the city, and bringing havoc to every House, even those of the Ruling Council.

Even House Baenre.

In that light, the others all understood that the only one benefitting from the presence of so many demons was probably Quenthel Baenre herself, her position growing more secure with the ever-present troubles distracting any who might plot against her.

But since they were all coming to understand this new reality. .

“They are glorious creatures, gifts of the Spider Queen to us, the priestesses who have the knowledge and power to summon them,” Matron Mother Baenre declared.

“They are summoning their own now,” Matron Miz’ri remarked.

“Minor minions,” said the matron mother.

“A pack of glabrezu marched past my gate this very day,” Matron Mother Byrtyn Fey argued. “A pack! A score of the brutes. They alone could likely topple some of the lesser Houses.”

“They are too undisciplined to so organize,” Sos’Umptu Baenre said from the back of the room. “You need not fear.”

“I do not fear!” Matron Mother Byrtyn Fey retorted angrily, standing and pounding her small fist on the spider-shaped council chamber in a most unexpected and very out-of-character display. She turned to stare hard at the matron mother. “My priestesses ask Lolth for the permission to begin banishing the demons, and the moment the Spider Queen gives her assent, I will make it my duty to cleanse Menzoberranzan of any Abyssal creatures who are not willing to submit to the will of the Ruling Council. Enough, Matron Mother, I beg!”

Quenthel stared impassively at Matron Mother Byrtyn Fey. She leaned forward in her chair, just a bit, and brought her hands up onto the table in front of her, interlocking the fingers. She didn’t lash out, and she didn’t blink, her posture and poise screaming at Byrtyn Fey to continue-and at the same time, warning the diminutive fool that she probably would be much better off doing no such thing.

Byrtyn Fey, who had witnessed the incarnation of Lolth’s avatar at her Feast of the Founding, who had lost her House’s high priestess, her daughter Minolin, to the favored Quenthel and House Baenre, was wise enough not to continue. She quietly slipped back down to her chair.

The matron mother was pleased at that. Quenthel had tightened her grip on the city and the council once again. Even her allies were none too happy. But they were paralyzed, all of them, by the threat of so many demons wandering Menzoberranzan. They were all, even Mez’Barris Armgo, so consumed by trying to keep their compounds secure and their nobles and other notables alive, that they had no opportunity to organize against House Baenre.

Because they knew.

The demons were Quenthel’s doing, mostly, though now the creatures had indeed taken to gating in other creatures from the Abyss on their own.

And if they were Quenthel’s doing, then she had done so with the blessing of Lady Lolth.