R. Salvatore - Archmage

“He is always the broker.”

“And never the honest broker,” Zeerith admitted, as much to herself as to Tsabrak. She hated her position. She had worked with Bregan D’aerthe often in the past-her nephew Hoshtar’s greatest achievement was the relationship he had quietly woven between Q’Xorlarrin and Bregan D’aerthe-a potential alliance and trading route the new city would need if they were to compete with House Hunzrin.

Other than that, however, Zeerith had little use for Hoshtar. He was a mediocre wizard at best, who spent more time worrying about the set of his ridiculous red veil than he did his skill in the Art. It was likely, Zeerith knew, that Hoshtar’s incompetence was exactly why he had found some measure of success in dealing with Jarlaxle, for surely Hoshtar could be easily controlled by that one.

“We will find our way, my blessed matron mother,” Tsabrak said with a bow.

Matron Mother Zeerith offered a calm smile and waved him away.

She looked anxiously to the room’s other door, the one leading to the private chapel she had fashioned. Kiriy wasn’t in there, having gone to the main chapel in the primordial chamber for her most important commune.

Perhaps it would do Matron Mother Zeerith good to go and pray as well

“House Do’Urden,” Gromph said to the matron mother. They stood on the balcony of House Baenre, staring across the city to the newest outbreak of demonic violence, along the western wall of the great cavern, at the gates of House Do’Urden.“It is not a coincidence, I expect,” Gromph added sardonically.

Quenthel stared and contemplated. This was a move against her, by proxy, and some of those major Houses aligned with her, and supporting her on the council, were surely involved. They were testing her, and more than that, testing the level of support House Baenre would offer to the puppet House Do’Urden. And doing it all with demons, beasts that couldn’t be traced to any one House or another.

“Go there, and take your pet demon,” Quenthel instructed. “I have sent the Xorlarrin cousins from Sorcere to Ravel’s side,” Gromph replied. “Both are masters, their ranks honestly earned. That is a formidable trio of wizards.”

“With their leader, Ravel Xorlarrin, standing to gain if the Matron Darthiir is destroyed,” Quenthel said. “Ravel would like nothing more than to see his sister Saribel ascend to the throne of his new House. Go. .” She paused.

“No,” she said, shaking her head as she changed her mind. “Go back to Sorcere. Use your powers to find your safe room in Q’Xorlarrin. Check in on Matron Mother Zeerith.”

“Collect her plea for help, you mean.”

Matron Mother Baenre grinned. She walked from the balcony and pointedly shut the door behind her, letting Gromph know that he should be gone immediately, through magical means.

“Glad I am to see you, cousins,” Ravel said to Faelas and Jaemas when the two appeared, quite unexpectedly, in the audience chamber of House Do’Urden.

“You have demons at your gate, cousin,” Faelas said.

“The archmage supposed that you might welcome our help,” Jaemas added.

“More than at our gate,” Saribel said, entering the room. “The bottom floor is thick with manes, and chasme have gained the balcony."

“Where is the Matron Darthiir?” Jaemas asked.

“Hopefully being chopped into mounds of sludge by the axe-wielding balgura that commands the manes,” Saribel said, hardly hiding her sneer. “Dear cousin, High Priestess, she is the matron mother of your House,” Jaemas dared to say, his impertinence drawing wide eyes from the astounded Saribel.

The woman stuttered a few times, as if futilely trying to fashion a response. “Rid this place of demons,” she ordered, and stormed back out of the room.

Ravel considered his older cousins carefully. These two were no minor wizards. Both were Masters of Sorcere, and had been for decades- Jaemas since before the onset of the Spellplague. Most accountings had Jaemas third on the list of successors to the position of Archmage of Menzoberranzan, with Faelas closely behind. Only Tsabrak and Brack’thal had been thought of more highly among the House Xorlarrin cadre of powerful wizards, and then only Tsabrak, when the Spellplague had taken most of poor Brack’thal’s mind.

Still, for a male of any standing, short of the archmage himself, to speak to a high priestess in such a manner, openly, was quite shocking to Ravel. “Where is the Matron Darthiir?” Jaemas asked Ravel.

“In her chambers, as always, other than her jaunts to sit at the council table when High Priestess Sos’Umptu Baenre comes to fetch her."

“Show us,” said Faelas.

Ravel turned a puzzled expression on the younger of the masters.

“We have demons inside the compound. .”

“Inside the house, ” Faelas corrected. “So take us to the Matron Darthiir.” The trio moved along the corridors, walking calmly while drow warriors rushed to and fro. Ravel took careful note of the House guard here, suspecting correctly that those warriors associated with the city’s Second House might well be seeking to avoid the fight.

He had no doubt that Barrison Del’Armgo had quietly arranged for this battle.

The corridor leading to the matron mother’s room was strangely empty, but not quiet, as sounds of battle could be heard behind the central, ornate door.

Ravel stopped with surprise, but Jaemas grunted and cursed and rushed ahead, Faelas close behind. As they neared the door, there came a thunderous retort. The doors flew open, and a host of manes came flying out, crashing onto the floor, where they lay twitching and smoking, melting away. A flying chasme demon, a gigantic ugly housefly, sputtered out the open doors, trailing smoke as it crashed hard into the opposite wall.

It, too, fell to the floor and there died.

The wizards turned the corner, eyes wide with surprise-and none were more surprised than Ravel, when he, too, glanced in upon Matron Darthiir Do’Urden, battling ferociously, her metallic quarterstaff spinning gracefully in her hands, darting left and right and swatting aside the demon manes.

In desperate battle had Dahlia found clarity. The worms writhing inside her head could not distract her now, not with demons clawing at her from every angle. Kozah’s Needle was her salvation, building another charge as Dahlia sent it prodding hard into the chest of a manes, then swung it about and tapped it hard on the floor, then broke it into a tri-staff and launched it into an overhead twirl, smacking aside another chasme.

All of her focus stayed on that remarkable weapon, breaking it through its myriad motions and combinations. It was a staff, a tri-staff, bo sticks, flails, at her command and with the subtle workings of her skilled fingers. And she used all of her weapons and repertoire, for in that demanded focus, Dahlia found mental clarity and kept the writhing worms of confusion at bay.

A lightning bolt shocked her, sizzling out to her left and dropping a line of manes.

She noted the drow at the door, noted the second wizard in his spellcasting, and noted his angle.

His lightning bolt shot in as well, to the other side, destroying some manes, but before it could plow through as had the first, Dahlia’s magnificent weapon prodded near it and gobbled up the bolt.

Now she felt the power of the lightning within Kozah’s Needle, and she sent it forth with renewed enthusiasm. She worked it out to the left, then left again, inviting those manes pressing her from the right to push in, clawed fingers reaching for her.

Across came Kozah’s Needle, slamming the two, and Dahlia let free some of the lightning energy, the blast lifting the manes from the floor, throwing them up and back, right over the next in line.