R. Salvatore - Archmage

“We got them young Harpell wizards, too,” Connerad reminded.

“Wishin’ we had the old one,” said Bungalow. “And the woman who’s leadin’ ’em. Both can throw a bit o’ lightning and fire, so I’m hearin’.”

“The one girl with this group-said her name’s Kenneally,” Connerad replied, “she’s a flyer and a floater, and with more than a few tricks for such. Might be that she can give us wings, me and yerself, and so we’ll chase our boys down the hole, eh?”

“Kenneally Harpell,” Bungalow reminded him, emphasizing that legendary family name. “So she’ll likely turn us into bats, what!”

“Ha!” said Connerad. “Aye, her and the skinny fellow. . Tuck-the-Duck?”

“Tuckernuck,” came the correction from the doorway and the two dwarves turned to see the two in question, Kenneally and Tuckernuck Harpell.

“Rest assured, King Connerad, that we two and the others will be of great assistance in getting your force swiftly to the bottom, if that is your wish,” Kenneally Harpell said.

“I’ve a new spell to try for just this purpose,” Tuckernuck added, and the dwarves looked to each other doubtfully, having heard, and seen, much of the leftover effects of “new spells” tried at the Ivy Mansion in Longsaddle, including more than half the statues in the place. More than a few brilliant Harpell wizards had mastered a spell to turn himself or herself into such a statue, and of course, did so knowing the words to reverse the spell but without realizing that as a statue, he or she wouldn’t be able to mouth those words.

“Do tell, boy,” Connerad gingerly prompted.

“Field of Feather Falling,” Tuckernuck replied.

“You fall into it, you float out of it,” Kenneally replied. The dwarves exchanged skeptical looks once more.

“We put it down near the floor, perhaps,” said Tuckernuck. “A long and fast fall into the field and a short float to the fight!”

“Or quick surprise turned into a quick splat, eh?” Bungalow Thump said dryly.

Matron Mother Zeerith sat on the altar stone in the chapel of Q’Xorlarrin, fidgeting nervously. More than once, she imagined taking just a few steps and leaping from the ledge to the fiery maw of the fire primordial.

It was just a passing thought, and nothing she seriously considered. Not yet, at least, but she could well envision a day not too far off when such a suicidal leap into utter oblivion might prove to be her best course. She spun around on the altar stone then and leaned forward to peer into the pit, its sides swirling with water elementals rushing about in their cyclonic frenzy.“Matron Mother?” she heard from behind her, and she turned to see

High Priestess Kiriy and the wizard Hoshtar entering the chamber. “I do not wish to disturb your communion, Matron Mother,” Kiriy said respectfully, and she bowed low.

“What do you want?” Matron Mother Zeerith snapped in reply. She turned a threatening glare over Hoshtar, who similarly bowed, and had the wisdom to remain low.

“They near the lower positions,” Kiriy explained. “I thought it important that you greet them personally.”

Matron Mother Zeerith winced. “Already?” she whispered under her breath, though she knew she shouldn’t be surprised, for demons were tireless creatures.

“They are to be allowed nowhere near this room,” she said to her daughter. “Or the forge room.”

“It will take one of your supreme station to deter them, Matron Mother,” Kiriy explained. “Mighty Marilith herself leads the throng."

“A marilith. .” Matron Mother Zeerith said with a sigh. She was hoping that a nalfeshnee, with its strange sense of law and order, would be at the head of the demonic column, or perhaps even some weaker type of major demon, one that she could easily dominate. The six-armed mariliths, though, were exceedingly cunning, and could warp any command to their advantage.

“Not a marilith,” Kiriy said, interrupting Zeerith’s train of thought.

“Marilith herself.”

“Under the suffrage and domination of Archmage Gromph Baenre,”

Hoshtar added, and Matron Mother Zeerith felt as if he were twisting a knife in her back. By all reason, Gromph Baenre should be a friend to the Xorlarrins, a family so strong in male wizards. But whether it was his jealousy, or his fear that one of the Xorlarrins would usurp his high station, such an alliance had never come to pass.

Zeerith sighed again. “Let us go,” she said. “I wish to greet our. . reinforcements as far from this room as possible.”

Deep in the mines, past the slave miners from Icewind Dale and those few remaining that had been taken from Port Llast, the drow contingent met up with the lesser demons in front of the march from Menzoberranzan.

Matron Mother Zeerith barred their way, and ordered several back to gather Marilith.

Demons continued to press, looking for a way past Matron Mother Zeerith. It wasn’t until she cast a spell of banishment, sending a large vrock back to its Abyssal home, that the others fell into order-at least, as much order as chaotic demons could manage. Still, they all knew that they might soon wash their bodies in mortal blood, and the threat of banishment proved incentive enough to keep them at bay until at last the giant Marilith slithered up to face the Matron of Q’Xorlarrin. “I am here by the word of Archmage Gromph Baenre,” Marilith stated flatly. “Sent to kill dwarves.”

“There are thousands to kill, I am told,” Matron Mother Zeerith replied. “Show me,” Marilith said, and her voice sounded very much like a purr, while the fingers of her six hands eagerly tickled the hilts of her belted weapons.

“There are many tunnels,” Zeerith replied, and she turned and motioned up the sloping corridor. “The first right-hand passages lead to Q’Xorlarrin. The place is secure, do not doubt, and any demons you send down that way will be destroyed or banished, at the least, by my defenses.” Marilith let out a little growl, clearly wanting to go down those tunnels simply because of the overt threat. “And where do the others lead, Matron Mother Zeerith?”

“This way and that,” the matron mother of Q’Xorlarrin replied. “This most ancient dwarven complex is indeed a vast compound, much of it still unexplored by my family. Any time you are climbing nearer the surface, know that you are moving closer to the dwarves who have come to this place, for they have not gained the lower corridors.”

“Then they shan’t,” Marilith decreed, her red eyes flaring, and now her six weapons slid free.

Matron Mother Zeerith wisely used that moment to begin her return to Q’Xorlarrin, her entourage hustling beside her, and with other dark elves ordered to collect the slaves-who would surely have been devoured by the demonic procession-and retreat within the main compound area. By the time Matron Mother Zeerith had returned to her altar room, Q’Xorlarrin had more sentries guarding the lower entrances than those in the areas where the dwarves might come down.

The first good news of the day greeted Matron Mother Zeerith in that altar room, for she found her nephews, the powerful Masters of Sorcere Jaemas and Faelas, waiting for her.

“Well met again, Matron Mother of Q’Xorlarrin,” they said in unison, both bowing deeply and respectfully.

“It has been too long since your beauty has graced our eyes, Matron Mother Zeerith,” Faelas Xorlarrin added.

“Menzoberranzan is a lesser place without you,” Jaemas added. “Enough of your insipid flattery,” Matron Mother Zeerith replied, though it was clear from her tone that she was indeed a bit flattered.

Behind her, High Priestess Kiriy caught that little fact, too, it seemed, for she chortled, drawing an evil glance from her mother.