R. Salvatore: Archmage

“And now I must bid you farewell,” the drow mercenary added. “It would seem that I have an archmage to placate, and that is not as easy a task as you might believe.”

“You trust him?” Kipper asked when Jarlaxle had gone.

Catti-brie, staring off into the direction where the mercenary had disappeared, nodded. “I do, and so does my husband, who knows Jarlaxle well.”

“There are many gears turning where that one is concerned,” Penelope warned her. “And not all with your benefit in mind.”

“All with Jarlaxle’s benefit in mind, though,” Kipper agreed.

Catti-brie smiled and turned to face her Harpell friends. “The world is an interesting place,” she said. She left it at that, and held on to her smile.

Because she understood the darkness that might be ahead, and if she let the smile go, she was terribly afraid that she’d not soon find it again.

In a chamber below the lowest levels of the reclaimed dwarven homeland, Gromph Baenre awaited the return of Jarlaxle, and he was surprised indeed when his brother entered beside Matron Mother Zeerith Xorlarrin and Kimmuriel Oblodra.

Gromph glared at the psionicist balefully, but Kimmuriel cut him short with a quiet and innocent whisper of, “What did you do?”

Gromph cleared his throat. He didn’t much like the vulnerability his error had brought upon him, but he had, after all, summoned Demogorgon to the Prime Material Plane.

“I thought that King Bruenor had changed his mind and would now allow Matron Mother Zeerith to leave at this time,” the now-former Archmage of Menzoberranzan asked Jarlaxle, quite eager to change the subject.

“You are correct,” Zeerith answered.

“Bruenor professed his desire to speak with Zeerith more completely before she was granted her freedom,” Jarlaxle replied. “But I thought differently."

“And so you took her.”

Jarlaxle casually shrugged.

“You seem to have many night crawlers wriggling about in twisted plans,” said Gromph.

“Oh, indeed I do, my brother!” Jarlaxle was happy to admit. “There is a broken city, my dearest homeland, in need of my careful caress.”

“You speak the part of a fool.”

“If we wish to discuss foolish actions. .” Jarlaxle replied, and let the clear reference to Demogorgon hang in the air. Gromph’s growl showed that he did not miss the point.

“Pray leave us,” Jarlaxle bade Zeerith and Kimmuriel, and when they moved into the next chamber, he turned to Gromph.

“If you or that miserable Oblodran make reference again to the. . trouble. . in Sorcere, I will turn you both into frogs and drop you into a pond of hungry carp.”

“Be at ease,” Jarlaxle bade him. “There may be good consequences for that strange event, if we are clever.”

“If we are clever, we will move to the other side of the world.”

Jarlaxle scoffed at the notion. “You think this is ended, brother?” he asked. “It is only just begun.”

“You intend to go against the matron mothers?” Gromph asked, incredulous.

Jarlaxle didn’t answer, but neither did he blink.

“Then you should bring them Drizzt Do’Urden’s head to lift your station before you ultimately deceive them.”

“Dear brother, I will bring them more than Drizzt’s head,” Jarlaxle promised. “I will bring them Drizzt.”