R. Salvatore - Night of the Hunter

Through the maze of the complex’s entry caverns, the four matrons had been greeted over and over by Baenre warriors, dragging out the many rogues who had come into this place unbidden and without permission.

None were supposed to be in here, by order of the Ruling Council, but it was an ill-kept secret in the city that Houses Melarn and Barrison Del’Armgo used this place as training quarters.

In a powerful stroke, then, Matron Mother Quenthel had struck a blow against both of those Houses, the uneasy Second House and the ambitious Seventh. If Baenre’s choice of dining with House Fey-Branche during the Festival of the Founding hadn’t warned House Melarn to temper those ambitions-indeed, if the appearance of Lolth’s Avatar at the dinner, if the rumors were to be believed, hadn’t done so-then surely this bold strike would make the demand crystal clear to Matron Zhindia Melarn.

And Zhindia could not even raise her grievance at the next iteration of the Ruling Council, because this place, once the home of Malice Do’Urden, the birthplace of the infamous Drizzt Do’Urden, could not be inhabited or visited, by direct and unambiguous edict of the Ruling Council.

Until now, when the First Priestesses of the four Houses in attendance had independently confirmed to their matrons that this mission was Lolth’s will.

And so by Lolth’s will and by Baenre’s power, House Do’Urden was cleared that day of vagabonds and secret militia.

And so by Lolth’s will, in accordance with Lolth’s demand, House Do’Urden was ready to be reconstituted.

Minolin Fey noted the agitation in Mez’Barris’s movements as the Matron swept into the room.

“You have seen the events of this day?” she asked, moving right to the point.

Minolin Fey nodded. “They have not been secret about it.”

“Four Houses, striking together.”

Minolin Fey shrugged as if it should not matter. “The Do’Urden compound is forbidden ground,” she said quietly and calmly.

“I note that Fey-Branche was not invited to Matron Mother Quenthel’s little excursion,” Mez’Barris said slyly. “House Baenre pulls her allies in close in this time of upheaval, and yet, there you are, alone and with a hungry and ambitious House Melarn watching.”

Minolin Fey forced herself not to wince. House Baenre had guaranteed its alliance to House Fey-Branche at the Festival of the Founding, but indeed, the events of this day had not reassured Minolin’s family.

“Matron Mother Quenthel makes more of a statement by those she did not invite, it would seem,” said Mez’Barris, twisting the knife a bit.

“As with your own?”

Matron Mez’Barris laughed easily and took a seat on a chair of overstuffed pillows just across from Minolin Fey. “We refused her invitation,” Mez’Barris said. “They have more than enough force to expel a few Houseless rogues, and I have better things to do than follow Matron Mother Quenthel on her ridiculous excursions.”

A few Houseless rogues, Minolin Fey thought, and didn’t hide her knowing smile. Not so Houseless, most, she knew well, and not a few of them were tied right back here, to House Barrison Del’Armgo. Which was why, of course, there was no possibility that Matron Mother Quenthel had invited Mez’Barris along on the assault, despite the matron’s claims to the contrary.

Mez’Barris’s lie revealed her fears, and thus, her weakness, Minolin Fey silently reassured herself.

“Do you think Matron Zhindia Melarn will attack House Fey-Branche while the Baenre soldiers are still in the field?” Matron Mez’Barris asked. “Or will she wait until Quen-Matron Mother Quenthel’s little play is ended?”

Minolin Fey merely smiled-not because she was confident that Mez’Barris was wrong, but because even if House Fey-Branche was wholly razed, she knew herself to be above the fray. Indeed, by Matron Mother Quenthel’s private decree, one sanctified by the Avatar of Lolth herself, Minolin was of House Baenre now, the secret wife of Gromph, the expectant mother of the future Matron Mother of Menzoberranzan. But of course, Mez’Barris Armgo didn’t need to know any of that.

“What are we to do about this?” Mez’Barris asked, rather sharply, shocking Minolin Fey from her contemplation.

“Do?”

“Be not coy,” said Mez’Barris. “Matron Mother Quenthel has struck out against House Melarn this day …”

“And against your own House,” Minolin Fey interjected.

Matron Mez’Barris looked at her as if she wanted to lash out.

“If we are being … not coy,” Minolin Fey said.

The matron paused for a long while, staring at Minolin Fey hard. “Matron Mother Quenthel has gathered her power together, and is daring House Melarn to retaliate, but to the side. Indeed, she seems to be goading House Melarn to strike at House Fey-Branche, and were that to pass, and were I to support Matron Zhindia of House Melarn, Matron Mother Quenthel and her lackeys would not intervene.”

“You have already said as much, in fewer words,” Minolin Fey dared to reply.

“What are we to do about it?” Matron Mez’Barris asked slyly, leadingly. Minolin Fey looked at her blankly.

“What are you going to do about it?” Mez’Barris clarified, and after a few more heartbeats of uncomfortable silence, she added, “We are allies, yes? Long have we planned for this inevitable day. Perhaps it is time now for us to seal that alliance, Barrison Del’Armgo with Fey-Branche. I can hold Matron Zhindia at bay-House Melarn would not attack Fey-Branche without my blessing. Not now. Not when Matron Mother Quenthel has gathered her allies so tightly about her.”

“What am I to offer the balor?” Minolin Fey asked.

“Errtu was banished by a son of House Baenre. Defeated on a cold field in the World Above. Surely he is not enamored of Tiago’s family. You offer him the chance to repay Matron Mother Quenthel.”

“Errtu is patient. Perhaps he would prefer to exact his revenge on his own, in time.”

“You have spoken with the balor?” Matron Mez’Barris asked bluntly.

“Not recently, and not directly. I cannot summon him, of course, since he is banished from our plane of existence, and I do not often travel to the Abyss, particularly not to parlay with one as unpredictable and dangerous as Errtu. I do not wish to find myself as a cell mate to Matron K’yorl.”

“We have discussed this,” an agitated Mez’Barris said.

“The sword of Tiago Baenre has altered our … possibilities.”

“We will go to Errtu together,” Mez’Barris offered. “We will bring the archmage as well. Yes, it is time for him to assert control.”

“Gromph will not go against Matron Mother Quenthel. Not now.”

“He knows of our plan-indeed, it was his plan to begin with!” Mez’Barris argued.

It was true enough, Minolin Fey had to admit. The three of them, none favoring Matron Mother Quenthel, had indeed plotted Quenthel’s downfall. With Lady Lolth venturing into the realm of the arcane, the drow wizards, even though overwhelmingly male, sought to gain newer and higher stature, and of course, none stood to gain more than Gromph Baenre, the great Archmage of Menzoberranzan, the oldest and, by many estimations, the most powerful drow in the city. Perhaps Gromph would even be officially recognized as the Patron Father of House Baenre. Such things were unprecedented, but then, so were these curious and chaotic times.

Mez’Barris Armgo certainly would support the ascent of Gromph, mostly because her House would, in that circumstance, almost surely be elevated above House Baenre, at long and deserving last. But also because she and Gromph had developed a mutual understanding over the past few decades.

At least, that had been the case, Minolin Fey thought but did not say. Unbeknownst to Mez’Barris, much had changed in the Festival of the Founding.