R. Salvatore - Night of the Hunter

No, she had other plans for Tiago and his new bride Saribel, Gromph knew, and those plans would include a more important position for Tiago.

Because unlike Andzrel, Tiago understood something more than the martial arts.

Tiago knew how to play the game of intrigue.

“Count yourself fortunate,” Gromph said at length, “for you are to witness the Darkening, and it will be a glorious sight.”

Andzrel looked at him curiously. “Are you not planning to see Tsabrak through to the surface?”

“No,” Gromph answered, and he glanced back and waved to his mind flayer companion to catch up. “I have been out scouting this very morning. This is the final run to the surface, a few tendays hence, and the way is clear, and so I am done my duty here to Tsabrak. Stay with him and keep him safe-it should be an easy enough task.”

He began to cast a spell, tracing the outline of a doorway into the air.

“You are home to Menzoberranzan, then?”

“In time,” was all that Gromph would answer, and he waved the illithid into the portal before him, then nodded to the weapons master and stepped through, coming out into the small antechamber in the primordial room he had previously marked for just this purpose. The huge water elemental remained in there, at its guard, and it rose up menacingly before recognizing the archmage and melting back away.

Gromph created a dimensional door that he and Methil might cross the pit, then led the mind flayer into the bending, narrow tunnel that would take them to the Forge, the ping of hammers echoed off the stones to guide their way

They crossed the Forge, drawing a few stares from goblin and drow alike, though of course none dared to hinder their passage in any way. Gromph noted the cages hanging, but took little interest in them at that time.

They exited into a large corridor lined with magnificent dwarf statues, and even though he hated the bearded folk profoundly, Gromph could appreciate the craftsmanship, and thought it a good thing that the Xorlarrin force had not desecrated these remnants of another age. He was heading for Berellip’s chambers, but Gromph paused at a door along the way and listened with growing amusement. Without bothering to knock, the archmage cast a spell of opening and the door swung in, revealing a very surprised trio of dark elves.

Gromph swept into the room, Methil right behind. He found it curious that the highest-ranking of the three within, Saribel Xorlarrin, was the one who showed him the most deference, stepping back and politely bowing.

Yet the other two, her upstart and ambitious brother Ravel, along with the ever-upstart Tiago, seemed too agitated at the moment to even properly acknowledge the great presence of the Archmage of Menzoberranzan.

“I have been recalled to Menzoberranzan!” Tiago growled.

“The matron mother has use for you.”

“But no, Archmage, it cannot be!” the young warrior shouted, and he slapped his hands together in frustration.

“We are so close now,” Ravel explained. “We have captured his friends and dragged them here. They will tell us, and then the wayward rogue will be ours!”

“The wayward rogue? Drizzt Do’Urden again?”

“Yes!” the two young drow answered in unison.

Gromph wasn’t sure where to take this. The matron mother had set many plans in motion, in Menzoberranzan and in the surface region known as the Silver Marches, and Gromph doubted that those plans included a showdown between Tiago and Drizzt, particularly at this delicate time.

“Take me to these captives,” he decided, and shortly after, the five stood before the hanging cages in the great Forge of Gauntlgrym.

After a telepathic conference with the mind flayer, Gromph ordered Dahlia to be taken down, but the whole time, he continued to look at Entreri.

“Jarlaxle’s old friend,” he said to Tiago and Ravel, standing beside him. “A formidable warrior, as I recall.”

“Not so formidable,” Tiago replied.

Gromph turned to regard the vain young drow. The archmage wore a slight grin then, which Tiago did not understand, for Gromph was picturing this young warrior in combat with Drizzt Do’Urden, and expecting that Tiago would learn a bit of humility at the end of that one’s curved blades.

Gromph turned his attention to Dahlia, who seemed as if she would simply fall over were it not for the two drow guards holding her up.

“Take her to a room where I might be alone with her,” the archmage instructed and Dahlia was hustled away. “Well, not alone,” Gromph corrected, looking at his illithid companion.

“What do you intend to do?” Tiago asked.

Gromph looked at him incredulously, letting him know how ridiculous it was for him to even question the archmage in such a manner. “Did you intend to torture her?” Gromph asked. “And this other one? Would you wound them and sting them until they told you what you desired to know?”

“The thought had crossed my mind,” said Tiago.

“Then let it serve as a perfect illustration of the limitations of Tiago,” Gromph said with a snort. “And of anyone who favors the blade over the greater powers.”

Soon after, the stone walls of lower Gauntlgrym echoed with the horrified screams of poor Dahlia as Methil El-Viddenvelp intruded into her mind. “You dare to spy upon the archmage?” Saribel asked Ravel from another room, where the Xorlarrin wizard had cast spells to magically and covertly intrude upon the interrogation of Dahlia.

“Silence,” Tiago said to the priestess. “Let him do his work.”

“It is the Archmage of Menzoberranzan!” Saribel argued. “If he detects-”

“Would you have us simply leave, as the matron mother instructed? Should I abandon this quest when the treasure is so near at hand?”

“When disaster is near at hand, you mean, if you intend to go against-”

“On the side of a mountain in Icewind Dale,” Ravel interrupted and the other two turned to regard him. He seemed to be looking off into the empty distance, and Tiago and Saribel understood that the mage’s senses were indeed far away: in the other room with Gromph, the illithid, and Dahlia.

“The Battlehammer dwarves,” Ravel said. “She thinks Drizzt is with the Battlehammer dwarves under the mountain in Icewind Dale.”

“We know the tunnels to take us there,” Saribel whispered eagerly.

“It is not so far,” Tiago added. “We can get there and be done with our task, then return triumphant to Menzoberranzan within any reasonable timeframe-reasonable even to the matron mother.”

The door opened and Tiago and Saribel nearly fell over in surprise, although Ravel, who was not really there, continued his work. Great relief flooded through the young drow couple to see that it was Berellip come calling, and not some ally of Gromph.

“Icewind Dale, to the north,” Tiago said to her, moving fast to shut the door behind her as she entered. “Dahlia reveals the way to Gromph’s ugly pet.”

Berellip looked from Tiago to Ravel curiously. “You are spying on the archmage?” she said with a gasp.

“Nay, we are done spying on the archmage,” Ravel answered before Tiago could, the mage coming back from his clairvoyance and clairaudience dweomers. “And it was a fruitful exercise indeed.”

“Gromph will destroy you with a snap of his fingers,” Berellip warned.

“To what end?” Ravel asked, at the very same moment as Tiago insisted, “Not when I walk into Menzoberranzan with the head of Drizzt Do’Urden.”

“You have found him?” Berellip asked, and suddenly she seemed interested. She moved in close, sitting opposite Saribel at the room’s small table.

“When is your Matron Zeerith due to arrive?” Tiago asked.

“Two tendays, perhaps three.”