R. Salvatore - Night of the Hunter

Jarlaxle’s smile widened so much that the psionicist apparently felt compelled to add, “Patience.”

But of course, Jarlaxle thought, but did not say. He wanted Luskan back. He wanted Bregan D’aerthe back.

He wanted to see the stars once more.

And so he would, even if it had to be over his sister Quenthel’s dead body.

The eight Ruling Matrons of Menzoberranzan gathered around the spider-shaped table in the secret council chamber, with Matron Mother Quenthel Baenre and Matron Mez’Barris Armgo taking their seats at the ends of the longest arms of the arachnid.

Between them sat an empty chair, one that seven of the ruling matrons expected would be filled in short order.

But Matron Mother Quenthel knew better.

This council had been long-awaited, and indeed had been delayed longer than many had expected. Nearly all of House Xorlarrin was gone from the city now, and a few of the ruling matrons were surprised to see Zeerith Q’Xorlarrin in attendance and seated in the chair of the Third House to the right of Matron Mother Quenthel. Rumors had filtered throughout the city that Zeerith had already departed.

No matter, though, they all whispered, for surely this was the day of Zeerith’s formal withdrawal from the Ruling Council and House Xorlarrin’s formal withdrawal from Menzoberranzan. Their settlement in the dwarven complex once known as Gauntlgrym was going splendidly, by all accounts. Several Houses had already set up trading arrangements with the Xorlarrins, and indeed, some fine armor and weapons had already begun to flow back to Menzoberranzan, crafted in the primordial forge.

After the many obligatory prayers to the Spider Queen, led by High Priestess Sos’Umptu Baenre, Matron Mother Quenthel called the chamber to order.

Surprisingly, though, Sos’Umptu did not depart, as was the custom. She moved to the chair between the matron mother and Matron Mez’Barris and calmly sat down, a movement that clearly did not sit well with the Matron of House Barrison Del’Armgo, who squirmed in her seat and openly glowered at the Baenre high priestess, and then at Matron Mother Quenthel as well.

“You know why we are gathered,” the matron mother began. “Matron Zeerith Q’Xorlarrin’s expedition to the rediscovered dwarven mines has been quite successful and fruitful. By the will of Lolth, and as previously discussed in this very hall, it is time for us to rebuild that which was lost in the decades of tumult, in the War of the Spider Queen and the devastations of the Spellplague.”

She looked to Zeerith and bade her to speak.

“The city of Q’Xorlarrin is prepared,” the old matron said as she stood. “We secure the halls and the magical Forge of the dwarves is fired once more, its flames the hot breath of a captured primordial.”

The declaration, though it was not news to anyone in the room, of course, brought a round of applause.

“Q’Xorlarrin is not an independent entity,” Matron Mother Quenthel interrupted, stifling those cheers and drawing surprised glances from a few of the others, though the still-standing Matron Zeerith’s expression did not change. All of this had been long-ago decided, in private, between the two, the others soon realized.

“You have your city, as you desired, Matron Zeerith,” the matron mother explained. “And your autonomy-to a point.”

Matron Mother Quenthel patted her hand in the air, bidding Zeerith to sit down, and when she had, the matron mother continued, “Q’Xorlarrin is a sister to Menzoberranzan, and will pay a tithe, mostly in the form of armor and weapons, machines of war, and the like. In its daily routines, Q’Xorlarrin is Matron Zeerith’s own to rule, as she sees fit. But know this, my old rival, my old friend, my old enemy: In a time of need, Menzoberranzan will call upon you, and you will answer as we desire. In a time of war, your soldiers will march to the call, and under the banner of Menzoberranzan, and under the command of the Baenre garrison. Your prayers to Lady Lolth will confirm these truths. Are we agreed?”

Matron Zeerith nodded. “My family is humbled by the great respect and opportunity Lady Lolth has offered us. Q’Xorlarrin stands with Menzoberranzan, in peace and in war.”

“You are our eyes to the World Above, and the implements of your master smiths will sound gloriously throughout the tunnels of the Underdark,” Matron Mez’Barris added, and everyone in the room knew that she had done so merely to interject her voice into a discussion so clearly dominated by Matron Mother Quenthel.

These events were moving along without Mez’Barris’s consent, without her opinion, even.

“Is it your decision to remove yourself to your settlement at this time?” Matron Mother Quenthel asked Matron Zeerith.

“Yes,” she answered. “I will depart Menzoberranzan within the tenday.”

“And so your seat?”

Matron Zeerith took a deep breath, glanced across the way to Matron Mez’Barris’s left, at Matron Vadalma Tlabbar of the Fourth House, Faen Tlabbar, and Zeerith’s most-hated rival. Then she turned to her own right, to Matron Miz’ri Mizzrym of the Fifth House, another hated rival. Zeerith stepped behind the chair and pushed it into the table, signaling that she was done.

“Be gone,” Matron Mother Quenthel told her coldly. “No more is this your place.”

Without a bow, without a salute, without a word, Matron Zeerith Q’Xorlarrin left the Ruling Council.

The other remaining matrons stared at Matron Mother Quenthel for guidance, and Quenthel understood their anticipation. Was she commanding ascent, where each would step up one rank to replace the vacated third seat? Or was she to leave it open, inviting someone, anyone, to try for the rank, which would likely result in a House war?

Or a third option, perhaps, a blend of orderly ascent and enjoyable chaos.

“Matron Vadalma,” Matron Mother Quenthel said to the woman at Mez’Barris’s right, and the matron mother indicated the open chair.

Vadalma Tlabbar rose and paced the long way around the table, so as to not walk behind her superiors, Baenre and Armgo. With a superior look to the others in the room, she pulled back Zeerith’s seat and took her place as the Matron of the Third House of Menzoberranzan.

“Matron Miz’ri,” Matron Mother Quenthel bade, and Miz’ri reversed Vadalma’s course, taking Vadalma’s former seat and rank.

And so it went for the next three, each matron ascending to the seat in the position immediately above their previous station, an orderly advancement for the fourth through eighth ranked Houses, elevating them to the third through seventh positions. When they were done, the seat diagonally across the table from the matron mother was left open.

Matron Mother Quenthel said nothing for a long while, letting the others consider the possibilities.

“Matron Prae’anelle Duskryn?” Matron Mez’Barris finally asked, referring to the Matron of House Duskryn, currently the Ninth House of Menzoberranzan.

“If Duskryn is awarded the Eighth House, who here believes that it will be a lasting arrangement?” Matron Mother Quenthel said with a wicked little laugh, and the other matrons joined in, for her words rang of truth. House Hunzrin was currently ranked eleventh in the city, but it was commonly conceded that Hunzrin could defeat any of the lesser Houses with ease, and likely a few of the ruling Houses as well. And particularly so with the new city of Q’Xorlarrin established, for House Hunzrin was a powerful economic force in Menzoberranzan, and with many channels outside the city, spiderwebbing out into the wider Underdark and even to the surface. Many in Menzoberranzan had been expecting House Hunzrin to make a move on the Ruling Council for years now, and only the web of alliances among the various other eight Houses had kept Matron Shakti Hunzrin’s hand at bay.