R. Salvatore - Night of the Hunter

House Duskryn had no such tight ties, and would easily be picked off by House Hunzrin should Duskryn be elevated to the Ruling Council, everyone seated at that table believed.

“House Duskryn is Ninth, and Matron Prae’anelle is prepared to take her rightful seat,” Mez’Barris pressed.

Of course she did, Matron Mother Quenthel understood, for House Duskryn was a devout and fairly isolated clan, with few allies to protect it from House Hunzrin, and House Hunzrin’s closest ally within the city was Mez’Barris’s own House Barrison Del’Armgo. Both Shakti and Mez’Barris had one thing in common: their hatred for House Baenre. If Duskryn was given the title as Eighth House, Mez’Barris would force Shakti’s hand from her preferred subterfuge and into a straightforward attack to land her on the Ruling Council.

“Matron Prae’anelle will find her seat accordingly,” the matron mother explained, “as soon as there is an opening.”

Mez’Barris began to ask the obvious question then, and some of the others shifted uncomfortably in their seats at the unexpected proclamation, but the matron mother turned to her left and nodded, and Sos’Umptu rose from the chair and marched around the table-pointedly behind Matron Mez’Barris-and took the vacant seat for the Eighth House.

“House Baenre will hold two places on the Ruling Council? This is your design?” an astonished Mez’Barris remarked.

“No,” the matron mother curtly answered. “Sos’Umptu is no longer of House Baenre.”

“Who has she joined? Will she begin her own? If so, the rank is far lower, by precedent!”

“By the will of Lolth, Daermon N’a’shezbaernon is hereby reconstituted,” the matron mother declared.

“Daermon …” Mez’Barris echoed, hardly able to get the name out of her mouth.

“The cursed House Do’Urden?” scoffed Matron Zhindia Melarn, the youngest drow on the Ruling Council, and easily the most fanatical and rigid in her devotion to Lolth. “Apostasy!”

“Go and pray, Matron,” the matron mother coolly replied to Zhindia. “When you are done, you will select your words more carefully.”

“There is no precedent for this,” Matron Mez’Barris added.

“There has been no time like this before now,” the matron mother replied. “You have all heard rumors of Tsabrak Xorlarrin’s journey to the east. The whispers are true-he goes with the blessing of Lolth, and empowered in her great spell, the Darkening. We will wage war in the east, on the surface, by the Spider Queen’s demand, and we will wage that war in the name of House Do’Urden.”

She paused for a moment to let that sink in around the table.

“Sos’Umptu, Mistress of Sorcere, High Priestess of the Fane of the Goddess, hereby relinquishes her position as First Priestess of House Baenre, to assume the seat as Matron of House Do’Urden.”

Even House Baenre’s allied matrons ruffled a bit at this seemingly obvious power play.

“It is a temporary appointment,” the matron mother assured them. “In a House that will be formed through a cooperation of the other ruling Houses. Her patron, for example …”

She paused and glanced at a door at the side of the room, and opened it with a shouted command word.

Into the chamber limped a male drow of middle age. He measured his steps and kept his gaze to the floor as he moved to sit at the chair Sos’Umptu had vacated.

“To let a male in here!” Zhindia Melarn said, and spat.

“Are we agreed, Matron Mez’Barris?” the matron mother said, noting with an open grin the curious way in which the Matron of Barrison Del’Armgo stared at the unexpected newcomer.

“Do you not recognize your own son?”

“Tos’un,” Mez’Barris breathed, and she turned a sharp eye upon Matron Mother Quenthel. But Quenthel matched her glare, and with a wicked grin that Mez’Barris could only take as a thinly veiled threat. There was something here, Quenthel’s look clearly told Mez’Barris, that could embarrass the Second Matron of Menzoberranzan and her family.

“Are we agreed, Matron Mez’Barris?” the matron mother repeated.

“I will pray,” was all that Matron Mez’Barris would concede at that point.

“Yes, do,” said the matron mother. “All of you. I will accept your accolades when Lady Lolth has informed you that I am performing her will.”

With that, she clapped her hands sharply, bringing the meeting of the Ruling Council to an abrupt end.

The six non-Baenre matrons hustled from the room, whispering in small groups regarding the startling turn of events. Quenthel noted that Zhindia Melarn only remained away from Mez’Barris’s side until they reached the door. Quenthel knew those two would confer at length about this. Now they understood why Bregan D’aerthe patrolled the corridors of the former House Do’Urden.

Now they would complain, but they would take it no farther than that. Not at present, at least, with the Darkening imminent, as well as the war it portended. And not until Matron Mez’Barris came to fully understand the implications of the unexpected return of Tos’un Armgo, her son.

House Barrison Del’Armgo was not brimming with allies, after all, and a major embarrassment could bring the rest of the city storming their gates.

“It played as you anticipated?” Gromph asked the matron mother when she went to him in his room at House Baenre.

“Of course.”

“I would have enjoyed witnessing the expression borne by Matron Mez’Barris when her long-lost child entered the chamber.”

“You revisited Q’Xorlarrin?”

“I did,” Gromph replied, though he left out any details, particularly his rather startling revelations concerning the surface elf, Dahlia. “Tiago has returned with you?”

“No, but he will be along presently, I am confident, along with Saribel Xorlarrin, who will be his bride.”

“Good, he has much to do.”

“As Weapons Master of House Do’Urden, no doubt,” Gromph remarked, and the matron mother looked at him curiously, then suspiciously, for she had not divulged that little bit of information to him.

“Logic could steer you no other way,” the archmage remarked. “Aumon of your seed will supplant Andzrel in the hierarchy of House Baenre, of course, and I doubt you allowed Tiago those fabulous and ancient items forged by Gol’fanin that he might serve as a guard captain or some other meaningless position.”

“Well-reasoned,” the matron mother said, but her expression revealed that she still thought it too fine a guess.

“And the House Do’Urden wizard?” Gromph asked innocently.

“You tell me.”

“Not Gromph, surely!” the archmage said. “I find my platter quite filled enough.”

Matron Mother Quenthel stared at him, unblinking.

“Tsabrak Xorlarrin,” Gromph answered, nodding with clear resignation at the inevitableness of the choice.

“He of the Blessing of Lolth,” the matron mother replied.

“You hinted that he would be the Archmage of Q’Xorlarrin,” Gromph reminded.

“A necessary tease. I will not afford Matron Zeerith any hopes that she can break fully free of us.” The matron mother paused there and eyed Gromph slyly. “Does it concern you that Tsabrak will return to Menzoberranzan so soon after finding such glory in the eyes of the Spider Queen?”

“Lolth is a spider,” the archmage quipped. “Her eyes can be filled with many such glories, all at the same time.”

He wasn’t sure, but it didn’t seem to Gromph as if his sister was amused.

“I have already told you of my concerns for Tsabrak,” Gromph said more seriously. “And those concerns are … none.”

“We shall see,” said the matron mother as she took her leave. “We shall see.”