R. Salvatore: Night of the Hunter

“But you will never replace Minolin,” Sos’Umptu said slyly, “or Ardulrae of House Melarn as Matron of Scriptures. With those appointments, the matron mother, your mother, satisfies two rival Houses, potential enemies House Baenre prefers not to deal with in this dangerous time of House Xorlarrin’s departure. But then, you know this.”

The innocent look was gone from Myrineyl’s face now, Sos’Umptu noted, the young priestess assumed a rather brash posture.

“Unity now,” Sos’Umptu said against that threatening pose. “The Spider Queen demands it.” The words sounded quite curious to her as she spoke them, and to Myrineyl, as well, she realized when the younger priestess responded simply, “Why?”

Sos’Umptu could only sigh and shrug against that all-important question. The handmaiden had revealed little, her largest hint being an obscure reference that “The Eternal would understand.”

They had arrived at Quenthel’s door by then. Myrineyl lifted her hand to knock, but a look from Sos’Umptu warned her away. “Unity requires adherence to station, young one,” Sos’Umptu explained, and it was she who knocked, she who answered the matron mother’s call, and she who entered Quenthel’s private chambers first.

Gromph smiled as his door swung open and, predictably, Matron Mother Quenthel swept into the room.

“She taunts me!” Quenthel whined. She moved up to the chair she had previously used and started to sit down, but instead just kicked it aside. “The Eternal would know, the handmaiden whispered to Sos’Umptu and Myrineyl. The Eternal! Our mother would know, but alas, mere Quenthel cannot!”

Gromph realized that his chuckle might not be appreciated at that moment, but he couldn’t hold it back. The reference, the Eternal, was clear enough, speaking of their mother, Yvonnel, who was known as Yvonnel the Eternal, the greatest matron mother Menzoberranzan had ever known, and one who had ruled the city for millennia.

“And now you dare taunt me?” Quenthel fumed. “Would you ever have so responded to Yvonnel?”

“Of course not,” the old archmage replied. “Yvonnel would have killed me.”

“But mere Quenthel cannot, so you suppose?” The matron mother’s features tightened into a dangerous scowl.

Gromph casually rose. “You won’t,” he replied, “whether you can or not.”

“Are you so sure of that?”

“Only because I know my sister to be wise,” he replied, moving to the left-hand wall of the chamber. There, he opened a large cabinet, revealing several shelves covered with various items: scrolls-so many scrolls! — coffers, sacks, and one large iron box. With a wave of his hand and a quick chant, Gromph cast a minor spell. A glistening, floating disc appeared beside him. He scooped out the iron box and placed it atop his enchantment.

“Of course I only dare to tease you because I have the answer to your riddle,” he explained, turning back to Quenthel. “In there?” she asked, indicating the box. Gromph smiled all the wider.

“I have been waiting for this day for a long time, dear sister,” the archmage explained.

“Matron Mother,” she corrected.

“Exactly. It is past time that you are no longer referred to in any other manner.”

Quenthel rocked back a step, then sat in the chair, staring at the archmage. “What do you know? Why is the Spider Queen angry?”

“That, I do not know,” he replied. “Not exactly. But the handmaiden’s reference to our dear dead mother tells me that I-that we can likely find out.”

He gave another little laugh. “Or at least, I know how you can find out. Indeed, I know how you might learn many things. Good fortune lurks in the corridors of the Underdark just outside of Menzoberranzan. Good fortune and an intellect older than Yvonnel.”

Quenthel stared at him hard for a long while. “Do you intend to forevermore speak in riddles?”

Gromph crossed the room behind her, to another cabinet near a display case. He opened the door to reveal a large, floor-to-ceiling mirror. The archmage closed his eyes and cast another spell, this one much longer to complete and much more intricate. The image of Gromph and the room in the mirror darkened, then disappeared altogether.

“Come,” Gromph instructed, looking over his shoulder and reaching out for his sister’s hand. The disc with the iron box atop it floated up beside Gromph.

“In there?”

“Of course.”

“Where?” Quenthel demanded, but she reached out and took Gromph’s hand.

“I just told you,” he explained, stepping through and pulling Quenthel behind him. The floating disc came in as well, and with a word from Gromph, the magical construct began to glow, illuminating the area and revealing an Underdark tunnel.

“We are outside the city?” Quenthel asked, her voice a bit unstable. As the primary voice of Lady Lolth in Menzoberranzan, Matron Mother Quenthel was not allowed such journeys without a large entourage of soldiers and guards.

“You are quite safe, Matron Mother,” Gromph replied, and his use of the proper title had the desired effect, drawing a nod from Quenthel.

“I discovered an old friend out here-or shall we call him an acquaintance? — quite by accident, you see,” Gromph explained. “Although now I must presume that it was no accident, but a godly inspired discovery.”

“More riddles?”

“It is all riddles-to me as well,” he lied, for he knew well that Lolth had led him to these revelations and with definite purpose. “But you see, I am not the matron mother, and so our acquaintance will only reveal so much to me.”

Quenthel started to reply, but stopped when Gromph pointed a wand out into the darkness of a side corridor and called upon its powers to create a small light in the distance, revealing a cave entrance blocked by lines of beads.

The archmage started for it, the matron mother and the floating disc right beside him.

Quenthel fell back when those beads parted at the end of a three-fingered hand, and an ugly biped stepped forth, the tentacles of its bulbous head waving excitedly.

“Illithid!” Quenthel gasped.

“An old friend,” Gromph explained.

Quenthel steeled herself and stared hard at the approaching creature. Gromph took delight in her obvious disgust. Mind flayers were horrid creatures, of course, but this one was uglier still, having suffered grievous wounds, including one that left part of its brain-like, bulbous head hanging in a flap above its left shoulder.

“Methil,” Quenthel whispered, and then called more loudly, “Methil El-Viddenvelp!”

“You remember!” Gromph congratulated.

Of course she remembered-how could anyone who had been serving in House Baenre in the last decades of Matron Mother Yvonnel’s rule possibly forget this creature? Methil had served beside Matron Mother Yvonnel as her secret advisor, her duvall , as the drow called the position. With his mind-reading abilities, so foreign to all but psionicist drow, which were very few in number since Matron Mother Yvonnel had obliterated House Oblodra by dropping the whole of the place into the Clawrift during the Time of Troubles, Methil El-Viddenvelp had provided Matron Mother Yvonnel with great insight into the desires, the deceit, and the desperation of friends and enemies alike.

“But he died in the attack on Mithral Hall,” Quenthel whispered.

“So did you,” Gromph reminded. “And you are wrong in any case. Our friend here did not die, thanks to our bro-thanks to the efforts of Bregan D’aerthe.”

“Kimmuriel,” Quenthel reasoned, nodding, and Gromph was glad that he had corrected himself quickly enough, and that Kimmuriel Oblodra, one of the few surviving members of the fallen House, an accomplished psionicist, known associate of illithids, and, coincidentally, currently one of the co-leaders of the mercenary band, had reasonably come into her mind.