R. Salvatore - Night of the Hunter

“You have already had this discussion with Priestess Minolin,” Gromph said.

“Are we to pretend that our many plans never happened?”

“That would be wise, yes.”

“Or perhaps I will go to Matron Mother Quenthel and tell her of your designs against her,” Matron Mez’Barris warned.

“Yes, let us go forthwith,” Gromph casually replied, and that had the nobles of Barrison Del’Armgo whispering and looking at him curiously. “Or better, perhaps …” The archmage paused and began some spellcasting.

Malagdorl drew his weapon, Taayrul began to pray and Matron Mez’Barris leaped from her chair at the affront. To enter the audience chamber of a rival House and cast a spell unbidden by, and in the presence of, the matron …

Gromph paused and looked at Mez’Barris incredulously. He shifted his gaze just a bit to the side, to Malagdorl, and the archmage’s smile reappeared, and this time it was one threatening a sudden and brutal death.

“You don’t need to be so on edge, Matron of Barrison Del’Armgo,” Gromph assured her. “Though if your weapons master advances another stride, you will need to replace him.”

Matron Mez’Barris glared at her impetuous son and hissed at him until he moved back beside the throne and sheathed his great sword.

“This is a time of unity,” Gromph explained. “View every step the matron mother has recently taken through that prism, and you will see the reasoning of her design.”

“Will House Melarn agree with that assessment?”

“House Melarn?” Gromph asked innocently, and Mez’Barris narrowed her eyes. She wanted to call him out, the archmage knew, but she could not. If she elaborated on the affront to House Melarn, she would, at the same time, be admitting that House Melarn had put those soldiers and driders into the abandoned and sequestered House Do’Urden in clear violation of the orders of the Ruling Council.

She would even be hinting at her own complicity in creating the garrison the Baenre’s had cleared from that restricted House, for surely there were Barrison Del’Armgo soldiers among that garrison. Such open secrets could never be admitted, even if all knew the truth.

“The Melarni ascend to the Sixth House with the departure of the Xorlarrins,” Gromph replied. “That will satisfy eager Matron Zhindia.”

“They are more powerful than Houses ranked higher, and they are more devout,” Mez’Barris reminded him.

“If Matron Zhindia is as devout as you claim-and I do not dispute that,” he quickly added, seeing Mez’Barris’s scowl, “then she will know that the Spider Queen will not sanction any inter-House warfare at this time. Indeed, should she move against Fey-Branche, she will find Houses Mizzrym and Faen Tlabbar allied with her enemy.”

The matron scowled more profoundly, clearly anticipating Gromph’s next remark.

“And all of them allied with House Baenre,” he stated. “Our entire might will turn against House Melarn, and destroy Zhindia’s family as fully as Matron Mother Yvonnel destroyed House Oblodra in the Time of Troubles. Do not doubt that the Spider Queen would favor this.”

“Have you come here to threaten-”

“Quite the opposite, Matron.” Gromph cut her short and offered a bow as he spoke. When he came up, he lifted his arms in the same pose as when he was spellcasting earlier. He froze there and looked to Matron Mez’Barris for permission to continue.

Malagdorl was already leaning forward again, his face a scowl, and how Gromph wanted to simply make him vanish, to obliterate him to nothingness.

The archmage remembered that he was an ambassador here and settled for the fantasy of melting the impudent weapons master.

Matron Mez’Barris held up her hand to hold Malagdorl back, then motioned for Gromph to continue.

The archmage began to chant softly. His fingers glowed with black energy and he drew a doorway in front of him, trailing lines of blackness as substantial as if he had been painting on a canvas.

The completed lines shimmered and sparked and bled blackness within the square Gromph had drawn, until the whole shimmered like a curtain, a black portal.

Mez’Barris and her children and all the Armgo guards stood ready, many glancing around as if expecting an open portal to the Abyss itself, as if expecting a horde of demons to come roaring into their audience chamber.

But it was no horde, just a solitary figure, and that figure was not demonic, but was, rather, a drow, a female drow: the Matron Mother of Menzoberranzan.

In glancing around, it occurred to perceptive Gromph that the nobles of this Second House looking at the spectacle of Matron Mother Quenthel would have been less shocked if it had been the demon horde instead.

“Matron Mez’Barris, am I welcomed in your home this day?” the matron mother asked.

The Matron of Barrison Del’Armgo stared at her arch-rival, not knowing what to make of any of this. She swallowed hard as her gaze slipped to the portal, still shimmering, still open. Her expression revealed her fear: Was there a Baenre army ready to pour through at the matron mother’s command?

“Of course, Matron Mother, if you come in the name of the Spider Queen,” Mez’Barris properly replied.

“I am the Matron Mother of Menzoberranzan,” Quenthel imperiously replied. “Where I go, so goes the Spider Queen, in name and in heart.”

“Y-yes, Matron Mother,” Mez’Barris replied, stammering just a bit in surprise, and she wisely lowered her gaze.

Quenthel’s assertion of power had hit the perfect tone, Gromph understood, and he did well to hide his grin.

“There is no threat here, Matron of Barrison Del’Armgo,” the matron mother said. “I am here in solidarity and alliance. We look outward now-the Spider Queen will not accept intrigue among her matrons. Not now. You are under House Baenre’s protection.”

Gromph held his breath at that explosive remark, and he saw the expressions of Mez’Barris and her two children tightening immediately, yet again.

“We do not need Baenre’s protection,” the proud Mez’Barris retorted, but Quenthel went on undeterred.

“And House Baenre is under yours,” she said, stealing her counterpart’s bluster.

Indeed, Matron Mez’Barris stammered indecipherably for a few moments.

Now Gromph did smile, and almost chuckled. Quenthel was playing her. She had moved Mez’Barris to a place of pride and stolen it away with her own humility in the course of two simple sentences!

“We go to war, Matron Mez’Barris,” the matron mother said, squaring her shoulders to reflect the gravity of the declaration. “Tsabrak Xorlarrin prepares the battlefield, and House Do’Urden will lead the march from Menzoberranzan and Q’Xorlarrin.”

“Your mother went this way before,” Matron Mez’Barris warned.

“I am painfully aware of that,” the matron mother replied, the personal reference a reminder that she, Quenthel, had been slain on that very adventure.

“Your mother sent forth the greatest army Menzoberranzan has dispatched in the modern age, and we returned wounded, one and all.”

“A mistake that will not be replayed,” Quenthel assured her. “Our force will be modest this time, for no great drow army is needed in the coming battle.”

Mez’Barris and the others looked at her curiously. “What goal …?” Mez’Barris started to ask.

“We have a vast army already assembled and awaiting our lead,” the matron mother explained. “A kingdom of orcs, entrenched upon the land, that will sweep down upon the peoples of the cities and citadels in the region known as the Silver Marches. Woe to the dwarves in the mines who turned us back a century ago, and woe upon their fellows in two nearby citadels as well. Woe to the darthiir , the elves in the Moonwood, and woe to the great cities of Sundabar and Silverymoon.”