Филип Этанс - Shadows of Amn

They'd learned a lot from Solausein on their way, though it was difficult not being able to ask direct questions. If they showed their ignorance of drow ways, or Solausein's mission, their cover would be weakened or even slip away completely. What they knew by the time they reached Ust Natha was that Solausein worked for the daughter of a drow matron (Imoen in particular seemed enamored with the drow's apparently matriarchal society) who was rapidly gaining power in the city. She was the one who took the dragon's eggs, though he did not know quite why.

Still unable to mark time in any reliable way, Abdel had no idea how long it had taken them to get to the city, but once there, it was almost overwhelming. It wasn't the biggest city he'd ever seen, but the fact that it was enclosed in a single enormous cavern made it seem somehow huge out of all proportion.

For their own part, they told Solausein that his young matron wouldn't know them, that they'd been assigned by one of her people. Solausein didn't press them in any way to know who that person might have been. He seemed accustomed to lies, accustomed to knowing only a small part of anything he might be involved in.

Their drow guide had led them through the remarkable city and straight to the compound that served as his matron's residence. There they'd been quickly ushered into this tall-ceilinged room with arched windows overlooking the skyline of Ust Natha. Abdel had to marshal every bit of his willpower to keep from shaking. His nerves were on edge knowing at any moment he'd surely have to defend himself against an entire city full of trained drow warriors, mages, and priests. He'd never been in a situation where he felt so completely at a loss. A dull yellow haze settled over his vision, and he had to just pretend it wasn't there.

Solausein made the introductions—they'd given him hastily contrived aliases out of simple caution—and it was obvious that the young drow woman was interested only in Imoen, who for her part seemed to be reveling in her position of contrived authority the same way she was reveling in her jet black skin.

Solausein obviously assumed the drow woman he introduced as Phaere knew who they all were—they were the advance party after all—so he went into no details. Phaere didn't seem too concerned with who was who and wanted only to know the outcome of the raid against the dragon.

"I'm surprised," Phaere said, eyeing Imoen up and down with a surprised but favorable eye. "I was almost thinking it would allow its eggs to be destroyed first."

"Apparently, it… uh …" Imoen started.

"Its mate is dead," Jaheira said, coming to Imoen's rescue. "Those eggs are its only chance to reproduce."

Abdel just kept his eyes down, waiting for things to require him to lead their fighting retreat. He knew it would inevitably come to that. How could they possibly pull off this insanity?

"Well, then," Phaere said, her attention still on Imoen, "that explains more than a few things."

The drow woman turned to Solausein, who would not meet her gaze. "Are these all?" she asked him.

"Mistress Phaere," he said, "I—"

"You left with twenty warriors," Phaere pressed.

"The dragon overwhelmed them," Imoen said.

Her voice was cold enough to send a chill down Abdel's spine. Was she liking this too much? Liking it at all was too much.

Phaere smiled broadly at Imoen and said, "So it did."

"Mistress, I—"

"Will close your stupid, ineffectual mouth," Phaere finished for him. Solausein stepped back one step and kept his eyes fixed on the ground.

"Jaenra," Phaere said, using Imoen's alias and addressing her directly. "I think I'm beginning to remember you now."

Imoen nodded curtly and offered a wry smile. Phaere stepped closer to her—very close—and said, "You will replace the ineffective Solausein in all his duties."

"Yes, mistress," Imoen answered.

"All his duties," the drow emphasized.

"Yes," Imoen answered, more slowly this time, looking the drow woman directly in the eyes, "Mistress Phaere."

"She can be … difficult," Jaheira said, doing a good job of sounding familiar with the drow mistress.

Solausein took a deep draft of the strange beverage that Abdel thought smelled a little like beer and forced a smile.

"It is to be expected," he said.

Abdel took a third tentative sip of his own beverage and looked around the tavern room again. Drow taverns, if this one was typical, were quiet, serious places full of quiet, serious people with skin the color of the darkest ebony. It was dark, lit sparsely with candles, and the menu consisted of things Abdel could never bring himself to eat. Live spiders … he'd rather starve.

Jaheira had quickly picked up on some of Imoen's more successful lies, and Abdel was honestly happy to see that she wasn't nearly as good at it as Imoen was. Solausein was trying to be stoic about what was obviously a tremendous failure, a major demotion that he might never recover from. Having a female there who appeared even a little understanding seemed to make him feel better, and Jaheira was playing it all very carefully.

"Of course," she said, "you can't be too surprised that she would be disappointed."

Solausein nodded and said, "I failed my mistress."

"But to humiliate you like that," Abdel said, "I would have—"

"Tzvin!" Jaheira barked, using Abdel's drow alias.

Abdel worked at being appropriately chastised and looked away.

"Perhaps," Jaheira said to Solausein, "what you need is a change. There are other houses to serve, aren't there?"

Hopefully, Abdel thought, Solausein won't realize that was not a rhetorical question.

Solausein looked at Jaheira—really looked at her for the first time.

"Others have ambitions," she said, staring directly into the drow's eyes with a look that made Abdel instantly and intensely jealous.

"Ja—" he started to say, but stopped himself before he used her real name. He tried but suddenly couldn't remember her peculiar alias, so he said nothing.

Jaheira faked a chastising glare, and Abdel looked away.

Solausein didn't fail to notice the exchange. He looked at Abdel and said, "It is what men are here for, my friend. It is the natural order of things."

"Yes it is," Jaheira said.

Solausein took another long sip of his beverage, and so did Abdel.

"Speak," Jaheira prodded.

"The eggs," Solausein said. "You want the eggs."

Phaere's bedchambers were rather different than anything Imoen would have expected. Of course she'd heard the tales and legends of the drow since she was just a little girl. Always it was about spiders and monsters and cruel tortures. They were always described as a hideous, even malformed race who kept slaves and reveled in hour after hour of continuous bloodshed and thrill killing.

Her actual experience of the drow was rather different.

First of all, they were far from hideous and not the slightest bit malformed. In fact, Imoen found Phaere quite compelling. The drow's skin didn't glow—it did just the opposite. The blackness of it seemed to draw light into it, never to escape. Phaere's face was long and regal with a pronounced chin and cheekbones. Her nose was small and turned gently upward. Her eyes were big, almond-shaped, and a sparkling violet color Imoen couldn't stop staring at. Her white hair smelled as clean as it looked—even from a distance—and it cascaded down her long neck, over her tight shoulders, and down her slim back nearly to her waist.

Her body was hard from long hours of daily training. Phaere was at least two inches shorter than Imoen, but Imoen knew the drow woman could kill her with her bare hands. Imoen was attracted to her ears as well. They were perfectly shaped, symmetrical, and pointed, the tips peeking out from under her hair. Phaere's hands were lithe and smooth. There was no hint of blemish or imperfection on her at all, and the low-cut, backless robe showed enough of her to make that all the more impressive.