Ричард Байерс - Dissolution

«He's discreet enough. Now, may I ask why I'm so unexpectedly enjoying the honor of your company?» Quenthel related the events of the past three nights. «If I still possessed my magic,» she concluded. «I could deal with this matter easily, but as things stand … I need help.» The words galled her, but they had to be said. «Why have you sought it here?» Zeerith asked. «The Xorlarrins have always supported the Baenre and profited thereby. Try as I might, I can't think of a compelling reason you'd want me dead, and your House boasts many of the best wizards in Menzoberranzan. So, if I must trust someone, you're a good chance. Will you aid me, Matron?» Zeerith took her time replying. Quenthel knew the other female was cold-bloodedly pondering whether to help, deny, or betray her. Where did the greatest advantage lie? «Your plight is an outrage,» the Xorlarrin said at last, «an affront to all priestesses. Of course I'll aid you. For ten thousand talents of gold, and your support when my clan's dispute with House Agrach Dyrr becomes public knowledge.»

«What dispute?» «The one I'll be stirring up in a tenday or two. Do we have a bargain?» Quenthel's mouth tightened. If she'd come to the Spelltower in the full panoply of a Baenre princess, Zeerith would have thought twice about making conditions, but by arriving incognito the mistress had shown her desperation and in so doing, shifted the transaction to another level. «Yes,» she growled, «I agree.» «I thank you for your generosity. What do you require?» «Every night,» said Quenthel, «a new demon comes to kill me, and I fend it off as best I can. If this goes on, a night will come when the entity kills me instead. I need to do more. I need to end the siege, and it's my hope your mages know a way. I confess I don't. I've ransacked every vault, chest, and drawer in Arach-Tinilith and found nothing that will serve.» «So that's why you came in secret. You want a weapon, and you don't want your foe to know about it. Otherwise, he might take counter-measures.» «Correct.» Zeerith rose. «We'll ask Horroodissomoth. He can do it if anyone can, and he'll keep his mouth shut after.»

She opened the door and directed Antatlab, who'd been standing watch outside, to go and fetch her patron and House wizard. Horroodissomoth arrived shortly thereafter. Quenthel felt a little twinge of disgust, for the mage was the antithesis of the typical vital dark elf male. His features were lined and wrinkled, and his posture, bent. Rumor had it that his appearance of decrepitude had resulted not from extreme age but rather some dangerous magical experimentation. Moving stiffly, all but creaking audibly, Horroodissomoth tendered obeisance then, at Zeerith's invitation, settled in a chair to listen to a reprise of Quenthel's story. At first the wizard's demeanor was impassive, perhaps even utterly disinterested, but a light came into his rheumy eyes when he realized she was asking him to solve a magical problem.

«Hmm,» he said, «hmm. I think I might have something that will help. In a way, I regret giving it to you, because as far as I know, it's unique. Even we Xorlarrins don't know how to make another. But on the other hand, I've always been curious to see if it actually works.»

Gossip whispered that at some point in the distant past, the females of House Ousstyl had interbred with humans. Naturally the contemporary Ousstyls denied it and would do their meager best to punish anyone they suspected of passing the rumor. Still, as Faeryl gazed across the table at Talindra Ousstyl, Matron Mother of the Fifty-second House, she could readily believe it. Talindra was tall and, for a dark elf, extraordinarily rawboned. Her jaw was too square, and her ears, insufficiently pointed. Most telling of all was the scatter of empty plates before her. She'd annihilated every morsel of her seven-course supper with a lesser beings insatiable voracity. Talindra finished with a juicy belch. «Excuse me.» «Of course,» Faeryl said. She thought she heard a thump issuing from elsewhere in the ambassadorial residence. Inwardly, she flinched but Talindra didn't seem to notice the sound. «Well,» the matron said, «that was tasty, but I believe you invited my brood to supper and spirited me away to this private room, because you wanted to talk of something more important than cuisine.»

Faeryl smiled and said, «You've found me out, and I have a confession to make, I don't always devote myself to the interests of Ched Nasad as a whole. Occasionally I work solely to advance the fortunes of House Zauvirr

[…Missing Text…]

If the matron had the capacity to throw a spell, that changed the complexion of the fight considerably. Faeryl needed to end it quickly, perhaps before the first magical effect manifested. She charged her opponent, striking at her head in an all-out attack. It was a reckless move, and she suffered the consequences. The knife point jabbed painfully into her ribs. Luckily, it failed to penetrate the mail she wore beneath her silken gown. Mother's Kiss slammed into the Menzoberranyr's head and dashed her to the ground. Her hand slipped away from the amulet, and the glow faded. An instant later, a second guard burst into the room. «We've secured them all, my lady.» The warrior was a rugged-looking male with a chipped incisor and a broken nose, whom she had on occasion summoned to her bed. «Good,» Faeryl replied. «How many did you have to kill?» «Only one, but we could slaughter the rest. If I may say so, it seems more sensible and less bother than tying them up.» «It does, but I came here to promote good relations between Menzoberranzan and Ched Nasad. Even though some schemer has rendered my efforts futile, I won't exacerbate the situation by committing any more outrages than necessary. You soldiers will do as I bade you. Strip the Ousstyls, gag them, and tie them up.» Talindra groaned and groped feebly for her knife. Impressed that the matron was still conscious to any degree at all after the blow she'd suffered, Faeryl kicked the blade out of her reach. «You can't do this,» Talindra croaked, «not to House Ousstyl. We are mighty and never forget an affront.» Tense as she was, Faeryl smiled. The matron's arrogance was woefully misplaced. The Ousstyls were so insignificant they hadn't even known the ambassador had lost the good will of Triel Baenre. Otherwise, they would never have accepted an invitation to feast with such a pariah. Faeryl bashed Talindra again, this time rendering her entirely insensible, then she roamed through the castle, exhorting her minions to make haste. Soon all were wearing the clothing of the Ousstyls. For the first time, Faeryl was grateful that her household was relatively small. Otherwise, they wouldn't have had enough pilfered garments to go around.

She and her lieutenants sported the finery of the Ousstyl dignitaries, while the common soldiers had donned piwafwis and mail, and carried the arms of Talindra's bodyguards. The outlanders stowed provisions beneath their mantles. The quantity was insufficient, for they couldn't conceal all that much. With luck, they'd be able to hunt and forage on the trail. They headed for the mansion's enclosed stable, where Talindra had left her driftdisc. Faeryl noticed that some of her retainers were sweaty and wide-eyed. Though she was careful not to show it, she still felt just as apprehensive herself. Was she mad to flout Triel Baenre's express command, especially when she and her subordinate priestesses had virtually no magic implements left? Well, no. It would be lunacy to sit on her rump and do nothing, knowing that Triel would eventually get around to ordering her arrest. Even if Faeryl weren't concerned about her own fate, with every passing hour she grew more anxious to learn what had halted all traffic from Ched Nasad, and not just because the trade was important in its own right. Absurd as it seemed, she couldn't shake the irrational fear that some misfortune had befallen the City of Shimmering Webs itself. She had to know. Any great event affecting Ched Nasad could conceivably injure House Zauvirr and diminish her own status. Moreover, though she would never admit it to another, she cared about her homeland for its own sake. Not, she assured herself, that she suffered from love, loyalty, or any other soft, un-drowlike emotion. Yet Ched Nasad had shaped her into the person she was. It was a part of her, and anything that harmed the city would trouble her as well. In any case, having assaulted and robbed her dinner guests, the die was cast. The pack and riding lizards hissed and grunted when the party entered the stable. Faeryl dearly wished she could take some of the reptiles with her, but since Talindra hadn't brought any such beasts along with her, it was out of the question. The matron's driftdisc was a round, flat stone with an ivory throne fastened on top, the whole floating about a foot above the floor. The device glowed with a soft white light tinged ever so faintly with green. Since it was Faeryl who'd appropriated Talindra's attire, she hopped up on the driftdisc, sat in the ornate cushioned chair, and mentally commanded the apparatus to levitate up to the proper dignified height. She endured a bad moment during which nothing happened, and she was sure the Ousstyl had rigged the vehicle in such a way as to keep anyone else from riding it, then the circular platform rose. It was just sluggish, about what you'd expected of the equipment of the Fifty-second House. Two of Faeryl's soldiers threw open the gates, and the party ventured out into the open, her retainers forming a proper column around her as soon as they had the room. They marched away from the luminous keep that had been their home for fourteen years, past the alleyway where Umrae had died, and onward. Faeryl couldn't see Triel's watchers, but she could feel their eyes on her. She felt all but certain they would recognize her. But maybe not. Most people saw what they expected to see. The spies had watched the Ousstyls enter the residence, and just as anticipated, the petty nobles were departing. Why would anyone bother to peer closely when he was sure he already knew what was going on? That was the theory, anyway. At the moment, it seemed a dubious notion on which to gamble her life. Her company left the immediate vicinity of the residence without anyone trying to hinder them, which proved nothing. The watchers wouldn't pop out of hiding and confront the fugitives themselves, They'd scurry away to rouse a company of warriors, who'd intercept the daughters and sons of Ched Nasad in the street. Thus, while her expression conveyed the proper mix of serenity and haughtiness, her muscles were stiff, and her mouth dry as she floated down the avenues. For the moment, she was heading for Narbondellyn, site of the Ousstyls' modest citadel. It was where the spies would expect her to go. Drow did their best to clear the way for the matron of even a minor House. She was grateful for that. Still, heavily laden carts and the like could only pull aside so quickly. The impostors' progress was necessarily and nerve-rackingly sedate. Finally, though, they passed Narbondel itself, where the magical glow had climbed three quarters of the way to the top of the great stone column. Faeryl spotted Talindra's fortress and turned her company aside. If they actually approached the place, some guard peering down from the ramparts was bound to penetrate their disguises.