R.A. Salvatore - Maestro

“You are wasting my time,” she said some time later, turning a glare that was both bored and threatening over the upstart weapons master.

“Matron Mother?”

“Yes, I am, as you must never forget. You requested this audience and I have granted it.”

“But you …” Tiago started to protest. He thought better of it and said instead, “I did, but only because it is a most urgent issue.”

Quenthel swung about on her jeweled and silken divan to place her feet flat on the floor, facing him directly.

“House Xorlarrin …” Tiago explained, shaking his head as if trying to sort it all out as he blurted the words. “They grow bold under the banner of Do’Urden.”

“They?”

“Saribel and …”

“High Priestess Saribel?” Quenthel interrupted, her correction a clear warning.

“Yes, my wife.”

“No,” Quenthel corrected. “She is not your wife. You are her husband, the mate of High Priestess Saribel Xorlarrin Baenre Do’Urden. Do you understand that distinction?”

Tiago could barely spit out a response. Where was this sudden attitude shift coming from? He had been the leader of the Xorlarrin expedition to claim Gauntlgrym as a drow city, even above High Priestess Berellip herself. Tiago had held no small measure of sway in every movement and decision of that expedition, because of the insistence of Matron Mother Quenthel. Now she would side with dimwitted Saribel Xorlarrin over him?

He knew he had to take a different tack. “Her …” He paused again, wanting to keep Saribel completely out of the reference. “Ravel Xorlarrin,” he corrected, and then again, “Ravel Do’Urden has been joined among the House nobles by his cousin Jaemas and other wizards of House Xorlarrin.”

“They are without a home, of course,” Quenthel replied. “And House Do’Urden must fend for itself against treachery that may yet come.”

“I understand …” Tiago started to reply.

“I do not care if you understand or not,” Quenthel scolded. “Why would I? You are the weapons master of House Do’Urden, answering thus to the Matron Mother of House Do’Urden.”

“She is …” Tiago started to retort. But when Quenthel’s hand came up, holding her vicious, snake-headed scourge, Tiago wanted no part of that. Favored nephew and noble or not, he was, after all, just a male, and had felt the bite of such punishing tools far too many times in his short life. He sucked in his breath and fell to his knees in supplication.

“Stand up, you fool,” Quenthel commanded, and he did, quickly, and dared look into her eyes.

“You are Baenre,” she said. “You know the way of things. Are you so bound up in your pride that you do not understand the opportunity before us now? House Xorlarrin has been dislodged from Q’Xorlarrin, and we’ll not march against that fortress to drive out the dwarves. Not now, not anytime soon.”

“Drizzt Do’Urden is there,” Tiago dared to whisper.

The matron mother’s scourge snapped and Tiago recoiled in fear as the snake heads hissed and spat and bit in the air just in front of his face.

“Do not ever speak that name to me again,” Quenthel told him. “He is an inconsequential tick, and every time you speak of him or consider him, he bloats on the blood of House Baenre. The dwarves have reclaimed Gauntlgrym. The tunnels between us and them are thick with demons, including major demons, including demon lords. Shall I march an army through such a force to do battle with entrenched dwarves? Would that satisfy your hunger?”

“No, Matron Mother,” Tiago said weakly.

“I choose not to protect House Do’Urden at this time, and know that you have enemies,” Quenthel bluntly stated.

That declaration hit Tiago hard. This wasn’t a choice, he knew, but a necessity. Only then did he realize how much damage Archmage Gromph’s recklessness had truly wrought, not necessarily to Menzoberranzan but surely to House Baenre. Quenthel wouldn’t help defend House Do’Urden because she couldn’t help, because she was feeling the pressure of the other Houses, all outraged over the arrival of Demogorgon in Menzoberranzan at the hands of the archmage, the Elderboy of House Baenre and the arcane extension of Matron Mother Baenre.

Tiago pieced some things together then, and he did well not to gasp aloud as truths became clear to him. Jarlaxle had told the Xorlarrins to leave, so Jaemas had declared. Jarlaxle had arranged the truce with King Bruenor that had allowed Matron Mother Zeerith and her family to escape, Tiago had learned from Ravel soon after that meeting in House Do’Urden’s chapel. And Bregan D’aerthe answered, most of all, to Matron Mother Baenre. Was it possible that Matron Mother Quenthel had surrendered the city of Q’Xorlarrin to pull back reinforcements she feared she would need for the security of House Baenre?

“Matron Mother Zeerith’s troubles may well save your House,” Quenthel explained. “So yes, Jaemas Xorlarrin is now Jaemas Do’Urden. As is Faelas, though he will retain his proper surname while he serves as my eyes in Sorcere.”

“Until Gromph returns?”

Quenthel laughed at that. “Was Gromph obliterated by Demogorgon? Devoured?”

“He is the Archmage …”

“He was the Archmage,” Quenthel corrected.

Tiago felt as if he couldn’t breathe. This was too much, too quickly. He calmed by reminding himself that times of chaos were times of opportunity.

“So, Faelas …” he said leadingly, thinking he had sorted it out.

“Is a Master of Sorcere.”

“Sorcere will need a new archmage.”

“Worry about your House,” Quenthel warned.

“I could do more to prepare House Do’Urden carrying the imprimatur of the matron mother.”

“You are the weapons master of House Do’Urden. Only that. I thought I had made that clear.”

“Yes, Matron Mother,” he blurted, and lowered his gaze as he saw the scourge coming up once more.

“High Priestess Saribel will understand the way forward. That is all you need to know, and that is what you have no choice but to trust.”

“Yes, Matron Mother,” Tiago replied, and he was fuming then, but wise enough to make sure that he did nothing to make that apparent. Quenthel waved him away, and he was glad to be gone, and quickly.

As soon as he exited the room, Quenthel waved her hand and slammed the door behind him, an exclamation point to the finality of his obsession with Drizzt Do’Urden.

“I told you,” Quenthel said to Minolin Fey as she came out of the room’s side door, having heard the entire conversation. “He is possessed of the same dangerous hubris as Gromph.”

“A fatal hubris, no doubt,” said the young woman accompanying Minolin Fey.

Quenthel, still not looking over, swallowed hard. She didn’t want to look upon Yvonnel, especially now that Yvonnel was physically entering young adulthood, and was so beautiful, so physically, magically, painfully beautiful, that her appearance alone mocked any who thought themselves her equal.

“You did well, my daughter,” Yvonnel said, and she giggled and added. “My aunt.”

Both of the older women wore sour expressions at that comment, which only made young Yvonnel dance a bit more and smile a bit wider.

“Even with Tiago properly settled in House Do’Urden, we must move quickly now,” Yvonnel said more seriously, moving up to stand in front of Quenthel. “Convene a Council.”

“They will not likely come,” Quenthel replied. “The Houses have gone into defensive crouches-it grows increasingly difficult to pry soldiers from them for the patrols beyond our cavern. All expect some fighting soon, House against House, or with demons coming forth. We know not if Demogorgon haunts the ways just outside the city.”