R.A. Salvatore - Maestro

“Oh grand!” Parise Ulfbinder said without a hint of sarcasm, and clapped his hands.

Catti-brie sighed, not surprised at that reaction.

“You are bringing a mind flayer into Luskan?” Ilnezhara asked, seeming much less enthusiastic than the Netherese lord.

“A stinkin’ squid head?” Athrogate demanded. “By the hairy bum o’ Moradin, ye’ve lost yer sense, drow!”

Gromph’s stare alone seemed as if it might prove enough to explode Athrogate’s head-so much so that Catti-brie actually feared the Archmage was launching a psionic attack upon the black-bearded dwarf. But Athrogate remained unbothered and unshaken, and didn’t shrink back a bit from the glare. In fact, he returned it with a grin that seemed to welcome any challenge.

Catti-brie reminded herself that there were two undeniable truths in the Realms: It was very easy to overestimate a drow and even easier to underestimate a dwarf.

And both races could, and usually did, use that mistake to their respective advantage.

The notion followed to a deeper level with Catti-brie, a poignant reminder to her that the physical trappings of an individual-race, gender, attractiveness, size-played such an important role in perception of everything else related to that individual, indeed could sometimes outweigh the quality of action or words.

It was such an absurd notion, when she stripped it down to that level, and so, in this tense moment, with so many powerful beings sitting about, the woman couldn’t help herself and began to laugh. And not just a titter, but an actual laugh, a belly laugh, a reaction to absurdity that had everyone in the room staring at her as if she had lost her mind.

Gromph turned his glare upon her. The dragon sisters seemed perplexed for a moment, then they, too, began to laugh.

“What’re ye doin’, lass?” Athrogate said with obvious concern.

It took Catti-brie another few moments to comport herself. When she did, she planted her hands firmly on the round table and stood up, commanding attention.

“We are here under dangerous circumstance for common gain, personal insight, and to be a part of something grander than our individual lives,” she said. She took a moment to look around at all gathered, letting her gaze settle on each for some time to acknowledge them individually.

“We all have different reasons for being here, and will find different gains both for ourselves and, for some, for those we have come to represent,” she continued. “There are possibly competing interests here, but they are within a common goal. And each of these competing interests, as much as they might diminish another’s, are muted and countered by third interests and fourth. I can see in looking around that there is to be no supremacy here, as much as any of us might desire it.” She paused and offered a sidelong look to Archmage Gromph. “And so I insist that any additions to the collection be agreed upon by all at the table. There will be no shifting of the balance.”

“The illithids are coming,” Gromph stated.

“Surely they are aware of our efforts here,” Lord Parise added. “There is little of any importance that escapes their view. And do not doubt that their contribution will be great-perhaps as great as any here assembled.”

“But they are ugly things, aren’t they?” Ilnezhara asked.

“Squid heads,” Athrogate grumbled.

“I doubt you not, Lord Parise,” said Catti-brie. “The larger question I have, the larger concern I have, is whether or not their presence will give advantage to any personal agendas above the common goal.” Again she ended with a glance at Gromph, who stared at her now with open contempt.

“Doubtful,” said Tazmikella. “They are illithids, mind flayers. None here can discern their desires, let alone trust any alliance with them. They are as foreign to us, even to my sister and me, as we are to the houseflies we might swat. In all the millennia, none have quite sorted the true intentions and motivations of the mind flayers.” She, too, turned an eye to Gromph, and finished pointedly, “Not even the Archmage of Menzoberranzan, who, after a recent disaster, should be most concerned among us regarding the intentions, motivations, and methods of those psionic beasts.”

“Then do we allow them audience with our efforts?” Penelope Harpell asked.

“They already are aware of what is happening here,” said Catti-brie. “So the audience is a foregone conclusion, whether we allow them into our circle or not. Is there anything we could truly hide from an illithid hive-mind?”

“Particularly since one sitting here seems to think ’em friends?” Athrogate added and gave Gromph a sidelong glance.

“At this point, that would hardly matter,” said Tazmikella.

“They will greatly enhance our efforts,” Lord Parise put in. “The knowledge of the race is extensive, perhaps beyond the knowledge of any other race of beings. Their libraries are alive within their own thoughts, forefront in their everyday existence. They need not dust off ancient tomes to try to recover what their ancestors might have gleaned. It remains within their collective thought, ever and always.”

“You seem to know much of them,” said Catti-brie.

“I do, and with extensive experience.”

“Then we are agreed?” Catti-brie asked.

“Squid heads …” Athrogate muttered.

“Best cooked with wedges o’ lemon, and fried deep,” Ambergris added.

Catti-brie couldn’t suppress a bit of a laugh at the dwarven banter around her, but she maintained a modicum of seriousness and looked all around, eliciting agreeing nods from each of the other delegations.

“Then we are agreed, Archmage Gromph,” she said at length. “Your illithid emissary, or delegation, is welcomed here.”

“No delegation,” said Ilnezhara. “Just one.”

“And we will watch him carefully,” added Tazmikella.

“Aye, not to doubt that,” said Athrogate, who wasn’t joking at all at that moment.

After that bit of important business, the meeting turned to the progress each member was making in his or her assigned tasks. Almost all the recounting involved research and the names of various tomes being studied, with only three exceptions.

The dwarves detailed the rebuilding of the root of the tower, informing the group that they had recovered enough large pieces to fairly reconstruct it-as soon as the durned wizards figured out how to magically join the stuff back together. As they finished, Ambergris turned the floor over to Lady Avelyere, who was leading the way in locating the pieces of the tower, which had been blasted all around the island, into the water, and back into Luskan, and some of which, apparently, had been stolen by the greedy citizens of Luskan as mementoes, perhaps, or for their own use in the construction of ships or homes.

“I have honed my spells of seeking to catch the emanations of the strange ancient magic still imbued upon the tower shards,” the woman explained. “With permission, I would like to bring in some members of my Coven, to expand our vision many-fold.”

The others all nodded, except that Gromph also waved absently, clearly to signal that he was not intimidated by whatever army of sorcerers the likes of Avelyere could summon.

When she finished, the floor at last came to the dragon sisters.

Ilnezhara rose and spoke first, explaining the insights she had garnered from an ancient silver dragon who resided in the area and had often viewed the Hosttower of the Arcane from high above. She added a delightful anecdote the silver had recounted, for Catti-brie’s benefit no doubt, of a dwarf flying about in a flaming chariot.

Then came Tazmikella, who wore a sly smile. “We have found another ally in this,” she announced, and she sat down and seemed as if she would say no more.