“Dinin will see to it,” Malice replied with a wave of her hand, not turning her eyes from her daughter’s pernicious stare.
“I will take my leave,” Jarlaxle said, nodding to the elder boy.
Before the mercenary had taken his first step toward the door, Vierna, Malice’s second daughter, burst into the room, her face glowing brightly in the infrared spectrum, heated with obvious excitement.
“Damn,” Jarlaxle whispered under his breath.
“What is it?” Matron Malice demanded.
“House Hun’ett,” Vierna cried. “Soldiers in the compound! We are under attack!”
Out in the courtyard, beyond the cavern complex, nearly five hundred soldiers of House Hun’ett―fully a hundred more than the house reportedly possessed―followed the blast of a lightning bolt through House Do’Urden’s adamantite gates. The three hundred fifty soldiers of the Do’Urden household swarmed out of the shaped stalagmite mounds that served as their quarters to meet the attack.
Outnumbered but trained by Zaknafein, the Do’Urden troops formed into proper defensive positions, shielding their wizards and clerics so that they might cast their spells. An entire contingent of Hun’ett soldiers, empowered with enchantments of flying, swooped down the cavern wall that housed the royal chambers of House Do’Urden. Tiny hand-held crossbows clicked and thinned the ranks of the aerial force with deadly, poison-tipped darts. The aerial invaders’ surprise had been achieved, though, and the Do’Urden troops were quickly put into a precarious position.
“Hun’ett has not the favor of Lloth!” Malice screamed. “It would not dare to openly attack!” She flinched at the refuting, thunderous sounds of another, and then still another, bolt of lightning.
“Oh?” Briza snapped.
Malice cast her daughter a threatening glare but didn’t have time to continue the argument. The normal method of attack by a drow house would involve the rush of soldiers combined with a mental barrage by the house’s highest-ranking clerics. Malice, though, felt no mental attack, which told her beyond any doubt that it was indeed House Hun’ett that had come to her gates. The clerics of Hun’ett, out of the Spider Queen’s favor, apparently could not use their Lloth-given powers to launch the mental assault. If they had, Malice and her daughters, also out of the Spider Queen’s favor, could not have hoped to counter.
“Why would they dare to attack?” Malice wondered aloud.
Briza understood her mother’s reasoning. “They are bold indeed,” she said, “to hope that their soldiers alone can eliminate every member of our house.” Everyone in the room, every drow in Menzoberranzan, understood the brutal, absolute punishments exacted upon any house that failed to eradicate another house. Such attacks were not frowned upon, but getting caught at the deed most certainly was.
Rizzen, the present patron of House Do’Urden, came into the anteroom then, his face grim. “We are outnumbered and outpositioned,” he said. “Our defeat will be swift, I fear.”
Malice would not accept the news. She struck Rizzen with a blow that knocked the patron halfway across the floor, then she spun on Jarlaxle. “You must summon your band!”
Malice cried at the mercenary. “Quickly!”
“Matron,” Jarlaxle stuttered, obviously at a loss. “Bregan D’aerthe is a secretive group. We do not engage in open warfare. To do so could invoke the wrath of the ruling council.”
“I will pay you whatever you desire,” the desperate matron mother promised.
“But the cost―”
“Whatever you desire!” Malice snarled again.
“Such action―” Jarlaxle began.
Again, Malice did not let him finish his argument. “Save my house, mercenary,” she growled. “Your profits will be great, but, I warn you, the cost of your failure will be far greater!”
Jarlaxle did not appreciate being threatened, especially by a lame matron mother whose entire world was fast crumbling around her. But in the mercenary’s ears the sweet ring of the word “profits” outweighed the threat a thousand times over. After ten straight years of exorbitant rewards in the Do’Urden-Hun’ett conflict, Jarlaxle did not doubt Malice’s willingness or ability to pay as promised, nor did he doubt that this deal would prove even more lucrative than the agreement he had struck with Matron SiNafay Hun’ett earlier that same week.
“As you wish,” he said to Matron Malice with a bow and a sweep of his garish hat. “I will see what I can do.” A wink at Dinin set the elderboy on his heels as he exited the room.
When the two got out on the balcony overlooking the Do’Urden compound, they saw that the situation was even more desperate than Rizzen had described. The soldiers of House Do’Urden―those still alive―were trapped in and around one of the huge stalagmite mounds anchoring the front gate.
One of Hun’ett’s flying soldiers dropped onto the balcony at the sight of a Do’Urden noble, but Dinin dispatched the intruder with a single, blurring attack routine.
“Well done,” Jarlaxle commented, giving Dinin an approving nod. He moved to pat the elderboy Do’Urden on the shoulder, but Dinin slipped out of reach.
“We have other business,” he pointedly reminded Jarlaxle.
“Call your troops, and quickly, else I fear that House Hun’ett will win the day.”
“Be at ease, my friend Dinin,” Jarlaxle laughed. He pulled a small whistle from around his neck and blew into it. Dinin heard not a sound, for the instrument was magically tuned exclusively for the ears of members of Bregan D’aerthe.
The elderboy Do’Urden watched in amazement as Jarlaxle calmly puffed out a specific cadence, then he watched in even greater amazement as more than a hundred of House Hun’ett’s soldiers turned against their comrades.
Bregan D’aerthe owed allegiance only to Bregan D’aerthe.
“They could not attack us,” Malice said stubbornly, pacing about the chamber. “The Spider Queen would not aid them in their venture.”
“They are winning without the Spider Queen’s aid,” Rizzen reminded her, prudently ducking into the room’s farthest corner even as he spoke the unwanted words.
“You said that they would never attack!” Briza growled at her mother. “Even as you explained why we could not dare to attack them!” Briza remembered that conversation vividly, for it was she who had suggested the open attack on House Hun’ett. Malice had scolded her harshly and publicly, and now Briza meant to return the humiliation. Her voice dripped of angry sarcasm as she aimed each word at her mother. “Could it be that Matron Malice Do’Urden has erred?”
Malice’s reply came in the form of a glare that wavered somewhere between rage and terror. Briza returned the threatening look without ambiguity and suddenly the matron mother of House Do’Urden did not feel so very invincible and sure of her actions. She started forward nervously a moment later when Maya, the youngest of the Do’Urden daughters, entered the room.
“They have breached the house!” Briza cried, assuming the worst. She grabbed at her snake-headed whip. “And we have not even begun our preparations for defense!”
“No!” Maya quickly corrected. “No enemies have crossed the balcony. The battle has turned against House Hun’ett!”
“As I knew it would,” Malice observed, pulling herself straight and speaking pointedly at Briza. “Foolish is the house that moves without the favor of Lloth!” Despite her proclamation, though, Malice guessed that more than the judgment of the Spider Queen had come into play out in the courtyard. Her reasoning led her inescapably to Jarlaxle and his untrustworthy band of rogues.
Jarlaxle stepped off the balcony and used his innate drow abilities to levitate down to the cavern floor. Seeing no need to involve himself in a battle that was obviously under control, Dinin rested back and watched the mercenary go, considering all that had just transpired. Jarlaxle had played both sides off against the other, and once again the mercenary and his band had been the only true winners. Bregan D’aerthe was undeniably unscrupulous, but, Dinin had to admit, undeniably e
ffective.
Dinin found that he liked the renegade.
“The accusation has been properly delivered to Matron Baenre?” Malice asked Briza when the light of Narbondel, the magically heated stalagmite mound that served as the time clock of Menzoberranzan, began its steady climb, marking the dawn of the next day.
“The ruling house expected the visit,” Briza replied with a smirk. “All of the city whispers of the attack, and of how House Do’Urden repelled the invaders of House Hun’ett.”
Malice futilely tried to hide her vain smile. She enjoyed the attention and the glory that she knew would be lavished upon her house.
“The ruling council will be convened this very day,” Briza went on. “No doubt to the dismay of Matron SiNafay Hun’ett and her doomed children.”
Malice nodded her agreement. To eradicate a rival house in Menzoberranzan was a perfectly acceptable practice among the drow. But to fail in the attempt, to leave even one witness of noble blood alive to make an accusation, invited the judgment of the ruling council, a wrath that wrought absolute destruction in its wake.
A knock turned them both toward the room’s ornate door.
“You are summoned, Matron,” Rizzen said as he entered. “Matron Baenre has sent a chariot for you.”
Malice and Briza exchanged hopeful but nervous glances. When punishment fell upon House Hun’ett, House Do’Urden would move into the eighth rank of the city hierarchy, a most desirable position. Only the matron mothers of the top eight houses were accorded a seat on the city’s ruling council.
“Already?” Briza asked her mother.
Malice only shrugged in reply and followed Rizzen out of the room and down to the house’s balcony. Rizzen offered her a hand of assistance, which she promptly and stubbornly slapped away. Her pride apparent with every move, Malice stepped over the railing and floated down to the courtyard, where the bulk of her remaining soldiery was gathered. The floating, blue-glowing disk bearing the insignia of House Baenre hovered just outside the blasted adamantite gate of the Do’Urden compound.
Malice proudly strode through the gathered crowd; dark elves fell over each other trying to get out of her way. This was her day, she decided, the day she achieved the seat on the ruling council, the position she so greatly deserved.
“Matron Mother, I will accompany you through the city,” offered Dinin, standing at the gate.
“You will remain here with the rest of the family,” Malice corrected. “The summons is for me alone.”
“How can you know?” Dinin questioned, but he realized he had overstepped his rank as soon as the words had left his mouth.
By the time Malice turned her reprimanding glare toward him, he had already disappeared into the mob of soldiers.
“Proper respect,” Malice muttered under her breath, and she instructed the nearest soldiers to remove a section of the propped and tied gate. With a final, victorious glance at her subjects, Malice stepped out and took a seat on the floating disk.
This was not the first time that Malice had accepted such an invitation from Matron Baenre, so she was not the least bit surprised when several Baenre clerics moved out from the shadows to encircle the floating disk in a protective guard. The last time Malice had made this trip, she had been tentative, not really understanding Baenre’s intent in summoning her. This time, though, Malice folded her arms defiantly across her chest and let the curious onlookers view her in all the splendor of her victory.
Malice accepted the stares proudly, feeling positively superior. Even when the disk reached the fabulous weblike fence of House Baenre, with its thousand marching guards and towering stalagmite and stalactite structures, Malice’s pride had not diminished.
She was of the ruling council now, or soon would be; no longer did she have to feel intimidated anywhere in the city.
Or so she thought.
“Your presence is requested in the chapel,” one of Baenre’s clerics said to her when the disk came to a stop at the base of the great domed building’s sweeping stairs.
Malice stepped down and ascended the polished stones. As soon as she entered, she noticed a figure sitting on one of the chairs atop the raised central altar. The seated drow, the only other person visible in the chapel, apparently did not notice that Malice had entered. She sat back comfortably, watching the huge illusionary image at the top of the dome shift through its forms, first appearing as a gigantic spider, then a beautiful drow female.
As she moved closer, Malice recognized the robes of a matron mother, and she assumed, as she had all along, that it was Matron Baenre herself, the most powerful figure in all of Menzoberranzan, awaiting her. Malice made her way up the altar’s stairs, coming up behind the seated drow. Not waiting for an invitation, she boldly walked around to greet the other matron mother.
It was not, however, the ancient and emaciated form of Matron Baenre that Malice Do’Urden encountered on the dais of the Baenre chapel. The seated matron mother was not old beyond the years of a drow and as withered and dried as some bloodless corpse. Indeed, this drow was no older than Malice and quite diminutive. Malice recognized her all too well.
“SiNafay!” she cried, nearly toppling.
“Malice,” the other replied calmly.
A thousand troublesome possibilities rolled through Malice’s mind. SiNafay Hun’ett should have been huddling in fear in her doomed house, awaiting the annihilation of her family. Yet here SiNafay sat, comfortably, in the hallowed quarters of Menzoberranzan’s most important family!
“You do not belong in this place!” Malice protested, her slender fists clenched at her side. She considered the possibilities of attacking her rival there and then, of throttling SiNafay with her own hands.
“Be at ease, Malice,” SiNafay remarked casually. “I am here by the invitation of Matron Baenre, as are you.”
The mention of Matron Baenre and the reminder of where they were calmed Malice considerably. One did not act out of sorts in the chapel of House Baenre! Malice moved to the opposite end of the circular dais and took a seat, her gaze never leaving the smugly smiling face of SiNafay Hun’ett.
After a few interminable moments of silence, Malice had to speak her mind. “It was House Hun’ett that attacked my family in the last dark of Narbondel,” she said. “I have many witnesses to the fact. There can be no doubt!”
“None,” SiNafay replied, her agreement catching Malice off her guard.
“You admit the deed?” she balked.
“Indeed,” said SiNafay. “Never have I denied it.”
“Yet you live,” Malice sneered. “The laws of Menzoberranzan demand justice upon you and your house.”
“Justice?” SiNafay laughed at the absurd notion. Justice had never been more than a facade and a means of keeping the pretense of order in chaotic Menzoberranzan. “I acted as the Spider Queen demanded of me.”
“If the Spider Queen approved of your methods, you would have been victorious,” Malice reasoned.
“Not so,” interrupted another voice. Malice and SiNafay turned about just as Matron Baenre magically appeared, sitting comfortably in the chair farthest back on the dais.
Malice wanted to scream out at the withered matron mother, both for spying on her conversation and for apparently refuting her claims against SiNafay. Malice had managed to survive the dangers of Menzoberranzan for five hundred years, though, primarily because she understood the implications of angering one such as Matron Baenre.
“I claim the rights of accusation against House Hun’ett,” she said calmly.
“Granted,” replied Matron Baenre. “As you have said, and as SiNafay agreed, there can be no doubt.”
Malice turned triumphantly on SiNafay, but the matron mother of House Hun’ett still sat relaxed and unconcerned.
“Then why is she here?” Malice cried, her tone edged in explosive violence. “SiNafay is an outlaw. She―”
“We have not argued against your words,” Matron Baenre interrupted. “House Hun’ett attack
ed and failed. The penalties for such a deed are well known and agreed upon, and the ruling council will convene this very day to see that justice is carried through.”
“Then why is SiNafay here?” Malice demanded.
“Do you doubt the wisdom of my attack?” SiNafay asked Malice, trying to keep a chuckle under her breath.
“You were defeated,” Malice reminded her matter-of-factly. “That alone should provide your answer:’
“Lloth demanded the attack,” said Matron Baenre.
“Why, then, was House Hun’ett defeated?” Malice asked stubbornly. “If the Spider Queen―”
“I did not say that the Spider Queen had imbued her blessings upon House Hun’ett,” Matron Baenre interrupted, somewhat crossly. Malice shifted back in her seat, remembering her place and her predicament.
“I said only that Lloth demanded the attack,” Matron Baenre continued. “For ten years all of Menzoberranzan has suffered the spectacle of your private war. The intrigue and excitement wore away long ago, let me assure you both. It had to be decided.”
“And it was,” declared Malice, rising from her seat. “House Do’Urden has proven victorious, and I claim the rights of accusation against SiNafay Hun’ett and her family!”
“Sit down, Malice,” SiNafay said. “There is more to this than your simple rights of accusation.”
Malice looked to Matron Baenre for confirmation, though, considering the present situation, she could not doubt SiNafay’s words.
“It is done,” Matron Baenre said to her. “House Do’Urden has won, and House Hun’ett will be no more.”
Malice fell back into her seat, smiling smugly at SiNafay. Still, though, the matron mother of House Hun’ett did not seem the least bit concerned.
“I will watch the destruction of your house with great pleasure,” Malice assured her rival. She turned to Baenre. “When will punishment be exacted?”
“It is already done,” Matron Baenre replied mysteriously.