第 27 页

Too much blood stains the streets of Menzoberranzan," announced the yochlol in its otherworldly whisper. Too few drow remain, yet you slay each other without thought for the consequences. In your selfish ambitions, you have endangered all. By the decree of Lloth, this striving between houses must cease. Likewise, the struggle for personal power within each house must end. Until Lloth instructs otherwise, there is to be peace among her followers. Tonight, at the hour of Narbondel's Black Death, the twenty most powerful houses that remain will gather together in Qu'ellarz'orl."

The yochlol named them in turn, from House Baenre down to House Vandree. "So you are ranked by the word of Lloth, and so you will remain until it pleases the goddess to release you from this enforced peace. Any house that has not settled its affairs and chosen a matron by the appointed hour will be summarily destroyed," the creature admonished. "Go now, each to her own house, and carry with you the word of Lloth."

Another tremor passed through the yochlol's form, and the handmaiden melted into a bubbling puddle. Steam rose from the seething mass, forming into a multitude of wraith-like spiders and floating up toward the carved image of Lloth that surrounded the chapel with its stone embrace. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the manifestation of the yochlol was gone.

The drow priestesses sat stunned and silent. Lloth, the Spider Queen, the Lady of Chaos, was calling for peace! No one was sure what to make of such a thing!

Again Matron Triel broke the silence. "You have heard. At the appointed hour, we will meet at House Baenre."

Scowls met this announcement. The yochlol had decreed the gathering take place in Qu'ellarz'orl. This, the most prestigious district of Menzoberranzan, took its name from the tiny cave that served as a meeting chamber for the Ruling Council. Every female in the room aspired to sit in that chamber, and most of them understood this meeting might realistically be their only chance to do so. Nonetheless, no one dared to protest the directive of the matron mistress. By the word of Lloth, Triel Baenre was still matron of the first house. There were practical considerations, also, for in all of Qu'ellarz'orl, only the vast Baenre chapel was large enough to house such a gathering.

So the drow slipped away into the darkness. As each female hurried to her family fortress, she pondered how best to turn these new developments to her own advantage. The strange, unnatural peace would end in due time, and much could be done in preparation for that delightful day.

A lone figure stood at the base of Narbondel, the natural stone pillar that supported the vast cavern and marked the passing of time. Gromph Baenre, the archmage of Menzoberranzan, waited and watched as the magical heat in the core of the pillar sank toward its lowest point. Soon it would be midnight—Narbondel's Black Death—and he would cast the powerful spell that started the process anew.

Although there were none about to see and envy him, Gromph's proud stance suggested he was keenly aware of the impressive picture he made. The magnificent cloak of the archmage, a glittering piwafwi whose many pockets held more magic than all of the Sorcere, was draped proudly about his shoulders. Jeweled broaches adorned his shoulders and held the cape in place. The archmage touched one of them, a fist-sized sapphire that held the magic needed to enspell the city's timeclock.

Gromph knew he was striking even without the trappings of power. Tall and handsome, as fit and youthful in appearance as any student of the fighting school, he could draw eyes to him in admiration as well as in fear and respect. And he was greatly feared, for in all of Menzoberranzan no wizard was as mighty as he. This dark hour was uniquely his, and the casting of this spell was a daily, private celebration of his own power.

The wizard began to meditate, to gather his thoughts in preparation for the casting. Then, from the corner of his eye, he noted a driftdisc floating down the broad street toward him. Behind it marched not the usual armed escort, but a group of robed priestesses.

Gromph frowned as he recognized the matron of Barrison DeFArmgo, the second-most powerful house of Menzoberranzan. What might she be doing at this hour, riding forth in state?

His puzzlement grew as he noted another driftdisc approaching from elegant Narbondellyn. Close behind it were several slave-carried litters. More priestesses came, some mounted on lizards, others on foot. They streamed past him on all sides, nearly all the priestesses of the city, moving with quiet determination toward the Baenre fortress.

Rage, hot and fierce, burned in Gromph's heart. It was obvious an important meeting had been called, and he had not been included, or even informed. Something momentous was happening, and he must know what it was.

He grasped the house insignia that hung about his neck, and spoke the words that would transport him with the speed of thought to the Baenre stronghold. To his utter astonishment, nothing happened. The powerful archmage of Menzoberranzan stood alone in the center of the dark courtyard, barred from his family home.

Because he could do nothing else, Gromph turned to the cold stone pillar and began to recite the words of the spell.

Triel Baenre sat at the heart of the Baenre chapel, looking out over the dark faces before her. Although this was her stronghold, her kingdom, she felt ill at ease with the task ahead and was not sure how to begin such a meeting.

For good or ill, the decision was taken from her. A small, rather wizened drow female made her way boldly toward the Baenre throne. The other priestesses fell back to make room for her, and even Triel rose to her feet and offered the seat of honor to the newcomer.

For the old drow was Hesken-Faj, the matron of House Symrywin and the most powerful priestess in all of Menzoberranzan. Although her house had been ranked a mere eighteenth for centuries untold, the matron had a power that all recognized and respected. Hesken-Faj was often called "the eyes of Lloth," and on the rare occasions she ventured from her house she was granted great respect.

But Hesken-Faj waved away Triel's offer of the throne. "I have been sent to speak, not to rule," she said impatiently. The old female turned to the assembled priestesses, clearly eager to have her say and be off.

To each new matron, Lloth sends congratulations. Rule long and well, and restore the faith of Lloth to its former power. You have already heard there is to be no more war in Menzoberranzan. The city must be restored. No priestess shall slay another, and all healthy drow children must be reared, even the males. Until Lloth directs otherwise, the Ruling Council will enforce these new laws."

The old drow then named the eight matrons who would lead the city. "See that you rule well," she admonished, "for Lloth's peace is temporary and easily broken. Know that those who break peace for their own advancement will be destroyed. Those who extend Lloth's reign will be rewarded. That is all I have to say." With those words, the matron became as insubstantial as mist and faded from sight.

Triel cleared her throat. "All have heard. Now that the Ruling Council has been established, all future meetings will be restricted to the Eight. If any of you have words to speak that concern this general council, you may do so now."

Shakti Hunzrin leaped to her feet. Such a moment might never come again, and she meant to seize it with both hands. Lloth might have averted anarchy for the moment, but Shakti would do what damage she could.

"Something has come to my attention that concerns each drow present," Shakti began. "A novice priestess has dabbled in strange magic, human magic. To what purpose, I cannot know. This priestess possesses an amulet, a human artifact of great antiquity that allows her to carry drow magic up into the Lands Above."

Shakti took several sheets of parchment from the folds of her robe and held them high. "I have here the proof, written in this priestess's own hand. This magic is wielded by Liriel, of House Baenre. To this council I give my discovery, and the task of deciding what must be done with it."

There was a momenta-just a moment—of blank and utter shock. Then the meeting exploded into chaos. The priestesses received this news with wildly varying opinions. Some argued excitedly about the possibilities, others loudly called for the death of the Baenre traitor, still others—grim-faced—muttered prayers to Lloth.

Finally Matron Triel rose to her feet. Despite her lack of physical stature, all eyes turned upon her as she stood before them, her small face blazing with wrath.

"Silence!" Triel thundered.

Silence fell, complete and immediate. The single word carried the force of a spell, and not one person in the chapel could have spoken even if she had dared to try.

"This is disturbing news," the Baenre matron admitted. She spoke in a cold, perfectly even voice, but the look she gave Shakti was one of pure malice. "Of course you all realize this discovery puts me, personally, in a most difficult position. Liriel Baenre's actions took place under my rule, and it hardly matters whether she acted with my approval or without my knowledge. I am grateful indeed for Lloth's peace," Triel added honestly and pointedly. "But in the spirit of this new unity, we will discuss what might best be done, and we leave the decision in the hands of Lloth. You," she said, pointing toward a stunningly beautiful female seated with the delegation from House Faen Tlabbar. "Speak your mind, Matron Ghilanna."

The newly elevated matron rose in a whisper of silk and the gentle tinkle of silver jewelry. House Faen Tlabbar had suffered more inner turmoil than most, for both its former matron and her heir had been slain. All the city knew Ghilanna had won her position through a vicious, bloody battle with her seven sisters, yet the female's delicate appearance was completely at odds with her deadly reputation. Ghilanna Tlabbar was tall and slender, as vain of her appearance and reputedly as wanton in her habits as any Tlabbar female. Unlike most of the priestesses in attendance, she dressed not in somber robes but in an exquisite black gown. Black seed pearls and fine embroidery graced the tightly molded, daringly cut bodice, and the entire length of her legs was clearly visible through the gossamer layers of her skirts. Yet her lovely, painted face was set hi grim lines.

"This new magic could mean the end of matron rule," Ghilanna said bluntly. The people of Menzoberranzan submit to our rule—at least in part—because they lack options. Few can survive in the wild Underdark for long, and indeed such a life would hardly be worthy of the name. Nor is there a place for us in the Lands of Light. Recent events have proved that dramatically. But consider this: if wizards could cast their spells on the surface with all the power they wield Below, what would keep them under our command? Their eyes are trained to the light, and with their magic they could survive, perhaps even thrive, in the world above.

"Even the commoners," Ghilanna continued earnestly, "the artisans and the soldiers, might be tempted to try to carve out a place for themselves Above. And why not? The lowliest drow has at her command powers that a human wizard might envy. We possess a natural resistance to magic that is the envy and horror of other magic-wielding races. Their spells slide off us like so many drops of water. Invisibility, silence, darkness, invulnerability to magic—these things are the heritage of every drow. Never forget that few can match the deadly skill of a drow fighter—and who among us is not trained in arms? Consider all these things, and ask yourselves how many drow would remain in Menzoberranzan, under our rule, if they knew they had the power to thrive elsewhere."

Mez'Barris Armgo, the matron of House Barrison Del'Armgo, was the next to receive Matron Triel's permission to speak. As ruler of the second house, Mez'Barris was clearly furious such permission was necessary. To add to this insult, the young matron of a lower house had spoken first! Yet Triel had firm control of the assemblage, and the best Mez'Barris could do was vent her ire on the upstart Tlabbar matron. The look she cast over the lovely female was one of utter disdain.

"That was a fine speech," sneered Mez'Barris. "Trust Ghilanna to bring style and flair even to blasphemy. And blasphemy it was—only thus can we describe her words," Mez'Barris shouted in ringing, impassioned tones. "Do we or do we not rule by the grace and power of Lloth? The Spider Queen is not threatened by a girl-child's magical trinket, and neither are we, her priestesses!"

She sat down amid a murmur of agreement.

"I agree with Matron Mez'Barris that this discovery poses little threat to the matriarchy. Quite the contrary. This could benefit us all," put in Matron Miz'ri. Her clan, House Mizzrym, was notable for its trade contacts, its willingness to deal with nondrow, and its delight in treacherous double-dealings. The matron's red eyes held a hard gleam now as she considered the delightful possibilities.

"With this trinket, as you call it," Miz'ri went on, "we could go into the Lands of Light armed as never before. Who could stand before our merchant bands, our raiding parties? Consider the wealth! This new magical device is a tool, like any other. We have it, and we should use it."

Kyrnill Kenafin rose to speak. Her house was currently ranked tenth, but her arrogant manner and cruel, crimson

Daughter of the Drew eyes marked her as the tyrant she was. In House Kenafin, priestesses reigned supreme, and they took immense delight in subjugating and terrorizing the house males.

"This talk of commoners, males, and wizards wielding such a thing is utter nonsense. Do they dare to handle a snake-headed whip of a high priestess? Of course not! Likewise, if the priestesses of Lloth claim this new magical item as our own—as well as all copies made at our command—who will gainsay us?" Kyrnill punctuated her question with a hard, cocky smile.

"I would like to know," began Ker Horlbar, one of the two ruling matrons of House Horlbar, "why this claim was brought against House Baenre in defiance of Lloth's peace?"

Several of the drow priestesses exchanged arch glances. The Horlbar clan depended upon agriculture for their wealth and position, and their chief rival in this pursuit was House Hunzrin. Lloth might declare peace, but her followers would still find a way to strive against each other.

"It is not my purpose to accuse the first house," protested Shakti, again rising to her feet. "This discovery goes beyond the ambitions of any single drow. It may be even more important than increasing the wealth and position of House Horlbar."