R.A. Salvatore's War of the Spider Queen: Dissolution, Insurrection, Condemnation (51 page)

Gripping her mace tightly, the drow priestess stalked out of the private lounge.

One by one, the others also departed, even Zammzt, until Quorlana was alone in the room.

Our time has come, the drow insisted silently. Lolth has issued a challenge. The great Houses of Ched Nasad will fall, and ours will rise up to take their place. Our time has come at last.

Aliisza was so used to the tanarukks’ constant grunting, snarling, and slavering that she rarely heard it anymore, so the quiet that surrounded her as she strode alone along the dwarven thoroughfare was noticeable. Being out and about in ancient Ammarindar without an escort of the half-fiend, half-orc hordes was a refreshing change. Kaanyr rarely asked her to—she refused to say “let”—do anything without an armed escort anymore, so she had almost forgotten how pleasant solitude really was. Still, as much as she was enjoying her privacy, however brief it might be, she had a purpose, and it quickened her steps.

She moved to the end of a long and broad boulevard, which had been hewn by long-dead dwarves from the unmarred bedrock of the Underdark itself eons ago. Though she barely noticed it, the craftsmanship of the wide passageway was exquisite. Every angle was perfect, every column and cornice was thick and finely decorated with runes and stylized images of the stout folk. At the terminus of the boulevard, Aliisza entered a large chamber, which itself was large enough to have engulfed a small surface town. She turned into a side tunnel that would allow her to cut across several main passages and reach the avenue that would take her directly to Kaanyr’s palace, deep in the center of the old city. It still surprised her how empty the city could be, even with all of the Sceptered One’s Scourged Legions roaming around. She crossed the avenues and found the path she wanted, then hurried toward the palace.

A pair of tanarukk guards flanked the doorway into the throne room. The stocky, gray-green humanoids were hunched over as usual, their prominent tusks jutting forward defiantly from overly large lower jaws as they peered at her with their squinty red eyes. To Aliisza, it almost appeared that the two beasts were preparing to charge forward and ram her with their low, sloping foreheads. Aliisza knew that with her magic the scalelike ridges protruding from atop those foreheads were no threat to her, but still the creatures seemed uncertain of who she was, for they kept their battle-axes crossed before the opening as she approached. Finally, just before it seemed that she was actually going to have to slow her pace and say something—which would have made her very cross—the two coarse-haired, nearly naked beasts stepped aside and allowed her to enter without breaking her stride. She smiled to herself, wondering how much fun it would have been to flay them alive.

Passing through several outer chambers, Aliisza crossed the threshold into the throne room itself and spied the marquis cambion lounging on his throne, a great, hideous chair constructed of the bones of his enemies. Every time she saw the thing, she was reminded of how crass it was. She knew too many fiends who considered sitting atop a pile of bones to be some sort of symbol of power and glory, but in her opinion, it exhibited no class, no subtlety. It was Kaanyr Vhok’s single biggest lack of vision.

Kaanyr had thrown one leg over the armrest of the throne and sat with his chin resting in his cupped hand, elbow against his knee. He was staring off into the upper reaches of the chamber, obviously thinking and oblivious to her.

Aliisza almost unconsciously began to saunter provocatively as she closed the distance between them, and yet she found that she was admiring his form as much as she hoped he was appreciating hers. His graying hair was roguishly disheveled and, combined with his swept-back ears, gave him the appearance of a maturing, if somewhat devil-may-care, half-elf. Aliisza crooked her mouth in a sly smile, thinking of him engaging in the many subterfuges he was so fond of, passing himself off on the surface world as a member of that fair race.

Kaanyr finally heard his consort’s footsteps and looked up at her, his features brightening, though whether it was simply for the sight of her or the news she bore, she was not sure. She reached the first steps of the dais and climbed to where he sat, allowing just a hint of a pout to creep into her visage.

“Ah, my delectable one, you’ve come, and with news, I hope?” Kaanyr asked, straightening himself and patting his thigh.

Aliisza stuck out her tongue at him and sashayed the remaining distance to plop herself down atop his lap.

“You never just ravish me anymore, Kaanyr,” she pretended to complain, wriggling her backside as she settled. “You only love me for the work I do for you.”

“Oh, that’s not fair, little one,” Vhok replied, running his hand lovingly down one of her black, shiny leather wings. “Nor is it particularly true.”

With that, he reached up with his other hand, and placing it behind her lustrous black curls, crushed her to him, engaging her mouth with his own in a deep, spine-tingling kiss. For the briefest of moments she considered resisting him, playing one of the infinite variations of the games the two of them seemed to love so much, but the thought was short-lived. His hand strayed down her throat to the hollow of her neck, and it continued lower still. She practically buzzed at his touch, and she knew that with the news she brought him, such flirtations would only break the spell.

As it was, Kaanyr still pulled away after a moment’s heated embrace and said, “Enough. Tell me what you found out.”

This time, Aliisza really did pout. His caresses on her wings and elsewhere left her panting slightly, and important news or not, she was not ready to be cast aside so quickly. She considered withholding the information for a time, sending a subtle message that she was not to be trifled with. He might rule this place, but she was not his servant. She was consort, she was advisor, and she was free to find another lover, should he cease to satisfy her. Satisfying an alu—the daughter of a succubus and a human mate—was a challenge few were up to. Kaanyr was one of those few. She decided to tell him her news.

“They haven’t veered from their course, though it’s apparent they know we’re closing in. Their scouts have spotted our skirmishers and have continued to avoid contact. We will have them pinned against the Araumycos, soon.”

“You’re certain they’re not here to spy or to wage war? No quick strikes before vanishing into the wilds?”

Kaanyr was absently stroking one of her wings as he asked this, and the alu-fiend shivered in delight. He seemed not to notice her reaction.

“Fairly certain. They are apparently headed southeast, toward Ched Nasad. Each time we cut off their route, they seek out another. They seem intent on keeping to that path.”

“Yet, they are not a caravan,” he said. “They don’t have goods or pack animals. In fact, they travel unreasonably lightly armed for drow. They are definitely up to something. The question is, what?”

Aliisza shivered again, though this time it was as much from the anticipation of the next bit of news as from Kaanyr’s absentminded petting.

“Oh, definitely not a caravan,” she told him. “It’s the strangest drow entourage I think I’ve seen wandering around the wilds. They have a draegloth with them.”

Kaanyr straightened, staring straight into Aliisza’s eyes, and asked, “A draegloth? Are you sure?”

When the alu nodded, he pursed his lips.

“Interesting. This just gets more and more intriguing. First, we haven’t seen a drow caravan of any sort in the last few tendays. Finally, when a party of drow
do
venture out, they come straight through here, something they would normally avoid like the stink on a dretch, and lastly, they have a draegloth accompanying them, which means drow noble Houses are somehow personally involved. What in the Nine Hells are they up to?”

Vhok resumed staring off into the dark distance, again absently caressing his consort, this time letting his fingers trail gently down her ribs, which were exposed through the lacing of her shiny black leather corset. She sighed in delight but forced herself to stay focused.

“There’s more. I listened in on a conversation when they stopped to rest. One of them, definitely a mage of some sort, was taunting another, who looked like a priestess.”

“One of the males giving lip to a female? That can’t last long.”

“Not just any female. He referred to her as ‘the Mistress of the Academy.’ ”

Kaanyr sat upright, his stare deeply penetrating her own.

“Oh, really,” he said in a tone so intrigued, he never noticed that his move nearly made Aliisza fall to the floor at his feet.

She managed to maintain her balance, but she was forced to stand to avoid looking silly. She glared at the cambion.

He went on, oblivious, “Oh, this is just too good. One of the highest drow priestesses in all of Menzoberranzan is trying to sneak incognito through my tiny little domain. And she’s letting a wizard run his mouth at her. No caravans for more than a month, and now this. This is too much fun!”

Kaanyr turned to face Aliisza once more, and upon seeing her glare, he cocked his head in confusion.

“What? What’s wrong?”

The alu fumed, “You have no idea, do you?”

Kaanyr spread his hands helplessly and shook his head.

“Well, then I’m not going to tell you!” she snapped, and turned away from him.

“Aliisza.” Vhok’s voice was deep and commanding, and it sent shivers down her spine. He was angry, just as she’d hoped. “Aliisza, look at me.”

She glanced back at him over her shoulder, letting one arched eyebrow rise questioningly. He had risen from the throne and was standing with his hands on his hips.

“Aliisza, I don’t have time for this. Look at me!”

She shivered in spite of herself and turned fully around to face her lover. His eyes smoldered and made her melt. She pouted just a little, to let him know that she didn’t like being chastised, but she was finished playing the game.

Vhok nodded slightly in satisfaction.

His visage softened a bit, and he said, “Whatever I did, I’ll make it up to you later. Right now, though, you have to get back over there and find out what’s going on. See if you can get face to face with them and ‘invite’ them to pay us a visit. But be careful. I don’t want this to explode in my face. If a high priestess and a draegloth are part of this group, then the rest of them are dangerous, too. Keep the Scourged close, to hem them in, but don’t waste too many bodies on an all-out attack. But also don’t make it too obvious that you’re holding them back. Also, don’t—”

Aliisza rolled her eyes, feeling a little insulted.

“I’ve done this a time or two before, you know,” she interrupted, her voice thick with sarcasm. “I think I know what to do. But . . .”

She stepped closer to Kaanyr—into him, really—rising up on her tiptoes and wrapping her arms around his waist and curling one smooth, bare leg around the back of his calf. She drew herself close, let her body press against his, and continued.

“When I’m done with this little task,” she said, her voice smoky with desire, “you’re going to tend to
my
needs for a while.” She leaned up and nibbled on his ear, then whispered, “Your teasing is working too well, love.”

Triel didn’t like brooding, but she caught herself doing it frequently of late. This time, when she realized she was at it again, she was suddenly aware of the faces of the other seven matrons, looking at her expectantly. She blinked and stared back at them for a moment, trying to recall the words of the conversation that had droned in the background of her thoughts. She could remember voices but nothing more.

“I asked,” Matron Miz’ri Mizzrym said, “what thoughts have you given to other courses of action, should your sister fail to return?”

When Triel still did not respond, the hard-faced matron mother added, “There
are
thoughts floating around somewhere in there today, aren’t there, Mother?”

Triel blinked again, jolted fully back to the conversation at hand by the Mizzrym’s biting words, focusing her attention where it ought to be instead of on the empty sensation she felt where the goddess’s presence should have been. Other courses of action . . .

“Of course,” she replied at last. “I’ve been giving that considerable thought, but before we delve too deeply into alternatives, I think we must exercise some patience.”

Matron Mez’Barris Armgo snorted. “Have you been listening to a word we’ve said, Mother? Patience is a luxury we no longer have. We exhausted so much of our reserves of magic quelling the uprising we might—
might,
I say—be able to withstand another major insurrection, should one occur. As much as I love a good battle, putting down another slave rebellion would be wasteful, when it’s only a matter of time before Gracklstugh or the survivors of Blingdenstone determine that we are powerless, without . . .”

The hulking, brutish matron mother faltered, unwilling, even as forward and tactless as she usually was, to put words to the crisis they all faced.

“If they aren’t already aware,” Zeerith Q’Xorlarrin interjected, glossing over Mez’Barris’s unfinished thought. “Even now, one or more of the other nations could be amassing an army to drive to our gates. New voices could be whispering poison into the ears of the lesser creatures down in the Braeryn or the Bazaar, voices belonging to those clever enough to mask their true identities, their true intent. It’s something we must consider and discuss.”

“Oh, yes,” Yasraena Dyrr said contemptuously. “Yes, let’s sit here and discuss; not act, never act. We are afraid to venture forth into our own city!”

“Bite your tongue!” Triel snapped, growing more and more incensed.

She was angry not only at the direction of the conversation— suggestions of cowardice from the High Council!—but also at the ridicule, the unusually open vitriolic nature, of the other matrons’ words. Ridicule directed at her.

“If there is one among us afraid to walk our own streets, she need no longer sit on this Council. Are you one such, Yasraena?”

The matron mother from House Agrach Dyrr grimaced at the chastisement she was receiving, and Triel realized it was not merely because Yasraena knew she had overstepped herself. It was the matron of House Baenre, supposedly an ally to Yasraena’s house, that was administering this stern lecture. Triel intended it as such. It was time to send a message, to remind the other matron mothers that she still sat at the top of the power structure and she would not tolerate such insubordination from any of those sitting around her, ally or not.