Insurrection
Chapter Eight

"Yes, Captain Xornbane, by all means, dispatch them," Faeryl's mother said as the gray dwarves closed in on both Drisinil and Quenthel.
The two drow and the draegloth, unable to flee, stared about themselves. While Jeggred merely seethed with rage, straining to break free of the magical hold over him, Quenthel and Drisinil looked wild, desperate. The duergar who had spoken motioned, and several of the other gray dwarves moved in, axes lifted.
"Wait!" Faeryl exclaimed, then leaned in close to whisper with Ssipriina privately for a moment. "Mother, let's not kill the two Menzoberranyr yet. I'd like to keep them for a while."
"I think that would be an extraordinarily bad idea," one of the males near her mother said, also leaning in.
Faeryl glared at the impertinent male, whom she seemed to recall was not of the family but had worked diligently as an aid for a number of years. Zammzt, she thought his name was. She wrinkled her nose slightly, for he was far from pretty.
"Do you always butt into conversations you were not meant to hear?" the ambassador asked.
Zammzt merely bowed in acquiescence and said, "Forgive me, but I am only looking after the House's best interests. If this plan of subversion and surprise is to succeed in overthrowing House Melarn, then no one who knows the truth can be allowed to live. If the drow or the fiend are able to relay to anyone - anyone at all - what transpired here today, you will lose your backing from the other Houses. No one will support your rise to the council, Matron Mother. It's an unnecessary risk."
Matron Mother Zauvirr studied her daughter carefully for a moment then said, "He does have a point."
"Mother, believe me," Faeryl replied, "they will never get the chance to talk to anyone. I will make sure of it."
Ssipriina finally nodded and said, "All right, you've earned the chance to extract a little revenge, I suppose, but you must make certain that they do not talk to anyone, especially not Halisstra. Do you understand?"
Zammzt clicked his tongue in consternation, but he apparently knew better than to argue further. He had made his case and had lost. He moved off to engage in conversation with some of the House wizards.
Faeryl, elated, said, "Of course, Mother. I understand all too well. If our plan is to succeed, everyone must think these two were plotting together."
"Precisely. Now, I must go and prepare. We still have a lot of work to do."
With that, Ssipriina Zauvirr departed, Zammzt falling in beside her, his head leaning in close to discuss issues privately.
The ambassador moved back over to Quenthel once more.
"You see,Mistress Baenre," she said, trying to emphasize the honorific to the point of sounding absurd, "we didn't really steal the Black Claw merchandise. You did. Or at least, that's how it will appear when we report finding members of two powerful Houses meeting in secret, having already smuggled desperately needed supplies out of Ched Nasad and preparing to steal even more.
"I'm sure they'll wonder why Matron Mother Melarn would have wanted to turn her back on her own city in favor of Menzoberranzan, but unfortunately, they won't be able to ask her, since she resisted us and had to be killed."
Faeryl signaled to the commanding duergar and watched with a warm feeling as three of the gray dwarves stepped close. At her nod, they raised their axes high and swung. Behind her, Faeryl heard Quenthel's muffled cry of protest, but she didn't bother turning around.
There was no more than a grunt from Drisinil as three axes slammed into her flesh, but the blades bit deeply and the fat drow's eyes widened in pain and terror, though she couldn't react in any other way. The three duergar yanked their axes free and prepared to strike again, but Faeryl motioned for them to hold. She wanted to watch as Drisinil died slowly.
"You'll never look down your nose at me again, you fat rothe."
Drisinil's red eyes blinked and widened, seeming to plead with Faeryl in some way, but the younger drow only smiled as she stood casually, hands on hips, and watched the matron mother's lifeblood drip into a puddle on the floor around her motionless body. Drisinil shuddered, and her eyes beganto glaze over. Her breathing was rapid for a moment or two, then stopped. Her lifeless eyes stared at nothing.
Faeryl turned back to Quenthel, who had been able to see the murder. The high priestess seemed to look both terrified and furious, all at the same time. The ambassador stepped in close to the Baenre noble and smiled.
"Of course, they'll be told that you were caught while trying to flee the scene, though you and I will know better, at least for a time. You and Jeggred are going to receive a stay of execution, just as I did back in Menzoberranzan. Aren't you pleased? Instead of dying right away, you'll get some of House Zauvirr's hospitality, just as I was graciously entertained by your sister."
Faeryl spat the words at her captive, the smile gone from her face. All of the hatred, the fear, surged to the forefront of her thoughts.
"And as for you, you wretched, foul-smelling beast," Faeryl said, turning to Jeggred, "I will ensure that you learn what true pain is."
The draegloth's eyes bored into her balefully, but she forced herself to stare resolutely back at him for three long breaths before finally turning away.
"Gruherth," Faeryl called, looking for one of her brothers in the throng of drow still milling about, "I want those two moved - secretly, mind you - to the dungeons in House Melarn."
Gruherth appeared and said, "We'll need a safe way to transport them."
"I'll take care of that," another wizard said, stepping closer to the fiend.
Pulling a few items from his pockets, the mage cast a spell, and a large white bubble formed around the draegloth. At the instruction of the wizard, four guards lifted the sphere - with surprising ease, Faeryl noted - and began to carry it into another part of the storehouse.
Very quickly, the same spell was applied to Quenthel, and four other drow boys bore her milky white sphere away, too.
Faeryl turned and looked for the duergar leader.
"Captain . . . Xornbane, is it?"
The gray dwarf who had given the order to kill Drisinil nodded.
"As I understand it, the next step in our plan is to get your company inside House Melarn unnoticed."
"That's right," the duergar repeated, folding his arms across his chest impatiently.
"Have all the arrangements been made to deal with this?"
"They have," he said, then he turned and trudged off after Faeryl's mother, leaving the ambassador to fume at his rudeness.
Gruherth reappeared.
"We're ready to begin moving everything through to the interior of House Melarn," he said to his sister. "Mother wants you there at the front so that we can throw off suspicion in case there are Melarn troops in sight once we begin crossing through the portal."
Faeryl grimaced but nodded. She had forgotten how much at her mother's beck and call she had been when she was last in the city. Still, she decided, it was better than being at Quenthel's beck and call.
Much better.
Aliisza wriggled her toes in delight as she stretched out on the bed next to the wizard. It had been quite a while since she had felt this good, and it wasn't merely the physical pleasures that delighted her. This Pharaun was quite the wit, she had decided, boisterous and clever for a drow.
"How come you're so unlike the rest of your race?" the alu asked him, rolling over beside him and walking her alabaster fingers up his slender, graceful black arm, enjoying the contrast in color. "Every other dark elf I've ever met and talked to has been so staid and boring. You, on the other hand, make me laugh."
Pharaun, with his head propped on his hands as he lay stretched out on his back, smiled.
"Just unlucky, I suppose."
Aliisza furrowed her brow in confusion and asked, "What?"
"Can you imagine how it must be for me, being around 'staid and boring' drow all the time?" he asked, sitting up and folding his legs beneath him. "No one ever appreciates my witticisms. I offer up clever remarks, and I either get funny looks, if I'm speaking with other males, or scowls, if I'm in the presence of the ladies. It's damned depressing. So I say it's just bad luck. I was born a drow, but I was given a much sharper intellect than most of my species."
Aliisza giggled and rested her chin on both hands, gazing at the dark elf's red eyes.
"Oh, come on," she said. "It can't be that bad. At least you get to talk to other drow. Look at me. I spend the entire day herding tanarukks around."
"Oh, yes, the tanarukks. A few grunts and an obscene gesture, and they've recited their clan history, right?"
Aliisza laughed outright.
"They're not so bad as all that, but they certainly aren't ones for clever humor. Not even Kaanyr likes to devote this much time to just . . . talking - " She paused, seeing the wizard's smile turn into a frown. "What now?"
"Why did you have to go and mention his name? I was doing just fine until you brought up your other lover. That's no kind of pillow talk, you know."
"Sorry. I won't do it again," Aliisza promised. "But tell me . . . how is it you manage to spar with this high priestess of yours? I thought the females of your species didn't put up with too much of that nonsense."
Pharaun groaned and fell back against the pillow. "She goes from bad to worse," he moaned to no one in particular. "Why do you keep bringing up these most unpleasant subjects? You're torturing me! Was I that unsatisfying?" Aliisza punched him on the arm, laughing. "Just answer the question."
Pharaun eyed her for a moment. He seemed suddenly wary. "Why are you so curious?" Aliisza shook her head. "No real reason. Just curiosity, I suppose."
Pharaun rolled away from her to the side of the bed and asked, "Whyare you here? In Ched Nasad, I mean."
Aliisza pouted just a little. She really hadn't meant to put him on edge, and now she had to think of a way to calm the wizard down again. She decided the truth, or just enough of it, was the best medicine. "Because Kaanyr Vhok wants me to find out what's going on."
"You told me you already knew. In fact, you explained to me what's going on. What else are you looking for?"
"Nothing," the alu replied, reaching a hand out to stroke the back of the drow's arm with her fingers. "I have all the information I'm supposed to get. Well, except for visiting one of the matron mothers to see if she wants Kaanyr's assistance. They have some old pact or something. I'm still here because you're here."
Pharaun eyed her a moment longer, then chuckled and shook his head.
"I knew this was a bad idea," he said at last. "The matron mothersof this city are the onebig thing I'd like most to avoid, and here you are, preparing to drop in on one. Somehow, that just doesn't bode well for me."
"Oh, stop it," Aliisza said, arching one of her eyebrows at the mage. "I'm not about to tell any matron mother about you. I wouldn't want word getting back to - back to you-know-who" - she smiled again " - -though I don't see how you can avoid the matron mothers, given the company you're traveling with."
"What,Quenthel? No, that's not a problem. She knows House Melarn won't be too agreeable to her plan to take the Black Claw goods back to Menzoberranzan, so - " The wizard stopped in midsentence. "I shouldn't be telling you this. I am a sex-addled idiot."
He stared at Aliisza intently, his red eyes glittering.
The alu-fiend stared back, but she couldn't help but smile.
"What are you doing, considering whether to try to kill me to keep your secret safe?" she asked. Arching one eyebrow she shimmied back away from the wizard, leaning back on her elbows provocatively. "I have a better idea," she said, feeling her voice grow husky with desire. "Teach me another magic trick instead."
Pharaun, feeling a combination of exhilaration and dread, left Aliisza in the little house. Exhilarated from the satisfying afternoon he'd spent with the alu, he was dreading all the things he'd let slip. Though he'd repeatedly told himself to be wary, he'd stumbled several times thus far. Being with the fiend had reduced his normally sharp instinct for caution to some half-remembered sense of danger that he knew he ought to be cognizant of but wasn't. It was just an accepted practice that a drow never openedhimself up to a fiend, that he should keep his dealings strictly business, and yet here he was, sharing her bed and spilling his best-kept secrets. Still, if he had to pick a risky diversion, Aliisza was quite the prize.
Whatever his apprehensions, Pharaun found that his steps were light as he made his way back to the Serpent and Flame. He had useful information to share with the rest of the Menzoberranyr, and he also had a couple of divinations he wanted to attempt that he hoped would clarify a bit just exactly what was going on in the Abyss. Plus, he might still have time to fulfill that request of Quenthel's. All in all, it was turning out to be a truly memorable day.
Despite his own elation, Pharaun could still feel the tension of the city buzzing in the air, and he was careful to avoid the worst of the crowds. After the experience of the previous day, he didn't think it wise to get caught up in a chest-thumping competition with a congregation of disgruntled citizens. He made certain to spend most of his time floating from section to section, avoiding completely the calcified webbing ladders that connected different levels.
The mage stopped along the way at a dingy-looking shop called Gauralt's Spices, a place that purported to offer hard-to-find components for spellcasting. Valas had mentioned it to him that morning before they set out on their separate errands, and Pharaun found it exactly where the scout had said it would be. Of course, getting what he needed might prove to be another matter, but Gauralt, a drow male who ran the place, was able to supply him with the fourstrips of ivory and the particular incense he needed, and he was on his way again in no time.
Back at the inn, none of the rest of the mage's companions had returned. He supposed that Ryld and Valas might spend most of the day attempting to round up the needed supplies and mounts for the return journey, but he was somewhat surprised that Quenthel, Faeryl, and Jeggred had not come back from the storehouse. He couldn't imagine what would require them to spend that much time there, but then it was just as well.
If she was here, he told himself, she'd simply find something to snipe about, anyway.
He began to make a mental checklist of the spells he wanted to cast. First, he would use his new components to try to track down who was trying to kill Quenthel.
And probably offer to help, he added, grinning.
He also planned to try again to take a peek into the Demonweb Pits.
It was a spell he had tried more than once back in Menzoberranzan, with no luck whatsoever, but he hoped it would yield more satisfying results away from the City of Spiders. The Master of Sorcere had no basis for this supposition, but he thought it was still worth an attempt.
Pharaun retrieved the four strips of ivory he'd acquired, along with the incense, and sat down to perform the spell. Casting it would leave him weary and low on spells, but if the knowledge he gained from it was useful, he would count the cost worthwhile.
The mage arranged the four strips of ivory into a rectangle upon the carpeting, lit the incense, and closed his eyes. It was not a spell he cast often, and it required a careful application of chanting and specific questions. He couldn't stumble at any point, for he didn't know when the next opportunity to try it would arise.
With the incense burning and the spell begun, Pharaun asked his question, beseeching the elemental forces of magic and the planes of existence to grant him a meaningful answer.
"Reveal to me the enemy of Quenthel Baenre of House Baenre in Menzoberranzan, the enemy who seeks to destroy her, who calls forth demons to slay her in the very temple where she reigns."
The burning incense flared, and smoke filled the room. After a moment, a message formed in Pharaun's mind, words uttered by the. wind, or perhaps the Weave itself. However it was delivered, the message that Pharaun received was clear.
The one who seeks the high priestess's death shares her blood and her ambition. Quenthel's enemy sprang from thesame womb but is not of the womb.
Pharaun blinked, his red eyes taking in the darkened room as the last remnants of the incense burned out and turned to ash.
Sprang from the same womb but not of the womb. A sibling, but not a female. A male? A brother? Gromph! It had to be....
Pharaun was surprised, not so much that the Archmage of Menzoberranzan would wish his sister dead but by the fact that he hadn't see it before then. Gromph had much to gain by eliminating the only real rival for Triel's ear. The archmage could not have designs on the throne of House Baenre itself, but he could be the puppet master, pulling the strings behind the scenes. Quenthel disagreed with everything her brother said, and vice versa, so she was an obvious and powerful impediment to any ambitions he might have.
Adding to that was the fact that Gromph had the knowledge of the Academy's defenses and had the capability to summon forth the fiends used in the attacks. It was a talent few others possessed, at least few others with the interest to do so. There were other powerful wizards within the halls of Sorcere, and Pharaun supposed that some of them would like to seesomeone replace Quenthel as the Mistress of the Academy, but Gromph was the one who stood to gain the most.
Though he knew the answer, Pharaun wasn't sure what to do with it.
On the one hand, he considered, I'm here with Quenthel. Does telling her aid me more? Or do I simply seal my fate upon returning to Sorcere? If I tell Gromph that Quenthel is trying to find out who's after her, even do him a favor by misleading her - or eliminating her, a small part of his mindsuggested - does my standing at Sorcere improve, or will he be unable to protect me from Triel's wrath?
Of course, Pharaun knew that most of his decisions hinged on the eventuality of returning to Menzoberranzan, and he was planning to argue with Quenthel against that course of action. There were still too many variables, too many possible outcomes, before he would know which side of the siblings' conflict to join. He could stall Quenthel for a while. She wouldn't know what might be involved in his quest for her information. For all she knew, he could be working through a spell that actually took days to complete or negotiating with an elemental of some sort, making a bargain to exchange some commodity for a casting of a spell he himself did not know. There were a number of lies he could tell her to keep her waiting.
For the time being, then, he decided he would stay mute on his findings and see which way the rotheherd roamed. When the time was right, he would play it to his advantage. Either outcome, and he would improve his station within the Academy.
Pharaun rested a few moments longer on the floor, recovering from the exertions of the spell then began packing up his paraphernalia, stowing the strips of ivory away in a pocket of hispiwafwi.
Next, Pharaun removed a small mirror from his haversack. He briefly wondered if using the same spell he had just employed to find Quenthel's enemy would work better in these circumstances, but he couldn't cast it again without resting for a few hours then studying his spellbooks. Firming his resolve, the wizard began chanting the words needed to activate the magical scrying.
The Master of Sorcere knew the spell was dangerous. Attempting to look in on a deity without permission could have disastrous ramifications. Still, he was intent on trying, if only to discern more of what was going on in the wake of the goddess's absence. Drawing on the memories he had of his strange visit to the Demonweb Pits those decades past, he finished the spell and peered into the mirror, which was reflecting a cloudy image of elsewhere rather than his own dark-skinned face.
Pharaun gazed into the magical window for several minutes, waiting and hoping that he might recognize something in its murky depths. There was nothing. He willed the spectral eye that he knew was on the other end of his spell to glide forward, remotely peering this way and that, trying to catch a glimpse of something, anything solid in the formless fog.
The mage felt a tingle, a warning in the back of his mind. He mentally scrambled to release the spell, to sever the connection with the eye at the far side of oblivion, and he almost succeeded, but not quite. A backlash of energy slammed into him, hurtled outward through the mirror like a punch, while at the same time Pharaun sensed a wall of force sliding down, cutting him off from his magical eye.
As his senses returned, Pharaun realized he was sprawled on his back, blinking as his eyes tried to focus on the ceiling. He groaned and sat up, seeing that he had been hurtled backward from the mirror more than ten feet. He rose onto wobbly legs and staggered back over to the mirror. It was cracked, its glass surface spider-webbed into hundreds of fissures. He stared at the ruined mirror for a moment, wondering if the pattern was representative of something or merely a coincidence.
Well, that answers that question, Pharaun thought. A mere mortal cannot penetrate the veil that has settled over the sixty-sixth layer of the Abyss, but perhaps a higher being can.
The Master of Sorcere shook his head and sighed as he gingerly gathered the fragmented remains of the mirror.
Why do I go through this trouble? he thought as he tried to figure out where he should discard the ruined thing. Everything I do for everyone, and all I get is grief in return. I'll bet other folk don't go through this much trouble to track down their deities, he thought wryly. I'm sure they just look them up anytime -  
The wizard froze in the middle of the room, the beginnings of an idea forming. He almost smacked himself in the head.
Of course! he thought. I've been going about this all wrong. Why didn't I think of this before? We're asking the wrong . . .
Tossing the mirror down in a tinkle of glass, Pharaun began to pace, mulling his idea over more carefully. A plan was beginning to form, one that was getting him excited. The hardest part, he realized, would be figuring out how to convince Quenthel.
It was not long after that that Ryld and Valas returned from their own excursions.
The wizard took one look at the pair of them and quickly surmised that their endeavors had not only ended unsatisfactorily but violently. Both drow were glum as well as bloodied and bruised. Valas walked with a slight limp, and Ryld seemed unable to lift his left arm above his waist. Almost as one, they dropped their gear on the floor and dropped down onto their Reverie couches.
"I gather that things did not go well today," Pharaun commented. "No chance to haul Quenthel's supplies out of here?"
"Three places," Valas muttered. "We tried three places and got into two scuffles for our troubles."
"There just isn't a pack lizard to be had, it seems," Ryld added, rubbing his eyes with his good hand. "If there is, no one is ready to sell it to outsiders."
"I don't find that hard to believe," Pharaun replied, "considering that no caravans have entered or left the city in such a long while. Everyone is holding tight to what they have, riding the crisis out."
Pharaun busied himself straightening his own things while the other two males sat still.
"I'll wager with you for who has to tell her," Ryld said to Valas. "Rock, knife, and parchment?"
The scout shook his head.
"Let's just make the wizard tell her," he said, pointing to Pharaun. "He seems to delight so in tormenting her, anyway, so what's one more bit of bad news out of his mouth?"
Ryld nodded, and Pharaun found himself smiling.
"Well, we all have a reprieve, at least for the moment," the mage said. "She and the other two haven't returned from the storehouse."
"Really?" Valas asked, sitting up. "I would have thought they'd return before us for sure."
Pharaun shrugged and said, "As would I, but none of them are here."
"That's fine by me," Ryld said, leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes. "The less I have to see of that damned draegloth, the better off I am."
Pharaun pursed his lips, realizing that what he was going to suggest next might not set well with either the weapons master or the scout.
"I found out something today, too," he said quietly.
Ryld opened one eye and looked at the wizard.
"Oh?"
Valas leaned forward on the edge of the bed.
"Have you determined what has happened to the Dark Mother?"
Pharaun chuckled and said, "Not exactly, but I did learn that her disappearance has not been limited to our own race. Other species feel her loss, as well."
"I don't know whether to consider that good news or not," the scout said, sitting back again.
"Nor do I," Pharaun agreed, "but I have also learned that something is sealing us out from the Demonweb Pits. I have attempted to scry there in hopes of learning something of the goddess's condition - indeed, if she yet exists - and I could not penetrate inside. A barrier protects it and keeps me, and others, outside."
"A barrier? You're speaking now of things I have no experience with," Ryld said. "What kind of barrier?"
"A potent one. I was nearly blasted into powder for my troubles," Pharaun said, a wry smile on his face, "I have tried it before, even spoke with Archmage Gromph before we left Menzoberranzan. He has experienced similar problems."
"It sounds as though whatever the Spider Queen is doing, she does not wish to be disturbed," Valas said.
"If it's her who's doing it," Ryld countered. "Perhaps another god has erected the barrier to prevent us from seeing her."
"Exactly!" Pharaun said eagerly. "Surely someone knows - or can find out - what we cannot discover."
"I thought that's what our mission was ... to discover Lolth's fate," Valas said. "That's why we've come here."
"Yes, you are correct," Pharaun said, nodding, "though this business with storehouses of magic items seems to have become a higher priority. In the interest of bringing us back to the more fascinating part of our little expedition, I have an idea. I want to enlist help from the outside."
"Help? Fromwhom?" Ryld was sitting up, too.
The wizard began to pace again as he explained his plan to his companions.
"A mere mortal, even someone with my acumen, can't penetrate the veil that has settled over the Demonweb Pits. Something is obviously intent on keeping us out. We need to enlist someone else's help in finding out what's going on there. Someone not of our own ilk."
Both of the other drow were watching the wizard intently, doubt plain on their faces.
"You can't mean . . ." Ryld said.
"Another god."
The weapons master seemed aghast. Valas said nothing but might have been contemplating the possibilities of such an act - and the ramifications.
"Perhaps a higher being," Pharaun continued, "especially one in close proximity to the Demonweb Pits - from one of the other layers of the Abyss - could, or possibly even already has, discovered more than we can possibly hope to on our own. Maybe we can convince one of them to tell us what has transpired or is transpiring inside.
"Not directly, of course," Pharaun added hastily, "but through an intermediary ... a follower."
"You play a dangerous and foolish game, Pharaun Mizzrym," Ryld said, shaking his head. "The Dark Mother may find such a course blasphemous, a betrayalto the faith."
"Or she may congratulate me on being so innovative, so willing to examine and explore, whatever the risk. The other choice is to admit defeat, return to Menzoberranzan, and sit on our hands as our way of life ends."
"Quenthel will not be happy with this plan," Valas cautioned. "She will most likely consider it a personal affront to her."
"Yes, well, Quenthel is too focused on lining House Baenre's coffers to appreciate the larger picture before us. I'm beginning to wonder how wise a choice she was to lead this expedition. Don't stare at me like that, Ryld. . . . You've questioned more than a few of her decisions since we departed."
"Never openly. Not to her face."
"She's not here now, is she? My friend, I play with fire, I know that, but if I don't act where my heart lies then I've failed our race far worse than she. I'm content to steer things from behind the scenes, letting her believe she controls our tempo, our course, but such a method requires patience, more than a little frustration, at times, and the possibility of being thwarted or exposed. It would stand a much greater chance of success if the three of us worked together to maneuver her. I could use your help."
Valas had his chin in his hand, thinking. Ryld shook his head, lines of worry creasing his brow.
'You fight against millennia of tradition and habit, Pharaun," the weapons master said. "I can't say that I welcome the idea of returning to Menzoberranzan no better off than when we left, but usurping the high priestess's authority might very wellsee our heads on the parapets of House Baenre."
"The wizard has already been at it for a couple of tendays. . . ." Valas said.
"Perhaps, but until now, it was simply him against her; he hadn't brought us into it."
Pharaun clicked his tongue in exasperation.
"Do you honestly think that she won't hold us all responsible, regardless of the relative levels of involvement?" the Master of Sorcere asked, "She will blame you simply because you are a male, Master Argith."
Slowly, Ryld nodded.
"I suppose you're right," he said. "It still doesn't make me feel any better."
"I'm not suggesting we bind her with cord and throw her in a box, Weapons Master. All I'm asking is that you support me when I make a suggestion, that you back me, however subtly, when she and I disagree. Help me convince her that moving forward, rather than back to Menzoberranzan, is the wiser course of action."
"You make sense," Ryld replied, "but right now, your idea is just that. We must find someone willing to serve as the conduit. Do you know of any such creature?"
"I do," Valas said quietly.
Pharaun crouched down in front of the scout and asked, "You do? Who?"
"There's a priest I know, a follower of Vhaeraun."
"Vhaeraun," Ryld said in a clipped tone. "I doubt we'll receive any aid from him."
"Perhaps, but Tzirik is actually an old associate of mine," Valas replied.
At Ryld's surprised look, the scout added, "When you wander the wilds of the Underdark as much as I have, you have to be decidedly more pragmatic than in the cozy confines of Menzoberranzan. Tzirik Jaelre owes me a favor. If we can get to him, I think he might help us."
Valas turned to Pharaun and added, "Assuming, of course, that you have a notion of what he should do once we get there."
Pharaun replied, "I will when we find this priest. In the meantime, you keep this Tzirik Jaelre to yourself until I have words with Quenthel. At the right moment, mention that you know him, and we'll show her the wisdom of seeing this through to the end."
"I only hope the end comes later, rather than sooner," Ryld said grimly.