Dissolution   ::   Байерс Ричард Ли

It's a bunch of them from any number of homes, noble and common alike.» «All right, but so what? Why does the Archmage of Menzoberranzan care?» «I don't know. He offered some vague excuse of an explanation, but there's something—several somethings, belike—that he's not telling me.» «That's not going to make your job any easier.» «How true. The old tyrant did condescend to say that he isn't the only one interested in the fugitives' whereabouts. The priestesses are equally concerned, but that emphatically did not make them want to join forces with Gromph. Matron Mother Baenre herself ordered him to drop the matter.» «Matron Baenre,» said Ryld. «I like this less with every word you speak.» «Oh, I don't know. Just because Triel Baenre rules all Menzoberranzan, and I'm about to flout her express wishes. . Anyway, the archmage says he can no longer investigate the disappearances himself. Seems the ladies have their eyes on him, but, lucky me, I am not so burdened.» «That doesn't mean you're going to find the missing males. If they fled the city, they could be anywhere in the Underdark by now.» «Please,» said Pharaun with a grin, «you don't have to try to cheer me up.

Actually, I'm going to start looking in Eastmyr and the Braeryn. Apparently some of the runaways were last sighted in those declasse vicinities, and perhaps they linger there still. Even if they do intend to depart Menzoberranzan, they may still be making preparations for the journey.»

«If they've already decamped,» Ryld said, «you might at least find a witness who can at tell you what tunnel they took. It's a sensible plan, but I can think of another. It's reckless to gamble your life when you don't even understand the game. You could flee Menzoberranzan yourself. With your wizardry, you're one of the few people capable of undertaking such a dangerous trek alone.» «I could try,» Pharaun said, «but I suspect Gromph would track me down. Even if he didn't, I would have lost my home and forfeited the rank I worked my whole life to earn. Would you give up being a master just to avoid a spot of danger?» «No.» «Then you understand my predicament. I imagine you've also figured out why I called on you today» «I think so.» «Of course you have. Whatever it is that's truly transpiring, my chances of survival improve if I have a comrade to watch my back.» Ryld scowled. «You mean, a comrade willing to defy the express will of Matron Mother Baenre and risk running afoul of the Archmage of Menzoberranzan as well.»

«Quite, and by a happy coincidence you have the look of a drow in need of a break from his daily routine. You know you're bored to death. It's painful to watch you grouch your way through the day.» Ryld pondered for a moment, then said, «All right. Maybe we'll find out something we can turn to our advantage.» «Thank you, my friend. I owe you.» Pharaun took a drink and held out the flask again. «Have the rest. There's only a swallow left. We seem to have guzzled the whole pint in just a few minutes, though that scarcely seems possible, refined, genteel fellows that we—»

Something crackled and sizzled above their heads. Waves of pressure beat down on them. Ryld looked up, cursed, scrambled to his feet, and drew a dagger, meanwhile wishing he'd strapped on his weapons before stepping outside Melee-Magthere.

Pharaun rose in a more leisurely fashion. Well,» he said, «this is interesting.»



TWO

Scourge of vipers writhing in her hand, soft, thin gown whispering, Quenthel Baenre, Mistress of Arach-Tinilith, prowled about, glaring at the younger females standing huddled in the center of the candlelit, marble-paneled room.

She always had a knack for striking fear into the hearts of those who displeased her, and these students were no exception. Some trembled or appeared to be biting back tears, and even the sullen, fractious ones refused to look her in the eye. Enjoying their apprehension, Quenthel prolonged her silent inspection until it was surely on the verge of becoming unbearable, then she cracked the whip. Some of her startled pupils gasped and jumped. As the five long black- and crimson-banded vipers that comprised the lashes of the whip rose twisting and probing from the adamantine handle, Quenthel said, «All your lives, your mothers have told you that when a student ascends to Tier Breche, she remains here, sequestered from the city below, for ten years. On the day you entered the Academy, I told you the same thing.»

She stalked up to one of the students trapped at the front of the group, Gaussra Kenafin, slightly plump and round-faced, with teeth as black as her skin. Responding to Quenthel's unspoken will, the whip snakes explored the novice's body, gliding over its contours, tongues flickering. The Mistress of Arach-Tinilith could see Gaussra straining mightily not to recoil for fear that it would provoke the reptiles into striking. «So you did know,» Quenthel purred, «didn't you?» «Yes,» Gaussra gasped. «I'm sorry. Please, take the snakes away!»

«How impertinent of you. You and these others have forfeited the right to ask me for anything. You may kiss her.» The last statement was addressed to the serpents, and they responded instantly, driving their long fangs into cheek, throat, shoulder, and breast. Gaussra collapsed—fully expecting to fall into a seizure, mouth foaming, her own blackened incisors chewing her purple tongue. Shaking from the sting of the bites, Gaussra sat on the floor, very much alive; her terror was apparent, her humiliation complete. «You will return to your House,» Quenthel said, relishing the look on Gaussra's face as the true meaning of that statement sank in. «If you come that close to my scourge again, the vipers will allow their venom to flow.» Quenthel stepped away from Gaussra, who scrambled to her feet and ran from the chamber. «You all knew what was expected of you,» she said to the rest of the novices, «but you tried to sneak home anyway. In so doing, you have offered an affront to the Academy, to your own families, to Menzoberranzan, and to Lolth herself!»

«We just wanted to go for a little while,» said Halavin Symryvvin, who seemed to carry half of her insignificant House's paltry wealth in the form of the gaudy, gold ornaments hanging about her person. «We would have come back.» «Liar!» shouted Quenthel, eliciting a flinch. Rearing, the whip vipers echoed the cry. «Liar!» «Liar!» «Liar!» In other circumstances, Quenthel might have smiled, for she was proud of her weapon. Many priestesses possessed a whip of fangs, but hers was something special.