Starless Night

 

The mercenary silently approached the western end of the Baenre compound, creeping from shadow to shadow to get near the silvery spiderweb fence that surrounded the place. Like any who came near House Baenre, which encompassed twenty huge and hollowed stalagmites and thirty adorned stalactites, Jarlaxle found himself impressed once more. By Underdark standards, where space was at a premium, the place was huge, nearly half a mile long and half that wide.



Everything about the structures of House Baenre was mar  velous. Not a detail had been overlooked in the craftsmanship; slaves worked continually to carve new designs into those few areas that had not yet been detailed. The magical tQuches, supplied mostly by Gromph, Matron Baenre's elderboy and the archmage of Menzoberranzan, were no less spectacular, right down to the pre  dominant purple and blue faerie fire hues highlighting just the right areas of the mounds for the most awe inspiring effect.



The compound's twenty foot high fence, which seemed so tiny anchoring the gigantic stalagmite mounds, was among the most wonderful creations in all of Menzoberranzan. Some said that it was a gift from Lloth, though none in the city, except perhaps ancient Matron Baenre, had been around long enough to witness its con  struction. The barrier was formed of iron strong strands, thick as a drow's arm and enchanted to grasp and stubbornly cling stronger than any spider's web. Even the sharpest of drow weapons,  arguably the finest edged weapons in all of Toril, could not nick the strands of Baenre's fence, and, once caught, no monster of any strength, not a giant or even a dragon, could hope to break free.



Normally, visitors to House Baenre would have sought one of the symmetrical gates spaced about the compound. There a watch  man could have spoken the day's command and the strands of the fence would have spiraled outward, opening a hole.



Jarlaxle was no normal visitor, though, and Matron Baenre had instructed him to keep his comings and goings private. He waited in the shadows, perfectly hidden as several foot soldiers ambled by on their patrol. They were not overly alert, Jarlaxle noted, and why should they be, with the forces of Baenre behind them? House Baenre held at least twenty five hundred capable and fabulously armed soldiers and boasted sixteen high priestesses. No other house in the city, no five houses combined, could muster such a force.



The mercenary glanced over to the pillar of Narbondel to dis  cern how much longer he had to wait. He had barely turned back to the Baenre compound when a horn blew, clear and strong, and then another.



A chant, a low singing, arose from inside the compound. Foot soldiers rushed to their posts and came to rigid attention, their weapons presented ceremoniously before them. This was the spec  tacle that showed the honor of Menzoberranzan, the disciplined,  precision drilling that mocked any potential enemy's claims that dark elves were too chaotic to come together in common cause or common defense. Non drow mercenaries, particularly the gray dwarves, often paid handsome sums of gold and gems simply to view the spectacle of the changing of the Baenre house guard.



Streaks of orange, red, green, blue, and purple light rushed up the stalagmite mounds, to meet similar streaks coming down from above, from the jagged teeth of the Baenre compound's stalactites. Enchanted house emblems, worn by the Baenre guards, created this effect as male dark elves rode subterranean lizards that could walk equally well on floors, walls, or ceilings.



The music continued. The glowing streaks formed inyriad designs in brilliant formations up and down the compound, many of them taking on the image of an arachnid. This event occurred twice a day, every day, and any drow within watching distance paused and took note each and every time. The changing of the Baenre house guard was a symbol in Menzoberranzan of both House Baenre's incredible power, and the city's undying fealty to Lloth, the Spider Queen.



Jarlaxle, as he had been instructed by Matron Baenre, used the spectacle as a distraction. He crept up to the fence, dropped his wide brimmed hat to hang at his back, and slipped a mask of black velvet cloth, with eight joint wired legs protruding from its sides,  over his head. With a quick glance, the mercenary started up, hand over hand, climbing the thick strands as though they were ordinary iron. No magical spells could have duplicated this effect; no spells of levitation and teleportation, or any other kind of magical travel,  could have brought someone beyond the barrier. Only the rare and treasured spider mask, loaned to Jarlaxle by Gromph Baenre, could get someone so easily into the well guarded compound.



Jarlaxle swung a leg over the top of the fence and slipped down the other side. He froze in place at the sight of an orange flash to his left. Curse his luck if he had been caught. The guard would likely pose no danger, all in the Baenre compound knew the mercenary well, but if Matron Baenre learned that he had been discovered,  she would likely flail the skin from his bones.



The flaring light died away almost immediately, and as Jar  laxle's eyes adjusted to the changing hues, he saw a handsome young drow with neatly cropped hair sitting astride a large lizard,  perpendicular to the floor and holding a ten foot long mottled lance. A death lance, Jarlaxle knew. It was coldly enchanted, its hun  gry and razor edged tip revealing its deadly chill to the mercenary's heat sensing eyes.



Well met, Berg'inyon Baenre, the mercenary flashed in the intri  cate and silent hand code of the drow. Berg'inyon was Matron Baenre's youngest son, the leader of the Baenre lizard riders, and no enemy of, or stranger to, the mercenary leader.



And you, Jarlaxle, Berg'inyon flashed back. Prompt, as always.



As your mother demands, Jarlaxle signaled back. Berg'inyon flashed a smile and motioned for the mercenary to be on his way,  then kicked his mount and scampered up the side of the stalagmite to his ceiling patrol.



Jarlaxle liked the youngest Baenre male. He had spent many days with Berg'inyon lately, learning from the young fighter, for Berg'inyon had once been a classmate of Drizzt Do'Urden's at Melee Magthere and had often sparred against the scimitar wield  ing drow. Berg'inyon's battle moves were fluid and near perfect,  and knowledge of how Drizzt had defeated the young Baenre heightened Jarlaxle's respect for the renegade.



Jarlaxle almost mourned that Drizzt Do'Urden would soon be no more.



Once past the fence, the mercenary replaced the spider mask in a pouch and walked nonchalantly through the Baenre compound,  keeping his telltale hat low on his back and his cloak tight about his shoulder, hiding the fact that he wore a sleeveless tunic. He couldn't hide his bald head, though, an unusual trait, and he knew that more than one of the Baenre guards recognized him as he made his way casually to the house's great mound, the huge and ornate stalagmite wherein resided the Baenre nobles.



Those guards didn't notice, though, or pretended not to, as they had likely been instructed. Jarlaxle nearly laughed aloud; so many troubles could have been avoided just by his going through a more conspicuous gate to the compound. Everyone, Triel included, knew full well that he would be there. It was all a game of pretense and intrigue, with Matron Baenre as the controlling player.



"Z'ress!" the mercenary cried, the drow word for strength and the password for this mound, and he pushed on the stone door,  which retracted immediately into the top of its jamb.



Jarlaxle tipped his hat to the unseen guards (probably huge minotaur slaves, Matron Baenre's favorites) as he passed along the narrow entry corridor, between several slits, no doubt lined with readied death lances.



The inside of the mound was lighted, forcing Jarlaxle to pause and allow his eyes to shift back to the visible light spectrum. Dozens of female dark elves moved about, their silver and black Baenre uniforms tightly fitting their firm and alluring bodies. All eyes turned toward the newcomer, the leader of Bregan D'aerthe was considered a fine catch in Menzoberranzan, and the lewd way the females scrutinized him, hardly looking at his face at all, made Jar  laxle bite back a laugh. Some male dark elves resented such leers,  but to Jarlaxle's thinking, these females' obvious hunger afforded him even more power.



The mercenary moved to the large black pillar in the heart of the central circular chamber. He felt along the smooth marble and located the pressure plate that opened a section of the curving wall.



Jarlaxle found Dantrag Baenre, the house weapon master, lean  ing casually against the wall inside. Jarlaxle quickly discerned that the fighter had been waiting for him. Like his younger brother,  Dantrag was handsome, tall (closer to six feet than to five), and lean,  his muscles finely tuned. His eyes were unusually amber, though they shifted toward red when he grew excited. He wore his white hair pulled back tightly into a ponytail.



As weapon master of House Baenre, Dantrag was better outfit  ted for battle than any other drow in the city. Dantrag's shimmering black coat of mesh mail glistened as he turned, conforming to the angles of his body so perfectly that it seemed a second skin. He wore two swords on his jeweled belt. Curiously, only one of these was of drow make, as fine a sword as Jarlaxle had ever seen. The other, reportedly taken from a surface dweller, was said to possess a hunger of its own and could shave the edges off hard stone without dulling in the least.



The cocky fighter lifted one arm to salute the mercenary. As he did so, he prominently displayed one of his magical bracers, tight straps of black material lined with gleaming mithril rings. Dantrag had never told what purpose those bracers served. Some thought that they offered magical protection. Jarlaxle had seen Dantrag in battle and didn't disagree, for such defensive bracers were not uncommon. What amazed the mercenary even more was the fact that, in combat, Dantrag struck at his opponent first more often than not.



Jarlaxle couldn't be sure of his suspicions, for even without the bracers and any other magic, Dantrag Baenre was one of the finest fighters in Menzoberranzan. His principal rival had been Zak'nafein Do'Urden, father and mentor of Drizzt, but Zak'nafein was dead now, sacrificed for blasphemous acts against the Spider Queen. That left only Uthegental, the huge and strong weapon master of House Barrison Del'Armgo, the city's second house, as a suitable rival for dangerous Dantrag. Knowing both fighters' pride, Jarlaxle sus  pected that one day the two would secretly meet in a battle to the death, just to see who was the better.



The thought of such a spectacle intrigued Jarlaxle, though he never understood such destructive pride. Many who had seen the mercenary leader in battle would argue that he was a match for either of the two, but Jarlaxle would never play into  such intrigue. To Jarlaxle it seemed that pride was a silly thing to fight for, espe  cially when such fine weapons and skill could be used to bring more substantive treasures. Like those bracers, perhaps? Jarlaxle mused. Or would those fabulous bracers aid Dantrag in looting Uthegen  tal's corpse?



With magic, anything was possible. Jarlaxle smiled as he contin  ued to study Dantrag; the mercenary loved exotic magic, and nowhere in all the Underdark was there a finer collection of magical items than in House Baenre.



Like this cylinder he had entered. It seemed unremarkable, a plain circular chamber with a hole in the ceiling to Jarlaxle's left and a hole in the floor to his right.



He nodded to Dantrag, who waved his hand out to the left, and Jarlaxle walked under the hole. A tingling magic grabbed him and gradually lifted him into the air, levitating him to the great mound's second level. Inside the cylinder, this area appeared identical to the first, and Jarlaxle moved directly across the way, to the ceiling hole that would lead him to the third level.



Dantrag was up into the second level as Jarlaxle silently floated up to the third, and the weapon master came up quickly, catching Jarlaxle's arm as he reached for the opening mechanism to this level's door. Dantrag nodded to the next ceiling hole, which led to the fourth level and Matron Baenre's private throne room.



The fourth level? Jarlaxle pondered as he followed Dantrag into place and slowly began to levitate once more. Matron Baenre's pri  vate throne room? Normally, the first matron mother held audience in the mound's third level.



Matron Baenre already has a guest, Dantrag explained in the hand code as Jarlaxle's head came above the floor.



Jarlaxle nodded and stepped away from the hole, allowing Dantrag to lead the way. Dantrag did not reach for the door, how  ever, but rather reached into a pouch and produced some silvery  glowing dust. With a wink to the mercenary, he flung the dust against the back wall. It sparkled and moved of its own accord,  formed a silvery spider's web, which then spiraled outward, much like the Baenre gates, leaving a clear opening.



After you, Dantrag's hands politely suggested.



Jarlaxle studied the devious fighter, trying to discern if treach  ery was afoot. Might he climb through the obvious extradimen  sional gate only to find himself stranded on some hellish plane of existence?



Dantrag was a cool opponent, his beautiful, chiseled features,  cheekbones set high and resolute, revealing nothing to Jarlaxle's usually effective, probing gaze. Jarlaxle did go through the opening,  though, finally deciding that Dantrag was too proud to trick him into oblivion. If Dantrag had wanted Jarlaxle out of the way, he would have used weapons, not wizard's mischief.



The Baenre son stepped right behind Jarlaxle, into a small,  extradimensional pocket sharing space with Matron Baenre's throne room. Dantrag led Jarlaxle along a thin silver thread to the far side of the small chamber, to an opening that looked out into the room.



There, on a large sapphire throne, sat the withered Matron Baenre, her face crisscrossed by thousands of spidery lines. Jarlaxle spent a long moment eyeing the Throne before considering the matron mother, and he unconsciously licked his thin lips. Dantrag chuckled at his side, for the wary Baenre could understand the mer  cenary's desire. At the end of each of the throne's arms was set a huge diamond of no fewer than thirty carats.



The throne itself was carved of the purest black sapphire, a shin  ing well that offered an invitation into its depths. Writhing forms moved about inside that pool of blackness; rumor said that the tor  mented souls of all those who had been unfaithful to Lloth, and had,  in turn, been transformed into hideous driders, resided in an inky black dimension within the confines of Matron Baenre's fabulous throne.



That sobering thought brought the mercenary from his casing; he might consider the act, but he would never be so foolish as to try to take one of those diamonds! He looked to Matron Baenre then~,  her two unremarkable scribes huddled behind her, busily taking notes. The first matron mother was flanked on her left by Bladen' Kerst, the oldest daughter in the house proper, the third oldest of the siblings behind Triel and Gromph. Jarlaxle liked Bladen'Kerst even less than he liked Triel, for she was sadistic in the extreme. On sev  eral occasions, the mercenary had thought he might have to kill her in self defense. That would have been a difficult situation, though Jarlaxle suspected that Matron Baenre, privately, would be glad to have the wicked Bladen'Kerst dead. Even the powerful matron mother couldn't fully control that one.



On Matron Baenre's right stood another of Jarlaxle's least favorite beings, the illithid, Methil El Viddenvelp, the octopus  headed advisor to Matron Baenre. He wore, as always, his unre  markable, rich crimson robe, its sleeves long so that the creature could keep its scrawny, three clawed hands tucked from sight. Jar  laxle wished that the ugly creature would wear a mask and hood as well. Its bulbous, purplish head, sporting four tentacles where its mouth should have been, and milky white pupilless eyes, was among the most repulsive things Jarlaxle had ever seen. Normally, if gains could be made, the mercenary would have looked past a being's appearance, but Jarlaxle preferred to have little contact with the ugly, mysterious, and ultimately deadly illithids.



Most drow held similar feelings toward illithids, and it momen  tarily struck Jarlaxle as odd that Matron Baenre would have El Vid  denvelp so obviously positioned. When he scrutinized the female drow facing Matron Baenre, though, the mercenary understood.



She was scrawny and small, shorter than even Triel and appearing much weaker. Her black robes were unremarkable, and she wore no other visible equipment certainly not the attire befitting a matron mother. But this drow, K'yorl Odran, was indeed a matron mother,  leader of Oblodra, the third house of Menzoberranzan.



K'yorl? Jarlaxle's fingers motioned to Dantrag, the mercenary's facial expression incredulous. K'yorl was among the most despised of Menzoberranzan's rulers. Personally, Matron Baenre hated K'yorl, and had many times openly expressed her belief that Men  zoberranzan would be better off without the troublesome Odran. The only thing that had stopped House Baenre from obliterating Oblodra was the fact that the females of the third house possessed mysterious powers of the mind. If anyone could understand the motivations and private thoughts of mysterious and dangerous K'yorl, it would be the illithid, El Viddenvelp.



Three hundred, K'yorl was saying.



Matron Baenre slumped back in her chair, a sour expression on her face. A pittance, she replied.



Half of my slave force, K'yorl responded, flashing her cus  tomary grin, a well known signal that not so sly K'yorl was lying.



Matron Baenre cackled, then stopped abruptly. She came for  ward in her seat, her slender hands resting atop the fabulous dia  monds, and her scowl unrelenting. Her ruby red eyes narrowed to slits. She uttered something under her breath and removed one of her hands from atop the diamond. The magnificent gem flared to inner life and loosed a concentrated beam of purple light, striking K'yorl's attendant, an unremarkable male, and engulfing him in a series of cascading, crackling arcs of purple glowing energy. He cried out, threw his hands up in the air, and fought back against the consuming waves.



Matron Baenre, lifted her other hand and a second beam joined the first. Now the male drow seemed like no more than a purple sil  houette.



Jarlaxle watched closely as K'yorl closed her eyes and furrowed her brow. Her eyes came back open almost immediately, and she stared with disbelief at El Viddenvelp. The mercenary was worldly enough to realize that, in that split second, a battle of wills had just occurred, and he was not surprised that the mind flayer had appar  ently won out.



The unfortunate Oblodran male was no more than a shadow by then, and a moment later, he wasn't even that. He was simply no more.



K'yorl Odran scowled fiercely, seemed on the verge of an explo  sion, but Matron Baenre, as deadly as any drow alive, did not back down.



Unexpectedly, K'yorl grinned widely again and announced lightheartedly, He was just a male.



K'yorl! Baenre snarled. This duty is sanctified by Lloth, and you shall cooperate!



Threats? spoke K'yorl.



Matron Baenre rose from her throne and walked right in front of the unflinching K'yorl. She raised her left hand to the Oblodran female's cheek, and calm K'yorl couldn't help but wince. On that hand Matron Baenre wore a huge golden ring, its four uncompleted bands shifting as though they were the eight legs of a living spider. Its huge blue black sapphire shimmered. That ring, K'yorl knew,  contained a living velsharess orbb, a queen spider, a far more deadly cousin of the surface world's black widow.



You must understand the importance, Matron Baenre cooed.



To Jarlaxle's amazement (and he noted that Dantrag's hand immediately went to his sword hilt, as though the weapon master would leap out of the extradimensional spying pocket and slay the impudent Oblodran), K'yorl slapped Matron Baenre's hand away.



Barrison Del'Armgo has agreed, Matron Baenre said calmly,  shifting her hand upright to keep her dangerous daughter and illithid advisor from taking any action.



K'yorl grinned, an obvious bluff, for the matron mother of the third house could not be thrilled to hear that the first two houses  had allied on an issue that she wanted to avoid.



As has Faen Tlabbar, Matron Baenre added slyly, referring to the city's fourth house and Oblodra's most hated rival. Baenre's words were an obvious threat, for with both House Baenre and House Barrison Del'Armgo on its side, Faen Tlabbar would move quickly to crush Oblodra and assume the city's third rank.



Matron Baenre slid back into her sapphire throne, never taking her gaze from K'yorl.



I do not have many house drow, K'yorl said, and it was the first time Jarlaxle had ever heard the upstart Oblodran sound hum  bled.



No, but you have kobold fodder! Matron Baenre snapped. And do not dare to admit to six hundred. The tunnels of the Clawrift beneath House Oblodra are vast.



I will give to you three thousand, K'yorl answered, appar  ently thinking the better of some hard bargaining.



Ten times that! Baenre growled.



K'yorl said nothing, merely cocked her head back and looked down her slender, ebon skinned nose at the first matron mother.



I'll settle for nothing less than twenty thousand, Matron Baenre said then, carrying both sides of the bargaining. The defenses of the dwarven stronghold will be cunning, and we'll need ample fodder to sort our way through.



The cost is great, K'yorl said.



Twenty thousand kobolds do not equal the cost of one drow life, Baenre reminded her, then added, just for effect, in Lloth's eyes.



K'yorl started to respond sharply, but Matron Baenre stopped her at once.



Spare me your threats! Baenre screamed, her thin neck seem  ing even scrawnier with her jaw so tightened and jutting forward. In Lloth's eyes, this event goes beyond the fighting of drow houses,  and I promise you, K'yorl, that the disobedience of House Oblodra will aid the ascension of Faen Tlabbar!



Jarlaxle's eyes widened with surprise and he looked at Dantrag,  who had no explanation. Never before had the mercenary heard, or heard of, such a blatant threat, one house against another. No grin,  no witty response, came from K'yorl this time. Studying the female,  silent and obviously fighting to keep her features calm, Jarlaxle could see the seeds of anarchy. K'yorl and House Oblodra would not soon forget Matron Baenre's threat, and given Matron Baenre's arrogance, other houses would undoubtedly foster similar resent  ments. The mercenary nodded as he thought of his own meeting with fearful Triel, who would likely inherit this dangerous situation.



Twenty thousand, K'yorl quietly agreed, if that many of the troublesome little rats can be herded.



The matron mother of House Oblodra was then dismissed. As she entered the marble cylinder, Dantrag dropped out of the end of the spider filament and climbed from the extradimensional pocket,  into the throne room.



Jarlaxle went behind, stepping lightly to stand before the throne. He swept into a low bow, the diatryma feather sticking from the brim of his great hat brushing the floor. A most magnificent performance, he greeted Matron Baenre. It was my pleasure that I was allowed to witness.



Shut up, Matron Baenre, leaning back in her throne and full of venom, said to him.



Still grinning, the mercenary came to quiet attention.



K'yorl is a dangerous nuisance, Matron Baenre said. I will ask little from her house drow, though their strange mind powers would prove useful in breaking the will of resilient dwarves. All that we need from them is kobold fodder, and since the vermin breed like muck rats, their sacrifice will not be great.



What about after the victory? Jarlaxle dared to ask.



That is for K'yorl to decide, Matron Baenre replied immedi  ately. She motioned then for the others, even her scribes, to leave the room, and all knew that she meant to appoint Jarlaxle's band to a scouting mission at the very least on House Oblodra.



They all went without complaint, except for wicked Bladen' Kerst, who paused to flash the mercenary a dangerous glare. Bladen'Kerst hated Jarlaxle as she hated all drow males, considering them nothing more than practice dummies on which she could hone her torturing techniques.



The mercenary shifted his eye patch to the other eye and gave her a lewd wink in response.



Bladen'Kerst immediately looked to her mother, as if askingi permission to beat the impertinent male senseless, but Matron Baenre continued to wave her away. I



You want Bregan D'aerthe to keep close watch on House Obloj dra, Jarlaxle reasoned as soon as he was alone with Baenre. Not such an easy task



No, Matron Baenre interrupted. Even Bregan D'aerthe could not readily spy on that mysterious house.



The mercenary was glad that Matron Baenre, not he, had beei~ the one to point that out. He considered the unexpected conclusion~ then grinned widely, and even dipped into a bow of salute as he came to understand. Matron Baenre wanted the others, particularly El ViddenveLp, merely to think that she would set Bregan D'aerthe to spy on House Oblodra. That way, she could keep K'yorl some  what off guard, looking for ghosts that did not exist.



I care not for K'yorl, beyond my need of her slaves, Matron Baenre went on. If she does not do as she is instructed in this mat  ter, then House Oblodra will be dropped into the Clawrift and forgotten.



The matter of fact tones, showing supreme confidence, im  pressed the mercenary. With the first and second houses aligned,  what choice does K'yorl have? he asked.



Matron Baenre pondered that point, as though Jarlaxle had reminded her of something. She shook the notion away and quickly went on. We do not have time to discuss your meeting with Triel,  she said, and Jarlaxle was more than a little curious, for he had thought that the primary reason for his visit to House Baenre. I want you to begin planning our procession toward the dwarvish home. I will need maps of the intended routes, as well as detailed descriptions of the possible final approaches to Mithril Hall, so that Dantrag and his generals might best plan the attack.



Jarlaxle nodded. He certainly wasn't about to argue with the foul tempered matron mother. We could send spies deeper into the dwarven complex, he began, but again, the impatient Baenre cut him short.



We need none, she said simply.



Jarlaxle eyed her curiously. Our last expedition did not actu  ally get into Mithril Hall, he reminded.



Matron Baenre's lips curled up in a perfectly evil smile, an infectious grin that made Jarlaxle eager to learn what revelation might be coming. Slowly, the matron mother reached inside the front of her fabulous robes, producing a chain on which hung a ring, bone white and fashioned, so it appeared, out of a large tooth. Do you know of this? she asked, holding the item up in plain view.



It is said to be the tooth of a dwarf king, and that his trapped and tormented soul is contained within the ring, the mercenary replied.



A dwarf king, Matron Baenre echoed. And there are not so many dwarvish kingdoms, you see.



Jarlaxle's brow furrowed, then his face brightened. Mithril Hall? he asked.



Matron Baenre nodded. Fate has played me a marvelous coin  cidence, she explained. Within this ring is the soul of Gandalug Battlehammer, First King of Mithril Hall, Patron of Clan Battle  hammer.



Jarlaxle's mind whirled with the possibilities. No wonder, then,  that Lloth had instructed Vierna to go after her renegade brother! Drizzt was just a tie to the surface, a pawn in a larger game of con  quest.



Gandalug talks to me, Matron Baenre explained, her voice as content as a cat's purr. He remembers the ways of Mithril Hall.



Sos'Umptu Baenre entered then, ignoring Jarlaxle and walking right by him to stand before her mother. The matron mother did not rebuke her, as the mercenary would have expected for the unan  nounced intrusion, but rather, turned a curious gaze her way and allowed her to explain.



Matron Mez'Barris Armgo grows impatient, Sos'Umptu said.



In the chapel, Jarlaxle realized, for Sos'Umptu was caretaker of the wondrous Baenre chapel and rarely left the place. The merce  nary paused for just a moment to consider the revelation. Mez'Bar  ris was the matron mother of House Barrison Del'Armgo, the city's second ranking house. But why would she be at the Baenre com  pound if, as Matron Baenre had declared, Barrison Del'Armgo had already agreed to the expedition? Why indeed.



Perhaps you should have seen to Matron Mez'Barris first, the mercenary said slyly to Matron Baenre. The withered old matron accepted his remark in good cheer; it showed her that her favorite spy was thinking clearly.



K'yorl was the more difficult, Baenre replied. To keep that one waiting would have put her in a fouler mood than usual. Mez'Barris is calmer by far, more understanding of the gains. She will agree to the war with the dwarves.



Matron Baenre walked by the mercenary to the marble cylinder; Sos'Umptu was already inside, waiting. Besides, the first matron mother added with a wicked grin, now that House Oblodra has come into the alliance, what choice does Mez'Barris have?



She was too beautiful, this old one, Jarlaxle agreed. Too beauti  ful. He cast one final, plaintive look at the marvelous diamonds on the arms of Baenre's throne, then sighed deeply and followed the two females out of House Baenre's great stronghold.