Dissolution

THIRTEEN

As Quenthel skulked down the corridor, it occurred to her that at the same time, Gromph was casting his radiant heat into the base of Narbondel. Even revelers and necromancers were settling in for a rest. She, however, was too busy to do the same. She wouldn't have a chance to relax until late the next night, unless, of course, she wound up resting forever. Fortunately, one of the Baenre alchemists brewed a stimulant to delay the onset of the aching eyes, fuzzy head, and leaden limbs that lack of rest produced. Quenthel extracted a silver vial of the stuff from one of the pouches on her belt and took a sip of it. She gasped, and her shoulder muscles jumped. Jolted back to alertness, she continued on her way. In another minute, she reached the door to Drisinil's quarters. In deference to the status of her family, the novice resided in one of Arach-Tinilith's most comfortable student habitations. Quenthel regretted not sticking her in a dank little hole. Perhaps then the girl would have learned her place. The high priestess inspected the arched limestone panel that was the door. She couldn't see any magical wards. «Is it safe?» she whispered to the vipers. «We believe so,» Yngoth replied. How reassuring, Quenthel thought, but it was either trust them or use another precious, irreplaceable scroll to wipe away protections that probably didn't exist.

She activated the power of her brooch. When a novice came to Arach-Tinilith, the enchantments on certain doors were keyed to allow her to enter, based on the unique magical signature of her House insignia, rooms the high priestesses deemed it necessary for her to pass into. Only Quenthel's brooch could unlock them all. She unlocked Drisinil's door and warily cracked it open. No magic sparked, nor did any mechanical trap jab a blade at her. As quietly as she could, Quenthel crept on into the suite. Sensing her desire for quiet, the snakes hung mute and limp. She found Drisinil sitting motionless in a chair, her bandaged, mutilated hands in her lap. For a moment, Quenthel, thinking the other female must have a dauntless spirit to enter the Reverie at such a perilous time, rather admired her—then she caught the smell of brandy, and noticed the bottle lying in a puddle of liquor on the floor. Quenthel stalked toward the novice. It occurred to her that she was doing to Drisinil as the living darkness had done to her. The thought vaguely amused her, perhaps simply because she was finally the predator, not the prey. Smiling, she gently laid the vipers across the other drow's face and upper torso. The snakes hissed and writhed. Drisinil roused with a cry and a start. She started to rear up, and Quenthel pushed her back down in her chair. «Sit!» the Baenre snapped, «or the serpents will bite.» Her wide eyes framed by the cool, scaly loops of the vipers, Drisinil stopped struggling. «Mistress, what's wrong?»

Quenthel smiled and said, «Very good, child, you sound sincere. After your first ploy failed, you should at the very least have rested elsewhere.» «I don't know what you mean.» Drisinil's hand shifted stealthily, no doubt toward a hidden weapon or charm. The vipers struck at the student's face, their fangs missing her sharp-nosed features by a fraction of an inch. She froze. «Please,» Quenthel said. «This will go easier if you don't insult my intelligence. You have spirit, you believe I punished you too harshly, and you're Barrison Del'Armgo, eager to bring down the one House standing between your family and supremacy. Of course you're involved in the plot against me. You're also an idiot if you didn't think I'd realize it.» «Plot?»

Quenthel sighed. «Halavin tried to kill me last night, and she didn't act alone.

A single traitor couldn't have drugged all the food and drink set out at various points around the temple. It would have required abandoning her station for long enough that someone would have marked her absence.» «Halavin could have tainted the meal while it was still in the kitchen.» «She was never there.» «Then perhaps the demon poisoned the viands with its magic.» «No. As I'm sure you noted, each spirit represents one of the facets of reality over which the goddess holds special dominion. Poison is the weapon of an assassin, while with its continually fluctuating form, last night's assailant was plainly a manifestation of chaos.

«The conspirators,» Quenthel continued, «had to contaminate each and every table because they didn't know where I would stop and eat. Many fell unconscious, but you and the other plotters knew not to sample the repast.» Drisinil said, «I had no part in it.» «Novice, you're begi

«All right,» said Drisinil, «I was involved. A little. The others talked me into it. Don't kill me.» «I know what your little cabal has done, but I want to understand how you dared.» Drisinil swallowed and said, «You. . you said it yourself. Each demon seeks to kill only you, and each in its own particular way reflects the divine majesty of Lolth. We thought she sent them. We thought we were doing what the goddess wanted.» «Because you're imbeciles. Has no one taught you to look beyond appearances? If Lolth wanted me dead, I couldn't survive her displeasure for a heartbeat, let alone three nights. The attacks resemble her doing because some blasphemous mortal arranged it so, to manipulate you into doing her killing for her. I'd hoped you conspirators knew the trickster's identity, but I see it isn't so.» «No.» «Curse you all!» Quenthel exploded. «The goddess favors me. How could you possibly doubt it? I'm a Baenre, the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith, and I rose to the rank of high priestess more quickly that any Menzoberranyr ever has!» «I know. .» The novice hesitated, then said, «The Mother of Lusts must have some reason for distancing herself from the city, and we. . speculated.» «Some of you did, I'm sure. Others simply liked the idea of eliminating me. I imagine your Aunt Molvayas would relish seeing me dead. She'd have an excellent chance of becoming mistress in her turn. We Baenre don't have another princess seasoned enough to assume the role.» «It was my aunt!» Drisinil exclaimed. «She came up with the idea of helping the demons kill you. I didn't even want to help. I thought it was a stupid idea, but within our family, she holds authority over me.» Quenthel smiled. «It's too bad you weren't more impressed with my authority.» «I'm sorry.» «No doubt that. Now, I need the names of all the conspirators.» Drisinil didn't hesitate an instant. «My aunt, Vlondril Tuin'Tarl. .» As ever, Quenthel maintained a calm, knowing expression, but inwardly she was surprised at the number of conspirators. An eighth of the temple! It was unprecedented, but then she was living in unprecedented times. When Drisinil finished, the Baenre said, «Thank you. Where did you gather to hatch your schemes?» «One of the unused storerooms in the fifth leg,» Drisinil said. Quenthel shook her head. «That won't do. It's not big enough. Convene the group in Lirdnolu's old classroom. Nobody's used it since she had her throat slit, so it will seem a safe meeting place.» Drisinil blinked. «Convene?» «Yes. Last night's plot failed, so obviously you must hatch a new one. You've chosen a new chamber for the conference because you suspect the storeroom is no longer safe. Say whatever you need to say to assemble your cabal in four hours' time.» «If I do, will you spare me?» «Why not? As you've explained, you only participated reluctantly. But you know, it suddenly occurs to me that we have a problem. If I send you forth to perform this task, how do I know you won't simply flee Tier Breche and take refuge in your mother's castle?» «Mistress, you already explained that such a course could only lead to my death.» «But did you believe me? Do you still? How can I be sure?» «Mistress … I …»

«If I had my magic, I could compel you to do as you're told, but in its absence, I must take other measures,» Quenthel raised the whip, sweeping the vipers off Drisinil's face in the process, and slammed the metal butt of the weapon down in the middle of her forehead. The mistress then took out the silver vial. She pinched the dazed, feebly struggling girl's nostrils closed, poured the stimulant into her open mouth, and forced her to swallow. The effect was immediate. The younger female bucked and thrashed until her eyes flew open. The high priestess hopped back down to the floor. «How does it feel? I imagine your heart is hammering.» Drisinil trembled like the string of a viol. Sweat seeped from her pores. «What did you do to me?» «That should be obvious to an accomplished poisoner like yourself.» «You've poisoned me?» «It's a slow toxin. Do as I ordered, and I'll give you the antidote.» «I can't cozen the others like this. They'll see something's wrong with me.»

«The external signs should ease in a minute or two, though you'll still feel the poison speeding your heart and gnawing at your nerves. You'll just have to put up with that.» «All right,» Drisinil said. «Just bring the antidote with you when you come to Lirdnolu's room.» The mistress arched an eyebrow, and Drisinil added, «Please.» Quenthel smiled. Catching her mood, the whip vipers sighed with pleasure.

«How did you know your darkness would madden the beast?» asked Pharaun, lathering his narrow chest. The night before, after he made way back to Pharaun, the two of them had found they had enough healing potions to cure all the wounds that either had sustained. Still, despite their restoration to full vitality, the next few hours proved exhausting, as they struggled to survive the madness of the hunt and watch out for Greya