Extinction

Leave that to us, Yngoth hissed.

Quenthel wasn't listening.

The fate of every drow city in the Underdark is on my head, she moaned. Things are hard enough without Pharaun and his stupid, petty power games. Doesn't he realize what's at stake? This could result in the extinction of our race!

It could, Zinda agreed.

Yngoth quickly hissed the larger viper to silence.

You must focus on the matter at hand, he reminded Quenthel. You must find out from Oothoon where the ship is?a task that will be easier than you think. The sava board has already been set up for you. All of the pieces are already in place.

That brought Quenthel up short, and she asked, They are?

Yngoth's tongue flickered in and out in the serpents equivalent of a smile.

To learn where the ship of chaos is, Pharaun must meet with Oothoon a second time. If he thinks you have been consumed, he may lower his guard slightly. And that may be his downfall.

Quenthel frowned and sent, I don't understand.

Listen, and you will, Yngoth continued. You will tell Oothoon that Lolth is dead?Oothoon won't believe me, Quenthel interrupted. I don't believe it myself.

Your ring will prevent the aboleth from hearing your thoughts or from detecting your lies, Hsiv reminded her. Then, once Oothoon has deemed you unworthy of eating, you will offer her Pharaun, instead. You will tell her that in return for her telling you where the ship of chaos lies, you will convince Pharaun that you have been eaten. Thus tricked, he will swim willingly into the jaws of death.

The aboleth will eat him! K'Sothra cried.

And you'll be rid of Pharaun at last, Zinda added. In a way that even Triel won't find fault with.

How will I convince Pharaun I'm dead? Quenthel asked.

You won't, Yngoth answered. Twisting to stare at the entrance to the cave, the viper fixed its eyes on Jeggred. He will. Take Jeggred with you?and tell him nothing of your plans. That way, his grief will be all the more convincing. Give him an order, and make sure he fixes it in his mind, that if you should be killed, he is not to take his revenge upon the aboleth. He instead must fight his way back to Pharaun and tell him what happened, so the others may carry word of your death back to Menzoberranzan. Tell Jeggred that he must succeed in doing this?at all costs?or the life of his mistress will have been forfeited for nothing.

As if he'd somehow sensed that they were talking about him, Jeggred stirred and glanced back over his shoulder. His eyes narrowed, but he obeyed Quenthel's sharp gesture instantly, returning his attention to the tu

Quenthel, meanwhile, was relieved to learn that there was a way out of her dilemma?one that would finally pay Pharaun back for his intolerable insubordination.

She stared at Yngoth expectantly and asked, How am I to avoid being eaten by the aboleth?

The viper bared its fangs in a menacing smile.

You still have your rod, Yngoth replied.

Quenthel nodded.

And that bottle of lace fungus wine you've been saving.

Yes, Quenthel answered. But how in the Abyss are those going to?

Listen, Yngoth said again. And I will explain. .

Quenthel listened avidly. By the time Yngoth was finished speaking, her lips were parted in a feral grin.

It might just work, she thought to the snake, sending a wave of excitement along with the thought. Then, on a grimmer note, she added, It must.

The other vipers, who had maintained a respectful silence as Yngoth outlined the plan, writhed in anticipation of seeing it carried out. Even Qorra, the serpent who almost never spoke, could hardly contain herself.

Oh! she said. This will be such fun!

Jeggred waited just outside the audience room in which Quenthel was speaking with the aboleth matriarch, every muscle in his body tense. Quenthel was in there, atone, with two of them. She'd let one of the creatures?the one that wasn't Oothoon?move into a position behind her. Why had she allowed it to do that?

Jeggred didn't like the bloated fish-folk. They could not be trusted. Even with water filling his nostrils, he could smell the stink of deceit. He glanced, eyes narrowed, at a third aboleth, which had been ordered out into the corridor by its matriarch when Quenthel had told Jeggred to wait outside. Jeggred itched to rend its rubbery looking flesh, to see if its blood ran red. He could picture it … the blood would fill the water in a cloud. What a heady feast that would be?to inhale blood with each breath!

One of the trailing tentacles of the aboleth guarding him drifted close to his shoulder. Jeggred lashed out, clawing a furrow in its flesh.

Its three eyes blinking, the aboleth let out a burbling cry and yanked the tentacle away. It did not attack.

Jeggred, his pulse pounding in his ears, prepared to hurl himself after it, to close for the kill. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Quenthel had turned. She was signing at him furiously.

Hold your temper, she ordered. We are their guests.

Had it been a male who had spoken, Jeggred would have snarled back in defiance?then torn him to pieces. Instead, he bowed to his mistress.

As you command, Mistress.

As he signed, he snuck a glance at the aboleth he'd wounded.

He'd been wrong about aboleth blood. It was green and didn't flow freely but oozed out like sap.

Satisfied the stupid creature was not going to retaliate, Jeggred returned his attention to Quenthel. He could have guarded her better if he'd been allowed to remain at her side, but an order was an order. He had obeyed, as he always did, without question. As a result, he could understand nothing of the conversation?Oothoon's voice was pitched too low for him to hear, and he could not see what Quenthel was signing, since her back was to him.

It didn't matter though. Jeggred didn't need to know what was being said. He could read Quenthel's emotions by the way she held her body. That stiffening of her shoulders was tension. And that furtive drift of her hand toward her wand was caution?perhaps even fear.

Strangely, the vipers in Quenthel's whip were drifting lazily with the current, completely relaxed. They, even more than Jeggred himself, should have sensed her rising tension. But instead the stupid things were off guard. Quenthel was wrong to put such stock in the bound imps, which were little better than slaves. Always asking their opinions?instead of trusting her own heart? made her weak.

The draegloth didn't like the feeling of that thought. He wasn't sure what to do with an idea like that, the idea that the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith, his aunt, sister to his mother the Matron Mother of the First House of Menzoberranzan, was. . weak? He pushed the thought from his mind and found it quickly replaced by a growing unease.

Growling low in his throat?a low gurgle of water?Jeggred readied himself. Something was about to happen. He braced a foot against the far wall?one kick would send him into the room?and flexed his claws.

Quenthel drew her wand, and in a swift motion spun and aimed it at the aboleth behind her. A sticky glob shot out of the end of the wand, expanding swiftly as it raced through the water.

Simultaneously raking the aboleth beside him with one clawed hand, Jeggred kicked himself into the audience chamber?

?only to find his head and shoulders tangled in a sticky mass. Quenthel's shot had missed when the aboleth ducked swiftly aside. The viscous glob struck the doorway instead and completely blocked the opening.

Roaring with rage, Jeggred twisted his body around and braced both feet against the sides of the opening. Heaving, calf and thigh muscles nearly bursting from the strain, he tore his head free, then his shoulders. Ignoring the sting where hair had torn from his scalp, he clawed at the sticky barrier with a fighting hand. It got stuck, too.