And it was precisely such an opponent that Gromph meant to face.
"I should go with you, Archmage," Nauzhror Baenre said, his voice conveying a lack of real desire in that regard.
"If any of you say anything like that," Gromph replied, "even once more, I will. ."
He let the threat go unfinished. He wouldn't do anything, and they all knew it, but out of respect for the archmage, none of them suggested going with him again. They were all smart enough to know that Gromph meant to face an enemy who, all things being equal, was the most dangerous being in Menzoberranzan. The lichdrow was a spellcaster of extraordinary, sometimes almost godlike, power. Of course they didn't really want to face him in the way that Gromph meant to: toe to toe in a spell duel that would surely find its place in drow history.
That duel was something only the archmage could fight. In Menzoberranzan, it had come down to that: male against male, wizard against wizard, First House against Second, establishment against revolutionary, stability against change, civilization against. . chaos?
Exactly, Gromph thought—though he would never say it out loud. Order against chaos, and it was Gromph who fought for order, for law, in the name of one of the purest embodiments of chaos in the multiverse: Lolth, a goddess with the heart of a demon.
"Strange," the archmage murmured aloud, "how things work out."
"Indeed, Archmage," Nauzhror answered as if he was reading Gromph's mind—and perhaps he was. "It is strange indeed."
The two Baenre wizards shared a smile, then Gromph closed his eyes and let the others continue their casting. The protective and contingency spells were draped over him one after the other. Sometimes Gromph could feel an itching, warmth, a cool breeze, or a vibration, and sometimes he would feel nothing at all.
"Have you decided where to face him?" Grendan asked, pausing briefly between defensive spells.
Gromph shook his head.
"Somewhere out of the city?" Nauzhror suggested. "Behind the duergar lines?"
Gromph shook his head again.
"At the very least," said Nauzhror, "let us send guards to secure the arena. . wherever it might be … before you arrive. They could remain hidden and come into play against the lichdrow only if necessary."
"No," said Gromph. "I said I will go alone, and I will go alone."
"But Archmage—" Nauzhror started to protest.
"What, precisely, do you think a House guard could do for me against the lichdrow Dyrr?" Gromph asked. "He would dry them up and smoke them in his pipe—precisely as I will do to any soldier Dyrr decides to bring with him. Dyrr will face me on my terms because he has to. He has to beat me, and he has to do it in front of all Menzoberranzan. If not, he will always be second, even if he manages to defeat House Baenre."
The masters continued with their spells, leaving only Nauzhror and Grendan still considering more than the magical practicalities of the duel at hand.
"Donigarten, then," suggested Grendan.
"No," Gromph said, then paused while another spell made him shudder briefly. "No."
He looked up at Nauzhror, who raised an eyebrow, waiting.
"The Clawrift, I think," Gromph said—deciding the second before he actually said it.
"An excellent choice, Archmage," Nauzhror said. "Away from any property of value and away from most of the finer drow of Menzoberranzan, of whom we have so few to spare on the best day."
A younger student entered and quickly set a small crystal ball on a short golden stand on the floor in front of the archmage. Gromph made no effort to acknowledge the student who was even then racing from the room.
He looked deeply into the crystal ball, holding up a hand to still the barrage of protective castings. The crystal grew cloudy, then flashes of light flickered in the roiling clouds inside the once perfectly clear globe.
Gromph brought a memory-image of the lichdrow into his mind's eye and held it there then did his best to convey that image into the globe. It would find the lichdrow, unless Dyrr expended some energy in avoiding it.
Gromph put his hand down, and several of the more ambitious masters started casting again—muttering incantations and tracing invisible patterns in the air—as if they'd been sitting there holding the thought.
There, Gromph thought as an image coalesced in the crystal ball of the lichdrow striding confidently across a reception hall in House Agrach Dyrr. There you are.
Gromph recognized the hall. He had been there himself on several occasions, back before things started to dissolve and Houses Agrach Dyrr and Baenre were close allies and business associates. He kept his attention on Dyrr. As he watched the lichdrow barking orders to his House guards and other armed drow, Gromph cast a spell of his own.
"Good afternoon, Dyrr," Gromph told the image in the crystal ball. "It will be the Clawrift. I know I don't have to tell you to come alone. I know you're always ready."
Gromph didn't wait for a response. He nodded to his masters and closed his eyes.
"We will be watching, Archmage," said Grendan, "and we'll be in constant contact."
"It would be irresponsible of me," Nauzhror said, "not to ask one more time if I might take your place in—"
"It would be irresponsible of me to hide behind my students," Gromph said. "Besides, Cousin, you were archmage for a little while, and by all accounts you liked it."
"I did, Archmage," Nauzhror admitted, "very much so."
'Well, if you hope to live long enough to be archmage again, you will await me here."
The lichdrow Dyrr dismissed his guards and proceeded via dimension door to the sitting room. There he found Yasraena and Nimor, who were occupied with trying not to speak to each other. Both seemed relieved when the lich stepped from the transdimensional doorway and into the room.
"It is time then?" Nimor asked.
Yasraena drew in a deep breath and held it, her eyes fixed on the lich.
"He awaits me at the Clawrift," Dyrr replied.
The matron mother exhaled slowly, and Nimor nodded.
"As good a place as any," the assassin said. "A hole in the ground … no sense damaging the merchandise we're paying so dearly to acquire."
"If by 'merchandise, " Yasraena hissed, "you mean Menzoberranzan the Mighty, you—"
"Yasraena," Dyrr interrupted, his voice like ice.
The matron mother pressed her teeth together and turned away from Nimor, who stifled a laugh.
"I am prepared, as always," Dyrr said to them both, "and I will leave at once."
Yasraena turned to Nimor and said, "Go with him."
The assassin raised an eyebrow, and Dyrr—if he had any blood he would have felt it boil.
"Surely," the lichdrow said to Yasraena, "you don't mean to imply that I might not achieve the necessary victory on my own. Surely you don't. . worry over my safety."
He locked his gaze on the young matron mother's eyes and held her there until she went gray, blinked, and turned away.
"You know that all of House Agrach Dyrr has the utmost confidence in you," she said, her voice low, stretched thin. She turned to look Nimor up and down. "But this is no time for personal vendettas. We have aligned ourselves with this. . whatever he is. Why not use him?"
Nimor smiled, and Dyrr was reminded of the carnivorous lizards that inhabited the wilds of the Underdark.
"You wouldn't know where to begin to use me," the assassin said.
Dyrr simply shrugged off the meaningless exchange. He began to cast a series of protective spells on himself, ignoring a few more tiresome minutes of Yasraena and Nimor's verbal scuffling. Dyrr blinked after having cast on himself a spell that would make unseen things visible to him. Nimor looked different but in ways that seemed incongruous, even impossible. The drow assassin was no drow, as Dyrr had known for some time, but for the first time Dyrr could see something that might have been wings.