Doum’wielle looked at Tiago, the drow fixated on the vision. His every dream marched in front of him.
“Well, that was unnecessary,” Jarlaxle quipped when Gromph warped into the room where he and Kimmuriel waited.
“You think me frivolous?” There was a decidedly deadpan tone to Gromph’s voice, as if the words were simply a prelude to a storm. “Or foolish,” Jarlaxle replied. “Why would you taunt an ancient wyrm?"
“You think me weak?” Gromph asked, with that most sinister edge to his voice that he had perfected over the centuries. And the storm clouds seemed closer to Jarlaxle. And darker.
“I think a dragon mighty, and fear you underestimate-”
“So now I am a fool?”
Jarlaxle sighed.
“He knew that he could escape instantly,” Kimmuriel interjected, as he psionically imparted to Gromph, Jarlaxle thinks it was truly you standing before the wyrm, and not merely a clever image. In that regard, you must admit that his concerns are valid. A dragon is, after all, a dragon.
Gromph let his amusement flow back to the drow psionicist.
“With the psionic teleport you have taught him,” said Jarlaxle.
“Taught?” Kimmuriel replied. “That is not the correct word. I have opened possibilities. The archmage has learned how to walk through those less-than-tangible doors.”
“It is not the first time I have used this new ability,” Gromph reminded them. “I find it. . interesting.”
“That you were able to concentrate so fully as to succeed speaks well of your discipline, Archmage,” Kimmuriel said with a bow. “I am impressed that one of your meager training has come so far.”
“I wanted to see if I could perform the teleport under extreme duress,” Gromph said, his gaze darting back and forth at both of his companions, gauging their reactions.
“Well played, then,” said Jarlaxle.
“You heard my conversation with the wyrm?”
Jarlaxle nodded.
“Tiago is almost certainly alive. Find him.”
“I would hope to find his body. For that task, I would actually. . well, search,” said Jarlaxle.
“It was not a request,” Gromph said. “Find Tiago. Put out your scouts, all of them. Tiago is alive and in the North. Find him.”
“So that you can retrieve him for Quenthel and all will be forgiven?” Jarlaxle dared to reply. “And will you then betray my actions to our sister, brother, to better your own prospects in her court?”
He expected a tirade, of course, but surprisingly, Gromph did not react angrily.
“I’m not going to betray you for your role in bringing the copper wyrms to the fight,” he said. “Not yet. But I warn you, do not give me reason to do so. I know what you did, brother. Never forget that.”
Gromph paused and sighed, then said, “I go!” And he did, instantly disappearing from the room.
“A strange encounter,” Jarlaxle remarked.
“Both of the archmage’s encounters this day, I agree,” said Kimmuriel.
“There is a sadness to Gromph,” said Jarlaxle.
“Lolth lost her quest for the domain of magic.”
“Worse, had she won, Gromph now understands that the benefit would have been reserved for the matron mothers and their female protégés. He stands at the pillar of his power, and knows that is not so high a tower in the City of Spiders.”
Kimmuriel shrugged as if it did not matter, and Jarlaxle smiled knowingly. Kimmuriel, after all, didn’t seem to measure his worth by such metrics. His reward was knowledge alone, as far as Jarlaxle could decipher.
“The archmage will find his way,” was all Kimmuriel said, and he started for the exit from the cavern Bregan D’aerthe had taken as a base in the Silver Marches.
“It wasn’t him,” Jarlaxle said, stopping Kimmuriel cold just a couple of strides from the corridor. The psionicist slowly turned to regard the grinning mercenary.
“Standing before the dragon,” Jarlaxle explained. “Do you think so little of me as to believe that I would be fooled by a magical illusion, a projected image?”
Kimmuriel started to respond, but bit it back, and Jarlaxle smiled knowingly, quite pleased that his psionicist friend was clearly realizing the context of his remarks. After all, Kimmuriel had only made the demeaning quip concerning Jarlaxle telepathically to Gromph.
And Kimmuriel had no reason at all to believe the Jarlaxle could so eavesdrop on a psionic communication.
Which of course, Jarlaxle could not. He had merely guessed regarding Kimmuriel’s silent interactions with the archmage. But now, of course, given Kimmuriel’s reaction, Jarlaxle knew that his guess had hit the mark.
“How many of our scouts will you need to find Tiago?” a shaken Kimmuriel asked, trying to change the subject.
“Just you,” Jarlaxle replied, and the psionicist cocked an eyebrow suspiciously.
“If Tiago is alive, then he’s after Drizzt, and so will not be far afield of Bruenor’s march,” Jarlaxle explained. “I have Athrogate and Amber already in place among Bruenor’s entourage. Use your psionic energies to see through the eyes of those the dwarves march past and we will find Tiago, and so you can deliver to Gromph that which he desires.”
Kimmuriel nodded and left, and Jarlaxle leaned back against the wall, considering the whole of that encounter. Something was going on that was beyond his understanding. Something with Kimmuriel, probably perpetrated by Kimmuriel, and likely involving Gromph. He wasn’t afraid that Kimmuriel was trying to be rid of him to claim sole leadership of Bregan D’aerthe. Quite the contrary-Kimmuriel wanted Jarlaxle around so he did not have to assume the mundane burdens of such a role.
No, it was something else, Jarlaxle figured, something extraneous to him, something beyond the scope of, and purview of, Bregan D’aerthe even.
Seven dwarves led the vast procession of the Silver Marches army from the Surbrin Bridge, marching in ranks of two, three, and two. King Bruenor Battlehammer centered the leading formation in the second rank, flanked by Bungalow Thump and Connerad Brawnanvil, with Amber Gristle O’Maul and Athrogate close behind as his personal bodyguards.
Two other bodyguards had joined Bruenor’s personal entourage at the beginning of the march, gifts given to him by King Emerus Warcrown in his last declaration as leader of Citadel Felbarr. And to be sure, the dwarf lasses Fist and Fury-Mallabritches and Tannabritches Fellhammer- could not have been more thrilled at their permanent assignment, especially when their old friend Bruenor positioned them right in front of him.
Right in front of all of them, leading the march!
CHAPTER 4
Matron Mother Mez’Barris Armgo of the Second House of Menzoberranzan tried not to look shocked when, yet again, major demons entered the chamber of the Ruling Council.
“Is this to be the new normal, Matron Mother?” she dared to ask a very smug Quenthel Baenre when Nalfeshnee-a most horrid beast with a great rounded belly and leathery wings too small to support its great girth-wobbled out of the room, mercifully taking its stench with it. The ridiculousness of the bulky creature’s appearance somehow added to the menace of the beast, as if Nalfeshnee and other demons of his type were intentionally mocking conventions of beauty. “Are we to be entertained by the antics of demons with each meeting, instead of discussing the very real problems we now face in the wake of the disaster in the Silver Marches?” Mez’Barris continued.
“Disaster?” the matron mother replied incredulously. “We scarred the land, sacked a great human city, and left the kingdoms of Luruar in disarray. And all for the cost of a few drow lives. Disaster? Do you think Lady Lolth would agree with, or appreciate, your description, Matron Mother Mez’Barris?”