"When the other noble Houses see Baenre in disarray, they'll sense its weakness and strike. One or more of them will try to usurp Baenre's position as First House. While they're busy fighting each other, Lord Vhok's troops can swoop in and seize Qu'ellarz'orl."
Vhok scowled and said, "An interesting theory."
"It's not just theory," Nimor countered. He paused to brushed rock dust off the sleeve of his immaculately tailored gray shirt. "It's drow nature. We're like spiders reacting to the twitching of a web. When we think we have our prey at our mercy, we strike.
"Only this time," Nimor said, "the prey will be the drow themselves. Menzoberranzan will fall. I guarantee it."
Triel coldly regarded the prisoner who had been brought before her: a young male drow. He lay on his back on the floor of her audience chamber, wrists bound tightly behind him and ankles likewise tied above his bare feet. His black pants and shirt hung in tatters, the slashes revealing a myriad of lacerations that dribbled blood onto the floor. The hair on one side of his head had been burned down to stubble, and his face was covered in blisters. One eye was fused shut, its eyelid blistered and weeping, but the other glared up at Triel with undiminished defiance.
Triel crinkled her nose at the stench of burned hair and flesh and toyed with a perfectly balanced throwing dagger?the only one still in the fellow's bandoleer when he was captured. She could tell by the tingle it sent through her fingers that it was magic?as had been the blades that had killed four of her elite guard.
"This is an assassin's weapon," she observed, handing it to one of the females who stood on either side of her: two of the House guard who attended her at all times, magical shields and maces at the ready.
A third member of the guard?an officer?stepped forward to conclude her report.
"The intruder was captured on the fifth level, Matron Baenre," she said. "We believe he was trying to reach your private quarters."
Triel stared at the officer, who, despite all that was happening, looked as if she was freshly turned out for inspection. Her adamantine chain mail was a glossy black, her long white hair neatly braided. She stood at rigid attention, a polished mace hanging from her belt and a hand crossbow strapped to the back of each wrist. Five black spiders, embroidered into the shoulder of her silver tunic, proclaimed her rank.
"How did he get inside, Captain. .?" Triel let the sentence trail off, an obvious invitation for a name.
"Captain Maignith," the woman answered, meeting Triel's eyes for precisely the amount of time that was appropriate. "He didn't get in through any of the lower doors. I questioned the guards?thoroughly. All were at their posts, and the wards are still in place. He didn't slip past us. He must have gotten in from above."
That said, Captain Maignith glanced at a second officer?a lieutenant of the lizard riders?who stood several paces farther back, as befitted a male. He wore tight-fitting, padded leather breeches and a piwafwi trimmed in silver. He held his plumed silver helmet in the crook of one arm and seemed to be having trouble looking Triel in the eye.
"Matron Mother, I … My riders saw nothing on the outer wall," he stammered.
Triel noted the shift of words with amusement. A magic earring told her the lieutenant was speaking the truth?as he believed it to be. She could hear none of the echoing quaver that accompanied a lie.
She toyed with the handle of the whip of fangs that hung from her belt, twin to the one carried by her sister Quenthel. The vipers hissed softly in anticipation, sensing her desire. The lieutenant deserved punishment?and would receive it, in due time.
Her hand fell away from the whip.
"Go and fetch your lizard," she said.
The lieutenant hesitated a moment too long, a mix of relief and puzzlement on his face. Then, suddenly remembering his place, he bowed deeply and backed from the room.
The captive smirked, obviously pleased with the concern his intrusion had caused.
Not liking the look in his eye, Triel drew a wand of braided iron that hung beside her whip. The tip of the wand was set with a tiny white feather, which she pointed at the captive as she spoke a command word, No visible force came from the wand, but the effect was instantaneous. The captive screamed?a sound of acute terror that filled the audience chamber?and drew his legs up to his chest. Had his hands been free, he would no doubt have wrapped them around his legs. He rocked back and forth, whimpering. When Maignith nudged him with the toe of her boot he screamed anew and rolled away, leaving a stain of pungent urine among the blood spatters on the floor.
Triel sighed, hoping she wasn't wasting her time. There were so many other matters in need of her attention. On the outskirts of Menzoberranzan, an army of duergar, tanarukks and other, lesser races were preparing to assault the city proper. Triel should have been in her war room, communicating with the officers who would hold the invaders at bay, but there had been an assassination attempt on her?not nearly the first, of course?and she needed to know who was behind it.
Had one of her sisters decided that she could do a better job as matron mother? Did Triel need to strengthen her defenses from within? Or had the assassin been sent by one of the other noble Houses? House Barrison Del'Armgo, perhaps? That seemed unlikely, since the second-ranking House was just as badly off as House Baenre just then. After the disastrous battle at the Pillars of Woe, Mez'Barris Armgo had come straggling back with what remained of her forces?and the sorry tale of how her troops had been driven up a side tunnel and lost one-quarter of their forces and all of their wagon trains.
As she waited for the lieutenant to return with his lizard, Triel walked to the thronelike chair that had once been her mother's. Shaped like an enormous spider and forged from solid adamantine, it balanced on eight curved legs. The chair had been imbued with powerful spells, not the least of which was a magical symbol that would instantly turn any attack directed at the matron mother back upon whomever had been foolish enough to initiate it. The chair was a symbol of Lolth, but even though the goddess had fallen disturbingly silent, its magic still functioned, since it was powered by wizardry.
As Triel settled cross-legged onto the chair?her two personal guards shifting to stay on either side of her?she thought of Gromph, and wondered, once again, where the city's archmage had disappeared to.
The door to the audience chamber opened, and the musty smell of lizard wafted into the audience room. The lieutenant walked in, leading his mount by the reins. The lizard squeezed in through the door, the sticky pads on its feet making faint sucking noises as they were lifted from the stone floor. With a body twice as long as a drow?three times as long, if the lashing tail was counted?it was a formidable sight. Its leathery skin glowed with a sparkling blue luminescence that faintly illuminated the otherwise dark room.
As it scuttled past the captive, tongue flickering in and out, it twitched its head to the side, inhaling the man's scent. The assassin, still feeling the effects of Triel's wand, whimpered and cringed away from it.
Triel drummed her fingers on the cold metal of the throne.
"So," she said, making her observations aloud. "The assassin couldn't have climbed the outside of the stalagmite. If he had, the lizards would have picked up his spoor."
The lieutenant closed his eyes in relief.
"Which begs the question," Triel continued. "How did he get in?"
Beside the lieutenant, the lizard's tongue continued to flicker in and out, licking at the blood smeared across the floor. Its round, black eyes stared, unblinking, at the captive.