The others all nodded, except that Gromph also waved absently, clearly to signal that he was not intimidated by whatever army of sorcerers the likes of Avelyere could summon.
When she finished, the floor at last came to the dragon sisters.
Ilnezhara rose and spoke first, explaining the insights she had garnered from an ancient silver dragon who resided in the area and had often viewed the Hosttower of the Arcane from high above. She added a delightful anecdote the silver had recounted, for Catti-brie’s benefit no doubt, of a dwarf flying about in a flaming chariot.
Then came Tazmikella, who wore a sly smile. “We have found another ally in this,” she announced, and she sat down and seemed as if she would say no more.
“Would you care to elaborate?” an annoyed Gromph asked at length.
“Not really,” said the dragon.
“We would not wish to miss your reactions when our dear friend arrives,” Ilnezhara added.
“This is unacceptable,” said Gromph, and all the others bristled, too, except for Catti-brie, who looked at Tazmikella and got a wink in reply.
“Acceptable or not, it is our choice,” Tazmikella replied.
“You will know later this day, Archmage Gromph,” said Ilnezhara. “When our friend arrives, we can send her on her way, if that is the decision of this table.”
“Oh, it won’t be,” Tazmikella answered her sister, and both laughed.
Catti-brie kept her gaze on Gromph through it all, judging the simmer in his amber eyes. She recognized the explosive rage there. This one wasn’t used to being trapped into a role where he was not supreme-not by any other than the most powerful matron mothers of Menzoberranzan, at least. And he clearly didn’t much like it.
But he had erred, badly, back in the Underdark. He had cost himself dearly by bringing Demogorgon to Menzoberranzan, and thus, he was not in a position of power here.
And it was driving him quite mad.
Catti-brie lingered as the others departed so that she would be the last in the room with Gromph. He noted her intent long before the rest had gone, and sat staring at her from behind his tapping fingers. He had a way of flaring his eyes to make it seem as if some great catastrophe was about to befall all within his line of sight-and no doubt that look often preceded exactly that.
Catti-brie was neither impressed nor concerned.
“A grand speech you gave,” Gromph said when at last they were alone. “Lined with laughter to profess confidence. An amazing act, after all.”
“No act,” the woman replied.
“Then foolish confidence.”
“Simple truth of the matter before us.”
“You mistake your position here,” said Gromph. “I did not destroy you in the primordial chamber of Gauntlgrym, out of deference to those around me because I expected you might be of use to me going forward. Now, in this, you are of use to me-perhaps-but do not make the mistake of believing that the annoyance and insubordination you offer will not ever outweigh the perspective gain.”
“Insubordination? So we are still there? Perhaps it remains you who misunderstands the situation at hand and the hierarchy in place here at the Hosttower.”
A snarl escaped his lips.
“I do not claim rank above you, but neither do I concede the same,” Catti-brie said.
“Shall I show you the bared power of the archmage?”
“A threat?”
Gromph lifted his hand and slowly began to turn it in the air, palm rotating to face up. He looked as if he was gathering magical energy, and Catti-brie could feel that he was doing just that.
“Hold!” she demanded.
“Wise choice.”
“Oh, if ye insist on continuing, then know ye’ll be findin’ a willing opponent,” Catti-brie clarified, her reversion to Dwarvish brogue a clear sign, even to her, that Gromph was indeed getting her hackles up. “But know that ye’re thinkin’ to wage a fight ye canno’ win.”
“You have no idea, young human.”
“Not so young,” the woman replied. “And sure but I’m old enough to understand the jar o’ worms ye’d be opening. If ye beat me-”
“No doubt,” Gromph said evenly.
“Then Drizzt would kill you,” Catti-brie replied with equal enunciation and tone.
Gromph snorted as if that notion was even more preposterous-and Catti-brie knew it probably was. Could Drizzt, could any warrior, ever even get close to this mighty spellcaster?
But she didn’t back down. “And King Bruenor would send every dwarf in Faerun to hunt ye and kill ye. Every one. Not to doubt, and oh, but they’d come for ye by the thousand.”
Gromph seemed to be paying more attention then.
“And Jarlaxle, such a dear friend of me husband, would reveal ye to the Matron Mother o’ Menzoberranzan,” she stated. “Oh, but he would. So for just yer stubborn pride, ye’d throw all the best chances away, would ye now?”
She paused and rose, and brushed some hair from the front of her magical blouse, and in doing so, brushed away, too, her Dwarvish edge.
“I am not your enemy, Archmage Gromph,” she said in proper Common. “We are allied in this endeavor, and when the Hosttower is rebuilt, I have no interest in the structure or its hierarchy, other than continuing the flow of its magic to hold the primordial in check. And I have learned enough of the ancient magic here, of how it was constructed and the safeguards that were placed upon it and still remain in the residue of the tower, to understand that the magical flow to Gauntlgrym is something that no one will be able to do anything about once we are finished with our work. Not even you, should you claim the title as Archmage of the Hosttower of the Arcane, as I expect is both your and Jarlaxle’s plan. And so, you see, dear Archmage Gromph, that I simply do not care about your personal designs regarding the lordship of the Hosttower beyond our alliance here, no more than I care that Jarlaxle rules Luskan from the shadows. It is not my affair, and so I am not your enemy. We would both be better served to keep it that way.”
Gromph kept tap-tapping his fingers together, staring at the woman for a long, long time.
Catti-brie recognized that to be as solid an answer as she was going to get from the angry wizard, so she smiled again shook her head, and walked past Gromph to the doorway beyond.
For all her confidence, she was indeed quite relieved when she reached the hall and closed the door behind her.
The wind blew cold off the dark waters of Luskan Harbor, carrying drizzle with the smell of brine.
Catti-brie was so engaged she hardly noticed the chill or the wetness as she stood with her shawl tightly wrapped around her. To her right stood Ilnezhara and Tazmikella. On the other side, Lord Parise Ulfbinder and Lady Avelyere whispered quietly with Penelope, Kipper, and the other Harpells. Back behind them all, Archmage Gromph sat on a grand chair he had summoned from nowhere, one finger casually rubbing across the lips of his handsome face. Catti-brie understood that there was something dangerous in that look from Gromph. Likely, he spent as much time considering the weaknesses and vulnerabilities of his allies as he did in focusing on the monumental task at hand.
Catti-brie purposefully and repeatedly reminded herself of that truth. Her personal experiences with drow on the surface of Faerun, with her husband of course, but even with Jarlaxle and his associates, were not indicative of the methods and ethos of the sinister culture of Menzoberranzan.
She could not tell herself that truth too often.
Archmage Gromph was tied to Jarlaxle now not out of temperament, but out of necessity. He was a product of Menzoberranzan, who had thrived in those shadows and by all accounts instigated more than a little of the calamity around him.
This was not Jarlaxle. This was Gromph Baenre. This drow was dangerous.
The woman silently nodded as she played through the reminder, telling herself to be ever vigilant.
But then she imagined Gromph towering over her, in a very different light. His amber eyes bored into her, devouring her every inch of flesh. She saw his lips. She both heard and felt his breath. In her mind’s eye, he raised his hand and freed some mysterious magic, and goose bumps grew upon Catti-brie’s arms.