Sister of the most powerful House of the city.
In that moment, Pharaun thought her more sexually appealing than even Danifae.
In the next moment, he realized he had been too long away from his paid harlots.
Jeggred too must have sensed the change in his aunt. Had Pharaun ever pitied anything in his life-he had not, of course-he might have pitied the draegloth. Instead, he found Jeggred's obvious discomfiture amusing and deserved. The half-demon had thrown his allegiance to Danifae and was facing the consequences of that mistake. Quenthel would not be forgiving.
Jeggred started to speak, but Danifae, still staring at Quenthel, shook her head, once only, a small gesture that quieted the draegloth as effectively as a silence spell.
"Softly," Danifae commanded.
Jeggred deflated and said to Quenthel, "No. . aunt."
He did not make eye contact. His four hands went slack to his sides, and his eyes dropped.
Pharaun cocked an eyebrow in appreciation. By referring to Quenthel by her familial instead of her formal title, Jeggred had avoided directly offending Quenthel further yet had not contradicted anything implied by Danifae. Perhaps the half-demon was but a half-oaf instead of a whole.
While her whip kept vigil over Danifae and Jeggred, Quenthel turned to Pharaun, insulting
Danifae by showing her her back.
"And you, Master of Sorcere," she asked, "have you any thoughts on this matter?"
Pharaun knew she didn't really want his opinion; he was only a male, after all. She wanted him to make his loyalties clear. He considered evading the question but quickly decided against it. House Baenre was the First House of Menzoberranzan; Gromph Baenre was his superior;
Quenthel Baenre was or soon would be Lolth's Chosen. The time had passed for vagaries.
Perhaps as a reward for straightforwardness Quenthel would allow him to kill Jeggred.
"Mistress," he replied, and his use of the title gave his answer to Quenthel's question, "it appears that Master Hune has taken his leave."
Quenthel smiled and her gaze showed approval.
Behind the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith, Danifae glared hate at him. Jeggred licked his lips and the promise of violence in the draegloth's eyes was clear.
"Hune served his purpose, Master Mizzrym," Quenthel replied, "and his absence now is of no moment." She turned back and looked at Jeggred and Danifae. "All will serve Lolth's purpose,
before the end. All."
"The world is her prey," Danifae answered.
Quenthel smiled indulgently, turned on her heel, and walked away a few steps to survey the landscape. She touched her holy symbol and whispered a prayer. Four of the serpents glared over her shoulder at the former battle-captive and draegloth. One, K'Sothra, hovered near her ear.
Danifae stared impassively at Quenthel's back, then turned to sneer at Pharaun.
You are a fool, as ever, she signed.
Pharaun made no reply except a smirk that he knew to be infuriating.
Jeggred too stared at Pharaun, his expression hungry. Pharaun met his gaze and smiled insincerely.
The mage looked around at the blasted realm and said to Quenthel, "Hardly hospitable, is it,
Mistress? I think Master Hune may have shown unparalleled wisdom in avoiding this leg of our little journey."
Quenthel made no reply, but Jeggred uttered a growl and snarled, "I should have killed that mercenary and eaten his heart."
In Jeggred's words, Pharaun saw an opportunity to reinforce his loyalty to Quenthel. He took it, knowing the draegloth would be easy to manipulate.
"Eat his heart?" he asked. "As you did Master Argith?"
The half-demon bared his fangs in a grin.
"Exactly like Argith," said the draegloth, smacking his lips. "His heart's blood was delectable."
A gob of yellow saliva dripped from the corner of Jeggred's mouth and splattered in the scree.
Ryld Argith's death bothered Pharaun not at all, but he could use it, and Jeggred, to make a point to Quenthel. Besides, he enjoyed jibing the half-demon.
"Surely you are not so intellectually infirm as to think that Master Argith's death excites my sentiments?" he asked.
Jeggred growled, flexed his claws, and advanced a step.
Pharaun continued, "I am, however, stunned that one of your obviously limited intellectual gifts even knows the meaning of 'delectable. Well done, Jeggred. At least something you've said this night befits a Baenre."
Quenthel responded with a single laugh, and Pharaun knew he had made his point.
Jeggred lurched forward, his fighting arms outstretched. Danifae clutched his mane and restrained him, her eyes on Pharaun.
"Hold, Jeggred," Danifae said, her voice and manner both as calm as a windless sea. "Master
Mizzrym's play is transparent to all but fools."
That last, Pharaun knew, was meant for Quenthel.
"I'll have another heart before this is done," Jeggred promised Pharaun, though he did not pull away from Danifae.
Pharaun put his hand to his chest and feigned a wound.
"You've scarred me, Jeggred," he said. "I offer a compliment to your intellect and what do I receive in return? The threat of violence." He looked past the draegloth to Quenthel as though for support. "I am pained beyond measure. Mistress, your nephew is an ungracious brute."
Quenthel turned and said, "Enough of this. Follow me. Lolth calls."
She started slowly down the rise. Danifae whispered something to Jeggred and released his mane.
To Pharaun, she said, "You should be cautious, Master Mizzrym. My hand grows tired on the leash, and things may not be as clear as you think."
Pharaun gave her his smirk. "I am always cautious, Mistress Danifae," he said, choosing the title with deliberateness. "And things are what they are. That too is plain to all but fools."
To that, Danifae said nothing, though her jaw tightened. She turned and followed Quenthel.
Pharaun and Jeggred were alone atop the rise.
The draegloth's eyes burned into Pharaun. His wide chest rose and fell like a bellows, and his bare teeth dripped saliva. Even from five paces, Pharaun caught a whiff of Jeggred's vile breath and winced.
"You are an effete fool," the draegloth said. "And our business is unfinished. I will feast on your heart before all is said and done."
Without fear, Pharaun stalked up to the hulking draegloth, the words to a spell that would strip all the skin from Jeggred's body ready in his mind.
"No doubt it will improve your breath," he said.
With that, he walked past the draegloth.
He could feel Jeggred's eyes burning holes in his back. He also could feel the baleful stare of the eight satellites in the sky above.
At a dignified hurry, he moved nearer to Quenthel and Danifae. Jeggred followed, his breath and heavy tread audible five paces behind Pharaun.
When he reached Quenthel's side, he asked, "Now that we are here, where exactly are we to go?"
Quenthel looked into the sky, to the glowing river of souls that shone like the gem-encrusted ceiling of Menzoberranzan's cavern.
"We follow the souls to Lolth," she answered.
"And?" he dared.
Quenthel stopped and faced him, anger in her face. The serpents of her whip flicked their tongues.
"And?" she asked.
Pharaun lowered his gaze but asked, "And what, Mistress? Lolth calls her Yor'thae but what is the Yor'thae to do?"
For a moment, Quenthel said nothing. Pharaun looked up and found that her gaze was no longer on him.
"Mistress?" he prompted.