Perhaps the mistress intended to send him on a mission for the city, finally, rather than a personal vendetta. There could be few other reasons for her to summon him to a gathering such as this. Usually, she preferred to keep her pet hidden away where no one could see him.
“How very good of you to join us, Zollgarza,” said Mistress Mother Fizzri Khaven-Ghell.
Her cold voice echoed softly, underscored by a faint hiss. Wound around a lock of her white hair was a tiny serpent, a blind creature of the Underdark cave pools, its body no thicker than the female’s smallest finger. As far as Zollgarza knew, Fizzri was never without the tiny beast. She wore it coiled in her hair or on the snake-headed whips that the priestesses used to punish males and slaves. He’d never seen it strike, but he’d heard rumors that the snake’s venom caused intense pain that ultimately resulted in infertility in males. The mistress mother used the threat of the serpent to discourage potential lovers from taking advantage of her in a vulnerable moment. Zollgarza had no doubt the rumors were true, but having just disposed of Fizzri’s latest conquest, he wondered how eager her next potential suitor would be.
“I’ve come as requested, Mistress. I apologize for the delay.” Bowing, Zollgarza took his place at the rear of the chamber, to Fizzri’s left. He felt the burning gazes of the wizards and scouts follow his movements. He could guess their thoughts. Like the unnamed drow outside in the crowd, they knew him only as the Black Creeper, the mistress mother’s pet.
He held no official rank in House Loor’Tchaan, though most of the household assumed he was the mistress’s lover. None of them knew where he came from, or how he’d earned Fizzri’s favor. The not knowing bothered them the most, made him more of a threat in their eyes. Zollgarza assumed it was only a matter of time before one or more of them decided to strike, to remove the impediment, real or imagined, that kept them from rising in power. They had no idea that Zollgarza disdained the notion of becoming Fizzri’s lover, no matter what status it might bring. He walked the spider’s web, but he would not become its prey.
Rather than meet the gazes of the watching drow, Zollgarza put his hand on the curved dagger at his belt. Let the weapon and its poisoned spider speak for him. He was no castrated dog.
“We are discussing a matter of great importance to Guallidurth-to all drow who faithfully serve the Spider Queen.” The mistress mother addressed the assembled drow, but her gaze lingered on the three wizards, and Zollgarza saw the flash of distaste in her eyes. “Change is coming. No doubt, you have all heard the whispers, the rumors that Lolth has tasked her priestesses with a vital mission.”
Her words caused a minute stirring among the wizards. Fists clenched and expressions darkened-spasms of fury quickly hidden. Zollgarza alone noticed the unrest and only because he looked for the reaction.
“She requires ancient and powerful magic, artifacts of Mystra, the dead goddess of magic,” Fizzri continued. “As we gather these artifacts, Guallidurth will prosper and expand its territory. The city of Iltkazar is our first target. We are going to claim it and its magic, once and for all, for the glory of Lolth.”
This time, an audible murmur went through the crowd. Zollgarza raised an eyebrow but otherwise made no comment. Iltkazar was a relic of old Shanatar, the ancient civilization of the dwarves. The drow had been trying to conquer the city and surrounding territory for centuries, and though they’d slowly worn down the dwarves’ impressive defenses, Zollgarza thought the mistress mother a bit premature in her declaration of victory.
That aside, he was more interested in the reaction of the three wizards to this news. Levriin Soltif was the elder amongst them. He bowed at Fizzri’s announcement, but a gleam of triumph burned in the ancient male’s eyes. Zollgarza recognized it, for a similar stirring had taken root in his breast, a flare of passion dredged up from somewhere deep inside him. True, he was no wizard, but he was male, and he comprehended as well as Soltif what the mistress mother’s announcement truly meant, no matter how she couched it as the edict of the priestesses.
In the past few months, Lolth’s commandments to her faithful had caused increasing unrest in the city. Traditionally, arcane magic was the purview of the males of drow society, but though they might attain great power in the Art, they would never rise above the female clerics of Lolth. The Spider Queen loved chaos and rewarded her most loyal followers, but she had never favored her male children as much as she did the females.
For the first time, the balance of power appeared on the verge of shifting. The dark goddess required ancient magic, and she called on the practitioners of the arcane arts to serve, to raise themselves as equals to their sisters in the eyes of their goddess.
No matter what the benefits were to Guallidurth, Zollgarza knew that Mistress Fizzri privately seethed at this turn of events.
“I want reconnaissance reports on the city’s outer defenses,” the mistress mother instructed. She hid her distaste behind a stern mask of command. “You scouts bring me numbers. I want to know how many soldiers we can expect. Our first strikes will be to their outposts. Draw them from their stronghold, strike from the shadows, and cull their numbers while we plan a larger assault. Fear will weaken them, and the dwarf city will fall.”
Restlessness again took hold of the wizards. Zollgarza shared their curiosity. What magic could the dwarf city, even one as ancient as Iltkazar, hold that would draw the eye of the Spider Queen? That, the mistress mother had not revealed.
What could she want with me? Zollgarza wondered.
Mistress Fizzri dismissed them, and the scouts bowed and filed out of the audience chamber. The wizards followed a moment later.
“Stay, Zollgarza,” Fizzri said when Zollgarza turned to follow them. “I have more to say to you.”
Zollgarza came forward and stood before the mistress, keeping his eyes downcast. He waited, but the silence stretched in the chamber. He felt the female’s gaze hard upon him, appraising him, studying his features as Derzac-Rin had done.
“I want you to infiltrate the city of Iltkazar,” she said at last.
A smile ghosted across Zollgarza’s lips. “Is that all my mistress wishes?” he asked. “Has she tired of my services so soon that she sends me to my death at dwarf hands?”
“Be silent! Look up at me.”
Zollgarza looked up, beholding Fizzri’s red eyes. The serpent glided from her hair to rest on her shoulder. “I jest, of course,” he said with faint mockery.
“You will infiltrate the city,” she repeated. “I know you are capable. Your task is to seek out the city’s ruler, King Mith Barak the Clanless. He has held the throne of Iltkazar for centuries and is in possession of the oldest magic in the city.”
“Am I to kill this King Mith Barak?” Zollgarza inquired.
“Perhaps you won’t have to,” Fizzri replied. “According to intelligence we have already gathered, Mith Barak is not always the leader of the city. He goes to the stone for seventy-five out of every one hundred years of his reign.”
“I don’t understand,” Zollgarza said. “Is that a dwarf expression?”
The mistress’s lips pulled back in a sly smile. “You might well think so, but in this case, I’m being quite literal. Mith Barak spends seventy-five years seated on his throne in the form of a mithral statue.”
“If that’s true, he is no ruler.” Zollgarza shook his head in disgust. The ways of stone-shapers and dirt-scrapers made no sense to him. “Why has no one killed him before now?”