Three days!” raged Shakti Hunzrin, hurling her water pitcher at the door of her room. The fine earthenware shattered with a satisfying crash and a cascade of dust and splinters. This did little to improve the draw’s mood; there was scant pleasure to be had in the destruction of inanimate objects. She continued to pace the room restlessly, feeling as thoroughly out of sorts as a dwarf in water.
The priestess had wasted much time and several good spells watching the comings and goings of her Baenre rival. All that effort was for naught. The matron mistress had, against all logic, simply given her precious niece a leave of absence. And for what? By all reports, Liriel had barricaded herself in her home. No doubt the little princess needed time to recover from the rigors of a full five days at Arach-Tinilith, Shakti concluded sourly.
But three days? She herself had been granted only a few hours’ leave here and there, and that only to attend the pressing concerns of her family business.
“Why do you need the time away, and why do you come tome?”
They were reasonable questions both, and Shakti was prepared for them. “It is breeding season for the rothe,” the Hunzrin priestess explained. “No one knows more about the matter than I. Not even the rothe themselves,” she added proudly.
Mistress Zeld’s brow furrowed at that strange pronouncement, but she quickly decided not to pursue the matter. “But you are a twelfth-year student, nearing high priestess status. I have no authority over you.”
Shakti leaned forward. “But you can give me permission to leave. It is to both our advantages that I go. I can bring back information.”
“I must admit, I have little interest in the social life of cattle,” the mistress said in an acid tone.
The young priestess fell silent, struggling against her rising anger. She had not expected the mistress to be so difficult. By all appearances, Mistress Zeld held little affection for Liriel and would not be displeased to see her young student brought down. If doing so could bring trouble to House Baenre, so much the better.
“May I speak frankly?”
Zeld’s lips curved in ironic amusement. “That would be refreshing.”
It could also be deadly, and knowing this, Shakti chose her next words with care. “Arach-Tinilith is the strength of our city, the glory of Lloth. For centuries untold, the students were not allowed to leave the Academy until their training was completed. Now, in these troubled times, individual houses need all the talents at their command, including those of their youngest members. Even so, permission to leave the Academy is not granted lightly, and not without some greater gain in sight.”
Mistress Zeld listened carefully, hearing the words that Shakti left unspoken. “And you are saying your need is great enough to justify your release.”
The Hunzrin priestess dipped her head in a respectful bow. “Not as great, perhaps, as the plans and designs of some of the greater houses.”
“I see.” Zeld leaned back in her chair and considered the younger female. Finally, the young priestess had stated her intent, and done so with impressive subtlety. Of course, Mistress Zeld had understood Shakti’s motivation from the start, and she stalled merely to force the Hunzrin female to lay some inducements on the bargaining table. Shakti was not alone in wondering what plot House Baenre had in mind that would require the involvement of Gromph’s wizard daughter. Many had tried to discover this—without drawing fire from the powerful first house—and so far all had failed. Perhaps the singleminded, hate-filled young priestess could do better. If Shakti failed, it would be no great loss. But if she succeeded, Zeld’s own clan would be pleased to receive this information, and she herself would surely be rewarded for Shakti’s efforts.
“You have my permission to leave, provided you return in time for chapel. There are other conditions, of course.”
“Naturally.”
“You will give me a full report upon your return. Leave out nothing.”
Shakti nodded respectfully and rose to leave. “The Hunzrins have purchased new breeding stock to revitalize the herd. We plan to introduce both wild rothe and the larger, surface rothe into the line. We expect good results from this mix. I will be happy to bring you a copy of the breeding records. This might be useful, if ever you should be questioned about your decision to grant me a leave of absence.”
“Your attention to detail is commendable,” Zeld said dryly. “There is one more condition. If you fail, we did not have this conversation.”
A grim smile firmed Shakti’s lips. They understood each other perfectly, without a direct word being spoken. “I
understand your reticence,” she said softly. “Rothe breeding is hardly a popular topic of conversation. I have noticed no one has quite the same enthusiasm for this subject as I do.”
“Not even the rothe, most likely.”
But Shakti, in her hurry to leave, did not hear the mistress’s arch comment. It would have been lost on the serious young priestess, anyway.
And this, Zeld concluded, was just as well. Shakti was talented, devious, hardworking, and utterly vicious. Young though she was, the Hunzrin priestess didn’t miss much, and she was proving herself to be a formidable enemy. Had she been blessed with a bit more perspective, which often manifested itself in dark humor, she would have been far more dangerous. Even without it, she was definitely a female to watch.
Every draw, even the powerful mistresses of Arach-Tinilith, kept an eye open for potential rivals.
Trust Liriel Baenre to have a house right across from Narbondellyn’s most infamous festhall, Shakti thought with bitter scorn. Seated in a plushly cushioned alcove and shielded from view by the curtains that draped it on all sides, she shifted the heavy velvet and peered out across the street at her enemy’s miniature castle.
In her hand she gripped the moonstone she’d had enspelled to seek out her rival, the same stone that had inexplicably ended up in Mistress ModVensis Tlabbar’s bedchamber. Retrieving it had been no little matter, and at the moment Shakti regretted the effort. The stone’s magic could not penetrate the veil of spells hiding Liriel from view. Shakti had tried clerical spells, as well, but Lloth did not respond to her entreaties. Whatever plot House Baenre had in mind, it had apparently found favor with the Lady of Chaos.
That made matters all the more difficult, for Shakti’s only hope of gaining access to Liriel’s castle was by physical means. Her spies had reported seeing the girl leave the place early that day, but who knew how long she might stay away? If Shakti was to find a way in, she must do it soon.
The nearsighted priestess squinted frantically, but she could see nothing from this distance that would help her.
With a hiss of frustration, Shakti left the festhall and hurried across the street, lake many of Menzoberranzan’s drow, she traveled swathed in her piwafwi, her face hidden by the deep cowl of her hood. She was all too aware, however, that her stout figure and distinctive, ungainly walk made her conspicuous, and she did not want to be seen examining the house too closely. One pass, two at the most, was all she dared risk.
At first Shakti saw nothing that might help her. The houses in this city, even those of the commoners, were virtual fortresses protected by magic and ingenious hidden devices. As far as she could see, there was no way in. Then suddenly, she detected a movement in the seemingly solid stone of the front door. A tiny swinging door poked up and outward, and the mottled red and black head of a lizard poked through the opening. Its tongue flicked out to taste the breeze, and it darted off into the shadows.
The priestess smirked. Finally, the chink in her rival’s defenses! She’d heard rumors the spoiled princess kept a menagerie of exotic pets brought from distant places in the Underdark, even from the Lands of Light. This door was no doubt designed to allow Liriel’s collection of pet lap-lizards to come and go as they pleased.
It was possible this door also had magic wards. Shakti would never know for certain unless she tested it.
So with all possible speed, the priestess made her way to the home of a certain wizard, a commoner of considerable skill whose talents were for hire. Granted, there were priestesses in her family who wielded more powerful clerical magic than her own, and two or three who might be able to cast the needed spell. But that would mean invoking Lloth—a dangerous enterprise at any time and utter insanity when the purpose was a direct attack against a Baenre female. Besides, this was a personal matter and Shakti did not wish to involve her family. Among the drow, it was far less expensive to buy a service than to accept a favor. The price for the latter was never quite what one expected it to be.
Within the hour, Shakti and her hired wizard slipped through a back door in the Hunzrin compound. She led the mage to the barracks that housed the clan’s soldiers. She selected a soldier—a dispensable male, of course—and explained the task before him.
“You will enter the home of Liriel Baenre through the door used by her collection of pet lizards. This wizard here will shrink you to a fraction of your normal size.”
“How small?” the soldier ventured.
Shakti held out her hands, one above the other, measuring a distance of about six inches between them.
The male blanched, his face paling nearly to blue in the heat spectrum. “But the lizards—“ he began.
“You are armed,” she snapped. “The soldiers of House Hunzrin have been trained to handle foes greater than lap-lizards!”
The soldier considered the wrath on the priestess’s face and decided that the safer course would be to hold his tongue and do as she said. Never mind the fact that to a six-inch drow, a large gecko was nearly as fearsome a foe as a dragon!
So he inclined his head in a gesture of respect and acceptance. “As you command, Matron—“ the male paused, letting his intentional error linger in the air like incense. “Lady Hunzrin,” he corrected.
It was an obvious ploy, a ridiculous currying of favor that would have earned him a sharp cuff—or worse—from most drow females. But even a lowly soldier could recognize the ambition, the pride, on this one’s face, and the singlemind-ed fervor exceptional even among the fanatic drow. Shakti would hear only the implied compliment in the male’s words, and not the mockery.
As he’d anticipated, the young priestess received his flattery with a complacent smile. She nodded to the wizard, who handed the soldier a small vial.
“When you are safely inside, drink this potion. It will reverse the spell and return you to your normal size,” the wizard instructed.
“Be certain you are not seen,” Shakti added. “Kill the servants only if you must. Once you are sure we will not be detected, you may let me in through the back. The doors will almost certainly not be warded from the inside.”
At a nod from the priestess, the wizard began to cast the spell. Eyes closed, he half sang the arcane words in a long, drawn-out chant, all the while sweeping the air with elaborate gestures. Shakti sat calmly through the spell, patient for once despite her eagerness. Considering the price of this spell and the reputation of the wizard, she’d expected a bit of a show.
Through it all, the soldier stood at attention: tense, stoic. The chant rose to a high, wailing note, and the wizard ended the spell with a flurry of hands and a brief flash of purple light.
Smoke, the same eerie purple hue as the vanished light, wafted from the wizard’s outflung hands. It streamed unerringly to the soldier and surrounded him, head to foot, like a drow-shaped cloud. Immediately the cloud began to move inward, compacting itself against the soldier’s body and pressing him on all sides.
The male’s eyes bulged as the magic haze tightened around him. Slowly, inexorably, the draw’s body began to give under the pressure. Agony twisted his face, and his mouth opened in a shriek of anguish. On and on it went, the shrinking and the screaming.
Shakti leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with twisted pleasure as she watched. Finally the male was small enough to suit her purposes, and she stopped the wizard with a nod. The purple smoke dissipated at once, and the soldier, now small enough to sit on Shakti’s hand, slumped to the floor.
“By the way, this may hurt,” the mage said casually.
The priestess took in the wizard’s sated expression, the perverse delight in his eyes, and saw opportunity written there. Even in vengeance, Shakti was a frugal manager, as canny as any merchant in the city.
Tour fee,” she said, handing the wizard coins totaling slightly less than the agreed-upon amount. She nodded pointedly to the tiny drow on the floor, and her single raised eyebrow suggested the wizard had already been amply paid by the pleasure his spell brought him.
The wizard did not argue with her silent logic. He took the offered coins and, with a final satisfied glance at his handiwork, slipped out into the darkness that was Menzoberranzan.
Shakti stooped and picked up the soldier, marveling at how fragile the fighter was at this size. She could crush him merely by tightening her fingers. Only with great effort did the priestess restrain from following the tempting impulse.
Instead she promised herself a treat when this was over a dozen tiny soldiers, acting out a battle to the death for her amusement. How marvelous, how godlike, that would feel! How thrilling, the sense of power! It would be as if she were touching the very shadow of Lloth. Such a thing was more than an amusement, the young priestess rationalized; it would be an act of devotion, and well worth the high price of the wizard’s spells.
Shakti tucked the male into the front of her robe. He should be secure enough, clinging to the chain of her bouse insignia and wedged in her ample cleavage. It pleased her, this blatant reminder of the power females wielded over lowly males.
Shakti Hunzrin was not one for subtleties.
The Hunzrin priestess stooped, under the pretense of picking up a dropped package, and surreptitiously placed the miniature fighter near Liriel’s front door. As instructed, he sprinted toward the lizard door and pressed it inward.
Shakti took a deep breath and began to walk away. She would circle around and approach the house from the back. If all went well, her tiny spy would admit her to the Baenre girl’s castle, and she would search the place quickly, before its owner returned.
A sound came from behind her, a high piping cry that sounded like the squeaks of a wounded scurry rat. Shakti froze, and swore. The tiny door had been trapped, after all.
She spun around and glared furiously at the small figure staggering toward her. She snatched up the drow male and held him close to her eyes. Protruding from his body was a dart, such as those the drow used in their tiny crossbows. Considering his current size, the male might as well have been impaled upon a three-foot spear. And he’d been gut-shot, one of the more painful and lingering deaths.
Shakti swore again, and her eyes darted to the street. A patrol of lizard-mounted drow approached, making their silent rounds of the city.
“You were worried about lizards,” she hissed at the tiny male. “Yet if you were to live long enough, you would be grateful you met this one.”
With those words, she tossed the drow soldier in the path of a passing lizard mount. The creature’s long, slender tongue whipped out and curled around the unexpected morsel. Back it snapped, so quickly that the lizard’s rider did not notice what his mount had eaten.
Once again Shakti retraced her steps to the Hunzrin complex. Now that she knew the nature of the traps guarding the door, she would send in another servant, one far more valuable than a male soldier.
Less than an hour later, Shakti stepped triumphantly through Liriel’s back door. She regarded the creature who had let her in with a mixture of pride and revulsion. Its face was a hideous parody of a drow visage. Dark blue in color, with long pointed ears that looked almost like horns, the head could well have belonged to some creature of the Abyss. But its body was that of a thick snake, nearly ten feet in length and covered with dark blue scales. The creature’s swaying tail ended in a barbed, poisonous tip. This was a dark naga, one of the rarest creatures of the Underdark and a valued ally of House Hunzrin.
“Pay Ssasser now,” hissed the naga in an airy, whistling voice. He bared his fangs in a grin of anticipation, and his long pronged tongue flicked out. “Ssasser’s servitude to Hunzrin family over.”
That was not the terms of our agreement. When I have Liriel Baenre under my power, you will be free,” Shakti reminded him.
The creature scowled, and then it brought forth a tremendous belch. Its thin lips pursed and it spat a small dart at Shakti’s feet. This did Ssasser swallow, when through the door Ssasser came. A good trap, it was. If Ssasser knew not about the magic trip-wire, dead might Ssasser be.”
Shakti kicked the dart aside. Among the dark naga’s many talents was the ability to swallow virtually anything without harm. Weapons, poisons, spellbooks—all were safely stowed in the internal organ that allowed the naga to carry whatever it needed. Granted, catching a crossbow-fired dart was a bit out of the ordinary, but the naga had clearly been up to the challenge.
“Cost Ssasser, it did, the spell of invisibility,” the dark naga hinted.
“And you will have another, at no additional charge,” the priestess promised. Above all its other weapons, the naga was prized for its magical ability. The high cost of developing its natural magic often forced the nagas into servitude. This creature was in debt too deeply to buy its way free of the Hunzrin family anytime soon, so Shakti felt she could be generous.
She bade the snake-thing return to House Hunzrin, and then began the search of the castle. Liriel’s home was, as Shakti expected, a virtual den of dissolution. Since the Hunzrin priestess had little interest in luxuries, she gave most of the house scant attention. The one room she want-ed was the study.
And in it, she found what she sought. Books were rare and expensive, but Liriel had more than her fair share of them. Most, beautifully bound in rare leathers and embossed with elegant drow runes, were neatly organized on shelves. Shakti gave these no more than a glance. She was more interested in the crude, battered books that seemed to be scattered everywhere.
Books were stacked on the study table, piled against the wall, tossed about on the floor. And such books! Many of them were about humans and human magic—subjects strictly forbidden in Menzoberranzan.
Elated with this discovery, Shakti hugged one of the damning volumes to her cbest. Drow had died for lesser offenses, and the possession of these books was enough to bring serious trouble even to a member of House Baenre. But that was not quite enough for Shakti; she wanted to know why Liriel sought this information about the surface world.
No one took such risks motivated only by intellectual curiosity. Was House Baenre planning another strike against the surface? Or perhaps seeking an alliance with a group of humans? If either of these things proved true, the city would almost certainly rise up in rebellion.
Shakti tossed the book aside and reached for another. Instantly she froze as loose pages fluttered from the discarded book.
The priestess stooped and picked up a page. It was fine vellum parchment, covered with small, elegantly formed drow script. Even without light, the nearsighted priestess could read the page, for it was written in everdark ink, the rare, glowing ink used only by the most powerful and prosperous of drow wizards.
As she read, her excitement grew. These were Liriel Baenre’s notes, written in her own hand! Shakti scanned page after page, and the emerging picture surpassed her darkest dreams of vengeance.
Liriel Baenre had found a way to take her innate drow powers to the surface. She’d found an amulet, a human artifact of some sort, that granted her this power.
The pages fluttered unheeded from Shakti’s hands as the importance of this discovery struck home. She read in these handwritten pages Liriel Baenre’s death warrant. Most of the city’s drow would cheerfully kill to possess such magic. And then what might happen? For good or ill, such a thing could change Menzoberranzan forever.
But how, wondered Shakti, had Liriel done such a thing? Eagerly the priestess took up one book after another. Finally, tucked between the pages of a particularly battered volume, she found what she sought: a handwritten bill signed only with a faint, familiar design. Shakti recognized the mark of the Dragon’s Hoard.
A wild grin twisted Shakti’s face. She knew the merchant band well. In fact, she had recently acquired a new rothe stud from the Dragon’s Hoard, a white ram whose compact size and unusually fine fleece marked him as the property of House Zinard, a family of the drow city Ched Nasad. The rothe was stolen, of course, for the Zinards would never part with such a valuable animal.
It was whispered around Menzoberranzan that contraband goods of almost any kind could be had from the
Dragon’s Hoard. The merchant band protected the many secrets of its clients, but surely Shakti could find a way to make one of the merchants talk. She was as talented at torture as any drow in Menzoberranzan. Oaths of secrecy, even fear of death at Captain Nisstyre’s hands, would mean little to the unfortunate male who fell into her hands.
Before the bell rang to summon Lloth’s faithful to chapel, Shakti had extracted some fascinating information from her chosen captive. The merchant had known nothing about Liriel Baenre, but he’d spoken eloquently on the subject of his employer.
Nisstyre, it seemed, was not just any merchant captain. He was a wizard trained in the schools of Ched Nasad, who had fled the city many decades past rather than submit to the mind-searching test of loyalty to Lloth. Shakti thought she might know why.
In his last, agonized moments, the tortured drow had confessed that he himself was a follower of Vhaeraun, the drow god of intrigue and thievery. It seemed unlikely the servant would dare to follow such a god without the knowledge and consent of his master. This gave Shakti a powerful weapon to use against Nisstyre, but oddly enough the female was not inclined to wield it.
The concept of a rival deity fascinated her. She had never entertained such thoughts, knowing it was her lot to become a priestess of Lloth. She had always resented this, but had never seen another way.
Now, for the first time in her life, Shakti began to move past discontent toward ambition. The city teetered on the brink of anarchy. What better time than this to break the power of Lloth’s priestesses? And what better tool than a rival deity? If this Vhaeraun had a powerful, hidden following in the city, perhaps she could find something that would persuade them into open warfare against the faltering matriarchy. Even more delightful, a proven connection between Vhaeraun’s followers and House Baenre could very well topple the threatened first house. Liriel would not survive such a conflict, of course, but even that delightful prospect paled before the larger picture emerging in Shakti’s mind.
Anarchy was all well and good, and necessary to bring about sweeping change in Menzoberranzan society, but someone would have to bring the city back to order. Shakti was supremely confident of her management skills, but she also realized that no one person, no one faction, was strong enough to regain control. Her family controlled much of the city’s food supply, and that was a powerful tool. She would also need strong allies and ties to the world outside the city. Who better to provide both than a powerful merchant captain who was also a wizard?
And for that matter, who better to snatch Menzoberranzan from the hand of Lloth but Vhaeraun, the drow god of thievery!
The female nodded slowly. Sometime very soon she would pay a visit to this Nisstyre.