Daughter of the Drow - Elaine Cunningham [95]
So the drow slipped away into the darkness. As each female hurried to her family fortress, she pondered how best to turn these new developments to her own advantage. The strange, unnatural peace would end in due time, and much could be done in preparation for that delightful day.
A lone figure stood at the base of Narbondel, the natural stone pillar that supported the vast cavern and marked the passing of time. Gromph Baenre, the archmage of Menzoberranzan, waited and watched as the magical heat in the core of the pillar sank toward its lowest point. Soon it would be midnight-Narbondel's Black Death-and he would cast the powerful spell that started the process anew.
Although there were none about to see and envy him, Gromph's proud stance suggested he was keenly aware of the impressive picture he made. The magnificent cloak of the archmage, a glittering piwafwi whose many pockets held more magic than all of the Sorcere, was draped proudly about his shoulders. Jeweled broaches adorned his shoulders and held the cape in place. The archmage touched one of them, a fist-sized sapphire that held the magic needed to enspell the city's timeclock.
Gromph knew he was striking even without the trappings of power. Tall and handsome, as fit and youthful in appearance as any student of the fighting school, he could draw eyes to him in admiration as well as in fear and respect. And he was greatly feared, for in all of Menzoberranzan no wizard was as mighty as he. This dark hour was uniquely his, and the casting of this spell was a daily, private celebration of his own power.
The wizard began to meditate, to gather his thoughts in preparation for the casting. Then, from the corner of his eye, he noted a driftdisc floating down the broad street toward him. Behind it marched not the usual armed escort, but a group of robed priestesses.
Gromph frowned as he recognized the matron of Barrison DeFArmgo, the second-most powerful house of Menzoberranzan. What might she be doing at this hour, riding forth in state?
His puzzlement grew as he noted another driftdisc approaching from elegant Narbondellyn. Close behind it were several slave-carried litters. More priestesses came, some mounted on lizards, others on foot. They streamed past him on all sides, nearly all the priestesses of the city, moving with quiet determination toward the Baenre fortress.
Rage, hot and fierce, burned in Gromph's heart. It was obvious an important meeting had been called, and he had not been included, or even informed. Something momentous was happening, and he must know what it was.
He grasped the house insignia that hung about his neck, and spoke the words that would transport him with the speed of thought to the Baenre stronghold. To his utter astonishment, nothing happened. The powerful archmage of Menzoberranzan stood alone in the center of the dark courtyard, barred from his family home.
Because he could do nothing else, Gromph turned to the cold stone pillar and began to recite the words of the spell.
Triel Baenre sat at the heart of the Baenre chapel, looking out over the dark faces before her. Although this was her stronghold, her kingdom, she felt ill at ease with the task ahead and was not sure how to begin such a meeting.
For good or ill, the decision was taken from her. A small, rather wizened drow female made her way boldly toward the Baenre throne. The other priestesses fell back to make room for her, and even Triel rose