Windwalker - Elaine Cunningham [66]
Shakti rose, also without her mother's permission. "I was removed from the academy by Triel Baenre and sent on a secret mission."
Kintuere sneered. "Aren't we grand. What was the nature of this mystery? Purchasing rothй studs to improve the herd? Seeking out a new variety of mushroom?"
"Quenthel Baenre was restored to life. That is all I can tell you," Shakti said calmly.
Matron's eyes widened then flicked to the snake head whip on Shakti's belt. A tiny movement, but telling. She understood that her daughter and heir was more powerful than she, and in this knowledge she saw her own death.
That was the way of the drow, and for a moment Shakti was tempted to claim her inheritance here and now.
"I am not yet ready to take on the mantle of matron," she told the older female. "I have other tasks to attend. Rule well, mother, and you will rule long."
She strode off without waiting for dismissal and made her way to her old suite of rooms. The servants and guards nodded to her as she passed with greater deference than she had ever been shown. Perhaps the news of her audience with Triel had spread. Perhaps they had merely observed the shift of power that had occurred in the courtyard and adjusted their behavior accordingly.
After bathing and dressing herself in fresh robes, Shakti dismissed her slaves and slid a page of parchment from its hiding place-a slim crack between two dressed stones. This was a page she had taken from one of Liriel's lore books quite some time ago.
She made her way to Narbondel, the heat-filled pillar that marked the passage of time, and awaited the coming of midnight and the arrival of Menzoberranzan's archmage.
Gromph Baenre appeared suddenly at the base of pillar, splendid in his glittering piwafwi and fine robes. Shakti watched the enchanting of the magic timepiece, the dramatic chants and gestures that kindled the rising heat anew.
Always before she had seen only the ceremony and the power. Now she understood this ritual for what it was: a short chain that tethered the archmage to the city.
Gromph Baenre finished the casting and spun away. Taking a terrible risk, she wrapped herself in her piwafwi and fell into step with him.
I know you're there, announced a mellifluous male voice, speaking directly to her mind. Why don't you say what you came to say and have done with it?
"My lord-"
SILENTLY! thundered Gromph's voice. Think the words you would say. I will hear them plainly enough.
Shakti nodded, having no doubt that the great archmage perceived the gesture. Liriel is dead. The amulet she carried is being returned to Rashemen's witches.
No emotion crossed Gromph's face, not even a reaction to the loss of his talented daughter.
You wished me to return her to you, for her wizardly powers would be valuable. I was unable to do so, but I offer myself in her place.
A faint, sardonic chuckle shimmering through Shakti's mind. You have become a wizard?
I am what I ever was, my lord Gromph. A priestess of Lolth.
There is no shortage of priestesses in Menzoberranzan, he observed.
True enough, but how many of them listen in counsel and report to you what they know?
Gromph scowled in her direction. A kobold slave intercepted the glare, assumed itself to be the intended recipient, and gave a squeak of alarm. The wizard made a casual gesture toward the fleeing slave, and the kobold's tunic burst into flame. Shrieking wildly, the wretched creature tore off the treacherous garment and threw it to the ground, stamping out the flames with its bare feet and whimpering with each stomp. The two drow continued without breaking stride.
What you suggest is impossible. Absurd! Triel would rip thoughts of treachery from your mind before they were half-formed.
Indeed she would, if my only shields were those granted me by Lolth, but the mask of Vhaerun is difficult to perceive.
A shuttered expression fell over the archmage's face. 7 have no idea what you're talking about.
Do you wish to find out?
The only response was a profound mental silence. Shakti