Windwalker - Elaine Cunningham [78]
The drow abruptly withdrew her hand from Fyodor's. "She's not my goddess," she insisted. "Bring out your green stuff. I have nothing to fear from dreams, and nothing to fear from her!"
The elf shrugged and reached for her herb bag. "I'm not the one you need to convince of that."
Shakti sat bolt upright, shaken from her slumber by one of her own guardian golems. She wriggled free of the construct's stone hands and rose from her bed. A fresh robe hung ready, left for her by the newly attentive Hunzrin servants. She slipped it on and belted it with her snakehead whip, then stepped into her slippers. A driftdisk floated in the corridor just outside her open door. There was no need to ask who had sent it.
She quickly removed a folded bit of parchment from a hidden compartment in her writing table. After tucking it in her sleeve, she seated herself on the disk and settled in for the ride across the Menzoberranzan cavern. The honor extended to her almost, but not quite, soothed her irritation over the lost hours of sleep. After her wakeful sojourn in the Abyss, even the uneasy rest to be had' in the Underdark was a welcome and much-needed solace.
The magical conveyance took her once again to the door of Matron Triel's audience chamber. This time two priestesses awaited her. Quenthel Baenre stood to one side of her sister's throne, her head held high and proud. She was richly gowned in embroidered spidersilk robes, and her hair had been dressed in elaborate curls and braids, which were held in place with ropes of black pearls. Around her neck hung the medallion that proclaimed her Mistress of Arach Tinileth.
So that's the use Triel decided to make of her newly returned sister, noted Shakti. It was a wise move. The powerful and ambitious Quenthel would be a potent rival for the Baenre throne. By placing her in charge of the priestess academy, Triel gave her sister a queendom of her own. Few matron mothers wielded such power as did the mistress of Arach Tinileth, and what better way to flaunt Lolth's favor than to put a Baenre priestess, recently returned from the dead, at the very front and center of the cult's stronghold?
Shakti stepped down from the driftdisk and bowed to both priestesses. "Matron Triel, Mistress Quenthel. I am honored-"
"Silence!"
The command thundered from tiny Triel, resounding with a magical power that stopped Shakti in mid sentence. "I care nothing for your flatteries. Tell us of your meeting with my brother Gromph."
She told them most of what had passed between her and the archmage. "I had no choice but meet with him," she concluded. "He sent me after Liriel, and he expected an accounting of my time Above. I could hardly refuse the archmage of Menzoberranzan, a scion of House Baenre."
"True enough, but why would you promise him Liriel's amulet?" the matron demanded.
"Because he wants it," Shakti said. "He wants it very, very much. The search for the Windwalker will drain his resources and, more importantly, deflect his interest from more dangerous matters. There are whispers of rebellion among the followers of the Masked God. Sooner or later, these will come to the archmage's ears. Might it not be prudent to keep him busy elsewhere?"
This amused Quenthel. "A rat chasing its own tail! How very appropriate. Tell me, what resources is my dear brother committing to this endeavor?"
"He has hired a mercenary band. Quietly."
"It is hardly something he would wish to hear sung in the marketplace," Triel murmured. She rested her elbows on the arms of her throne and propped her chin on her hands as she thought this through. After a moment or two, a thin smile tightened her lips.
"I will discover this little plot, and to support my dear brother I will grant forces of my own