Part 3

Part 3

Someone was probing my head with none-too-gentle fingers, and the slivers of pain were beginning to form into a union of general agony. Pointedly, to signal that I was back in the too-bright realm of awareness, thank you, I groaned and shifted, regretting the latter motion immediately. Now the union was protesting and trying to carve their way out of my brain with blunt knives.

"I did make you sleep on your front for a reason, Qu'el'velguk."

"Ah…that would explain the dreams of someone trying to suffocate me with the large Ilith'vir banner normally displayed over the throne in the chapel." I murmured, keeping still and trying to ignore my mind's suggestion that I should pass out.

"In all the years I have known you, Qu'el'velguk, that has been one of my greatest temptations."

"What happened?" Death threats tend to override my blacking-out urges. Blearily I tried to make my eyes focus.

"I told you bringing Dreix imps around during field duty had advantages. If Llyrx hadn't portalled back to inform us, you would have died."

"Too often have I heard that particular refrain." Vaguely I registered that the speaker was Matron Ilith'vir and the pragmatic part of me attempted to contrive a more formal attitude, before she could charge into one of her favorite circular arguments about my attitude problem. "Did Dreix report, malla Ilharess?"

"From what I could understand from its hysterical babbling, apparently you have been through a day bursting with coincidence and action. You just happened to get a service from House Taek'tharm, then just happened to be approached by a group of previously unknown alhoons for help, then just happened to find that the alhoon guide – again coincidentally – sent to aid you was the culprit in both the alhoon murders and that of Tyfein Taek'tharm."

I winced. "Since you put it that way…"

"Simply beautiful. I wish all investigations were as full of strewn gems as this one."

I could not tell if my sister was being sarcastic or not – she had that sort of voice. And against my throbbing headache, I struggled to decide if she was mocking me, rebuking me, or just being annoying, then settled for changing the subject. I did that quite often when speaking with females.

"You believe that someone has been controlling all the events?"

"Qu'el'velguk, in which gambling pit have you left your brains?"

"I do not visit gambling pits."

"Is that so."

"The races was out of necessity."

"Is that so."

Even though it did happen to be true in this instance, yet I floundered in her caustic air, but I struck out again bravely. Occasionally one needs to show some backbone when speaking to certain more-intelligent-than-usual matrons. "The alhoons?"

"Your mind is definitely not present, Qu'el'velguk. They would not kill their own, here in Menzoberranzan, where their numbers and secrecy is their strength. And if they did do it, why ask you to investigate?"

"Some powerful group of drow?"

"Could be. But you know the true answer, or part of it. Remember the indicator papers…or has that knock on the head driven it out of your memory?" Matron Ilith'vir was being abnormally patient. However, I had never been wounded this badly before, even in that long-ago complex fracas with a human Arch Wizard (which I was still trying to forget), so I had no prior experience as to whether she treated all those seriously injured like this, or if her unpredictable mood had turned mellow today.

"The alhoon guide Priol…"

"Is actually the lichdrow Dyrr of House Agrach Dyrr, I know."

"Ah so Llyrx told you…what?"

"Qu'el'velguk, do pull your mind out of automatic before I drag you out of it with my snake whip. I am not that boring to speak with."

"Priol is Dyrr?" Very bad news indeed – Dyrr was known by Investigations to be an extremely powerful lich, fanatically devoted to his House and the development of its members, especially in the arcane arts. He was also reputed to be over a thousand years in age, effectively making him the oldest…er, animate…creature in Menzoberranzan.

"As I said. Are you not paying attention to me?"

Under pressure, my mind switches tones by instinct, but I knew when I spoke that I had made a small mistake. "Merely an exclamation of surprise, elamshinus uss."

"You don't need to use that disgusting tone of voice with me, Qu'el'velguk. I may decide to throw up over you. Even if it is not worth the effort and would just create a mess in this cell you call your room."

I managed to turn on my side and take my bearings. I was in my room in House Ilith'vir…comfortable, scruffy, and not luxurious, since I only spent a few hours in it every day. There was little furniture – only a soft bed, a rickety desk and a wobbly chair, a bedside table that gave the impression of trying to melt into the shadows, a moth-eaten divan, an empty cupboard and a wardrobe with one broken hinge. Its desperate severity I usually treated as my sanctuary – a cool, gray place to reflect in quietly whenever I had a headache, a circumstance that was more than comfortably frequent whenever I chanced to be in House Ilith'vir. Now shall I stop myself before coming up with another sexist quip?

Matron Ilith'vir had pulled up the chair to the bed – or knowing her, some minion had done it for her. She sat primly in it, straight-backed as a Mistress' dogma, small hands demurely in her lap, finely boned, delicate features settled in an enigmatic expression as she archly glanced around her surroundings. Long, dark-painted fingernails only served to heighten my impression of a chaotically unpredictable black feline that was quick to use its very sharp claws, purring at one moment and hissing at the next. Now, before she ah, bit off my head…

"Please accept my sincerest apologies…"

"You are doing it again."

"Ah. Very well. So are the investigations concluded?"

"In a sense. House Taek'tharm has removed the corpse and paid up, and the alhoons have been confused but have also, more importantly, paid up. I believe this is yours?" She fished in a pocket in her clinging, expensively tasteless robe and held up the hell hound figurine.

Cautiously I risked a glance at her inscrutable face, but prudently decided not to reach for it. "Xas…"

Unexpectedly, she put it on the bedside table dispassionately, as if handling something vaguely interesting but ultimately unimportant. "The alhoon leader said to tell you the name was Halsshar."

I felt mildly surprised. The figurine had been something I wanted to hide from the Matron, having assumed that she would want to keep it. Certainly if I were in her pointy, soft fur-lined shoes I would have wanted to. She probably knew what it did – the Dreix imps always squeal to her about such details, which is part of the reason why I do not like them along in an Investigation. It's difficult to enjoy the more amusing parts of this line of work with a spy looking over, or in most cases, sitting on, one's shoulder.

"About Dyrr…"

"We will not be bothering a House that is not only 'noble' but also much bigger than us in any way. Be thankful that you are alive."

"Very competent of him to have been able to deceive the alhoons in such a way though. So much for their vaunted intelligence."

"More than competent, I would say," Matron Ilith'vir rubbed her eyes, and I wondered how much towards the Black Death of Narbondel it was, and what date. How long had I slept? "I would think the alhoons were just too ecstatic over gaining a new, powerful member. Dyrr is old, cunning and experienced, so I would not have been entirely stunned if he had entered the organization on some other brilliantly contrived grounds." Quiet admiration, which I shared. Fraud and such crimes are silently applauded in Menzoberranzan, especially if carried out well. Not to say that they do not invite repercussions, but in a way, the tricking of an individual or a group celebrates the intricacies of minds and sentient intelligence, so there is little or no 'official' investigation. And of course, most of the time the ruling council simply cannot be bothered with such trivial matters.

"No entertainment this Black Death?" I said slyly, shooting metaphorical crossbow darts into the light in hope of striking a reason behind her current mood.

She shot me a glance so sour that it could ruin a hundred bottles of fine mushroom wine. "Do not think I do not recognize your trying to change the subject. However, it happens that yes, you are correct. Ah, surprising, is it not? It has come to such a deplorable state of affairs that I have to spend it speaking with a concussed, undesirable male."

"Disgraceful." I smirked, deciding not to pick up on the word 'affairs'. My Matron's patience could only be stretched so far.

"Why, I believe I have just wasted an incredible amount of healing spells. Maybe I should reverse the effects and retrieve the energy…"

"Everyone seems to be out to bruise my ego today."

"Good. If it did not happen regularly you would be unbearable."

"I thought you said I already was."

Matron Ilith'vir merely looked exasperated, while my Mother would have whipped me into the next decade if I had spoken back to her with even a hint of spirit.

I decided to try a variation on my earlier questions before she launched into a tirade about my attitude problems. I do not have an attitude problem, whatever she may think, even in the light of some of her favorite examples of certain exploits, but that's another story. "So do you know why all these coincidences forced themselves on me today then?"

She shrugged slender shoulders. "You have already made some suggestions, in case you have misplaced your mind again. It may have been true coincidence, someone may have been manipulating everything, or the vaguely related matters were fated to string themselves into the chaotic knot that you stumbled into. Who cares."

I blinked in shock.

"The clients have paid, and we do not want any more trouble. Need I continue, or has the blow fractured more than your skull?"

"No…wait, my skull was fractured?"

"You need not look that horrified. Have some faith in my healing spells. I am a High Priestess, after all."

"Priol…that is, Dyrr…wanted to kill me, then."

"I knew it. What little intelligence you had possessed has actually been adversely affected by the blow."

"I feel as if I am being led around by the nose. First everything happens to me in one day after long periods of nothing, I get more confused than I have been in a decade, then when I get hurt and wake up someone explains most of it to me."

"Very well, the next time this happens I can leave you there after you get hurt, and maybe you could have the decency to die quickly."

"Your words of encouragement and understanding uplift my spirit, elamshinus uss."

"Sometimes I hate you."

"Only sometimes? I must be doing something right, then…"

"At other times I loathe you."

Knowing I was doing something dangerous, but being in too much misery to care, I grinned cockily at my sister. Sometimes it's worth it to stretch her patience just that little bit closer to a frothing-at-the-mouth explosion. She rolled her eyes to the ceiling in an extravagant plea for patience.

"May I ask you something that could be extremely idiotic, then?"

"It would certainly be idiotic, if it came from you. What?"

"Do you happen to know what Tyfein had on his arm that House Taek'tharm wanted to retrieve? Do not give me that look. I am merely curious. Curious. That is a good trait."

Matron Ilith'vir rubbed at her chin with one slender finger. "From you, I would not agree. As a matter of fact, yes, I happen to be in possession of the answer to your question."

"Out of curiosity…what is it?"

"I saw the corpse, you need not indicate the position for me," she said impatiently as I tried to be helpful. No one appreciates me. Sometimes I feel like jumping off into the Clawrift. Maybe that would show them. Though when I think more closely about it – what stops me from actually jumping off is the nagging feeling that they would not notice anyway. Bah.

No, I am not egotistical.

"It was something I thought odd that had been removed – as to the motive, and as to how completely it had disappeared. It was a large tattoo of a blind spitting cobra."

"One of the nastier local snakes…do you have any idea why it was removed?"

"One day your curiosity will be your death, Qu'el'velguk."

I ignored that as carefully as I could. "So you do not know why it was removed."

"I should correct my earlier statement: your tongue will be your death, and soon, if you stay this annoying. Tyfein acted, when he was alive of course, that the tattoo was a source of, or a symbol of, great power. He liked to keep it covered, though, but he hinted also that all members of the Taek'tharm immediate family had a tattoo. Whether of design similar or different, he did not say. Certainly it had some significance – because Matron Taek'tharm was visibly furious and in some way, horrified that it was missing." I could hear the evident relish with which she said that.

"You seem to know more about him than Zaknafein – next time I shall start an Investigation by asking you questions instead of wandering all over the place." I felt like a mage who'd spent years perfecting a spell, only to find at completion that some rival had already accomplished the task.

"Tyfein was rather handsome." Matron Ilith'vir smirked at my sudden comprehension. "Strong, agile and imaginative, in more ways than some. Do you need elaboration?"

"Actually that was too much detail. I understand your point perfectly," I grimaced. Witnessing my mild discomfort, the Matron's smirk widened. "Llyrx did say you managed to gather more information than myself in such ways."

"Surveillance and all that menial field work is not for a Matron, Qu'el'velguk, and we should all do something we enjoy, no?"

"You think I enjoy surveillance? It is exceedingly boring…"

"And you are an exceedingly boring excuse for a drow. Behold the relationship? It is part of what I believe makes you valuable enough for me to willingly endure taking all your iblith and refrain from killing you slowly and violently, so do try not to persuade me otherwise."

"Maybe I should sleep now."

"Good, I was wondering when I would have to encourage you to do so with sedatives."

When the door clicked shut, I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, concentrating on Matron Ilith'vir's receding footsteps and the marvelous silence pervading the room. Thinking would be better off left until a time when I was fully awake and not wishing I were blissfully dead. When I was just about to drop off, something teleported into the room – one moment all was still, in the other, something was flying above me, judging from the sound of grotesquely frantic flapping.

I opened my eyes into narrow, hostile slits. "What do you want, Llyrx? Leave me alone."

Matron Ilith'vir told me to talk to you. The imp settled easily on the chair, claws tapping on the stone, as usual, ignoring the hint.

"It appears I have only guessed at the extent of her hatred," I said dryly.

Huh. She just said that you might like to start talking to yourself, and I could act as a sounding board.

"Not to mention, of course, acting as a spy to tell on me if I try to do anything stupid."

What did you expect? Maybe she was right after all – you do seem more stupid than before, if that's possible.

I gave myself up to a controlled fate. "Very well, let us get this over with so I can sleep."

Since you talk in your sleep that may be interesting too.

"Want to see if I can still aim throwing knives from this position?"

You don't have any with you.

"Would you like to bet on that?"

I'm staying here until you start saying something substantial.

"After which you will leave?"

Let's see how substantial. Anyway, if you kill me Matron Ilith'vir would be very upset, yes? And unless you have suddenly developed stronger suicidal impulses than your norm, I doubt you wish to have a high priestess upset with you…

"Bossed around by an imp. Hmph. Very well, to say something that Matron Ilith'vir probably already knows, part of me is convinced that the investigations have not ended."

If that's the part of you which is suicidal, too curious, and too cocky, I'd say it's probably such a large 'part' of you that the other 'parts', namely intelligence, practicality and self-preservation may be so small as to be non-existent.

"Insulted by an imp," I reached under my pillow and groped around until I found something cold and hard. "Ah, I do appear to have a throwing knife…"

Do continue with your words of wisdom and sagacity. I'm bowled over by your um, force of mind, your eloquence, your stunning personality...

"Oh, shut up." I pulled the knife closer, just in case.

Do you want me to ask the questions then? I promise they'd be short and comprehensible enough for even you to understand.

"Go away."

I could also go tell the Matron that you were exceedingly uncooperative. Since you've – surprise, surprise – managed to annoy her yet again, her reaction would be very amusing.

"Blackmailed by an imp. I really have reached new depths of being pathetic."

You already occupy…

"I'm warning you, Llyrx."

Fine, fine, oh great and powerful Master. First question then…

"I feel as though I am being interrogated."

In a way, you are.

"What if I ask the questions?"

At heart, you are a control freak.

"It's a characteristic of most drow males whose metaphorical backbones have not been totally and painfully removed. Does Matron Ilith'vir have any suspicions as to who stole the tattoo?"

From what I know she has no conclusions yet. I suspect Dyrr…all that alhoon blood must have been used for something.

"You tested the blood at the scene already?"

There was no need to. I did not recognize how sensory challenged drow were until now. You did not detect that sharp, sour scent of alhoon fluids in the stall?

"I was overwhelmed by everything else…" The very memory of it was still tugging at the fringes of my mind.

Ah, no matter. Some alhoon…stuff…had been mixed into the blood forming the designs and stuff.

"Hmm. So Dyrr is behind it all?"

What do you think?

"Seems very unlikely. Why would he come and ask Investigations?"

Your mind is definitely not around. He didn't ask Investigations, the alhoon leader did, and it would have been very suspicious…

"If Dyrr did not follow instructions, I know. Vith, I wish I knew what that tattoo could do."

Find out, then.

"How? I cannot go up to Dyrr and ask him."

Maybe look in the other murder sites.

"Scenes-of-crime."

In Menzoberranzan, murder is hardly a crime. You should know that.

"Somehow it refuses to register, and if this would lead up to a tasteless joke regarding my brain capacity, forget it. Several decades of you and Matron Ilith'vir, and I have heard them all. Very well, the other two were at…Donigarten and the Braeryn."

Donigarten's restricted territory even to Investigations and you know it, unless of course, you have forgotten it. And you're in no condition to go wandering in the Braeryn.

"Lectured by an imp…"

I applaud your amazing grasp of the obvious.

"When I recover, I believe I may have to seek out the Clawrift, then."

Why?

"Caomh is there. And I know no one else who has spent time in the Braeryn…"

Are you all right?

"Why this sudden question regarding my state of health?"

It's just that…you are proposing to enter a Bregan D'aerthe stronghold uninvited, seek out a crippled but still powerful drow and try to get him to go with you back into a place which probably holds for him a lot of bad memories.

"So in your reckoning I should start on this course of action before I truly recover and reconsider?"

In my reckoning, I should fly out now and tell Matron Ilith'vir to strap you to the bed and sedate you, maybe with a blunt, heavy instrument. Then perhaps do a full brain transplant, or even better, just leave out a brain. You'd probably function much better.

"Suddenly, a violent course of action seems so tempting." I drew the knife from under the pillow.

Llyrx squeaked and portalled away in a flash, leaving me to savor the peace and quiet. Placing the knife on the table, I considered walking to the Clawrift right this instant, before Matron Ilith'vir caught on to my plan…the rush of heady, blinding emotion still washed me along its course – currently all I desired was to get to the bottom of the matter. Call it suicidal curiosity if you will.

And, the characteristically vindictive, very 'drow' part of me wanted revenge. I hated being controlled and manipulated by something unknown and hence unreachable. I hated the idea that everything was out of my hands and already out of control. And above all, I hated being in House Ilith'vir Headquarters when ill. It was a mercy they hadn't started trying to force-feed me those revolting healing potions yet. I have no idea why adventurers bring potions along with them – having to bolt down such vile concoctions every time one got injured instead of getting healed by a priest is such an abhorrent idea. Well yes, one does get well, but one usually gives up whatever one ate recently along with it.

No, I have no idea why this fact isn't well known. Maybe adventurers get knocked about so much that they have a steel stomach and taste buds to go along with their iron constitutions.

Lecturing myself again – rambling is a sure sign that my brain is wandering away. Quickly I swung my feet gracefully off the bed to stand up and dress – or rather, that is how it should have been. Actually, I twisted around to try and get to a sitting position, causing several other parts of myself to start clamoring for entry into the union of pain. Stayed in that position and swore quietly for a moment, tried to swing said feet off the bed, got entangled in the sheets, and somehow managed to bring myself, sheets and pillows all off the bed to land with a painful thump.

They should, I observed to myself when it seemed as though a sledgehammer wasn't energetically pounding my body any longer, not floor rooms with stone.

After a few more false starts I managed to stagger to my feet and somehow pile everything back on the bed, then collapse into the chair. Gasping like a fish on land, I wished for a moment that I were a cleric.

Perhaps the pain had dulled my mind, because the next thought I remembered entertaining was pertaining to the hell hound figurine. Since I felt like dying anyway, I might as well try to summon the creature. If it went berserk and tore out my throat, it'd be a relief, won't it?

My hands appeared to be trembling as I took the figurine, and I stared at them in astonishment. Fumbling with the warm carving for a moment, I held it tightly, then hesitantly called, "Halsshar."

Nothing happened – no dazzling light or wisps of smoke nor scent of sulfur and brimstone. Everything seemed set to be anticlimactic recently, but I had not even entertained the idea that the alhoon leader was cheating me. It would explain why he gave it away this easily, though…

"Vithin alhoons," Cursing vehemently helped curb the disappointment, "Oloth plynn dos!" I stood up, swaying gently. The surge of righteous fury seemed to have lent me some more temporary strength.

"They have already been taken by the darkness."

The voice behind me boomed, deep and hollow and husky as if its owner spoke in a private tunnel, a continuous growl of suppressed menace. It was definitely not a rather excitable being who also happened to be recovering from serious injury wanted to hear from behind.

I shut my eyes, refusing to turn around. "The hell hound?"

"Unless you have developed a new way of clearing your throat, I do believe you spoke my name, drow."

"I thought hell hounds could not speak." Grimly my mouth seemed to be following its own script as my body froze.

"I thought drow elves had more mobility than that. Have you been nailed to the ground?"

"If I am to be eaten, I would rather not watch."

"Hmm. Whatever gave you the idea." The sound of claws clicking busily on stone, then something rough and hot and wet rasped across my left hand, heated sandpaper. "Sorry to disappoint you, but it appears that drow still taste as bad as ever. Your race has certainly become more…insane."

"How so?" I could not help asking.

"It is my experience that only insane creatures summon up other creatures believing that the summoned would eat the summoner. Believe me, there are much cleaner ways to die, but if you truly wish it…"

Hurriedly I opened my eyes, and belatedly my nose registered an insistent scent of dog in the atmosphere, sort of like many piled used socks with a generous helping of musk.

Dreamily I looked down – not very far though. The Greater hell hound's shoulder very nearly was level to mine – the massive head bared black teeth for a moment, red eyes glowing gently in the darkness. It shook its rust-red fur, creating more gusts of hell hound perfume.

Wide eyed, I gaped at the sheer size of the creature. Hell hounds were usually not any taller than the waist, but this…

"You are Halsshar?"

The creature snorted. "Ah, yet another of the stupid ones. Do yourself a favor and give me to someone intelligent, will you?"

"Why is everyone speaking to me this way today?" I exploded, experiencing a near-overwhelming impulse to go and sulk.

Halsshar looked me up and down, not very difficult since its gaze didn't have much to take in. "Because you are stupid?"

"That's it. Back into your figurine." I waved the small thing in front of its face. It watched my hand mildly for a moment, and then as fast as a snake, took it into its mouth, sharp teeth gently but firmly applying pinpoints of pressure my wrist. Its expression seemed to suggest that any sudden movements would lead to an abrupt lack of a certain appendage, and further movements from that would lead to my never having to worry about being overweight again.

"Nowhr," it said indistinctly, "I gowhr bhack wherrn I wanthu, nothr wherrn yewr saehr. Aggreehrd?"

I swallowed. "Agreed."

The pressure eased, and as respectfully as possible, I snatched back my hand. Other than the strong smell and the presence of canine saliva, it was thankfully intact. Halsshar sat down philosophically. "This is a partnership," it began, as if nothing had happened, "Even if I would have preferred something…smarter. To be more distinct, I will come when you call, and aid you if I wish, but you will not give me orders. Do we have a…deal?"

I nodded dumbly, still traumatized by circumstances.

"I could hear you through the figurine," Halsshar continued, "To the Braeryn? A very intriguing prospect – and I have not walked the Prime Material Plane for several decades. The alhoons did not like Abyssal auras much. Come, then, let us seek your 'guide'."

"You would be conspicuous…"

"I am not a mere hell hound." It shook itself again. "And I can prevent you from collapsing. Is there a place close by with the unwanted – beggars and such?"

Without thinking, I rubbed my eyes. "The alley…"

"I can see it in your thoughts." Halsshar made no move, but suddenly the room seemed whisked away, and we stood in a dirty, cramped alley, my armor and weapons neatly beside me. Blinking away the habitual nausea, I leant heavily against a wall and concentrated on my misery. When I was sure I was not going to try and throw up, I looked around for Halsshar.

The Greater hell hound towered over three beggars a short distance away, so covered in grime and rags that I could not tell what was their age or gender. It took a few seconds for the stink of unwashed bodies to hit me, rank and gagging. Unconcerned, Halsshar began to intone in a sepulchral voice, words crawling with the sense of pure, cold evil, how the entire concept of that alignment could have spoken if it had a voice of its own – measured and calculating and malicious, detached...

I felt strength returning to me, refreshing me, the pain fleeing away. In astonishment I stretched myself, and felt none of the aches that had plagued me in my room. I felt young and full of energy and everything seemed possible, finding whatever it was in the Braeryn, enlisting Caomh's help…

Discipline and centuries' worth of cynicism and practicality reeled me sharply to a stop. "What did you do?"

Halsshar looked smug, and did not reply. It did not need to. Of the beggars, only desiccated corpses remained, dry, crackling faded skin stretched tautly over bones.

Sickened, then disgusted at myself for feeling so, I strapped on my armor and concealed my weapons, trying to act as though I did not care, but I did, not for their lives, of course, but by the enormity of what Halsshar had done with such apparent ease. The conversion of souls to healing was an ability only open to those who were truly evil. There was no other word with sufficient implications with which to describe them.

"You sound a lot like a recent acquaintance," I commented.

"Agrach Dyrr?"

"How…"

"I did mention my ability to eavesdrop through the figurine. Come now, I've known humans with better memories than you."

"I simply cannot connect your voice with your appearance."

"Very well, if you wish me to be the great, slobbering, idiotic sort of beast it is hardly a feat…no? You ilythiiri, always changing your minds."

Before it could go any further, I abandoned that train of thought and headed off as steadily as I could in the direction of the Clawrift, feeling rightfully angry with Halsshar, myself, and the world. Was it something about myself that seemed to attract all the jibes, the cold snickers at my expense? There was nothing, nothing wrong with me, perhaps maybe, maybe it was Them. All of them, surrounding, surrounding me, taunting and laughing, laughing, their eyes bright and flecked with gleaming madness, lips curled back grotesquely to show deformed and yellowing teeth…

I stopped so abruptly that I nearly overbalanced, and shut my eyes tightly, shaking my head, shaking the cobwebs of thought away. Where had that come from?

"Halsshar?" I said uncertainly. No one else here for questions, and for a brief moment I regretted scaring Llyrx away. Only a moment, though. Halsshar was new, and I had to force myself to speak frankly. I did not care if its opinion of me sank further. "What do you call a situation when one entertains uncharacteristic thoughts?"

Silence for a moment. "Mind control."

Sheer relief. "You truly think so? Why then…"

"Either that or the beginnings of one of those truly interesting mental breakdowns."

Ah.

"Why do you ask?"

"No matter." My stomach twisted into cold knots, and I wished I had not asked. I knew what drow did to the 'unstable'. I was sane, just still off balance by the result of the past-day's…events, which would be considered traumatizing at the very least, Lloth, all that blood, Tyfein's chest…no no no. No memories, but why? What was wrong with me? I am Ilythiiri, part of an ancient and evil race, and we create such horrors. Not, not horrors. Art. It is art, pain and blood is but an instrument or a medium, and oh Lloth, the stench in the stall…

I broke into a jog, as if trying to escape from my own tormented mind.

**

The Clawrift was quite a distance away from the alley, but I flatly refused to be carried by Halsshar. I was very sure he was fully capable of sudden foul play, and he was an uncomfortable ally to have – with each step I tried to block out the sounds of confident, soft padding behind me.

The edge of the Clawrift was abrupt, all of the sudden it seemed that the ground had been neatly sheared off by a knife, as though it were some sort of sponge cake. The lights of the city were some distance behind me, as this was one of the uncharacteristically unpopulated areas of Menzoberranzan. Squinting, I could barely make out the gray traces of the other side of the gap, over the blank nothingness, which was where the chasm was.

"Halsshar, do you know fire spells?"

"I can breathe fire. Did you not study in the Academy?"

"I studied normal hell hounds, not 'greater' ones," I retorted defensively. "Something small but visible, aim it towards the middle of the chasm and let it arc down?"

Halsshar's reply was a sharp exhalation, and a misshapen bolt of orange fire that arced gracefully up and over the chasm like a deformed arrow, ragged at the edges, then just as gracefully began its downward, curved swoop into the darkness. I watched its descent until it became a spot, then nothing.

Counting silently, I reached the number in my mind carefully. "Again, two arrows quickly following each other."

Halsshar obliged, and we watched the new bolts fade away into the darkness.

"A signal," I said, assuming that the hound was wondering about it.

"Very obviously, unless you like to do this sort of thing for fun."

Mildly affronted, I shut up, and waited. Had to collect Caomh somehow without having to speak with Jarlaxle. That drow could see too much for his own good, and I did not want him to guess at my current emotional state, one of those truly interesting mental breakdowns, Lloth, no, no, no.

Caught up in self-denial and quite a bit of self-pity I only noticed the incoming sentry when Halsshar sniffed loudly. Guiltily I flinched, then folded my arms.

The sentry, from what I could see in the vague spectrum between light vision from the far-off faerie fire and infrared vision, held two swords loosely but cautiously. Dressed in the obligatory chain mail, the emblem of Bregan D'aerthe was clear over his heart. No rank – a common soldier. I was not stupid enough to assume that just because I could only see one meant that only one had approached me. I could feel the others out there, and I was willing to bet that at least one was a mage.

Bregan D'aerthe was still small, but well defended.

"Vendui' sargtlin," I said formally. "I am here to see Caomh."

The soldier looked me up and down, eyes lingering on the medallion of House Ilith'vir, glanced quickly at Halsshar, careful not to meet its eyes, then replied flatly, "Vendui' ragar noamuth. You are not expected here."

"I am here to see Caomh," I repeated flatly. "I will seek him with Bregan D'aerthe's consent, or without. No doubt your leader would not like to suffer the wrath of House Ilith'vir." Implication that I was here on 'official' business and under my Matron's approval, suitably arrogant enough…

His resolve crumbled a little, but uncertainly, he held firm. Poor fellow, I'd just made his day a hell of a lot worse. "Your name?"

"Ti'erlfein Ilith'vir, Qu'el'velguk of House Ilith'vir. What is your name?" Added the last bit as a mischievous afterthought, and had the pleasure of watching him blanch.

"I will speak to…"

"Caomh. Simply ask if he will see me – if he will not, I will go." Pointedly, I sat down on a rock and turned my face away with great deliberation, a cold dismissal, even as inside me my chest constricted with fear and excitement, and my clothes seemed stiflingly hot. Disjointed thoughts danced across my battered mind with as much grace as a drunken goblin. Halsshar seemed to play along, for it lay down next to me, the unnerving, intense red eyes following the poor sentry's every move.

"Stay here," he said finally, and loped off. The feeling that I was still being watched from the darkness persisted, as I knew it would, but I ignored it, instead reaching into my pockets for a whetstone and a knife and sharpening it, the gritty, slightly maddening sound somehow managing to soothe my nerves instead. I concentrated on it, refusing to let my mind venture back to dwell on the blood and Tyfein's face and the flies…no, no.

My soul seemed to stand apart from me, objectively wondering if I was going mad.

"You seem to be," was Halsshar's comment, and I realized with a start that I had spoken out loud. "Taking unnecessary risks is one of the first symptoms…"

I slapped my hands over my ears, and was surprised that Halsshar stopped. Slowly, disbelieving, I peered up at it, and realized it was watching me speculatively, calculating, as if I was some sort of new purchase from the Bazaar, and it was not sure whether it had been cheated.

"This is not unnecessary," I said, mildly surprised that I hadn't managed to cut one of my ears off with the sharpened knife. Before I did myself an injury, I replaced whetstone and knife in my clothing.

"Truly? Your Matron told you that it has been concluded. You have no need to wander to the Braeryn, let alone come to Bregan D'aerthe."

"I am curious," I said a little sullenly, and immediately was aware of the idiocy of my statement.

"Do try not to 'go crazy'. You would probably end up as one of those harmless psychos who gibber and hallucinate gently in locked rooms."

"Damn it, I am not going mad!"

"Am I interrupting something?"

The new speaker approached, accompanied by what looked like the harassed sentry. Lack of left arm – Caomh. Embarrassed by my outburst, I felt the gradual prickling in my cheeks as I flushed in mortification, then stood up. "Vendui' Caomh. May we speak in private?"

"Vendui' Ti'erlfein Ilith'vir. That may not be possible." Caomh turned his scarred face to look into the darkness pointedly, indicating the hidden sentries.

"Then it does not matter," I said indifferently. I would have preferred privacy, but I did understand Bregan D'aerthe. "I need your help."

"Why?" Bluntly.

"I require a reliable guide through the Braeryn…and you seem more decent than Zaknafein." I grinned impishly.

"Whatever gives you that impression." Caomh seemed amicable enough, strangely. Perhaps life in Bregan D'aerthe suited him.

"Several points offhand, most significant of which is the fact that you have not threatened to kill me. Now, can you help me?"

"Why should I?"

"Some…extra income?" I looked hopeful.

"How much?"

I named a price and managed not to wince. His expression did not change, but the sentry blinked.

"We will see. What do you seek in the Braeryn? Or do you just require an…educational tour through the landmarks?" Sardonic now, humor in his one eye.

"Do you happen to know about the alhoon who underwent fatal brain surgery in the Braeryn?" Playing with long words on this matter seemed to make it a lot easier to think about.

"Should I?"

"No word games, please. I just recovered from an injury to the head."

Caomh did not reply, but looked casually from me to the silent Halsshar, then back again. He wore nearly the same outfit as the sentry, except that the cloak was more elaborate, the armor seemed better made, and Zaknafein's two gifts hung at his belt. He'd lost that slightly emancipated, alley cat set to his expression, and now even seemed to appear serene and aristocratic, if one ignored the ugly scar. I had to force myself not to stare at the empty sleeve.

Then he shrugged. "Very well."
"I realize that this…what? Oh. Thank you. Very much." I said lamely. I had prepared a 'I know you do not wish to come, but you would be a great help' speech, and there was now an insistent headache…I pinched the root of my nose, then straightened from the rock. "Can you leave now?"

Caomh nodded. "If any one inquires…" he faced the sentry.

"But…"

"I treasure my freedom," Caomh snapped. Ah. So it wasn't all perfect in the relationship between Caomh and the mercenary band? But I had expected this – Caomh was contrary. If life were an orchestra, Caomh would be one of those trying to change the piece currently being played, probably even for as trivial a reason as for the sake of showing off his individuality.

The sentry backed off, bowing, and Caomh smiled thinly, a hairline crack in a mask of icy calm. "Will we be going?"

"I have heard of Bregan D'aerthe," Halsshar remarked suddenly. "And from what I can discern, I doubt one of its members can just go adventuring without reason."

"Halsshar," I warned.

"The hound speaks truth," Caomh tugged at the brooch holding together the ends of his piwafwi. The design was of some carnivorous surface bird whose name I could not place in my current frame of mind. Drow have always had some deep fascination with the Upworld. His fingers traced the long flight feathers, then nervously rubbed at the talons.

"Then why?" I certainly did not want any trouble between Bregan D'aerthe and House Ilith'vir, and…

Caomh turned his back and began walking towards the buildings, towards the Braeryn, and I followed, feeling as though I were tagging along instead of leading the 'expedition'. Halsshar did not seem to follow – I looked askance at it, and it yawned, showing its black teeth, then seemed to collapse into the darkness. The figurine in one of my pockets suddenly seemed warmer.

I frowned, and belatedly realized that Caomh was speaking. "A time ago I defied the Matrons by loudly voicing my views, one of which baldly claimed that as long as Ilythiiri suffered under Lloth's rule, so would we never truly progress and improve. Hers is chaos, but her chaos is unchanging. Little has actually become different and improved since Menzoberra, yes?"

"Um…"

"But so as not to tire you with the mumbling of a decrepit drow…so then I dared to go against Matrons, and I have lived. It is easier in comparison to defy Jarlaxle. He is more…tolerant."

I doubted it. Jarlaxle was merely…patient, in my opinion. Like a hunter-cat that waits in ambush for passing rothe. "Caomh, I think part of your problem is that you are anti-authority."

"Is it a problem?" An amused chuckle.

"It has been." Knowing it was rude as I walked next to him, I nodded towards the empty sleeve. "And it will be." There was a limit to everything, even patience.

He did not seem to notice. "I am my own master."

"Truly? What a life you must lead, then. All the decisions, no one to complain about, no one to blame mistakes on…"

"Ti'erlfein Ilith'vir, I have not even known you for long, and I can already conclude that you are the oddest individual I have met."

"I shall take that as a compliment."

"Asanque." Caomh said mockingly.

**

The Braeryn seemed unnaturally still. There seemed to be fewer of the unwanted around than usual…if at all. Caomh's thin brows nearly met at the center of his forehead as we wandered from one winding, stinking and empty alley to another.

"The Presence is gone," he finally spoke, and I flinched violently as the silence was broken by his words.

"What Presence?" My words tumbled over each other in the rush of relief at the glimmer of some companionship.

"The Braeryn is haunted, did you not know?"

"Wraiths and such? We have no cleric…"

"Not by undead. By…I cannot put this in words. The stones…remember time…occurrences…events. All the killing and the suffering, the diseases and the savagery of those which have nothing to lose, the despair of those with nothing to gain." Caomh looked so grim that I bit back my cocky remark. "You could say it is haunted by memories."

Dimly, I reached for an explanation. "Is magic involved?"

"Perhaps. Normally, especially in certain areas, you can feel the buzzing in your mind as the stone shouts at you…sometimes if you look at an area you seem to remember some event which you have never seen but that took place in it. The places where the Braeryn's dwarves and svirfneblin avoid, you soon learn to avoid as well."

"And these are gone?"

"As I said." Caomh looked uncomfortable. "I like it not."

Nothing I could say to that, except to change the subject. "Where are we going?"

"Where you want to go."

"So you do know where it is?"

"I have heard of it, but did not visit it in person."

That seemed as much as he was willing to let on, and he kept quiet. Boots made no sound on the grimy cobbles, and I tried not to stare at the debris on the streets. The Braeryn was the only place in Menzoberranzan with strewn rock and other on roads normally kept clear. It was as though one woke up one day to find all the faerie fire in the city gone – that sort of unnerving effect.

The alleys were hemmed in by crumbling, lichen-cloaked walls that broke in part to reveal spaces, or in some cases, more walls, a veritably decomposing maze. Still no occupants seemed to be around, the last being a heap that could have mistaken for a pile of rags except for the unstable breathing several alleys ago.

Caomh's one hand was firmly on one of the black swords' hilt, unconsciously, his nerves, like mind, wound tight in the heavy, oppressive silence that seemed to leave the ears ringing. I managed to tear my eyes off the ground and look up to stretch my neck.

After a short while, I heard my voice say distantly, "Caomh…"

"What?"

"Is that supposed to be there?"

An illusion (or at least I hoped it was an illusion) of a cobra, black scales lined with flashes of purple and red, body-length tongue flickering in and out of its maw, gold eyes with knife-slits of obsidian concentrating on something close to it, reared out over the walls some distance (I hoped again) away. I wondered how I had missed it.

"I did not see that when we came in," Caomh sounded curiously unafraid, or perhaps even more of my brain had shut down due to shock. He referred to the Braeryn as though it was another realm, I noted inconsequentially, mind overwhelmed by the sight.

"Perhaps we could only see it when we did." Numbly I had the unpleasant sensation of being led around by the nose again, and felt…angry. Good. When I was angry everything was much simpler – the world could be divided into those who pissed me off and those who did not.

"Do you want to go…closer?"

"No," I said immediately, overriding my curiosity for once. "Let's get out of here. Right now."

Relief and disappointment warred on Caomh's scarred countenance, then relief won. "Right," he echoed, and we hastily retraced our steps. Attempted to.

The air seemed to roar; though there was no sound. For a brief moment, in an ironically orderly manner, images blurred in my mind, so intense that my eyes saw only those and not my immediate surroundings, parts of what Caomh called the Presence – the ravaged sick, the tortured cripples, some of it indescribable, despair, despair, hopelessness, shouting and wailing, but my ears heard nothing. Brief – because my brain managed to fail-safe and pull me into oblivion before I went mad.

**

When I woke and opened my eyes sluggishly, I wished that I had not.

Another part of the Braeryn? Walls pulled down, rubble neatly piled in a large circle at the outskirts of…

I had no idea there were so many ways to kill creatures.

Some were, incredibly, still alive.

I had no idea that even in such a small body as that of a svirfneblin, there was so much blood, bright and crimson and reeking, coppery, so much…

Something deep inside me seemed to shatter into a million fragments, but there was no pain, and the last I saw was…

---

Translations and References:

Malla Ilharess: Honored Matron

Oloth plynn dos: Darkness take you