Thank you to everyone who reviewed! Anyway, here is the next chapter.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Zebrin kept his hood low over his eyes; he feared that if he showed his face then someone would be able to tell just how nervous he was. It wasn't unusual from where he came, the drow city Sshamath, for someone to be decked head-to-toe in a robe, so that all you could see was the tip of their noses and the curve of their lips, much like he was now. From examining the other drow, all crowded around various shops, it was common practice in Menzoberranzan, too.

He jumped when he felt a tap on his shoulder; sure that it was the point of a dagger. He whirled around and was relieved that, for the first and only time in his life, that it was just one of Lolth's priestesses.

He quickly rethought this when he saw the golden pendant, engraved with the likeness of an arachnid, which hung proudly around her neck. Drow Priestesses received this pendant upon entrance into Lolth's academy. As they moved up in rank a weapon was carved next to the tips of the spider's legs, so that it seemed like it was wielding it, prepared to lunge at its weak prey. It was a constant reminder to always be wary.

He gulped. All eight of the spider's hideous limbs carried a weapon, a sure sign of her hefty rank. His eyes soon came to her face, which seemed frozen in the ever-present scowl that he had become accustomed to every time that he left Sshamath. Damn Spider Wenches, he thought bitterly but behind these thoughts was a touch of fear.

"Where is your escort?" She asked quietly. Even though her voice seemed gentle, it had the same impact as if she were to outright scream.

"I am my escort." He said as confidently as he could muster. He held his hands up to show that he had, or seemed to have, no weapons. He had the weapon of magic on his side. The first words to an incantation already danced upon his lips, he was prepared to finish it if danger presented itself...or herself.

The soft-spoken drow woman gave him a withering glare. "Don't play games with me." She toyed with the pendant around her neck, as if making a point. "Answer me...truthfully this time."

"It is the truth...mistress." He began, allowing his voice to become his usual sarcastic sneer instead of the curt tone that he oft-used in diplomatic situations. "I am a noble from Sshamath." He knew that he was safe. No one, at least while he was in the crowded marketplace, would dare attack him or risk the ire of his house.

The priestess looked away in open disgust. Good, he thought, it's having just the effect I thought it would. Sshamath, rare among the drow, was ruled by male wizards. The men had been able to take control because they outnumbered the women, thanks to the predominantly male births. This caused the drow women of other cities to go into a rage and, the men to inwardly smile; it was a hope for the down-trodden men to get back at their women.

The other cities would have surely stomped them into the ground if it hadn't been their influential trade of magical goods.

The priestess, in her anger, shooed him away with the wave of her hand. This caused Zebrin to smile; she had been in such a huff that she had forgotten to ask the name of his house or his business here, which suited him fine for the less information they knew the better his chances of survival.

The task ahead of him caused his stomach to go into all sorts of impossible knots. His father, that damned bastard, had sent him to make a trade agreement between House De'affin and his own, House Hondroth. This, he knew, was a suicide mission. Worse, his father knew it, too.

When one talked of House De'affin's Matron, Yazae; saying that House De'affin was led by one of the Lords of the Abyss would've been an understatement.

He pulled his hood lower over his eyes. Dread threatened to swallow him whole and it was only by his strong will that he had been able to stave it off. Curse his father! Curse him! He knew that he was the youngest of seven siblings, five of those being male, this coupled with his habit of not doing as told made him dispensable but…killing him? This caused him to shake with fear all over.

He squinted through the darkness. In Sshamath, artistically done faerie fire always lit the city in an array of light. Because of this, Sshamath's citizens didn't have as keen eyesight in the dark as others of their race.

He grumbled angrily as he walked down the street, pushing roughly past the other drow, and closer to his death, he was sure.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Matron Yazae De'affin," the drow sentry bowed, the tip of his nose brushing the floor as he addressed his Matron, "The diplomat from House Hondroth of Sshamath waits to see you."

The sickly drow woman glared at him from her ornate chair. Her stringy white hair fell from her tiara. Her limbs were so thin that it seemed as if the smallest tap could cause them to crumble into dust. Her eyes seemed as if they had been haphazardly stuck onto her gaunt face. She wore the pendant of the council around her neck. This was strange considering that it was the council's fault for what happened to the last Matron of De'affin.

No one knew, save for perhaps Yazae, what had happened to the last Matron but everyone was sure it was the Council's fault. The sentry wondered briefly why no one had attempted to overthrow this sickly Matron.

"He can wait until the Hells freeze over!" She hissed between clenched teeth, her fingers formed a fist as she beat on the arm of her chair. The sentry now understood how she had kept her position.

"You have-" He began.

"I don't have to do anything! I will, however, see him…on my own time."

"Surely, there is nothing else that requires-"

"Silence that mouth of yours; else I flay you where you stand! Unless you have been spying on me," she shot him an accusing look, "you should not question whether I have other affairs to attend or not."

The sentry could only bow meekly. He left the room and shut the door, leaving the Matron alone with her two bodyguards.

"Well," She began, glaring at the two men at her side. "Off with you."

Both of the guards bowed. They didn't think that this was wise for her to be alone but they really didn't care. She could jump on the pointy-end of a sword, for all they cared. Of course, they would never tell her that.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"What do you mean she won't see me?" Zebrin asked heatedly. He was ready to get this over with. The outcome, he knew, didn't bode well for him.

"Exactly, the way said it!" The sentry replied. "Now, you can sit there and be quiet or, if you prefer, you could go see her, anyway. I, however, won't be there to explain why you hadn't listened to her."

Zebrin made a gurgled noise, trying to stifle his anger. This was an insult on the highest level! The young drow wizard sat down on the stone bench, the only place to sit other than the floor. How could he not be worth her time! This was an important treaty! He grumbled something about Yazae.

"Care to repeat that to her?" The sentry asked.

"Get back to your work, flea!" He said irritably.

"This is my work. I am to make sure you don't do anything stupid. Besides," He smiled, "You can't command me to do anything…unless you suddenly become a woman and your name changes to Yazae."

Zebrin leaned back against the back of the bench. He, the son of the Patriarch of House Hondroth, had been reduced to sparring words with a low-life sentry.