Don't go to Sleep
by Iliana Maura
Note: Along with the Jarlaxle/Firble and Jarlaxle/Medavin scenes which I forgot to add into the original (but are in this revised version), there was also a Jarlaxe/Gromph scene. I've decided not to add that scene into the revised, because it would short, bland, and fairly pointless. To sum up the events that would take place in that scene, it was a discussion between Gromph and Jarlaxle, in which Gromph informs everyone's favorite mercenary that he's working on discovering a slowing agent for orbb's elghinn. That's it.
Chapter Fifteen : Dalninuk
The male had not told Matron Yraeth his name, and had cleverly sidestepped her questions on that matter until she gave up-not a common occurrence. He had knelt when he first entered her audience chamber, but had risen without her permission. He spoke with a bland voice that covered his arrogance and defiance, and, all in all, she found him distinctly annoying. Still, he had information she needed badly.
"But you have discovered the nature of our attackers," Yraeth stated more than asked. Not only had he avoided questions concerning his name, he had also danced around answering any other sort of inquiry she made. It was very tempting to free her snake whip and beat him into submission, but that would be foolish.
"So we believe," he replied tonelessly. Everything about him was the same as his voice: bland. Matron Yraeth was sure that, should she meet with the male regularly for a decade, she still would not recognize him in a crowd.
"Then what is their nature!" Yraeth felt her voice rising into a shriek. She wanted to kill this male! After an hour of interviewing him, she had gained nothing useful! Futilely, she wished she could have gained the service of Bregan D'aerthe; Jarlaxle would never allow his soldiers to behave this way. Orbb wun lil Veldrin was a different matter.
The male seemed to realize he was walking a fine line-and was about to step onto the wrong side. "We do not know much," he said quickly. "What information we have leads us to believe they are not from Menzoberranzan. There is a possibility they are allied with the faeries.
Matron Yraeth narrowed her eyes. Faeries? No drow would ally herself with faeries, the surface elves were the drow's greatest enemies! But the lie detector spell she used told her the male was not lying. Either he was telling the truth, or he thought he was telling the truth-and was simply repeating what he was told to say.
Still, who else was she to trust? She had no other information to depend on. None of her House spies had been able to discover anything at all, which, she supposed, would make sense if her attackers were based outside the city.
But House Nuvin had no ties outside Menzoberranzan; what would someone located outside the city want with them? The numbers, she thought, do not add up.
"Do you have any more information to give me?" Yraeth demanded of the male.
"No, matron," the male replied in his bland voice. Yraeth fumed. An hour of her time spent interviewing a mere boy, who, when finally convinced to talk, needed less than a minute to make his report.
"Get out of my sight, then!" the matron growled. Seemingly unconcerned by her outburst, the male bowed calmly and walked out of the chamber.
Yraeth balled her hands into fists and pounded them against the arms of her stone throne, then just as suddenly clasped them nervously in her lap. She had learned nothing, she realized. The male had told her there were faeries, but her gut instinct-and her logic-told her she was being fed lies. A question nagged at her. What did the mercenary band stand to gain by keeping the truth from her?
A terrible thought bloomed in her mind.
Was Orbb wun lil Veldrin her attacker?
Jarlaxle wished he could have coaxed Gromph Baenre, Archmage of Menzoberranzan, into the headquarters of Bregan D'aerthe, but, he reflected, perhaps it was better that he was in the mage's study. This way, Gromph felt like he was in control, and would feel less threatened. Hopefully, that would make him more agreeable.
The Baenre son reclined haughtily in his heavily cushioned chair, studying the mercenary, who sat facing him. Jarlaxle silently cursed the wizard, who understood that he had something Jarlaxle wanted. Jarlaxle simply hoped he could get it without irrevocably damaging his coffers.
"Bregan D'aerthe is almost exclusively male, is it not?" Gromph continued to study Jarlaxle, a quirk that could have been the beginnings of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. The mercenary did not bother to reply; it was rhetorical question.
"Then you, of all people, must understand the frustrations of being a male in a city ruled by females." The wizard sat forward. "Things could change."
Jarlaxle blew a quiet sigh and leaned back, moving his gaze from Gromph to the lavishly furnished study, keeping his expression neutral while he though. He had expected resistance from Gromph, but not like this.
"You would distribute the slowing agent to the males of the city, and let the females die while you worked to find a cure?"
The archmage smiled. "It would certainly alter the city hierarchy, would it not?"
The mercenary raised an eyebrow. "Surely you understand how impractical that is? The females would likely manage to get ahold of the agent anyway, and even if your plan worked, the city would die out, over time, without any females to. . ." he paused, searching for words. ". . . breed with."
Gromph's smile did not diminish. "I have already thought of these things, my friend."
"But have you thought of this?" Jarlaxle retorted. "The city faces an enemy. The enemy attacks both male and female, and gives no regard to age or rank. We must unite to face orbb's elghinn, otherwise Menzoberranzan will be no more. I understand your feelings; I, too, am male, and I acutely feel the restrictions of my station. But now is not the time for the action you propose."
The archmage studied him for a long moment, grin erased. At last he rose and walked to a cluttered table that stood several paces from his chair. From among the other bric-a-brac that crowded the smooth top, he fished out a small, crystalline bottle, no taller than the palm of his hand, and as wide as his thumb. He handed it to Jarlaxle. The mercenary took it and inspected it curiously.
"The bottle is filled with the slowing agent," Gromph explained. "It will never empty. A tablespoon is all that is needed to slow the disease. It does not, however, completely stop its march, nor does it stop the sick from being contagious."
Jarlaxle looked expectantly to Gromph, waiting. At last, with a scowl, the wizard said, "And I will inform Matron Baenre of the agent, and allow her to distribute it city-wide."
The mercenary flashed his smile and dipped into an ornate bow, sweeping off his hat. "My thanks to you, Archmage," he said. Then, deciding it wouldn't hurt to throw a tidbit the Baenre's way, he added, "Perhaps once this is over, we could discuss the city hierarchy in more detail. . . brother."
Gromph smiled, obviously pleased with his progress and thinking the mercenary's form of address was affectionate, and no more. Jarlaxle returned his grin, but his was more ironic. If only Gromph knew how true that single word was.