III
There were few places in Llyr that she disliked more.
Daere Hen Wyneb, the second daughter of the fifteenth house of Llyr, gazed about her with barely concealed disgust as she made her way through the Central Market. The common drow in the market's winding thoroughfares quickly moved out of the way of the high priestess, bowing their heads at her passing. Duergar merchants and mercenaries showed some small measure of deference to the noble daughter, perhaps realizing that her piwafwi's black fabric, marked with green and violet motes, marked her as a member of the noble houses, or perhaps they simply feared the snake headed whip writhing on her belt. Tall, strikingly beautiful, and well muscled beneath the fine chain mail she wore, Daere Hen Wyneb and her small entourage struck a powerful presence in the narrow streets of the markets.
Daere glanced back at her tiny retinue once more, reminding herself as she inspected the half dozen soldiers with her that she would only have to suffer the markets for perhaps a few more weeks. Following only a step behind on her left, Tarren Hen Wyneb, Matron Ceridwen's third daughter, studied her sister's every move in preparation to take her place buying and selling in the markets. In fact, had it not been for the current crisis, Tarren, certainly smaller and far less imposing than Daere, would be the only daughter of Hen Wyneb in the market.
It was the crisis that kept Daere alert and at least partially willing to accept her current role seriously. Only last night Tarren had purchased the contracts of a half dozen mercenaries, but Matron Ceridwen's scrutiny of the soldiers had uncovered a spy from another house in the form of a lanky drow fighter. Hours of torture had uncovered little about the potential traitor to House Hen Wyneb, but the simple fact that the male had held out against Daere's brutal interrogation spoke volumes about his skill and training. Only a house at least as powerful as Hen Wyneb could have placed such a talented spy into the house, meaning that someone in the city was preparing to make a move against the fifteenth house. Daere could only think of a handful of houses with both the resources and the motive to attack her family. House Maredudd was certainly her first guess, as they were the sixteenth house and looking to increase there position by any means necessary, but House Brenin Llywd could certainly have also tried to plant a spy inside the house. Matron Eirian was no fool, and she certainly worried that Hen Wyneb would try to usurp the fourteenth house.
"Sister, we are here," Tarren said quietly, shaking the priestess from her musings. Daere cursed herself for having been so absorbed in her thoughts, but quickly straightened herself and turned to her younger sister.
"Perhaps this time you could pick a mercenary that is no traitor," Daere said curtly, gesturing to the drow before her. They had arrived at a small, two walled structure where several male and female drow sat at small tables or stood within the confines of the L shaped area, talking quietly among themselves or simply reading parchments hung on the wall. As the two obvious nobles and the four warriors with them came to a halt in front of the meeting place, the mercenary hall fell near silent. Tarren glanced back to her sister, but Daere simply gestured to the open hall. "You have done this before," Daere said. "Find us two wizards."
"As you wish," Tarren said. Daere watched her sister step forward hesitantly. Still uncertain of how much power she wielded outside the commoners of her house, the youngest daughter of Hen Wyneb was nearly embarrassing her older sister as she paused and cleared her throat. "House Hen Wyneb has need of two wizards," Tarren called out. A dozen or so of the commoners, both male and female, stood from their tables or stepped forward to be acknowledged. Daere scowled slightly as she studied the apparent magic users. Only two of them seemed to be old enough to have experienced anything more than the most simplistic training and combat. Slowly Daere made her way past Tarren to the group of mages, considering each one in turn. She stopped in front of a particularly young looking female, appraising the smaller drow for a moment.
"You forsake the Spider Queen for the arcane arts?" the priestess asked sternly.
"It… was not my path," the young female replied timidly. "I would give my life to Lolth, or to your House, if the need arose."
"You would give your life to Lolth or Hen Wyneb whether or not you desired it," Daere snapped, grabbing the sorceress by the chin and locking her icy gaze on her quarry. The mage struggled for only the faintest instant before growing still, but her scarlet eyes shone with fear as she tried to meet the noble daughter's glare. "Why should House Wyneb hire you, and not one of these other wizards? You are young, most likely inexperienced. Can you even cast a fireball?"
"No, mistress," the female replied, dropping her eyes.
"You would be better off with me," another voice said, halfway down the line of assembled mages.
"You, male, will speak only when you are spoken to!" Tarren ordered harshly, drawing the snake whip on her belt. Daere turned to the speaker, a relatively young male, slightly shorter but more muscular than the diminutive Tarren, with a single scalp lock of snowy white hair and blood colored eyes that showed a measure of confidence that was somewhat rare in males addressing priestesses of Lolth. Daere released the girl in front of her as she stalked forward on the cloaked wizard.
"And why should I hire you?" Daere inquired, ignoring Tarren as she stopped in front of the mage.
"Because I have no intention of dying for your house," the male replied. "I find that dying does little to aid a house in battle. I prefer to make other drow die for their houses."
"Truly," Daere said. "You are bold for a grimy commoner. Do you have the skills to back up your banter?"
"If a single fireball is all you require, then I certainly do," the male said.
"Insolent commoner!" Tarren exclaimed, drawing her arm back to strike. Daere put up a hand to stay her younger sister. Slowly, a smile formed across her lips.
"Perhaps I did not restrain my sister," the priestess said. "Do you think you could defeat her?"
"I am here for gold coins, not a swift death," the male replied, evading a direct answer.
"Why would I want you, if you cannot even defeat her?" Daere inquired. She could feel Tarren's indignant rage pouring off of her, but the priestess cared little for her sister's wounded pride. For his part, the wizard shrugged.
"If she attacks me, I will defeat her," he stated simply. Daere's smile widened slightly.
"Tarren, take him," the priestess said.
Tarren growled in fury and drove forward, but before she could snap her whip down on the male, he had dropped low to the ground, drawing a short sword from somewhere in his cloak and neatly driving the tip of the blade to Tarren's throat. The younger daughter stopped in midswing, her eyes shining with rage as she realized that a mere male had her at his mercy. For a moment the two remained motionless, a faint smirk on the male's face and Tarren's eyes darting from the blade at her throat to her older sister.
"I want a wizard, not a warrior," Daere said matter of factly.
"And I do cast spells," the male replied, holding his blade fast against Tarren's throat. "But you did not make that a requirement of this battle."
"Kill him," Tarren hissed, humiliated by the spectacle. Daere hesitated a moment.
"And you can cast a fireball?" the priestess inquired, ignoring her sister.
"Certainly, mistress," the male replied.
"What is your name?" Daere asked.
"Neifion," the male answered.
"You are now in the employ of House Hen Wyneb, Neifion," Daere declared. "Fall in behind me."
"As you wish, mistress," Neifion said, sheathing his blade and bowing to Daere. The priestess watched him as he fell in quietly behind her, noticing easily the pure hatred that Tarren felt for the commoner. Daere considered the price of a mage with the skills of a fighter for a brief moment, but put those thoughts aside as she pondered her next contract. At the end of the line of mages, a female, tall, thin, and sporting burn scars down the left side of her face, leaned patiently on her staff as she watched the proceedings. Daere stalked down the line, appraising the half dozen or so commoners between her and the scarred female, until she came to a stop in front of her new target.
"And you have forsaken the spider Queen as well," the priestess said. "Why should I even consider you for a contract?"
"Because I am the most powerful mage here," the woman said simply. Her crimson eyes seemed almost disinterested with the conversation, a sure sign that she had been through the hiring process several times.
"I could have my newest acquisition defeat you," Daere snarled, gesturing to Neifion, "and he has diluted his spellcasting with swordplay!"
"That was his mistake," the scarred female stated simply. Daere's face flushed with anger for a brief instant, but then she smiled faintly.
"Most powerful mage here," the priestess repeated. "Why do you say that?"
"Because a fireball is child's play," the mage replied. "An ice storm is far more impressive when it follows a pair of lightning bolts through an attacking force."
Daere considered the boast for a moment as she studied the mage. As far as the priestess could tell, this one was not lying, and such a display of power could stop almost any attacking house in its tracks.
"What is your name?" Daere asked. The scarred female smirked at the question.
"Collwen," she replied, already knowing what to expect.
"You are now in the employ of House Hen Wyneb," Daere said. "Fall in behind me."
Collwen did as she was told, casting a smug smirk behind her at the wizards that had not been chosen. Daere considered the other mages for a moment, then spat on the ground in front of her.
"The rest of you are pathetic," the priestess said coldly. "Die in the service of minor houses. You are not fit for Hen Wyneb."
"I would think it was Maredudd. They are, after all, our most immediate enemy."
"That is precisely why I do not suspect them so much," Matron Ceridwen Hen Wyneb stated, pacing the plush carpet of her small, lavishly decorated personal chamber. The Matron Mother of Llyr's fifteenth house was clothed only in a translucent crimson gown, allowing Llawr, the weaponmaster and patron of Hen Wyneb, to see every curve of the female drow's magnificent body. From his vantage point on the soft cushions and pillows of Ceridwen's oval bed, the drow came to the conclusion, as he had so many times before, that ugly drow women were not allowed to be nobles, much less matron mothers. "They are too obvious, and they know that we watch them too closely."
"They have the most to gain from our downfall," Llawr pointed out, swinging his feet to the floor and standing. The weaponmaster, naked except for the enchanted pendant he wore around his neck, gently caught the matron mother as she stalked past him. "And sometimes, the obvious answer is actually the answer."
"We would have known about something like this," Ceridwen said, pulling away from the slightly shorter male's grip. She studied her patron's well muscled body for a long moment, her eyes lingering just below his waist, but then she resumed her pacing. "No. House Brenin Llywd is involved in this somehow, I suspect. After their assassination of Rhawn, I can almost feel their hand in this."
"We have more enemies below us than above," Llawr stated, thinking back to Rhawn's assassination. The commoner priestess had held great potential and Ceridwen had shown a deep interest in developing the drow as her own personal handmaiden, but the simple assassination of a commoner rather than a noble bothered the weaponmaster. There were conspiracies aligning against his house, Llawr knew, but for the moment he could not identify the conspirators. "Regardless of Rhawn's murder, we must watch Maredudd, Evnissien, and Lainbhui."
"Maredudd watches Evnissien, and Evnissien watches Lainbhui," Ceridwen said, stopping in front of a large, full length mirror to consider her reflection in the light of faerie fire torches set around the top of her chamber. The matron mother's silver hair practically glowed blue and red from the enchanted fires, while the combination of light and shadows, darkvision and normal sight, did little to quell Llawr's rising desire. The patron followed her across the room, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind as he gently kissed her back.
"Let Banon and Daere concern themselves with these matters for the present," Llawr suggested, gently guiding her back toward the bed. Daere was Llawr's oldest child, a powerful, ruthless priestess, and Banon, Ceridwen's oldest daughter, was just as capable as his own daughter. Ceridwen resisted the patron's pull, however, still concerned with the politics of the drow city.
"We'll need more soldiers," the matron said as Llawr gently kissed her neck.
"I shall recruit and train them myself, mistress," the weaponmaster offered absently. Ceridwen hesitated a moment more, but finally let her consort draw her back to her bed.
"You are a dangerous patron, Llawr," she said as she gave in to his temptations.
"It is why you love me so," Llawr explained with a smile.
Amser-Colofn's fire had nearly extinguished as Arwydd made her way back into the tavern where she had met Pryderi, dimming the market's already gloomy light to near total darkness. Although Arwydd could see perfectly well through the inky darkness of the alleys, she far preferred the color afforded by visible light to the dull, stale shades of gray that her darkvision provided. While she would never want to see the hellish ball of light that baked the surface in its searing flames, Arwydd had come to appreciate the soft hues of faerie fire over the total darkness of the outer caverns of Llyr. Now, as she drifted to a small corner table set back near the bar of the tavern, she could see the sparks of new faerie fires glowing among tents and stalls. Even at midnight, the Central Market bustled with activity.
Arwydd had barely settled into her seat when a young drow boy appeared at her side, showing the respect all males showed to their betters but nothing resembling the reverence he would have shown had he known the drow he waited on was a noble priestess. Arwydd ignored the lapse of respect as she flipped him a silver coin and sent him for a glass of wine, her focus on the other occupants of the bar rather than the ignorant boy. For all of her calm preparation, the noble found herself strangely on edge as she waited for Pryderi to show himself. With a mixture of concern and eagerness she watched the other patrons of the tavern around her, until her serving boy returned with her wine. Arywdd was so focused on the other people around her that it took a moment for her to notice that the serving boy had returned her silver piece, as well as left a tiny piece of parchment beneath the crystal flute of wine.
Arwydd picked up the tiny message carefully, suspecting a trap as she turned the parchment over in her hands. As a wizard, Pryderi could have easily inscribed a rune on the parchment that could ensnare, blind, or even kill the priestess, but Arwydd refused to be caught in such a transparent trap. With a brief, whispered prayer to Lolth, Arywdd was able to see magic emanations, but the parchment in her hands contained no dweomer that her spell could detect. Still, the priestess carefully unfolded the parchment, bracing herself to fend of dangerous magic if Pryderi had found a way to shield his spells from her detection.
The parchment contained only a few words, written in the blocky, ugly language of the duergar dwarves. Arwydd knew the language well, even if she disliked its vulgar, harsh vocabulary, and as she read through the few lines the noble's face lit with joy. Realizing her mistake, the noble quickly forced herself to remain stony and emotionless, glancing around furtively to make certain that no one had paid her any heed. Of the few drow and a handful of duergar that were currently occupying the tavern, none of them seemed to notice her or her reaction.
Her mission accomplished, Arwydd tucked the parchment into the folds of her cloak and stood slowly, downing her wine with a single gulp before leaving the tavern with a vague feeling of disappointment. Although she had received word that House Gwalchgwynn would lend aid in her family's attempt to oust House Hen Wyneb, Arwydd would have much rather received the news from Pryderi himself.
Hetwn made his way silently through the catacombs beneath the streets of Llyr, suspecting an attack at any moment in the inky darkness. While his darkvision provided him with sight in the impenetrable gloom, the wizard was far from happy with House Brenin Llywd's choice of meeting places. Although most drow knew of the narrow, winding tunnels that ran beneath the western portions of Llyr, few were the drow that would ever willingly venture into those caves. The Lower Passages were home to more than a few horrors, not the least of which were the cursed driders, drow-spider crossbreeds that had been cast out of the city and now sought petty vengeance against any dark elf foolish enough to wander into their clutches. The narrow tunnels also stole Hetwn's greatest advantage, the ability to cast from range, and that worried the wizard immensely. If Heilyn or any other member of Brenin Llywd wished him dead, they would be far more suited to do so in the Lower Passages, where Hetwn would not be able to distance himself from his attackers.
The wizard rounded another bend in the tunnel he followed, taking great care to memorize his journey as he walked. Even if the meeting was not an ambush, Hetwn wanted to be able to find his way back out of the tunnels. Another bend appeared ahead of him, and the wizard carefully turned the corner.
The bend led him to a small, roughly oval chamber, its ceiling only a foot, at best, above Hetwn's head. Stalactites ran from the ceiling to the floor, creating a virtual maze of stone pillars, but toward the rear of the tiny, cluttered chamber the patron could see his intended rendezvous. Heilyn Brenin Llywd sat casually on a chunk of stone, while behind him a half dozen other drow, including two priestesses, waited patiently.
"Seven of you have come for only me?" Hetwn asked, his hand dropping to the wand on his belt. He could never win against such odds, but the patron was more than willing to drag at least one or two of his attackers into Lolth's web with him. "You won't find me so easy to defeat, secondboy."
"That's good," Heilyn said, standing. "Because otherwise, I'd have to rethink giving you these soldiers."
"You're giving me soldiers?" Hetwn repeated suspiciously. Heilyn nodded.
"Matron Eirian has weighed her options," the secondboy said, resting his hand on the pommel of his ornate sword. "She knows what House Hen Wyneb wants, and that is position as the fourteenth house of Llyr. We, of course, occupy that position. Therefore, any who try to weaken or depose House Hen Wyneb is an ally of House Brenin Llywd. And House Brenin Llywd always helps its allies. These six soldiers are yours, a present from Matron Eirian to Matron Saffir."
"Matron Saffir accepts your gift graciously," Hetwn said, although he could not shake the suspicion that something was wrong. The six commoners with Heilyn unclasped their cloaks and took new ones from the floor, and as Heilyn produced a simple, dim light from the folds of his piwafwi Hetwn could see that the new garments were the cloaks worn by the common soldiers of his own house. As the wizard turned a questioning gaze on Heilyn, the secondboy shrugged with a faint smile.
"We have very good tailors," the noble son said. "Take Lolth's blessing, and strike down our common foe."
Hetwn nodded his thanks, then turned and led his new entourage back to the city.