XII

"Maddox is dead? You're certain?"

"I am," Bradwr answered, ignoring the worst of the pain from the electrical burns across his body as he stood before Matron Ceridwen. "Even if he was still alive when I was forced away, Evnissien's agents most certainly assured that he was dead."

"House Evnissien," Llawr said thoughtfully, pondering the valuable information that Bradwr had brought back. The new elderboy of Hen Wyneb, Ceridwen's only surviving son, had thanked Lolth a dozen times or more for giving him that information; the knowledge had saved him from a far more brutal interrogation at the matron's hands, or worse yet, Daere. Even now the second daughter watched Bradwr warily from her place at Ceridwen's left side. She had lost her truest ally in the house, and Bradwr could see the suspicion behind her cold glare. Banon, usually Ceridwen's closest advisor, was conspicuously absent. "An interesting twist. I suppose they hoped for the element of surprise in their rise to power."

"They achieved it," Matron Ceridwen said, "but now we know our enemy. We will be able to prepare for them, and hopefully strike back before they realize the knowledge we possess."

"Fychan Evnissien knows that I escaped," Bradwr pointed out. "He will be quick to return to his house and warn them of what we have learned."

"Meaning we can expect their assault in the next few days," Llawr concluded.

"They will need to rush their attack," Ceridwen observed. "This gives us the advantage. We have more soldiers."

"They have been busy in the markets," Daere said. "This one has told us of their duergar rebellion," she continued, a derisive note sneaking into her voice as she nodded to her brother, "but I believe that those rumors must be false if they truly plan to attack us."

"It doesn't matter," Llawr pointed out. "Rebellion or not, we must either strike quickly against them or prepare for the attack that we know will be coming. And we must find a way to replace Maddox. He was one of our most powerful casters."

"Bradwr," Matron Ceridwen said. The new elderboy tensed at the mention of his name.

"Yes, Matron Mother," he answered.

"You are dismissed," Ceridwen said. "Leave us. Daere will see to your injuries."

"Thank you, Matron Mother," Bradwr said, bowing as much as his wounds would allow. Swiftly he turned and started out of the chapel, Daere following only a few steps behind. As the two siblings exited and shut the doors behind them, Daere turned to her younger brother.

"You found him in the squatters' districts," the priestess said, her voice icy and even.

"That is where he was," Bradwr answered, calm in spite of his sister's obvious menace. Daere's hand was near the hilt of her snake whip, and the five heads of the weapon seemed to fix their eyes on the new elderboy.

"And what was he doing there?" Daere asked. "What were you doing there, dear brother?"

"I was looking for him, as I told the Matron Mother," Bradwr answered coolly. "As for what he was doing there… I don't know what business he might have had in such a place. I had searched everywhere for him, and the squatters' districts was the only place I had not checked. Call it luck that I found him there."

"The worst kind of luck," Daere agreed. Bradwr allowed himself a faint sigh of relief as the priestess seemed to accept his answer, and started to turn to the hall leading away from the chapel doors.

Daere was suddenly on him, spinning him around with a sidearm strike of her whip. The snakes' fangs bit into his shoulder even through his chain mail, forcing him to turn back to the enraged priestess. Before he could draw a weapon, Daere had pinned her slightly smaller brother against the wall, an ornate spider dagger at his throat. Bradwr's eyes remained fixed on the four awl shaped blades of the weapon for only a moment before Daere's voice snapped his attention back to her.

"You set him up, didn't you?" the priestess snarled. "You set him up to die at the hands of our very enemies!"

Bradwr glanced nervously down to the dagger again.

"If he was a true elderboy, he would have seen the dangers of his path," Bradwr said, as close to a direct confession as he would ever come for the enraged priestess. Daere's eyes widened in fury as she began to lean forward on the dagger. "What would Matron Ceridwen say if you killed her only remaining son?" Bradwr asked hastily. The dagger still pressed against his throat, and he could feel the sharp points of the blades break his skin. "On the eve of war with House Evnissien, and one son already dead? How would we fare?"

Daere stopped, but Bradwr could already feel blood running down his neck.

"You are as responsible for Maddox' death as that Evnissien wizard," the priestess growled, leaning close to her brother. "We do need you, for now. But don't think I'll forget this, elderboy."

Daere pulled her dagger away, and let Bradwr up from against the wall. Curtly she turned and started to stalk away.

"With Maddox dead, you'll need allies if you wish to take the throne from Banon one day," Bradwr called out behind her. Daere stopped, but refused to turn back. "Perhaps, if you're nice to me, dear sister, I would be willing to aid in your own rise to power."

Daere hesitated for a long moment in the hallway. Bradwr could practically feel the priestess' rage rolling off of her in waves. Finally, she took another step, determined to leave her remaining brother behind.

"Sister," Bradwr called out again, thoroughly enjoying the brief moment of power over the indomitable second daughter of Hen Wyneb. Daere froze once again, still not turning back to him.

"What?" she snapped, refusing to face her brother.

"I believe right now, your duties are to heal me."

"Our assault will have to be undertaken within the next day or two."

"Perhaps Fychan should have waited to attack Maddox," Naomhin said, looking out over the city of Llyr from the lower balconies of the Evnissien compound. Through the gloom of the great cavern the elderboy could see the diminutive faerie fire sculptures of the merchant houses that occupied the northern stretches of the drow city, and the distant lights of House Brenin Llywd. Naomhin's eyes settled on that noble house for a long moment, remembering easily how they had abandoned Evnissien so recently.

"Fychan's attack was necessary," Athruis countered, his voice quiet and stern. Naomhin turned away from the city to face House Evnissien's weaponmaster, standing over a low table lit by candles in what was normally the training room for the house's noble children. It was in that bare room, adorned with nothing more than mats to cushion falls and racks of weapons both blunted and sharp, that the elderboy had spent so much of his young life, learning at the feet of a warrior that could easily have found a place among the higher houses of Llyr as a respected captain, if not a weaponmaster. "Maddox was too great a threat to be allowed to take part in the battle."

"I don't disagree," Naomhin said, "but it could have been undertaken once we were ready to attack."

"He took the chance he was afforded, Naomhin," Athruis said, his eyes still on the table. Naomhin rejoined his father, looking over the detailed map of House Hen Wyneb that the elderboy himself had drawn. "A good warrior adapts. They are more off balance than we. A swift, well planned attack will bring us victory, if our courage holds."

"Courage, and strategy," Naomhin added as he studied the map. "Hen Wyneb still has a talented weaponmaster, several other wizards to take Maddox' place, and three daughters."

"Only two of whom are high priestesses," Athruis amended. "They will not be ready, and hopefully, your younger sister will gain the services of a mage that rivals Maddox' power."

"Pryderi?" Naomhin assumed. Uncommon for his devious sister, Arwydd had been clumsy at best in her handling of her desire to bed the elderboy of House Gwalchgwynn. If Cadwared's reports had been correct, however, Pryderi was as smitten with Arwydd as the priestess was with the sorcerer, giving Evnissien an edge in gaining a powerful spellcaster essentially for no cost.

"We'll need him," Athruis said quietly. Naomhin nodded in agreement. "You know your place in this battle?"

"I'm leading the main assault," Naomhin said, slightly nervous of his position but all too eager to join the battle. The main assault would batter the gate of House Hen Wyneb, no doubt guarded by mystical and mundane traps as well as the bulk of the fifteenth house's soldiers. It would be a lethal, dangerous battle, but with Arwydd and other priestesses in the force with him and his hand picked soldiers, Naomhin had little doubt that he would survive the rapidly approaching attack.

"Yes," Athruis said, gesturing to the map. "Your force will break the gate. Fychan will lead a second force, smaller, to breach the fence here, well away from your assault, and hopefully crush the defenders between our forces and the duergar."

"Duergar," Naomhin echoed. Even the name of their dwarven allies made his stomach turn with disgust.

"Do not underestimate the gray ones," the weaponmaster said. "They are dangerous, and I far prefer them fighting with us, rather than against us."

"And what of you?" Naomhin inquired, looking to his father.

"I will bring a small strike force into the compound," Athruis replied. "I will meet you inside the gates."

Naomhin nodded, considering the possibilities. Athruis was his father, an impressive fighter to say the least, and a more than capable strategist. He had sealed his position as house weaponmaster even after losing the favor of Matron Saffir as patron. But weaponmaster was a far more prestigious position than elderboy, and to take his place as Evnissien's chief warrior would secure Naomhin's position if Talaith ever toppled her mother or Fychan looked to become elderboy of the house himself…

"I see your ambitions in your eyes, Naomhin," Athruis said, startling the elderboy from his thoughts. "Some night you may very well replace me, but tonight will not be the night."

"You are a valuable asset to the family," Naomhin said, dropping his eyes to the table. "I would be foolish to wish to see you gone."

"You would be foolish not to be ambitious," Athruis countered sternly. "But you must temper your ambition with caution. You are not ready to be a weaponmaster, and you are certainly not ready to kill me."

Naomhin could only nod in agreement with his father. Few, if any, drow ever died of old age. It was the way of Llyr, beyond even the teachings of the Spider Queen, that the strong kill the weak, and it was this main tenet that had allowed the drow to flourish in their harsh subterranean world. Athruis, stony and emotionless, seemed to understand this point far more than many, and almost welcomed the daily challenges to survival that his station and role created. Still, Athruis held nothing back in training his son, and Naomhin suspected that, if the weaponmaster were ever to fall in combat, he would prefer his death come at the hands of his own child.

"Your troops are prepared?" Athruis asked, snapping the elderboy from his musings.

"They are," Naomhin answered.

"Then go," Athruis said. "You have the gate. Do not fail."

Naomhin nodded, already starting for the doors from the training room. The house gate was his assault. The most dangerous assault of any siege.

He would not have accepted a lesser honor.

"Arwydd?"

"Mistress," Arwydd corrected, taking a seat across from Pryderi in the Hidden Jewel. Pryderi could easily note the normally alluring priestess' stiff gait and the wince of pain as she lowered herself into her chair. Although he fought to hide it, a faint smirk tugged at his lips.

"You seem to be in some discomfort," Pryderi noted. A few tiny patches of blood showed through her loose burgundy gown as darker patches where the dress clung to her. Arwydd, for her part, looked down at the table.

"Matron Saffir requests your presence in the siege against Hen Wyneb," the priestess informed him, her voice low. Pryderi arched an eyebrow.

"Matron Saffir seems to always request me," the wizard stated. "Is this another trap, to implicate me against some greater house?"

"You are a powerful wizard," Arwydd explained. "We have removed Maddox, but to add one more wizard such as you can greatly improve our chances of a clean victory."

"And what does matron Morfyl gain for risking her elderboy, such a powerful wizard that he is, on a house siege?" Pryderi inquired.

"An alliance with a house that can help Gwalchgwynn remove their own enemies," Arwydd answered. A definite note of irritability and misery found its way to her voice. Pryderi's smirk widened ever so slightly.

"Perhaps it would be in my house's best interests to see more eyes turned against Evnissien," the wizard surmised. Arwydd's eyes rose from the table, anger beginning to edge her delicate features. "Perhaps we should even withdraw our troops…"

"Enough!" Arwydd exclaimed, her voice rising sharply. The priestess made a move to stand, but her evident injuries forced her to stop and inhale with the pain.

"You have seen the whip," Pryderi surmised. Arwydd's fury dropped into humiliation. "Why not simply heal yourself?"

"I… am not permitted," the priestess said, speaking in a whisper. "Matron Saffir has intervened so that my prayers will not be answered. Because of you."

"I see," Pryderi said. The wizard paused for a moment as he considered the young woman before him. He could have used her confession to his advantage, forcing her to submit to his will in any way possible. But, in the end, an alliance with House Evnissien was in the best interest of House Gwalchgwynn. "Fear not, mistress," the wizard stated. "You will have me by your side in the coming battle."

Arwydd tried to replace her glum mood with a half amused smirk, but all Pryderi could see was a genuine smile of relief.

"Tybalt!"

"We have little time to speak, mistress!" the stocky mine boss growled out, his voice barely audible over the cries of slaves and the constant ringing of picks and the metal claws of the monstrosities the duergar had summoned. The mine tunnels, almost three hundred feet below House Evnissien, swirled with choking dust and echoed with the sounds of frantic work. As she followed the mine boss through the tunnel, the priestess could see the bodies of less fortunate slaves piled in mounds of a dozen or more from diminutive kobolds to the rare brutish ogre, their blood coagulating quickly in the rock powder or leaking into cracks in the earth. "Your tunnel burrows through dense stone!"

"Tybalt!" Talaith shouted angrily, following the ghostly dwarf through the haze and the darkness. The clouds of dust stung her eyes to the point of tears and forced her to wear a heavy silk scarf over her mouth and nose to allow her to breathe, but the slaves of the duergar had no such protection as they toiled in the shaft. Tybalt finally turned back to the priestess, a thoroughly annoyed expression on his filthy features. "How long before the tunnel is completed?"

"Tomorrow, as you wished," Tybalt answered curtly. The dwarf turned back to his taskmasters, but Talaith grabbed the far shorter mine boss by his arm.

"We need it in ten hours, maybe less!" Talaith shouted over a resounding crash somewhere ahead. Tybalt's bloodshot eyes squinted in confusion. "By the night!" Talaith screamed, striving to be heard over the din.

"You said tomorrow!" Tybalt shouted back.

"Things have changed!" Talaith yelled, wishing the mine boss would have met her where she did not have to fight to be heard over the racket. "The tunnel must be finished by night!"

"We cannot do it!" Tybalt hollered. "I told you, this stone is too dense!"

"The faithful of the Taskmaster, unable to complete a task?" Talaith asked. Tybalt's grimy beard could not hide the furious scowl that came to his face.

"We cannot do it with what we have!" the duergar snarled back. Talaith reached into the folds of the heavy cloak protecting her fine clothing from the disgusting mine, and flipped a pouch to the mine boss. Tybalt caught it with an angry flick of his wrist, and peered into the velvet for a moment.

"Incentive," Talaith stated as Tybalt looked back to her.

"Do not expect to see any of these slaves again," the mine boss growled, his voice only barely audible in the mine. Talaith glanced back to the closest pile of corpses, and shrugged.

"I don't think the Matron will miss a single one of these miserable creatures," the priestess stated. "Finish the tunnel."

"You sent for me, mistress."

"I did," Banon said, not looking away from the balcony that overlooked the Hen Wyneb compound. Behind her lay Maddox' room, while before her, the inhabitants of her house scurried to prepare for the coming siege. House Evnissien had somehow managed to secure the upper hand in their private war, and now Hen Wyneb was left to scramble to defend their home. Bradwr's information that identified their enemy was indeed valuable, but now, it seemed too little, too late to the eldest daughter of Hen Wyneb. The war would come to their compound. Even if they survived Evnissien's assault, they would be left weak, an easy target for Brenin Llywd, Lainbhui, or Maredudd. Banon shook the thoughts from her head. "It has been told that you are a fairly powerful spellcaster."

"I am," Collwen said, still waiting for the priestess to turn and acknowledge her. Banon watched the courtyard for another moment, seeing Bradwr's newest recruits, a hundred kobold slaves, entered the Hen Wyneb compound through the imposing house gate. Finally, Banon turned from the spectacle below to face her guest.

"We will need powerful mages in the coming nights," Banon explained, eyeing the mage for a long moment. Collwen was faintly taller than her, her fire scarred face showing nothing but professional disinterest at the conversation. "Maddox had several items, some of them powerful enough possibly to change the course of a coming battle."

"He was a powerful wizard," Collwen said, her praise of the late elderboy courteous enough to pass for genuine. Banon hesitated for a long moment. She despised the thought of needing to trust a newly hired sorceress with such arcane items, but the outcome of their conflict with Evnissien was still in far too much doubt. Collwen may try to steal the items and sneak into the darkness before House Evnissien even showed at their gates, but there wee precious few other wizards in the house that could wield Maddox' wands and scrolls to any great effect. The title of house mage had gone to a loyal male of great power and standing within the house, but he possessed enough of his own eldritch relics to hold his own in the coming battle. Collwen could only benefit from Maddox' hoard, and if she did remain loyal, Hen Wyneb would be the better for it.

"You may take anything in this room that you feel will aid you," Banon finally said, fighting hard to keep her voice cool and polite. Collwen's eyes widened only the faintest bit before she regained her composure. "Be ready within an hour. You will not be allowed in these quarters again."

"Thank you, mistress," the sorceress said, a hint of surprise and gratitude sneaking into her voice. Banon nodded slightly as she pushed past Collwen and out of Maddox' chambers.

As she made her way back to the ground and the mass of commoners and soldiers in within Hen Wyneb's mighty fence, Banon could only hope that her final preparations would be enough to soundly defeat the inevitable siege.