Author's Note: Haer'Dalis outright stole his song from Conrad Aiken. I'm thinking the tiefling is rather well acquainted with the Portal of Plagiarism. A cittern looks a bit like a mandolin but I think it sounds more like a guitar. However, I'm no bard and I have a tin ear. (I grew up in a musical family...I have no excuse. Take a gander at my user name. Heh heh.)

21...Musical Interlude

When Haer'Dalis entered the public house with his borrowed cittern under his arm, there was a gratifying stir of anticipation. Ah, I do so love these Eilistraeeans. He stood in the doorway just long enough to make a subtle entrance. His outfit would have been stylish in Athkatla; here (he hoped) it would be seen as exotic.

The public house's manager, a pleasant fellow named Durdyn, gave him a nod and cut his gaze to an empty table on the right, dramatically lit with flickering faerie fire and in an acoustically favorable location. Perfect and just as they'd discussed.

The first time Haer'Dalis had entered the public house, he had sought out its manager, to make it clear that although he was both a surfacer and a male, he was no one's slave or servant. He was, in fact, a professional bard. Truth could be a slippery creature but there was one core truth Haer'Dalis adhered to throughout the multiverse: bards got paid. Durdyn had invited him to his private office and there the drow made a few things clear himself.

The public house was owned by Clan Eikoth, Durdyn explained. "We're a merchant clan. Our leaders are mostly males. We leave the matriarchal Lolth crap to the nobles. They don't like it but they need the goods we import since they refuse to dirty their hands with money-grubbing on the surface." Durdyn held out his own shapely, well-manicured hands and chuckled. "The clan has many surfacers as employees since slaves aren't cost effective in our line of work. We're here to make money." The drow grinned. "And we do pretty well. So yeah, you want to get paid. I get it. Let's talk."

Once Haer'Dalis had explained that, although not averse to material gifts, he preferred his pay in the form of useful information and even gossip, the discussion became quite genial. In other places on the Prime he'd had to spell out his needs more bluntly but he could see that Durdyn understood him perfectly. Such a pleasure to deal with a sharp-witted colleague.

Drow society never ceased to fascinate Haer'Dalis.

He settled in his seat and felt many eyes upon him, watching, waiting. He smiled and checked his tuning. The cittern was a fine, robust instrument and certainly seemed to stay in tune longer than any lute he'd ever played. Some elven magic, perhaps. Haer'Dalis stroked the glossy inlay on its soundbox.

The public house exuded the intoxicating scent of public houses across the multiverse. The fragrance was like a song, with a top note of people, sweat, and alcohol. A heart note of desire and despair, of broken dreams and forlorn hopes. And the base note, of course, was always the same: chaos and decay.

Haer'Dalis inhaled appreciatively. A graceful servitor-they were all male, comely and elegantly dressed-edged through the crowd with a tray of drinks. Haer'Dalis smiled and took a glass of wine. He wet his throat and began.

At first he played lively tunes and the drow danced. They danced for joy, they danced to honor their goddess perhaps, but also they danced to forget the fate that lay upon them all. They danced to defy the doom that crept closer with every move of the Valsharess' army.

Doom, of course, could never be evaded. Everything ended. So it must be. So it should be.

But while there was life, there could be music.

There was always wine at his elbow; the servitors saw to that. Could the wine be poisoned? Most unlikely, he felt. Surely his own small role on this tragic stage was of too little consequence to warrant a public assassination.

He drank and he played. The cittern felt alive in his hands. He could feel the mix of hope and desperation in the air, almost pluck it from the minds of the drow around him. There was music in their souls. Music and brave despair. He let the despair flow over him, in him, and out through the beautiful cittern. The music slowed. The dancers faltered. And then it was time to lay his heart bare for these lovely people. He sang.

Of course, it helped that he was drunk.

It helped a lot. He sang of faded hopes and the decay that was at the heart of every good thing. Decay was the end of all things and the birth of all new things. He knew this, of course, but now he felt this knowledge more clearly than ever before. Surely here, deep within the earth, in this whisper-soft, dangerous darkness, they must be close to the sinking, rotting center of the multiverse.

He sang. "All lovely things will have an ending, all lovely things will fade and die, and youth, that's now so bravely spending, will beg a copper by and by.

"Fine ladies soon are all forgotten, and goldenrod is dust when dead. The sweetest flesh and flowers are rotten and cobwebs tent the brightest head.

"Come back, true love! Sweet youth, return! But time goes on, and will, unheeding, though hands will reach and eyes will yearn, and the wild days set true hearts bleeding.

"Come back, true love! Sweet youth, remain! But goldenrod and daisies wither, and over them blows autumn rain. They pass, they pass, and know not whither."

In Ust Natha, the music of the drow had moved him. But here, amongst so many Eilistraeeans, their music, and their reaction to it, was an overwhelming force. Almost a religious experience, if he could allow himself to succumb to such an irrational process. (He couldn't, of course, but he could feel the attraction.)

So beautiful, these dark, doomed elves. Surely that was what caused him to follow Solaufein down to this dark heart of the Prime. He was fascinated by Solaufein's exalted beauty, by the tragedy of the hopes and dreams that had led him to a new world: a different world but one no less demanding and difficult. Haer'Dalis knew where hopes and dreams led.

They led to chaos.

I really am very, very drunk. And why not?

So he let wine flow, heady and tart, down his throat.

A woman had watched him for quite some time. He had been aware of her as he performed. She was dressed richly and was flanked by a pair of drow warriors. Bodyguards. Only one of high rank would feel the need for bodyguards here.

The guards wore no house symbol nor did the woman but he was certain he knew who she was. Other drow kept their distance and watched her with wary politeness. Surely she was Zesyyr Maeviir, the last living daughter of Matron Mother Myrune. She was dainty and graceful with the steely focused look of a survivor.

This one will ride the waves of chaos. Ride them and think to master them. Perhaps she will succeed, for a time.

For any male to look a drow woman in the eye, particularly a noblewoman, was both insolent and dangerous. He looked her in the eye and then he smiled. His smile deepened as he saw her thread her way between crowded tables. All drow moved aside to let her pass. When it was clear she wished to speak, he set the cittern gently on the table.

She did not introduce herself, an act that merely confirmed her identity. "I have listened to you sing. You have a good command of our language, outsider," she said.

"My thanks."

"You have been in the Underdark before." There was a hint of a question.

"Yes."

He waited for her to ask about Solaufein. They all wanted to know more about Solaufein.

"You are a tiefling," she said.

"That is so." He let his dimples show.

Now she smiled. "I am curious." She paused and he waited. "I am curious," she said, "What it is like to bed one such as you."

He let his eyes widen in a flattering way but he kept his face demure. It was clear she wanted a game. It would be his pleasure to give her one. "I am not the only tiefling in this fair city."

"Valen Shadowbreath. Ah, yes. Very wild. Impossible to break, impossible to control, that one. I fear that would make him most unsuitable for my needs."

"We tieflings are born with chaos in our souls. You may find that I, too, am impossible to control."

She leaned forward. He could smell her musky perfume. "Is that so?"

"So I like to believe." He leaned forward as well, to emphasize the tension between them. What was it that made her so attractive? She was lovely and exquisite but he thought it was the fierceness of her eyes that he admired. "Perhaps I could be bent to your will for awhile," he murmured. "Should that interest you."

Her mouth smiled but her eyes were calculating. "I thought as much, tiefling."

He followed her upstairs, cittern tucked under his arm. One bodyguard led the way and the other followed at Haer'Dalis' heels. She had a luxurious suite of rooms and he understood from Durdyn that she lived here. The guards remained in the outer room while she led him to her bedchamber. She made no move to the bed and made no move to touch him. Instead she sat at a small couch and invited him to join her.

"You live here?" he asked. "Not in House Maeviir?"

"The matron mother and I do not share quarters." She gave a small smile at a joke she did not share. "I am glad to come across you like this. I had wished for a way to approach you without alerting every eye in this city."

"Ah." Because there was such total privacy in a crowded tavern. Instead of secrecy she chose misdirection, it would seem. Given how closely her every move must be watched, he thought that a wise decision. Let people make their assumptions, so long as those assumptions were wrong.

She smiled. "Once our business is out of the way and assuming you do not disappoint me, perhaps there will be time to test your… flexibility."

"Then I must endeavor not to disappoint," he said.

"This mirror that you recovered for the Seer-have you cause to believe it is genuine? Can it do what they say? Can it spy upon enemy and friend alike?"

"It is powerful," he said. "Myself, I fear to use it. The magic seems treacherous."

"Has Myrune used it? Has it been in her hands?"

"Not that I am aware."

"I hope the Seer guards it well," she said. "Myrune will take it, if she can."

"Why do you say that?"

"Come now, why do you think? A mirror that can peer through any wards, scry upon anyone no matter how powerful or protected? Any matron mother would kill for such an artifact."

"You think she will try to take it from the Seer?"

"I know she will. She will 'borrow' it at first and use it to assess her risks."

"Surely she already knows what we face here. The Seer has hidden nothing of what we've learned of the Valsharess."

"Has she? Would Myrune believe that? Myrune opposes the Valsharess only because she has no other choice. The Valsharess has vowed to kill her, you see, so why not fight? But...if the matron mother should get her hands upon a prize, a prize that we can be certain the Valsharess covets..."

"You think she will strike a bargain with the Valsharess?" he asked.

"Of course. She will betray us all if that would save her own neck. Surely you can see that. Myrune is playing for Solaufein now but the mirror would perhaps be a greater prize. Certainly one easier to handle."

"Playing for Solaufein?"

"She'll make him patron of House Maeviir," Zesyyr said. "That would gain her greater access to the Seer's councils and of course, he is a useful male in his own right. And," she snorted, "He surely is more pleasing in every conceivable way than that senile fool Tebimar. If she gets a daughter off Solaufein, she can have me killed. Later, whenever it's convenient, she can trade him to the Valsharess."

Haer'Dalis carefully, very carefully, kept all expression from his face but a mild interest. His blood, however, ran cold. "Do you think Solaufein is so easily played?" he asked.

"I do not tell you what I think but what Myrune thinks. She does not think he will refuse her. He hasn't yet, has he? And indeed, he will find it hard to refuse her." She met his eyes. "Our house wizard tells me she has had a piwafwi cloak made for him, a very fine enchanted cloak. She will present it to him soon, in such a way he will have to accept it or cause grave insult. It bears our House insignia."

Haer'Dalis made no reply but his eyebrows rose. Zesyyr frowned.

"You look skeptical, foolish male, but she is very, very afraid. She will do what she feels she must, even if she must degrade herself to court this outcast male. Even at the risk of shattering the alliance with the Seer."

"Why do you tell me this?" he asked.

"I tell you what is obvious to me and what should be obvious to all. But you are an outsider and I do not know how well you understand us. I do not think the Seer blind to the risk but she dares not act openly against Myrune. If she loses House Maeviir, she loses Lith My'athar. She needs this alliance, no matter how unreliable it is."

"And your solution?" he asked.

"Kill Myrune."

"Kill her?"

"Of course. Are you surprised? As matron of House Maeviir, I will make a much better ally than Myrune. Lith My'athar is my home and I will fight for it, not half-heartedly but with all I have. I have no illusions that the Valsharess will spare me if we fall. I have nothing of use to her and she must make an example of those who rebel against her. If I die, so be it. But I will not die without a fight, no matter how hopeless. And I do not believe our position is without hope. I have seen what you and Solaufein have accomplished already. You ask my solution? It is simple. I want you to kill the matron mother."

Haer'Dalis cocked his head. "Why me?"

"You can enter the guarded compound where I cannot. You are not aligned with any rival house so the political situation, although not ideal, can be salvaged. You could easily arrange an excuse to get inside. A message from Solaufein, perhaps. You are capable."

"You expect me to overcome your house defenses and fight your entire House? I am not quite that capable."

"No, I do not expect that. Do you think me so foolish? I have long planned for this day. Many of the guards are loyal to me. Others are...disaffected and will stand aside and do nothing. Gulhyrs, our house wizard, will support me but he will not move against Myrune openly. She watches him too closely. Still, he will ensure that you need not fear the house defenses. Tebimar cannot be turned but that is no matter-his service is unacceptable to me. He knows that well and he will fight to the death. But this is the time to strike. Remember that Lolth is silent and so Myrune herself is weak."

Of course, Haer'Dalis thought. She is weak without Lolth's spells but so are you. This is why you need someone like me.

"When Myrune and Tebimar are dead, the others will fall in line, " Zesyyr said. "I can promise you that."

"Why should I trust you more than her?"

Zesyyr laughed. "What guarantee can I make that you will believe? Use your own judgment, tiefling. For what it is worth, I have watched the Seer and your Solaufein. I am no Eilistraeen but I can see that the touch of destiny is upon them. This is why I have not given up hope."

She turned on the couch and looked him straight in the eyes. Hmm, Haer'Dalis thought. No drow woman has ever looked at me quite like that.

"My mother believes Lolth will come back and all will be as it was," she said. "She hopes and prays for the Spider Queen's return with all the fervor of her cowardly heart. She has never hidden her hatred for those who follow Eilistraee. If betraying the Seer and slaughtering her people would save her life, she would do so with a smile. Some day, Lolth will return and there will be an accounting, she believes. She fears Lolth's return as much as she fears the Valsharess' arrival and for much the same reason. Do you understand me?"

"She fears to be found on the wrong side. What do you believe? Will Lolth return?"

Zesyyr frowned. "I do not know. I have served Lolth all my life. I have no love for Eilistraee but Lolth is silent and that has never happened, to my knowledge. If Lolth is dead, everything will be different. Everything. Our entire world will be ours to shape anew. I do not know if you realize how much Lith My'athar has already changed. That frightens Myrune but it exhilarates me."

"Death and decay are inevitable, even for your gods."

Zesyyr shrugged. "I have no control of the gods, only of the events around me. Will you do what I ask?"

"Will I kill your mother?" He met her eyes. By her posture, he could tell she was not as relaxed as she pretended. "Yes. I will help you."

She leaned toward him. Her hand touched the back of his neck. Her knee nudged his. "We will make plans," she said. "Later. For now, we will enjoy what is left of the cycle."