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“A bedraggled and thoroughly frustrated Catti-brie entered her chambers much later to find her husband dancing with their little girl. Or maybe they were training. Drizzt did a broad jump. Brie hopped, both feet off the ground. She touched down lightly and sprang again, and a third time, which put her up beside her father. “You,” Drizzt said. Brie laughed. She jumped up as high as she could and turned in midair. She got about a quarter of the way around before she ran out of air beneath her, thumping down and holding her balance. Drizzt leaped up gracefully and spun about, a full spin, landing and dropping into a squat that put his face right before that of his giggling daughter. “You!” she said. Up sprang Drizzt, executing a backflip that landed him on his feet, but only momentarily, as he plopped down on his butt before Brie with a surprised look on his face. Brie laughed and went up as if to jump, but didn’t leave the ground at all, and instead just fell back to a sitting position facing her father. The two broke out in laughter. “Boom!” said Drizzt. “Boo boo!” said Brie.”

“And there, too?” Catti-brie asked, indicating a lower point, a shelf not much higher than the floor of the rift, where a cluster of giant stalagmites lay at a strange angle, some broken, some still showing their full tips, and one even hinting at the glow of faerie fire. “That is what remains of House Oblodra,” Gromph told her. “Thrown in here by Matron Mother Baenre in the Time of Troubles nearly two centuries ago. They sought to use the silence of Lolth to their advantage with their psionic powers. Lolth didn’t like it.”

“Lolth was within every reasoning being, that dark and selfish side of the mind. A disease, an infection, most often suppressed to a great degree. But not when Lolth got these beings under her thrall. Then the malignancy did grow, and the dark thoughts emerged. Even as he considered that, Kimmurriel better understood why Lolth had tried for the hive mind multiple times-and was probably still trying to infect the illithids now.”

“You ask us to surrender the poison House Baenre has held for millennia? To give up all that our Matron Mother Yvonne the Eternal spent centuries building?” “Give it up or have it taken from us, with no chance of future recourse,” Sos’Umptu calmly replied. Matron Zeerith sucked in her breath audibly, her old lips flapping in a great harrumph. Her own fate was at stake here, surely, as Zhindia Merlarn positively hated her and had long accused her of heresy because of her elevation of men in her family.”

“The truth is, you don’t know Menzoberranzan. Not even you, Jarlaxle, who has spent your life trying to figure it out. You cannot understand the hope that brought us to the great cavern those millennia removed. Yes, hope. It was not anger that brought us there, nor fear. It was hope. We fled a world of tyrant queens and insane kings, a place of unending war and injustice. We found a sanctuary, a deep cave, full of Faezress magic—though we did not understand that at the time—and easily defended. A sanctuary, I say, and indeed that is what the word ‘Menzoberranzan’ then meant in the ancient tongue of the drow. “A hundred families,” she continued. “Ten thousand dark elves. And each had a say in their family, and each family had a voice in the Plenum, and the largest families spoke those concerns in the Conclave, which you now—and only—know as the Ruling Council. We were not rulers then as much as servants, heeding the words of all the drow. And it was Lady Lolth that led us there, before she was called the Spider Queen.”

“Ah, yes, true that,” Jarlaxle agreed, feigning defeat. “It escaped me that you are without the strong sense of irony to go that delicious route.” Jarlaxle turned to the others. “So we have it, then,” he declared. “It was the illithids, a grand and brilliant plan! Or it was Lolth herself, ever making chaos for her enjoyment. Or it was one of her great rivals, then—perhaps Demogorgon!—blowing up the whole damned Lolthian world on Faerun.” “Or it was nothing at all beyond the epiphany of two women in position to make a difference,” Entreri said dryly. He sighed and shook his head, then looked up at Wulfgar, who stood beside him. “You see, my friend?” he asked with sarcasm exceeding that of the others. “This is why we can’t have good things, good thoughts, simple joy, or hope.” Jarlaxle laughed loudly at that, amused. But there really was a nagging doubt here, about all of it. The most important lesson he had learned in his desperate struggle to survive in Menzoberranzan was that nothing—nothing!—was as it seemed. Not ever. But how he wanted to believe that this time would be different.”

“Drizzt chuckled, but felt a pang within that honest laughter. This was the childhood he had never experienced, the carefree creation of giggles that too few got to enjoy. He wished he had played this game with Zaknafein, though he couldn’t even imagine the possibility of any such playfulness with his mother, Malice. Such a waste of life itself, he thought, given what he knew now, what Kimmuriel had helped the priestess Yvonnel and Matron Mother Quenthel Baenre reveal of the hopeful beginnings of Menzoberranzan before it had descended into its current, joyless reality. Before the way of Lolth, where the tension and excitement of chaos swirled away the pleasures of simplicity and love.”

“Dear sister, it is not hard to convince a mortal to believe that which she wants so badly to believe,” Eskavidne explained. “It is not hard to suggest deeper reason for mere coincidence, or to create patterns in events unrelated. These mortals yearn for a deeper truth—a hint of such a thing holds a powerful allure. And they seek an orderly multiverse about them, fanatically seeking patterns when none exist, and praying, ever praying, for a controlling figure to parent them.” “And so now Kyrnill Kenafin knows what she knows, and anyone trying to convince her otherwise will be met with a wall of doubt,” Yiccardaria reasoned. “And anger,” said Eskavidne. “Great anger. Violent anger.”

“I do not know how high the ladder of evil deeds such truth climbs, honestly. I have seen wicked dictators of every species and culture to match the vileness of the most zealous Lolthian priestess. I have witnessed truly evil people, from dwarfs to halflings to humans to elves to drow, and everything in between and every species or culture only a bit removed. So perhaps there are some individuals who have within them a natural evil. Or perhaps even with them, even with the most wicked, like Matron Zhindia Melarn or the magistrates of Luskan’s carnival, who torture accused criminals with such glee, there were steps in the earlier days of their personal journey which corrupted them and brought them to their present state. That is a question that I doubt will ever show an answer, nor is that answer truly the most important factor, for in the present, in the moment, in their own actions, these folk, as with us all, bear responsibility.”

“Yvonnel shook her head, not sure if this creature before her was diabolical or rational at that moment. “It did not matter,” the avatar said to her. “Do you not understand? Your actions? The ‘truths’ you learned? They did not matter.” “Then what does matter?” “My pleasure. My chaos. My power. Me. Just me.” “Then what future?” “Who cares?” The avatar laughed at her, and it was sincere, she knew. “You care enough to bless the matrons,” she said. “Do I?” “You care enough to start wars—in the Silver Marches, in Gauntlgrym, in your own City of Spiders!” “The ultimate chaos. War.”

“I do not lie. You know that I do not. You may find wealth in one of these cards. You might find items of great magic. You might find allies of great power, or enemies beyond you. You might find curses or blessings, your greatest wishes, your greatest fears.” “What games do you play?” “I’m not playing this game—you are.” “What is the game, though?” “One that entertains me.” “Fiend.”

“A beautiful drow woman. Too beautiful. Painfully beautiful. It was not an emissary of Lolth, she knew. No, no. It was the image of Lolth herself, reaching out to her from the Abyss. Sos’Umptu fell to her knees, as did every other drow in the Fane of the Goddess. “Many of my handmaidens have come to Menzoberranzan, my city,” Lolth said. Sos’Umptu wanted to look upon her, but dared not lift her gaze. “They brought me here, to you, in full confidence that you would be an acceptable and accepting host.” “I pray you found me acceptable.” “Indeed, Sos’Umptu Baenre. Indeed. Rise now, I command. Look upon me. Let me see the love in your eyes.”

“Tsabrak scoffed at her. “How long have you lived here? Freedom? You are free to do the best you can, based on your loyalty to Lolth and your inner strengths. On your physical, magical, and intellectual prowess. And, of course, your gender. That you, a noble priestess of a powerful house, daughter to one of the ruling matrons of Menzoberranzan, should—” “Suppose that is not what I want?” Saribel interrupted. “Perhaps my heart does not condone that which I see all about me.”

“It is hardly just the matrons and their priestesses, though. As this has sorted, there seem many more against our revolution than for it.” “For many reasons, though,” Zak reminded. “Fear of their matrons and of Lolth, of course. Or simply fear of this unknown future the Baenres have offered. They know the way it’s been, for the entirety their lives, even for those whose lives have spanned centuries. They know their place within that truth. They know the boundaries, the lines not to cross, the acts that give them gain and those that offer only pain. What do they know of this promised world beyond Lolth, particularly when it, too, from their perspective at least, will be under the designs of House Baenre?”

“I am Oblodran,” he answered. “And we were trained to accept the intrusions of the hive mind as the door to our greatness. Yet these centuries later, the first time my mind was scoured still haunts me. I try to forget about their intrusions, but they are with me often, and usually without warning. A smell, a notion, an action, something I see or hear—anything at all can bring me back to that experience. It tries me and chases me in my nightmares—and again, I submitted to it willingly! For Azzudonna, this act, forced upon her against her will, would utterly break her. Irrecoverably, I am sure.”

“A huge black tentacle snaked over the rim of the Clawrift, wriggling its way behind the Oblodran compound. Like a wave, dark elves fell back, stumbling all over each other, as the twenty-foot-thick monstrosity came around the back, along the side, and along the front wall, back towards the chasm. “Baenre!” Pleaded the desperate, doomed Oblodran. “You have denied Lolth,” the first matron mother replied calmly. “Feel her wraith!”

“Yes, and that they were not Lolthians, that their society was neither cruel nor unjust. Quite the opposite, for if what Freewindle told me in his rambling tales of these drow is true, we have come upon a society that is egalitarian and moral, a place where you survive because you can rely on others and where they survive because they know they can rely on you. Do you now understand what such a promise means to me, who had to survive Menzoberranzan?”

“They play hard, and drink harder,” said Entreri, who was nursing a tremendous headache. “They dance, they love, and they sing with abandon.” “And they drink,” Jarlaxle repeated with a knowing grin. Entreri groaned and held his head. “You enjoyed your time with Vessi?” Catti-brie said with a laugh. “Too much so. But yes. He took me to a place he called De’lirr. I did not know that drow could sweat so much.” The other two looked at him curiously. “It was half a dance, half a fight to see who could stay on the floor the longest. Few left alone.” “Including Entreri?” The man just shrugged and even seemed to blush a bit, which caught Catti-brie off guard. “They are alive,” Entreri went on. “Maybe more alive than any people I have known. They play harder than many fight.”

“For two millennia, the aevendrow have lived here beside the blessing of the hot River Callidae. We remember the strife of the times before that, the wandering, the hopelessness, the grief. This day, this war of cazzcalci reminds us that our peace is earned by vigilance and by sacrifice, and that we must all be ever ready to do whatever is asked of us to preserve that which we have built. There is no aevendrow, kurit, orok, or Ulutiun of Callidae who would not die to save the city, or even to save another borough. When Qadeej breathed upon Cattisola, more people of the other four boroughs died trying to save the Cattisolans than Cattisolans themselves! For that, we are all proud, and we are all one.”

“Consider this part of your journey a growing experience,” Jarlaxle explained. “You don’t have your son’s scimitars anymore. Do you think I would allow my second—” “Kimmuriel is your second.” “He’s the other half of my first. In my part of Bregan D’aerthe, in my, shall we say, personal journeys, you are my partner.” “You called me your second. Now I’m your partner? And does Artemis Entreri know of this new arrangement?” “We’ve a fight coming. Are you going to argue about everything?” “Titles matter.” “What would you prefer?” “Your better,” Zak said, and he pulled the eyepatch from his head and tossed it back to Jarlaxle.”

“He is drow,” Zak answered before Jarlaxle, who was now floating back down. “As are you—you cannot levitate?” The surrounding aevendrow stared at him as if they had no idea what he was talking about. “Now, this is an interesting turn,” Jarlaxle said, setting down beside them. “So it was the Faerzress all along, the barrier to the lower planes, which gave us this inner magic.”

“Zak thought of his homeland, Menzoberranzan, the city and the cavern that had stood for millennia. Every drow family tried to put their mark on it, be it with circling stairways flowing from stalactite to stalactite, highlighted with faerie fire of varying hues, but those were such little details, he thought. He was sure that the city looked very much as it had soon after its founding.”