«Lock her up,» Quenthel commanded.

«No!» Faeryl protested, trying desperately to jerk free of her two captors. As Valas, Halisstra, and Ryld all corralled her, the ambassador shrieked and began to fight against her captors. «No! You can't leave me down here. …»

«Shut up!» Quenthel said, slapping Faeryl. «You sniveling, wretched creature, did you really believe you could get away with your betrayal? Did you honestly think you could defy me, a Baenre, and the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith? By the Dark Mother, child, the depths of your foolishness surprise me! Lock her up,» she repeated, gesturing once more at the thick adamantine collar.

«No!» Faeryl protested again, struggling as she was hauled over to the wall.

The ambassador flailed and kicked, but the scout and warrior held her tightly as Halisstra fitted the collar around her neck. When the adamantine band clicked shut, the imprisoned drow sobbed once, and as soon as the two males relinquished their grip on her, she began frantically jerking on the restraint.

Quenthel started to turn away, then paused.

«You can redeem yourself, if you like,» she said to Faeryl.

«How?» the frantic dark elf asked. «Anything! I will do whatever you want.»

«Tell me where my things are,» Quenthel replied. «Tell me where all of my possessions were stored when I was brought here.»

Faeryl's face fell in despair.

«I don't know,» she sobbed, dropping to her knees in supplication. «Please don't leave me here. I will find them for you.»

«Don't bother with her,» Halisstra said. «I know where your things are, Quenthel Baenre.»

Quenthel turned and eyed the daughter of House Melarn.

«Why should I trust you?» she asked.

«That is for you to decide,» Halisstra answered, «but consider this … I led your males down here to find you, I lured the traitor out into the hall before she could kill you, and I live here and can find my way around. While that would ordinarily be a strike against me, as I told the wizard, I have no quarrel with you, and I do not want to see you suffer the consequences for House Zauvirr's betrayal of my mother.»

Quenthel's eyebrows raised as she listened to the other priestess's words, then she looked at Pharaun.

«She speaks the truth,» the wizard admitted. «At least thus far. She has thrown herself in with us, though she has few alternatives. The other matron mothers, led by Ssipriina Zauvirr, are wresting control of her House away from her, after the death of her mother.»

«Hmm,» Quenthel mused. «Very well. We'll address your status later. If you know where my things are, lead on,»

«Wait!» Faeryl cried out, lunging forward against the chain around her neck. «She will betray you, Mistress. All the noble Houses despise you for your plans to steal from the city. You can't trust her.»

«On the contrary,» Quenthel laughed derisively, shaking her head. «She is a Melarn, a member of the only House in Ched Nasad I can trust. Let's go.»

The high priestess turned to depart the cell, and Pharaun was stepping into the hall behind her as Faeryl wailed once more, «You can't leave me here!»

The ambassador began a chant, and Pharaun recognized the pattern of the words as a divine incantation, though he wasn't sure what sort of spell the dark elf might still have retained in her memory.

Before she could complete the invocation, though, Jeggred was in front of Faeryl. The draegloth flicked a hand out, across her face, slicing his long claws across one cheek and catching her by surprise so that she lost her concentration and the words of the spell died in her mouth, the magic lost.

Faeryl cried out, backing away and clasping her bloody cheek. She began to tremble, remembering all the terrible things Jeggred had done to her. She cowered from the towering fiend, folding herself into the comer, as the draegloth glared down at her. He did not raise a hand to strike her further.

Quenthel stepped up beside the demon, wrapped her hands lovingly around his arm, and smiled at the imprisoned drow.

«You know, Faeryl,» the Mistress of the Academy purred, «You're actually right.»

Faeryl only blinked at Quenthel, terror in her eyes.

«You said before that I couldn't leave you here. Sadly, it's true. There's no telling what other spells you might still have tucked away in that clever little mind of yours. Jeggred, my pet, repay her for the things she did to us. Take your time. . enjoy the moment.»

Quenthel strolled out of the room, along with Ryld, but Pharaun remained, as did Halisstra and Danifae.

Faeryl's first scream rang in Pharaun's ears, echoing in the small cell. The draegloth had not yet touched the ambassador, but as the wizard watched, smiling, Jeggred moved closer. Her screams rose in pitch, and they were suddenly silenced as Jeggred casually reached out with one large clawed hand and grasped her by the neck, just beneath the collar she wore, cutting off her air. Madly, Faeryl began to flail at the fiend, but he easily lifted her up and extended his arm out fully, so that the naked drow's feet rose off the floor, kicking at the air. She pummeled feebly at the draegloth's arms, and just as she was fading, Jeggred released her, watching as she crumpled to the floor, gasping for air. Before she could fully regain her breath, he reached down and poked a single claw up under her chin.

Pharaun saw that the talon penetrated deep into the soft tissue, probably through the dark elf's tongue, pinning her mouth shut. Faeryl squealed in pain, but it was a muffled cry. She reached up to try to pull the fiend's hand away, but he slowly, relentlessly began to lift her, forcing her to scrabble to her feet, clinging to his arm with both her hands to support her weight and keep the talon from plunging deeper, penetrating the roof of her mouth. Higher and higher the draegloth lifted, until at last Faeryl was on her tiptoes, frantically trying to lift herself off this impaling spike by her arms alone, tears streaming down her face.

Jeggred merely held her there, watching her squirm, using his two smaller hands to caress the ambassador. He brought his other hand up and flicked a claw across her exposed throat, slicing through her vocal chords.

With blood streaming from the gash in her neck, her red eyes wild with terror, Faeryl tried to scream, but all that issued from her was a muffled, wet gurgle. Jeggred laughed and let her dangle, unable to cry out at all.

Danifae and Halisstra turned away, but whether satisfied or disturbed at the fiend's display of ruthlessness, Pharaun was not sure. He was the only one who remained in the cell, and he couldn't draw his eyes away from the scene before him.

Blood ran down Faeryl's neck and chest, and her struggles were growing more and more feeble. Finally, perhaps growing tired of this sport, Jeggred raked at her again, across the abdomen this time, slicing cleanly so that her entrails were freed. The fiend let her drop to the ground at last, and Faeryl crumpled at the draegloth's feet, though Pharaun could see that she was not yet dead.

The ambassador blinked in shock and occasionally thrashed weakly as Jeggred crouched down. When Pharaun realized the demon was preparing to feast, dining on Faeryl even as she lay there, still conscious but too weak to fight him, the wizard finally had to turn away. The wet sounds of the demon at his meal followed him out into the hallway.

Gromph Baenre did not relish the latest message he had to deliver, for several reasons. First and foremost, it was not good news, and however much he was removed from the source of the report, he was still the messenger. Ordinarily, he wouldn't mind for that reason alone, for there were few individuals in Menzoberranzan who could actually take out their displeasure on him, the most powerful mage in the city. Of those few, most held on to only a shell of their former power and were relying on him to conceive of a way to restore it. No, being the bearer of bad news this day would not be as risky as it might on other days, but then he didn't often have to deliver such unpleasant information to his sister.

That brought the Archmage of Menzoberranzan around to the other cause for his distress. Triel Baenre was at home, which meant that Gromph had to go visit her, rather than the other way around. He detested leaving Sorcere, detested having to go to the Great Mound even more, and certainly didn't like doing any of it under such circumstances. It was yet another reason for him to add to his list of reasons why he wanted the crisis resolved. He was tired of all the inconvenience it was causing him personally.

As he flew over the streets of Menzoberranzan on his way to the Great Mound, Gromph peered below in consternation. He had sent word to the appropriate individuals in charge that more troops were to be dispatched, but he had yet to see the results of his orders. The disquiet below was growing again, and if they weren't careful, the nobles of the city would find themselves right back in the middle of another uprising.

Well, Triel could put her foot down again, he supposed, insist that the other matron mothers respond promptly when the call came for more soldiers, but he doubted it would make them quicken their pace one whit. They were going to tend to their own Houses first, High Council be damned.

Approaching the edge of House Baenre, Gromph settled himself to the balcony outside his sister's audience chamber. The guards on duty there peered at him warily for a moment, but when they saw who it was, they stiffened in salute. Ignoring them, the archmage walked briskly past them into the council chambers themselves, hoping to find Triel there. She was not.

Clicking his tongue in exasperation, Gromph passed out of the large audience chamber and into the hallway beyond, which led to her personal quarters. Arriving at the door to her suite of rooms, the archmage was greeted by a pair of stoic females, robust specimens who were well armed and apparently trained equally as well in the art of combat as divine magic.

The pair of guards crossed their heavy maces before the door.

«She is not to be disturbed,» one of them said, her stare flat, making it clear she would brook no argument, brother or not.

Gromph sighed, making another mental mark to the tally of reasons he hated doing this. No matter how many times he had to push his proverbial weight around to get to see Triel in her private rooms, the matron mother's personal guards never made it any easier on him the next time. He'd had enough of it.

«I'm not going to stand here and argue with you about this, today. You've got one minute to tell her it's me and let me through, or I will leave you as two piles of smoking ash on her doorstep. Do I make myself clear?»