Condemnation - By R. A. Salvatore Page 0,109

first was young, dressed in black leather armor that showed off a well-muscled chest. A curved kukri was thrust through his belt, and a small green asp was coiled around his arm. His left leg was encased in an awkward harness of iron and leather, and he moved stiffly. The second was unusually short and stocky, with brawny shoulders and a bald pate, dressed in a breastplate of black mithral and masked with a ceremonial veil of black silk.

"The visitors, my lords," the watch captain said.

The veiled priest studied them. His expression was virtually unread-able behind the veil.

"Valas Hune, as I live and breathe," he said at last. "Well, this is a sur-prise. I haven't seen you in more than fifty years." He hesitated a moment longer, then strode forward boldly and clapped the Bregan D'aerthe scout on the shoulders. "It has been too long, old friend. How are things with you?"

"Tzirik," Valas said. He smiled back, his dour face stretching with unaccustomed enjoyment, and he took the priest's hand in a firm grip. He glanced around the chamber. "I see you have finally achieved the Return you were always talking about. As far as how things go with me, well, that will take some explaining."

Tzirik studied the company carefully.

"A Master of Sorcere," the priest said, "and another of Melee-Magthere."

"Master Pharaun Mizzrym, an accomplished wizard," Valas replied, "and Master Ryld Argith, a weapons master of no small skill."

"Gentlemen, if Valas vouches for you, you are welcome guests in Minauthkeep," the priest said. When he looked at the others, his face hardened, geniality fading into sharp appraisal.

"The draegloth is Jeggred," Valas said, "a scion of House Baenre. The lesser priestess is Danifae Yauntyrr, a highborn lady of Eryndlyn, late a battle captive. The leader of our company is - "

"High Priestess Quenthel Baenre," Quenthel interrupted, "Mistress of Arach-Tinilith, Mistress of the Academy, Mistress of Tier Breche, First Sister of House Baenre of Menzoberranzan."

"Ah," Tzirik said. "We rarely have dealings with those of your persua-sion, let alone a priestess possessed of so many impressive titles."

"You will find me possessed of more than titles, priest," Quenthel replied.

Tzirik's face went cold.

"Lolth may rule in your buried cities," he said, "but here in the night of the surface world, Vhaeraun is the master." He turned and gestured to the crippled male behind him. "In the interest of common courtesy, may I present my cousin, Jezz of House Jaelre."

The younger male limped forward.

"You are a long way from home, Menzoberranyr," he said in a rasping voice. "That, more than anything, spared you. The spider-kissers we feud with come upfrom Maerimydra, a few miles south of here, but we have not met folk from Menzoberranzan in quite some time."

He laughed softly, finding humor in some private joke. Tzirik smiled as well, but the smile did not reach his eyes.

"Jezz refers to the ironic fact that we are Menzoberranyr ourselves, or at least were, once upon a time. Almost five hundred years ago the wise and beneficent Matron Baenre ordered our House destroyed for the twin perversions of being governed by males and following the Masked Lord. Many of my kin died screaming in the dungeons of Castle Baenre. Of those who escaped, many more died in the long, hard years of exile in the lonely places of the Underdark. You must understand how ironic it is for a Baenre daughter to place herself in our power. If nothing else comes of whatever business you bring before me, Valas, you will have my gratitude for this." He moved closer and folded his powerful arms. "So, why do you seek me, Baenre?"

Quenthel kept her face impassive.

"We need you to commune with Vhaeraun," she said, "and ask your god a few questions on our behalf. We are willing to pay and pay well for your trouble."

Tzirik's eyebrows rose.

"Really? And why would Vhaeraun want me to do this for you?"

"You will, of course, discover what it is that brings us here, and what your god knows of it."

"I could torture you for a few years and discover as much," the priest said. "Or, for that matter, having agreed to ask the Masked Lord your questions, I might not see fit to share the answers."

"True, perhaps," Quenthel said, "though I think you might find thatwe are far from helpless, even with our weapons back in our chambers. Before we make a trial of that, let us see if we can reach an agreement of sorts."

"She's bluffing," Jezz remarked. "Why deal with these

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