From behind a hidden screen a slender form in a skirt and jacket of embroidered green glided forward. She was a full-blooded elf, thin and graceful - and she was also a drow, her skin black as ink, the irises of her eyes a startling red. She moved close to Dessaer and gazed after the de-parting soldiers with their hooded captive.
"I think she's telling the truth," she said. "At least, she's not a Jaelre or an Auzkovyn."
"What shall I do with her?" the lord asked. "She killed Harvaldor, and she damned near killed Fandar as well."
"With Eilistraee's grace, I will restore Harvaldor to life and heal Fandar," the drow woman said. "Besides, is it not the case that Curnil's patrol attacked her and her companions on sight? She was simply de-fending herself."
Dessaer raised an eyebrow in surprise and glanced at Seyll.
"You intend to give her your goddess's message?"
"It is my sacred duty," Seyll replied. "After all, until it was given to me, I was very much like her."
She inclined her head to indicate the absent prisoner.
"She's a proud one from a high House," Dessaer said. "I doubt she'll care to hear Eilistraee's words." He rested a hand on the drow priestess's shoulder. "Be careful, Seyll. She'll say or do anything to get you to lower your guard, and if you do, she'll kill you if you stand between her and freedom."
"Be that as it may, my duty is clear," Seyll replied.
"I will delay my judgment for a tenday," the Lord of Elventree said, "butif she refuses to hear your message I must act to protect my people."
"I know," said Seyll. "I do not intend to fail."
Chapter THIRTEEN
The Houses of Menzoberranzan mustered for battle. From a dozen castles and palaces, caverns and strongholds, slender males in elegant black chain mail marched in proud columns or pranced along in the high saddles of riding lizards, pennons flying from their lances. Under normal circum-stances each House might have sent hundreds more slave warriors, a rabble of kobolds, orcs, goblins, and ogres to drive into their foes before valuable drow troops were committed to battle, but armed slaves were something of a scarcity after the alhoon's uprising. Thousands of lesser humanoids had survived the revolt and its failure, as well as the dreadful reprisals that ensued, but the warriors among the slave races had naturally suffered the greatest losses. Even those who'd been allowed to surrender were certainly not to be trusted with weapons again.
Nimor sat in the saddle of an Agrach Dyrr war-lizard, and smiled in satisfaction as the forces of House Dyrr marched past before him. The companies gathered in a small, somewhat cramped plaza near the border between West Wall and Narbondellyn, ironically enough not very far at all from the compound of House Faen Tlabbar. Each drow swordsman car-ried a light kit in addition to his arms and armor, and a supply train of sorts was taking shape as each company brought its own pack lizards and attendants. Many of the common folk of the city had turned out to watch the mustering of the army, as it was easily the largest assemblage of sol-diers the matron mothers had commanded since the ill-fated assault on Mithral Hall years before.
"I surmise that the Council meeting went well," said Dyrr, standing at Nimor's stirrup.
The undead sorcerer did not appear in his own shape, of course, nor even that of the aged male he affected within his own house. His current guise was that of a nondescript Agrach Dyrr wizard, young and hale, draped with the fine vestments of his House.
"Your matron mother was well coached," Nimor replied. He kept his voice low, even though no one stood close enough to eavesdrop. "We've got half the soldiers in the city mustering for battle."
"Yasraena has proven a useful front," the lich observed. "I have known a dozen or more Matron Mother Dyrrs, and from time to time I find that my female relations object to my . . . unique position within the House. Yasraena would kill me if she could, of course, but she knows that Agrach Dyrr would of necessity be destroyed should something unfortunate befall me. I have made her aware of certain long-standing arrangements in order to discourage her from surprising me."
Nimor chuckled dryly and said, "I suspect that you are rarely surprised, Lord Dyrr."
"Success follows preparation in equal measure, young Nimor. Con-sider that your lesson for the day." The lich affected