a thickly carpeted and decorated room lit in a soft magical glow. "Remove your boots, " Triel instructed, and she slipped out of her own shoes before she stepped onto the plush rug.
Jarlaxle stood against the tapestry adorned wall just inside the door, looking doubtfully at his boots. Everyone who knew the mercenary knew that these were magical. "Very well, " Triel conceded, closing the door and sweeping past him to take a seat on a huge, overstuffed chair. A rolltop desk stood behind her, in front of one of many tapestries, this one depicting the sacrifice of a gigantic surface elf by a horde of dancing drow. Above the surface elf loomed the nearly translucent specter of a half drow, half spider creature, its face beautiful and serene. "You do not like your mother's lights?" Jarlaxle asked. "You keep your own room aglow."
Triel bit her lower lip and narrowed her eyes once more. Most priestesses kept their private chambers dimly lit; that they might read their tomes. Heat sensing infravision was of little use in seeing the runes on a page. There were some inks that would hold distinctive heat for many years, but these were expensive and hard to come by, even for one as powerful as Triel. Jarlaxle stared back at the Baenre daughter's grim expression. Triel was always mad about something, the mercenary mused. "The lights seem appropriate for what your mother has planned, " he went on.
"Indeed, " Triel remarked, her tone biting. "And are you so arrogant as to believe that you understand my mother's motives?"
"She will go back to Mithril Hall, " Jarlaxle said openly, knowing that Triel had long ago drawn the same conclusion.
"Will she?" Triel asked coyly. The cryptic response set the mercenary back on his heels. Hetook a step toward a second, less cushiony chair in the room, and his heel clicked hard, even though he was walking across the incredibly thick and soft carpet. Triel smirked, not impressed by the magical boots. It was common knowledge that Jarlaxle could walk as quietly or as loudly as he desired on any type of surface. His abundant jewelry, bracelets and trinkets seemed equally enchanted, for they would ring and tinkle or remain perfectly silent, as the mercenary desired.
"If you have left a hole in my carpet, I will fill it with your heart, " Triel promised as Jarlaxle slumped back comfortably in the covered stone chair, smoothing a fold in the armrest so that the fabric showed a clear image of a black and yellow gee'antu spider, the Underdark's version of the surface tarantula. "Why do you suspect that your mother will not go?" Jarlaxle asked, pointedly ignoring the threat, though in knowing Triel Baenre, he honestly wondered how many other hearts were now entwined in the carpet's fibers.
"Do I?" Triel asked. Jarlaxle let out a long sigh. He had suspected that this would be a moot meeting, a discussion where Triel tried to pry out what bits of information the mercenary already had attained, while offering little of her own. Still, when Triel had insisted that Jarlaxle come to her, instead of their usual arrangement, in which she went out from Tier Breche to meet the mercenary, Jarlaxle had hoped for something substantive. It was quickly becoming obvious to Jarlaxle that the only reason Triel wanted to meet in Arach Tinilith was that, in this secure place, even her mother's prying ears would not hear. And now, for all those painstaking arrangements, this all important meeting had become a useless bantering session. Triel seemed equally perturbed. She came forward in her chair suddenly, her expression fierce. "She desires a legacy!" the female declared. Jarlaxle's bracelets tinkled as he tapped his fingers together, thinking that now they were finally getting somewhere. "The rulership of Menzoberranzan is no longer sufficient for the likes of Matron Baenre, " Triel continued, more calmly, and she moved back in her seat. "She must expand her sphere." "I had thought your mother's visions Lloth given, " Jarlaxle remarked, and he was sincerely confused by Triel's obvious disdain.
"Perhaps, " Triel admitted. "The Spider Queen will welcome the conquest of Mithril Hall, particularly if it, in turn, leads to the capture of that renegade Do'Urden. But there are other considerations." "Blingdenstone?" Jarlaxle asked, referring to the city of the svirfnebli, the deep gnomes, traditional enemies of the drow.
"That is one, " Triel replied. "Blingdenstone is not far off the path to the tunnels connecting Mithril