pout, the other taller, more dignified, but no less imposing, came in behind the illithid. Then came the legendary, withered matron mother, sitting easily on a floating driftdisk, flanked by another female, a younger, more beautiful version of Matron Baenre. At the end of the train came two males, fighters, judging from their attire and weapons.
The glow from Matron Baenre's disk allowed Drizzt to shift his gaze to the normal spectrum—and he noticed a pile of bones under one of the other pairs of shackles.
Drizzt looked back to the entourage, to the drow males, his gaze settling on the younger of the two for a long moment. It was Berg'inyon, he believed, a classmate of his at the drow Academy, the second-ranking fighter of Drizzt's class—second behind Drizzt.
The three younger females fanned out in a line behind Matron Baenre's driftdisk; the two males stood beside the female soldiers at the door. The illithid, to Drizzt's amazement, and supreme discomfort, paced about the captured drow, its tentacles waving near Drizzt's face, brushing his skin, teasing him. Drizzt had seen such tentacles suck the brains out of a dark elf, and it was all he could do to hold his nerve with the wretched creature so near.
'Drizzt Do'Urden,' Matron Baenre remarked.
She knew his name. Drizzt realized that to be a bad sign. That sickly, uncomfortable feeling welled within him again, and he was beginning to understand why.
'Noble fool!' Matron Baenre snapped suddenly. 'To come to Menzoberranzan, knowing the price upon your pitiful head!' She came forward, off the driftdisk, in a sudden rush and slapped Drizzt across the face. 'Noble, arrogant fool! Did you dare to believe that you could win? Did you think that five thousand years of what has been could be disrupted by pitiful you?'
The outburst surprised Drizzt, but he kept his visage solid, his eyes straight ahead.
Matron Baenre's scowl disappeared, replaced suddenly by a wry smile. Drizzt always hated that typical trait of his people. So volatile and unpredictable, dark elves kept enemies and friends alike off guard, never letting a prisoner or a guest know exactly where they stood.
'Let your pride be appeased, Drizzt Do'Urden,' Matron Baenre said with a chuckle. 'I introduce my daughter Bladen'Kerst Baenre, second eldest to Triel.' She indicated the female in the middle. 'And Vendes Baenre,' she continued, indicating the smallest of the three. 'And Quenthel. Behind stand my sons, Dantrag and Berg'inyon, who is known to you.'
'Well met,' Drizzt said cheerily to Berg'inyon. He managed a smile with his salutation and received another vicious slap from the matron mother.
'Six Baenres have come to see you, Drizzt Do'Urden,' Matron Baenre went on, and Drizzt wished that she would quit repeating his name with every sentence! 'You should feel honored, Drizzt Do'Urden.'
'I would clasp wrists,' Drizzt replied, 'but. .' He looked helplessly up to his chained hands and barely flinched as another stinging slap predictably came against his face.
'You know that you will be given to Lloth,' Baenre said.
Drizzt looked her straight in the eye. 'In body, but never in soul.'
'Good,' purred the matron mother. 'You will not die quickly, I promise. You will prove a wellspring of information, Drizzt Do'Urden.'
For the first time in the conversation, a dark cloud crossed Drizzt's features.
'I will torture him. Mother,' Vendes offered eagerly.
'Duk-Tak!' Matron Baenre scolded, turning sharply on her daughter.
'Duk-Tak,' Drizzt mouthed under his breath, then he recognized the name. In the Drow tongue, duk-tak meant, literally, unholy executioner. It was also the nickname of one of the Baenre daughters—this one apparently—whose handiwork, in the form of dark elves turned into ebony statues, was often on display at the drow Academy.
'Wonderful,' Drizzt muttered.
'You have heard of my precious daughter?' Matron Baenre asked, spinning back to the prisoner. 'She will have her time with you, I promise, Drizzt Do'Urden, but not before you provide me with valuable information.'
Drizzt cast a doubting look the withered draw's way.
'You can withstand any torture,' Matron Baenre remarked. 'That I do not doubt, noble fool.' She lifted a wrinkled hand to stroke the illithid who had moved to her side. 'But can you withstand the intrusions of a mind flayer?'
Drizzt felt the blood drain from his face. He had once been a prisoner of the cruel illithids, a helpless, hapless fool, his mind nearly broken by their overpowering wills. Could he fend such intrusions?
'You thought this would end, O noble fool!' Matron Baenre screeched. 'You delivered the prize, stupid, arrogant, noble fool!'
Drizzt felt that sick feeling return tenfold. He couldn't hide his cringe as the matron mother went on, her logic following an inescapable course that tore into Drizzt Do'Urden's heart.
'You are but one prize,' she said. 'And you will aid us in the conquest of another. Mithril Hall will be ours more easily now that King Bruenor Battlehammer's strongest ally is out of the way. And that very ally will show us the dwarven weaknesses.
'Methil!' she commanded, and the illithid walked directly in front of Drizzt. The ranger closed his eyes, but felt the four octopuslike tentacles of the creature's grotesque head squirm across his face, as if looking for specific spots.
Drizzt cried out in horror, snapped his head about wildly, and even managed to bite one of the tentacles.
The illithid fell back.
'Duk-Tak!' Matron Baenre commanded, and eager Vendes rushed forward, slamming a brass-covered fist into Drizzt's cheek. She hit him again, and a third time, gaining momentum, feeding off the torture.
'Must he be conscious?' she asked, her voice pleading.
'Enough!' Drizzt heard Matron Baenre reply, though her voice seemed far away. Vendes smacked him once more, then he felt the tentacles squirm over his face again. He tried to protest, to move his head about, but he hadn't the strength.
The tentacles found a hold; Drizzt felt little pulses of energy run through his face.
His screams over the next ten minutes were purely instinctive, primal, as the mind flayer probed his mind, sent horrid images careening through his thoughts and devoured every mental counter Drizzt had to offer. He felt naked, vulnerable, stripped of his very emotions.
Through it all, Drizzt, though he did not know it, fought valiantly, and when Methil moved back from him, the illithid turned to the matron mother and shrugged.
'What have you learned?' Matron Baenre demanded.
This one is strong, Methil replied telepathically. It will take more sessions.
'Continue!' snapped Baenre.
'He will die,' Methil somehow said in a gurgling, watery-sounding voice. 'Tomorrow.'
Matron Baenre thought for a moment, then nodded her accord. She looked to Vendes, her vicious Duk-Tak, and snapped her fingers, sending the wild drow into a fierce rush.
Chapter 20 PERSONAL AGENDA
'The female?' Triel asked impatiently, pacing Jarlaxle's private quarters in a secret cave along one wall of the Clawrift, a great chasm in the northeastern section of Menzoberranzan.
'Beheaded,' the mercenary answered easily. He knew that Triel was employing some sort of lie detection magic, but was confident that he could dance around any such spells. 'She was a youngest daughter, an unimpressive noble, of a lower house.'
Triel stopped and focused her glare on the evasive mercenary. Jarlaxle knew well that the angry Baenre was not asking about that female, that Khareesa H'kar creature. Khareesa, like all the slavers on the Isle of Rothe, had been killed, as ordered, but reports filtering back to Triel had suggested another female, and a mysterious great cat
