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m。　They　had　been　genuine　artists；　but　there　was　no　point　in　creating　a　hidden　refuge　unless　one　ensured　it　would　remain　hidden。
Dusting　a　few　specks　and　smears　of　the　flying　vermin　from　his　nimble　hands；　Gromph　moved　to　the　section　of　the　room　containing　an　extensive　collection　of　wizard's　tools。　Humming；　he　selected　a　spiralcarved　ebony　staff　from　a　wyvern'sfoot　stand；　an　onyxstudded　iron　amulet　from　its　velvetlined　box；　and　a　wickedly　curved　athame　from　a　rack　of　similar　ritual　knives。　He　sniffed　several　ceramic　pots　of　incense　before　finally　selecting；　as　he　often　did；　the　essence　of　black　lotus。
As　he　murmured　an　invocation　to　the　Abyssal　powers　and　lit　a　brazen　censor　with　the　tame　little　flame　he　could　conjure　at　will；　he　hesitated。　To　his　surprise；　he　found　himself　wondering　if　he　truly　wanted　to　proceed。
Menzoberranzan　was　in　desperate　straits；　even　though　most　of　her　citizens　hadn't　yet　realized　it。　In　Gromph's　place；　many　another　wizard　would　embrace　the　situation　as　an　unparalleled　opportunity　to　enhance　his　own　power；　but　the　Archmage　saw　deeper。　The　city　had　experienced　too　many　shocks　and　setbacks　in　recent　years。　Another　upheaval　could　cripple　or　even　destroy　it；　and　he　didn't　fancy　life　in　a　Menzoberranzan　that　was　merely　a　broken　mockery　of　its　former　glory。　Nor　did　he　see　himself　as　a　homeless　wanderer　begging　sanctuary　and　employment　from　the　indifferent　rulers　of　some　foreign　realm。　He　had　resolved　to　correct　the　current　problem；　not　exploit　it。
Except　I　am　about　to　exploit　it　in　at　least　a　limited　way；　aren't　I？　He　thought。　Give　in　to　temptation　and　seize　the　advantage；　even　if　so　doing　further　destabilizes　the　already　precarious　status　quo。
Gromph　snorted　his　momentary　and　uncharacteristic　misgivings　away。　The　drow　were　children　of　chaos—of　paradox；　contradiction；　and　perhaps　even　perversity。　It　was　the　source　of　their　strength。　So　yes；　curse　it；　why　not　walk　in　two　opposite　directions　at　the　same　time？　When　would　he　get　another　chance　to　so　alter　his　circumstances？
He　moved　to　one　of　the　plex　pentacles　inlaid　in　gold　on　the　marble　floor　and　traced　the　tip　of　the　black　staff　along　its　curves　and　angles；　sealing　it。　That　done；　he　swept　the　athame　in　ritual　passes　and　chanted　a　rhyme　that　returned　to　its　own　beginning　like　a　serpent　swallowing　its　tail。　The　cloying　sweetness　of　black　lotus　hung　in　the　air；　and　he　could　feel　the　narcotic　vapors　lifting　his　consciousness　into　a　state　of　almost　painful　concentration　and　lucidity。
He　lost　all　track　of　time；　had　no　idea　whether　he'd　been　reciting　for　ten　minutes　or　an　hour；　but　the　moment　finally　came　when　he'd　recited　long　enough。　The　nether　spirit　Beradax　appeared　in　the　center　of　the　pentacle；　seeming　to　jerk　up　out　of　the　floor　like　a　fish　at　the　end　of　an　angler's　line。
His　centuries　of　wizardry　had　rendered　Gromph　about　as　indifferent　to　ugliness　and　grotesquerie　as　a　member　of　his　callous　race　could　get；　yet　even　he　found　Beradax　an　unpleasant　spectacle。　The　creature　wore　the　approximate　shape　of　a　dark　elf　female　or　perhaps　a　human　woman；　but　her　body　was　made　of　soft；　wet；　glistening　eyeballs　adhering　together。　About　half　of　them　had　the　crimson　irises　characteristic　of　the　drow；　while　the　rest　were　blue；　brown；　green；　gray—a　miscellany　of　the　colors　monly　found　in　lesser　races。
Her　body　flowing；　her　shape　warping；　Beradax　flung　herself　at　her　summoner。　Fortunately；　she　couldn't　pass　beyond　the　edge　of　the　pentacle。　She　slammed　into　an　unseen　barrier　with　a　wet；　slapping　sound；　then　rebounded。
Undeterred；　she　lunged　a　second　time　with　the　same　lack　of　success。　Her　resentment　and　malice　infinite；　she　would　spring　a　million　times　if　left　to　her　own　devices。　Gromph　had　caught　her；　trapped　her；　but　something　more　was　needed　if　they　were　to　converse。　He　shoved　the　ritual　dagger　into　his　belly。
Beradax　reeled。　The　eyeballs　prising　her　own　stomach　churned　and　shuddered。　A　few　fell　away　from　the　central　mass　to　fade　and　vanish　in　the　air。
''Kill　you〃
〃No；　slave；　you　will　not；〃　Gromph　said。　He　realized　the　chanting　and　incense　had　parched　his　throat；　and　he　swallowed　the　dryness　away。　〃You'll　serve　me。　You'll　calm　yourself　and　submit；　unless　you　want　another　taste　of　the　blade。〃
〃Kill　you〃
Beradax　sprang　at　him　again　and　kept　springing　while　he　pulled　the　athame　back　and　forth　through　his　abdomen。　Finally　she　collapsed　to　her　knees。
〃I　submit；〃　she　growled
〃Good。〃　Gromph　extracted　the　athame。　It　didn't　leave　a　tear　in　his　robes　or　in　his　flesh；　which　was　to　say；　the　knife's　enchantments　had　worked　precisely　as　expected；　hurting　the　demon　rather　than　him。
Beradax's　belly　stopped　heaving　and　shaking。
〃What　do　you　want；　drow？〃　the　creature　asked。　〃Information？　Tell　me；　so　I　can　discharge　my　errand　and　depart。〃
〃Not　information；〃　the　dark　elf　said。　He'd　summoned　scores　of　netherspirits　over　the　past　month；　and　none　had　been　able　to　tell　him　what　he　wished　to　know。　He　was　certain　Beradax　was　no　wiser　than　the　rest。　〃I　want　you　to　kill　my　sister　Quenthel。〃
Gromph　had　hated　Quenthel　for　a　long　time。　She　always　treated　him　like　some　retainer；　even　though　he　too　was　a　Baenre；　a　noble　of　the　First　House　of　Menzoberranzan；　and　the　city's　greatest　wizard　besides。　In　her　eyes；　he　thought；　only　high　priestesses　deserved　respect。
His　antipathy　only　intensified　as　the　two　of　them　attempted　to　advise　their　mother；　Matron　Mother　Baenre；　the　uncrowned　queen　of　Menzoberranzan。　Predictably；　they'd　disagreed　on　every　matter　of　policy　from　trade　to　war　to　mining　and　had　vexed　one　another　no　end。
Gromph's　animus　intensified　still　further　when　Quenthel　became　Mistress　of　ArachTinilith；　the　school　for　priestesses。　The　mistress　governed　the　entire　Academy；　Sorcere　included；　and　thus　Gromph　had　found　himself　obliged　to　contend　with　her—indeed；　to　suffer　her　oversight—in　this　onetime　haven　as　well。
Still；　he　might　have　endured　Quenthel's　arrogance　and　meddling　indefinitely；　if　not　for　their　mother's　sudden　and　unexpected　death。
Counseling　the　former　matron　mother　had　been　more　an　honor　than　a　treat。　She　generally　ignored　advice；　and　her　deputies　were　lucky　if　she　let　it　go　at　that。　Often　enough；　she　responded　to　their　suggestions　with　a　torrent　of　abuse。
But　Triel；　Gromph's　other　sister　and　the　new　head　of　House　Baenre；　had；　over　time；　proved　to　be　a　different　sort　of　sovereign。　Indecisive；　overwhelmed　by　the　responsibilities　of　her　new　office；　she　relied　heavily　on　the　opinions　of　her　siblings。
That　meant　the　Archmage；　though　a　〃mere　male；〃　could　theoretically　rule　Menzoberranzan　from　behind　the　throne；　and　at　long　last　order　all　things　to　please　himself。　But　only　if　he　disposed　of　the　matron's　other　counselor；　the　damnably　persuasive　Quenthel；　who　continued　to　oppose　him　on　virtually　every　matter。　He'd　been　contemplating　her　assassination　for　a　long　time；　until　the　present　situation　afforded　him　an　irresistible　opportunity。
〃You　send　me　to　my　death〃　Beradax　protested。
〃Your　life　or　death　are　of　no　importance；〃　Gromph　replied；　〃only　my　will　matters。　Still；　you　may　survive。　ArachTinilith　has　changed；　as　you　know　very　well。〃
〃Even　now；　the　Academy　is　warded　by　all　the　old　enchantments。〃
〃I'll　dissolve　the　barriers　for　you。
1　won’t　go
〃Nonsense。　You've　submitted　and　must　obey。　Stop　blathering　before　I　lose　my　patience。〃
He　hefted　the　athame；　and　Beradax　seemed　to　slump。
〃Very　well；　wizard；　send　me　and　be　damned。　I'll　kill　her　as　I　will　one　day　butcher　you。〃
〃You　can't　go　quite　yet。　For　all　your　bluster；　you're　the　lowliest　kind　of　nether　spirit；　a　grub　crawling　on　the　floor　of　Hell；　but　tonight　you'll　wear　the　form　of　a　genuine　demon；　to　make　the　proper　impression　on　the　residents　of　the　temple。〃
〃No？”
Gromph　lifted　his　staff　in　both　hands　and　shouted　words　of　power。　Beradax　howled　in　agony　as　her　mass　of　eyeballs　flowed　and　humped　into　something　quite　different。
Afterward；　Gromph　descended　to　his　office。　He　had　an　appointment　with　a　different　kind　of　agent。　
As　Pharaun　Mizzrym　and　Ryld　Argith　strolled　through　the　cool　air；　fresher　than　that　pent　up　in　MeleeMagthere；　the　latter　looked　about　Tier　Breche；　realized　he　hadn't　bothered　to　set　foot　outside　in　days；　and　rather　wondered　why；　for　the　view　was　as　spectacular　as　ever。
Tier　Breche；　home　to　the　Acade