Annihilation by Philip Athans Page A

mother.
    Dyrr laughed, the sound muffled and strained from under his mask. The lichdrow almost never allowed anyone to see his face. Yasraena was one of the few to whom he would reveal himself, but even then, not often. Though she wasn’t looking at him, he maintained the affectation of leaning on his staff. The outward illusion of advanced age and physical weakness had become second nature to him, and he’d begun to maintain that attitude even when no one was looking. His body, free of the demands of life for a millennia, was as responsive as it had been the day he died and was resurrected.
    “Don’t begin to believe our own ruse, granddaughter,” Dyrrsaid. “Not everything has gone strictly to plan, but all is far from lost, and we are far from trapped. We were meant to be in the city, and here we are. The two of us are in our own temple, unmolested. We have lost troops and the odd consort and cousin, but we live, and our assets are largely intact. Our ‘new friends’ as you call them, have the city hard under siege, and many of the Houses refuse to join the fight—join it in any real way, at least. All we have to do is keep pressing, keep pressing, keep pressing, and we will win the day. I grant you that it is an inconvenience that Gromph escaped my little snare. I do wonder how he managed it. But I assure you it will be the last time I underestimate the Archmage of Menzoberranzan.”
    “Did you underestimate him,” she asked, “or did he beat you?”
    There was a moment of silence between them as Yasraena stared up at the idol of Lolth, and Dyrr waited in mute protest.
    “This assassin….” she said at last.
    “Nimor,” Dyrr provided.
    “I know you don’t trust him,” she said.
    “Of course not,” the lichdrow replied with a dry chuckle. “He is committed to his cause, though.”
    “And that cause?” asked the matron mother. “The downfall of Menzoberranzan? The destruction of the matriarchy? The wholesale abandonment of the worship of Lolth?”
    “Lolth is gone, Yasraena,” Dyrr said. “The matriarchy has functioned, but as with all things past it too may not survive the Spider Queen’s demise. The city, of course, will endure. It will endure under my steady, immortal hand.”
    “Yours,” she asked, “or Nimor’s?”
    “Mine,” the lichdrow replied with perfect finality.
    “He should be in the city,” Yasraena added before there could be too significant a pause. “Nimor and his duergar friends should be here. Every day that goes by, Baenre and Xorlarrin wear usdown. Little by little, granted, but little by little for long enough and …”
    She let the thought hang there, and Dyrr only shrugged in response.
    “If you expected to do this without Gromph on their side,” Yasraena asked, “what now that he’s back?”
    “As I said,” the lichdrow replied, “I will kill him. He will come for me, and I will be ready. When the time comes, I will meet him.”
    “Alone?” she asked, concern plain in her voice. The lichdrow didn’t answer. Neither of them moved, and the temple was silent for a long time.

    He had come for a little food and a few minor incidentals. They could drink the water from the Lake of Shadows but could use a few more skins to carry it in. Under normal circumstances nothing could be easier for someone as well traveled as Valas Hune.
    Normal circumstances.
    The words had lost all meaning.
    “Hey,” the gnoll grumbled, hefting its heavy war-axe so Valas could see it. “You wait line, drow.”
    Valas looked the gnoll in the eyes, but it didn’t back down.
    “Everybody wait line,” the guard growled.
    Valas took a deep breath, left his hands at his side, and said, “Is Firritz here?”
    The gnoll blinked at him, surprised.
    Valas could feel other eyes on him. Drow, duergar, and representatives of a few more lesser races looked his way. Though they would be angry, impatient at having to wait in line while Valas presumed to bypass it, none of them