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o 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 Academy since that institution's founding； was a large cavern where the labor of countless spell casters； artisans； and slaves had turned enormous stalagmites and other masses of rocks into three extraordinary citadels。 To the east rose pyramidal MeleeMagthere； where Ryld and others like him turned callow young drow into warriors。 By the western wall stood the manyspired tower of Sorcere； where Pharaun and his colleagues taught wizardry； while to the north crouched the largest and most imposing school of all； ArachTinilith； a temple built in the eightlimbed shape of a spider。 Inside； the priestesses of Lolth； goddess of arachnids； chaos； assassins； and the drow race； trained dark elf maidens to serve the deity in their turn。
And yet； magnificent as was Tier Breche； considered in the proper context； it was only a detail in a scene of far greater splendor。 The Academy sat in a side cavern； a mere nook opening partway up the wall of a truly prodigious vault。 The primary chamber was two miles wide and a thousand feet high； and filling all that space was Menzoberranzan。
On the cavern floor； castles； hewn like the Academy from natural protrusions of calcite； shone blue； green； and violet amid the darkness。 The phosphorescent mansions served to delineate the plateau of Qu'ellarz'orl； where the Baenre and those Houses nearly as powerful made their homes； the West Wall district； where lesser but still wellestablished noble families schemed how to supplant the dwellers on Qu'ellarz'orl； and Narbondellyn； where parvenus plotted to replace the inhabitants of West Wall。 Still other palaces； cut from stalactites； hung from the lofty ceiling。
The nobles of Menzoberranzan had set their homes glowing to display their immensity； their graceful lines； and the ornamentation sculpted about their walls。 Most of the carvings featured spiders and webs； scarcely surprising； Ryld supposed； in a realm where Lolth was the only deity anyone worshiped； and her clergy ruled in the temporal sense as well as the spiritual one。
For some reason； Ry