Free Maestro by R. A. Salvatore

save your House,” Quenthel explained. “So yes, Jaemas Xorlarrin is now Jaemas Do’Urden. As is Faelas, though he will retain his proper surname while he serves as my eyes in Sorcere.”
    “Until Gromph returns?”
    Quenthel laughed at that. “Was Gromph obliterated by Demogorgon? Devoured?”
    “He is the Archmage . . .”
    “He was the Archmage,” Quenthel corrected.
    Tiago felt as if he couldn’t breathe. This was too much, too quickly. He calmed by reminding himself that times of chaos were times of opportunity.
    “So, Faelas . . .” he said leadingly, thinking he had sorted it out.
    “Is a Master of Sorcere.”
    “Sorcere will need a new archmage.”
    “Worry about your House,” Quenthel warned.
    “I could do more to prepare House Do’Urden carrying the imprimatur of the matron mother.”
    “You are the weapons master of House Do’Urden. Only that. I thought I had made that clear.”
    “Yes, Matron Mother,” he blurted, and lowered his gaze as he saw the scourge coming up once more.
    “High Priestess Saribel will understand the way forward. That is all you need to know, and that is what you have no choice but to trust.”
    “Yes, Matron Mother,” Tiago replied, and he was fuming then, but wise enough to make sure that he did nothing to make that apparent. Quenthel waved him away, and he was glad to be gone, and quickly.
    As soon as he exited the room, Quenthel waved her hand and slammed the door behind him, an exclamation point to the finality of his obsession with Drizzt Do’Urden.
    “I told you,” Quenthel said to Minolin Fey as she came out of the room’s side door, having heard the entire conversation. “He is possessed of the same dangerous hubris as Gromph.”
    “A fatal hubris, no doubt,” said the young woman accompanying Minolin Fey.
    Quenthel, still not looking over, swallowed hard. She didn’t want to look upon Yvonnel, especially now that Yvonnel was physically entering young adulthood, and was so beautiful, so physically, magically, painfully beautiful, that her appearance alone mocked any who thought themselves her equal.
    “You did well, my daughter,” Yvonnel said, and she giggled and added. “My aunt.”
    Both of the older women wore sour expressions at that comment, which only made young Yvonnel dance a bit more and smile a bit wider.
    “Even with Tiago properly settled in House Do’Urden, we must move quickly now,” Yvonnel said more seriously, moving up to stand in front of Quenthel. “Convene a Council.”
    “They will not likely come,” Quenthel replied. “The Houses have gone into defensive crouches—it grows increasingly difficult to pry soldiers from them for the patrols beyond our cavern. All expect some fighting soon, House against House, or with demons coming forth. We know not if Demogorgon haunts the ways just outside the city.”
    “Some are surely trying to determine when a rival will be properly weakened by serving on such a patrol,” Minolin Fey said, and both of the others turned unappreciative glares her way, a not-subtle reminder of her lowly place in such powerful company.
    “The seats will suffice and the votes will be binding, by the word of Lolth,” Yvonnel said.
    Quenthel considered that for a moment then nodded. She, Sos’Umptu, and Matron Mother Darthiir would be easy enough to arrange, of course.
    “We cannot outlaw secretive internecine war,” she replied. “Without personal instructions from a handmaiden or communion with Lolth herself, none would accept our authority to make such a dramatic change in the customs of Menzoberranzan.”
    “But we can demand that all participate in the defense of Menzoberranzan,” Yvonnel said. “And we must shut the city down, and quickly, both physically and magically. No dimensional doorways, no divination from without. The physical ways in are few, and we can defend them, but we deal with demon lords now, and so must defeat any of their magical attempts to breach the city before they