Maestro Read Free

D’aerthe,” he spat from under the pile of clawing and biting ape demons, his shield, magically expanded to its fullest diameter now, keeping the bulk of the attacks away, his sword arm finding its openings to stab ahead and violate demon flesh.
    And the pain continued, clawed hands and toothy maws finding their hold, and the pleasure of Saribel’s healing washed over him, and the young drow knew true ecstasy.
    Saribel could only hope that her tireless, frantic efforts would be enough to keep Tiago from great harm, or even death. If he perished here, the priestess would take her own life rather than face the wrath of the matron mother.
    Tiago was doing this to her purposely, forcing her into servitude. There would be no gratitude for her efforts here, no words of praise, no tender appreciation later on. She would only know his contempt, forever his contempt.
    “Until I am Matron Mother of House Do’Urden,” she resolutely managed to tell herself between spells, and she growled out her next as she nodded with determination. With patience and fortitude, she would gain the upper hand.
    Or maybe she should just let him die out there, she thought briefly. How easily she could interrupt the healing spells and let the demons rend him to bits.
    It was a fleeting thought, of course, and not just because of the threat to her life should he die. Her marriage to Tiago made her a Baenre as well as a Do’Urden, and that was something she would never jeopardize.
    The thought was buried a moment later, as word filtered down that the matron mother herself had come onto the scene.
    Saribel redoubled her efforts, throwing every breath into a spell, filling Tiago with the blessings of Lolth.
    “What is that fool doing?” she heard behind her, and recognized the voice of the terrible Quenthel Baenre.
    Globes of fire appeared in the air. Glorious flames, hotter than hellfire, rushed down in killing lines, incinerating demons all around the battling young weapons master.
    A sweep of Vidrinath felled another, the last one near to Tiago. He leaped around, his face a mask of insulted rage. But that expression changed when he took note of Matron Mother Quenthel.
    Indeed.
    Quenthel motioned to Braelin, ordering him forward.
    “He is reckless,” the matron mother whispered to Saribel as she turned to leave. “And ambitious.” She paused and caught Saribel’s gaze.
    “He is brilliant,” Quenthel told her. “And you will bring him to me later, uninjured.”
    Saribel wisely didn’t pause in her casting to even acknowledge the matron mother.
    Quenthel Baenre did not magically flee the scene, as would have been expected of so important and powerful a figure. She walked openly down the corridors of the Masterways and back into Menzoberranzan, the Clawrift on her left and the huge side chamber that held Tier Breche along the wall to her right. Word had spread of the glorious victory in the tunnels, of course, and so she wanted her people to see her returning from the field of glory, humble and magnificent all at once.
    Her sister, High Priestess Sos’Umptu Baenre, was waiting for her back in the main cavern, as ordered, along with a powerful contingent of the House Baenre garrison—enough to deter any murderous hopes some plotting matron mother might entertain.
    The Baenres were cheered all the way back to their compound. Matron Mother Quenthel soaked in that glory, and understood that it was a necessary and not superfluous parade, both for the reputation of her House and her as matron mother. All along that path she was reminded of the damage that had come to her beloved city.
    Destruction due to the idiocy of her missing brother.
    Quenthel knew Gromph had summoned the Prince of Demons into Menzoberranzan, quite unannounced.
    The monstrous behemoth had left now, but had cut a swath of absolute destruction in his wake. Demogorgon’s slashing tail had dug trenches in the walls of Sorcere, nearly toppling major parts of the structure. The