She began with the questions Druhallen asked regarding Beast Lord's fascination with the Dekanter goblins. "To an illithid—a mind flayer here in Faerun—anything that is sentient but is not illithid is thrall: a slave to be kept for work, breeding, amusement, and, of course, consumption. There is, however, an ideal thrall, a sentient race some call the gith. Gith were specifically bred to serve their masters. When the gith revolted successfully, the illithid race entered a decline from which they have never recovered and from which they will never recover, partly because they have forgotten what they were and partly because there are those, including the children of the gith, who will never forget."
"Are you a child of the gith?" Dru asked when she paused.
He thought it a serious question. Wyndyfarh found it droll. She laughed to herself before replying,
"Imagine a taller, cleverer goblin and you might imagine the gith. No living mind flayer of Faerun has seen one—"
Rozt'a interrupted with, "The Beast Lord is an alhoon."
Wyndyfarh indulged another private laugh. "Be assured, it has never seen a gith. It is guided only by memories stolen from the elder brain of the colony where it was spawned, wherever that was. That memory became an obsession that led it into a study of material magic, which is anathema among illithids. They have their own disciplines of will and thought which they refuse to call magic. An illithid practicing material magic is driven out of its colony and invariably pursues the spells that will transform it into a lich, an alhoon."
"Invariably?" Dru rejected invariably; invariably there were exceptions.
"Illithids do not believe in death," Wyndyfarh said with a stiff smile. "The only conceivable fate for an illithid is Commencement—becoming a part of its colony's elder brain. An exiled illithid invariably seeks to avoid death. They are a rational race, according to their understanding. I have no interest in illithid obsessions, but the Dekanter alhoon most likely believed that if it could recreate the gith, its elder brain would forgive it and it would receive Commencement. For a hundred years it had pursued its obsession, seeming to nurture the goblin tribes and littering the Greypeaks with the deformed, crippled fruits of its labors in the abandoned mines. Then it found a Nether scroll. Duke Windheir cannot guess how it could learn anything from a Nether scroll, but it did, and you have seen the results. My servants were lost, defiled. I claimed vengeance and was denied. I sent no more servants to Dekanter. My eyes were blind until Sheemzher came, and Sheemzher brought me you."
"And vengeance could be served, if it was not done in your name?" Tiep had found his voice and his courage.
Lady Mantis wore her most predatory expression when she saw who had spoken, but she answered the youth's question. "In a word, yes."
She continued to study Tiep as though he might make a tasty meal. Druhallen sought to redirect her attention.
"And so long as Duke Windheir never found out?" He didn't know of a Duke Windheir and would have been surprised if any Faerun mortal did.
Wyndyfarh confirmed Dru's suspicion with an icy glance and Galimer issued a statement, not a question, to break the tension—
"You were lucky there were mind flayers from Llacerelly hunting the Beast Lord while you were trying to steal the Nether scroll."
Dru had never heard of Llacerelly either and foresaw lengthy conversations with his best friend once they were free of Weathercote and Lady Wyndyfarh.
Wyndyfarh used Galimer's remark as the threshold for her own questions most of which they couldn't answer. None of them had noticed the patterns on the mind flayers' robes or whether any of them had six tentacles rather than four. Tiep remembered that one of the mind flayers had longer tentacles than the others, but he hadn't noticed if they were tipped with claws of horn or steel. They did agree the Beast Lord was fighting for its undead life.
"Sheemzher's egg—the athanor which defiled my servants—was it intact when you left the mines?"
Tiep was defensive, "How would I know? Sheemz and me got the scroll. No one said 'break the egg.'"
Wyndyfarh brought her hands together in the familiar mantis gesture. "I will send servants again," she resolved, ignoring her guests. "They will tell me who and what survives at Dekanter."
"Begging your pardon," Dru interrupted, "but as best I could determine, the Beast Lord had gone beyond studying the scroll, it had stuck it atop its athanor and was using it as a conduit for its transformation spells. If the Beast Lord survived and can find another kindling source— lightning comes to mind—it won't miss the scroll. It was melding goblins and mantises that looked a lot like your servants into gith the day we arrived in Dekanter."
Black nails clicked rhythmically as Wyndyfarh wove her fingers together. "I chose only females to be my servants," she muttered. "The males are unsuited. The alhoon could not establish a mantis colony with just one sex."
"That's all they need for themselves. Maybe the Beast Lord learned that from the scroll, too."
The black nails clicked louder, faster. "One more question. Then I must retire."
"Ask it, we can only say 'no,' " Druhallen said, thinking that she schemed to send them back to Dekanter.
"You may ask one more question. You have one. You want to know about a glass disk you've carried around for all these years."
Dru looked across the table at Galimer who squirmed and studied his empty plate. What was cut, stayed cut. He unfolded his wooden box and slapped the disk on the table. "Does this look familiar?"
Wyndyfarh picked it up. She balanced it edge-wise on a fingertip and spun it. "Netherese," she said after a moment and returned it to the table. "I've never seen one. I was not here when the Empire ruled. It is a simple enchantment... simple for Netheril at its height. Carry it openly and you will not be noticed by those who do not expect to see you. Carry it in a box, as you have done all these years, and it does nothing. It keys to living touch. You must have slain the wizard who carried it before you, else you could not have seen it to find it."
"The scryers at Candlekeep saw none of that," Dru said, looking at the disk, not Wyndyfarh, and feeling oddly free of both disappointment and expectation.
"They have not read the Nether scrolls, have they?"
Suddenly, Dru had a thousand questions. He shook his head and willed them away. "No," he admitted.
"Take it," Wyndyfarh advised. "I have no need for such toys. I do not leave Weathercote. I do not make ambushes. And now, if you will excuse me, I have work to do—"
Work, but not an ambush, Dru thought with heavy irony. "—There are rooms where you may rest."
Wyndyfarh gestured toward the larger marble building. Dru had looked up and seen the moon—it was the wrong phase, the wrong size, the wrong color.
"I'll sleep outside, where I recognize the sky," he announced and headed for the waterfall. Weathercote Wood was strange enough for him.
Dru expected to be alone, but Tiep followed him; Galimer and Rozt'a followed Tiep.
"I hadn't noticed the moon," Galimer admitted as he and his wife looked around for a soft spot among the rocks and mosses.
The familiar sky was already bright in the east. Dru told himself to stay awake while his friends slept but it had been a long day and Sheemzher had been a heavy enough burden. He was getting too old to go without sleep. He closed his eyes before the sun rose and opened them again when it was nearly overhead.
Sheemzher sat at his feet. The goblin was healthy again and decked out in new blue-and- green clothes—his lady's favorite colors. He had a new hat with a broader brim than before. Its shadow almost hid the red-orange patch he wore over his right eye.