SiNafay smiled at the possibilities of such an encounter.
"My anger, my fear, alone could implicate a greater house against House Do'Urden, even a conspiracy between more than one house” she said, obviously enjoying the added benefits. "Matron Malice will certainly have much to think about, and much to worry about!"
Alton hadn't even heard SiNafay's last comments. The words about granting her permission "this time" had brought a disturbing notion into his mind. " And did she?" he dared to ask, though his words were barely audible.
"What do you mean?" asked SiNafay, not following his thoughts.
"Did Matron Malice come to you?" Alton continued, frightened but needing an answer. "Thirty years ago. Did Matron SiNafay grant her permission for Gelroos Hun'ett to becom~ an agent, an assassin to complete House DeVir's elimination?"
A wide smile spread across SiNafay's face, but it vanished in the blink of an eye as she threw the table across the room, grabbed Alton by the front of his robes, and pulled him roughly to within an inch of her scowling visage.
"Never confuse personal feelings with politics!" the tiny but obviously strong matron growled, her tone carrying the unmistakable weight of an open threat. And never ask me such a question again!"
She threw Alton to the floor but didn't release him from her penetrating glare.
Alton had known all along that he was merely a pawn in the intrigue between House Hun'ett and House Do'Urden, a necessary link for Matron SiNafay to carry out her treacherous plans. Every now and then, though, Alton's personal grudge against House Do'Urden caused him to forget his lowly place in this conflict. Looking up now at SiNafay's bared power, he realized that he had overstepped the bounds of his position.
At the back end of the mushroom grove, the southern wall of the cavern that housed Menzoberranzan, was a small, heavily guarded cave. Beyond the ironbound doors stood a single room, used only for gatherings of the city's eight ruling matron mothers.
The smoke of a hundred sweet-smelling candles permeated the air; the matron mothers liked it that way. After almost half a century of studying scrolls in the candlelight of Sorcere, Alton did not mind the light, but he was indeed uncomfortable in the chamber. He sat at the back end of a spider-shaped table, in a small, unadorned chair reserved for guests of the council. Between the table's eight hairy legs were the ruling matron mothers' thrones, all jeweled and dazzling in the candlelight.
The matrons filed in, pompous and wicked, casting belittling glares at the male. SiNafay, at Alton's side, put a hand on his knee and gave him a reassuring wink. She would not have dared to request a gathering of the ruling council if she was not certain of the worthiness of her news. The ruling matron mothers viewed their seats as honorary in nature and did not appreciate being brought together except in times of crisis.
At the head of the spider table sat Matron Baenre, the most powerful figure in all of Menzoberranzan, an ancient and withered female with malicious eyes and a mouth unaccustomed to smiles.
"We are gathered, SiNafay” Baenre said when all eight members had found their appointed chairs. "For what reason have you summoned the council?"
"To discuss a punishment” SiNafay replied.
"Punishment?" Matron Baenre echoed, confused. The recent years had been unusually quiet in the drow city, without an incident since the Thken'duis-Freth conflict. To the First Matron's knowledge, no acts had been committed that might require a punishment, certainly none so blatant as to force the ruling council to action. "What individual deserves this?"
"Not an individual” explained Matron SiNafay. She glanced around at her peers, measuring their interest. "A house” she said bluntly. "Daerrnon N'a'shezbaernon, House Do'Urden” Several gasps of disbelief came in reply, as SiNa-fay had expected.
"House Do'Urden?" Matron Baenre questioned, surprised that any would implicate Matron Malice. By all of Baenre's knowledge, Malice remained in high regard with the Spider Queen, and House Do'Urden had recently placed two instructors in the Academy.
"For what crime do you dare to charge House Do'Urden?" asked one of the other matrons.
Are these words of fear, SiNafay?" Matron Baenre had to ask. Several of the ruling matrons had expressed concern about House Do'Urden. It was well known that Matron Malice desired a seat on the ruling council, and, by all measures of the power of her house, she seemed destined to get it.
"I have appropriate cause” SiNafay insisted.
"The others seem to doubt you” replied Matron Baenre.
"You should explain your accusation-quickly, if you value your reputation”
SiNafay knew that more than her reputation was at stake; in Menzoberranzan, a false accusation was a crime on par with murder. "We all remember the fall of House DeVir”
SiNafay began. "Seven of us now gathered sat upon the ruling council beside Matron Ginafae DeVir”
"House DeVir is no more” Matron Baenre reminded her.
"Because of House Do'Urden” SiNafay said bluntly.
This time the gasps came out as open anger.
"How dare you speak such words?" came one reply.
"Thirty years!" came another. "The issue has been forgotten!"
Matron Baenre quieted them all before the clamor rose into violent action-a not uncommon occurrence in the council chamber. "SiNafay” she said through the dry sneer on her lips. "One cannot make such an accusation; one can-not discuss such beliefs openly so long after the event! You know our ways. If House Do'Urden did indeed commit this act, as you insist, it deserves our compliments, not our punishment, for it carried it through to perfection. House DeVir is no more, I say. It does not exist"
Alton shifted uneasily, caught somewhere between rage and despair. SiNafay was far from dismayed, though; this was going exactly as she had envisioned and hoped.
"Oh, but it does!" she responded, rising to her feet. She pulled the hood from Alton's head. "In this person!"
"Gelroos?" asked Matron Baenre, not understanding.
"Not Gelroos” SiNafay replied. "Gelroos Hun'ett died the night House DeVir died. This male, Alton DeVir, assumed Gelroos's identity and position, hiding from further attacks by House Do'Urden!"
Baenre whispered some instructions to the matron at her right side, then waited as she went through the semantics of a spell. Baenre motioned for Sinafay to return to her seat, then faced Alton.
"Speak your name” Baenre commanded.
"I am Alton DeVir” Alton said, gaining strength from the identity he had waited so very long to proclaim, "son of Matron Ginafae and a student of Sorcere on the night House Do'Urden attacked”
Baenre looked to the matron at her side.
"He speaks the truth” the matron assured her. Whispers sprang up all around the spider table, of amusement more than anything else.
"That is why I summoned the ruling council” SiNafay quickly explained.
"Very well, SiNafay” said Matron Baenre. "My compliments to you, Alton DeVir, on your resourcefulness and ability to survive. For a male, you have shown great courage and wisdom. Surely you both know that the council cannot exact punishment upon a house for a deed committed so long ago. Why would we so desire? Matron Malice Do'Urden sits in the favor of the Spider Queen; her house shows great promise. You must reveal to us greater need if you wish any punishment against House Do'Urden”
"I do not wish such a thing” SiNafay quickly replied. "This matter, thirty years removed, is no longer in the realm of the ruling council. House Do'Urden does indeed show promise, my peers, with four high priestesses and a host of other weapons, not the least of which being their second boy, Drizzt, first graduate of his class” She had purpose, mentioned Drizzt, knowing that the name would strike a wound in Matron Baenre. Baenre's own prized son, Berg'i nyon, had spent the last nine years ranked behind the won derful young Do'Urden.
"Then why have you bothered us?" Matron Baenre de manded, an unmistakable edge in her voice.
"To ask you to close your eyes” SiNafay purred. "Alton is a
Hun'ett now, under my protection. He demands vengeance for the act committed against his family, and, as a surviving member of the attacked family, he has the right of accusa. tion”
"House Hun'ett will stand beside him?" Matron Baenre asked, turning curious and amused.
"Indeed” replied SiNafay. "Thus is House Hun'ett bound!"
"Vengeance?" another matron quipped, also now more amused than angered. "Or fear? It would seem to my ears that the matron of House Hun'ett uses this pitiful DeVir creature for her own gain. House Do'Urden aspires to higher ranking, and Matron Malice desires to sit upon the ruling council, a threat to House Hun'ett, perhaps?"
"Be it vengeance or prudence, my claim-Alton DeVir's claim-must be deemed as legitimate” replied SiNafay, "to our mutual gain” She smiled wickedly and looked straight to the First Matron. "To the gain of our sons, perhaps, in their quest for recognition”
"Indeed” replied Matron Baenre in a chuckle that sounded more like a cough. A war between Hun'ett and Do'Urden might be to everyone's gain, but not, Baenre suspected, as SiNafay believed. Malice was a powerful matron, and her family truly deserved a ranking higher than ninth. If the fight did come, Malice probably would get her seat on the council, replacing SiNafay.
Matron Baenre looked around at the other matrons, and guessed from their hopeful expressions that they shared her thoughts. Let Hun'ett and Do'Urden fight it out; whatever the outcome, the threat of Matron Malice would be ended. Perhaps, Baenre hoped, a certain young Do'Urden male would fall in battle, propelling her own son into the position he deserved.
Then the First Matron spoke the words SiNafay had come to hear, the silent permission of Menzoberranzan's ruling council.
"This matter is settled, my sisters” Matron Baenre declared, to the accepting nods of all at the table. "It is good that we never met this day”
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
"My anger, my fear, alone could implicate a greater house against House Do'Urden, even a conspiracy between more than one house” she said, obviously enjoying the added benefits. "Matron Malice will certainly have much to think about, and much to worry about!"
Alton hadn't even heard SiNafay's last comments. The words about granting her permission "this time" had brought a disturbing notion into his mind. " And did she?" he dared to ask, though his words were barely audible.
"What do you mean?" asked SiNafay, not following his thoughts.
"Did Matron Malice come to you?" Alton continued, frightened but needing an answer. "Thirty years ago. Did Matron SiNafay grant her permission for Gelroos Hun'ett to becom~ an agent, an assassin to complete House DeVir's elimination?"
A wide smile spread across SiNafay's face, but it vanished in the blink of an eye as she threw the table across the room, grabbed Alton by the front of his robes, and pulled him roughly to within an inch of her scowling visage.
"Never confuse personal feelings with politics!" the tiny but obviously strong matron growled, her tone carrying the unmistakable weight of an open threat. And never ask me such a question again!"
She threw Alton to the floor but didn't release him from her penetrating glare.
Alton had known all along that he was merely a pawn in the intrigue between House Hun'ett and House Do'Urden, a necessary link for Matron SiNafay to carry out her treacherous plans. Every now and then, though, Alton's personal grudge against House Do'Urden caused him to forget his lowly place in this conflict. Looking up now at SiNafay's bared power, he realized that he had overstepped the bounds of his position.
At the back end of the mushroom grove, the southern wall of the cavern that housed Menzoberranzan, was a small, heavily guarded cave. Beyond the ironbound doors stood a single room, used only for gatherings of the city's eight ruling matron mothers.
The smoke of a hundred sweet-smelling candles permeated the air; the matron mothers liked it that way. After almost half a century of studying scrolls in the candlelight of Sorcere, Alton did not mind the light, but he was indeed uncomfortable in the chamber. He sat at the back end of a spider-shaped table, in a small, unadorned chair reserved for guests of the council. Between the table's eight hairy legs were the ruling matron mothers' thrones, all jeweled and dazzling in the candlelight.
The matrons filed in, pompous and wicked, casting belittling glares at the male. SiNafay, at Alton's side, put a hand on his knee and gave him a reassuring wink. She would not have dared to request a gathering of the ruling council if she was not certain of the worthiness of her news. The ruling matron mothers viewed their seats as honorary in nature and did not appreciate being brought together except in times of crisis.
At the head of the spider table sat Matron Baenre, the most powerful figure in all of Menzoberranzan, an ancient and withered female with malicious eyes and a mouth unaccustomed to smiles.
"We are gathered, SiNafay” Baenre said when all eight members had found their appointed chairs. "For what reason have you summoned the council?"
"To discuss a punishment” SiNafay replied.
"Punishment?" Matron Baenre echoed, confused. The recent years had been unusually quiet in the drow city, without an incident since the Thken'duis-Freth conflict. To the First Matron's knowledge, no acts had been committed that might require a punishment, certainly none so blatant as to force the ruling council to action. "What individual deserves this?"
"Not an individual” explained Matron SiNafay. She glanced around at her peers, measuring their interest. "A house” she said bluntly. "Daerrnon N'a'shezbaernon, House Do'Urden” Several gasps of disbelief came in reply, as SiNa-fay had expected.
"House Do'Urden?" Matron Baenre questioned, surprised that any would implicate Matron Malice. By all of Baenre's knowledge, Malice remained in high regard with the Spider Queen, and House Do'Urden had recently placed two instructors in the Academy.
"For what crime do you dare to charge House Do'Urden?" asked one of the other matrons.
Are these words of fear, SiNafay?" Matron Baenre had to ask. Several of the ruling matrons had expressed concern about House Do'Urden. It was well known that Matron Malice desired a seat on the ruling council, and, by all measures of the power of her house, she seemed destined to get it.
"I have appropriate cause” SiNafay insisted.
"The others seem to doubt you” replied Matron Baenre.
"You should explain your accusation-quickly, if you value your reputation”
SiNafay knew that more than her reputation was at stake; in Menzoberranzan, a false accusation was a crime on par with murder. "We all remember the fall of House DeVir”
SiNafay began. "Seven of us now gathered sat upon the ruling council beside Matron Ginafae DeVir”
"House DeVir is no more” Matron Baenre reminded her.
"Because of House Do'Urden” SiNafay said bluntly.
This time the gasps came out as open anger.
"How dare you speak such words?" came one reply.
"Thirty years!" came another. "The issue has been forgotten!"
Matron Baenre quieted them all before the clamor rose into violent action-a not uncommon occurrence in the council chamber. "SiNafay” she said through the dry sneer on her lips. "One cannot make such an accusation; one can-not discuss such beliefs openly so long after the event! You know our ways. If House Do'Urden did indeed commit this act, as you insist, it deserves our compliments, not our punishment, for it carried it through to perfection. House DeVir is no more, I say. It does not exist"
Alton shifted uneasily, caught somewhere between rage and despair. SiNafay was far from dismayed, though; this was going exactly as she had envisioned and hoped.
"Oh, but it does!" she responded, rising to her feet. She pulled the hood from Alton's head. "In this person!"
"Gelroos?" asked Matron Baenre, not understanding.
"Not Gelroos” SiNafay replied. "Gelroos Hun'ett died the night House DeVir died. This male, Alton DeVir, assumed Gelroos's identity and position, hiding from further attacks by House Do'Urden!"
Baenre whispered some instructions to the matron at her right side, then waited as she went through the semantics of a spell. Baenre motioned for Sinafay to return to her seat, then faced Alton.
"Speak your name” Baenre commanded.
"I am Alton DeVir” Alton said, gaining strength from the identity he had waited so very long to proclaim, "son of Matron Ginafae and a student of Sorcere on the night House Do'Urden attacked”
Baenre looked to the matron at her side.
"He speaks the truth” the matron assured her. Whispers sprang up all around the spider table, of amusement more than anything else.
"That is why I summoned the ruling council” SiNafay quickly explained.
"Very well, SiNafay” said Matron Baenre. "My compliments to you, Alton DeVir, on your resourcefulness and ability to survive. For a male, you have shown great courage and wisdom. Surely you both know that the council cannot exact punishment upon a house for a deed committed so long ago. Why would we so desire? Matron Malice Do'Urden sits in the favor of the Spider Queen; her house shows great promise. You must reveal to us greater need if you wish any punishment against House Do'Urden”
"I do not wish such a thing” SiNafay quickly replied. "This matter, thirty years removed, is no longer in the realm of the ruling council. House Do'Urden does indeed show promise, my peers, with four high priestesses and a host of other weapons, not the least of which being their second boy, Drizzt, first graduate of his class” She had purpose, mentioned Drizzt, knowing that the name would strike a wound in Matron Baenre. Baenre's own prized son, Berg'i nyon, had spent the last nine years ranked behind the won derful young Do'Urden.
"Then why have you bothered us?" Matron Baenre de manded, an unmistakable edge in her voice.
"To ask you to close your eyes” SiNafay purred. "Alton is a
Hun'ett now, under my protection. He demands vengeance for the act committed against his family, and, as a surviving member of the attacked family, he has the right of accusa. tion”
"House Hun'ett will stand beside him?" Matron Baenre asked, turning curious and amused.
"Indeed” replied SiNafay. "Thus is House Hun'ett bound!"
"Vengeance?" another matron quipped, also now more amused than angered. "Or fear? It would seem to my ears that the matron of House Hun'ett uses this pitiful DeVir creature for her own gain. House Do'Urden aspires to higher ranking, and Matron Malice desires to sit upon the ruling council, a threat to House Hun'ett, perhaps?"
"Be it vengeance or prudence, my claim-Alton DeVir's claim-must be deemed as legitimate” replied SiNafay, "to our mutual gain” She smiled wickedly and looked straight to the First Matron. "To the gain of our sons, perhaps, in their quest for recognition”
"Indeed” replied Matron Baenre in a chuckle that sounded more like a cough. A war between Hun'ett and Do'Urden might be to everyone's gain, but not, Baenre suspected, as SiNafay believed. Malice was a powerful matron, and her family truly deserved a ranking higher than ninth. If the fight did come, Malice probably would get her seat on the council, replacing SiNafay.
Matron Baenre looked around at the other matrons, and guessed from their hopeful expressions that they shared her thoughts. Let Hun'ett and Do'Urden fight it out; whatever the outcome, the threat of Matron Malice would be ended. Perhaps, Baenre hoped, a certain young Do'Urden male would fall in battle, propelling her own son into the position he deserved.
Then the First Matron spoke the words SiNafay had come to hear, the silent permission of Menzoberranzan's ruling council.
"This matter is settled, my sisters” Matron Baenre declared, to the accepting nods of all at the table. "It is good that we never met this day”
Chapter 19
Promises of Glory
"Have you found the trail?" Drizzt whispered, moving up beside the great panther. He gave Guenhwyvar a pat on the side and knew from the slackness of the cat's muscles that no danger was nearby.
"Gone, then” Drizzt said, staring off into the emptiness of the corridor in front of them. "'Wicked gnomes: my brother called them when we found the tracks by the pool. Wicked and stupid” He sheathed his scimitar and knelt beside the panther, his arm comfortable draped across Guenhwyvar's back. "They're smart enough to elude our patrol”
The cat looked up as if it had understood his every word, and Drizzt rubbed a hand roughly over Guenhwyvar's, his finest friend's, head. Drizzt remembered clearly his elation on the day, a week before, when Dinin had announced-to Masoj Hun'ett's outrage-that Guenhwyvar would be deployed at the patrol's point position beside Drizzt.
"The cat is mine!" Masoj had reminded Dinin.
"You are mine!" Dinin, the patrol leader, had replied, ending any further debate. Whenever the figurine's magic would permit, Masoj summoned Guenhwyvar from the Astral Plane and bid the cat to run up in front, bringing Drizzt an added degree of safety and a valued companion.
Drizzt knew from the unfamiliar heat patterns on the wall that they had gone the limit of their patrol route. He had purposely put a lot of ground, more than was advised, between himself and the rest of the patrol. Drizzt had confidence that he and Guenhwyvar could take care of themselves, and with the others far behind, he could relax and enjoy the wait. The minutes Drizzt spent in solitude gave him the time he needed in his endless effort to sort through his confused emotions. Guenhwyvar, seemingly nonjudgmental and always approving, offered Drizzt a perfect audience for his audible contemplations.
"I begin to wonder the worth of it all” Drizzt whispered to the cat. "I do not doubt the value of these Patrols-this week alone, we have defeated a dozen monsters that might have brought great harm to the city-but to what end?"
He looked deeply into the panther's saucer eyes and found sympathy there, and Drizzt knew that Guenhwyvar somehow understood his dilemma.
"Perhaps I still do not know who I am” Drizzt mused, "or who my people are. Every time I find a clue to the truth, it leads me down a path that I dare not continue upon, to conclusions I cannot accept”
"You are drow” came a reply behind them. Drizzt turned abruptly to see Dinin a few feet away, a look of grave concern on his face. '
"The gnomes have fled beyond our reach” Drizzt said, trying to deflect his brother's concerns. '
"Have you not learned what it means to be a drow?" Dinin asked. "Have you not come to understand the course of our history and the promise of our future?"
"I know of our history as it was taught at the Academy” Drizzt replied. "They were the very first lessons we received. Of our future, and more so of the place we now reside, though, I do not understand”
"You know of our enemies” Dinin prompted.
"Countless enemies” replied Drizzt with a heavy sigh.
"They fill the holes of the Underdark, always waiting for us to let down our guard. We will not, and our enemies will fall i to our power”
"Ah, but our true enemies do not reside in the lightless caverns of our world” said Dinin with a sly smile. "Theirs is a world strange and evil” Drizzt knew who Dinin was referring to, but he suspected that his brother was hiding something.
"The faeries” Drizzt whispered, and the word prompted a jumble of emotions within him. All of his life, he had been told of his evil cousins, of how they had forced the drow into the bowels of the world. Busily engaged in the duties of his everyday life, Drizzt did not think of them often, but whenever they came to mind, he used their name as a litany against everything he hated in his life. If Drizzt could somehow blame the surface elves-as every other drow seemed to blame them-for the injustices of drow society, he could find hope for the future of his people. Rationally, Drizzt had to dismiss the stirring legends of the elven war as another of the endless stream of lies, but in his heart and hopes, Drizzt clung desperately to those words.
He looked back to Dinin. "The faeries” he said again,
"whatever they may be”
Dinin chuckled at his brother's relentless sarcasm; it had become so commonplace. "They are as you have learned” he assured Drizzt. "Without worth and vile beyond your imagination, the tormentors of our people, who banished us in eons past; who forced-"
"I know the tales” Drizzt interrupted, alarmed at the increasing volume of his excited brother's voice. Drizzt glanced over his shoulder. "If the patrol is ended, let us meet the others closer to the city. This place is too dangerous for such discussions” He rose to his feet and started back, Guenhwyvar at his side.
"Not as dangerous as the place I soon will lead you” Dinin replied with that same sly smile. Drizzt stopped and looked at him curiously.
"I suppose you should know” Dinin teased. "We were selected because we are the finest of the patrol groups, and you have certainly played an important role in our attaining that honor”
"Chosen for what?"
"In a fortnight, we will leave Menzoberranzan” explained Dinin. "Our trail will take us many days and many miles from the city”
"How long'?" Qrizzt asked, suddenly very curious.
Two weeks, maybe three” replied Dinin, "but well worth the time. We shall be the ones, my young brother, who enact a measure of revenge upon our most hated foes, who strike a glorious blow for the Spider Queen!"
Drizzt thought that he understood, but the notion was too outrageous for him to be certain.
"The elves!" Dinin beamed. "We have been chosen for surface raid!"
Drizzt was not as openly excited as his brother, unsure of the implications of such a mission. At last he would get to view the surface elves and face the truth of his heart and hopes. Something more real to Drizzt, the disappointment he had known for so many years, tempered his elation, reminded him that while the truth of the elves might bring an excuse to the dark world of his kin, it might instead take away something more important. He was unsure how to feel.
"The surface” Alton mused. "My sister went there once – on a raid. A most marvelous experience, so she said” He looked at Masoj, not knowing how to figure the forlorn expression on the young Hun'ett's face. "Now your patrol makes the journey. I envy you”
"I am not going” Masoj declared.
"Why?" Alton gasped. "This is a rare opportunity indeed. Menzoberranzan-to the anger of Lloth, I am certain-has not staged a surface raid in two decades. It may be twenty more years before the next, and by then you will no longer be among the patrols”
Masoj looked out from the small window of Alton's room in House Hun'ett, surveying the compound.
"Besides” Alton continued quietly, "up there, so far from prying eyes, you might find the chance to dispose of two Do'Urden's. Why would you not go?"
"Have you forgotten a ruling that you played a part in?" Masoj asked, whirling on Alton accusingly. Two decades ago, the masters of Sorcere decided that no wizards are to travel anywhere near the surface!"
"Of course” Alton replied, remembering the meeting. Sorcere seemed so distant to him now, though he had been, within the Hun'ett house for only a few weeks. "We concluded that drow magic may work differently-unexpectedly-under the open sky” he explained. "On that raid twenty years ago-"
"I know the story” Masoj growled, and he finished the sentence for Alton. "A wizard's fireball expanded beyond its normal dimensions, killing several drow. Dangerous side-effects, you masters called it, though I've a belief that the wizard conveniently disposed of some enemies under the guise of an accident!"
"Yes” Alton agreed. "So said the rumors. In the absence of evidence. . “ He let the thought go, seeing that he was doing little to comfort Masoj. "That was so long ago” he said, trying to offer some hope. "Have you no recourse?"
"None” Masoj replied. "Things move so very slowly in Menzoberranzan; I doubt that the masters have even begun. their investigation into the matter.
"A pity” Alton said. "It would have been the perfect opportunity”
"No more of that!" Masoj scolded. "Matron SiNafay has not given me her command to eliminate Drizzt Do'Urden or his brother. You have already been warned to keep your personal desires to yourself. When the matron bids me to strike, I will not fail her. Opportunities can be created
"You speak as if you already know how Drizzt Do'Urden will die” Alton said.
An smile spread over Masoj's face as he reached into the pocket of his robe and produced the onyx figurine, his unthinking magical slave, which the foolish Drizzt had come to trust so dearly. "Oh, I do” he replied, giving the statuette of Guenhwyvar an easy toss, then catching it and holding it out on display.
"I do.”
The members of the chosen raiding party quickly came to realize that this would be no ordinary mission. They did not go out on patrol from Menzoberranzan at all during the next week. Rather, they remained, day and night, sequestered within a barrack of Melee-Magthere. Through nearly every waking hour, the raiders huddled around an oval table in a conference room, hearing the detailed plans of their pending adventure, and, over and over again, Master Hatch'net, the master of Lore, spinning his tales of the vile elves.
Drizzt listened intently to the stories, allowing himself, forcing himself, to fall within Hatch'net's hypnotic web. The tales had to be true; Drizzt did not know what he would hold onto to preserve his principles if they were not. Dinin presided over the raid's tactical preparations, displaying maps of the long tunnels the group would travel, grilling them over and over until they had memorized the route perfectly.
To this, as well, the eager raiders-except for Drizzt-listened intently, all the while fighting to keep their excitement from bursting out in a wild cheer. As the week of preparations neared its end, Drizzt took note that one member of the patrol group had not been attending. At first, Drizzt had reasoned that Masoj was learning his duties in the raid in Sorcere, with his old masters. With the departure time fast approaching and the battle plans clearly taking shape, though, Drizzt began to understand that Masoj would not be joining them.
"Where is our wizard?" Drizzt dared to ask in the late hours of one session.
Dinin, not appreciating 1he interruption, glared at his brother. "Masoj will not be joining us” he answered, knowing that others might now share Drizzt's concern, a distraction they could not afford at such a critical time.
"Sorcere has decreed that no wizards may travel to the surface, Master Hatch'net explained. "Masoj Hun'ett will await your return in the city. It is a great loss to you indeed, for Masoj has proven his worth many times over. Fear not, though, for a cleric of Arach-Tinilith shall accompany you.
"What of . . Drizzt began above the approving whispers of the other raiders.
Dinin cut his brother's thoughts short, easily guessing the question. "The cat belongs to Masoj” he said flatly. "The cat stays behind.
"I could talk to Masoj” Drizzt pleaded.
Dinin's stern glance answered the question without the need for words. "Our tactics will be different on the surface” he said to all the group, silencing their whispers. "The surface is a world of distance, not the blind enclosures of bending tunnels. Once our enemies are spotted, our task will be to surround them, to close off the distances” He looked straight at his young brother. "We will have no need of a point guard, and in such a conflict, a spirited cat could well prove more trouble than aid”
Drizzt had to be satisfied with the answer. Arguing would not help, even if he could get Masoj to let him take the panther-which he knew in his heart he could not. He shook the brooding desires out of his head and forced him-self to hear his brother's words. This was to be the greatest challenge of Drizzt's young life, and the greatest danger.
Over the final two days, as the battle plan became ingrained into every thought, Drizzt found himself growing more and more agitated. Nervous energy kept his palms moist with sweat, and his eyes darted about, too alert. Despite his disappointment over Guenhwyvar, Drizzt could not deny the excitement that bubbled within him. This was the adventure he had always wanted, the answer to his questions of the truth of his people. Up there, in the vast strangeness of that foreign world, lurked the surface elves, the unseen nightmare that had become the common enemy, and thus the common bond, of all the drow. Drizzt would discover the glory of battle, exacting proper revenge upon his people's most hated foes. Always before, Drizzt had fought out of necessity, in training gyms or against the stupid monsters that ventured too near his home.
Drizzt knew that this encounter would be different. This time his thrusts and cuts would be carried by the strength of deeper emotions, guided by the honor of his people and their common courage and resolve to strike back against their oppressors. He had to believe that.
Drizzt lay back in his cot the night before the raiding party's departure and brought his scimitars through some slow-motion maneuvers above him.
"This time” he whispered aloud to the blades while marveling at their intricate dance even at such a slow speed.
"This time your ring will sound out in the song of justice!"
He placed the scimitars down at the side of his cot and rolled over to find some needed sleep. "This time” he said again, teeth clenched and eyes shining with determination. Were his proclamations his belief or his hope? Drizzt had dismissed the disturbing question the very first time it had entered his thoughts, having no more room for doubts than he had for brooding. He no longer considered the possibility of disappointment; it had no place in the heart of a drow warrior.
To Dinin, though, studying Drizzt curiously from the shadows of the doorway, it sounded as if his younger brother was trying to convince himself of the truth of his own words.
"Gone, then” Drizzt said, staring off into the emptiness of the corridor in front of them. "'Wicked gnomes: my brother called them when we found the tracks by the pool. Wicked and stupid” He sheathed his scimitar and knelt beside the panther, his arm comfortable draped across Guenhwyvar's back. "They're smart enough to elude our patrol”
The cat looked up as if it had understood his every word, and Drizzt rubbed a hand roughly over Guenhwyvar's, his finest friend's, head. Drizzt remembered clearly his elation on the day, a week before, when Dinin had announced-to Masoj Hun'ett's outrage-that Guenhwyvar would be deployed at the patrol's point position beside Drizzt.
"The cat is mine!" Masoj had reminded Dinin.
"You are mine!" Dinin, the patrol leader, had replied, ending any further debate. Whenever the figurine's magic would permit, Masoj summoned Guenhwyvar from the Astral Plane and bid the cat to run up in front, bringing Drizzt an added degree of safety and a valued companion.
Drizzt knew from the unfamiliar heat patterns on the wall that they had gone the limit of their patrol route. He had purposely put a lot of ground, more than was advised, between himself and the rest of the patrol. Drizzt had confidence that he and Guenhwyvar could take care of themselves, and with the others far behind, he could relax and enjoy the wait. The minutes Drizzt spent in solitude gave him the time he needed in his endless effort to sort through his confused emotions. Guenhwyvar, seemingly nonjudgmental and always approving, offered Drizzt a perfect audience for his audible contemplations.
"I begin to wonder the worth of it all” Drizzt whispered to the cat. "I do not doubt the value of these Patrols-this week alone, we have defeated a dozen monsters that might have brought great harm to the city-but to what end?"
He looked deeply into the panther's saucer eyes and found sympathy there, and Drizzt knew that Guenhwyvar somehow understood his dilemma.
"Perhaps I still do not know who I am” Drizzt mused, "or who my people are. Every time I find a clue to the truth, it leads me down a path that I dare not continue upon, to conclusions I cannot accept”
"You are drow” came a reply behind them. Drizzt turned abruptly to see Dinin a few feet away, a look of grave concern on his face. '
"The gnomes have fled beyond our reach” Drizzt said, trying to deflect his brother's concerns. '
"Have you not learned what it means to be a drow?" Dinin asked. "Have you not come to understand the course of our history and the promise of our future?"
"I know of our history as it was taught at the Academy” Drizzt replied. "They were the very first lessons we received. Of our future, and more so of the place we now reside, though, I do not understand”
"You know of our enemies” Dinin prompted.
"Countless enemies” replied Drizzt with a heavy sigh.
"They fill the holes of the Underdark, always waiting for us to let down our guard. We will not, and our enemies will fall i to our power”
"Ah, but our true enemies do not reside in the lightless caverns of our world” said Dinin with a sly smile. "Theirs is a world strange and evil” Drizzt knew who Dinin was referring to, but he suspected that his brother was hiding something.
"The faeries” Drizzt whispered, and the word prompted a jumble of emotions within him. All of his life, he had been told of his evil cousins, of how they had forced the drow into the bowels of the world. Busily engaged in the duties of his everyday life, Drizzt did not think of them often, but whenever they came to mind, he used their name as a litany against everything he hated in his life. If Drizzt could somehow blame the surface elves-as every other drow seemed to blame them-for the injustices of drow society, he could find hope for the future of his people. Rationally, Drizzt had to dismiss the stirring legends of the elven war as another of the endless stream of lies, but in his heart and hopes, Drizzt clung desperately to those words.
He looked back to Dinin. "The faeries” he said again,
"whatever they may be”
Dinin chuckled at his brother's relentless sarcasm; it had become so commonplace. "They are as you have learned” he assured Drizzt. "Without worth and vile beyond your imagination, the tormentors of our people, who banished us in eons past; who forced-"
"I know the tales” Drizzt interrupted, alarmed at the increasing volume of his excited brother's voice. Drizzt glanced over his shoulder. "If the patrol is ended, let us meet the others closer to the city. This place is too dangerous for such discussions” He rose to his feet and started back, Guenhwyvar at his side.
"Not as dangerous as the place I soon will lead you” Dinin replied with that same sly smile. Drizzt stopped and looked at him curiously.
"I suppose you should know” Dinin teased. "We were selected because we are the finest of the patrol groups, and you have certainly played an important role in our attaining that honor”
"Chosen for what?"
"In a fortnight, we will leave Menzoberranzan” explained Dinin. "Our trail will take us many days and many miles from the city”
"How long'?" Qrizzt asked, suddenly very curious.
Two weeks, maybe three” replied Dinin, "but well worth the time. We shall be the ones, my young brother, who enact a measure of revenge upon our most hated foes, who strike a glorious blow for the Spider Queen!"
Drizzt thought that he understood, but the notion was too outrageous for him to be certain.
"The elves!" Dinin beamed. "We have been chosen for surface raid!"
Drizzt was not as openly excited as his brother, unsure of the implications of such a mission. At last he would get to view the surface elves and face the truth of his heart and hopes. Something more real to Drizzt, the disappointment he had known for so many years, tempered his elation, reminded him that while the truth of the elves might bring an excuse to the dark world of his kin, it might instead take away something more important. He was unsure how to feel.
"The surface” Alton mused. "My sister went there once – on a raid. A most marvelous experience, so she said” He looked at Masoj, not knowing how to figure the forlorn expression on the young Hun'ett's face. "Now your patrol makes the journey. I envy you”
"I am not going” Masoj declared.
"Why?" Alton gasped. "This is a rare opportunity indeed. Menzoberranzan-to the anger of Lloth, I am certain-has not staged a surface raid in two decades. It may be twenty more years before the next, and by then you will no longer be among the patrols”
Masoj looked out from the small window of Alton's room in House Hun'ett, surveying the compound.
"Besides” Alton continued quietly, "up there, so far from prying eyes, you might find the chance to dispose of two Do'Urden's. Why would you not go?"
"Have you forgotten a ruling that you played a part in?" Masoj asked, whirling on Alton accusingly. Two decades ago, the masters of Sorcere decided that no wizards are to travel anywhere near the surface!"
"Of course” Alton replied, remembering the meeting. Sorcere seemed so distant to him now, though he had been, within the Hun'ett house for only a few weeks. "We concluded that drow magic may work differently-unexpectedly-under the open sky” he explained. "On that raid twenty years ago-"
"I know the story” Masoj growled, and he finished the sentence for Alton. "A wizard's fireball expanded beyond its normal dimensions, killing several drow. Dangerous side-effects, you masters called it, though I've a belief that the wizard conveniently disposed of some enemies under the guise of an accident!"
"Yes” Alton agreed. "So said the rumors. In the absence of evidence. . “ He let the thought go, seeing that he was doing little to comfort Masoj. "That was so long ago” he said, trying to offer some hope. "Have you no recourse?"
"None” Masoj replied. "Things move so very slowly in Menzoberranzan; I doubt that the masters have even begun. their investigation into the matter.
"A pity” Alton said. "It would have been the perfect opportunity”
"No more of that!" Masoj scolded. "Matron SiNafay has not given me her command to eliminate Drizzt Do'Urden or his brother. You have already been warned to keep your personal desires to yourself. When the matron bids me to strike, I will not fail her. Opportunities can be created
"You speak as if you already know how Drizzt Do'Urden will die” Alton said.
An smile spread over Masoj's face as he reached into the pocket of his robe and produced the onyx figurine, his unthinking magical slave, which the foolish Drizzt had come to trust so dearly. "Oh, I do” he replied, giving the statuette of Guenhwyvar an easy toss, then catching it and holding it out on display.
"I do.”
The members of the chosen raiding party quickly came to realize that this would be no ordinary mission. They did not go out on patrol from Menzoberranzan at all during the next week. Rather, they remained, day and night, sequestered within a barrack of Melee-Magthere. Through nearly every waking hour, the raiders huddled around an oval table in a conference room, hearing the detailed plans of their pending adventure, and, over and over again, Master Hatch'net, the master of Lore, spinning his tales of the vile elves.
Drizzt listened intently to the stories, allowing himself, forcing himself, to fall within Hatch'net's hypnotic web. The tales had to be true; Drizzt did not know what he would hold onto to preserve his principles if they were not. Dinin presided over the raid's tactical preparations, displaying maps of the long tunnels the group would travel, grilling them over and over until they had memorized the route perfectly.
To this, as well, the eager raiders-except for Drizzt-listened intently, all the while fighting to keep their excitement from bursting out in a wild cheer. As the week of preparations neared its end, Drizzt took note that one member of the patrol group had not been attending. At first, Drizzt had reasoned that Masoj was learning his duties in the raid in Sorcere, with his old masters. With the departure time fast approaching and the battle plans clearly taking shape, though, Drizzt began to understand that Masoj would not be joining them.
"Where is our wizard?" Drizzt dared to ask in the late hours of one session.
Dinin, not appreciating 1he interruption, glared at his brother. "Masoj will not be joining us” he answered, knowing that others might now share Drizzt's concern, a distraction they could not afford at such a critical time.
"Sorcere has decreed that no wizards may travel to the surface, Master Hatch'net explained. "Masoj Hun'ett will await your return in the city. It is a great loss to you indeed, for Masoj has proven his worth many times over. Fear not, though, for a cleric of Arach-Tinilith shall accompany you.
"What of . . Drizzt began above the approving whispers of the other raiders.
Dinin cut his brother's thoughts short, easily guessing the question. "The cat belongs to Masoj” he said flatly. "The cat stays behind.
"I could talk to Masoj” Drizzt pleaded.
Dinin's stern glance answered the question without the need for words. "Our tactics will be different on the surface” he said to all the group, silencing their whispers. "The surface is a world of distance, not the blind enclosures of bending tunnels. Once our enemies are spotted, our task will be to surround them, to close off the distances” He looked straight at his young brother. "We will have no need of a point guard, and in such a conflict, a spirited cat could well prove more trouble than aid”
Drizzt had to be satisfied with the answer. Arguing would not help, even if he could get Masoj to let him take the panther-which he knew in his heart he could not. He shook the brooding desires out of his head and forced him-self to hear his brother's words. This was to be the greatest challenge of Drizzt's young life, and the greatest danger.
Over the final two days, as the battle plan became ingrained into every thought, Drizzt found himself growing more and more agitated. Nervous energy kept his palms moist with sweat, and his eyes darted about, too alert. Despite his disappointment over Guenhwyvar, Drizzt could not deny the excitement that bubbled within him. This was the adventure he had always wanted, the answer to his questions of the truth of his people. Up there, in the vast strangeness of that foreign world, lurked the surface elves, the unseen nightmare that had become the common enemy, and thus the common bond, of all the drow. Drizzt would discover the glory of battle, exacting proper revenge upon his people's most hated foes. Always before, Drizzt had fought out of necessity, in training gyms or against the stupid monsters that ventured too near his home.
Drizzt knew that this encounter would be different. This time his thrusts and cuts would be carried by the strength of deeper emotions, guided by the honor of his people and their common courage and resolve to strike back against their oppressors. He had to believe that.
Drizzt lay back in his cot the night before the raiding party's departure and brought his scimitars through some slow-motion maneuvers above him.
"This time” he whispered aloud to the blades while marveling at their intricate dance even at such a slow speed.
"This time your ring will sound out in the song of justice!"
He placed the scimitars down at the side of his cot and rolled over to find some needed sleep. "This time” he said again, teeth clenched and eyes shining with determination. Were his proclamations his belief or his hope? Drizzt had dismissed the disturbing question the very first time it had entered his thoughts, having no more room for doubts than he had for brooding. He no longer considered the possibility of disappointment; it had no place in the heart of a drow warrior.
To Dinin, though, studying Drizzt curiously from the shadows of the doorway, it sounded as if his younger brother was trying to convince himself of the truth of his own words.
Chapter 20
That Foreign World
The fourteen members of the patrol group made their way through twisting tunnels and giant caverns that suddenly opened wide before them. Silent on magical boots and nearly invisible behind their piwafwis, they communicated only in their hand code. For the most part, the ground's slope was barely perceptible, though at times the group climbed straight up rocky chimneys, every step and every handhold drawing them nearer their goal. They crossed through the boundaries of claimed territories, of monsters and the other races, but the hated gnomes and even the duergar dwarves wisely kept their heads hidden. Few in all the Underdark would purposely intercept a drow raiding party.
By the end of a week, all of the drow could sense the difference in their surroundings. The depth still would have seemed stifling to a surface dweller, but the dark elves were accustomed to the constant oppression of a thousand thousand tons of rock hanging over their heads. They turned every corner expecting the stone ceiling to flyaway into the vast openness of the surface world.
Breezes wafted past them-not the sulfur-smelling hot winds rising off the magma of deep earth, but moist air, scented with a hundred aromas unknown to the drow. It was springtime above, though the dark elves, in their seasonless environs, knew nothing of that, and the air was full of the scents of new-blossomed flowers and budding trees.
In the seductive allure of those tantalizing aromas, Drizzt had to remind himself again and again that the place they approached was wholly evil and dangerous. Perhaps, he thought, the scents were merely a diabolical lure, a bait to an unsuspecting creature to bring it into the surface world's murderous grip.
The cleric of Arach-Tinilith who was traveling with the raiding party walked near to one wall and pressed her face against every crack she encountered. "This one will suffice” she said a short time later. She cast a spell of seeing and looked into the tiny crack, no more than a finger's width, a second time.
"How are we to get through that?" one of the patrol memo bers signaled to another. Dinin caught the gestures and ended the silent conversation with a scowl.
"It is daylight above” the cleric announced. "We shall have to wait here”
"For how long?" Dinin asked, knowing his patrol to be on the edge of readiness with their long-awaited goal so very near.
"I cannot know” the cleric replied. "No more than half a cycle of Narbondel. Let us remove our packs and rest while we may”
Dinin would have preferred to continue, just to keep his troops busy, but he did not dare speak against the priestess.
The break did not prove a long one, though, for a couple of hours later, the cleric checked through the crack once more and announced that the time had come.
"You first” Dinin said to Drizzt. Drizzt looked at his brother incredulously, having no idea of how he could pass through such a tiny crack.
"Come” instructed the cleric, who now held a many-holed orb. "Walk past me and continue through”
As Drizzt passed the cleric, she spoke the orb's command word and held it over Drizzt's head. Black flakes, blacker than Drizzt's ebony skin, drifted over him, and he felt a tremendous shudder ripple across his spine.
The others looked on in amazement as Drizzt's body narrowed to the width of a hair and he became a two-dimensional image, a shadow of his former self.
Drizzt did not understand what was happening, but the crack suddenly widened before him. He slipped into it, found movement in his present form merely an enactment of will, and, drifted through the twists, turns, and bends of the tiny channel like a shadow on the broken face of a rocky cliff. He then was in a long cave, standing across from its single exit.
A moonless night had fallen, but even this seemed bright to the deep-dwelling drow. Drizzt felt himself pulled toward the exit, toward the surface world's openness. The other raiders began slipping through the crack and into the cavern then, one by one with the cleric coming in last. Drizzt was the first to feel the shudder as his body resumed its natural state. In a few moments, they all were eagerly checking their weapons.
"I will remain here” the cleric told Dinin. "Hunt well. The Spider Queen is watching”
Dinin warned his troops once again of the dangers of the surface, then he moved to the front of the cave, a small hole on the side of a rocky spur of a tall mountain. "For the Spider Queen” Dinin proclaimed. He took a steadying breath and led them through the exit, under the open sky.
Under the stars! While the others seemed nervous under those revealing lights, Drizzt found his gaze pulled heavenward to the countless points of mystical twinkling. Bathed in the starlight, he felt his heart lift and didn't even notice the joyful singing that rode on the night wind, so fitting it seemed.
Dinin heard the song, and he was experienced enough to recognize it as the eldritch calling of the surface elves. He crouched and surveyed the horizon, picking out the light of a single fire down in the distant expanse of a wooded valley. He nudged his troops to action-and pointedly nudged the wonderment from his brother's eyes-and started them off.
Drizzt could see the anxiety on his companions' faces, so contrasted by his own inexplicable sense of serenity. He suspected at once that something was very wrong with the whole situation. In his heart Drizzt had known from the minute he had stepped out of the tunnel that this was not the vile world the masters at the Academy had taken such pains to describe. He did feel unusual with no stone ceiling above him, but not uncomfortable. If the stars, calling to his heartstrings, were indeed reminders of what the next day might bring, as Master Hatch'net had said, then surely the next day would not be so terrible.
Only confusion dampened the feeling of freedom that Drizzt felt, for either he had somehow fallen into a trap of perception, or his companions, his brother included, viewed their surroundings through tainted eyes.
It fell on Drizzt as another unanswered burden: were his feelings of comfort here weakness or truth of heart?
"They are akin to the mushroom groves of our home” Dinin assured the others as they tentatively moved under the perimeter boughs of a small forest, "neither sentient nor harmful”
Still, the younger dark elves flinched and brought their weapons to the ready whenever a squirrel skipped across a branch overheard or an unseen bird called out to the night. The dark elves' was a silent world, far different from the chattering life of a springtime forest, and in the Underdark, nearly every living thing could, and most certainly would, try to harm anything invading its lair. Even a cricket's chirp sounded ominous to the alert ears of the drow.
Dinin's course was true, and soon the faerie song drowned out every other sound and the light of a fire became visible through the boughs. Surface elves were the most alert of the races, and a human-or even a sneaky halfling-would have had little chance of catching them unawares.
The raiders this night were drow, more skilled in stealth than the most proficient alley thief. Their footfalls went unheard, even across beds of dry, fallen leaves, and their crafted armor, shaped perfectly to the contours of their slender bodies, bent with their movements without a rustle. Unnoticed, they lined the perimeter of the small glade, where a score of faeries danced and sang.
Transfixed by the sheer joy of the elves' play, Drizzt hardly noticed the commands his brother issued then in the silent code. Several children danced among the gathering, marked only by the size of their bodies, and were no freer in spirit than the adults they accompanied. So innocent they all seemed, so full of life and wistfulness, and obviously bonded to each other by friendship more profound than Drizzt had ever known in Menzoberranzan. So unlike the stories Hatch'net had spun of them, tales of vile, hating wretches.
Drizzt sensed more than saw that his group was on the move, fanning out to gain a greater advantage. Still he did not take his eyes from the spectacle before him. Dinin tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to the small crossbow that hung from his belt, then slipped off into position in the brush off to the side.
Drizzt wanted to stop his brother and the others, wanted to make them wait and observe the surface elves that they were so quick to name enemies. Drizzt found his feet rooted to the earth and his tongue weighted heavily in the sudden dryness that had come into his mouth. He looked to Dinin and could only hope that his brother mistakenly thought his labored breaths the exultations of battle-lust. .
Then Drizzt's keen ears heard the soft thrum of a dozen tiny bowstrings. The elven song carried on a moment longer, until several of the group dropped to the earth.
"No!" Drizzt screamed in protest, the words torn from his body by a profound rage even he did not understand. The denial sounded like just another war cry to the drow raiders, and before the surface elves could even begin to react, Dinin and the others were upon them.
Drizzt, too, leaped into the glade's lighted ring, his weapons in hand, though he had given no thought to his next move. He wanted only to stop the battle, to put an end to the scene unfolding before him.
Quite at ease in their woodland home, the surface elves weren't even armed. The drow warriors sliced through their ranks mercilessly, cutting them down and hacking at their bodies long after the light of life had flown from their eyes.
One terrified female, dodging this way and that, came before Drizzt. He dipped the tips of his weapons to the earth, searching for some way to give a measure of comfort. The female then jerked straight as a sword dove into her back, its tip thrusting right through her slender form. Drizzt watched, mesmerized and horrified, as the drow warrior behind her grasped the weapon hilt in both hands and twisted it savagely. The female elf looked straight at Drizzt in the last fleeting seconds of her life, her eyes crying for mercy. Her voice was no more than the sickening gurgle of blood.
His face the exultation of ecstacy, the drow warrior tore his sword free and sliced it across, taking the head from the elven female's shoulders.
"Vengeance!" he cried at Drizzt, his face contorted in furious glee, his eyes burning with a light that shone demonic to the stunned Drizzt. The warrior hacked at the lifeless body one more time, then spun away in search of another kill.
Only a moment later, another elf, this one a young girl, broke free of the massacre and rushed in Drizzt's direction, screaming a single word over and over. Her cry was in the tongue of the surface elves, a dialect foreign to Drizzt, but when he looked upon her fair face, streaked with tears, he understood what she was saying. Her eyes were on the mutilated corpse at his feet; her anguish outweighed even the terror of her own impending doom. She could only be crying, "Mother!"
Rage, horror, anguish, and a dozen other emotions racked Drizzt at that horrible moment. He wanted to escape his feelings, to lose himself in the blind frenzy of his kin and accept the ugly reality. How easy it would have been to throw away the conscience that pained him so.
The elven child rushed up before Drizzt but hardly saw him, her gaze locked upon her dead mother, the back of the child's neck open to a single, clean blow. Drizzt raised his scimitar, unable to distinguish between mercy and murder.
"Yes, my brother!" Dinin cried out to him, a call that cut through his comrades' screams and whoops and echoed in Drizzt's ears like an accusation. Drizzt looked up to see Dinin, covered from head to foot in blood and standing amid a hacked cluster of dead elves.
"Today you know the glory it is to be a drow!" Dinin cried, and he punched a victorious fist into the air. "today we appease the Spider Queen!"
Drizzt responded in kind, then snarled and reared back for a killing blow.
He almost did it. In his unfocused outrage, Drizzt Do'Urden almost became as his kin. He almost stole the life from that beautiful child's sparkling eyes.
At the last moment, she looked up at him, her eyes shining as a dark mirror into Drizzt's blackening heart. In that reflection, that reverse image of the rage that guided his hand, Drizzt Do'Urden found himself.
He brought the scimitar down in a mighty sweep, watching Dinin out of the corner of his eye as it whisked harm – lessly past the child – In the same motion, Drizzt followed with his other hand, catching the girl by the front of her tunic and pulling her face-down to the ground.
She screamed, unharmed but terrified, and Drizzt saw Dinin thrust his fist into the air again and spin away.
Drizzt had to work quickly; the battle was almost at its gruesome end. He sliced his scimitars expertly above the huddled child's back, cutting her clothing but not so much as scratching her tender skin. Then he used the blood of the headless corpse to mask the trick, taking grim satisfaction that the elven mother would be pleased to know that, in dying, she had saved the life of her daughter.
"Stay down” he whispered in the child's ear. Drizzt knew that she could not understand his language, but he tried to keep his tone comforting enough for her to guess at the deception. He could only hope he had done an adequate job a moment later, when Dinin and several others came over to him.
"Well done!" Dinin said exuberantly, trembling with sheer excitement. " A score of the orc-bait dead and not a one of us even injured! The matrons of Menzoberranzan will be pleased indeed, though we'll get no plunder from this pitiful lot!" He looked down at the pile at Drizzt's feet, then clapped his brother on the shoulder.
Did they think they could get away?" Dinin roared.
Drizzt fought hard to sublimate his disgust, but Dinin was so entranced by the bloodbath that he wouldn't have noticed anyway.
"Not with you here!" Dinin continued. "Two kills for Drizzt! "
"One kill!" protested another, stepping beside Dinin.
Drizzt set his hands firmly on the hilts of his weapons and gathered up his courage. If this approaching drow had guessed the deception, Drizzt would fight to save the elven child. He would kill his companions, even his brother, to save the little girl with the sparkling eyes-until he himself was slain. At least then Drizzt would not have to witness their slaughter of the child.
Luckily, the problem never came up. "Drizzt got the child” the drow said to Dinin, "but I got the elder female. I put my sword right through her back before your brother ever brought his scimitars to bear!"
It came as a reflex, an unconscious strike against the evil all about him. Drizzt didn't even realize the act as it happened, but a moment later, he saw the boasting drow lying on his back, clutching at his face and groaning in agony. Only then did Drizzt notice the burning pain in his hand, and he looked down to see his knuckles, and the scimitar hilt they clutched, spattered with blood.
"What are you about?" Dinin demanded.
Thinking quickly, Drizzt did not even reply to his brother.
He looked past Dinin, to the squirming form on the ground, and transferred all the rage in his heart into a curse that the others would accept and respect. "If ever you steal a kill from me again” he spat, sincerity dripping from his false words, "I will replace the head lost from its shoulders with your own!"
Drizzt knew that the elven child at his feet, though doing her best, had begun a slight shudder of sobbing, and he decided not to press his luck. "Come, then” he growled. "Let us leave this place. The stench of the surface world fills my mouth with bile!"
He stormed away, and the others, laughing, picked up their dazed comrade and followed.
"Finally” Dinin whispered as he watched his brother's tense strides. "Finally you have learned what it is to be a drow warrior!"
Dinin, in his blindness, would never understand the irony of his words.
"We have one more duty before we return home” the cleric explained to the group when it reached the cave's entrance. She alone knew of the raid's second purpose. "The matrons of Menzoberranzan have bid us to witness the ulti-mate horror of the surface world, that we might warn our kindred”
Our kindred? Drizzt mused, his thoughts black with sar-casm. As far as he could see, the raiders had already wit-nessed the horror of the surface world: themselves!
"There!" Dinin cried, pointing to the eastern horizon.
The tiniest shading of light limned the dark outline of distant mountains. A surface dweller would not even have noticed it, but the dark elves saw it clearly, and all of them, even Drizzt, recoiled instinctively.
"It is beautiful” Drizzt dared to remark after taking a moment to consider the spectacle.
Dinin's glare came at him icy cold, but no colder than the look the cleric cast Drizzt's way. "Remove your cloaks and equipment, even your armor” she instructed .the group.
"Quickly. Place them within the shadows of the cave so that they will not be affected by the light”
When the task was completed, the cleric led them out into the growing light. "Watch” was her grim command.
The eastern sky assumed a hue of purplish pink, then pink altogether, its brightening causing the dark elves to squint uncomfortably. Drizzt wanted to deny the event, to put it into the same pile of anger that denied the master of Lore's words concerning the surface elves.
Then it happened; the top rim of the sun crested the eastern horizon. The surface world awakened to its warmth, its life-giving energy. Those same rays assaulted the drow elves' eyes with the fury of fire, tearing into orbs unaccustomed to such sights.
"Watch!" the cleric cried at them. "Witness the depth of the horror!"
One by one, the raiders cried out in pain and fell into the cave's darkness, until Drizzt stood alone beside the cleric in the growing daylight. Truly, the light assaulted Drizzt as keenly as it had his kin, but he basked in it, accepting it as his purgatory, exposing him for all to view while its stinging fires cleansed his soul.
"Come” the cleric said to him at length, not understanding his actions. "We have borne witness. We may now return to our homeland”
"Homeland?" Drizzt replied, subdued.
"Menzoberranzan!" the cleric cried, thinking the male confused beyond reason. "Come, before the inferno burns the skin from your bones. Let our surface cousins suffer the flames, a fitting punishment for their evil hearts!" Drizzt chuckled hopelessly. A fitting punishment? He wished that he could pluck a thousand such suns from the sky and set them in every chapel in Menzoberranzan, to shine eternally.
Then Drizzt could take the light no more. He scrambled dizzily back into the cave and donned his outfit. The cleric had the orb in hand, and Drizzt again was the first through the tiny crack. When all the group rejoined in the tunnel beyond, Drizzt took his position at the point and led them back into the descending path's deepening gloom-back down into the darkness of their existence.
By the end of a week, all of the drow could sense the difference in their surroundings. The depth still would have seemed stifling to a surface dweller, but the dark elves were accustomed to the constant oppression of a thousand thousand tons of rock hanging over their heads. They turned every corner expecting the stone ceiling to flyaway into the vast openness of the surface world.
Breezes wafted past them-not the sulfur-smelling hot winds rising off the magma of deep earth, but moist air, scented with a hundred aromas unknown to the drow. It was springtime above, though the dark elves, in their seasonless environs, knew nothing of that, and the air was full of the scents of new-blossomed flowers and budding trees.
In the seductive allure of those tantalizing aromas, Drizzt had to remind himself again and again that the place they approached was wholly evil and dangerous. Perhaps, he thought, the scents were merely a diabolical lure, a bait to an unsuspecting creature to bring it into the surface world's murderous grip.
The cleric of Arach-Tinilith who was traveling with the raiding party walked near to one wall and pressed her face against every crack she encountered. "This one will suffice” she said a short time later. She cast a spell of seeing and looked into the tiny crack, no more than a finger's width, a second time.
"How are we to get through that?" one of the patrol memo bers signaled to another. Dinin caught the gestures and ended the silent conversation with a scowl.
"It is daylight above” the cleric announced. "We shall have to wait here”
"For how long?" Dinin asked, knowing his patrol to be on the edge of readiness with their long-awaited goal so very near.
"I cannot know” the cleric replied. "No more than half a cycle of Narbondel. Let us remove our packs and rest while we may”
Dinin would have preferred to continue, just to keep his troops busy, but he did not dare speak against the priestess.
The break did not prove a long one, though, for a couple of hours later, the cleric checked through the crack once more and announced that the time had come.
"You first” Dinin said to Drizzt. Drizzt looked at his brother incredulously, having no idea of how he could pass through such a tiny crack.
"Come” instructed the cleric, who now held a many-holed orb. "Walk past me and continue through”
As Drizzt passed the cleric, she spoke the orb's command word and held it over Drizzt's head. Black flakes, blacker than Drizzt's ebony skin, drifted over him, and he felt a tremendous shudder ripple across his spine.
The others looked on in amazement as Drizzt's body narrowed to the width of a hair and he became a two-dimensional image, a shadow of his former self.
Drizzt did not understand what was happening, but the crack suddenly widened before him. He slipped into it, found movement in his present form merely an enactment of will, and, drifted through the twists, turns, and bends of the tiny channel like a shadow on the broken face of a rocky cliff. He then was in a long cave, standing across from its single exit.
A moonless night had fallen, but even this seemed bright to the deep-dwelling drow. Drizzt felt himself pulled toward the exit, toward the surface world's openness. The other raiders began slipping through the crack and into the cavern then, one by one with the cleric coming in last. Drizzt was the first to feel the shudder as his body resumed its natural state. In a few moments, they all were eagerly checking their weapons.
"I will remain here” the cleric told Dinin. "Hunt well. The Spider Queen is watching”
Dinin warned his troops once again of the dangers of the surface, then he moved to the front of the cave, a small hole on the side of a rocky spur of a tall mountain. "For the Spider Queen” Dinin proclaimed. He took a steadying breath and led them through the exit, under the open sky.
Under the stars! While the others seemed nervous under those revealing lights, Drizzt found his gaze pulled heavenward to the countless points of mystical twinkling. Bathed in the starlight, he felt his heart lift and didn't even notice the joyful singing that rode on the night wind, so fitting it seemed.
Dinin heard the song, and he was experienced enough to recognize it as the eldritch calling of the surface elves. He crouched and surveyed the horizon, picking out the light of a single fire down in the distant expanse of a wooded valley. He nudged his troops to action-and pointedly nudged the wonderment from his brother's eyes-and started them off.
Drizzt could see the anxiety on his companions' faces, so contrasted by his own inexplicable sense of serenity. He suspected at once that something was very wrong with the whole situation. In his heart Drizzt had known from the minute he had stepped out of the tunnel that this was not the vile world the masters at the Academy had taken such pains to describe. He did feel unusual with no stone ceiling above him, but not uncomfortable. If the stars, calling to his heartstrings, were indeed reminders of what the next day might bring, as Master Hatch'net had said, then surely the next day would not be so terrible.
Only confusion dampened the feeling of freedom that Drizzt felt, for either he had somehow fallen into a trap of perception, or his companions, his brother included, viewed their surroundings through tainted eyes.
It fell on Drizzt as another unanswered burden: were his feelings of comfort here weakness or truth of heart?
"They are akin to the mushroom groves of our home” Dinin assured the others as they tentatively moved under the perimeter boughs of a small forest, "neither sentient nor harmful”
Still, the younger dark elves flinched and brought their weapons to the ready whenever a squirrel skipped across a branch overheard or an unseen bird called out to the night. The dark elves' was a silent world, far different from the chattering life of a springtime forest, and in the Underdark, nearly every living thing could, and most certainly would, try to harm anything invading its lair. Even a cricket's chirp sounded ominous to the alert ears of the drow.
Dinin's course was true, and soon the faerie song drowned out every other sound and the light of a fire became visible through the boughs. Surface elves were the most alert of the races, and a human-or even a sneaky halfling-would have had little chance of catching them unawares.
The raiders this night were drow, more skilled in stealth than the most proficient alley thief. Their footfalls went unheard, even across beds of dry, fallen leaves, and their crafted armor, shaped perfectly to the contours of their slender bodies, bent with their movements without a rustle. Unnoticed, they lined the perimeter of the small glade, where a score of faeries danced and sang.
Transfixed by the sheer joy of the elves' play, Drizzt hardly noticed the commands his brother issued then in the silent code. Several children danced among the gathering, marked only by the size of their bodies, and were no freer in spirit than the adults they accompanied. So innocent they all seemed, so full of life and wistfulness, and obviously bonded to each other by friendship more profound than Drizzt had ever known in Menzoberranzan. So unlike the stories Hatch'net had spun of them, tales of vile, hating wretches.
Drizzt sensed more than saw that his group was on the move, fanning out to gain a greater advantage. Still he did not take his eyes from the spectacle before him. Dinin tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to the small crossbow that hung from his belt, then slipped off into position in the brush off to the side.
Drizzt wanted to stop his brother and the others, wanted to make them wait and observe the surface elves that they were so quick to name enemies. Drizzt found his feet rooted to the earth and his tongue weighted heavily in the sudden dryness that had come into his mouth. He looked to Dinin and could only hope that his brother mistakenly thought his labored breaths the exultations of battle-lust. .
Then Drizzt's keen ears heard the soft thrum of a dozen tiny bowstrings. The elven song carried on a moment longer, until several of the group dropped to the earth.
"No!" Drizzt screamed in protest, the words torn from his body by a profound rage even he did not understand. The denial sounded like just another war cry to the drow raiders, and before the surface elves could even begin to react, Dinin and the others were upon them.
Drizzt, too, leaped into the glade's lighted ring, his weapons in hand, though he had given no thought to his next move. He wanted only to stop the battle, to put an end to the scene unfolding before him.
Quite at ease in their woodland home, the surface elves weren't even armed. The drow warriors sliced through their ranks mercilessly, cutting them down and hacking at their bodies long after the light of life had flown from their eyes.
One terrified female, dodging this way and that, came before Drizzt. He dipped the tips of his weapons to the earth, searching for some way to give a measure of comfort. The female then jerked straight as a sword dove into her back, its tip thrusting right through her slender form. Drizzt watched, mesmerized and horrified, as the drow warrior behind her grasped the weapon hilt in both hands and twisted it savagely. The female elf looked straight at Drizzt in the last fleeting seconds of her life, her eyes crying for mercy. Her voice was no more than the sickening gurgle of blood.
His face the exultation of ecstacy, the drow warrior tore his sword free and sliced it across, taking the head from the elven female's shoulders.
"Vengeance!" he cried at Drizzt, his face contorted in furious glee, his eyes burning with a light that shone demonic to the stunned Drizzt. The warrior hacked at the lifeless body one more time, then spun away in search of another kill.
Only a moment later, another elf, this one a young girl, broke free of the massacre and rushed in Drizzt's direction, screaming a single word over and over. Her cry was in the tongue of the surface elves, a dialect foreign to Drizzt, but when he looked upon her fair face, streaked with tears, he understood what she was saying. Her eyes were on the mutilated corpse at his feet; her anguish outweighed even the terror of her own impending doom. She could only be crying, "Mother!"
Rage, horror, anguish, and a dozen other emotions racked Drizzt at that horrible moment. He wanted to escape his feelings, to lose himself in the blind frenzy of his kin and accept the ugly reality. How easy it would have been to throw away the conscience that pained him so.
The elven child rushed up before Drizzt but hardly saw him, her gaze locked upon her dead mother, the back of the child's neck open to a single, clean blow. Drizzt raised his scimitar, unable to distinguish between mercy and murder.
"Yes, my brother!" Dinin cried out to him, a call that cut through his comrades' screams and whoops and echoed in Drizzt's ears like an accusation. Drizzt looked up to see Dinin, covered from head to foot in blood and standing amid a hacked cluster of dead elves.
"Today you know the glory it is to be a drow!" Dinin cried, and he punched a victorious fist into the air. "today we appease the Spider Queen!"
Drizzt responded in kind, then snarled and reared back for a killing blow.
He almost did it. In his unfocused outrage, Drizzt Do'Urden almost became as his kin. He almost stole the life from that beautiful child's sparkling eyes.
At the last moment, she looked up at him, her eyes shining as a dark mirror into Drizzt's blackening heart. In that reflection, that reverse image of the rage that guided his hand, Drizzt Do'Urden found himself.
He brought the scimitar down in a mighty sweep, watching Dinin out of the corner of his eye as it whisked harm – lessly past the child – In the same motion, Drizzt followed with his other hand, catching the girl by the front of her tunic and pulling her face-down to the ground.
She screamed, unharmed but terrified, and Drizzt saw Dinin thrust his fist into the air again and spin away.
Drizzt had to work quickly; the battle was almost at its gruesome end. He sliced his scimitars expertly above the huddled child's back, cutting her clothing but not so much as scratching her tender skin. Then he used the blood of the headless corpse to mask the trick, taking grim satisfaction that the elven mother would be pleased to know that, in dying, she had saved the life of her daughter.
"Stay down” he whispered in the child's ear. Drizzt knew that she could not understand his language, but he tried to keep his tone comforting enough for her to guess at the deception. He could only hope he had done an adequate job a moment later, when Dinin and several others came over to him.
"Well done!" Dinin said exuberantly, trembling with sheer excitement. " A score of the orc-bait dead and not a one of us even injured! The matrons of Menzoberranzan will be pleased indeed, though we'll get no plunder from this pitiful lot!" He looked down at the pile at Drizzt's feet, then clapped his brother on the shoulder.
Did they think they could get away?" Dinin roared.
Drizzt fought hard to sublimate his disgust, but Dinin was so entranced by the bloodbath that he wouldn't have noticed anyway.
"Not with you here!" Dinin continued. "Two kills for Drizzt! "
"One kill!" protested another, stepping beside Dinin.
Drizzt set his hands firmly on the hilts of his weapons and gathered up his courage. If this approaching drow had guessed the deception, Drizzt would fight to save the elven child. He would kill his companions, even his brother, to save the little girl with the sparkling eyes-until he himself was slain. At least then Drizzt would not have to witness their slaughter of the child.
Luckily, the problem never came up. "Drizzt got the child” the drow said to Dinin, "but I got the elder female. I put my sword right through her back before your brother ever brought his scimitars to bear!"
It came as a reflex, an unconscious strike against the evil all about him. Drizzt didn't even realize the act as it happened, but a moment later, he saw the boasting drow lying on his back, clutching at his face and groaning in agony. Only then did Drizzt notice the burning pain in his hand, and he looked down to see his knuckles, and the scimitar hilt they clutched, spattered with blood.
"What are you about?" Dinin demanded.
Thinking quickly, Drizzt did not even reply to his brother.
He looked past Dinin, to the squirming form on the ground, and transferred all the rage in his heart into a curse that the others would accept and respect. "If ever you steal a kill from me again” he spat, sincerity dripping from his false words, "I will replace the head lost from its shoulders with your own!"
Drizzt knew that the elven child at his feet, though doing her best, had begun a slight shudder of sobbing, and he decided not to press his luck. "Come, then” he growled. "Let us leave this place. The stench of the surface world fills my mouth with bile!"
He stormed away, and the others, laughing, picked up their dazed comrade and followed.
"Finally” Dinin whispered as he watched his brother's tense strides. "Finally you have learned what it is to be a drow warrior!"
Dinin, in his blindness, would never understand the irony of his words.
"We have one more duty before we return home” the cleric explained to the group when it reached the cave's entrance. She alone knew of the raid's second purpose. "The matrons of Menzoberranzan have bid us to witness the ulti-mate horror of the surface world, that we might warn our kindred”
Our kindred? Drizzt mused, his thoughts black with sar-casm. As far as he could see, the raiders had already wit-nessed the horror of the surface world: themselves!
"There!" Dinin cried, pointing to the eastern horizon.
The tiniest shading of light limned the dark outline of distant mountains. A surface dweller would not even have noticed it, but the dark elves saw it clearly, and all of them, even Drizzt, recoiled instinctively.
"It is beautiful” Drizzt dared to remark after taking a moment to consider the spectacle.
Dinin's glare came at him icy cold, but no colder than the look the cleric cast Drizzt's way. "Remove your cloaks and equipment, even your armor” she instructed .the group.
"Quickly. Place them within the shadows of the cave so that they will not be affected by the light”
When the task was completed, the cleric led them out into the growing light. "Watch” was her grim command.
The eastern sky assumed a hue of purplish pink, then pink altogether, its brightening causing the dark elves to squint uncomfortably. Drizzt wanted to deny the event, to put it into the same pile of anger that denied the master of Lore's words concerning the surface elves.
Then it happened; the top rim of the sun crested the eastern horizon. The surface world awakened to its warmth, its life-giving energy. Those same rays assaulted the drow elves' eyes with the fury of fire, tearing into orbs unaccustomed to such sights.
"Watch!" the cleric cried at them. "Witness the depth of the horror!"
One by one, the raiders cried out in pain and fell into the cave's darkness, until Drizzt stood alone beside the cleric in the growing daylight. Truly, the light assaulted Drizzt as keenly as it had his kin, but he basked in it, accepting it as his purgatory, exposing him for all to view while its stinging fires cleansed his soul.
"Come” the cleric said to him at length, not understanding his actions. "We have borne witness. We may now return to our homeland”
"Homeland?" Drizzt replied, subdued.
"Menzoberranzan!" the cleric cried, thinking the male confused beyond reason. "Come, before the inferno burns the skin from your bones. Let our surface cousins suffer the flames, a fitting punishment for their evil hearts!" Drizzt chuckled hopelessly. A fitting punishment? He wished that he could pluck a thousand such suns from the sky and set them in every chapel in Menzoberranzan, to shine eternally.
Then Drizzt could take the light no more. He scrambled dizzily back into the cave and donned his outfit. The cleric had the orb in hand, and Drizzt again was the first through the tiny crack. When all the group rejoined in the tunnel beyond, Drizzt took his position at the point and led them back into the descending path's deepening gloom-back down into the darkness of their existence.
Chapter 21
May It Please The Goddess
"Did you please the goddess?" Matron Malice asked, her question as much a threat as an inquiry. At her side, the other females of House Do'Urden, Briza, Vierna, and Maya, looked on impassively, hiding their jealousy.
"Not a single drow was slain” Dinin replied, his voice thick with the sweetness of drow evil. "We cut them and slashed them!" He drooled as his recounting of the elven slaughter brought back the lust of the moment. "Bit them and ripped them!"
"Not a single drow was slain” Dinin replied, his voice thick with the sweetness of drow evil. "We cut them and slashed them!" He drooled as his recounting of the elven slaughter brought back the lust of the moment. "Bit them and ripped them!"