Homeland

What eyes are these that see

The pain I know in my innermost soul?

What eyes are these that see

The twisted strides of my kindred,

Led on in the wake of toys unbridled

Arrow, bolt, and sword tip?

Yours… aye, yours,

Straight run and muscled spring,

Soft on padded paws, sheathed claws,

Weapons rested for their need,

Stained not by frivolous blood

Or murderous deceit.

Face to face, my mirror,

Reflection in a still pool by light.

Would that I might keep that image

Upon this face mine own.

Would that I might keep that heart

Within my breast untainted.

Hold tight to the proud honor of yours

Mighty Guenhwyvar,

And hold tight to my side,

My dearest friend.

Drizzt Do’Urden

Chapter 17 Homecoming

Drizzt was graduated―formally―on schedule and with the highest honors in his class. Perhaps Matron Malice had whispered into the right ears, smoothing over her son’s indiscretions, but Drizzt suspected that more likely none of those present at the Ceremony of Graduation even remembered that he had left.

He moved through the decorated gate of House Do’Urden, drawing stares from the common soldiery, and over to the cavern floor below the balcony. "So I am home," he remarked under his breath, "for whatever that means." After what had happened in the drider lair, Drizzt wondered if he would ever view House Do’Urden as his home again. Matron Malice was expecting him. He didn’t dare arrive late.

"It is good that you are home." Briza said to him when she saw him rise up over the balcony’s railing.

Drizzt stepped tentatively through the entryway beside his oldest sister, trying to get a firm grasp on his surroundings. Home, Briza called it, but to Drizzt, House Do’Urden seemed as unfamiliar as the Academy had on his first day as a student. Ten years was not such a long time in the centuries of life a drow elf might know, but to Drizzt, more than the decade of absence now separated him from this place.

Maya joined them in the great corridor leading to the chapel anteroom. "Greetings, Prince Drizzt." she said, and Drizzt couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or not. "We have heard of the honors you achieved at Melee-Magthere. Your skill did House Do’Urden proud."

In spite of her words, Maya could not hide a derisive chuckle as she finished the thought. "Glad, I am, that you did not become drider food."

Drizzt’s glare stole the smile from her face.

Maya and Briza exchanged concerned glances. They knew of the punishment Vierna had put upon their younger brother, and of the vicious scolding he had received at the hands of Matron Malice. They each cautiously rested a hand on their snake whips, not knowing how foolish their dangerous young brother might have become.

It was not Matron Malice or Drizzt’s sisters that now had Drizzt measuring every step before he took it. He knew where he stood with his mother and knew what he had to do to keep her appeased. There was another member of the family, though, that evoked both confusion and anger in Drizzt. Of all his kin, only Zaknafein pretended to be what he was not. As Drizzt made his way to the chapel, he glanced anxiously down every side passage, wondering when Zak would make his appearance.

"How long before you leave for patrol?" Maya asked, pulling Drizzt from his contemplations.

"Three days." Drizzt replied absently, his eyes still darting from shadow to shadow. Then he was at the anteroom door, with no sign of Zak. Perhaps the weapon master was within, standing beside Malice.

"We know of your indiscretions", Briza snapped, suddenly cold, as she placed her hand on the latch to the anteroom’s door. Drizzt was not surprised by her outburst. He was beginning to expect such explosions from the high priestesses of the Spider Queen.

"Why could you not just enjoy the pleasures of the ceremony?" Maya added. "We are fortunate that the mistresses and the matron of the Academy were too involved in their own excitement to note your movements. You would have brought shame upon our entire house!"

"You might have placed Matron Malice in Lolth’s disfavor," Briza was quick to add.

The best thing I could ever do for her, Drizzt thought. He quickly dismissed the notion, remembering Briza’s uncanny proficiency at reading minds.

"Let us hope he did not." Maya said grimly to her sister.

"The tides of war hang thick in the air?"

"I have learned my place." Drizzt assured them. He bowed low. "Forgive me, my sisters, and know that the truth of the drow world is fast opening before my young eyes. Never will I disappoint House Do’Urden in such a way again."

So pleased were his sisters at the proclamation that the ambiguity of Drizzt’s words slipped right past them. Then Drizzt, not wanting to push his luck too far, also slipped past them, making his way through the door, noting with relief that Zaknafein was not in attendance.

"All praises to the Spider Queen!" Briza yelled after him.

Drizzt paused and turned to meet her gaze. He bowed low a second time. "As it should be." he muttered. Creeping behind the small group, Zak had studied Drizzt’s every move, trying to measure the toll a decade at the Academy had exacted on the young fighter.

Gone now was the customary smile that lit Drizzt’s face.

Gone, too, Zak supposed, was the innocence that had kept this one apart from the rest of Menzoberranzan.

Zak leaned back heavily against the wall in a side passage. He had caught only portions of the conversation at the anteroom door. Most clearly he had heard Drizzt’s heartfelt accord with Briza’s honoring of Lolth.

"What have I done?" the weapon master asked himself. He looked back around the bend in the main corridor, but the door to the anteroom had already closed.

"Truly, when I look upon the drow―the drow warrior!―that was my most treasured, I shame for my cowardice." Zak lamented. "What has Drizzt lost that I might have saved?"

He drew his smooth sword from its scabbard, his sensitive fingers running the length of the razor edge. "A finer blade you would be had you tasted the blood of Drizzt Do’Urden, to deny this world, our world, another soul for its taking, to free that one from the unending torments of life!" He lowered the weapon’s tip to the floor.

"But I am a coward." he said. "I have failed in the one act that could have brought meaning to my pitiful existence. The secondboy of House Do’Urden lives, it would appear, but Drizzt Do’Urden, my ‘Two-hands’, is long dead." Zak looked back to the emptiness where Drizzt had been standing, the weapon master’s expression suddenly a grimace.

"Yet this pretender lives. A drow warrior." Zak’s weapon clanged to the stone floor and his head slumped down to be caught by the embrace of his open palms, the only shield Zaknafein Do’Urden had ever found.

Drizzt spent the next day at rest, mostly in his room, trying to keep out of the way of the other members of his immediate family. Malice had dismissed him without a word in their initial meeting, but Drizzt did not want to confront her again. Likewise, he had little to say to Briza and Maya, fearing that sooner or later they would begin to understand the true connotations of his continuing stream of blasphemous responses. Most of all, though, Drizzt did not want to see Zaknafein, the mentor he had once thought of as his salvation against the realities around him, the one glowing light in the darkness that was Menzoberranzan.

That, too, Drizzt believed, had been only a lie.

On his second day home, when Narbondel, the time clock of the city, had just begun its cycle of light, the door to Drizzt’s small chamber swung open and Briza walked in.

"An audience with Matron Malice." she said grimly.

A thousand thoughts rushed through Drizzt’s mind as he grabbed his boots and followed his oldest sister down the passageways to the house chapel. Had Malice and the others discovered his true feelings toward their evil deity? What punishments did they now have waiting for him? Unconsciously, Drizzt eyed the spider carvings on the chapel’s arched entrance.

"You should be more familiar and more at ease with this place." Briza scolded, noting his discomfort. "It is the place of our people’s highest glories."

Drizzt lowered his gaze and did not respond and was careful not to even think of the many stinging retorts he felt in his heart.

His confusion doubled when they entered the chapel, for Rizzen, Maya, and Zaknafein stood before the matron mother, as expected. Beside them, though, stood Dinin and Vierna.

"We are all present." Briza said, taking her place at her mother’s side.

"Kneel." Malice commanded, and the whole family fell to its knees. The matron mother paced slowly around them all, each pointedly dropping his or her eyes in reverence, or just in common sense, as the great lady walked by.

Malice stopped beside Drizzt. "You are confused by the presence of Dinin and Vierna." she said. Drizzt looked up at her. "Do you not yet understand the subtle methods of our survival?"

"I had thought that my brother and sister were to continue on at the Academy." Drizzt explained.

"That would not be to our advantage." Malice replied.

"Does it not bring a house strength to have mistresses and masters seated at the Academy?" Drizzt dared to ask.

"It does," replied Malice, "but it separates the power. You have heard tidings of war?"

"I have heard hinting of trouble," said Drizzt, looking over at Vierna, "though nothing more tangible."

"Hinting?" Malice huffed, angered that her son could not understand the importance. "They are more than most houses ever hear before the blade falls!" She spun away from Drizzt and addressed the whole group. "The rumors hold truth." she declared.

"Who?" asked Briza. "What house conspires against House Do’Urden?"

"None behind us in rank." Dinin replied, though the question had not been asked to him and it was not his place to speak unbidden.

"How do you know this?" Malice asked, letting the oversight pass. Malice understood Dinin’s value and knew that his contributions to this discussion would be important.

"We are the ninth house of the city." Dinin reasoned, "but among our ranks we claim four high priestesses, two of them former mistresses of Arach-Tinilith." He looked at Zak."We have, as well, two former masters of Melee-Magthere, and Drizzt was awarded the highest laurels from the school of fighters. Our soldiers number nearly four hundred, all skilled and battle-tested. Only a few houses claim more."

"What is your point?" Briza asked sharply.

"We are the ninth house." Dinin laughed, "but few above us could defeat us…"

"And none behind." Matron Malice finished for him. "You show good judgment, Elderboy. I have come to the same conclusions."

"One of the great houses fears House Do’Urden." Vierna concluded. "It needs us gone to protect its own position."

"That is my belief." Malice answered. "An uncommon practice, for family wars usually are initiated by the lower-ranking house, desiring a better position within the city hierarchy."

"Then we must take great care." Briza said.

Drizzt listened carefully to their words, trying to make sense of it all. His eyes never left Zaknafein, though, who knelt impassively at the side. What did the callous weapon master think of all this? Drizzt wondered. Did the thought of such a war thrill him, that he might be able to kill more dark elves?

Whatever his feelings, Zak gave no outward clue. He sat quietly and by all appearances was not even listening to the conversation.

"It would not be Baenre." Briza said, her words sounding like a plea for confirmation. "Certainly we have not yet become a threat to them!"

"We must hope you are correct." Malice replied grimly, remembering vividly her tour of the ruling house. "Likely, it is one of the weaker houses above us, fearing its own unsteady position. I have not yet been able to learn any incriminating information against any in particular, so we must prepare for the worst. Thus, I have called Vierna and Dinin back to my side."

"If we learn of our enemies…" Drizzt began impulsively.

All eyes snapped upon him. It was bad enough for the elderboy to speak without being addressed, but for the secondboy, just graduated from the Academy, the act could be considered blasphemous.

Wanting all perspectives, Matron Malice again let the oversight pass. "Continue." she prompted.

"If we discover which house plots against us." Drizzt said quietly, "could we not expose it?"

"To what end?" Briza snarled at him. "Conspiracy without action is no crime."

"Then might we use reason?" Drizzt pressed, continuing against the barrage of incredulous glares that came at him from every face in the room―except from Zak’s. "If we are the stronger, then let them submit without battle. Rank House Do’Urden as it should be and let the assumed threat to the weaker house be ended."

Malice grabbed Drizzt by the front of his cloak and heaved him to his feet. "I forgive your foolish thoughts." she growled, "this time!" She dropped him back to the floor, and the silent reprimands of his siblings descended upon him. Again, though, Zak’s expression did not match the others in the room. Indeed, Zak put a hand up over his mouth to hide his amusement. Perhaps there remained a bit of the Drizzt Do’Urden he had known, he dared to hope. Perhaps the Academy had not fully tainted the young fighter’s spirit. Malice whirled on the rest of the family, simmering fury and lust glowing in her eyes. "This is not the time to fear! This," she cried, a slender finger pointing out from in front of her face, "is the time to dream! We are House Do’Urden, Daermon N’a’shezbaernon, of power beyond the understanding of the great houses. We are the unknown entity of this war. We hold every advantage!"

"Ninth house?" she laughed. "In short time, only seven houses will remain ahead of us!"

"What of the patrol?" Briza cut in. "Are we to allow the secondboy to go off alone, exposed?"

"The patrol will begin our advantage." the conniving matron explained. "Drizzt will go, and included in his group will be a member of at least four of the houses above us."

"One may strike at him." Briza reasoned.

"No." Malice assured her. "Our enemies in the coming war would not reveal themselves so clearly, not yet. The appointed assassin would have to defeat two Do’Urdens in such a confrontation."

"Two?" asked Vierna.

"Again, Lolth has shown us her favor." explained Malice.

"Dinin will lead Drizzt’s patrol group."

The elderboy’s eyes lit up at the news. "Then Drizzt and I might become the assassins in this conflict." he purred.

The smile disappeared from the matron mother’s face.

"You will not strike without my consent." she warned in a tone so cold that Dinin fully understood the consequences of disobedience, "as you have done in the past."

Drizzt did not miss the reference to Nalfein, his murdered brother. His mother knew! Malice had done nothing to punish her murderous son. Now Drizzt’s hand went up to his face, to hide an expression of horror that only could have brought him trouble in this setting.

"You are there to learn." Matron Malice said to Dinin, "to protect your brother, as Drizzt is there to protect you. Do not destroy our advantage for the gain of a single kill." An evil smile found its way back onto her bone-hued face. "But, if you learn of our enemy…" she said.

"If the proper opportunity presents itself…" Briza finished, guessing her mother’s wicked thoughts and throwing an equally vile smile the matron’s way.

Malice looked upon her eldest daughter with approval.

Briza would prove a fine successor for the house!

Dinin’s smile became wide and lascivious. Nothing pleased the elderboy of House Do’Urden more than the opportunity for an assassination.

"Go, then, my family." Malice said. "Remember that unfriendly eyes are upon us, watching our every move, waiting for the time to strike."

Zak was the first out of the chapel, as always, this time with an added spring in his step. It wasn’t the prospect of fighting another war that guided his moves, though the thought of killing more clerics of the Spider Queen certainly pleased him. Rather, Drizzt’s display of naivete, his continued misconceptions of the common weal of drow existence, brought Zak hope.

Drizzt watched him go, thinking Zak’s strides reflected his desire to kill. Drizzt didn’t know whether to follow and confront the weapon master here and now or to let it pass, to shrug it away as readily as he had dismissed most of the cruel world around him. The decision was made for him when Matron Malice stepped in front of him and kept him in the chapel.

"To you, I say this." she began when they were alone. "You have heard the mission I placed upon your shoulders. I will not tolerate failure!"

Drizzt shrank back from the power of her voice.

"Protect your brother." came the grim warning, "or I shall give you to Lolth for judgment."

Drizzt understood the implications, but the matron took the pleasure to spell them out anyway.

"You would not enjoy your life as a drider."

A lightning blast cut across the still black waters of the underground lake, searing the heads of the approaching water trolls. Sounds of battle echoed through the cavern. Drizzt had one monster―scrags, they were called―cornered on a small peninsula, blocking the wretched thing’s path back to the water. Normally, a single drow faced off evenly against a water troll would not have the advantage, but as the others of his patrol group had come to see in the past few weeks, Drizzt was no ordinary young drow.

The scrag came on, oblivious to its peril. A single, blinding movement from Drizzt lopped off the creature’s reaching arms. Drizzt moved in quickly for the kill, knowing too well the regenerative powers of trolls.

Then another scrag slipped out of the water at his back.

Drizzt had expected this, but he gave no outward indication that he saw the second scrag coming. He kept his concentration ahead of him, driving deep slashes into the maimed and all but defenseless troll’s torso.

Just as the monster behind him was about to latch its claws onto him, Drizzt fell to his knees and cried, "Now!"

The concealed panther, crouched in the shadows at the peninsula’s base, did not hesitate. One great stride brought Guenhwyvar into position, and it sprang, crashing heavily onto the unsuspecting scrag, tearing the life from the thing before it could respond to the attack.

Drizzt finished off his troll and turned to admire the panther’s work. He extended his hand, and the great cat nuzzled it. How well the two fighters had come to know each other! thought Drizzt.

Another blast of lightning thundered in, this one close enough to steal Drizzt’s sight.

"Guenhwyvar!" Masoj Hun’ett, the bolt’s caster, cried. "To my side!"

The panther managed to brush against Drizzt’s leg as it moved to obey. When his vision returned, Drizzt walked off in the other direction, not wanting to view the scolding that Guenhwyvar always seemed to receive when he and the cat worked together.

Masoj watched Drizzt’s back as he went, wanting to put a third bolt right between the young Do’Urden’s shoulder blades. The wizard of House Hun’ett did not miss the specter of Dinin Do’Urden, off to the side, watching with more than casual glances.

"Learn your loyalties!" Masoj snarled at Guenhwyvar. Too often, the panther left the wizard’s side to join in combat with Drizzt. Masoj knew that the cat was better complemented by the moves of a fighter, but he knew, too, the vulnerability of a wizard involved in spellcasting. Masoj wanted Guenhwyvar at his side, protecting him from enemies―he shot another glance at Dinin―and «friends» alike.

He threw the statuette to the ground at his feet. "Begone!" he commanded.

In the distance, Drizzt had engaged another scrag and made short work of it as well. Masoj shook his head as he watched the display of swordsmanship. Every day, Drizzt grew stronger.

"Give the order to kill him soon, Matron SiNafay." Masoj whispered. The young wizard did not know how much longer he would be able to carry out the task. Masoj wondered whether he could win the fight even now. Drizzt shielded his eyes as he struck a torch to seal a dead troll’s wounds. Only fire ensured that trolls would not recuperate, even from the grave.

The other battles had died away as well, Drizzt noted, and he saw the flames of torches springing up all across the bank of the lake. He wondered if all of his twelve drow companions had survived, though he also wondered if he truly cared. Others were more than ready to take their places. Drizzt knew that the only companion who really mattered―Guenhwyvar―was safely back in its home on the Astral Plane.

"Form a guard!" came Dinin’s echoing command as the slaves, goblins, and orcs moved in to search for troll treasure, and to salvage whatever they might of the scrags.

When the fires had consumed the scrag he’d set ablaze, Drizzt dipped his torch in the black water, then paused for a moment to let his eyes readjust to the darkness. "Another day." he said softly, "another enemy defeated."

He liked the excitement of patrolling, the thrill of the edge of danger, and the knowledge that he was now putting his weapons to use against vile monsters.

Even here, though, Drizzt could not escape the lethargy that had come to pervade his life, the general resignation that marked his every step. For, though his battles these days were fought against the horrors of the Underdark, monsters killed of necessity, Drizzt had not forgotten the meeting in the chapel of House Do’Urden.

He knew that his scimitars soon would be put to use against the flesh of drow elves.

Zaknafein looked out over Menzoberranzan, as he so often did when Drizzt’s patrol group was out of the city. Zak was torn between wanting to sneak out of the house to fight at Drizzt’s side, and hoping that the patrol would return with the news that Drizzt had been slain.

Would Zak ever find the answer to the dilemma of the youngest Do’Urden? he wondered. Zak knew that he could not leave the house Matron Malice was keeping a very close eye on him. She sensed his anguish over Drizzt, Zak knew, and she most definitely did not approve. Zak was often her lover, but they shared little other than that.

Zak thought back to the battles he and Malice had fought over Vierna, another child of common concern, centuries before. Vierna was a female, her fate sealed from the moment of her birth, and Zak could do nothing to halt the assault of the Spider Queen’s overwhelming religion.

Did Malice fear that he might have better luck influencing the actions of a male child? Apparently the matron did, but even Zak was not so certain if her fears were justified even he couldn’t measure his influence over Drizzt.

He peered out over the city now, silently watching for the patrol group’s return, waiting, as always, for Drizzt’s safe return, but secretly hoping, that his dilemma would be ended by the claws and fangs of a lurking monster.

Chapter 18 The Black Room

"My greetings, Faceless One." the high priestess said, pushing past Alton into his private chambers in Sorcere.

"And mine to you, Mistress Vierna." Alton replied, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. Vierna Do’Urden coming to see him at this time had to be more than coincidence. "What act has brought me the honor of a visit from a mistress of Arach-Tinilith?"

"No longer a mistress." said Vierna. "I have returned to my home."

Alton paused to consider the news. He knew that Dinin Do’Urden had also resigned his position at the Academy.

"Matron Malice has brought her family back together." Vierna continued. "There are stirrings of war. You have heard them, no doubt?"

"Just rumors." Alton stuttered, now beginning to understand why Vierna had come to call on him. House Do’Urden had used the Faceless One before in its plotting in its attempt to assassinate Alton! Now, with rumors of war whispered throughout Menzoberranzan, Matron Malice was reestablishing her network of spies and assassins.

"You know of them?" Vierna asked sharply.

"I have heard little." Alton breathed, careful now not to anger the powerful female. "Not enough to report to your house. I did not even suspect that House Do’Urden was involved until now, when you informed me." Alton could only hope that Vierna had no detection spell aimed at his words. Vierna relaxed, apparently appeased by the explanation.

"Listen more carefully to the rumors, Faceless One." she said. "My brother and I have left the Academy, you are to be the eyes and ears of House Do’Urden in this place."

"But…" Alton stuttered.

Vierna held up a hand to stop him. "We know of our failure in our last transaction." she said. She bowed low, something a high priestess rarely did to a male. "Matron Malice sends her deepest apologies that the unguent you received for the assassination of Alton DeVirdid not restore the features to your face."

Alton nearly choked on the words, now understanding why an unknown messenger had delivered the jar of healing salve some thirty years before. The cloaked figure was an agent of House Do’Urden, come to repay the Faceless One for his assassination of Alton! Of course, Alton had never even tried the unguent. With his luck, it would have worked, and would have restored the features of Alton DeVir.

"This time, your payment cannot fail." Vierna went on, though Alton, too caught up in the irony of it all, hardly listened. "House Do’Urden possesses a wizard’s staff but no wizard worthy to wield it. It belonged to Nalfein, my brother, who died in the victory over DeVir."

Alton wanted to strike out at her. Even he wasn’t that stupid, though.

"If you can discern which house plots against House Do’Urden." Vierna promised, "the staff will be yours! A treasure indeed for such a small act."

"I will do what I can." Alton replied, having no other response to the incredible offer.

"That is all Matron Malice asks of you." said Vierna, and she left the wizard, quite certain that House Do’Urden had secured a capable agent within the Academy.

"Dinin and Vierna Do’Urden have resigned their positions." said Alton excitedly as the diminutive matron mother came to him later that same evening.

"This is already known to me." replied SiNafay Hun’ett.

She looked around disdainfully at the littered and scorched room, then took a seat at the small table.

"There is more." Alton said quickly, not wanting SiNafay to get upset about being disturbed over old news. "I have had a visitor this day, Mistress Vierna Do’Urden’"

"She suspects?" Matron SiNafay growled.

"No, no!" Alton replied. "Quite the opposite. House Do’Urden wishes to employ me as a spy, as it once employed the Faceless One to assassinate me’"

SiNafay paused for a moment, stunned, then issued a laugh straight from her belly. "Ah, the ironies of our lives!" she roared.

"I had heard that Dinin and Vierna were sent to the Academy only to oversee the education of their younger brother." remarked Alton.

"An excellent cover." SiNafay replied. "Vierna and Dinin were sent as spies for the ambitious Matron Malice. My compliments to her."

"Now they suspect trouble." Alton stated, sitting opposite his matron mother.

"They do." agreed SiNafay. "Masoj patrols with Drizzt, but House Do’Urden has also managed to plant Dinin in the group."

"Then Masoj is in danger." reasoned Alton.

"No." said SiNafay. "House Do’Urden does not know that House Hun’ett perpetrates the threat against it, else it would not have come to you for information. Matron Malice knows your identity."

A look of terror crossed Alton’s face.

"Not your true identity." SiNafay laughed at him. "She knows the Faceless One as Gelroos Hun’ett, and she would not have come to a Hun’ett if she suspected our house."

"Then we have an excellent opportunity to throw House Do’Urden into chaos!" Alton cried. "If I implicate another house, even Baenre, perhaps, our position will be strengthened." He chuckled at the possibilities. "Malice will reward me with a staff of great power, a weapon I will turn against her at the proper moment!"

"Matron Malice!" SiNafay corrected sternly. Even though she and Malice were soon to be open enemies, SiNafay would not permit a male to show such disrespect to a matron mother. "Do you really believe that you could carry out such a deception?"

"When Mistress Vierna returns…"

"You will not deal with a lesser priestess with such valued information, foolish DeVir. You will face Matron Malice herself, a formidable foe. If she sees through your lies, do you know what she will do to your body?"

Alton gulped audibly. "I am willing to take the risk." he said, crossing his arms resolutely on the table.

"What of House Hun’ett when the biggest lie is revealed?" SiNafay asked. "What advantage will we enjoy when Matron Malice knows the Faceless One’s true identity?"

"I understand." Alton answered, crestfallen but unable to refute SiNafay’s logic. "Then what are we to do? What am I to do?"

Matron SiNafay was already considering their next moves. "You will resign your tenure." she said at length. "Return to House Hun’ett, within my protection."

"Such an act might also implicate House Hun’ett to Matron Malice." Alton reasoned.

"It may," replied SiNafay, "but it is the safest route. I will go to Matron Malice in feigned anger, telling her to leave House Hun’ett out of her troubles. If she wishes to make an informant of a member of my family, then she should come to me for permission, though I’ll not grant it this time!"

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 become 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 spidershaped 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 SiNafay 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 cannot 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 purposely mentioned Drizzt, knowing that the name would strike wound in Matron Baenre. Baenre’s own prized son, Berg’inyon, had spent the last nine years ranked behind the wonderful young Do’Urden.

"Then why have you bothered us?" Matron Baenre demanded, an unmistakable edge in her voice.

"To ask you to close your eyes." SiNafay purred. "Alton is 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 accusation."

"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 non-judgmental 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 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?" Drizzt 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 Lolth, 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 the 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 himself 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 members 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 heaven-ward 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 elve’s 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 harmlessly 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 ultimate horror of the surface world, that we might warn our kindred."

Our kindred? Drizzt mused, his thoughts black with sarcasm. As far as he could see, the raiders had already witnessed 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!"

"What of you?" the matron mother interrupted, more concerned with the consequences to her own family’s standing than with the raid’s general success.

"Five." Dinin answered proudly. "I killed five, all of them females!"

The matron’s smile thrilled Dinin. Then Malice scowled as she turned her gaze on Drizzt. "And him?" she inquired, not expecting to be pleased with the answer. Malice did not doubt her youngest son’s prowess with weapons, but she had come to suspect that Drizzt had too much of Zaknafein’s emotional makeup to ever be an attribute in such situations.

Dinin’s smile confused her. He walked over to Drizzt and draped an arm comfortably across his brother’s shoulders.

"Drizzt got only one kill." Dinin began, "but it was a female child."

"Only one?" Malice growled.

From the shadows off to the side, Zaknafein listened in dismay. He wanted to shut out the elderboy Do’Urden’s damning words, but they held Zak in their grip. Of all the evils Zak had ever encountered in Menzoberranzan, this surely had to be the most disappointing. Drizzt had killed a child.

"But the way he did it!" Dinin exclaimed. "He hacked her apart, sent all of Lolth’s fury slicing into her twitching body! The Spider Queen must have treasured that kill above all the others."

"Only one." Matron Malice said again, her scowl hardly softening.

"He would have had two." Dinin continued. "Shar Nadal of House Maevret stole one from his blade, another female."

"Then Lolth will look with favor on House Maevret." Briza reasoned.

"No." Dinin replied. "Drizzt punished Shar Nadal for his actions. The son of House Maevret would not respond to the challenge."

The memory stuck in Drizzt’s thoughts. He wished that Shar Nadal had come back at him, so he could have vented his rage more fully. Even that wish sent pangs of guilt coursing through Drizzt.

"Well done, my children." Malice beamed, now satisfied that both of them had acted properly in the raid. "The Spider Queen will look upon House Do’Urden with favor for this event. She will guide us to victory over this unknown house that seeks to destroy us."

Zaknafein left the audience hall with his eyes down and one hand nervously rubbing his sword’s hilt. Zak remembered the time he had deceived Drizzt with the light bomb, when he had Drizzt defenseless and beaten. He could have spared the young innocent from his horrid fate. He could have killed Drizzt then and there, mercifully, and released him from the inevitable circumstances of life in Menzoberranzan.

Zak paused in the long corridor and turned back to watch the chamber. Drizzt and Dinin came out then, Drizzt casting Zak a single, accusatory look and pointedly turning away down a side passage.

The gaze cut through the weapon master. "So it has come to this." Zak murmured to himself. "The youngest warrior of House Do’Urden, so full of the hate that embodies our race, has learned to despise me for what I am."

Zak thought again of that moment in the training gym, that fateful second when Drizzt’s life teetered on the edge of a poised sword. It indeed would have been a merciful act to kill Drizzt at that time.

With the sting of the young drow warrior’s gaze still cutting so keenly into his heart, Zak couldn’t decide whether the deed would have been more merciful to Drizzt or to himself.

"Leave us." Matron SiNafay commanded as she swept into the small room lighted by a candle’s glow. Alton gawked at the request it was, after all, his personal room! Alton prudently reminded himself that SiNafay was the matron mother of the family, the absolute ruler of House Hun’ett. With a few awkward bows and apologies for his hesitation, he backed out of the room.

Masoj watched his mother cautiously as she waited for Alton to move away. From SiNafay’s agitated tone, Masoj understood the significance of her visit. Had he done something to anger his mother? Or, more likely, had Alton? When SiNafay spun back on him, her face twisted in evil glee, Masoj realized that her agitation was really excitement.

"House Do’Urden has erred!" she snarled. "It has lost the Spider Queen’s favor!"

"How?" Masoj replied. He knew that Dinin and Drizzt had returned from a successful raid, an assault that all of the city was talking about in tones of high praise.

"I do not know the details." Matron SiNafay replied, finding a measure of calmness in her voice. "One of them, perhaps one of the sons, did something to displease Lolth. This was told to me by a handmaiden of the Spider Queen. It must be true!"

"Matron Malice will work quickly to correct the situation." Masoj reasoned. "How long do we have?"

"Lolth’s displeasure will not be revealed to Matron Malice." SiNafay replied. "Not soon. The Spider Queen knows all. She knows that we plan to attack House Do’Urden, and only an unfortunate accident will inform Matron Malice of her desperate situation before her house is crushed!"

"We must move quickly." Matron SiNafay went on. "Within ten cycles of Narbondei, the first strike must fall! The full battle will begin soon after, before House Do’Urden can link its loss to our wrongdoing."

"What is to be their sudden loss?" Masoj prompted, thinking, hoping, he had already guessed the answer.

His mother’s words were like sweet music to his ears.

"Drizzt Do’Urden." she purred, "the favored son. Kill him". Masoj rested back and clasped his slender fingers behind his head, considering the command.

"You will not fail me." SiNafay warned.

"I will not." Masoj assured her. "Drizzt, though young, is already a powerful foe. His brother, a former master of Melee-Magthere, is never far from his side." He looked up at his matron mother, his eyes gleaming. "May I kill the brother, too?"

"Be cautious, my son." SiNafay replied. "Drizzt Do’Urden is your target. Concentrate your efforts toward his death.

"As you command." Masoj replied, bowing low. SiNafay liked the way her young son heeded to her desires without question. She started out of the room, confident in Masoj’s ability to perform the task.

"If Dinin Do’Urden somehow gets in the way." she said, turning back to throw Masoj a gift for his obedience, "you may kill him, too."

Masoj’s expression revealed too much eagerness for the second task.

"You will not fail me!" SiNafay said again, this time in an open threat that stole some of the wind out of Masoj’s filling sails. "Drizzt Do’Urden must die within ten days!"

Masoj forced any distracting thoughts of Dinin out of his mind. "Drizzt must die." he whispered over and over, long after his mother had gone. He already knew how he wanted to do it. He only had to hope that the opportunity would come soon.

The awful memory of the surface raid followed Drizzt, haunted him, as he wandered the halls of Daermon N’a’shezbaernon. He had rushed from the audience chamber as soon as Matron Malice had dismissed him, and had slipped away from his brother at the first opportunity, wanting only to be alone.

The images remained, the broken sparkle in the young elven girl’s eyes as she knelt over her murdered mother’s corpse the elven woman’s horrified expression, twisting in agony as Ghar Nadal ripped the life from her body. The surface elves were there in Drizzt’s thoughts; he could not dismiss them. They walked beside Drizzt as he wandered, as real as they had been when Drizzt’s raiding group had descended upon their joyful song.

Drizzt wondered if he would ever be alone again. Eyes down, consumed by his empty sense of loss, Drizzt did not mark the path before him. He jumped back, startled, when he turned a corner and bumped into somebody. He stood facing Zaknafein.

"You are home." the weapon master said absently, his blank face revealing none of the tumultuous emotions swirling through his mind.

Drizzt wondered if he could properly hide his own grimace. "For a day." he replied, equally nonchalant, though his rage with Zaknafein was no less intense. Now that Drizzt had witnessed the wrath of drow elves firsthand, Zak’s reputed deeds rang out to Drizzt as even more evil. "My patrol group goes back out at Narbondel’s first light."

"So soon?" asked Zak, genuinely surprised.

"We are summoned." Drizzt replied, starting past. Zak caught him by the arm.

"General patrol?" he asked.

"Focused." Drizzt replied. "Activity in the eastern tunnels."

"So the heroes are summoned." chuckled Zak.

Drizzt did not immediately respond. Was there sarcasm in Zak’s voice? Jealousy, perhaps, that Drizzt and Dinin were allowed to go out to fight, while Zak had to remain within the House Do’Urden’s confines to fulfill his role as the family’s fighting instructor? Was Zak’s hunger for blood so great that he could not accept the duties thrust upon them all?

Zak had trained Drizzt and Dinin, had he not? And hundreds of others he’d transformed them into living weapons, into murderers.

"How long will you be out?" Zak pressed, more interested in Drizzt’s whereabouts.

Drizzt shrugged. "A week at the longest."

"And then?"

"Home."

"That is good." said Zak. "I will be pleased to see you back within the walls of House Do’Urden." Drizzt didn’t believe a word of it.

Zak then slapped him on the shoulder in a sudden, unexpected movement designed to test Drizzt’s reflexes. More surprised than threatened, Drizzt accepted the pat without response, not sure of his uncle’s intent.

"The gym, perhaps?" asked Zak. "You and I, as it once was."

Impossible! Drizzt wanted to shout. Never again would it be as it once was. Drizzt held those thoughts to himself and nodded his assent. "I would enjoy that." he replied, secretly wondering how much satisfaction he would gain by cutting Zaknafein down. Drizzt knew the truth of his people now, and knew that he was powerless to change anything. Maybe he could make a change in his private life, though. Maybe by destroying Zaknafein, his greatest disappointment, Drizzt could remove himself from the wrongness around him.

"As would I." Zak said, the friendliness of his tone hiding his private thoughts, thoughts identical to Drizzt’s.

"In a week, then." Drizzt said, and he pulled away, unable to continue the encounter with the drow who once had been his dearest friend, and who, Drizzt had come to learn, was truly as devious and evil as the rest of his kin.

"Please, my matron." Alton whimpered, "it is my right. I beg of you!"

"Rest easy, foolish DeVir." SiNafay replied, and there was pity in her voice, an emotion seldom felt and almost never revealed.

"I have waited…"

"The time is almost upon you." SiNafay countered, her tone growing more threatening. "You have tried for this one before?"

Alton’s grotesque gawk brought a smile to SiNafay’s face.

"Yes," she said, "I know of your bungled attempt on Drizzt Do’Urden’s life. If Masoj had not arrived, the young warrior would probably have slain you?"

"I would have destroyed him!" Alton growled. SiNafay did not argue the point. "Perhaps you would have won." she said, "only to be exposed as a murderous imposter, with the wrath of all of Menzoberranzan hanging over your head!"

"I did not care!"

"You would have cared, I promise you!" Matron SiNafay sneered. "You would have forfeited your chance to claim a greater revenge. Trust in me, Alton DeVir. Your―our―victory is at hand!»

"Masoj will kill Drizzt, and maybe Dinin." Alton grumbled.

"There are other Do’Urdens awaiting the fell hand of Alton DeVir." Matron SiNafay promised.

"High priestesses?" Alton could not dismiss the disappointment he felt at not being allowed to go after Drizzt. He badly wanted to kill that one. Drizzt had brought him embarrassment that day in his chambers at Sorcere, the young drow should have died quickly and quietly. Alton wanted to make up for that mistake.

Alton also could not ignore the promise that Matron SiNafay had just made to him. The thought of killing one or more of the high priestesses of House Do’Urden did not displease him at all.

The pillowy softness of the plush bed, so different from the rest of the hard stone world of Menzoberranzan, offered Drizzt no relief from the pain. Another ghost had reared up to overwhelm even the images of carnage on the surface, the specter of Zaknafein.

Dinin and Vierna had told Drizzt the truth of the weapon master, of Zak’s role in the fall of House DeVir, and of how Zak so enjoyed slaughtering other drow, other drow who had done nothing to wrong him or deserve his wrath.

So Zaknafein, too, took part in this evil game of drow life, the endless quest to please the Spider Queen.

"As I so pleased her on the surface?" Drizzt couldn’t help but mumble, the sarcasm of the spoken words bringing him some small measure of comfort.

The comfort Drizzt felt in saving the life of the elven child seemed such a minor act against the overwhelming wrongs his raiding group had exacted on her people. Matron Malice, his mother, had so enjoyed hearing the bloody recounting. Drizzt remembered the elven child’s horror at the sight of her dead mother. Would he, or any dark elf, be so devastated if they looked upon such a sight. Unlikely, he thought.

Drizzt hardly shared a loving bond with Malice, and most drow would be too engaged in measuring the consequences of their mother’s death to their own station to feel any sense of loss.

Would Malice have cared if either Drizzt or Dinin had fallen in the raid? Again Drizzt knew the answer. All that Malice cared about was how the raid affected her own base of power. She had reveled in the notion that her children had pleased her evil goddess.

What favor would Lolth show to House Do’Urden if she knew the truth of Drizzt’s actions? Drizzt had no way to measure how much, if any, interest the Spider Queen had taken in the raid. Lolth remained a mystery to him, one he had no desire to explore. Would she be enraged if she knew the truth of the raid? Or if she knew the truth of Drizzt’s thoughts at this moment?

Drizzt shuddered to think of the punishments he might be bringing upon himself, but he had already firmly decided upon his course of action, whatever the consequences. He would return to House Do’Urden in a week. He would go then to the practice gym for a reunion with his old teacher.

He would kill Zaknafein in a week.

Caught up in the emotions of a dangerous and heartfelt decision, Zaknafein hardly heard the biting scrape as he ran the whetstone along his sword’s gleaming edge.

The weapon had to be perfect, with no jags or burrs. This deed had to be executed without malice or anger.

A clean blow, and Zak would rid himself of the demons of his own failures, hide himself once again within the sanctuary of his private chambers, his secret world. A clean blow, and he would do what he should have done a decade before.

"If only I had found the strength then," he lamented. "How much grief might I have spared Drizzt? How much pain did his days at the Academy bring to him, that he is so very changed?" The words rang hollow in the empty room. They were just words, useless now, for Zak had already decided that Drizzt was out of reason’s reach. Drizzt was a drow warrior, with all of the wicked connotations carried in such a title.

The choice was gone to Zaknafein if he wished to hold any pretense of value to his wretched existence. This time, he could not stay his sword. He had to kill Drizzt.

Chapter 22 Gnomes, Wicked Gnomes

Among the twists and turns of the tunnel mazes of the Underdark, slipping about their silent way, went the svirfnebli, the deep gnomes. Neither kind nor evil, and so out of place in this world of pervading wickedness, the deep gnomes survived and thrived. Haughty fighters, skilled in crafting weapons and armor, and more in tune to the songs of the stone than even the evil gray dwarves, the svirfnebli continued their business of plucking gems and precious metals in spite of the perils awaiting them at every turn.

When the news came back to Blingdenstone, the cluster of tunnels and caverns that composed the deep gnomes city, that a rich vein of gemstones had been discovered twenty miles to the east―as the rockworm, the thoqqua, burrowed―Burrow-warden Belwar Dissengulp had to climb over a dozen others of his rank to be awarded the privilege of leading the mining expedition. Belwar and all of the others knew well that forty miles east―as the rock-worm burrowed―would put the expedition dangerously close to Menzoberranzan, and that even getting there would mean a week of hiking, probably through the territories of a hundred other enemies. Fear was no measure against the love svirfnebli had for gems, though, and every day in the Underdark was a risk.

When Belwar and his forty miners arrived in the small cavern described by the advance scouts and inscribed with the gnomes mark of treasure, they found that the claims had not been exaggerated. The burrow-warden took care not to get overly excited, though. He knew that twenty thousand drow elves, the svirfnebli’s most hated and feared enemy, lived fewer than five miles away.

Escape tunnels became the first order of business, winding constructions high enough for a three-foot gnome but not for a taller pursuer. All along the course of these the gnomes placed breaker walls, designed to deflect a lightning bolt or offer some protection from the expanding flames of a fireball.

Then, when the true mining at last began, Belwar kept fully a third of his crew on guard at all times and walked the area of the work with one hand always clutching the magical emerald, the summoning stone, he kept on a chain around his neck.

"Three full patrol groups." Drizzt remarked to Dinin when they arrived at the open «field» on the eastern side of Menzoberranzan. Few stalagmites lined this region of the city, but it did not seem so open now, with dozens of anxious drow milling about.

"Gnomes are not to be taken lightly." Dinin replied. "They are wicked and powerful…"

"As wicked as surface elves?" Drizzt had to interrupt, covering his sarcasm with false exuberance.

"Almost." his brother warned grimly, missing the connotations of Drizzt’s question. Dinin pointed off to the side, where a contingent of female drow was coming in to join the group. "Clerics." he said, "and one of them a high priestess. The rumors of activity must have been confirmed."

A shudder coursed through Drizzt, a tingle of prebattle excitement. That excitement was altered and lessened, though, by fear, not of physical harm, or even of the gnomes. Drizzt feared that this encounter might be a repeat of the surface tragedy.

He shook the black thoughts away and reminded himself that this time, unlike the surface expedition, his home was being invaded. The gnomes had crossed the boundaries of the drow realm. If they were as evil as Dinin and all the others claimed, Menzoberranzan had no choice but to respond with force. If Drizzt’s patrol, the most celebrated group among the males, was selected to lead, and Drizzt, as always, took the point position. Still unsure, he wasn’t thrilled with the assignment, and as they started out, Drizzt even contemplated leading the group astray. Or perhaps, Drizzt thought, he could contact the gnomes privately before the others arrived and warn them to flee.

Drizzt realized the absurdity of the notion. He couldn’t stop the wheels of Menzoberranzan from turning along their designated course, and he couldn’t do anything to hinder the two score drow warriors, excited and impatient, at his back. Again he was trapped and on the edge of despair. Masoj Hun’ett appeared then and made everything better.

"Guenhwyvar!" the young wizard called, and the great panther came bounding. Masoj left the cat beside Drizzt and headed back toward his place in the line.

Guenhwyvar could no more hide its elation at seeing Drizzt than Drizzt could contain his own smile. With the interruption of the surface raid, and then his time back home, he hadn’t seen Guenhwyvar in more than a month.

Guenhwyvar thumped against Drizzt’s side as it passed, nearly knocking the slender drow from his feet. Drizzt responded with a heavy pat, vigorously rubbing a hand over the cat’s ear.

They both turned back together, suddenly conscious of the unhappy glare boring into them. There stood Masoj, arms crossed over his chest and a visible scowl heating up his face.

"I shan’t use the cat to kill Drizzt." the young wizard muttered to himself. "I want the pleasure for myself." Drizzt wondered if jealousy prompted that scowl. Jealousy of Drizzt and the cat, or of everything in general? Masoj had been left behind when Drizzt had gone to the surface. Masoj had been no more than a spectator when the victorious raiding party returned in glory. Drizzt backed away from Guenhwyvar, sensitive to the wizard’s pain.

As soon as Masoj had moved away to take his position farther down the line, Drizzt dropped to one knee and threw a headlock on Guenhwyvar.

Drizzt found himself even gladder for Guenhwyvar’s companionship when they passed beyond the familiar tunnels of the normal patrol routes. It was a saying in Menzoberranzan that "no one is as alone as the point of a drow patrol." and Drizzt had come to understand this keenly in the last few months. He stopped at the far end of a wide way and held perfectly still, focusing his ears and eyes to the trails behind him. He knew that more than forty drow were approaching his position, fully arrayed for battle and agitated. Still, not a sound could Drizzt detect, and not a motion was discernable in the eerie shadows of cool stone. Drizzt looked down at Guenhwyvar, waiting patiently by his side, and started off again.

He could sense the hot presence of the war party at his back. That intangible sensation was the only thing that disproved Drizzt’s feelings that he and Guenhwyvar were quite alone.

Near the end of that day, Drizzt heard the first signs of trouble. As he neared an intersection in the tunnel, cautiously pressed close to one wall, he felt a subtle vibration in the stone. It came again a second later, and then again, and Drizzt recognized it as the rhythmic tapping of a pick or hammer.

He took a magically heated sheet, a small square that fit into the palm of his hand, out of his pack. One side of the item was shielded in heavy leather, but the other shone brightly to eyes seeing in the infrared spectrum. Drizzt flashed it down the tunnel behind him, and a few seconds later, Dinin came up to his side.

"Hammer." Drizzt signaled in the silent code, pointing to the wall. Dinin pressed against the stone and nodded in confirmation.

"Fifty yards?" Dinin’s hand motions asked.

"Less than one hundred." Drizzt confirmed.

With his own prepared sheet, Dinin flashed the get-ready signal into the gloom behind him, then moved with Drizzt and Guenhwyvar around the intersection toward the tapping.

Only a moment later, Drizzt looked upon svirfnebli gnomes for the very first time. The guards stood barely twenty feet away, chesthigh to a drow and hairless, with skin strangely akin to the stone in both texture and heat radiations. The gnomes’ eyes glowed brightly in the telltale red of infravision. One glance at those eyes reminded Drizzt and Dinin that deep gnomes were as much at home in the darkness as were the drow, and they both prudently ducked behind a rocky outcropping in the tunnel.

Dinin promptly signaled to the next drow in line, and so on, until the entire party was alerted. Then he crouched low and peeked out around the bottom of the outcropping. The tunnel continued another thirty feet beyond the gnome guards and around a slight bend, ending in some larger chamber. Dinin couldn’t clearly see this area, but the glow of it, from the heat of the work and a cluster of bodies, spilled out into the corridor.

Again Dinin signaled back to his hidden comrades, and then he turned to Drizzt. "Stay here with the cat." he instructed, and he darted back down around the intersection to formulate plans with the other leaders.

Masoj, a few places back in the line, noted Dinin’s movement and wondered if the opportunity to deal with Drizzt had suddenly come upon him. If the patrol was discovered with Drizzt all alone up in front, was there some way Masoj could secretly blast the young Do’Urden? The opportunity, if ever it was truly there, passed quickly, though, as other drow soldiers came up beside the plotting wizard. Dinin soon returned from the back of the line and headed back to join his brother.

"The chamber has many exits." Dinin signaled to Drizzt when they were together. "The other patrols are moving into position around the gnomes!"

"Might we parley with the gnomes?" Drizzt’s hands asked in reply, almost subconsciously. He recognized the expression spreading across Dinin’s face, but knew that he had already plunged in. "Send them away without conflict?" Dinin grabbed Drizzt by the front of his piwafwi and pulled him close, too close, to that terrible scowl. "I will forget that you asked that question." he whispered, and he dropped Drizzt back to the stone, considering the issue closed.

"You start the fight." Dinin signaled. "When you see the sign from behind, darken the corridor and rush past the guards. Get to the gnome leader; he is the key to their strength with the stone."

Drizzt didn’t fully understand what gnomish power his brother hinted at, but the instructions seemed simple enough, if somewhat suicidal.

"Take the cat if the cat will go." Dinin continued. "The entire patrol will be by your side in moments. The remaining groups will come in from the other passages." Guenhwyvar nuzzled up to Drizzt, more than ready to follow him into battle. Drizzt took comfort in that when Dinin departed, leaving him alone again at the front. Only a few seconds later came the command to attack. Drizzt shook his head in disbelief when he saw the signal, how fast drow warriors found their positions!

He peeked around at the gnomish guards, still holding their silent vigil, completely unaware. Drizzt drew his blades and patted Guenhwyvar for luck, then called upon the innate magic of his race and dropped a globe of darkness in the corridor.

Squeals of alarm sounded throughout the tunnels, and Drizzt charged in, diving right into the darkness between the unseen guards and rolling back to his feet on the other side of his spell, only two running strides from the small chamber. He saw a dozen gnomes scrambling about, trying to prepare their defenses. Few of them paid Drizzt any attention, though, as the sounds of battle erupted from various side corridors.

One gnome chopped a heavy pick at Drizzt’s shoulder.

Drizzt got a blade up to block the blow but was amazed at the strength in the diminutive gnome’s arms. Still, Drizzt could then have killed his attacker with the other scimitar.

Too many doubts, and too many memories, though, haunted his actions. He brought a leg up into the gnome’s belly, sending the little creature sprawling.

Belwar Dissengulp, next in line for Drizzt, noted how easily the young drow had dispatched one of his finest fighters and knew that the time had already come to use his most powerful magic. He pulled the emerald summoning stone from his neck and threw it to the ground at Drizzt’s feet.

Drizzt jumped back, sensing the emanations of magic. Behind him, Drizzt heard the approach of his companions, overpowering the shocked gnome guards and rushing to join him in the chamber. Then Drizzt’s attentions went squarely to the heat patterns of the stone floor in front of him. The grayish lines wavered and swam, as if the stone was somehow coming alive.

The other drow fighters roared in past Drizzt, bearing down on the gnome leader and his charges. Drizzt didn’t follow, guessing that the event unfolding at his feet was more critical than the general battle now echoing throughout the complex.

Fifteen feet tall and seven wide, an angry, towering humanoid monster of living stone rose before Drizzt.

"Elemental" came a scream to the side. Drizzt glanced over to see Masoj, Guenhwyvar at his side, fumbling through a spellbook, apparently in search of some dweomer to battle this unexpected monster. To Drizzt’s dismay, the frightened wizard mumbled a couple of words and vanished.

Drizzt set his feet under him, and took a measure of the monster, ready to spring aside in an instant. He could sense the thing’s power, the raw strength of the earth embodied in living arms and legs.

A lumbering arm swung out in a wide arc, whooshing above Drizzt’s ducking head and slamming into the cavern wall, crushing rocks into dust.

"Do not let it hit me." Drizzt instructed himself in a whisper that came out as a disbelieving gasp. As the elemental recoiled its arm, Drizzt poked a scimitar at it, chipping away a small chunk, barely a scratch. The elemental grimaced in pain, apparently Drizzt could indeed hurt it with his enchanted weapons.

Still standing in the same spot off to the side, the invisible Masoj held his next spell in check, watching the spectacle and waiting for the combatants to weaken each other. Perhaps the elemental would destroy Drizzt altogether. Invisible shoulders gave a resigned shrug. Masoj decided to let the gnomish power do his dirty work for him. The monster launched another blow, and another, and Drizzt dove forward and scrambled through the thing’s stone pillar legs. The elemental reacted quickly and stomped heavily with one foot, barely missing the agile drow, and sending branching cracks in the floor for many feet in either direction.

Drizzt was up in a flash, slicing and thrusting with both his blades into the elemental’s backside, then springing back out of reach as the monster swung about, leading with another ferocious blow.

The sounds of battle grew more distant. The gnomes had taken flight―those that were still alive―but the drow warriors were in full pursuit, leaving Drizzt to face the elemental.

The monster stomped again, the thunder of its foot nearly knocking Drizzt from his feet, and then it came in hard, falling down at Drizzt, using the tonnage of its body as a weapon. If Drizzt had been even slightly surprised, or if his reflexes had not been honed to such perfection, he surely would have been crushed flat. He managed to get to the side of the monster’s bulk, while taking only a glancing blow from a swinging arm.

Dust rushed up from the terrific impact cavern walls and ceiling cracked and dropped flecks and stones to the floor.

As the elemental regained its feet, Drizzt backed away, overwhelmed by such unconquerable strength.

He was all alone against it, or so Drizzt thought. A sudden ball of hot fury enveloped the elemental’s head, claws raking deep scratches into its face.

"Guenhwyvar" Drizzt and Masoj shouted in unison, Drizzt in elation that an ally had been found, and Masoj in rage. The wizard did not want Drizzt to survive this battle, and he dared not launch any magical attacks, at Drizzt or the elemental, with his precious Guenhwyvar in the way.

"Do something, wizard!" Drizzt cried, recognizing the shout and understanding now that Masoj was still around. The elemental bellowed in pain, its cry sounding as the rumble of huge boulders crashing down a rocky mountain. Even as Drizzt moved back in to help his feline friend, the monster spun, impossibly quick, and dove headfirst to the floor.

"No!" Drizzt cried, realizing that Guenhwyvar would be crushed. Then the cat and the elemental, instead of slamming against the stone, sank down into it!

The purple flames of faerie fire outlined the figures of the gnomes, showing the way for drow arrows and swords. The gnomes countered with magic of their own, illusionary tricks mostly. "Down here!" one drow soldier cried, only to slam face first into the stone of a wall that had appeared as the entrance to a corridor.

Even though the gnome magic managed to keep the dark elves somewhat confused, Belwar Dissengulp grew frightened. His elemental, his strongest magic and only hope, was taking too long with the single drow warrior far back in the main chamber. The burrow-warden wanted the monster by his side when the main combat began. He ordered his forces into tight defensive formations, hoping that they could hold out.

Then the drow warriors, detained no more by gnomish tricks, were upon them, and fury stole Belwar’s fear. He lashed out with his heavy pickaxe, smiling grimly as he felt the mighty weapon bite into drow flesh.

All magic was aside now, all formations and carefully laid battle plans dissolved into the wild frenzy of the brawl. Nothing mattered, except to hit the enemy, to feel the pick head or blade sinking into flesh. Above all others, deep gnomes hated the drow, and in all the Underdark there was nothing a dark elf enjoyed more than slicing a svirfnebli into little pieces.

Drizzt rushed to the spot, but only the unbroken section of floor remained. "Masoj?" he gasped, looking for some answers from the one schooled in such strange magic. Before the wizard could answer, the floor erupted behind Drizzt. He spun, weapons ready, to face the towering elemental.

Then Drizzt watched in helpless agony as the broken mist that was the great panther, his dearest companion, rolled off the elemental’s shoulders and broke apart as it neared the floor.

Drizzt ducked another blow, though his eyes never left the dissipating dust-and-mist cloud. Was Guenhwyvar no more? Was his only friend gone from him forever? A new light grew in Drizzt lavender eyes, a primal rage that simmered throughout his body. He looked back to the elemental, unafraid.

"You are dead." he promised, and he walked in.

The elemental seemed confused, though of course it could not understand Drizzt’s words. It dropped a heavy arm straight down to squash its foolish opponent. Drizzt did not even raise his blades to parry, knowing that every ounce of his strength could not possibly deflect such a blow. Just as the falling arm was about to reach him, he dashed forward, within its range.

The quickness of his move surprised the elemental, and the ensuing flurry of swordplay took Masoj’s breath away. The wizard had never seen such grace in battle, such fluidity of motion. Drizzt climbed up and down the elemental’s body, hacking and slashing, digging the points of his weapons home and flicking off pieces of the monster’s stone skin.

The elemental howled its avalanche howl and spun in circles, trying to catch up to Drizzt and squash him once and for all. Blind anger brought new levels of expertise to the magnificent young swordsman, though, and the elemental caught nothing but air or its own stony body under its heavy slaps.

"Impossible." Masoj muttered when he found his breath.

Could the young Do’Urden actually defeat an elemental? Masoj scanned the rest of the area. Several drow and many gnomes lay dead or grievously wounded, but the main fighting was moving even farther away as the gnomes found their tiny escape tunnels and the drow, enraged beyond good sense, followed them.

Guenhwyvar was gone. In this chamber, only Masoj, the elemental, and Drizzt remained as witnesses. The invisible wizard felt his mouth draw up in a smile. Now was the time to strike.

Drizzt had the elemental lurching to one side, nearly beaten, when the bolt roared in, a blast of lightning that blinded the young drow and sent him flying into the chamber’s back wall. Drizzt watched the twitch of his hands, the wild dance of his stark white hair before his unmoving eyes. He felt nothing―no pain, no reviving draw of air into his lungs―and heard nothing, as if his life force had been somehow suspended.

The attack dispelled Masoj’s dweomer of invisibility, and he came back in view, laughing wickedly. The elemental, down in a broken, crumbled mass, slowly slipped back into the security of the stone floor.

"Are you dead?" the wizard asked Drizzt, the voice breaking the hush of Drizzt’s deafness in dramatic booms. Drizzt could not answer, didn’t really know the answer anyway.

"Too easy." he heard Masoj say, and he suspected that the wizard was referring to him and not the elemental.

Then Drizzt felt a tingling in his fingers and bones and his lungs heaved suddenly, grabbing a volume of air. He gasped in rapid succession, then found control of his body and realized that he would survive.

Masoj glanced around for returning witnesses and saw none. "Good." he muttered as he watched Drizzt regain his senses. The wizard was truly glad that Drizzt’s death had not been so very painless. He thought of another spell that would make the moment more fun.

A hand―a gigantic stone hand―reached out of the floor just then and grasped Masoj’s leg, pulling his feet right into the stone.

The wizard’s face twisted in a silent scream.

Drizzt’s enemy saved his life. Drizzt snatched up one of the scimitars from the ground and hacked at the elemental’s arm. The weapon sliced in, and the monster, its head reappearing between Drizzt and Masoj, howled in rage and pain and pulled the trapped wizard deeper into the stone.

With both hands on the scimitar’s hilt, Drizzt struck as hard as he could, splitting the elemental’s head right in half. This time the rubble did not sink back into its earthen plane this time the elemental was destroyed.

"Get me out of here!" Masoj demanded. Drizzt looked at him, hardly believing that Masoi was still alive, for he was waist deep in solid stone.

"How?" Drizzt gasped. "You…" He couldn’t even find the words to express his amazement.

"Just get me out!" the wizard cried.

Drizzt fumbled about, not knowing where to begin.

"Elementals travel between planes." Masoj explained, knowing that he had to calm Drizzt down if he ever wanted to get out of the floor. Masoj knew, too, that the conversation could go a long way in deflecting Drizzt’s obvious suspicions that the lightning bolt had been aimed at him. "The ground an earth elemental traverses becomes a gate between the Plane of Earth and our plane, the Material Plane. The stone parted around me as the monster pulled me in, but it is quite uncomfortable." He twitched in pain as the stone tightened around one foot. "The gate is closing fast!"

"Then Guenhwyvar might be…" Drizzt started to reason.

He plucked the statuette right out of Masoj’s front pocket and carefully inspected it for any flaws in its perfect design.

"Give me that!" Masoj demanded, embarrassed and angry.

Reluctantly, Drizzt handed the figurine over. Masoj glanced at it quickly and dropped it back into the pocket.

"Is Guenhwyvar unharmed?" Drizzt had to ask.

"It is not your concern." Masoj snapped back. The wizard, too, was worried about the cat, but at this moment, Guenhwyvar was the least of his troubles. "The gate is closing." he said again. "Go get the clerics!"

Before Drizzt could start off, a slab of stone in the wall behind him slid away, and the rock-hard fist of Belwar Dissengulp slammed into the back of his head.

Chapter 23 A Single Clean Blow

"The gnomes took him." Masoj said to Dinin when the patrol leader returned to the cavern. The wizard lifted his arms over his head to give the high priestess and her assistants a better view of his predicament.

"Where?" Dinin demanded. "Why did they let you live?"

Masoj shrugged. "A secret door." he explained, "somewhere on the wall behind you. I suspect that they would have taken me as well, except…" Masoj looked down at the floor, still holding him tightly up to the waist. "The gnomes would have killed me, but for your arrival."

"You are fortunate, wizard." the high priestess said to Masoj. "I have memorized a spell this day that will release the stone’s hold on you." She whispered some instructions to her assistants and they took out water skins and pouches of clay and began tracing a ten foot square on the floor around the trapped wizard. The high priestess moved over to the wall of the chamber and prepared for her prayers.

"Some have escaped." Dinin said to her.

The high priestess understood. She whispered a quick detection spell and studied the wall. "Right there." she said. Dinin and another male rushed over to the spot and soon found the almost imperceptible outline to the secret door.

As the high priestess began her incantation, one of her cleric assistants threw the end of a rope to Masoj. "Hold on." the assistant teased, "and hold your breath!"

"Wait…" Masoj began, but the stone floor all around him transformed into mud and the wizard slipped under.

The clerics, laughing, pulled Masoj out a moment later.

"Nice spell." the wizard remarked, spitting mud.

"It has its purposes." replied the high priestess. "Especially when we fight against the gnomes and their tricks with the stone. I carried it as a safeguard against earth elementals." She looked at a piece of rubble at her feet, unmistakably one eye and the nose of such a creature. "I see that my spell was not needed in that manner."

"I destroyed that one." Masoj lied.

"Indeed." said the high priestess, unconvinced. She could tell by the cut of the rubble that a blade had made the wound. She let the issue drop when the scrape of sliding stone turned them all to the wall.

"A maze." moaned the fighter beside Dinin when he peered into the tunnel. "How will we find them?" Dinin thought for a moment, then spun on Masoj. "They have my brother." he said, an idea coming to mind. "Where is your cat?"

"About." Masoj stalled, guessing Dinin’s plan and not really wanting Drizzt rescued.

"Bring it to me." Dinin ordered. "The cat can smell Drizzt."

"I cannot… I mean." Masoj stuttered.

"Now, wizard!" Dinin commanded. "Unless you wish me to tell the ruling council that some of the gnomes escaped because you refused to help!"

Masoj tossed the figurine to the ground and called for Guenhwyvar, not really knowing what would happen next. Had the earth elemental really destroyed Guenhwyvar? The mist appeared, in seconds transforming into the panther’s corporeal body.

"Well." Dinin prompted, indicating the tunnel.

"Go find Drizzt!" Masoj commanded the cat. Guenhwyvar sniffed around the area for a moment, then bounded off down the small tunnel, the drow patrol in silent pursuit.

"Where…" Drizzt started when he finally began the long climb from the depths of unconsciousness. He understood that he was sitting, and knew, too, that his hands were bound in front of him.

A small but undeniably strong hand caught him by the back of the hair and pulled his head back roughly.

"Quiet!" Belwar whispered harshly, and Drizzt was surprised that the creature could speak his language. Belwar let go of Drizzt and turned to join other svirfnebli.

From the chamber’s low height and the gnomes nervous movements, Drizzt realized that this group had taken flight.

The gnomes began a quiet conversation in their own tongue, which Drizzt could not begin to understand. One of them asked the gnome who had ordered Drizzt to be quiet, apparently the leader, a heated question. Another grunted his accord and spoke some harsh words, turning on Drizzt with a dangerous look in his eyes.

The leader slapped the other gnome hard on the back and sent him off through one of the two low exits in the chamber, then put the others into defensive positions. He walked over to Drizzt. "You come with us to Blingdenstone." he said in hesitant words.

"Then?" Drizzt asked.

Belwar shrugged. "The king will decide. If you cause me no trouble, I’ll tell him to let you go."

Drizzt laughed cynically.

"Well, then." said Belwar, "if the king says to kill you, I’ll make sure it comes in a single clean blow." Again Drizzt laughed. "Do you believe that I believe?" he asked. "Torture me now and have your fun. That is your evil way!"

Belwar started to slap him but held his hand in check.

"Svirfnebli don’t torture!" he declared, louder than he should have. "Drow elves torture!" He turned away but spun back, reiterating his promise. "A single clean blow."

Drizzt found that he believed the sincerity in the gnome’s voice, and he had to accept that promise as a measure of mercy far greater than the gnome would have received if Dinin’s patrol had captured him. Belwar turned to walk away, but Drizzt, intrigued, had to learn more of the curious creature.

"How have you learned my language?" he asked.

"Gnomes are not stupid." Belwar retorted, unsure of what Drizzt was leading to.

"Nor are drow." Drizzt replied earnestly, "but I have never heard the language of the svirfnebli spoken in my city."

"There once was a drow in Blingdenstone." Belwar explained, now nearly as curious about Drizzt as Drizzt was about him.

"Slave." Drizzt reasoned.

"Guest!" Belwar snapped. "Svirfnebli keep no slaves!"

Again Drizzt found that he could not refute the sincerity in Belwar’s voice. "What is your name?" he asked.

The gnome laughed at him. "Do you think me stupid?"

Belwar asked. "You desire my name that you might use its power in some dark magic against me!"

"No." Drizzt protested.

"I should kill you now for thinking me stupid!" Belwar growled, ominously lifting his heavy pick. Drizzt shifted uncomfortably, not knowing what the gnome would do next.

"My offer remains." Belwar said, lowering the pick. "No trouble, and I tell the king to let you go." Belwar didn’t believe that would happen any more than did Drizzt, so the svirfneblin, with a helpless shrug, offered Drizzt the next best thing. "Or else, a single clean blow."

A commotion from one of the tunnels turned Belwar away. "Belwar." called one of the other gnomes, rushing back into the small chamber. The gnome leader turned a wary eye on Drizzt to see if the drow had caught the mention of his name.

Drizzt wisely kept his head turned away, pretending not to listen. He had indeed heard the name of the gnome leader who had shown him mercy. Belwar, the other svirfneblin had said. Belwar, a name that Drizzt would never forget. Fighting from down the passageway caught everyone’s attention, then, and several svirfnebli scrambled back into the chamber. Drizzt knew from their excitement that the drow patrol was close behind.

Belwar started barking out commands, mostly organizing the retreat down the chamber’s other tunnel. Drizzt wondered where he would fit into the gnome’s thinking. Certainly Belwar couldn’t hope to outrun the drow patrol dragging along a prisoner.

Then the gnome leader suddenly stopped talking and stopped moving. Too suddenly.

The drow clerics had led the way in with their insidious, paralyzing spells. Belwar and another gnome were held fast by the dweomer, and the rest of the gnomes, realizing this, broke into a wild scramble for the rear exit.

The drow warriors, Guenhwyvar leading the way, charged into the room. Any relief Drizzt might have felt at seeing his feline friend unharmed was buried under the ensuing slaughter. Dinin and his troops cut into the disorganized gnomes with typical drow savagery.

In seconds―horrible seconds that seemed like hours to Drizzt―only Belwar and the other gnome caught in the clerical spell remained alive in the chamber. Several of the svirfnebli had managed to flee down the back corridor, but most of the drow patrol was off in pursuit.

Masoj came into the chamber last, looking thorougly wretched in his mud covered clothing. He remained at the tunnel exit and did not even look Drizzt’s way, except to note that his panther was standing protectively beside the secondboy of House Do’Urden.

"Again you have found your measure of luck, and more." Dinin said to Drizzt as he cut his brother’s bonds. Looking around at the carnage in the chamber, Drizzt wasn’t so sure.

Dinin handed him back his scimitars, then turned to the drow standing watch over the two paralyzed gnomes. "Finish them." Dinin instructed.

A wide smile spread over the other drow’s face, and he pulled a jagged knife from his belt. He held it up in front of a gnome’s face, teasing the helpless creature. "Can they see it?" he asked the high priestess.

"That is the fun of the spell." the high priestess replied. "The svirfneblin understands what is about to happen. Even now he is struggling to break out of the hold."

"Prisoners!" Drizzt blurted.

Dinin and the others turned to him, the drow with the dagger wearing a scowl both angry and disappointed.

"For House Do’Urden?" Drizzt asked Dinin hopefully. "We could benefit from…"

"Svirfnebli do not make good slaves." Dinin replied.

"No," agreed the high priestess, moving beside the dagger wielding fighter. She nodded to the warrior and his smile returned tenfold. He struck hard. Only Belwar remained.

The warrior waved his bloodstained dagger ominously and moved in front of the gnome leader.

"Not that one!" Drizzt protested, unable to bear anymore.

"Let him live!" Drizzt wanted to say that Belwar could do them no harm, and that killing the defenseless gnome would be a cowardly and vile act. Drizzt knew that appealing to his kin for mercy would be a waste of time.

Dinin’s expression was more a look of anger than curiosity this time.

"If you kill him, then no gnomes will remain to return to their city and tell of our strength," Drizzt reasoned, grasping at the one slim hope he could find. "We should send him back to his people, send him back to tell them of their folly in entering the domain of the drow!"

Dinin looked back to the high priestess for advice.

"It seems proper reasoning." she said with a nod.

Dinin was not so certain of his brother’s motives. Not taking his eyes off Drizzt, he said to the warrior, "Then cut off the gnome’s hands."

Drizzt didn’t flinch, realizing that if he did, Dinin would surely slaughter Belwar.

The warrior replaced the dagger on his belt and took out his heavy sword.

"Wait." said Dinin, still eyeing Drizzt. "Release him from the spell first, I want to hear his screams."

Several drow moved over to put the tips of their swords at Belwar’s neck as the high priestess released her magical hold. Belwar made no moves.

The appointed drow warrior grasped his sword in both hands, and Belwar, brave Belwar, held his arms straight out and motionless in front of him.

Drizzt averted his gaze, unable to watch and awaiting, fearing, the gnome’s cry.

Belwar noted Drizzt’s reaction. Was it compassion?

The drow warrior then swung his sword. Belwar never took his stare off Drizzt as the sword cut across his wrists, lighting a million fires of agony in his arms.

Neither did Belwar scream. He wouldn’t give Dinin the satisfaction. The gnome leader looked back to Drizzt one final time as two drow fighters ushered him out of the chamber, and he recognized the true anguish, and the apology, behind the young drow’s feigned impassive facade.

Even as Belwar was leaving, the dark elves who had chased off after the fleeing gnomes returned from the other tunnel. "We could not catch them in these tiny passageways." one of them complained.

"Damn!" Dinin growled. Sending a handless gnome victim back to Blingdenstone was one thing, but letting healthy members of the gnome expedition escape was quite another. "I want them caught!"

"Guenhwyvar can catch them." Masoj proclaimed, then he called the cat to his side and eyed Drizzt all the while. Drizzt’s heart raced as the wizard patted the great cat.

"Come, my pet." Masoj said. "There is hunting left to be done!" The wizard watched Drizzt squirm at the words, knowing that Drizzt did not approve of Guenhwyvar engaging in such tactics.

"They are gone?" Drizzt asked Dinin, his voice on the edge of desperation.

"Running all the way back to Blingdenstone." Dinin replied calmly. "If we let them."

"And will they return?"

Dinin’s sour scowl reflected the absurdity of his brother’s question. "Would you?"

"Our task is complete, then." Drizzt reasoned, trying vainly to find some way out of Masoj’s ignoble designs for the panther.

"We have won the day." Dinin agreed, "though our own losses have been great. We may find still more fun, with the help of the wizard’s pet."

"Fun." Masoj echoed pointedly at Drizzt. "Be gone, Guenhwyvar, into the tunnels. Let us learn how fast a frightened gnome may run!"

Only a few minutes later, Guenhwyvar came back into the chamber, dragging a dead gnome in its mouth.

"Return!" Masoj commanded as Guenhwyvar dropped the body at his feet. "Bring me more!"

Drizzt’s heart dropped at the sound of the corpse flopping to the stone floor. He looked into Guenhwyvar’s eyes and saw a sadness as profound as his own. The panther was a hunter, as honorable in its own way as was Drizzt. To the evil Masoj, though, Guenhwyvar was a toy and nothing more, an instrument for his perverted pleasures, killing for no reason other than its master’s joy of killing.

In the hands of the wizard, Guenhwyvar was no more than a murderer.

Guenhwyvar paused at the entrance to the small tunnel and looked to Drizzt almost apologetically.

"Return!" Masoj screamed, and he kicked the cat in the rear. Then Masoj, too, turned an eye back on Drizzt, a vindictive eye. Masoj had missed his chance to kill the young Do’Urden he would have to be careful how he explained such a mistake to his unforgiving mother. Masoj decided to worry about that unpleasant encounter later. For now, at least, he had the satisfaction of watching Drizzt suffer.

Dinin and the others were oblivious to the unfolding drama between Masoj and Drizzt, too engaged in their wait for Guenhwyvar’s return, too engaged in their speculations of the expressions of terror the gnomes would cast back at such a perfect killer, too caught up in the macabre humor of the moment, that perverted drow humor that brought laughter when tears were needed.