Homeland (21 page)

Drizzt looked to Alton, wondering what the unpredictable master would do next.

“Do go,” Alton said calmly, knowing the facade Masoj had begun would be his only way around the wrath of his adopted matron mother. “I am confident that this day’s lesson was learned,” he said, his eyes on Masoj.

Drizzt glanced back to Masoj, then back to Alton again. He let it go at that. He wanted to learn more of Guenhwyvar.

When Masoj had Drizzt back in the privacy of the tutor’s own room, he took out the polished onyx figurine in the form of a panther and called Guenhwyvar back to his side. The mage breathed easier after he had introduced Drizzt to the cat, for Drizzt spoke no more about the incident with Alton.

Never before had Drizzt encountered such a wonderful magical item. He sensed a strength in Guenhwyvar, a dignity, that belied the beast’s enchanted nature. Truly, the cat’s sleek muscles and graceful moves epitomized the hunting qualities drow elves so dearly desired. Just by watching Guenhwyvar’s movements, Drizzt believed, he could improve his own techniques.

Masoj let them play together and spar together for hours, grateful that Guenhwyvar could help him smooth over any damage that foolish Alton had done.

Drizzt had already put his meeting with the faceless master far behind him.

“Matron SiNafay would not understand,” Masoj warned Alton when they were alone later that day.

“You will tell her,” Alton reasoned matter-of-factly. So frustrated was he with his failure to kill Drizzt that he hardly cared.

Masoj shook his head. “She need not know.”

A suspicious smile found its way across Alton’s disfigured face. “What do you want?” he asked coyly. “Your tenure here is almost at its end. What more might a master do for Masoj?”

“Nothing,” Masoj replied. “I want nothing from you.”

“Then why?” Alton demanded. “I desire no debts following my paths. This incident is to be done with here and now!”

“It is done,” Masoj replied. Alton didn’t seem convinced.

“What could I gain from telling Matron SiNafay of your foolish actions?” Masoj reasoned. “Likely, she would kill you, and the coming war with House Do’Urden would have no basis. You are the link we need to justify the attack. I desire this battle; I’ll not risk it for the little pleasure I might find in your tortured demise.”

“I was foolish,” Alton admitted, more somberly. “I had not planned to kill Drizzt when I summoned him here, just to watch him and learn of him, so that I might savor more when the time to kill him finally arrived. Seeing him before me, though, seeing a cursed Do’Urden standing unprotected before me …!”

“I understand,” said Masoj sincerely. “I have had those same feelings when looking upon that one.”

“You have no grudge against House Do’Urden.”

“Not the house,” Masoj explained, “that one! I have watched him for nearly a decade, studied his movements and his attitudes.”

“You like not what you see?” Alton asked, a hopeful tone in his voice.

“He does not belong,” Masoj replied grimly. “After six months by his side, I feel I know him less now than I ever did. He displays no ambition, yet has emerged victorious from his class’s grand melee nine years in a row. It’s unprecedented! His grasp of magic is strong; he could have been a wizard, a very powerful wizard, if he had chosen that course of study.”

Masoj clenched his fist, searching for the words to convey his true emotions about Drizzt. “It is all too easy for him,” he snarled. “There is no sacrifice in Drizzt’s actions, no scars for the great gains he makes in his chosen profession.”

“He is gifted,” Alton remarked, “but he trains as hard as any I have ever seen, by all accounts.”

“That is not the problem,” Masoj groaned in frustration. There was something less tangible about Drizzt Do’Urden’s character that truly irked the young Hun’ett. He couldn’t recognize it now, because he had never witnessed it in any dark elf before, and because it was so very foreign to his own makeup. What bothered Masoj—and many other students and masters—was the fact that Drizzt excelled in all the fighting skills the drow elves most treasured but hadn’t given up his passion in return. Drizzt had not paid the price that the rest of the drow children were made to sacrifice long before they had even entered the Academy.

“It is not important,” Masoj said after several fruitless minutes of contemplation. “I will learn more of the young Do’Urden in time.”

“His tutelage under you was finished, I had thought,” said Alton. “He goes to Arach-Tinilith for the final six months of his training—quite inaccessible to you.”

“We both graduate after those six months,” Masoj explained. “We will share our indenture time in the patrol forces together.”

“Many will share that time,” Alton reminded him. “Dozens of groups patrol the corridors of the region. You may never even see Drizzt in all the years of your term.”

“I already have arranged for us to serve in the same group,” replied Masoj. He reached into his pocket and produced the onyx figurine of the magical panther.

“A mutual agreement between yourself and the young Do’Urden,” Alton reasoned with a complimentary smile.

“It appears that Drizzt has become quite fond of my pet,” Masoj chuckled.

“Too fond?” Alton warned. “You should watch your back for scimitars.”

Masoj laughed aloud. “Perhaps our friend, Do’Urden, should watch his back for panther claws!”

ast day,” Drizzt breathed in relief as he donned his ceremonial robes. If the first six months of this final year, learning the subtleties of magic in Sorcere, had been the most enjoyable, these last six in the school of Lolth had been the least. Every day, Drizzt and his classmates had been subjected to endless eulogies to the Spider Queen, tales and prophecies of her power and of the rewards she bestowed upon loyal servants.

“Slaves” would have been a better word, Drizzt had come to realize, for nowhere in all this grand school to the drow deity had he heard anything synonymous with, or even hinting at, the word love. His people worshiped Lolth; the females of Menzoberranzan gave over their entire existence in her servitude. Their giving was wholly wrought of selfishness, though; a cleric of the Spider Queen aspired to the position of high priestess solely for the personal power that accompanied the title.

It all seemed so very wrong in Drizzt’s heart.

Drizzt had drifted through the six months of Arach-Tinilith with his customary stoicism, keeping his eyes low and his mouth shut. Now, finally, he had come to the last day, the Ceremony of Graduation, an event most holy to the drow, and wherein, Vierna had promised him, he would come to understand the true glory of Lolth.

With tentative steps, Drizzt moved out from the shelter of his tiny, unadorned room. He worried that this ceremony had become his personal trial. Up to now, very little about the society around Drizzt had made any sense to him, and he wondered, despite his sister’s assurances, whether the events of this day would allow him to see the world as his kin saw it. Drizzt’s fears had taken a spiral twist, one rolling out from the other to surround him in a predicament be could not escape.

Perhaps, he worried, he truly feared that the day’s events would fulfill Vierna’s promise.

Drizzt shielded his eyes as he entered the circular ceremonial hall of Arach-Tinilith. A fire burned in the center of the room, in an eight-legged brazier that resembled, as everything in this place seemed to resemble, a spider. The headmistress of all the Academy, the matron mistress, and the other twelve high priestesses serving as instructors of Arach-Tinilith, including Drizzt’s sister, sat cross-legged in a circle around the brazier. Drizzt and his classmates from the school of fighters stood along the wall behind them.

“
Ma ku!
” the matron mistress commanded, and all was silent save the crackle of the brazier’s flames. The door to the room opened again, and a young cleric entered. She was to be the first graduate of Arach-Tinilith this year, Drizzt had been told, the finest student in the school of Lolth. Thus, she had been awarded the highest honors in this ceremony. She shrugged off her robes and walked naked through the ring of sitting priestesses to stand before the flames, her back to the matron mistress.

Drizzt bit his lip, embarrassed and a little excited. He had never seen a female in such a light before, and he suspected that the sweat on his brow was from more than the brazier’s heat. A quick glance around the room told him that his classmates entertained similar ideas.

“
Bae-go si’n’ee calamay
,” the matron mistress whispered, and red smoke poured from the brazier, coloring the room in a hazy glow. It carried an aroma with it, rich and sickly sweet. As Drizzt breathed the scented air, he felt himself grow lighter and wondered if he soon would be floating off the floor.

The flames in the brazier suddenly roared higher, causing Drizzt to squint against the brightness and turn away. The clerics began a ritual chant, though the words were unfamiliar to Drizzt. He hardly paid them any heed, though, for he was too intent on holding his own thoughts in the overpowering swoon of the inebriating haze.

“
Glabrezu
,” the matron mistress moaned, and Drizzt recognized the tone as a summons, the name of a denizen of the lower planes. He looked back to the events at hand and saw the matron mistress holding a single-tongued snake whip.

“Where did she get that?” Drizzt mumbled, then he realized that he had spoken aloud and hoped he hadn’t disturbed the ceremony. He was comforted when he glanced around, for many of his classmates were mumbling to themselves, and some seemed hardly able to hold their balance.

“Call to it,” the matron mistress instructed the naked student.

Tentatively, the young cleric spread her arms out wide and whispered, “
Glabrezu
.”

The flames danced about the rim of the brazier. The smoke wafted into Drizzt’s face, compelling him to inhale it. His legs tingled on the edge of numbness, yet they somehow felt more sensitive, more alive, than they ever had before.

“
Glabrezu
,” he heard the student say again louder, and Drizzt heard, too, the roar of the flames. Brightness assaulted him, but somehow he didn’t seem to care. His gaze roamed about the room, unable to find a focus, unable to place the strange, dancing sights in accord with the ritual’s sounds.

He heard the high priestesses gasping and coaxing the student on, knowing the conjuring to be at hand. He heard the snap of the snake whip—another incentive?—and cries of “
Glabrezu!
” from the student. So primal, so powerful, were these screams that they cut through Drizzt and the other males in the room with an intensity they never would have believed possible.

The flames heard the call. They roared higher and higher and began to take shape. One sight caught the vision of all in the room now—caught it and held it fully. A giant head, a goat-horned dog, appeared within the flames, apparently studying this alluring young drow student who had dared to utter its name.

Somewhere beyond the other-planar form, the snake whip cracked again, and the female student repeated her call, her cry beckoning, praying.

The giant denizen of the lower planes stepped through the flames. The sheer unholy power of the creature stunned Drizzt. Glabrezu towered nine feet and seemed much more, with muscled arms ending in giant pincers instead of hands and a second set of smaller arms, normal arms, protruding from the front of its chest.

Drizzt’s instincts told him to attack the monster and rescue the female student, but when he looked around for support, he found the matron mistress and the other teachers of the school back in their ritualistic chanting, this time with an excited edge permeating their every word.

Through all the haze and the daze, the tantalizing, dizzying aroma of the smoky red incense continued its assault on reality. Drizzt trembled, teetered on a narrow ledge of control, his gathering rage fighting the scented smoke’s confusing allure. Instinctively, his hands went to the hilts of the scimitars on his belt.

Then a hand brushed against his leg.

He looked down to see a mistress, reclined and asking him to join her—a scene that had suddenly become general around the chamber.

The smoke continued its assault on him.

The mistress beckoned to him, her fingernails lightly scraping the skin of his leg.

Drizzt ran his fingers through his thick hair, trying to find some focal point in the dizziness. He did not like this loss of control, this mental numbness that stole the fine edge of his reflexes and alertness.

He liked even less the scene unfolding before him. The sheer wrongness of it assaulted his soul. He pulled away from the mistress’s hopeful grasp and stumbled across the room, tripping over numerous entwined forms too engaged to take note of him. He made the exit as quickly as his wobbly legs could carry him, and he rushed out of the room, pointedly closing the door behind him.

Only the screams of the female student followed him. No stone or mental barricade could block them out.

Drizzt leaned heavily against the cool stone wall, grasping at his stomach. He hadn’t even paused to consider the implications of his actions; he knew only that he had to get out of that foul room.

Vierna then was beside him, her robe opened casually in the front. Drizzt, his head clearing, began to wonder about the price of his actions. The look on his sister’s face, he noted with still more confusion, was not one of scorn.

“You prefer privacy,” she said, her hand resting easily on Drizzt’s shoulder. Vierna made no move to close her robe. “I understand,” she said.

Drizzt grabbed her arm and pulled her away. “What insanity is this?” he demanded.

Vierna’s face twisted as she came to understand her brother’s true intentions in leaving the ceremony. “You refused a high priestess!” she snarled at him. “By the laws, she could kill you for your insolence.”

“I do not even know her,” Drizzt shot back. “I am expected to—”

“You are expected to do as you are instructed!”

“I care nothing for her,” Drizzt stammered. He found he could not hold his hands steady.

“Do you think Zaknafein cared for Matron Malice?” Vierna replied, knowing that the reference to Drizzt’s hero would surely sting him. Seeing that she had indeed wounded her brother, Vierna softened her expression and took his arm. “Come back,” she purred, “into the room. There is still time.”

Drizzt’s cold glare stopped her as surely as the point of a scimitar.

“The Spider Queen is the deity of our people,” Vierna sternly reminded him. “I am one of those who speaks her will.”

“I would not be so proud of that,” Drizzt retorted, clinging to his anger against the wave of very real fear that threatened to defeat his principled stand.

Vierna slapped him hard across the face. “Go back to the ceremony!” she demanded.

“Go kiss a spider,” Drizzt replied. “And may its pincers tear your cursed tongue from your mouth.”

It was Vierna now who could not hold her hands steady. “You should take care when you speak to a high priestess,” she warned.

“Damn your Spider Queen!” Drizzt spat. “Though I am certain Lolth found damnation eons ago!”

“She brings us power!” Vierna shrieked.

“She steals everything that makes us worth more than the stone we walk upon!” Drizzt screamed back.

“Sacrilege!” Vierna sneered, the word rolling off her tongue like the whistle of the matron mistress’s snake whip.

A climactic, anguished scream erupted from inside the room.

“Evil union,” Drizzt muttered, looking away.

“There is a gain,” Vierna replied, quickly back in control of her temper.

Drizzt cast an accusing glance her way. “Have you had a similar experience?”

“I am a high priestess,” was her simple reply.

Darkness hovered all about Drizzt, outrage so intense that he nearly swooned. “Did it please you?” he spat.

“It brought me power,” Vierna growled back. “You cannot understand the value.”

“What did it cost you?”

Vierna’s slap nearly knocked Drizzt from his feet. “Come with me,” she said, grabbing the front of his robe. “There is a place I want to show to you.”

They moved out from Arach-Tinilith and across the Academy’s courtyard. Drizzt hesitated when they reached the pillars that marked the entrance to Tier Breche.

“l cannot pass between these,” he reminded his sister. “I am not yet graduated from Melee-Magthere.”

“A formality,” Vierna replied, not slowing her pace at all. “I am a mistress of Arach-Tinilith; I have the power to graduate you.”

Drizzt wasn’t certain of the truth of Vierna’s claim, but she was indeed a mistress of Arach-Tinilith. As much as Drizzt feared the edicts of the Academy, he didn’t want to anger Vierna again.

He followed her down the wide stone stairs and out into the meandering roadways of the city proper.

“Home?” he dared to ask after a short while.

“Not yet,” came the curt reply. Drizzt didn’t press the point any further.

They veered off to the eastern end of the great cavern, across from the wall that held House Do’Urden, and came to the entrances of three small tunnels, all guarded by glowing statues of giant scorpions. Vierna paused for just a moment to consider which was the correct course, then led on again, down the smallest of the tunnels.

The minutes became an hour, and still they walked. The passage widened and soon led them into a twisting catacomb of crisscrossing corridors. Drizzt quickly lost track of the path behind them as they made their way through, but Vierna followed a predetermined course that she knew well.