Homeland (23 page)

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 weapons 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 second-boy 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 naiveté, 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 weapons 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 tendays, 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.