Homeland (33 page)

“Masoj,” Drizzt whispered, almost unconsciously. He looked up at his mother, who held her hand out to halt Briza’s attacks—to Briza’s dismay.

“Masoj Hun’ett,” Drizzt said more loudly. “In the fight against the gnomes, he tried to kill me.”

All the family, particularly Malice and Dinin, leaned forward toward Drizzt, hanging on his every word.

“When I battled the elemental,” Drizzt explained, spitting out the last word as a curse upon Zaknafein. He cast an angry glare at the weapons master and continued, “Masoj Hun’ett struck me down with a bolt of lightning.”

“He may have been shooting for the monster,” Vierna insisted. “Masoj insisted that it was he who killed the elemental, but the high priestess of the patrol denied his claim.”

“Masoj waited,” Drizzt replied. “He did nothing until I began to gain the advantage over the monster. Then he loosed his magic, as much at me as at the elemental. I think he hoped to destroy us both.”

“House Hun’ett,” Matron Malice whispered.

“Fifth House,” Briza remarked, “under Matron SiNafay.”

“So that is our enemy,” said Malice.

“Perhaps not,” said Dinin, wondering even as he spoke the words why he hadn’t left well enough alone. To disprove the theory only invited more whipping.

Matron Malice did not like his hesitation as he reconsidered the argument. “Explain!” she commanded.

“Masoj Hun’ett was angry at being excluded from the surface raid,” said Dinin. “We left him in the city, only to witness our triumphant return.” Dinin fixed his eyes straight on his brother. “Masoj has ever been jealous of Drizzt and all the glories that my brother has found, rightly or wrongly. Many are jealous of Drizzt and would see him dead.”

Drizzt shifted uncomfortably in his seat, knowing the last words to be an open threat. He glanced over to Zaknafein and marked the weapons master’s smug smile.

“Are you certain of your words?” Malice said to Drizzt, shaking him from his private thoughts.

“There is the cat,” Dinin interrupted, “Masoj Hun’ett’s magical pet, though it holds closer to Drizzt’s side than to the wizard’s.”

“Guenhwyvar walks the point beside me,” Drizzt protested, “a position that you ordered.”

“Masoj does not like it,” Dinin retorted.

Perhaps that is why you put the cat there, Drizzt thought, but he kept the words to himself. Was he seeing conspiracies in coincidence? Or was his world so truly filled with devious schemes and silent struggles for power?

“Are you certain of your words?” Malice asked Drizzt again, pulling him from his pondering.

“Masoj Hun’ett tried to kill me,” he asserted. “I do not know his reasons, but his intent I do not doubt!”

“House Hun’ett, then,” Briza remarked, “a mighty foe.”

“We must learn of them,” Malice said. “Dispatch the scouts! I will know the count of House Hun’ett’s soldiers, its wizards, and, particularly, its clerics.”

“If we are wrong,” Dinin said. “If House Hun’ett is not the conspiring house—”

“We are not wrong!” Malice screamed at him.

“The yochlol said that one of us knows the identity of our enemy,” reasoned Vierna. “All we have is Drizzt’s tale of Masoj.”

“Unless you are hiding something,” Matron Malice growled at Dinin, a threat so cold and wicked that it stole the blood from the elderboy’s face.

Dinin shook his head emphatically and slumped back, having nothing more to add to the conversation.

“Prepare a communion,” Malice said to Briza. “Let us learn of Matron SiNafay’s standing with the Spider Queen.”

Drizzt watched incredulously as the preparations began at a frantic pace, each command from Matron Malice following a practiced defensive course. It wasn’t the precision of Drizzt’s family’s battle planning that amazed him—he would expect nothing less from this group. It was the eager gleam in every eye.

mpudent!” growled the yochlol. The fire in the brazier puffed, and the creature again stood behind Malice, again draped dangerous tentacles over the matron mother. “You dare to summon me again?”

Malice and her daughters glanced around, on the edge of panic. They knew that the mighty being was not toying with them; the handmaiden truly was enraged this time.

“House Do’Urden pleased the Spider Queen, it is true,” the yochlol answered their unspoken thoughts, “but that one act does not dispel the displeasure your family brought upon Lolth in the recent past. Do not think that all is forgiven, Matron Malice Do’Urden!”

How small and vulnerable Matron Malice felt now. Her power paled in the face of the wrath of one of Lolth’s personal servants.

“Displeasure?” she dared to whisper. “How has my family brought displeasure to the Spider Queen? By what act?”

The handmaiden’s laughter erupted in a spout of flames and flying spiders, but the high priestesses held their positions. They accepted the heat and the crawling things as part of their penance.

“I have told you before, Matron Malice Do’Urden,” the yochlol snarled with its droopy mouth, “and I shall tell you one final time. The Spider Queen does not reply to questions whose answers are already known!” In a blast of explosive energy that sent the four females of House Do’Urden tumbling to the floor, the handmaiden was gone.

Briza was the first to recover. She prudently rushed over to the brazier and smothered the remaining flames, thus closing the gate to the Abyss, the yochlol’s home plane.

“Who?” screamed Malice, the powerful matriarch once again. “Who in my family has invoked the wrath of Lolth?” Malice appeared small again then, as the implications of the yochlol’s warning became all too clear. House Do’Urden was about to go to war with a powerful family. Without Lolth’s favor, House Do’Urden likely would cease to exist.

“We must find the perpetrator,” Malice instructed her daughters, certain that none of them was involved. They were high priestesses, one and all. If any of them had done some misdeed in the eyes of the Spider Queen, the summoned yochlol surely would have exacted punishment on the spot. By itself, the handmaiden could have leveled House Do’Urden.

Briza pulled the snake whip from her belt. “I will get the information we require!” she promised.

“No!” said Matron Malice. “We must not reveal our search. Be it a soldier or a member of House Do’Urden, the guilty one is trained and hardened against pain. We cannot hope that torture will pull the confession from his lips; not when he knows the consequences of his actions. We must discover the cause of Lolth’s displeasure immediately and properly punish the criminal. The Spider Queen must stand behind us in our struggles!”

“How, then, are we to discern the perpetrator?” the eldest daughter complained, reluctantly replacing the snake whip on her belt.

“Vierna and Maya, leave us,” Matron Malice instructed. “Say nothing of these revelations and do nothing to hint at our purpose.”

The two younger daughters bowed and scurried away, not happy with their secondary roles but unable to do anything about them.

“First we will look,” Malice said to Briza. “We will see if we can learn of the guilty one from afar.”

Briza understood. “The scrying bowl,” she said. She rushed from the anteroom and into the chapel proper. In the central altar she found the valuable item, a wide golden bowl laced throughout with black pearls. Hands trembling, Briza placed the bowl atop the altar and reached into the most sacred of the many compartments. This was the holding bin for the prized possession of House Do’Urden, a great onyx chalice.

Malice then joined Briza in the chapel proper and took the chalice from her. Moving to the large font at the entrance to the great room, Malice dipped the chalice into a sticky fluid, the unholy water of her religion. She then chanted, “
Spiderae aught icor ven.
” The ritual complete, Malice moved back to the altar and poured the unholy water into the golden bowl.

She and Briza sat down to watch.

Drizzt stepped onto the floor of Zaknafein’s training gym for the first time in more than a decade and felt as if he had come home. He’d spent the best years of his young life here—almost wholly here. For all the disappointments he had encountered since—and no doubt would continue to experience throughout his life—Drizzt would never forget that brief sparkle of innocence, that joy, he had known when he was a student in Zaknafein’s gym.

Zaknafein entered and walked over to face his former student. Drizzt saw nothing familiar or comforting in the weapons master’s face. A perpetual scowl now replaced the once common smile. It was an angry demeanor that hated everything around it, perhaps Drizzt most of all. Or had Zaknafein always worn such a grimace? Drizzt had to wonder. Had nostalgia glossed over Drizzt’s memories of those years of early training? Was this mentor, who had so often warmed Drizzt’s heart with a lighthearted chuckle, actually the cold, lurking monster that Drizzt now saw before him?

“Which has changed, Zaknafein,” Drizzt asked aloud, “you, my memories, or my perceptions?”

Zak seemed not even to hear the whispered question. “Ah, the young hero has returned,” he said, “the warrior with exploits beyond his years.”

“Why do you mock me?” Drizzt protested.

“He who killed the hook horrors,” Zak continued. His swords were out in his hands now, and Drizzt responded by drawing his scimitars. There was no need to ask the rules of engagement in this contest, or the choice of weapons.

Drizzt knew, had known before he had ever come here, that there would be no rules this time. The weapons would be their weapons of preference, the blades that each of them had used to kill so many foes.

“He who killed the earth elemental,” Zak snarled derisively. He launched a measured attack, a simple lunge with one blade. Drizzt batted it aside without even thinking of the parry.

Sudden fires erupted in Zak’s eyes, as if the first contact had sundered all the emotional bonds that had tempered his thrust. “He who killed the girl child of the surface elves!” he cried, an accusation and no compliment. Now came the second attack, vicious and powerful, an arcing swipe descending at Drizzt’s head. “Who cut her apart to appease his own thirst for blood!”

Zak’s words knocked Drizzt off his guard emotionally, wrapped his heart in confusion like some devious mental whip. Drizzt was a seasoned warrior, though, and his reflexes did not register the emotional distraction. A scimitar came up to catch the descending sword and deflected it harmlessly aside.

“Murderer! “Zak snarled openly. “Did you enjoy the dying child’s screams?” He came at Drizzt in a furious whirl, swords dipping and diving, slicing at every angle.

Drizzt, enraged by the hypocrite’s accusations, matched the fury, screaming out for no better reason than to hear the anger of his own voice.

Any watching the battle would have found no breath in the next few blurring moments. Never had the Underdark witnessed such a vicious fight as when these two masters of the blade each attacked the demon possessing the other—and himself.

Adamantine sparked and nicked, droplets of blood spattered both the combatants, though neither felt any pain, and neither knew if he’d injured the other.

Drizzt came with a two blade sidelong swipe that drove Zak’s swords out wide. Zak followed the motion quickly, turned a complete circle, and slammed back into Drizzt’s thrusting scimitars with enough force to knock the young warrior from his feet. Drizzt fell into a roll and came back up to meet his charging adversary.

A thought came over him.

Drizzt came up high, too high, and Zak drove him back on his heels. Drizzt knew what would soon be coming; he invited it openly. Zak kept Drizzt’s weapons high through several combined maneuvers. He then went with the move that had defeated Drizzt in the past, expecting that the best Drizzt could attain would be equal footing: double-thrust low.

Drizzt executed the appropriate cross-down parry, as he had to, and Zak tensed, waiting for his eager opponent to try to improve the move. “Child killer!” he growled, goading on Drizzt.

He didn’t know that Drizzt had found the solution.

With all the anger he had ever known, all the disappointments of his young life gathering within his foot, Drizzt focused on Zak.

That smug face, feigning smiles and drooling for blood.

Between the hilts, between the eyes, Drizzt kicked, blowing out every ounce of rage in a single blow.

Zak’s nose crunched flat. His eyes lolled upward, and blood exploded over his hollow cheeks. Zak knew that he was falling, that the devilish young warrior would be on him in a flash, gaining an advantage that Zak could not hope to overcome.

“What of you, Zaknafein Do’Urden?” he heard Drizzt snarl, distantly, as though he were falling far away. “I have heard of the exploits of House Do’Urden’s weapons master! How he so enjoys killing!” The voice was closer now, as Drizzt stalked in, and as the rebounding rage of Zaknafein sent him spiraling back to the battle.

“I have heard how murder comes so very easily to Zaknafein!” Drizzt spat derisively. “The murder of clerics, of other drow! Do you so enjoy it all?” He ended the question with a blow from each scimitar, attacks meant to kill Zak, to kill the demon in them both.

But Zaknafein was now fully back to consciousness, hating himself and Drizzt equally. At the last moment, his swords came up and crossed, lightning fast, throwing Drizzt’s arms wide. Then Zak finished with a kick of his own, not so strong from the prone position but accurate in its search for Drizzt’s groin.

Drizzt sucked in his breath and twirled away, forcing himself back into composure when he saw Zaknafein, still dazed, rising to his feet. “Do you so enjoy it all?” he managed to ask again.

“Enjoy?” the weapons master echoed.

“Does it bring you pleasure?” Drizzt grimaced.

“Satisfaction!” Zak corrected. “I kill. Yes, I kill.”

“You teach others to kill!”

“To kill drow!” Zak roared, and he was back in Drizzt’s face, his weapons up but waiting for Drizzt to make the next move.

Zak’s words again entwined Drizzt in a mesh of confusion. Who was this drow standing before him?

“Do you think that your mother would let me live if I did not serve her evil designs?” Zak cried.

Drizzt did not understand.

“She hates me,” Zak said, more in control as he began to understand Drizzt’s confusion, “despises me for what I know.” Drizzt cocked his head.

“Are you so blind to the evil around you?” Zak yelled in his face. “Or has it consumed you, as it consumes all of them, in this murderous frenzy that we call life?”

“The frenzy that holds you?” Drizzt retorted, but there was little conviction in his voice now. If he understood Zak’s words correctly—if Zak played the killing game simply because of his hatred for the perverted drow—the most Drizzt could blame him for was cowardice.

“No frenzy holds me,” Zak replied. “I live as best I can. I survive in a world that is not my own, not my heart.” The lament in his words, the droop of his head as he admitted his helplessness, struck a familiar chord in Drizzt. “I kill, kill drow, to serve Matron Malice—to placate the rage, the frustration, that I know in my soul. When I hear the children scream …” His gaze snapped up on Drizzt and he rushed in all of a sudden, his fury returned tenfold.