Homeland (37 page)

Drizzt, limping, found his other scimitar and cautiously picked his way over the rubble of one of the mounds. Fighting the fear within his broken heart, he forced himself to peer over the crest at the destruction. The back side of the mound glowed eerily in the residual heat, a beacon for the awakening city.

So much for stealth.

Pieces of Alton DeVir lay scattered at the bottom, around the wizard’s smoldering robes. “Have you found peace, Faceless One?” Drizzt whispered, exhaling the last of his anger. He remembered the assault Alton had launched against him those years ago in the Academy. The faceless master and Masoj had explained it away as a test for a budding warrior.

“How long you have carried your hate,” Drizzt muttered at the blasted bits of corpse.

But Alton DeVir was not his concern now. He scanned the rest of the rubble, looking for some clue to Guenhwyvar’s fate, not certain how a magical creature would fare in such a disaster. Not a sign of the cat remained, nothing that would even hint that Guenhwyvar had ever been there.

Drizzt consciously reminded himself that there was no hope, but the anxious spring in his steps mocked his stern visage. He rushed back down the mound and around the other stalagmite, where Masoj and he had been when the wand exploded. He spotted the onyx figurine immediately.

He lifted it gently in his hands. It was warm, as though it, too, had been caught in the blast, and Drizzt could sense that its magic had diminished. Drizzt wanted to call the cat, then, but he didn’t dare, knowing that the travel between the planes heavily taxed Guenhwyvar. If the cat had been injured, Drizzt figured that it would be better to give it some time to recuperate.

“Oh, Guenhwyvar,” he moaned, “my friend, my brave friend.” He dropped the figurine into his pocket.

He could only hope that Guenhwyvar had survived.

rizzt walked back around the stalagmite, back to the body of Masoj Hun’ett. He had had no choice but to kill his adversary; Masoj had drawn the battle lines.

That fact did little to dispel the guilt in Drizzt as he looked upon the corpse. He had killed another drow, had taken the life of one of his own people. Was he trapped, as Zaknafein had been trapped for so very many years, in a cycle of violence that would know no end?

“Never again,” Drizzt vowed to the corpse. “Never again will I kill a drow elf.”

He turned away, disgusted, and knew as soon as he looked back to the silent, sinister mounds of the vast drow city that he would not survive long in Menzoberranzan if he held to that promise.

A thousand possibilities whirled in Drizzt’s mind as he made his way through the winding ways of Menzoberranzan. He pushed the thoughts aside, stopped them from dulling his alertness. The light was general now in Narbondel; the drow day was beginning, and activity had started from every corner of the city. In the world of the surface-dwellers, the day was the safer time, when light exposed assassins. In Menzoberranzan’s eternal darkness, the daytime of the dark elves was even more dangerous than the night.

Drizzt picked his way carefully, rolling wide from the mushroom fence of the noblest houses, wherein lay House Hun’ett. He encountered no more adversaries and made the safety of the Do’Urden compound a short time later. He rushed through the gate and by the surprised soldiers without a word of explanation and shoved aside the guards below the balcony.

The house was strangely quiet; Drizzt would have expected them all to be up and about with battle imminent. He gave the eerie stillness no more thought, and he cut a straight line to the training gym and Zaknafein’s private quarters.

Drizzt paused outside the gym’s stone door, his hand tightly clenched on the handle of the portal. What would he propose to his father? That they leave? He and Zaknafein on the perilous trails of the Underdark, fighting when they must and escaping the burdensome guilt of their existence under drow rule? Drizzt liked the thought, but he wasn’t so certain now, standing before the door, that he could convince Zak to follow such a course. Zak could have left before, at any time during the centuries of his life, but when Drizzt had asked him why he had remained, the heat had drained from the weapons master’s face. Were they indeed trapped in the life offered to them by Matron Malice and her evil cohorts?

Drizzt grimaced away the worries; no sense in arguing to himself with Zak only a few steps away.

The training gym was as quiet as the rest of the house. Too quiet. Drizzt hadn’t expected Zak to be there, but something more than his father was absent. The father’s presence, too, was gone.

Drizzt knew that something was wrong, and each step he took toward Zak’s private door quickened until he was in full flight. He burst in without a knock, not surprised to find the bed empty.

“Malice must have sent him out in search of me,” Drizzt reasoned.

“Damn, I have caused him trouble!” He turned to leave, but something caught his eye and held him in the room—Zak’s sword belt.

Never would the weapons master have left his room, not even for functions within the safety of House Do’Urden, without his swords. “Your weapon is your most trusted companion,” Zak had told Drizzt a thousand times. “Keep it ever at your side!”

“House Hun’ett?” Drizzt whispered, wondering if the rival house had magically attacked in the night, while he was out battling Alton and Masoj. The compound, though, was serene; surely the soldiers would have known if anything like that had occurred.

Drizzt picked up the belt for inspection. No blood, and the clasp neatly unbuckled. No enemy had torn this from Zak. The weapons master’s pouch lay beside it, also intact.

“What, then?” Drizzt asked aloud. He replaced the sword belt beside the bed, but slung the pouch across his neck, and turned, not knowing where he should go next.

He had to see about the rest of the family, he realized before he had even stepped through the door. Perhaps then this riddle about Zak would become more clear.

Dread grew out of that thought as Drizzt headed down the long and decorated corridor to the chapel anteroom. Had Malice, or any of them, brought Zak harm? For what purpose? The notion seemed illogical to Drizzt, but it nagged him every step, as if some sixth sense were warning him.

There still was no sign of anyone.

The anteroom’s ornate doors swung in, magically and silently, even as Drizzt raised his hand to knock on them. He saw the matron mother first, sitting smugly on her throne at the rear of the room, her smile inviting.

Drizzt’s discomfort did not diminish when he entered. The whole family was there: Briza, Vierna, and Maya to the sides of their matron, Rizzen and Dinin unobtrusively standing beside the left wall. The whole family. Except for Zak.

Matron Malice studied her son carefully, noting his many wounds. “I instructed you not to leave the house,” she said to Drizzt, but she was not scolding him. “Where did your travels take you?”

“Where is Zaknafein?” Drizzt asked in reply.

“Answer the matron mother!” Briza yelled at him, her snake whip prominently displayed on her belt.

Drizzt glared at her and she recoiled, feeling the same bitter chill that Zaknafein had cast over her earlier in the night.

“I instructed you not to leave the house,” Malice said again, still holding calm. “Why did you disobey me?”

“I had matters to attend,” Drizzt replied, “urgent matters. I did not wish to bother you with them.”

“War is upon us, my son,” Matron Malice explained. “You are vulnerable out in the city by yourself. House Do’Urden cannot afford to lose you now.”

“My business had to be handled alone,” Drizzt answered.

“Is it completed?”

“It is.”

“Then I trust that you will not disobey me again.” The words came calm and even, but Drizzt understood at once the severity of the threat behind them.

“To other matters, then,” Malice went on.

“Where is Zaknafein?” Drizzt dared to ask again.

Briza mumbled some curse under her breath and pulled the whip from her belt. Matron Malice threw an outstretched hand in her direction to stay her. They needed tact, not brutality, to bring Drizzt under control at this critical time. There would be ample opportunities for punishment after House Hun’ett was properly defeated.

“Concern yourself not with the fate of the weapons master,” Malice replied. “He works for the good of House Do’Urden even as we speak—on a personal mission.”

Drizzt didn’t believe a word of it. Zak would never have left without his weapons. The truth hovered about Drizzt’s thoughts, but he wouldn’t let it in.

“Our concern is House Hun’ett,” Malice went on, addressing them all. “The war’s first strikes may fall this day.”

“The first strikes already have fallen,” Drizzt interrupted. All eyes came back to him, to his wounds. He wanted to continue the discussion about Zak but knew that he would only get himself, and Zak, if Zak was still alive, into further trouble. Perhaps the conversation would bring him more clues.

“You have seen battle?” Malice asked.

“You know of the Faceless One?” Drizzt asked.

“Master of the Academy,” Dinin answered, “of Sorcere. We have dealt with him often.”

“He has been of use to us in the past,” said Malice, “but no more, I believe. He is a Hun’ett, Gelroos Hun’ett.”

“No,” Drizzt replied. “Once he may have been, but Alton DeVir is his name … was his name.”

“The link!” Dinin growled, suddenly comprehending. “Gelroos was to kill Alton on the night of House DeVir’s fall!”

“It would seem that Alton DeVir proved the stronger,” mused Malice, and all became clear to her. “Matron SiNafay Hun’ett accepted him, used him to her gain,” she explained to her family. She looked back to Drizzt. “You battled with him?”

“He is dead,” Drizzt answered.

Matron Malice cackled with delight.

“One less wizard to deal with,” Briza remarked, replacing the whip on her belt.

“Two,” Drizzt corrected, but there was no boasting in his voice. He was not proud of his actions. “Masoj Hun’ett is no more.”

“My son!” Matron Malice cried. “You have brought us a great edge in this war!” She glanced all about her family, infecting them, except Drizzt, with her elation. “House Hun’ett may not even choose to strike us now, knowing its disadvantage. We will not let them get away! We will destroy them this day and become the Eighth House of Menzoberranzan! Woe to the enemies of Daermon N’a’shezbaernon!

“We must move at once, my family,” Malice reasoned, her hands rubbing over each other in excitement. “We cannot wait for an attack. We must take the offensive! Alton DeVir is gone now; the link that justifies this war is no more. Surely the ruling council knew of Hun’ett’s intentions, and with both her wizards dead and the element of surprise lost, Matron SiNafay will move quickly to stop the battle.”

Drizzt’s hand unconsciously slipped into Zak’s pouch as the others joined Malice in her plotting.

“Where is Zak?” Drizzt demanded again, above the chorus.

Silence dropped as quickly as the tumult had begun.

“He is of no concern to you, my son,” Malice said to him, still keeping to her tact despite Drizzt’s impudence. “You are the weapons master of House Do’Urden now. Lolth has forgiven your insolence; you have no crimes weighing against you. Your career may begin anew, to glorious heights!”

Her words cut through Drizzt as surely as his own scimitar might. “You killed him,” he whispered aloud, the truth too awful to be contained in silent thought.

The matron’s face suddenly gleamed, hot with rage. “You killed him!” she shot back at Drizzt. “Your insolence demanded repayment to the Spider Queen!”

Drizzt’s tongue got all tangled up behind his teeth.

“But you live,” Malice went on, relaxing again in her chair, “as the elven child lives.”

Dinin was not the only one in the room to gasp audibly.

“Yes, we know of your deception,” Malice sneered. “The Spider Queen always knew. She demanded restitution.”

“You sacrificed Zaknafein?” Drizzt breathed, hardly able to get the words out of his mouth. “You gave him to that damned Spider Queen?”

“I would watch how I spoke of Queen Lolth,” Malice warned. “Forget Zaknafein. He is not your concern. Look to your own life, my warrior son. All glories are offered to you, a station of honor.”

Drizzt was indeed looking to his own life at that moment; at the proposed path that offered him a life of battle, a life of killing drow.

“You have no options,” Malice said to him, seeing his inward struggle. “I offer to you now your life. In exchange, you must do as I bid, as Zaknafein once did.”

“You kept your bargain with him,” Drizzt spat sarcastically.

“I did!” Matron Malice protested. “Zaknafein went willingly to the altar, for your sake!”

Her words stung Drizzt for only a moment. He would not accept the guilt for Zaknafein’s death! He had followed the only course he could, on the surface against the elves and here in the evil city.

“My offer is a good one,” Malice said. “I give it here, before all the family. Both of us will benefit from the agreement … Weapons Master?”

A smile spread across Drizzt’s face when he looked into Matron Malice’s cold eyes, a grin that Malice took as acceptance.

“Weapons Master?” Drizzt echoed. “Not likely.”

Again Malice misunderstood. “I have seen you in battle,” she argued. “Two wizards! You underestimate yourself.”

Drizzt nearly laughed aloud at the irony of her words. She thought he would fail where Zaknafein had failed, would fall into her trap as the former weapons master had fallen, never to climb back out. “It is you who underestimate me, Malice,” Drizzt said with threatening calm.

“Matron!” Briza demanded, but she held back, seeing that Drizzt and everyone else was ignoring her as the drama played out.

“You ask me to serve your evil designs,” Drizzt continued. He knew but didn’t care that all of them were nervously fingering weapons or preparing spells, were waiting for the proper moment to strike the blasphemous fool dead. Those childhood memories of the agony of snake whips reminded him of the punishment for his actions. Drizzt’s fingers closed around a circular object, adding to his courage, though he would have continued in any case.