Drizzt shrugged again, and in one easy motion, put the coins up and caught them.
Zak turned an eye on Matron Malice. Any drow could have performed that feat, but the ease with which this one executed the catch was a pleasure to observe. Keeping a sly eye on the matron, Zak produced two more coins. "Stack two on each hand and send all four up together." he instructed Drizzt.
Four coins went up. Four coins were caught. The only parts of Drizzt’s body that had even flinched were his arms.
"Two-hands." Zak said to Malice. "This one is a fighter. He belongs in Melee-Magthere."
"I have seen wizards perform such feats." Malice retorted, not pleased by the look of satisfaction on the troublesome weapon master’s face. Zak once had been Malice’s proclaimed husband, and quite often since that distant time she took him as her lover. His skills and agility were not confined to the use of weapons. But along with the pleasures that Zaknafein gave to Malice, sensual skills that had prompted Malice to spare Zak’s life on more than a dozen occasions, came a multitude of headaches. He was the finest weapon master in Menzoberranzan, another fact that Malice could not ignore, but his disdain, even contempt, for the Spider Queen had often landed House Do’Urden into trouble.
Zak handed two more coins to Drizzt. Now enjoying the game, Drizzt put them into motion. Six went up. Six came down, the correct three landing in each hand. "Two-hands." Zak said more emphatically. Matron Malice motioned for him to continue, unable to deny the grace of her youngest son’s display.
"Could you do it again?" Zak asked Drizzt.
With each hand working independently, Drizzt soon had the coins stacked atop his index fingers, ready to flip. Zak stopped him there and pulled out four more coins, building each of the piles five high. Zak paused a moment to study the concentration of the young drow (and also to keep his hands over the coins and ensure that they were brightened enough by the warmth of his body heat for Drizzt to properly see them in their flight).
"Catch them all, Secondboy." he said in all seriousness. "Catch them all, or you will land in Sorcere, the school of magic. That is not where you belong!"
Drizzt still had only a vague idea of what Zak was talking about, but he could tell from the weapon master’s intensity that it must be important. He took a deep breath to steady himself, then snapped the coins up. He sorted their glow quickly, discerning each individual item. The first two fell easily into his hands, but Drizzt saw that the scattering pattern of the rest would not drop them so readily in line.
Drizzt exploded into action, spinning a complete circle, his hands an undecipherable blur of motion. Then he straightened suddenly and stood before Zak. His hands were in fists at his sides and a grim look lay on his face.
Zak and Matron Malice exchanged glances, neither quite sure of what had happened.
Drizzt held his fists out to Zak and slowly opened them, a confident smile widening across his childish face. Five coins in each hand.
Zak blew a silent whistle. It had taken him, the weapon master of the house, a dozen tries to complete that maneuver with ten coins. He walked over to Matron Malice.
"Two-hands." he said a third time. "He is a fighter, and I am out of coins."
"How many could he do?" Malice breathed, obviously impressed in spite of herself.
"How many could we stack?" Zaknafein shot back with a triumphant smile.
Matron Malice chuckled out loud and shook her head. She had wanted Drizzt to replace Nalfein as the house wizard, but her stubborn weapon master had, as always, deflected her course. "Very well, Zaknafein." she said, admitting her defeat. "The secondboy is a fighter."
Zak nodded and started back to Drizzt.
"Perhaps one day soon to be the weapon master of House Do’Urden." Matron Malice added to Zak’s back. Her sarcasm stopped Zak short, and he eyed her over his shoulder.
"With this one." Matron Malice continued wryly, wrenching back the upper hand with her usual lack of shame, "could we expect anything less?"
Rizzen, the present patron of the family shifted uncomfortably. He knew, and so did everyone ―even the slaves of House Do’Urden―that Drizzt was not his child.
"Three rooms?" Drizzt asked when he and Zak entered the large training hall at the southernmost end of the Do’Urden complex. Balls of multicolored magical light had been spaced along the length of the high-ceilinged stone room, basking the entirety in a comfortably dim glow. The hall had only three doors: one to the east, which led to an outer chamber that opened onto the balcony of the house, one directly across from Drizzt, on the south wall, leading into the last room in the house and the one from the main hallway that they had just passed through. Drizzt knew from the many locks Zak was now fastening behind them that he wouldn’t often be going back that way.
"One room." Zak corrected.
"But two more doors." Drizzt reasoned, looking out across the room. "With no locks."
"Ah," Zak corrected, "their locks are made of common sense." Drizzt was beginning to get the picture. "That door," Zak continued, pointing to the south, "opens into my private chambers. You do not ever want me to find you in there. The other one leads to the tactics room reserved for times of war. When―if―you ever prove yourself to my satisfaction, I might invite you to join me there. That day is years away, so consider this single magnificent hall," he swept his arm out in a wide arc, "your home."
Drizzt looked around, not overly thrilled. He had dared to hope that he had left this kind of treatment behind him with his page prince days. This setup, though, brought him back even to before his six years of servitude in the house, back to that decade when he had been locked away in the family chapel with Vierna. This room wasn’t even as large as the chapel, and was too tight for the likings of the spirited young drow. His next question came out as a growl.
"Where do I sleep?"
"Your home." Zak answered matter-of-factly.
"Where do I take meals?"
"Your home."
Drizzt’s eyes narrowed to slits and his face flushed in glowing heat. "Where do I…" he began stubbornly, determined to foil the weapon master’s logic.
"Your home." Zak replied in the same measured and weighted timbre before Drizzt could finish the thought. Drizzt planted his feet firmly and crossed his arms over his chest. "It sounds messy." he growled.
"It had better not be." Zak growled back.
"Then what is the purpose?" Drizzt began. "You pull me away from my mother…"
"You will address her as Matron Malice." Zak warned. "You will always address her as Matron Malice."
"From my mother…"
Zak’s next interruption came not with words but with the swing of a curled fist.
Drizzt awoke about twenty minutes later.
"First lesson." Zak explained, casually leaning against the wall a few feet away. "For your own good. You will always address her as Matron Malice."
Drizzt rolled to his side and tried to prop himself up on his elbow but found his head reeling as soon as it left the black-rugged floor. Zak grabbed him and hoisted him up.
"Not as easy as catching coins." the weapon master remarked.
"What?"
"Parrying a blow."
"What blow?"
"Just agree, you stubborn child."
"Secondboy!" Drizzt corrected, his voice again a growl and his arms defiantly back over his chest.
Zak’s fist curled at his side, a not too subtle point that Drizzt did not miss. "Do you need another nap?" the weapon master asked calmly.
"Secondboys can be children." Drizzt wisely conceded.
Zak shook his head in disbelief. This was going to be interesting. "You may find your time here enjoyable," he said, leading Drizzt over to a long, thick, and colorfully (though most of the colors were somber) decorated curtain. "But only if you can learn some control over that wagging tongue of yours." A sharp tug sent the curtain floating down, revealing the most magnificent weapons rack the young drow (and many older drow as well) had ever seen. Polearms of many sorts, swords, axes, hammers, and every other kind of weapon Drizzt could imagine―and a whole bunch he’d never imagine―sat in an elaborate array.