"They are gone?" Drizzt asked Dinin, his voice on the edge of desperation.
"Running all the way back to Blingdenstone." Dinin replied calmly. "If we let them."
"And will they return?"
Dinin’s sour scowl reflected the absurdity of his brother’s question. "Would you?"
"Our task is complete, then." Drizzt reasoned, trying vainly to find some way out of Masoj’s ignoble designs for the panther.
"We have won the day." Dinin agreed, "though our own losses have been great. We may find still more fun, with the help of the wizard’s pet."
"Fun." Masoj echoed pointedly at Drizzt. "Be gone, Guenhwyvar, into the tunnels. Let us learn how fast a frightened gnome may run!"
Only a few minutes later, Guenhwyvar came back into the chamber, dragging a dead gnome in its mouth.
"Return!" Masoj commanded as Guenhwyvar dropped the body at his feet. "Bring me more!"
Drizzt’s heart dropped at the sound of the corpse flopping to the stone floor. He looked into Guenhwyvar’s eyes and saw a sadness as profound as his own. The panther was a hunter, as honorable in its own way as was Drizzt. To the evil Masoj, though, Guenhwyvar was a toy and nothing more, an instrument for his perverted pleasures, killing for no reason other than its master’s joy of killing.
In the hands of the wizard, Guenhwyvar was no more than a murderer.
Guenhwyvar paused at the entrance to the small tunnel and looked to Drizzt almost apologetically.
"Return!" Masoj screamed, and he kicked the cat in the rear. Then Masoj, too, turned an eye back on Drizzt, a vindictive eye. Masoj had missed his chance to kill the young Do’Urden he would have to be careful how he explained such a mistake to his unforgiving mother. Masoj decided to worry about that unpleasant encounter later. For now, at least, he had the satisfaction of watching Drizzt suffer.
Dinin and the others were oblivious to the unfolding drama between Masoj and Drizzt, too engaged in their wait for Guenhwyvar’s return, too engaged in their speculations of the expressions of terror the gnomes would cast back at such a perfect killer, too caught up in the macabre humor of the moment, that perverted drow humor that brought laughter when tears were needed.
Part 5
Zaknafein
Zaknafein Do’Urden, mentor, teacher, friend. I, in the blind agony of my own frustrations, more than once came to recognize Zaknafein as none of these. Did I ask of him more than he could give? Did I expect perfection of a tormented soul, hold Zaknafein up to standards beyond his experiences, or standards impossible in the face of his experiences?
I might have been him. I might have lived, trapped within the helpless rage, buried under the daily assault of the wickedness that is Menzoberranzan and the pervading evil that is my own family never in life to find escape.
It seems a logical assumption that we learn from the mistakes of our elders. This, I believe, was my salvation. Without the example of Zaknafein, I, too, would have found no escape, not in life.
Is this course I have chosen a better way than the life Zaknafein knew? I think, yes, though I find despair often enough sometimes to long for that other way. It would have been easier, truth, though, is nothing in the face of self-falsehood, and principles are of no value if the idealist cannot live up to his own standards.
This, then, is a better way.
I live with many laments, for my people, for myself, but mostly for that weapon master lost to me now, who showed me how―and why―to use a blade.
There is no pain greater than this; not the cut of a jagged-edged dagger nor the fire of a dragon’s breath. Nothing burns in your heart like the emptiness of losing something, someone, before you truly have learned of its value. Often now I lift my cup in a futile toast, an apology to ears that cannot hear
To Zak, the one who inspired my courage.
Chapter 24
To Know Our Enemies
"Eight drow dead, and one a cleric." Briza said to Matron Malice on the balcony of House Do’Urden. Briza had rushed back to the compound with the first reports of the encounter, leaving her sisters at the central plaza of Menzoberranzan with the gathered throng, awaiting further information. "But nearly two score of the gnomes died, a clear victory."
"What of your brothers?" asked Malice. "How did House Do’Urden fare in this encounter?"
"As with the surface elves, Dinin’s hand slew five." replied Briza. "They say that he led the main assault fearlessly, and he killed the most gnomes."
Matron Malice beamed with the news, though she suspected that Briza, standing patiently behind a smug smile, was holding something dramatic back from her. "What of Drizzt?" the matron demanded, having no patience for her daughter’s games. "How many svirfnebli fell at his feet?"
"None.", Briza replied, but still the smile remained. "Still the day belonged to Drizzt," she added quickly, seeing an angry scowl spreading across her volatile mother’s face. Malice did not seem amused.
"Drizzt defeated an earth elemental." Briza cried, "all alone, almost, with only minor help from a wizard! The high priestess of the patrol named the kill his!" Matron Malice gasped and turned away. Drizzt had ever been an enigma to her, as fine with the blade as any but lacking the proper attitude and the proper respect. Now this, an earth elemental! Malice herself had seen such a monster ravage an entire drow raiding party, killing a dozen seasoned warriors before wandering off on its way. Yet her son, her confusing son, had defeated one single-handedly!
"Lolth will favor us this day." Briza commented, not quite understanding her mother’s reaction.
Briza’s words struck an idea in Malice. "Gather your sisters." she commanded. "We shall meet in the chapel. If House Do’Urden so fully won the day out in the tunnels, perhaps the Spider Queen will grace us with some information."
"Vierna and Maya await the forthcoming news in the city plaza." Briza explained, mistakenly believing her mother to be referring to information about the battle. "Surely we will know the entire story within an hour."
"I care nothing for a battle against gnomes!" Malice scolded. "You have told everything that is important to our family, the rest does not matter. We must parlay your brothers’ heroics into gain."
"To learn of our enemies!" Briza blurted as she realized what her mother had in mind.
"Exactly." replied Malice. "To learn which house it is that threatens House Do’Urden. If the Spider Queen truly finds favor with us this day, she may grace us with the knowledge we need to defeat our enemies!"
A short while later, the four high priestesses of House Do’Urden gathered around the spider idol in the chapel anteroom. Before them, in a bowl of the deepest onyx, burned the sacred incense―sweet, deathlike, and favored by the yochlol, the handmaidens of Lolth.
The flame moved through a variety of colors, from orange to green to brilliant red. It then took shape, heard the beckons of the four priestesses and the urgency in the voice of Matron Malice. The top of the fire, no longer dancing, smoothed and rounded, assumed the form of a hairless head, then stretched upward, growing. The flame disappeared, consumed by the yochlol’s image, a half melted pile of wax with grotesquely elongated eyes and a drooping mouth.
"Who has summoned me?" the small figure demanded telepathically. The yochlol’s thoughts, too powerful for its diminutive stature, boomed within the heads of the gathered drow.
"I have, handmaiden." Malice replied aloud, wanting her daughters to hear. The matron bowed her head. "I am Malice, loyal servant of the Spider Queen."