Zak gazed down at his blood-spattered clothes. A bitter laugh escaped his lips. "Ah, but are you not already a monster, Zaknafein?"
Distant shouts echoed off cold stone, approaching. The two surviving priestesses had gone for help. Soldiers would arrive soon. More than Zak could fight. Glancing around, his preternatural eyes detected the empty opening of a side passage. Levitating, so as not to leave any telltale warm footprints, he passed through the opening and plunged into the winding ways of the Dark Dominion.
Minutes later, Zak sank back to the stone floor of the tunnel, his powers of levitation exhausted for the moment. He listened with pointed ears but heard no sounds of pursuit. Weary, he leaned against a rough wall, and only then realized he was trembling. He had escaped spending the rest of his life as a drider. Yet now what would he do? He was an outcast, a pariah. He could never return to Menzoberranzan. And all that awaited a lone elfin the Underdark was death. It was a fate preferable to becoming a drider, yes, but not by much.
Something wriggled inside the pocket of his black rothe-hide jerkin-his peculiar, diminutive savior. He pulled out the clay golem. The crude figurine turned its head to stare at him with dull pebble eyes. Zak set the golem down and squatted beside it. He scratched his chin. Who had sent the golem? he wondered. To whom did he owe his escape?
Without warning, the golem started to shamble down the tunnel. The figurine made a jerky motion with its clay arm. Zak gaped in surprise. It beckoned him to follow. But to where? Perhaps to the answer to his question. Zak stalked after the golem. Though its legs were short and stiff, it moved with surprising speed, leading the weapons master through a tangled labyrinth of tunnels, caverns, and natural passageways. He was beginning to think the golem was in truth leading him nowhere, but then it came to a sudden halt.
The golem stood on the edge of a circle of smooth white stone. The white disk stood in sharp contrast to the rough rock all around. Clearly, it was not a natural formation, but had been placed here in this dead-end tunnel. The golem continued to stand motionless. Zak supposed there was only one thing to do. He stepped onto the pale stone disk.
His surroundings blurred, then snapped back into focus.
"I see my little servant was successful," spoke a sibilant voice.
Zak swayed, clutching his stomach. For a moment, he thought he would vomit from the terrible sensation of wrenching he had experienced.
"My apologies," the voice went on. "Traveling by means of the disk can be disconcerting. But the feeling should fade in a moment."
Even as the other spoke these words, Zak found his dizziness receding and lifted his head. He stood on another circle of white stone, in the center of an octagonal chamber littered with parchment scrolls, glass vials, nameless metal instruments, and bits of mummified animals. Before him stood a figure swathed all in black robes, face hidden behind a shapeless gray mask.
Zak tensed, ready to defend himself. "Who are you?" he demanded.
Muffled laughter emanated from the mask, mocking but not altogether cruel. "One who could have destroyed you a dozen times over in the last few seconds, despite all your prowess, weapons master. But be at ease, I beg you. I did not go to all the trouble of saving you from the foul priestesses of Lloth only to snuff you out with a fireball."
Zak eyed the other, still wary. "I am safe here then?"
Again the eerie, whispering laughter. "No, Zaknafein. You are anything but safe. But if you are referring to physical harm, none will come to you. It is your soul that is imperiled by being here."
These words intrigued Zak. Despite himself, he lowered his guard, stepping off the white disk. "You still haven't answered my question. Who are you?"
"I am Jalynfein," the other replied, "though few know me by that name. To most I am simply the Spider Mage."
Zak stared in renewed shock. This confirmed his hunch that he stood now in a wizard's chamber, somewhere within the towers of Sorcere, the academy of magic in Tier Breche. But this was not simply any master of sorcery. The Spider Mage was one of the most infamous and mysterious wizards in all of Menzoberranzan. It was said his power was exceeded only by his zeal to serve Lloth, and that in turn only by his madness. Yet the wizard before Zak seemed neither insane nor-by his actions and words-a lover of Lloth.
Zak's interest and confusion were apparent to the Spider Mage. "Come," said the wizard, gesturing to a pair of chairs beside a table. "I will explain what I can. But we do not have much time. Her eye has turned away for the moment, gazing elsewhere, but it will turn back before long. She is always watching."
A shiver coursed up Zak's spine. He did not need to ask who she was.
Moments later they sat at the table, sipping pale wine, as the Spider Mage spoke on. "There is something I must show you, Zaknafein. You will not wish to see it, but you must in order to understand what I am going to tell you."
Without further words, the wizard reached up and removed his gray mask. Beneath was… not a face. Instead, it was a mass of writhing spider legs. Hundreds of them. Thousands. Zak gagged, turning away. When at last he dared to turn back, the mask was in place once more.
"How…?" Zak croaked. It was all he could manage. "I will spare you the details," the wizard said in crisp tones. "Suffice it to say that a yochlol did this to me, one of the Spider Queen's servants. Now you will believe me when I tell you that I despise Lloth utterly." In the following fevered minutes, Zak listened in rapt attention as the Spider Mage spoke of his hatred for the Spider Queen. Jalynfein loathed Lloth not just for what she had done to him, but for what she had done to all the drow-for the wicked, hateful, heartless creatures she made them with her evil manipulations. The dark elves had been noble creatures once, beings of enlightenment and compassion. That was before they were driven into the Underdark and became tangled in Lloth's web of deceit, depravity, and lust. To the Spider Queen, twisting the drow was simply a cruel and capricious game, and one at which she excelled.
These words struck a deep chord within Zaknafein. He shook his head in dark wonder. "I had always thought I was alone, that I was the only one who hated what the drow had become, what had become."
"No, you are not alone," the Spider Mage countered. "There are others who are… different. Others who believe that drow do not have to dwell in evil and infamy. I have brought some of them here, to speak with them, just as I have brought you. We are not many, but we are. Don't you see?" The wizard clenched a hand into a fist. "It means that Lloth's corruption of the drow is not complete. If it were, those who are different, those like us, would never be born into this dark world!"
Zak stared at the wizard as the import of these words sank in. Deep amid the shadows of his heart, a faint spark of hope ignited. "But how can we fight her?" "Not openly," the Spider Mage said in a sharp voice. "You have learned what one gains for openly defying the will of Lloth. Death or driderhood. No, if we are ever to defeat Lloth, it will be at her own game."
Zak didn't understand.
"Consider myself," the Spider Mage went on. "By posing as a loyal disciple of Lloth, I avoid her close scrutiny. Yet even as I pretend to serve her, I work against the Spider Queen. I use the power she grants me and turn it against her. I must be subtle, yes. Cautious. Patient. It may take centuries. But slowly, surely, we can erode her hold upon the drow."
Zak shook his head, his doubts rising. "I don't know, Jalynfein. I am a fighter. I am not trained to befriend my enemies, but to defeat them head on."