A Rainbow in the Dark David Pontier

Part I Just a Male

In my travels on the surface, I have run into a lot of varying degrees of prejudice. The rich, the poor, the old, the young, women, and men have all suffered from, in most cases, unjust discrimination. I say in most cases, because in almost every situation, these prejudices were derived from some sort of truth. Are rich people stuck up snobs who don't care about the common man? There definitely are some that fit that category. Does that mean all rich people are snobs? Hardly. Though these prejudices exist in almost everyone, almost no one is willing to admit to them. These prejudices are so deeply rooted in their lives that it is second nature for them to turn their nose up at a beggar or to discount the abilities of a youth or to assume every shapely woman they see on the street is a whore. Though they would never admit to these prejudices in public, secretly, in the back of their minds, they believe them. In drow society, prejudice is the law of the land. The exact same prejudices exist in the underdark as they do on the surface. There is one main difference, though: they are openly embraced. Is there truth in the idea that kobolds and goblins are stupid? Most definitely. Is the average non-drow capable of standing up to a trained drow warrior? Not even remotely. And most importantly, is a drow male as strong or as powerful as a drow female? Not quite. I have fought against many drow females in my life, and just by the fact that I am writing these words now proves I have not fallen to any of them yet. Does this mean I think I could take on Matron Baenre in her prime? Absolutely not. Does it mean I feel I should be treated as an equal among them? Yes. Zaknafein made a living out of killing drow priestesses. His skill was unsurpassed, and his knack of taking on several of the Lloth blessed females at once made House Do'Urden very successful. Does this mean that Matron Malice held him on a pedestal along with her daughters? Of course not. Zaknafein was barely tolerated. In the future, when the drow of Menzoberranzan have been annihilated, either by their own internal struggles or by some outside force, the legends of this city will be told. These legends will include many stories of Matron Baenre's rise to power and of the continual struggle between the prominent matron mothers and their daughters. However, these stories would be incomplete without mentioning several males who played a vital role in shaping that drow city. Will my name be mentioned? Do I want it to be? That is yet to be seen. But what I know will not be mentioned is how each of those males was treated as a second class citizen. Each of them had to overcome such tremendous odds to achieve even half of what they did that their accomplishments far outshine anything that a high priestess has ever done. But that's just my opinion.

- Jarlaxle

Chapter 1 Iblith

Sos'Umptu knelt on the floor in front of the statue and began to polish the stone. The work was menial labor, and most drow females would find it demeaning to even let their priestess robes touch the floor, much less while doing physical labor. Sos'Umptu was a high priestess of Lloth and one of the more powerful ones in the city. She was the third born daughter of Matron Baenre, matron mother of the first house of Menzoberranzan, a city of dark elves, the most feared race in the underdark. It was traditional to have male children clean the statues and altars of a drow house's chapel, but Sos'Umptu disagreed with that philosophy. Her house had been the first in the city for longer than almost anyone could remember. That title and power was a result of one thing: Matron Baenre's devotion to Lloth, the Spider Queen. To fall out of Lloth's favor was a kin to a death sentence in drow society. No individual, or even house, no matter how strong and powerful, could remain for long outside of Lloth's favor. If being outside of Lloth's favor was death, being in it was life. It was a contradiction of sorts, for Lloth was the Goddess of Chaos, harbinger of death and destruction. To stand before her was to know fear, and no wizard or priest, no matter how powerful could stand before her for more than a second unless it be her will. Common sense said that life had its best chance for survival as far away from this evil deity as possible, but the drow thought differently. They lived not only near Lloth, but within her, and she with them. Nowhere else in all of Menzoberranzan was this union more apparent than within the Baenre compound. While most houses in Menzoberranzan considered themselves lucky to secure only half a dozen stalagmite mounds in which to live, House Baenre boasted twenty stalagmites that were spread out over half a mile in length and half again as wide. The huge compound hugged the perimeter of the roughly circular cavern that contained all of Menzoberranzan, giving it a huge defensive bonus. It was not likely any drow family would ever be so foolish as to attack the first house of Menzoberranzan, but if they did, the only way to get to the compound was through the magical fence that surrounded it. The silver webbed fence was said to have been a gift from Lloth upon House Baenre's assent to the first house. The strands of the web fence were as thick as a drow's arm and would hold fast any living thing that was so unfortunate as to touch it. No amount of force would ever remove a limb once stuck to the fence, unless that force was capable of separating the secured limb from the rest of the doomed body. If the strength of Menzoberranzan could best be symbolized by the Baenre compound, the strength of House Baenre could best be symbolized by their chapel. The chapel was the oldest and largest of its kind in the entire city. Even the main chapel at Arach-Tinilith, the school for drow priestesses, paled in comparison. The chapel at Arach-Tinilith might be slightly larger, but only out of necessity and not towards the glory of Lloth. The Baenre Chapel could seat 2,000 drow, a tenth of the entire city. The chapel was adorned with statues and idols along the perimeter of the huge circular chamber. Farie lights and magical holograms decorated every inch of the domed ceiling. In the center of the chapel stood the altar. House Baenre boasted ten high priestesses and all could easily stand around the altar with plenty of room to spare. Matron Baenre's youngest daughter was just a year from bringing the number of high priestesses to eleven, and Matron Baenre had plans for more. Above the altar, filling the huge void under the center of the vaulted dome was the most spectacular part of the chapel. Gromph Baenre was the second born child of Baenre and the house's chief wizard. Under the command of his matron mother, Gromph had spent a full decade preparing the huge illusion that hung in the air above the altar. The image was that of a beautiful drow female continually changing into a spider and back again. On the credit of this work alone, Gromph was well on his way to becoming the Archmage of all of Menzoberranzan. The chapel was the pinnacle of Baenre's strength and the symbol of Lloth's continual presence with the house. Sos'Umptu had been blessed with the responsibility of tending to this chapel. The third daughter of House Baenre had little time for anything but her work within the chapel, but on the occasions when she left the compound to see to matters elsewhere in the city, she was astonished by the other houses' treatment of their chapels. She had found that it was not only common to have male children tend to the cleaning of the chapels, but it was considered the standard. Males had no place before Lloth. Sos'Umptu understood this, as did Matron Baenre. Males were not allowed within the chapel during the House's weekly rituals, unless they were the object of that ritual. Sos'Umptu cast an eye toward the central altar, smiling. More than a few males had been given to Lloth on that altar, and many more would receive the honor in the future. To have a male be responsible for the cleanliness of a Lloth given chapel was so repulsive to Sos'Umptu, that if it was not sacrilege, the priestess did not know what was. Sos'Umptu took pride in her work and had never once asked for help. She knew the importance of this chapel to her house, and that the strength of her house was solely the result of their dedication to Lloth. The sound of quick steps behind her brought Sos'Umptu to attention. She stood quickly and turned. Matron Baenre was walking toward her. The old matron mother was no longer the beautiful drow female she had once been centuries before. Wrinkled lines of age crisscrossed her face like the complicated weavings of a spider web. There was still incredible strength in the old drow, and she was easily the most feared of all drow females, but her physical appearance was not appealing. Thus, it was a rare occurrence to see the old matron smile. Her face was weighed down with age, a perpetual frown filling the space where her mouth had been. This being the case, Sos'Umptu was used to her mother's sour expressions, but the look on her face now as Matron Baenre walked toward her sent a deep shiver down her spine. Something was terribly wrong. Gather your sisters and bring them to my private chamber. Baenre spoke with no emotion and, having said what was needed, spun back around to leave. But Matron Mother, Sos'Umptu, called out. Baenre turned to face her daughter. What is wrong? What has happened? Baenre was silent for a short while, trying to build up the nerve to say what she had been contemplating for the past few days. I'm afraid your worst fears have come true. We have fallen out of Lloth's favor. With that, Matron Baenre turned once again, walked out of the chapel, and left behind a very shocked and confused Sos'Umptu.

* * * * *

Matron Baenre's private chambers were not the normal place for such a meeting. Her chambers were not large enough to hold all of her daughters; therefore, Sos'Umptu had to try and discern her mother's wishes. She had decided to only bring her two older sisters, Triel and Bladen'Kerst. All three stood outside of their matron mother's private chambers, their minds racing through all the possibilities of the news that had been given to them. Triel was the most concerned by it. Her life for the past 400 years had been one of patience and devotion. As she dedicated her life to Lloth and Matron Baenre, she was silently waiting for her chance to rule the house. Baenre should have died centuries ago, but she seemed only to grow stronger as the years went by. Instead, Triel could feel herself getting older. She was the eldest Baenre daughter, and the horror that her mother might out live her, denying her of her Lloth given birthright was something that plagued her constantly. Now, if what Sos'Umptu had told them was correct, they had fallen outside of Lloth's favor and the greatness that Triel hoped to inherit would crumble before she even had a chance to claim it as her own. Already she began to harbor plans to kill her ancient mother. If they had indeed fallen out of favor, then no one could be to blame but the matron mother herself. Lloth would smile upon Triel if she were able to rid the offending drow female and replace her. Bladen'Kerst was not as concerned as she was furious. She did not hold any illusions about ever ruling House Baenre. Though she was second daughter, third born after Gromph, and it was not uncommon for the first daughter and matron mother to kill themselves in a power struggle, Bladen'Kerst did not entertain such thoughts. Instead, she enjoyed the power and prestige given her by Lloth. She considered herself to be the fist by which Matron Baenre ruled the house, and in fact, the entire city. She was Baenre's executioner. Though not the most powerful daughter within the house, she was the most feared. If they had fallen out Lloth's favor, all of that power would be taken from her, and Bladen'Kerst would lose her authority. She was cruel beyond the definition of the word. She thought of herself as having a direct link with her chaotically evil deity, and if that link was in jeopardy now, woe to the guilty party that had made it so. Sos'Umptu did not know what to think. At first she feared that she was the cause. She was the daughter responsible for maintaining the chapel, the symbol of Baenre's union with Lloth. If that union had been broken, it could only be the result of the chapel's imperfections. She tried to take comfort in the fact that she could not think of anything she had done wrong, but she realized that it was often the will of Lloth to keep the fallen house in the dark as to what the problem was. The three daughters stood outside of Matron Baenre's private chambers waiting patiently. They knew that no one was allowed to open the door without Matron Baenre's permission. The matron mother had sent for them, but to make an improper assumption at this point would prove fatal. After several long minutes, the door opened, and the three priestesses entered. Baenre was seated on her private throne. It was not as ornate as the one that sat in her main audience chamber, but its simple luxury was still more than most other matron mothers had. We have fallen out of favor, my daughters, Baenre said solemnly, still giving no hint as to the reason. How do you know this? Triel asked. None of us have sensed anything. She looked at her sisters and they all shook their heads. In fact, just last week you gave birth for the second time in two decades. We have never been more in Lloth's favor. Both males, Baenre said. Triel had to work hard to restrain the sigh of relief that coursed through her body. They were not out favor with Lloth as much their mother was unsatisfied with her performance. After your brother Gromph, I gave birth to nine females in a row- An unheard of feat, Sos'Umptu interjected. Baenre disregarded the comment. And now I have given birth to two sons in a row. Dantrag is to enter the academy this year, Triel spoke up, and by all accounts, he will be at the head of his class. This new child, though only a week old, by all accounts is in perfect health and will no doubt grow into a powerful warrior. But he is a male! Baenre shrieked, silencing her daughters. She had thought about this for a long time and would not be convinced otherwise. I had given birth to nine females in a row. Lloth was with me and we flourished. Then the secondboy of our house, Dantrag, was born. I knew I had to give birth to a male eventually, and our current weapon master is failing with age. But a third son?! What use do I have for a third son?! I have a wizard and will soon have a noble born weapon master. Both will be the best at what they do for they are from my loins, but what use do I have for a third son?! But Matron, Sos'Umptu pleaded, two children within twenty years, and the last three within a hundred. What better way for Lloth to show her displeasure with me than to give me a fertile womb only for it to produce nothing but males. I would hardly call three out of thirteen nothing but males, Mother, Triel said. Silence! You will not convince me otherwise. I have spent many hours in meditation, and I can get no response from Lloth as to the reason for giving birth to two sons in a row. You are not to blame, Mother, Bladen'Kerst spoke for the first time, it is the poisoned seed of your patron. Tell me his name, and I will send him to Lloth so he might answer to the Spider Queen in person. The patron of Baenre was not known among her daughters only because it had changed so frequently over the centuries, that no one could keep track anymore. Bladen'Kerst had been the one who had killed the male who had been unfortunate enough to sire Dantrag, ending her streak of nine daughters in a row, and looked forward to any chance to kill more males. Lloth has him already, Baenre said with conviction. For once she had taken it upon herself to carry out the deed. What would you have us do? Triel asked. She did not really believe, as did her mother, that House Baenre was out of Lloth's favor, but whatever ceremony or sacrifice Matron Baenre had in mind to rectify the situation would definitely involve her and several of the other daughters. I will lay with another male tonight, Baenre said. But mother, Sos'Umptu pleaded, your womb has not fully healed. Conceiving this soon after birth is impossible. With Lloth nothing is impossible! Baenre scolded back. None of the sisters deemed it wise to bring up the point that according to her, they were not with Lloth anymore. They all understood what was going on. This was a matter of personal pride. You will take my useless third son and sacrifice him tonight as I conduct my own ceremony. If Lloth accepts this gift, she will grant me another child. She will bless me with another female. None of the daughters dared to refute this claim. If we are to give this child to Lloth, he will need to be named, Triel spoke up. Probably Baenre's disgust with her third son could best be shown in the fact that a week after birth, she had still not deemed the child worthy of a name. Call him Iblith. Triel looked shocked at this, wondering how Lloth would view a sacrifice of excrement. She and her two sisters bowed slightly, accepting the task given them and walked out of Baenre's private chambers, allowing the matron mother to prepare herself for that night.

* * * * *

I am telling you that you are mistaken. High priestesses do not wander off outside of the city without at lea- Trenian Del'Axle stopped signing the intricate drow hand code as his brother turned his back on him. Trenian picked up a small pebble and tossed it at his brother's back. Krol Del'Axle, the older of the two noble sons, spun around sharply as he felt the small stone bounce of his back and heard it skitter on the cave floor. The sound was little more than a whisper, the sound of a beetle crawling across stone, but in the underdark, it was a beacon. There is no way that you saw Baenre Priestesses coming out he- Trenian started again in sign, but Krol stopped him short with a violent gesture. I know what I saw, he replied. If you make anymore announcements as to our position I will kill you. Do you want to be discovered following three high priestesses? Our lives would be over before we knew we were found. Trenian began to argue to the point that he did not really believe they were following high priestesses, least of all from House Baenre, but his brother had already turned back around. If even the youngest Baenre daughter had business within the city, she would be escorted by no less than a dozen of the first house's finest soldiers. Yet here, if Trenian was to believe his brother, were three Baenre High Priestesses far outside of the city all by themselves. Trenian and Krol were members of the fourth house of Menzoberranzan, though for all intents and purposes, they might as well have been the twentieth house. After Baenre, the rest did not seem to matter much. The second and third houses, Barrison Del'Armgo and Oblodra respectively, were slowly gaining strength, but were still a long way off. Matron Reinela Del'Axle realized that as the matron mother of the fourth house of Menzoberranzan, her position was not a stable one. Drow of the ranking houses often looked at those of the lesser houses thinking they were weak and stupid. Reinela realized they were really the smart ones for not getting involved at all. Now that House Del'Axle was involved, Reinela was going to do her best to make sure she kept up with the rest of the pack. After House Oblodra, the next four houses were very even in strength. Del'Axle had more high priestesses than all but Baenre, and that fact alone had placed them where they were. Still, the three house directly above them, DeVir, Faen Tlabbar, and Hun'ett could at any time decide they wanted to improve their standing. Matron Reinela had instructed her house to keep their eyes open for opportunities to increase the strength of their position within the city. When Krol had spotted the three highest-ranking daughters in House Baenre leaving the compound by themselves, he recognized it as one such opportunity. Krol had no delusions of being able dispose of the three high priestesses and did not even want to contemplate what they would do to him and his brother if they were caught. He simply wanted to gain information as to what the first house was up to. Krol led his younger brother through the dark tunnels that skirted the main cavern of Menzoberranzan as they tried to cut off the three Baenre daughters. Krol had gone to get his younger brother when he saw the three females leaving the Baenre compound and head east out of the main city. He was sure he knew where they were heading and hoped to cut them off. As the two drow nobles rounded the next outcropping, they spotted the Baenre High Priestesses. I told you, Krol flashed his hands. What are they carrying? Trenian asked. Krol had not seen the small bundle when he had first spied the females, but now he could see the eldest daughter holding something prominently in her arms as the two behind her chanted quietly. Krol continued to watch intently, staring closely at the bundle when he saw a flash of heat in the infrared that represented an infant's arm. It's a child, Krol whispered, too amazed at what they had discovered to use the silent hand code. Rumors say that Matron Baenre gave birth last week. It was a male. Hakia-Corus, Trenian mumbled, referring to the drow custom of sacrificing the third born son. He spoke the word with disgust, as most males despised the ritual. Trenian despised it more than most, for like the Baenre child that Triel carried, he too was a third born son. While it was a drow custom, and a sacred one at that, it had lost favor in recent times. The houses in Menzoberranzan were too competitive right now and no house could afford the luxury of sacrificing a noble, even if it was only a male. It was only ever done now if the house in question was in great need. Baenre did not need anything. To Krol and Trenian, this act was just a flagrant display of power by the first house. That they could just throw away a noble child, especial a child from Matron Baenre, was sickening. Even though this child was a male, there were plenty of houses that would give up several children just to get their hands on it. A sudden thought went through Krol's mind. Let's take it. What? Trenian could not believe what he was hearing. Those are high priestesses from House Baenre. Are you crazy? Krol leveled an evil glare at his brother. Perhaps I can give them a substitute sacrifice. I'm sure one third son is as good as another. Trenian swallowed hard and remained silent. Do you even know where they are headed? Trenian had been so caught up in his disbelief about who they were following, that he had not really focussed any attention on where they were going. They were well east of Menzoberranzan and just on the edge of the regular patrols. The spider colony. Krol nodded. There were several spider colonies within a day's journey of Menzoberranzan, but this one was the closest. If we can steal the child after they have given it to the spiders and disrupt the sacrifice, we might be able to bring disfavor on House Baenre. Trenian did not want to speak out against his brother again, but he had his doubts about this. Krol read his brother's facial expressions well and understood his concern. Trust me on this one. I've got a plan.

* * * * *

Triel led Bladen'Kerst and Sos'Umptu to the edge of a large crack in the cave floor. It was too small to be called a chasm, really, but it was too deep to see the bottom in the limited light of the underdark. The crease started here and led into the side of a stone wall. It grew in width and height, creating a very irregular tunnel until it opened up on the other side of the wall into a large cavern. That was where the queen spider resided. This was the spider colony. Inside the cavern was sacred ground where no drow in their right mind would set foot. The queen spider was reported to be over six feet long with legs that measured at least that in length. She outweighed any three drow elves and had enough venom in her sacs to kill at least half the city of Menzoberranzan. The three priestesses walked up to the edge of the fissure and stopped. The two younger sisters increased the volume of their chants. Down below, inside the dark recesses of the small chasm, the skittering of spiders could be heard. Bladen'Kerst and Sos'Umptu further increased the volume of their chants. Soon dark, spindly legs began to creep over the edge of the crease. The legs pulled the bodies of four giant spiders up over the lip. Each spider was three feet in length and easily that tall. Their pincers moved in rhythm with their legs as they approached the priestesses. Triel cast a glance back at her sisters as the spiders drew closer, no sign of compliance with their dark request. The two younger females began to call out fervently now, pleading with Lloth to hear them and accept their gift. Slowly, the spiders stopped their approach and began to sway slightly, in tune with the rhythm of the evil priestesses' song. Triel knelt before the sedated spiders, carefully unwrapping her baby brother from the ceremonial blankets she had carried him in. Within moments, Iblith Baenre lay naked on the cold stone of the cavern. He was unconscious, deep in a trance that Triel had placed upon him. The eldest Baenre daughter stood up and backed away, allowing the spiders access to their gift. The arachnids moved slowly, still under the control of the two high priestesses. They examined the child's condition and accepted the trance Triel had placed on him. If there had been no trance, the spiders would have injected their own numbing agents. That would have likely killed the child, or would have at least made him less than aware at the time of death, something that Baenre was adamantly against. Accepting the child as he was, two of the four spiders slowly began to wrap him in a cocoon. They cradled the child between them with four of their sixteen legs as they spun the cocoon around him. The process took less than a minute, and the young Baenre was completely secured, save his head. The largest of the four spiders then cradled the small package to its abdomen with two of its legs and led the other three spiders back into the crease. They will take him to the queen? Sos'Umptu spoke, more of a comment than a question. Lloth heard us, Triel responded. They will do as we have instructed. What about the act itself? Bladen'Kerst asked. Her sadistic nature was not happy with this means of sacrifice. She had looked forward to driving her dagger into her brother's chest. Then when she found out they were going to feed the child to the spiders, she had looked forward to watching the queen suck the lifeblood out of little Iblith. Triel had chosen this method over the more direct one because it more closely matched what Matron Baenre was doing at this moment. The matron mother's sexual exploits were well known among the members of house Baenre. Screams could be heard throughout the night on occasion. Trying to link the death of her brother with the climax of her mother would have proven impossible. Plus, Triel did not think she would have been able to live through the experience. Matron Baenre went through as many mates as she did, not because she was dissatisfied with them, but because they rarely survived the process. When spiders mate, the female is the dominant one, and in the end, she eats the male. Triel did not want to know what her mother did behind her locked chamber door. She was confident that her mother would find a way to link up with this queen spider, and as the spider was sucking baby Iblith Baenre dry, Matron Baenre would be doing likewise.

Chapter 2 Like Stealing a Baby from a Spider

The four spiders moved slowly through the short crack in the wall that sectioned off the main cavern from the rest of the tunnels surrounding Menzoberranzan. Once inside the cavern, the sight was spectacular. Well, there was no light, but the cavern seen in the infrared spectrum was nothing short of astonishing. The almost perfectly domed cave was over 200 feet across and half again as high. Covering the floor and most of the walls, were over 1000 spiders. The creatures ranged in size from the large ones that had responded to the Baenre Priestesses' call to tiny babies that more closely resembled their surface cousins. Webs clung to the wall in every available corner and they were littered with spiders and similar cocoons to the one that held the most recent sacrifice. It was highly unlikely, however, that any of these other cocoons contained anything that even closely resembled a noble son from the first house of Menzoberranzan. They all contained kobolds or goblins, or, if a spider had been considerably lucky, a deep gnome. The fact that the cocoon that now entered the huge cavern was special seemed to be something that all of the spiders understood. The spell that Bladen'Kerst and Sos'Umptu had placed on the four spiders was now being spread to the entire cavern, and all of the creatures ceased their activity to watch the procession toward the largest web in the colony. The queen's web was fifty feet in diameter, covering a major portion of the far end of the cavern. Behind it was the inky blackness of a bottomless abyss. It was down this pit that the queen dropped all of the used carcasses after she had sucked them dry. It was the drow equivalent of hell. The colony congregated to the floor of the cave as the four spiders brought their prize to the queen. A path was made for the procession as the swarm of arachnids parted. The colony then closed in after the four spiders, respectfully keeping their distance but eager to see the outcome. Krol watched the display with a feeling of dread creeping over him. The sight before him was like a scene from a nightmare. He was perched on a ledge a few feet from the edge of the bottom of the queen's web. It had been incredibly easy from him to get into the cavern, as the entire colony had been under the hypnotic trance of the Baenre Priestesses. As long as Krol did not prove to be a threat, the spiders completely ignored him. He had gotten to his present perch without being seen. House Del'Axle did not produce many fighters. Krol and Trenian had been through the Academy and had both finished towards the bottom of their classes. They were quick and agile, but they were small and weak. They did, however, excel in stealth. Their piwafwi were designed to hide them magically, masking their body heat to look as cold as stone and silencing their movements to sound no louder than a breath of air. Leaving this cavern should be just as easy. With the entire colony's attention on the sacrifice, even the clumsiest drow elf should be able to walk out of the cavern. The problem was that Krol wanted to steal the item of that sacrifice, making him the center of attention. He just hoped he understood how the spell that the Baenre sisters had cast on this colony worked. If he did, he should make it out alive. If he did not, then he would be joining the Baenre child, or at least part of him would. He imagined that someone his size could feed several dozen spiders. With all of the horrible deaths assigned to drow elves over the centuries, this one did not seem so bad. The larger spider that was carrying the Baenre offering separated itself from the other three spiders and approached the main web alone. It carefully adhered the cocoon to the bottom of the web, not twenty feet from where Krol was perched. It then backed away. The entire colony followed suit, leaving a good forty feet between the bottom of the web and the nearest spider. Up to this point the queen had been absent. Now it moved out from behind a jagged outcropping toward the top of the web and slowly crawled down. Krol just about lost his nerve at the sight of the glorious beast. It was as if Lloth herself had walked into the cavern. Krol, like almost every other male in Menzoberranzan, had a love hate relationship with the drow deity. They loved her when she helped their family achieve greatness. Even though this usually came through the females of the family, the power and prestige translated to the males to some extent. But then there were the times that every male hated the Spider Queen as well. They were, after all, just males. They had no worth but to be sacrificed to this huge bloated spider that now came down the web. When House Del'Axle had achieved greatness, Krol had been right beside his sisters, singing the praises of Lloth. During those times he imagined Lloth to be a beautiful drow female, decked out in all of a high priestess's splendor. Now, however, as he was reminded of his true role in drow society, the image of Lloth that came to mind more closely mirrored the creature that crawled toward the infant Baenre. It was this resolve, the naive notion that he could make a difference in the way males were treated if he saved this one child, that gave him the courage to act. The pack of spiders had backed away even further at the appearance of their queen, giving Krol just the room he needed. The drow pulled a quickly fashioned sling he had made out of some rope he carried and leaped off the wall. With his other hand, Krol drew a finely crafted drow rapier, and as he ran past the cocoon, he cut it free. The spiders looking on were too stunned to react right away. The Baenre Priestesses had lulled them into a trance, and that trance was not so easily shaken. Even when they finally did react, they still did so under the powerful trance. This is what Krol had been counting on. He made sure that as he cut the webbed package, he did not touch it, but let it fall free into the sling he had created. It was covered in sticky spider fluids, and he did not want to have to struggle with that now. As he continued to run, the spiders reacted. Though still under the trance, they no longer moved with slow reverence but with panicked speed. Krol also noticed that the young child had awoken. As he realized that it had been Baenre's desire for the child to be fully awake when it was devoured, his courage increased. With the hoards of spiders boring down on him, he planted his feet, hoisted the sling over his head, and with a terrific heave and shout slung it out over the main part of the cavern. The spiders, acting under instructions given by two very powerful high priestesses of Lloth, had one purpose: bring the child unharmed to their queen. These instructions said nothing about a renegade drow male. As the child left Krol's possession, the spiders changed directions as if they were a flock of birds. They moved as one with the cocooned projectile, already assembling beneath its targeted landing site. With their attention diverted, Krol continued his run across the clearing in front of the web, jumped high onto the opposite wall, and then leaped back, even higher, into the air over the area he had just traversed. He enacted a levitation spell, and dropped a globe of darkness over himself. For all intents and purposes, he had just disappeared from the cave. The spiders did not care about him, though; they were busy tracking the flight of their precious sacrifice. As the child flew through the air, it let out a howling cry. It was wide-awake, and though its infrared eyes could not make heads or tails out of what it was seeing, it knew something was terribly wrong. At the peak of its flight, it disappeared. The spiders froze. Where there had been a screaming, flying child, now there was nothing. Not a sound, not a flash of heat, nothing. As one, they turned back toward the drow that had originally stolen the child, but he too was gone without a trace. No matter the strength of the drow priestesses who had cast the original spell, nothing could have prepared the spiders for this. As the queen, who had watched the show from her web, screeched for answers, the colony of spiders scattered in every direction. Trenian had been perched high on a wall toward the rear of the cavern. He had watched his brother break for the child and had pushed himself away from the wall, levitating high above the floor and countless spiders below. He drifted slowly away from the wall, for he would need his hands free to perform this little trick. Even though Krol saw exactly where his brother was before Trenian dropped the globe of darkness on himself, and even though Trenian heard exactly when his brother had thrown the sling by the shout he gave, only a pair of drow elves, with the incredible coordination offered them through their heritage, would have been able to pull off the stunt. Trenian had spread his arms wide, increasing the chance that his brother would hit him, and still he almost did not catch it, barely snagging the trailing end of the sling as it flew past him. The child had been screaming loudly, but as Trenian hauled him inside his magical piwafwi, the child's voice, as loud as it was, was silenced. The child was not large, and as sticky as its wrappings were, Trenian had no fear of it falling out of his cloak once secured. He added a little strength to his levitation spell, and soon felt his hands reach the ceiling. He could hear the spiders scrambling about wildly beneath him, and desperately did not want to still be in this cavern when his levitation spell ran out. Finding handholds in the rocky ceiling, he propelled himself the best he could toward exit of the huge cavern. Both Del'Axle nobles operated blindly within their globes of darkness, but the task was not a difficult one. Once they reached the tight crease that lead back into main tunnels around Menzoberranzan, they could hear the spiders frantically searching all around them. The spiders scoured the floor and the walls all about the cavern and the crevice back into the main tunnels, but they neglected to search above. After all, drow could not walk on the ceiling. Trenian's first clue that he was safely out of the cavern was when his globe of darkness gave out. He had cast his before his brother, and his innate abilities were not as strong as Krol's. He was floating above the crevice beside which the Baenre daughters had given up their brother. Trenian knew his levitation spell was just about to give out, and if it did, he would fall into the crease were a dozen spiders were crawling over themselves looking for the lost child. With one last heave, he pushed himself sideways just as the spell ran out. He landed lightly on the ground next to the crevice and quickly ran away from the chaos behind. Krol was soon to follow, and the two brothers raced away from the spider cavern, the third born son of Matron Baenre tucked inside Trenian's piwafwi.

* * * * *

When the three Baenre Priestesses had walked for only five minutes, they heard the faint scream of their brother. Bladen'Kerst had heard it first, for she was listening for it, still dissatisfied that they were not going to be able to see it. Do you hear that? The other two did indeed hear it, and as it went silent only a few short seconds later, all three smiled. Lloth has accepted our gift, Triel said. Tomorrow's morn will see House Baenre back in the favor of the Spider Queen. Like we had never been out of it, Sos'Umptu added. The three sisters continued home with added skip in their step.

* * * * *

Matron Reinela Del'Axle sat on her throne in the main audience chamber of House Del'Axle, fourth house of Menzoberranzan. In front of her sat her two oldest daughters, Lillium and Goria. They both agreed with their mother that something needed to be done quickly before their house was swallowed up in the power struggle that was brewing, but they disagreed with her on what the solution should be. Mother, we are the fourth house because of our females, Goria spoke up. House Del'Axle boasts more high priestesses than all other houses save Baenre itself. There is no other house on which Lloth has smiled more than our own. Yes, Mother, Lillium agreed. We do not have the warriors of the first or second houses, or even of the three above us, but with Lloth behind us, one priestess is worth a hundred drow solders. They'd better be, Reinela said. For that is the kind of opposition we face. As it was, they were both right. Lloth was smiling on them, and no house, no matter how powerful, would be so foolish as to attack them. Though victory might be assured, they might anger Lloth by destroying so many priestesses that were in her favor. That served as little comfort to the matron mother, though. Reinela also noticed that as her daughter had listed the houses with more warriors than their own, she had intentionally left out House Oblodra, the third house. It was a house led by Matron K'yorl Odran, a psionisist. The strength of that house was unknown for it did not operate the way most did. It was this secrecy that allowed it to stay among the high-ranking houses. No one dared attack what they did not understand. Baenre was obvious. They boasted over a thousand trained drow warriors, and no one would dare oppose them. The second house, Barrison Del'Armgo had close to five hundred drow solders all trained by, and most sired by, Uthegental, the beast of a drow that served as weapon master for house Barrison Del'Armgo. Uthegental was probably the best warrior in all of Menzoberranzan and the most prominent male. Matron Reinela did not have those types of ambitious hopes for her sons, but she had hoped for something more than what they had given her. Her eldest son was the house's wizard, and like her many daughters, Cirrel Del'Axle excelled in the mental discipline, but her second and third born sons made better thieves than fighters. Currently, the weapon master of House Del'Axle was the eldest daughter of Lillium, an unheard of occupation for a female in Menzoberranzan. Lloth has blessed us with females, Reinela admitted to her two daughters, but regardless of how strong we might be, our numbers are few and we can be over-run. We need fighters to stand in front of us as the first wall of defense. Right now, I am willing to get those fighters by any means necessary. If that means putting swords instead of clerical staves in your daughters' hands, then so be it. It was at this moment that Krol and Trenian decided to enter. They had not expected to find anyone else in the audience chamber except Matron Reinela. They both stopped short when they saw a meeting was going on. Reinela looked up from her daughters, and both of them turned to look at the visitors as well. Krol and Trenian should have turned around and left, but the importance of what they had with them demanded them to stay. What are you doing here? Goria asked, getting up quickly and pulling out her snake-headed whip. Don't you know not to come unless summoned? She began to walk toward her brothers, but Reinela stopped her. The matron could see a strange look on her sons' faces and knew they had important information. She could see no other reason why they would so blatantly have disregarded the rules of etiquette she had beaten into them. While she was often furious at them for not being warrior caliber, she also understood that they were not stupid. They might not be able to stand up against any of the other high-ranking houses' noble males in battle, but they were also clever enough never to find themselves in a situation where they would have to. What is it? Krol, the older, stepped forward. We followed three Baenre Priestesses out of the city. Reinela's ears picked up at this. Goria and Lillium were doubters like Trenian had been. You followed what you thought were Baenre Priestesses, Lillium corrected. Krol turned to his older sister, confident that his mother would restrain her as long as he had important information to tell. That's right. I did think they were of House Baenre, but only because they were. You evaded their escorts? Reinela asked quickly, diffusing the tension between her feuding children. There were no escorts, Krol replied. They were alone. Lillium was quick to criticize again. You just didn't see them. Even more confident than before, Krol turned back to his sister. Again you are correct, for I can not see what is not there. Lillium's hand was fast as she reached for her whip but Reinela's was faster. The crack of the matron's whip sounded loudly in the room. Enough! Can you not give information without constantly bickering! You will address your sisters with respect, or I shall take your tongue. I know your mastery of the hand code is unsurpassed; you do not need your tongue. Krol quickly shut up and bowed his head in respect. He took the verbal abuse for what it was. He understood that his mother respected him for what he could do and hated him for what he could not. It was very easy for her to switch between the two dispositions. Krol remained quiet with his bowed head, waiting to be asked another question, but Reinela turned to her other son instead. She could see that Trenian had something tucked inside his piwafwi. Come here, she called to him, for he had remained by the door to the audience chamber. Come and show us what you pillaged from these three helpless Baenre High Priestesses. Lillium and Goria laughed at this, still not believing that their two idiot brothers could have sneaked up on anything. Reinela was not sure what to believe. Trenian did as he was told, walking silently up to his mother's throne and opening his piwafwi to reveal the cocooned Baenre child. As he held the now calm child in his arms, only its head visible, all three females gasped. Reinela rose from her throne, taking a few steps toward her son. The infant drow looked curiously up at the three females that stared wide-eyed down at him. He giggled softly. Where did you get this? Goria asked in a harsh whisper. We followed- Trenian started, but Reinela cut him off. She has already heard what Krol had said; she did not need it repeated. Looking at the tightly wrapped spider's cocoon, a feeling of dread passed through her. She knew that Matron Baenre had recently given birth, or at least that she was due to give birth. Reinela knew that if she was in Baenre's position, with all the strength and power afforded her by her house, and she gave birth to a son - a third son - she would have very little use for it. Reaching to the underside off the web-wrapping, Reinela pulled free a thick strand of the queen's web that Krol had cut away. She held it up for her two eldest daughters to see. They both knew only one type of spider that could produce such a thick, strong strand. Hakia-Corus, Goria gasped, naming again the ritual of killing the third born son. This child was given to Lloth, Reinela said slowly, still staring at the strand, not believing her sons capable of such a theft, but the evidence was right there in front of her. You stole this child from Lloth. Reinela finally looked up at her son. She was not smiling. Trenian grew suddenly limp. He had not been totally sure what his mother's response would be, but he had hoped for something along the lines of celebration. You thought you were stealing from Baenre, but this child had already been given to Lloth. Reinela held up the strand from the queen's web as her evidence. You stole this child directly from the most holiest of Lloth's altars. Trenian took a few steps backwards, stumbling and stuttering. I thou- uh, we thought tha- He actually dropped the child, but Krol was quick to step in and catch it and then even quicker to step back out of harm's way. Poor Trenian. You did not think, Reinela corrected. Behind her, Lillium and Goria were flanking their mother, whips out and ready. Krol thought it would bring disfavor to Baenre, Trenian offered. If it was not for the fact that Trenian was about to die, Krol would have been mad at him for trying to pass the blame, but now he was just glad that Trenian had been the one to carry the child and not him. What did they do wrong? Reinela pressed. As if to punctuate the question, Lillium lashed out with her whip. The cruel weapon bit hard into Trenian's right side. They did nothing wrong. Why should Lloth be mad at them? Again a whip attack, this time from Goria and the left side. Even if that were the case, when Baenre called out to Lloth to discover why the sacrifice was not accepted and she finds out it was never received, how long do you think it will take for her to find out who took the child and where he is? Both whips snapped out now, and Trenian fell to the floor, both his arms too numb to break the fall. The wind was knocked out of him, and he gasped for mercy. I . . . did . . . not . . . know. His sisters pinned him to the floor, one on either side and ripped his piwafwi open to his bare chest. Even if Trenian had been in perfect condition, he would not have been able to fight off his stronger sisters. A third born son was offered to Lloth this night, and I will not withhold that gift from her. Reinela held the piece of web up above her son as it burst into flame with a thought from the powerful matron. As the web burned brightly still held in Reinela's hand, she continued to talk. Know that in life, your foolishness nearly destroyed this house, but in your death, you will save it. Reinela willed the flame out and sprinkled Trenian's bare chest with ashes. Trenian was screaming now as his mother brought out her ceremonial dagger and held it high. With primal screams coming from all four, Reinela plunged the dagger into her son's chest. Despite his sisters' strength, Trenian sat bolt upright on impact. All three priestesses jumped back. Trenian's eyes were wide and his mouth open as the hiss of life left him. The dagger was sunk to its hilt in his chest, and all of the scattered ashes burst back into flame briefly, scorching his skin. Inside his chest, his heart too erupted into fire, incinerating almost instantly. Out of his open mouth, a solitary puff of acrid smoke floated up to the ceiling. Trenian held the macabre pose for a few moments more and then fell back to the floor, dead. Matron Reinela spun around to her other son, knowing that the whole theft had probably been his idea. She had hoped to catch him watching, but Krol was too smart for that. With so much at stake, he had wisely stayed facing the throne with his head bowed. He knew that no male had the right to watch such a sacred ceremony as Hakia-Corus, and just being in the room while it happened might mean his death. Reinela walked in front of her son, taking the child away from him so she could look at it. She could feel the potential in the child already. She did not have any doubts as to the child's mother. She had just confessed her need for fighters and that she did not care how she got them. Lloth was definitely with them. Does the child have a name? she asked. Iblith. What? Reinela shrieked. Lillium and Goria too were stunned. Had Krol just cursed at their mother? After what had just happened, did he wish for death that much? As his sisters fumbled for their whips, Krol raised his head to look at his mother and clarify. They named the child Iblith Baenre. He and Trenian had heard the entire ceremony in the tunnel. The child's name had come up frequently. The blatant disregard for the child shown not only in the sacrifice but also in the actual naming of it had only strengthened the brothers' resolve to steal it. Hardly a proper name for a member of House Del'Axle, wouldn't you say? Reinela looked right at her son. Not proper at all, Krol responded, returning the look. Reinela looked briefly at her deceased third son and then back at Krol. He shall be called Jarlnian. Jarlnian Del'Axel. Goria, Reinela called without looking away from her son, bring this child to one of your sisters to wean. Make sure he is taught which house he belongs to and what his role in that house is. Goria walked up quickly, taking the child from her mother. Yes, Mother. Both Lillium and Goria left the room. Krol had not yet been dismissed and was not so presumptuous to leave on his own. Reinela let him stand there for a few moments longer and then sat back down in her throne. You may go. Krol turned and took two steps. Krol, Reinela called out. He stopped and turned back around to face his mother. If you ever jeopardize this house's security again you can not imagine the pain you will suffer before you are given to Lloth. Krol stood there, looking at his mother, knowing that he should feel lucky she did not go through with it right there. Instead, she let him stand there for a full minute, thinking about what kind of terrible torture he might be subjected to. You may go. Krol turned, but was again stopped after two steps. Krol. He turned once more. Our house has grown much stronger this night by your actions. You have done well. You may go. Krol's head was spinning now, and he nearly ran out of the audience chamber, stopping only briefly to look at his brother for the first time since the sacrifice. A shudder went down his spine, and he left the room.

* * * * *

Matron Baenre knelt in front of her private altar, the harsh light of a dozen burning candles blurring her vision. Before her, prominently placed in the center of the altar, was a golden urn containing a drow heart. Behind her, still lying on her bed, were the torn remains of what had once been one of House Baenre's finest warriors. Baenre had begun her motherhood over House Baenre by only bedding the strongest males she could find. After a century of this practice, the weapon master had begged her to reconsider her choice of mates, claiming that she was decimating the fighting ability of the house. Baenre had changed her ways for the sake of the house, realizing that it was her womb and Lloth's blessing that ensured the strength of her offspring and not the quality of the seed she received. Tonight had been different. She had needed someone who would be able to withstand her dark ceremony. Baenre had long ago ceased receiving pleasure from her sexual escapades and saw them now as praise sessions to her evil deity. It was a good thing she had chosen the male she had, for Baenre had never experienced anything like this night before. She had reached out to the spider colony, for she knew where her daughters were taking their brother. She had linked up with the colony and, more particularly, the queen. She had sensed when the child had been laid on the web, and had felt the queen's anticipation as it approached the child. Then chaos ensued. With her mind so intertwined with the distant colony, when every one of the spiders scattered in a maelstrom of panic and confusion, Matron Baenre reacted in like fashion. Her unfortunate mate had never experienced anything like it in his life, and no amount of training, no matter how intense, could have prepared him for it. For him it went beyond pleasure or passion, and went deep into primal lust. Baenre had attacked him with the same ferocity that coursed through the distant queen spider, demanding that she be given what was rightfully hers. The male had obliged, though only moments before he was torn to shreds by the enraged matron. Baenre now knelt before the altar, wearing a sheer chemise that was still covered in blood. She rocked back and forth slowly, humming and muttering guttural chants to her goddess, wondering what had gone wrong. She had never conducted this type of ceremony before, but she was sure something had not gone right. She had expected a sense of euphoria from the queen spider and then a climax when she took the male child fully. That never came. Instead, the chaos had continued for a long time, only recently receding into an unsettled lull. It had been almost an hour since Baenre had broken her connection with the distant colony, and she was now convinced it had not worked. Baenre leaned over the altar to blow out the candles, and then it hit her. The heart in the urn burst suddenly into flame, lighting up her entire face as all twelve candles went out. Baenre leaned back quickly, her eyes transfixed on the amazingly bright flame before her. The pain in her eyes slowly worked its way down her body, settling heavily in her womb. Baenre placed her hands over her abdomen and could feel the heat of the flame inside her. As quickly as the heart had exploded into flame, it went out and the fire was transferred into the matron mother. Baenre was sure her stomach would explode from the pain, but as it reached its peak, she cried out to Lloth in a voice that was heard throughout the compound. She not only accepted the pain, but embraced it. If she were to die now, what better place than in front of her own altar, singing praise to her deity. Then it was gone. Baenre opened her eyes and watched as mysterious ashes fell all around her, exploding into tiny balls of fire as they struck the altar and floor. The matron mother rose slowly to her feet, very shaky from what she had been through. As she stood, she noticed that the heart inside the urn was still whole, without a trace of a burn on it other than where the occasional ash hit it. With wavering steps, Baenre made her way back to the bed. Though it was still blood stained and held a torn corpse, the matron mother of the first house of Menzoberranzan fell on the bed and into a deep sleep.

Chapter 3 Piety

Time had little meaning to Jarlnian during his first ten years of life. House Del'Axle had a very large chapel, and it kept the young male busy all the time. One of his many chores was to polish the statues that adorned the perimeter of the chapel. Most of these statues were of beautiful drow females - beautiful, naked drow females. As Jarlnian became older, he enjoyed this part of his labors more and more. Herlina Del'Axle, the noble daughter that had been assigned to wean Jarlnian took notice of this one day. The newest member of the family had been polishing one statue in particular for over an hour now. Normally, it took the young drow an hour to finish any given statue, but he had levitated up to this statue's chest and had not moved since. Jarlnian's levitation spell had given out a long time ago, but he had braced his feet on the shapely hips of the statue and curled his inactive hand around the statue's back to hold him up. With the vigor that he was working, Herlina thought a compliment of his dexterity was in order, for staying balanced in his position for as long as he had was no easy task. Herlina had not complimented the talented young male once and would not start now. Male child! Herlina called. She did not use his name. He was only ten, and as far as she was concerned, he did not deserve a name until he was at least 14. Jarlnian knew what his name was, but only because he overheard his sisters talking about him. Come down here! Jarlnian did not levitate down from his perch but simply jumped. It was a six-foot drop, and for someone as small as he was, it was a big fall, but Jarlnian landed lightly on his feet, his eyes never leaving the ground. Yes, he said meekly. Why have you taken so long on this statue? I want to do a thorough job. I want you and Lloth to be pleased. Herlina looked up at the statue. One of the breasts was now lopsided, significantly smaller than the other one. You have deformed this statue. I apologize, sister. I let my desire to please Lloth get the best of me. I shall strive to be more careful. The three-headed snake-whip at Herlina's side was practically leaping off her belt, yearning to beat this male. Herlina was a high priestess. It was not traditional for someone of her rank to be responsible for weaning a child, but House Del'Axle did not have any noble daughters that were not high priestesses. Even with her rank and skill, she could not read this child's thoughts. His mind was very disciplined. She knew he was Baenre's child, and it was clearly obvious now. She wanted to believe that Jarlnian's comments were dripping with sarcasm, that he had ruined this statue on purpose, or that he had spent so much time in one area living out some perverse sexual fantasy. But if he was not being sarcastic, if he truly did yearn to please Lloth in everything he did, whipping him would be detrimental to that desire. He was the son of Baenre; it was highly likely that his devotion to Lloth was greater than her own. Still . . . I want you to finish the rest of this statue, but I want you to do so with your eyes closed. From now on, whenever you work on statues of drow females, you will do so with your eyes closed. Your hands will be able to feel the parts that need to be smoothed, and your eyes will not deceive you. If he got his kicks by staring at the naked females, this should solve the problem. Also, if he fell several times in the process because his eyes were closed, all the better. Jarlnian nodded in compliance and turned around. With his eyes now closed, he levitated back to his previous perch and used the hand that was not holding the polishing stone to feel the surface of the statue. As Herlina watched her brother's dexterous fingers feeling their way over every inch of the statue's shapely body, she realized she had probably made a mistake. As Jarlnian felt his way around the statue's slim waist and up its bare back, a shiver went down Herlina's spine and she had to look away. Males, she shuddered as she walked away. As soon as she had turned her back, a huge smile spread across Jarlnian's lips. Several common drow priestesses of House Del'Axle came into the chapel that day to say their prayers to Lloth, but they were all taken in by the actions of the youngest noble in the family. Jarlnian spent the rest of the day, six hours, polishing the statue. His eyes never opened once, and he never once lost his balance. He worked every inch of the ten-foot statue, and when he was finished, it was the most exquisite statue in the chapel. When Herlina came for him at the end of the day, she had to admit that he had done incredible work. Aside from the lopsided breasts, which the house artisan would fix the next day, the statue was incredible. Herlina could not say anything but led the male to his tiny chambers in the back of the chapel where his cold meal for the day was waiting. Before Herlina could leave him for the night, Jarlnian stopped her. Sister, I have shamed Lloth with my actions today. I should be punished. Herlina was stunned. She took the whip from her belt and would definitely comply with the request. How did you shame the Spider Queen today? As I worked, I had impure thoughts. Herlina smiled broadly as she instructed Jarlnian to remove his clothes. She knew he had taken a bit too much enjoyment today. Herlina was a little curious as to why he would admit this when he had a chance to end the day without a beating. Her thoughts had been that he was being rebellious, but why then would he admit to his sins? When Jarlnian had stripped down to just a loincloth, Herlina whipped him severely. The punishment lasted several minutes, leaving Jarlnian crying at the end. Between sobs, he thanked his sister, and retired to his chambers. Herlina closed his door and walked away. She did not know what to think. Either he was being totally sacrilegious, or his devotion to Lloth was something of legend. Regardless, his mental discipline went far beyond anything she had ever seen, and he would grow to be a very big asset to this house. The next day, Jarlnian rose early and was hard at work before Herlina arrived in the chapel. The statue he worked on this day was another exquisite drow female, but this one was two feet taller than the one he had worked on before. When Herlina did enter the chapel, she saw that he was obeying her instructions by working with his eyes closed. He also was not wearing a shirt and the scars from the previous night's beating stood out clearly in the infrared spectrum. Herlina also noticed that several of the house's priestesses, who had been in the chapel the previous day, were here again. A drow high priestess needed to spend several hours in prayer to Lloth everyday and normally did so in the chapel or in front of her private altar, but a common priestess who was not of noble birth did not require that level of devotion. Their trips to the chapel should occur once every five days, yet most of the females who had come yesterday were here again today. The reason was obvious. Jarlnian spent over twelve hours on the tall statue, not once asking for a break and not once falling from his blind work. The visitors to the chapel were entranced by his work. Herlina was at a loss. She could see that if she allowed Jarlnian to continue his work, in only a month's time, the chapel would be in the best shape of its entire existence. That could only please Lloth. Also, by all appearances, Jarlnian was doing this work out of a sincere devotion to Lloth. Still, the effect his actions were having on the rest of the house was a little detrimental. Herlina spent the day monitoring the females that entered the chapel, making sure their attention stayed were it needed to. She caught more than a few of the priestesses blushing as they watched Jarlnian at work. At the end of the day, Herlina brought Jarlnian to his room. Did you enjoy your work today? she asked. Yes I did, he responded, his eyes glued to the floor. Herlina readied her whip again, thinking her brother had once again fantasized about the female he had spent twelve hours polishing. I spent the entire day working in Lloth's chapel, improving the appearance of one of her glorious high priestesses. How could I not have enjoyed my work. Herlina nearly fell over at the comment. You were able to keep your mind from impure thoughts? By the grace of the glorious Spider Queen, yes, Jarlnian replied. Herlina so wanted to beat this child to death. Her arm double clutched several times, the hungry heads on her whip begging to bite into the male's skin. But how could she?! The females that had visited the chapel today were far more deserving of a beating than this child. Barely restraining herself, Herlina began to replace her whip on her belt. I have shamed Lloth this day, Jarlnian said quietly. I should be punished. Herlina was stunned. Why? I was not born a female. Every day that I draw breath I disgrace the Spider Queen by being a male. My work on the beautiful statues has taught me this. Herlina laid into her brother with more passion and fervor than she had thought herself capable of. She not only beat him for being a male, but because she envied the piety he possessed. That Lloth would have wasted this blessing on a male - a male that had almost been sacrificed! - angered Herlina to no end. Though she had not requested Jarlnian to remove his clothes before this beating, at the end, he did not even wear his loincloth, as all of his clothes had been ripped from his body. Jarlnian was not able to stand at the end. His body shook spasmodically from the pain as he huddled on his side. He was not strong enough to make his way to his bed, but before he passed out, he was able to issue a barely audible, Thank you. Herlina needed to wake Jarlnian the next morning. He again went without a shirt and pants as well, for Herlina had destroyed his only set of clothes. Jarlnian did not ask for more clothes, but went to work in only a loincloth. He could not walk without a limp, but still managed to climb his way up another statue. His work was much slower this day, and he lost his balance several times, falling to the ground from very substantial heights. After each fall, Jarlnian spent a brief moment in apparent prayer and then climbed the statue again. Lillium, Herlina's oldest sister came into the chapel this day. She had heard the reports of what her youngest brother was doing and had to see it for herself. Though Jarlnian worked much slower this day, his work was no less perfect. Lillium called Herlina over to her side as she looked at the countless wounds that covered Jarlnian's body. Has he been rebellious? she asked. No, Herlina responded. His piety is something one would only expect to find in a high priestess or a matron mother. Or a sacrificial child of Matron Baenre, Lillium added. If his devotion is such, why do you beat him so? I have never seen a child so scarred. They both watched as Jarlnian fell once more. Surely it is affecting the quality of his work. He has been requesting it. Lillium pulled her eyes away from the sight of her brother kneeling in prayer in front the statue before climbing back up. She stared hard at her younger sister. He does what? At the end of each day he admits to sins only he could know and then requests to be punished for them. Jarlnian ended his prayer and began to climb but fell again immediately. He spent twice as long in prayer this time. And what was this most heinous sin that he committed yesterday for you to beat him so? He said that he was not born a female and should be punished for it. Lillium looked up and said a brief prayer to Lloth. She looked back at her sister. This one might grow up to bring both this house and Lloth praise in his adult years. You would be wise to make certain he gets there in one piece. That night Jarlnian again asked for punishment. Herlina obliged but put no force behind the blows and did not allow it to last that long. Jarlnian was able to stand throughout the punishment and actually asked for more. You will get what I deem you deserving of. No more; no less. Is that understood? Yes. The next morning, Herlina gave Jarlnian a healing potion. At first he refused, saying that his pain reminded him of his state of being and helped him to focus on his work and prayer. Herlina was furious. Stupid male! You will never be able to commune with the Spider Queen as long as you live. Your prayers will go unanswered unless they are directed through me. Lloth does not deem the words of a male, and a child at that, worthy of her attention. As far as you are concerned, I am Lloth, and you will do as I say. Now drink this. Jarlnian did as he was told.

* * * * *

Dantrag Baenre graduated the first in his class from Melee-Magthere. Through the ten years at the Academy, he never once lost the top ranking. He won the grand melee each year. Not once did any of his other twenty classmates come close to beating him. Many had tried, but none had succeeded. During one night at the Academy, Krein'nophma of House Barrison Del'Armgo, the second house in Menzoberranzan, attempted to kill Dantrag in his sleep. To kill a noble born member of the first house of Menzoberranzan would almost certainly mean death for the student and possibly his house if Baenre so chose. Dantrag awoke briefly before the attack, quickly wrestled the dagger away from the student, killed him, rolled over, and fell back asleep. It was believed throughout the Academy and the ranking houses, as the deed became known, that Uthegental, the weapon master of the second house, had ordered his fighter to commit the deed. Dantrag was on his way to greatness, that much was obvious, and many felt that Uthegental's position as the best fighter in Menzoberranzan was in jeopardy. Though everyone assumed the weapon master had ordered the attack, and Uthegental never denied it, no one was brave enough, or stupid enough, to accuse the huge weapon master to his face. Dantrag's dominance in the Academy was detrimental to the structure of the training facility. The masters of the Academy saw this quickly and decided to take matters into their own hands. With the help of a wizard of Sorcere, the Head Master disguised himself as a student and entered the grand melee in the fifth year. He and Dantrag met as the last two combatants, and the Head Master was soundly defeated. After the final battle, Dantrag helped the disguised master to his feet and addressed him by name, his real name. Dantrag had seen through the ruse quite easily, recognizing that the attack routines performed by the master were not those of any student. After that, the masters of the Academy decided not to hinder Dantrag's ascent any further. Matron Baenre welcomed her son home with much fanfare. House Baenre put many fighters through Melee-Magthere, and more often than not, they finished at or near the top of their class, but since Gromph had gone to Sorcere, the school for mages, Dantrag was the first noble born Baenre to graduate from Melee-Magthere. All of Dantrag's sisters were gathered to great him, including Vendes, his youngest sister, who was born just eight years ago. She was the result Baenre's dark ceremony ten years ago. Lloth had blessed the matron mother that night and Baenre was planning on starting another string of daughters. Congratulations, brother, Triel said as Dantrag made it to the end of his procession. You have brought our house honor in you actions. For the glory of Lloth, he said, kneeling before his eldest sister and mother. Rise, Baenre commanded, and Dantrag did so. Do you have any requests upon your return? It was traditional in drow culture to reward a successful noble male with any request he desired, within reason. I feel that I can best serve Lloth and my house by serving as weapon master, he replied. But our house already has a weapon master, Baenre responded. Dantrag's posture flinched. Baenre knew that Dantrag could beat Drelmn, the current weapon master of House Baenre, with his eyes closed. Dantrag had done so before he had left for the Academy, and now he was surely twice the fighter he had been. Baenre also had every intention of making Dantrag the weapon master, but not yet. I have graduated at the top of my class, Dantrag began. I have proven myself to be the best fighter the Academy has ever seen. It should be my honor to train the warriors in the first house of Menzoberranzan. Are you not to go out with the patrols in a few days? Baenre asked. Yes, Mother, but my time with them will be brief. And then you will no doubt be invited back to the Academy to serve as a master, probably Head Master, an honor that you would be foolish to decline. Dantrag had planned on declining the offer, knowing without a doubt that it would come. He could not see any benefit to him or his house by tying up his talents in the Academy. Now, by his mother's words, he would have to accept the invitation. Again, Mother, my time there will be brief. I will be back home to stay before long. Yes, his mother agreed, but until that time, you will exist outside this house. A weapon master's responsibilities lie within his house. He should not be wandering the tunnels around the city or busy in the Academy. Drelmn will continue to serve our house as weapon master. You will serve your year in the patrol. During that time you will garner even more honor and power for our house. You will then reenter the Academy as a master, a title only a few of this house have held. Never have we had a Baenre as Head Master of the Academy. You will be the first. You will continue your service for as long as need be. Is this understood? For the glory of Lloth and the dominance of House Baenre, Dantrag responded respectfully, but inwardly he was furious. As he stood, the top graduate of the Academy, and likely the best warrior to have ever passed through the halls of Tier Breche, he still ranked behind every weapon master in the entire city. Yet in his mind, not even Uthegental of House Barrison Del'Armgo could stand against him in battle. Dantrag was proud. It was not a common thing among males in drow society. Not only were they second-class citizens, but proof of that was given to them every time they heard the snap of a priestess's whip. Dantrag knew just about any of his sisters could kill him, but only because they had spells that could disable him before his blades could strike them down. If any of them, even Bladen'Kerst with all her strength and fury, would be so foolish as to engage him in melee combat, Dantrag was sure he would prove the stronger. The secondboy of House Baenre needed to swallow his pride now. He was three decades old, an insignificant age by drow standards. He would tolerate these next few years in service to the Academy because they were the wishes of his mother, and, true to his own words, the time would be brief. When he returned to his house to stay, he would be weapon master and woe to any who claimed to be above him.

* * * * *

Lillium, Goria, and Herlina all stood before their seated matron mother in the general audience chamber of the Del'Axle compound. Herlina was the youngest of six high priestesses and was only present to give her report on the development of Jarlnian. It had been fourteen years since Krol and Trenian had stolen him from the spider colony, and his time within the chapel would soon be ended. How is my third born son developing, Matron Reinela asked. She had visited the chapel many times during the past four years and was immensely pleased with the work Jarlnian was doing. He not only kept the statues and altars in perfect repair, but his conduct and composure were befitting of a young female. Matron Reinela had also spent hours, as had all Del'Axle females, watching him blindly clean the statues. While most watched such a display for their own pleasure, Reinela took careful notice of her son's dexterity. Only after crippling whippings did he ever falter, and even those occurrences had slowed and then ceased after the first few months. He could scale the tallest statue, a 20-foot representation of Matron Reinela, totally blind without a hint of discomfort or difficulty. He would easily follow in his brothers' footsteps when it came to stealth and coordination, but Reinela also knew that Dantrag Baenre, Jarlnian's true older brother, had recently graduated at the top of his class in the Academy and would shortly be named Head Master of Melee-Magthere. Jarlnian would make a great warrior and an exceptional weapon master. He is coming along nicely, Herlina replied. He has mastered the art of drow sign, and is fluent in both the duergar and svirfneblin tongue. He is strong of body and quick of mind. He will make a fine addition to our house. Good, Reinela responded. She kept her eyes on her youngest daughter, though, for she could feel she was holding something back. What is it? Speak your mind. Herlina bowed slightly. I know your wishes concerning this child, but I think you should know that I disagree with them. Reinela only punished dishonesty in her daughters, and Herlina was not scared of punishment for her words. You wish him to be a fighter and to enter Melee-Magthere. I have been with him for the past fourteen years, and I think that would be a mistake. His mind is as sharp as anything I've ever seen. Already his innate magical abilities have surpassed my own, and likely most of my sisters. Plus his devotion to Lloth is something that can not be wasted. I feel he would make a very powerful priest, or even a wizard. Reinela contemplated this. She respected her daughters' opinions, and she considered herself wiser for it, but on this topic, she would not change her mind. Jarlnian will be a fighter. I agree that his mind is sharp, but that is just as important in a fighter as a priest or wizard. But his true strength lies- Herlina began. I have made my decision! Reinela shouted. Do not argue with me on this point. You have just admitted that he is more powerful than you, do not make me choose between the two of you! Lillium and Goria were shocked. Their sister was a high priestess, and Jarlnian was just a male child. Yet here their mother had said in no uncertain terms that she favored Jarlnian over Herlina. Reinela realized she needed to clarify her outburst. I know where Jarlnian's strengths lie, but I am more concerned about our house's strengths, and more importantly, its weaknesses. We have no need for another priest or wizard. Regardless of Jarlnian's potential as such, we are far more in need of a fighter. I have said this many times, and I will not change my mind. The matron mother looked over her three daughters, letting that point sink in. You are dismissed, she said finally to Herlina. The youngest Del'Axle daughter bowed and left the chambers. Jarlnian will make a fine weapon master, Mother, Lillium said once Herlina had left. Reinela scowled at the hollow praise. She did not need her daughters' approval. But we are still without the soldiers for him to train. That is what I want to discuss with you, Reinela responded. Our house may not have the best fighters, but our scouts are second to none. I have received information that a few of the lower houses have discovered a rich vein of adamantium located far from the city. The metal was rare and very valuable in the construction of magical drow weapons and armor. These houses are very weak and have no purpose vying for a spot in the top twenty houses of Menzoberranzan, but they feel that if they are able to secure this ore site, their strength might rise. What they do not know is that this site is very close to an illithid settlement. Already several of the houses' soldiers have been captured. Right now they are blaming each other for the disappearing drow. Soon they will either fight each other or discover the truth. Whatever the result, our scouts predict that the end result will be an illithid victory. I have prayed to Lloth on this, and she has clearly expressed her will that she does not want to see any of her people in slavery to the illithids. When these houses have finally fallen, I predict that anywhere from fifty to a hundred drow might be captured. Lloth has assured me that any raid to free these drow will be done within her favor, and she will bless it. You want to lead our house in attack against illithids? Goria was not happy. We boast seven high priestesses, including myself, and two dozen more graduates from Arach-Tinilith among the common females of our house. With Lloth behind us, we will easily be able to destroy the illithid settlement and free any of those captured there. With the addition of even fifty soldiers to our house, many of whom might be female or noble born, we would be secure against attack from all but perhaps Houses Baenre and Barrison Del'Armgo. Neither of the two daughters liked this idea, but neither was going to speak out against their mother after Herlina had been rebuked. When do you see this raid taking place? Goria asked. Within the next decade. It will happen while Jarlnian is in the Academy. When he graduates, he will have a large group of drow warriors to train. We will be secure as the fourth house, and Lloth be with House Oblodra, for their position will be in jeopardy. Like it or not, Lillium and Goria smiled at that. At least with these new soldiers, they would no longer have to train their daughters as fighters.

Chapter 4 To Hit a Female

Jarlnian Del'Axle was now sixteen years old and had reached the end of his servitude in the chapel. His world had been very dark up till now. He had spent most of his youth either staring at the floor or with his eyes closed. He had become so accustomed to working with his eyes closed, that as he was now led toward the audience chamber to meet with his mother, he had to constantly remind himself to keep them open. Though most of his youth had been spent cleaning the chapel, in the last six years he had gained the tittle page prince and had been given time to read and listen to his sister's accounts of life in Menzoberranzan. He understood from an early age that he was insignificant, yet he also understood that he was different. He understood things that he knew his sister had not expected him to. Tasks that she felt should be too hard for him were actually too easy. He was able to fool her quite easily on numerous occasions when she questioned him on his thoughts or desires. Jarlnian knew that as a male, he was supposed to be less important and less talented than females, but he had also quickly realized that he was not. He had learned to hide this and played the part of a perfect drow, begging for punishment just for being a male. Now, if he understood correctly, he was going to be officially welcomed into the family as a noble son, and all of his pretending could end. He would now be just as important as his sisters. Or so he thought. Waiting for him in the audience chamber were all his sisters, both brothers, and his mother. There was also another female whom Jarlnian did not recognize. She was not wearing the clothes of a priestess. Instead, she wore the armor of a drow warrior. Jarlnian did not scope out the room too much, for he knew he should still be staring at his feet. Herlina led him up to the throne where Matron Reinela sat. Look at me Jarlnian Del'Axle. The hesitation that should have accompanied his actions was not there. He held himself in high regard, despite all the evidence to the contrary. For him to look a female in the face was not that big a deal to him. His eyes traveled slowly up his mother's robes until he was looking her in the face. He knew that face very well, for he had polished her statue many times. You are now officially a member of this family and a noble son. You will no longer have your eyes on the floor. You will look at anyone you speak to. Is that understood? Yes, Matron Mother. Remove your cloak, Reinela demanded. Jarlnian did as he was told and stood bare to the waist. His upper body still had many scars from the beatings he had received throughout his child hood, but they would heal with time and magic. Remove your boots. Jarlnian kicked them off nimbly, not needing to look down to do so and keeping his eyes on his mother. Lillium stepped up next him holding a new piwafwi and a pair of boots. Reinela rose from her throne and took the piwafwi from her daughter and presented it to Jarlnian. This cloak will mark you as a noble in our house. Also, it will enhance your innate magical abilities. Plus, if you call upon the cloak's special ability, it will mask your body heat so that you appear invisible to infrared eyes. Jarlnian accepted the cloak and donned it quickly. It felt much more comfortable then his old cloak. He could also feel the magical power with in it. Next came the boots. These boots will allow you to travel as silently as a breeze. I hear that you are nimble as it is, but these boots will further silence your movements. These are gifts from our house. As a noble it is your privilege to wear them. As long as you do not jeopardize that privilege by bringing disfavor on this house, you shall keep them. Thank you, Matron Mother, Jarlnian said as he slipped the boots on. He bowed deeply. This was his first official meeting with his mother, and Lillium was kind of hoping he would screw up so she could punish him. Jarlnian was not going to give her that satisfaction. The matron mother stepped off her throne and walked past Jarlnian to stand next to the female dressed as a warrior. This is Qui'tilla. She is the first daughter of your sister Lillium. She is the weapon master of our house. You will be training under her until you are ready to go to Melee-Magthere, the drow academy for fighters. Even though she is not a priestess, you will treat her as you would any of your sisters. She has the authority to enact any punishment she deems necessary up to and including death, if your transgression should so displease her. Jarlnian bowed humbly before his niece. I will not disappoint you, Matron Mother. Only the nobles of House Del'Axle knew of Jarlnian's true lineage, but Reinela had thought it necessary to tell Qui'tilla of it as well. The weapon master would quickly realize that this male was much different than her other two uncles she had trained, or any of the other drow within House Del'Axle. Qui'tilla looked Jarlnian over, liking what she saw. She had been one of the many females who had flocked to the chapel to watch him clean the statues. He had been but a child then, but now he was turning into a very handsome adult. Reinela fully intended to use him to his fullest potential, populating her house with Baenre blood, but she had warned the females in the house that he was off limits until he returned from the Academy. Come with me, Qui'tilla said sternly. Jarlnian nodded and followed the weapon master. The gym of House Del'Axle was easily the poorest equipped among the eight ranking houses. Jarlnian was the only drow that would currently be training for the Academy, and therefore, would have the gym to himself. On one wall of the gym hung a modest collection of weapons. This will be your home for the next four years of your life. I will teach you what I know of the weapons that you see before you, and I will train you in their use. Go over and select one. Jarlnian walked up to the collection of weapons, looking each over. His eyes settled on a large broadsword. It was long and heavy, but well-balanced. He held it in both hands and swung it about his body. He completed a few circuits around his body, feeling the weapon become an extension of his arms. Do you like it? Qui'tilla asked. It fits me well. Qui'tilla had to agree. It was the largest sword she kept in the gym. None of the other drow she had trained, even the ones that had graduated from Melee-Magthere, had been able to spin it about as easily as this Baenre child did. The weapon master retrieved a six-foot pike from her personal stash of weapons. Try to hit me with it, she said. Jarlnian stopped his motions with the sword, bringing it to rest beside him. The edge had been removed from this weapon, but he still realized he could inflict considerable pain with it. I will not strike a drow female, he said, fearing a trap. You will obey Matron Reinela and do as I say or I shall bring one of your sisters down with a whip. Jarlnian did not fear any of his sisters. I shall not hit you. No, you will not, Qui'tilla said, walking slowly toward the defiant male. But you will try. She suddenly spun the pike around her body insanely fast. It appeared to be a silver disk spinning around her body, and it suddenly lashed out at Jarlnian. His sword was up quickly and blocked the blow. His hands held the heavy sword easily, moving it back and forth in a fast serious of parries as Qui'tilla swung her weapon at him in a multitude of angles. The weapon master did not try to hit Jarlnian as much as she tried to attack his weapon, teaching him how to parry. At first, the young male was scared to fight back, knowing that he should not strike a female. But as he moved his weapon about, purely in defensive actions, his tentativeness slowly evaporated. Qui'tilla backed away from her opponent slowly, coaxing Jarlnian into a more offensive stance. She was very impressed with his motions, and she saw that form was not something she was going to have to stress with this one. He knew none of the fundamental parries, but the ones he was quickly improvising were serving him just fine. Slowly, Qui'tilla changed the angle of her attacks, bring them closer to actually hitting Jarlnian instead of just clanging off his weapon. The observant male recognized this change in strategy, but misinterpreted it for an all out assault by his opponent. His blade moved with confidence now as he blocked the blows, his posture growing straighter and stronger with each parry. You can not hit me. Try your best drow female, but you can no- Qui'tilla spun her weapon away from the cocky male so that Jarlnian's next parry hit only air. He was sorely off balance now, the weight of his weapon getting the best of him and sending him to the side. Qui'tilla brought her weapon back into play and swung it high, smacking Jarlnian sharply in the ear. The defeated male ceased his boast in mid word and went crashing to the floor, out cold. Qui'tilla stood over him, smiling broadly. You are good, child of Baenre, but you have a lot to learn.

* * * * *

It was true, but Jarlnian was a quick learner. In the next few weeks Qui'tilla walked Jarlnian through the traditional parries involved with a two-handed sword. She switched to a similar sword herself, and the two sparred for long hours each day. Jarlnian spent most of his time unconscious in those first few weeks. He argued constantly that the parries were wrong. If they are wrong, Qui'tilla would always say, then show me the right ones. The attacks that Qui'tilla would then launch into were not the ones she normally used during their sparring sessions; they were much faster, as if she were in a normal battle with a skilled opponent. Jarlnian's invented parries were indeed stronger and better for blocking each individual blow, but since they so completely blocked each attack, there was often not time to get his weapon into position to block the next attack. While there was little time for him to move his weapon between blocks, there was absolutely no time for him to initiate any attacks of his own. From all of his effort, Jarlnian would tire quickly, and all it would take from Qui'tilla is a feint in one direction, and Jarlnian would thrust his weapon to his side in one of his emphatic parries, leaving his other side wide open. After Jarlnian woke up, he would always complain that Qui'tilla was not attacking in her usual routine. Of course I could not deflect all your attacks, you were attacking too fast. If you would slow down like you do during our normal sessions, I would have a chance. Qui'tilla helped him to his feet. And when you go to the Academy, do you think that your classmates will take pity on you because you have chosen the wrong way to parry their attacks. 'Oh look,' she mocked in a potential classmate's voice, 'Jarlnian Del'Axle is using the wrong parries, I guess I will go easy on him so he can keep up.' But you go easy on me during our other sessions? That is to give you time to learn the proper parries, not out of any mercy on my part. If you believe your parries are better than mine, they should be able to stand up to an increased attack. But they are better. Qui'tilla raised her sword up to attack. Do you want to try again? Jarlnian tossed his weapon onto the ground and stood with his arms outstretched. You can beat me no matter what I do, so please, mighty female, wail away. She did. Jarlnian came to half an hour later. This time Qui'tilla had cut him quite badly across his scalp. When Jarlnian opened his eyes, his head throbbed. He was lying on his back as priestess treated his wounds. It was not one of his sisters, but a common female in the house. Jarlnian tried to sit up, but nearly passed out. Qui'tilla stood over him. Each of your parries ARE better than mine, she said slowly, making sure he was not too groggy to understand her. But as a whole, when you string them all together, mine are much better. When fighting against a trained drow warrior, you will not have time to block each one of his attacks completely and hope to block them all. All you can do is deflect each attack enough so it won't hit you. If you do this, you will not only be able to keep up with your attacker, but you will be able to throw in attacks of your own. Tomorrow, when you are feeling better, I will show you.

* * * * *

Jarlnian still had a headache a day later, but he was on his feet, sword in hand. When I attack you, Qui'tilla began, each attack has only one purpose: to hit you. Each one of my attacks is one hundred percent committed to hitting you. I know that ninety percent off my attacks will never come close, because you will either block or dodge them. Even though I know most of my attacks will be worthless, I can not pull any of them short. As my opponent, you might see that I am pulling my attacks up short and will do likewise with your blocks, giving you a decided advantage. I have to follow through with each one because I don't always know which attack will be the one to get through. This is the way you were blocking. Each of your blocks was dedicated to stopping one of my attacks in the same way that each attack was dedicated to hitting you. This meant that your blocks could not move any faster than my attacks, giving you no opportunity to attack back. Not only did you not have the ability to attack back, but since you were constantly reacting to what I did, each of your blocks came a half second behind each of my attacks. You might be able to guess what my next attack will be, but since it is only a guess, you still have to wait and see. If you were to guess wrong, well, you know what happens. Jarlnian rubbed his sore head with a hand. If you use my parries, you do not have to commit to your blocks until the last second. Since you are not totally committing yourself to the block, you can react much quicker, and each block can be turned into a counter attack more easily. Do you understand? Jarlnian nodded. Do you agree that my way is the right way? Jarlnian paused. Answer me with your weapon! she cried as she launched herself into a furious attack. These were not the traditional attacks that Qui'tilla used when she was teaching a new parry. Nor were these the quicker attacks that she had used to teach Jarlnian that his parries were wrong. This was a whole new fury that Jarlnian had never seen before. It was as if she were fighting Uthegental himself, and actually thought she could win. On instinct, Jarlnian fell back and began to use his own parries. He fell behind much quicker than usual and had to scramble backwards continually in order to stay conscious or in one piece. Slowly he began to change his strategy to match Qui'tilla's style. His blocks came quicker and faster. He still could not initiate anything of his own, but he was getting his feet back under him and stood his ground Qui'tilla noticed the change, but did not relent in the attack. She pushed as hard as she could, determined to hit the pompous youth, yet at the same time, determined to prove that her methods could repel the attack. Every time Qui'tilla had increased the ferocity of her attacks in the past, Jarlnian had thought that they were the limit of her ability. They had always sent him to the ground, but he had thought that he had been defeated by her best attacks. Now he understood that those previous flurries had been nothing compared to what he now faced. As each of Qui'tilla's attacks were repelled by Jarlnian's weapon he became more and more confident in his abilities. His arms fluxed in and out, spinning his blade about his body in a dizzying array of the parries that Qui'tilla had taught him and a few that he improvised on the spot. He had only spent a couple months training under this weapon master, yet here he was confidently repelling all her attacks. Qui'tilla saw the transformation clearly. For the first time in his training, Jarlnian was proving that he was a Baenre and not just one of the many worthless Del'Axles that had been through her gym before. Jarlnian began to advance on his opponent. He stayed on the defensive, but as he brought Qui'tilla's attacks under control, he was able to dictate the flow of the battle. The weapon master's initial flurry had been meant to knock Jarlnian down. When it had not, Qui'tilla had been forced to keep up the rate of her attacks for much longer than she had wanted. Now she grew tired. Jarlnian occasionally began to throw in parries from his old style. The complete blocks severely disrupted Qui'tilla's momentum, and before she could recover and take advantage of the foolish block, Jarlnian was back to using the proper method. The flawed parries came more frequently now, jolting the weapon master each time her sword collided with the stationary blade. Jarlnian was stronger than the average Del'Axle male, and that strength was being used in each of his blocks. Qui'tilla saw that she was constantly leaving herself open for attack as a result of Jarlnian's innovative style. She had not yet gone over attack routines with him, but some of the holes in her defense were so wide open that an untrained kobold could have made the attack. Jarlnian saw these openings but did not want to strike at his opponent yet. He wanted to wear her down. Something needed to happen quickly, or Qui'tilla realized she would lose. She would not only lose to her student within the first couple months of training, but she would collapse without Jarlnian ever once going on the offensive. She dropped a globe of darkness over herself and Jarlnian. Having spent most of his life with his eyes closed, Jarlnian did not even flinch when the darkness came over him. He had actually been contemplating closing his eyes during the fight anyway, wondering how good he would do. Qui'tilla knew about his efficiency in the dark, but she also knew that he did not know any attack routines, and he had been up to this point only blocking what he could see. She tested him briefly, and found that he could still easily block her regular attacks. She then executed a four-move attack routine that brought his blocking weapon up high twice, then low, the back up again. He barely got his weapon down for the third block and took a shot to his shoulder as the weapon master completed the routine. Jarlnian hit the ground and rolled out of the globe of darkness. Qui'tilla was quick to jump out after him and made sure he did not rise. You cheated! Jarlnian cried. I could not see either. Jarlnian had no comeback for that one. You did well today, she complimented, helping him to his feet. Tomorrow we will start on attack routines.

* * * * *

Jarlnian did not want to strike a female. He had flat out refused to fight on his first day, but Qui'tilla had ended that quick enough by forcing him to defend himself. She was not worried about being struck, and Jarlnian quickly realized he was not capable of striking her. This allowed him to fight without holding back. Soon, the idea that he might strike her was so distant from his mind that he never worried about it. After his near victory with his revised parrying technique, Qui'tilla began to teach him attack routines. Now the chance that he might strike her increased dramatically. They spent the first month simply walking through the different routines. No real combat went on and they only sparred at half speed. Qui'tilla had never been to Melee-Magthere. She did not know every routine. She did not, in fact, know half of them. She had been trained by a drow male who had graduated from the fighter's academy, but he had finished toward the bottom of his class, like all Del'Axles did. She had surpassed him quite easily in skill and technique. Matron Reinela had no use for the useless males in her house and had made Qui'tilla weapon master. Jarlnian absorbed everything he was told. He no longer argued with his teacher about technique unless she openly asked for his opinion about something she was not sure about. Jarlnian had quickly learned everything there was to teach him, and he excelled at it all. A few months after the training had switched to offensive moves, Lillium decided to pay the pair a visit. Jarlnian and Qui'tilla had still not seriously fought against each other since the incident with the globe of darkness, but that was about to change. Welcome, sister, Jarlnian said with a smile and a slight bow. Qui'tilla nodded her greeting as well. Welcome, Mother. Lillium nodded back at both of them. You've both been down here for half a year, and we have not seen either of you once during that time. Will you ever take a break? You're brother is an eager learner, Qui'tilla explained. And I must say he has performed better than the average male you send down here. Both females exchanged knowing glances. It is a mindless talent, Lillium responded, belittling Jarlnian's progress. It is necessary for the advancement of Lloth's servants, but holds no value in and of itself. Jarlnian could see that this was a sore spot between mother and daughter. Becoming a fighter had been Qui'tilla's choice. She had seen that she did not excel at the mental disciplines like the rest of the females in the family. It was not from any deficiency on her part, but because she felt Lloth had called her differently. She had remarkable physical talents, especially for a Del'Axle. Lillium had of course frowned on her choice, but as long as Matron Reinela not only agreed with her, but supported her decision, the weapon master's mother would take no action against her wayward daughter. Perhaps you would like a demonstration? Qui'tilla suggested, drawing her sword and facing Jarlnian. This is not a sparring session. Understand? Jarlnian pulled his own sword. I shall answer you with my weapon. The two charged. Jarlnian and Qui'tilla enjoyed the sparring sessions they had together. The weapon master had never found anyone who had been able to understand fighting like Jarlnian and no one with even a fraction of his skill and potential. All other males that came through her gym knew before they entered that they would never become an expert fighter and put very little effort toward their drills. It had been very easy for Qui'tilla to play the part of the punishing female, closely resembling the mother they had just left behind. Jarlnian was different. Likewise, Jarlnian had never met a female that he could see eye to eye on. He had only recently been granted the privilege of looking females in the eye, and the few he saw before he had met Qui'tilla had all treated him as dirt. Qui'tilla had done that also, in the beginning when he had stubbornly held on to his beliefs that his methods were just as good as hers, but now she treated him as close to an equal as any female ever would. The two did not necessarily like each other. Friend was not a common word in the drow language, for it had little use in drow society. Having a friend created a weak spot in your armor. If you cared for something other than just victory, you would fall to the opponent for whom victory was the only thing. Still, the two did not dislike each other. They respected each other. Regardless the feelings they had for each other, they appeared as mortal enemies now. Their blades moved about as if controlled by their minds, without the encumbering physical laws of things like speed or momentum. Lillium was impressed. Despite her dislike of her daughter's chosen profession, she knew that she was good. Jarlnian was matching her blow for blow. Qui'tilla took the first initiative in the battle, raining a series of wicked attacks on her student. Jarlnian did not panic this time and blocked each blow with the appropriate parry. He sent her blade sharply down and to the left with a perfectly executed block, opening up her other side. Qui'tilla was forced to take a step back, and Jarlnian quickly took the offensive. His attacks were quick and perfect. He ran through every attack routine they had practiced as if this was just another sparring session, only at twice, and sometimes, three times the speed. As Qui'tilla barely got her blade up for the last block of the same four move attack routine she had used to knock him down in their last fight, the reality of what he was doing hit Jarlnian sharply, and he backed off. Qui'tilla took the opportunity to press the attack in her favor. Jarlnian tried his old method of blocking, but Qui'tilla was ready for it. Instead of trying to swing through the stiff block like she had before, the weapon master locked blades with her student and the two drew close. They engaged in a brief match of strength, their faces only inches apart. I will not strike you, Jarlnian said. You have to, Qui'tilla responded. I won't. Then you will lose, for I shall strike you. Qui'tilla shoved hard, and the two separated, Jarlnian stumbling as he was not prepared for the strength of his opponent. Lillium saw the stumble and laughed. Worthless male, she mumbled. Jarlnian heard the comment, and it lit a fire in him. He would show this pompous priestess. He would show her what he was capable of. Jarlnian caught himself before he backed away too far and walked slowly in, his blade swing about at his side in a fancy display of swordsmanship. Qui'tilla stepped up to him and initiated her own attack. Jarlnian blew it aside with a powerful parry and began the onslaught. Qui'tilla was two blocks behind after the third attack. To her it looked like Jarlnian was using two swords. The attacks were coming too fast and hard for her to even guess where the next was coming from, to say nothing of trying to block them. They were executed in perfect formation, but not one had Qui'tilla taught him or ever even seen before. Lillium stopped her chuckling quickly, seeing where this fight was headed and pulled her high priestess whip. Jarlnian blasted away at his teacher, and she helplessly retreated. Her feet could not keep up with her upper body, and she tripped. Jarlnian held his last attack in check and stepped back as Qui'tilla fell to the ground, defeated. He had done it without having to hit her. The snake-head whip struck him solidly in the side of his face. Is that how you finish your opponents?! Lillium scolded as she rained blows down upon him. Jarlnian dropped his weapon and held his arms up to protect him, taking the rest of the snake bites on his forearms. Is that how you will fight at the Academy? Will you back away and let your enemy fall down uninjured? When a true drow warrior puts an enemy down, they do not get back up. Mother! Qui'tilla called. Lillium looked fiercely at her daughter, but instead of scolding her too, she merely gave one more lash with her whip and walked away. Teach away, my daughter, she said mockingly, gesturing to her quivering student. Jarlnian had begged for beatings as a child for two reasons. He had wanted to show his piety and humility in the face of Lloth and her priestesses, but he had a much more personal reason. He had hoped that if he were exposed to the unique venom in the snake-head whip as much as possible, he might build up a tolerance to it. It had worked to a small extent, in that he was able to stand up to far more punishment than he should have been able to, but Lillium was a powerful high priestess, and she transferred that power through her weapon. Jarlnian struggled to his feet, his arms shaking from the beating. He fought for control over his numbing limbs and was able to pick up his sword. Qui'tilla cared nothing for his condition. She tossed her own sword away, for it was not her weapon of choice and instead retrieved her pike that she had used on the first day. Can you swing it? she asked, nodding to the sword in Jarlnian's shaking hands. Jarlnian looked down at his weapon and then up slowly at his teacher. There was a smile on his face. The shaking in his arms ceased, and he swung the sword about in an exquisite pattern. I can manage. Try to hit me with it, she said, repeating her words of six months ago. Qui'tilla again started the attack, flipping her silver weapon about her body faster than Jarlnian could follow. Beyond the first day, Jarlnian had never seen this type of weapon in use, and that had only been a brief, uninformative display. Now, Jarlnian's weapon moved on its own, blocking the silver streaks that could barely even be seen, they moved so fast. Though the weapon moved quickly, it was also light, and it bounced off Jarlnian's sword with terrific force. Jarlnian was able to catch on to the rhythm of the attacks after a few frantic moments and positioned his blocks accordingly. He finally ducked one swipe and jabbed out at Qui'tilla's vulnerable chest. The weapon master leaped back. Jarlnian stepped to follow, his weapon low by his side, and he swung up with it. It was a very unusual attack, and Qui'tilla was taken by surprise. Without thinking, she held her pike out horizontally in front of her to block it. The sword hit the silver shaft, and Jarlnian hooked the tip of his weapon around the opposite side of the pike, yanking the two fighters together. Qui'tilla immediately saw that she had erred, for now there was nothing between the sword and her body. At the same time, there was nothing between her pike and Jarlnian. The weapons stayed locked like this only long enough for Jarlnian to wink at his teacher. He did not have any type of angle to swing at her, but he did not need to. He punched out with the hilt of his heavy sword, and caught Qui'tilla in the face. Blood exploded from her nose, and she stumbled backwards, loosing the grip on one end of her weapon, freeing up Jarlnian's sword. He swung it hard against the loosely held pike, sending it flying across the room. Jarlnian continued the momentum of his swing, coming completely around and slamming the flat of his weapon against the left leg of the prone female in front of him. She crumpled, and he slapped her twice more in the shoulder and the head. There, Jarlnian said, standing over his unconscious teacher. He turned to Lillium. She will not get- He never got to finish for the high priestess was on him before he ever got a chance to put up a defense. A single sword offered no protection against a whip with five independent heads. Despite his tolerance to the venom, nothing could have prepared him for the fury he faced. You will never hit a female again! Jarlnian thought he was dead, and as he left consciousness, he was sure that he would never awaken. As Lillium handed out the punishment of Lloth, she had every intention of killer her brother. The only thing that saved Jarlnian's life was the fact that Lillium knew her punishment might be just as great when her mother found out. Still, she beat him long after he had lost consciousness.

Chapter 5 Are You my Mother

True to his word, and Lillium's initial request, Qui'tilla was not able to get up when she came to. It took her a full week before she could walk again and another month before she could do so without a limp. When that time came, Jarlnian was still incapable of holding a weapon. Lillium had tried to withhold the healing powers available from the Del'Axle priestesses, but Matron Reinela had stepped in and made sure that her son got the treatment he needed. Jarlnian would make a full recovery, she was told, but not for a while yet. When Qui'tilla was able to walk normally again, she approached Matron Reinela. How is my son? Reinela asked as Qui'tilla bowed before the matron's throne. He is able to feed himself now. He will be ready to walk within a week or so. He will not be able to hold a weapon for another weak. Full recovery is not expected for another three months. That is not why you have come, Reinela knew. Qui'tilla shook her head. I can do no more with him. Reinela looked confused. What do you mean? What do you need to know to teach a kobold? the weapon master said, repeating an old drow saying. More than the kobold, Reinela responded, completing the saying. This kobold knows as much as I do and probably more. Any further time I spend with him will not improve his skills beyond what they are. If anything, he will be teaching me. But it has not even been a year yet. Have you gone through all the weapons with him? Qui'tilla shook her head. As soon as he holds a new weapon in his hand, he will know more about its use than I in mere hours. There is nothing more that I can teach him that he can not teach himself. Lillium was in the corner of the room, listening to this conversation with great interest. Then it is settled, she called from the corner of the room as she walked toward the throne. If he has learned all there is to know as a fighter, then there is nothing left for him but to study under Cirrel. Del'Axle's chief mage can surely keep him busy for more than six months. He has not learned all there is to know, Qui'tilla said gruffly to her mother. He has learned all that I can teach him. Cirrel will not teach him, Reinela said just as gruffly. The next time you suggest that Jarlnian should be a wizard will be the last time you speak in my presence. Lillium grew pale under the direct rebuke. Do you understand? Lillium nodded and backed away. Reinela turned back to her granddaughter. What about Krol? Could he teach him? Qui'tilla tried not to laugh out loud. Matron Mother, Krol can not last thirty seconds against me, and I can not last ten seconds against Jarlnian. But Krol fights with a different style than you? Correct? The weapon master nodded. Your secondboy uses a single rapier and a lot of acrobatics. He can teach this style to Jarlnian? Qui'tilla nodded. He can. It will be a short lesson, but he can teach it. Then he will do it, and I will be there to watch it. Let me know when my youngest son is capable of fighting again, and I shall bring his older brother to the gym with me. Qui'tilla bowed. As you wish.

* * * * *

Jarlnian stood tall in the Del'Axle gym facing his brother. He had had a lot of time to think about things during his six months of recovery and had come to a very certain conclusion: he did not like Lillium. As he had pondered this, he realized that it was not Lillium he disliked as much as what she stood for and what drove her. It came down to Lloth. Jarlnian knew without a shadow of a doubt that he could beat any one of his sisters as easily and completely as he had taken down Qui'tilla. In his eyes that meant he was more powerful than they were. He knew that they had priestly powers that could assail him, but he felt that he could deal with physical pain, and anything that attacked the mind he could fight against. Regardless of how often he proved himself, he would still just be a male. Now, to keep him from beating up any more females, they were going to parade males in front of him. Fine. He would play their game for now. He would jump through hoops for them as long as it got him to the Academy where he could finally feel important and respected. In the room with the two Del'Axle males were three other females looking on. Qui'tilla was there of course, and Reinela had promised to show up. Lillium was also there. Jarlnian did not know why his oldest sister would want to watch something she so despised, but one look at the whip hanging from her waist told him enough. So I am to fight you, Jarlnian said to his much older brother. Krol pulled a rapier and nodded. It was not his normal weapon, for that was highly enchanted and was fit for killing and not practice. Instead he held a dull practice weapon that Qui'tilla had provided for him. Let's get on with it then. Jarlnian could see immediately that this would be different than his previous fights. Krol's quickness and dexterity matched his own, if not exceeded it, and his attacks would come from a very differently shaped weapon. Krol let Jarlnian attack first. The younger brother stepped forward and swung in a lightning fast Z cut, changing directions sharply and not allowing Krol a chance to get through. His rapier would be blown out of his hands if tried to block the attack and instead rolled under it. Krol came up close to his brother and jabbed up at his groin. Jarlnian brought his hilt back close to his chest and swung down with his weapon as if he were attacking his own feet. The two-handed sword knocked the smaller weapon away before it could hit home, and Krol rolled with the block, moving to Jarlnian's side. The upright Del'Axle continued the swing of his weapon and brought it up over his shoulder as he turned toward his rolling brother. It looked like Jarlnian meant to chop him like wood, and Krol barely scampered away. He would not escape that easily, and the huge sword changed direction again, slicing in a horizontal arc. Krol ducked just under the swipe and then rolled back to his left as Jarlnian changed directions again and angled the weapon down. He corrected his miss, and jabbed out at the nimble scout. Again Krol was able to avoid the attack, jumping over the low thrust. Jarlnian tried to knock him out of the air, but Krol quickly levitated up, and then dropped back down as the blade passed underneath him. Thinking he finally had an opening, Krol jumped forward, but had to retreat just as quickly as the huge sword came back in from above. Are you going to fight or just dance? Jarlnian yelled at his brother. Other than his initial thrust, Krol might as well not even be holding a weapon. I dance or I die, he came back. You will break every bone in my body with that stalagmite you are swinging. Jarlnian stopped for a moment and analyzed his choice of weapon. It was a powerful sword, capable of dealing a lot of damage. He could put the strength of both his arms and shoulders into each swing, but it was not very nimble. Jarlnian could move the weapon as fast as anyone, but quickness was another thing. He was quick, but Krol, with only a light rapier, was quicker. Very well, Jarlnian said and tossed the sword aside. He walked over to the wall and spent a short while picking out a smaller one-handed sword. He swung it back and forth in front of him in a short series of swipes and jabs, appreciating the speed and quickness of the light weapon. Krol's eyes lit up as Jarlnian walked back in front of him. He knew this was the first time his younger brother had ever used a weapon other than the broadsword, and he could not possibly be fluent with it. Krol took the initiative first this time. Jarlnian reacted quickly swinging his weapon in tune with his brother's. He was not so much blocking the attacks as he was attacking the blade. This became obvious when Krol feinted left and spun right. Jarlnian's blade hit only air and he had to get it back to block the attack from his left. He positioned it perfectly vertical, the tip pointing at the ground. Even as Krol's rapier lightly grazed the block and the older fighter spun back left, Jarlnian knew he had erred. The block had been good, but it had been stationary. Now as Krol spun around attacking from Jarlnian's right, the younger fighter could not get his blade back in time and took a solid hit to his ribs. Krol jumped back after making first contact smiling broadly. He cast a confident look back at his mother as if to say, Shall I go put him back on the web I got him from. But Matron Reinela was not looking at her secondboy. Instead she cast a worried look at Qui'tilla. The weapon master paid neither of them any attention and shouted at Jarlnian. You're using the wrong- I know! I know! Jarlnian replied before his teacher could finish. I used the wrong parry. I'm not an idiot. Lillium had been waiting for something like this and pulled her weapon. She would teach him to talk disrespectfully to a female. Reinela put a hand on her daughter's shoulder, holding her back. Leave him be. Jarlnian winced as he flexed his bruised side but he would live. He turned back to his brother, far angrier with himself than at Krol. I will lick your boots clean every day for a year if you can touch me again. Krol smiled at the wager, not seeing the fires that had come on in brother's eyes. You're on. He rushed madly at Jarlnian, swing his weapon in a spectacular flurry. With one hand tucked behind his back, Jarlnian stood his ground and spun his sword in front of him as if he had practiced for years with the weapon. Jarlnian knew he could probably not do this well against Qui'tilla yet, but he had just picked up the weapon, and he was learning fast. His sword danced about so quickly, predicting right where Krol's strikes would fall, that he found he had plenty of time between parries. Instead of attacking, he wanted to continue working on his defense, determined never to be hit again. Faster! he cried. Attack faster! Beads of sweat formed on Krol's face as he went through every attack routine he knew, jabbing and swiping, cutting and slashing at his younger brother, but he never came close. Jarlnian gave a sudden yelp and jumped forward. Krol was startled and leaped back. This gave Jarlnian the break he needed, and he switched hands, now holding the sword in his left. Again! he called. Now Krol had the fire in his eyes. He was being made fun of. He knew now that his first hit had been the result of a stupid mistake by Jarlnian, and it was a mistake he would not make again. Jarlnian fell behind early, and had to take a step back, but after his left arm followed Krol through all his attack routines once, he was able to keep up just fine. Slowly he began to advance on his brother. Krol knew he was defeated. It was only a matter of time. Jarlnian picked the next attack and blocked the swipe high on the blade, barely catching the tip of the weapon. This caused Krol's hilt to swing ahead of his weapon, exposing his hand. Jarlnian snapped his sword down, cracking the knuckles of his opponent and making him drop his weapon. The younger brother brought his weapon up quickly to slap Krol in the face and used his free hand to grab his cloak. Jarlnian yanked Krol forward, stepping to the side and tripping him over an outstretched leg. As he fell, Jarlnian conked him on the head with his hilt, sending him sprawling. Jarlnian turned away and bowed sarcastically toward the watching females. Qui'tilla wanted to applaud but feared a retaliation from her mother. Her student had gone on the offensive for but a brief moment, and the result was a disarmed Krol who lay flat on his face. Jarlnian walked up to her. Well? she asked. It feels unbalanced, he replied, swinging the sword in front of him. The weapon? she asked, though she was pretty sure she knew what he meant. No, the whole one-handed style. Qui'tilla nodded. It had looked unbalanced to her as well. Still, she wanted to make sure Jarlnian knew why. What do you mean? With the other sword, I was able to use both arms and shoulders when I fought. Each attack incorporated my whole body, and I felt like it was just an extension of my arms. It was very easy to keep my center of balance between my feet. With only one weapon, I feel like I'm leaning to one side all the time. My off foot is not supporting my weight evenly. If I try to even it out, I loose strength and speed with my weapon. There are two ways to fix that. One is to change your stance. Turn your body sideways with one foot in front of the other. That way both of your feet are in line with your weapon. But the way I suggest you fix it is by getting another weapon. Jarlnian looked down at the one in his hand. Is there something wrong with this one? Qui'tilla looked at the crude practice weapon. Well, yes, but that's not what I meant. Hold two weapons. Jarlnian's brow furrowed at this. Won't I get tangled up in them? Qui'tilla smiled. Not you. Not you. It is the traditional style of a drow warrior to use both hands. That means they either wield a two handed weapon, as I do, or use two weapons. If that is the traditional way, then why does . . . he turned to look at Krol who was busy dusting himself off. Because your brother and all other fighters in this house are not traditional drow warriors. The two of them walked over to the weapon rack and picked out another sword. Jarlnian held the two weapons. They were comparable in weight and length. He swung them about his body, and they collided uncomfortably twice, causing him to drop one. It will take some getting used to, he said as he stooped to pick up his dropped weapon. Yes, she agreed. It will take a lot of practice. When do we get started? Right now.

* * * * *

Qui'tilla brought drow after drow to face Jarlnian. She knew that none of them could ever match up to him one on one, so she did not even try. She pitted two, sometimes three, fighters against him at once. After only half an hour fighting with two weapons, he was more skilled at it than Qui'tilla. The weapon master was not a specialist when it came to two weapon fighting. She did not need to be. She was the weapon master for House Del'Axle. Therefore, she had very little to teach Jarlnian when it came to attack routines and maneuvers. Though he lacked technique, Jarlnian's form was outstanding. It had to be in order to fend off three fighters at once. His blades whirled about his body in a dizzying display, creating an impenetrable shield around him. Every time an attacker tried to slip in, a blade was there to bat it aside, seemingly from out of nowhere. Jarlnian had tremendous vision and his head whirled about as much as his blades, seeing everything around him. Soon Qui'tilla had him fighting females again - four of them. They each held a different weapon, and Jarlnian had to work to fend off a staff, a mace, a sword, and a flail all at the same time. Above all, he was not allowed to hit any of them, but they were trying their best to hit him. Lillium made it a point of hers to always be in the gym when Jarlnian fought females. When he fought against males, he would fend off their attacks until it got boring and then in the blink of an eye, his parries would turn into strikes and all his opponents would be stumbling backwards holding a bloody or bruised something. When he fought females, he needed to stay in his defensive posture for the duration of the fight. His style was unique among drow. Most are drilled with technique and attack maneuvers from the time they pick up a sword until they leave the Academy. Jarlnian had none of that. All he had was a dizzying, 360-degree dance that could turn from defensive into offensive in the blink of an eye. On the surface it was called swashbuckling. Those fighters who lacked real skill and training, but did have exceptional coordination used it. It was more of a show than any type of fighting. The swashbucklers attempted to lull their enemies into a state of awe and hesitation at attacking such a skilled fighter. Invariably, a bowman would take out these stunned fighters, leaving the swashbuckler free to twirl about to his heart's content without ever having to do any real fighting. Jarlnian's style might be wrought from lack of technique, but it had nothing to do with lack of skill. And so three more years passed. Jarlnian had fought against everything House Del'Axle had to throw at him, and he had passed all the tests. Now he stood in front of Matron Reinela, only a week from going to the Academy. He had many bumps and bruises, and Qui'tilla though it best to give him a week off. Jarlnian had seen the stack of equipment when he had entered the room and now smiled as his mother gave it to him. These are also gifts, she said as she presented him with a vest of finely crafted chain, two drow swords, and two jeweled scabbards. Use them for the glory of House Del'Axle and Lloth, and you shall keep them. Jarlnian drew each sword, examining its weight and balance. With these weapons alone, his skill nearly doubled. He strapped them to his belt and stood proudly before his matron mother. You have lived within this house for twenty years, and it has been a very important twenty years for House Del'Axle. The houses ranked above us envy our position as fourth house, and I feel an attack of some sort will come within the next two decades. You have the chance to be instrumental in House Del'Axle's continual existence and dominance. If you put your blades to good use fighting for this house, you will be rewarded. Jarlnian listened to the charge, and bowed to one knee in front of the throne. I will do my best, Matron Mother. Reinela motioned for him to rise. Now, before you go off to the Academy, do you have any requests? Do you need anything? Do you wish any additional weapons? Perhaps you are in need of some more equipment. Have you had your eye on any particular common female within the house? I have a question, Jarlnian asked solemnly. If you would answer it, that is all I need. Reinela raised her eyebrows at this. Very well, ask your question, and I shall answer it. Who is my real mother? The audience chamber held Lillium, Goria, Herlina, Qui'tilla, Krol, and Matron Reinela and each were shocked beyond belief. Lillium and Goria were the first to respond to this blasphemous outburst by their brother. They flanked Jarlnian, slightly behind him, and they each drew their whips. Every male they had ever beaten had always stood there and taken it. Jarlnian was not so inclined. He had expected their attack, and as a result of their immense surprise, neither struck with much precision. His arms snaked out faster than the serpent-headed whips and grasped each below the branching before any of the heads could strike home. With a quick snap of his arms, he disarmed both high priestesses and tossed the whips into the corner of the room. Matron Reinela stood from her throne, her face flushed with rage. How dare you!!! Every female in the room started to draw their melee weapons, but with one look at the new swords hanging at Jarlnian's hips, they knew that in these close confines, without the restriction of not being able to strike a female, the skilled drow warrior would make short work of them. Throughout this commotion, Jarlnian remained calm and poised. You asked me if I had any requests, and you said that you would answer my question. I have fought against this entire house, and I know that I am a kin to none of them. I knew this from almost my first days as a page prince, but I kept my mouth closed and have served you and your house loyally. Now I will continue to do as I have done and as I have promised to do. I will go to the Academy and represent our house to the best of my ability without a second thought, regardless of your answer. But I must know. Reinela's face slowly turned into a grin, and she motioned to her daughters and weapon master to stand down. Thankful they would not have to engage this drow in battle, the Del'Axle females returned their weapons to their sheathes. Very well, she said with a sigh. She sat back down in her throne and stared at her son. Matron Baenre. Jarlnian's entire body went limp. This would have been the time to attack, but Reinela held her children in check. She was almost glad that he had asked. That's right. You are the third born son to Matron Baenre, matron mother of the first house in all of Menzoberranzan. Twenty years ago two of my sons, Krol and Trenian - the son whose place you took - followed three of your true sisters to a spider colony east of the city. There your sisters sacrificed you to Lloth, giving your infant body to the spiders. My sons, your new brothers, rescued you from the web of the very queen of that colony and brought you back to our house. Unfortunately, Baenre's sacrifice demanded a third born son, and Trenian volunteered to save your life. Jarlnian absorbed this story with his jaw on the floor. His head was spinning. He had been sacrificed by his own mother! Not only that, but his mother was Matron Baenre, the most powerful drow in all of Menzoberranzan! For as much as you have been beaten by your sisters for being a male, remember that you were originally sacrificed because of it, and we rescued you. If ever in the future you question where your loyalties should lie, just remember that. Jarlnian finally closed his mouth and bowed once more. Thank you, Matron Mother, he managed through a parched throat, for your honesty and mercy. With that, Jarlnian was dismissed to his chambers where he did not sleep for days.

Chapter 6 House Do'Urden

Matron Vartha Do'Urden was the matron mother of the thirteenth house of Menzoberranzan. She was not old, but she was done having children. It was a difficult thing for Vartha to admit to, but she realized that it was so. After giving birth to two males over the course of three centuries, a span in which most matron mothers could produce five children, Matron Vartha knew that her womb was not fertile. For the next century and a half, she had prayed and given more sacrifices to Lloth than any matron mother of a thirteenth house had a reason to. She had finally given birth to a daughter and knew that it was her last. Malice, her daughter, was not yet a century old and still working toward attaining the rank of high priestess. Therefore, House Do'Urden had but one high priestess of Lloth, Matron Vartha herself. This did not mean House Do'Urden was not a strong house. Vartha's two sons were both wizards, and of high regard. Her eldest son, Elronder, was one of the most highly regarded masters at Sorcere, and if it were not for Gromph Baenre, he would be the most logical choice for the position of Archmage of the Academy once the current withered drow died. Though House Do'Urden boasted no fighters among its three nobles, the common ranks of the house were full of them. Even though they were thirteenth in the city, there was but four other houses that boasted more drow soldiers than they. They might not have the goblin and kobold fodder of the ranked houses, but a Do'Urden drow warrior was worth a hundred of the lesser races. Right now, the best one of those warriors knelt before Matron Vartha. His name was Stiu Alnan. He was the weapon master of House Do'Urden. Rise, Vartha commanded. The weapon master stood with perfect posture. What have you to report? We are preparing to send another male to the Academy this year. Vartha sighed. How often do we send a drow to the Academy? About once every third year, Stiu Alnan responded. So why have you deemed it important this time? Do you know the highest class ranking a Do'Urden has ever received? the weapon master asked. I believe you ranked third in your class. A great honor. And to your credit, no Do'Urden has ever graduated worse than tenth since you became weapon master. Thank you, Matron Mother, but my current student will finish first. I am willing to bet my life on it. He's that good? she asked. I have been through the Academy and have served time as a master there, and I have never seen anyone half as good. Then he shall finish first, Vartha agreed, and you shall keep your life. This will bring House Do'Urden honor and respect. It is something we have been lacking as the thirteenth house. How many of the ranked houses will be represented in this year's class? All will have representation except Oblodra and DeVir, Stiu Alnan responded. Any nobles amongst them? Only from Del'Axle, he said, a bit of regret entering his voice. Anyone could beat a Del'Axle soldier, and their nobles were not much better. Now if Baenre or Barrison Del'Armgo had nobles in this class, beating them would bring considerable honor. Vartha could tell that Stiu Alnan was holding something else back. The weapon master continued. There might be a small problem with the male I've been training, though. Vartha waited patiently for her weapon master to continue. His name is Zaknafein. His mother's name is Irelnia. She became a member of this house when we freed her from a pack of goblins that had held her as a slave. Vartha remembered that instance well. It had happened about 100 years ago. House Do'Urden had received word from their scouts that three drow had been taken captive by a band of goblins. A group of Do'Urden soldiers had then destroyed the goblins and rescued the drow, claiming them for house Do'Urden. Vartha did not think much of any drow that could be held as a slave by goblins, but two of the three had been female, and if nothing else, as this Irelnia had proven, they could produce children. How is this a problem? Zaknafein's mother raised him and taught him of drow culture and society. Irelnia is not, well, how can I say it . . . Stop mincing words and tell me, Vartha demanded. She is not priestess material. She has many misconceptions of Lloth and of drow in general. She has passed these on to her son and he has embraced them. I will not have any drow male disrespecting this house in the Academy, Vartha said plainly. I don't care if he is the best fighter to have ever walked the underdark, I will not have him blaspheming the Spider Queen at the head of his class for all to see. Perhaps you should meet them, Stiu Alnan suggested. Very well, bring them before me. I shall see if this Zaknafein is fit to represent our house in the Academy. As you wish, Stiu Alnan bowed low and left to fetch mother and son.

* * * * *

Matron Baenre sat at the head of the table in the city's council chamber. Around the table sat the other seven matron mothers of the eight ranking houses. In order from Matron Baenre sat the matron mothers of House Barrison Del'Armgo, Oblodra, Del'Axle, DeVir, Faen Tlabbar, Hun'ett, and Do'Juorian. Baenre looked the matron mothers over slowly. Each one had brought an escort. In almost every case, that escort was the eldest daughter of the house. The one exception was from house Barrison Del'Armgo. Matron Mez Barris had brought her weapon master, Uthegental. The drow male stood a few inches over six feet and weighed over 200 pounds. He was the only drow Baenre knew that sported facial hair. He had a white goatee and had cut his hair short so that it stood straight up on his head, adding another inch to his height. He had a large gold ring through his nose with four matching rings in his ears. Males should not be allowed to these meetings, but no one had ever complained about his presence yet, at least, not to his face. Matron Baenre was more interested in the fourth house. Matron Reinela had always been a strong voice in the council, and she demanded respect with the six high priestesses she had at her disposal. Still, house Del'Axle was not a strong house, and it would not be such a hard task for the fifth, sixth, and seventh houses to move up a notch. There would be a battle soon, and Matron Baenre was going to make sure that she kept a close eye on things. To her knowledge, all four houses above Del'Axle had the means to take it out, though House Do'Juorian spent most of their efforts watching their back, protecting themselves from ambitious houses that wished to take its place as the eighth house. The only thing that was keeping the other three houses from attacking was that a house battle was an expensive and time-consuming thing to take on. The actual battle was not long, but the preparation and information gathering was. Also, only one of the houses needed to make a move in order for all three to move up. This had turned the whole affair into a dangerous waiting game. Though Baenre kept a close eye on these affairs, she did not wish to get involved if she did not have to. What did concerned her though, was that according to her scouts, House Del'Axle was actively searching for ways to add drow soldiers to their ranks. This was not wrong, and it was a good way to run your house, but according to the registration for the Academy this coming year that Dantrag had supplied her with, House Del'Axle was the only house of the eight sending a noble. Everyone on the council knew that Matron Reinela was done producing children. Her last child had been born over 150 years ago, and there was no way that this Jarlnian Del'Axle was her child. While collecting rogue drow and adding them to your ranks was fine, claiming them as nobles was not. Of course Baenre could not make a formal charge against the house. No one really could. Stranger things had happened than a matron mother suddenly giving birth after a century and a half of barrenness. Baenre herself was at least twice as old as Matron Reinela was, yet she was the most fertile female at the table. As the meeting started, Baenre made a mental note to have her secondboy keep an eye on Jarlnian Del'Axle. Dantrag would not be happy, but her job was to keep the city of Menzoberranzan functioning. That did not include keeping her sons happy.

* * * * *

Stiu Alnan led Zaknafein and his mother into the audience chamber in which Matron Vartha and Malice were waiting. Zaknafein was tall and strong; his mother was not. She did not appear that old, but she moved as if severely hobbled by age. Zaknafein supported her with his arm and led her to the throne, all the while keeping his eyes on the floor like he had been told. Zaknafein was just a common male and had never met or even seen Matron Vartha before. His mother had never met her either, but she had told her son stories about how she had been rescued from slavery at the hands of goblins, and Matron Vartha was to thank. From what his mother had told him, Zaknafein expected the matron mother to be kind and caring, much like his own mother. What do you know of our goddess, Lloth? Vartha asked Irelnia without so much as a greeting. The female was allowed to look Vartha in the face and did so when she answered. She looks after us and cares for us like a deity should. She demands obedience and repays it with blessings and prosperity. This was not a very accurate answer, but it was acceptable. Vartha thought it sounded memorized and decided to dig a little deeper. What is exactly required of us as servants of Lloth. Obedience, she replied again. Can you explain that answer? Vartha pressed. We are to obey her laws, Irelnia tried. And what are her laws? Vartha was growing very tired of this game. Irelnia looked confused and scared. She had been told that her son was to enter the drow Academy for fighters and that it was a great honor. She was very proud of her son and wished to see him do well. This meeting was just to present Zaknafein to the matron mother before he left. She had not expected a test. Vartha decided to try a new tactic. She asked another question, this time using the drow hand code. Irelnia just stared blankly at her. Vartha signed it again, this time much slower. Still, Irelnia's face was blank. Zaknafein grew concerned by the continued silence and peeked a glance at what was going on. As Vartha signed the question a third time, Zaknafein understood it and quietly whispered it into his mother's ear. Silence male! Vartha screeched and snapped her whip between the two. Zaknafein reacted like a cat, dodging quickly out of the way, but his mother took one of the snake heads on the cheek. She cried out in pain, and Zaknafein started to tend to her, but remembered the matron mother and remained where he was. Malice saw that Zaknafein had been interpreting for his stupid mother and signed as much to Vartha. The matron mother had not caught on as quickly as her daughter, but understood soon enough that she was questioning the wrong person. Zaknafein, look at me, she ordered. The young male had not spent his life staring at his shoes like he should have, and bringing his eyes to look at Matron Vartha was not that difficult. Do you understand the drow hand code? she asked, using the code. Zaknafein responded in kind, with his hands. Yes I do, but my mother does not. Vartha was impressed by Zaknafein's precision. Who taught it to you? she asked verbally. Zaknafein looked a little confused. No one taught it to me. I just saw others using it. Now Vartha was really impressed. It was not a simple language, and to pick it up without anyone teaching it to you was almost impossible. Looking again at Irelnia, Vartha knew that she could not have taught it to him. The matron mother doubted the stupid female could read. Take off your cloak and shirt, she instructed. Zaknafein did as he was told and stood bare to the waist. Turn around, Vartha continued. Again Zaknafein complied. Malice gasped sharply. This male's physical form was spectacular. Malice would definitely keep her eyes on him. This time it was Malice who missed what was really going on. Vartha did admire the handsome drow, but ever since she had given up on having children she did not think of males in that light anymore. Instead, she took careful notice of the fact that there was not one scar on his entire body. This male had never been beaten. Do you know a male's place in society? Vartha asked. I am to serve my matron mother and all those females above me. I am also to show respect to any female I meet whether they are of my house or not. And under no circumstance am I ever to strike a female. It was as good an answer as could be expected. She looked at the fine weapons that hung on his belt. Can you use those as Stiu Alnan has suggested? Master Stiu Alnan has trained me well, and I feel confident in my skills. Vartha had heard enough. Very well, go to the Academy and bring our house honor. Zaknafein bowed before the matron mother. I shall strive to bring glory to House Do'Urden with my actions. And? Vartha prompted. And? Zaknafein asked back. And to bring all praise to Lloth, Vartha said. Of course, Matron Mother. Vartha waived the pair off, and they were led out of the room. Stiu Alnan hung around. On your life he will finish first in his class? Vartha asked. Stiu Alnan realized he should have never made that statement. He will. If he should bring any disfavor on our house, it will not only be his life, but yours as well. The weapon master bowed. And his mother? Once he is safely tucked away in the Academy, have her killed. I have no need for useless females in my house. For the glory of Lloth. Stiu Alnan left the room. Are you sure that was wise? Malice asked as she walked toward the throne. Vartha was not angered by her daughter's question, as many matron mothers would. Most daughters were taught to obey without question, for their mothers were ruthless dictators. Vartha ran her house differently. She was old. She doubted she would live another 200 years, but Malice was not yet 100. Vartha knew her daughter would rule this house soon, and she made sure that the two of them always maintained an open line of communication. She wanted to leave House Do'Urden in good hands. Irelnia is not a model drow female, that much is obvious. Zaknafein has suffered from that and might have naive notions about our society and how it functions. Most drow are taught these things as soon as they can comprehend speech. Zaknafein still needs to learn this. What better place to learn it than in the Academy. Vartha got up and walked around the room a bit. I doubt he will be ranked first in his class until the third or fourth year. The other students will take advantage of him. But he will learn. Oh, yes, he will learn. He will learn, or he will share his mother's fate. With that, Vartha left the room to let her daughter think about what she had said.

* * * * *

Dantrag walked into his mother's private chamber. He had been there a few times before, but always before several of his sisters had accompanied him. Now he was alone. When he had received a summons to see his mother in her private chambers, he had responded immediately. He expected to be named weapon master. I want you to spend more time at the Academy, she said flatly once he had entered. What? He said this a bit too loudly, considering who he was talking to and quickly lowered his voice. With all do respect, Matron Mother, I have spent nine years as a master at the Academy, five of them as Head Master. I don't understand how more time will bring our house any more prestige. I want you to keep an eye on a new student that is entering this year. A battle will occur sometime soon, likely involving several of the high ranking houses, and there is a good chance this student will be the catalyst to that battle. Who? he asked, genuinely curious. He had given his mother the list of new recruits at her request, but he had not looked at it himself. After all, he had thought his time at the Academy was over. Jarlnian Del'Axle. A Del'Axle?! Again his voice was a bit too loud, but he neglected to bring it down this time. Del'Axles are worthless fighters. I saw two of them graduate from the Academy during my time there. One was last in his class. The other third to last. Even though this one might be a noble, I doubt he will finish any higher than tenth. Baenre overlooked her son's disrespectful tone for now. She could demand that he stay at the Academy forever. I do not believe that Matron Reinela gave birth to this child. Dantrag quieted at this. That was a serious charge. Do you have proof? No, stupid son! she scolded. That is why I need you at the Academy. If Matron Reinela is claiming nobility for children that she did not conceive, then she should bring the disfavor of Lloth on her house. By all reports, House Del'Axle is in as good a standing with Lloth as any, including our own. Yet I know that she is barren and has been for a long time. Jarlnian is not a noble. I shall watch him for you, Matron Mother. If he is not noble born, I will discover it. Matron Baenre nodded and dismissed her son. She was planning on lying with another male tonight, and she needed to prepare her room.

Part II The Academy

The enemy of my enemy is my friend This philosophy has made for some very strange bedfellows over the course of time. Nothing will bring people together more than a common enemy. When goblins raid a small village, neighbors who would not give each other the time of day will unite together as brothers to fend off the evil creatures. These types of friendships are not always stable, though among the goodly races, facing a threat that is far larger than themselves and coming through on top often belittles any previous conflicts they may have had, allowing the new friendship to last. Friendships should not be formed out of a common hatred, but out of love and respect. The word love does not exist in the drow language, and though they have a word for respect, they have very little use for its true meaning. Drow elves do not respect each other; they fear each other. I might have proved myself superior with my blades, but that did not earn me respect. Instead people feared me, and that fear did not produce friendship, but hatred and jealousy. I do not like Lloth. That is saying it mildly, but the words that best describe my feelings toward the Spider Queen are too vile to be written down. Being sacrificed to her has a lot to do with that. I will stand by anyone who wishes to lead an attack against the evil deity and will call them friend for the duration of the battle. After the fight is over, in order for me to continue by their side, there will need to be more than just a common hatred. In the city of Menzoberranzan, or any drow city for that matter, everyone hates everyone, and therefore, potential friendships are all around you. If you are standing in a crowd, and you hate the drow in front of you, there is a good chance the drow next to you shares that feeling and will help you shove a dagger in his back. After that common foe is defeated, there is nothing keeping your new friend from turning that dagger back on you. As a prominent member of a drow house, I had many opportunities to create such friendships. In almost every case, that friend turned back into an enemy within five minutes after defeating our foe. In my centuries of life, there was only one friend that remained. There was no love between us, but there was respect. And respect was good enough.

- Zaknafein

Chapter 7 A Strange Bedfellow

Zaknafein walked up the white marble steps toward Tier Breche, the drow Academy. There were three main buildings within the Academy. The largest was Arach-Tinilith, the school of Lloth. Here was where potential priestesses spent decades of study learning the intricate ways of Lloth. It was carved out of the stone to look like a huge spider, and it dominated the cavern of Tier Breche. The next two buildings were roughly the same size but very different in shape. Sorcere was the home for drow wizards. It was housed inside of a huge stalagmite, tall and narrow. Potential mages spent 30 years within the tower learning their magical art. Zaknafein knew very little of magic or priestly powers as his mother had not taught him. All he knew was how to use the two swords hanging from his belt. Stiu Alnan, his weapon master and the only drow he had known other than his mother, had given these weapons to him. Even though the weapons he wore had only been in his possession for a short time, he had carried one weapon or another for as long as he could remember. Zaknafein's mother had not been a strong female, and the other common soldiers in the house had preyed on her endlessly. For a drow male to take advantage of a female was a crime punishable by death, but Irelnia, Zaknafein's mother, was not your typical drow female. She was weak and slow-witted. She endured the abuse stoically and without much resistance. Zaknafein was the result of one of these encounters, and Irelnia had a reason to live. She cared for her son as well as she could. The males gave the female a brief reprieve during her pregnancy and a few years after the birth of Zaknafein, but resumed their abuse of her soon after. When Zaknafein was 10, he walked in on such an encounter. The drow male had disrobed and had left his weapons unattended as he raped the helpless female. Zaknafein picked up the weapon and defended his mother. The male was one of the better fighters among the common soldiers, but when Zaknafein was done with him, he could barely run away. Stiu Alnan showed up a few days later, taking Zaknafein under his wing. His first reaction at seeing one of his men cut up, was to punish the offender, but when he came to the small room that housed mother and son and found Zaknafein guarding his mother with sword drawn, he understood the young male's potential. Now Zaknafein was the pride of Stiu Alnan. As he passed through the guarded entrance to the Academy, he paid little attention to the buildings for the education of magic, instead he moved toward the third building. Melee-Magthere was a squat, pyramid-shaped building. It was not ornately decorated, nor did it have any of the security that the other two buildings possessed. If ever a non-drow managed to sneak this far into the city, they would sneak no further. Melee-Magthere did not have extra security for it housed and trained the most vicious and skilled warriors in all of the underdark. Zaknafein moved toward this building, eyeing up the other young drow that milled about in the courtyard. He had not been around other drow his own age before, and the feeling was an odd on. He had known only one-on-one relationships up till this point of his life, and now he felt a bit of agoraphobia creeping into him. Zaknafein picked out one group of clustered students in particular and studied them. There were about a dozen drow all huddled around one central figure. The drow of interest was dressed in a very fine cloak and the weapons strapped to his sides were of the highest quality of anyone in the group. He waved his arms about in dramatic fashion has he recounted some dramatic tale to those that stood by eager to listen. He is Jarlnian Del'Axle, a voice from the side spoke, identifying the drow in question. Zaknafein turned quickly, his hands instinctively falling to his weapons. Easy, the drow said, backing away quickly, but making no move toward his own weapons. My name is Drillmick of house Faen Tlabbar, sixth house of Menzoberranzan. Zaknafein relaxed. My apologies, but you startled me. I am Zaknafein of house Do'Urden. He did not know what rank his house held. What is so special about him? he asked, turning back to look at the cluster of drow. Jarlnian is a noble of the fourth house. From the rumors I've heard, he thinks quite a bit of himself. I imagine he plans on being first in the class. You don't think he shall? Zaknafein asked. He had not missed the fact that Jarlnian was of the fourth house and Drillmick was of the sixth. Though the naive drow did not understand how the chaotic city worked yet, he could easily see the jealousy written on Drillmick's face and was smart enough to figure out the rest. No, Drillmick said, turning his eyes back to Zaknafein, he shall not. Del'Axles are not known for their fighting prowess, and this stuck up noble will be no different. Are Faen Tlabbars known for their fighting prowess? Zaknafein asked curiously. Are Do'Urdens? he bit back, not wanting to get into a meaningless debate. It matters not what houses we are from, for we are not nobles. For us there can be only personally victory, and for me, it will come at the expense of that noble. Zaknafein decided not to press the issue any further, not understanding why someone should hate another based on nothing other than a name and a title. Even if he had wanted to push the conversation further, the masters of Melee-Magthere came into the courtyard and rounded up all of the students. With the cracks of several whips, the students quickly fell in line, the weapons bringing back painful childhood memories. Zaknafein was not so conditioned, but he followed suit. They were led inside of the building and maneuvered through several long halls until they stopped at a large oval room. This class was a small one of only 16 students, and they all fit easily into the room. A few students that knew what was going on took a seat and soon the rest followed. Drillmick sat down next to Zaknafein. It was important to make allies early on in the Academy, for it was a dangerous place if you were not careful. The young fighter from the sixth house had been very intrigued by Zaknafein's movements when he had gone for his weapons after Drillmick had startled him. Zaknafein would do well in this class. Also, Zaknafein had not given his house's rank when he had introduced himself. This meant either the young drow did not know it, or more likely, that it was so high, it was better left unsaid. In either case, Zaknafein probably did not know about the ranked houses, or the intrigue that existed between them. If Drillmick wanted access to Zaknafein's skills as an ally, he would need to make the union worthwhile by offering information in return. There is the Head Master, Drillmick whispered into Zaknafein's ear, Dantrag Baenre. Zaknafein had already been staring at the drow, and this revelation explained quite a bit. Dantrag was dressed in a very ornate piwafwi with the symbol of the first house emblazoned across the chest. The cloak was sleeveless, and Dantrag's powerfully muscled arms were displayed prominently with his thumbs hooked on his belt. Hanging just outside his hands were his swords. They were like pieces of art, and Zaknafein wondered how he could get a pair that looked like that. The most enrapturing feature of the Head Master was his face. He was only 20 years older than the students that sat before him, and that youth was very evident in his features. Instead of weakness, his youth displayed his strength and confidence. He was the youngest Head Master ever, and the other masters at the Academy, some who were more than ten times his age, treated him with the utmost respect and fear. Dantrag's eyes spanned the group in front of him, taking in each student one by one. His eyes were penetrating and all seeing. With each brief gaze at a student, he mentally predicted their eventual class rank. He had done this evaluation with each of his previous five classes as Head Master, and with the first of those classes just past the halfway point in their time at the Academy, he had been surprisingly accurate. As Dantrag leveled a gaze on Zaknafein, the young fighter returned it. Zaknafein searched out this Head Master just as much as he was being examined. Zaknafein wished to do well here to make his mother and matron mother proud. If Dantrag was the most powerful drow at the Academy, then Zaknafein had a target to shoot for. Dantrag's steady posture fell a little as his eyes met with Zaknafein, both drow realizing the strength in the other. The Head Master smiled broadly as he mentally moved the Do'Urden to the front of the class. The staring contest did not last much longer for the Lore Master at the Academy demanded everyone's attention. My name is Frian Cal'Trestit. I am the Lore Master here at the Academy. I shall be the only teacher you shall have for the next 50 cycles of Narbondel. The lessons you shall learn from me will not be hard. You will not limp away from this room, as you will from much of your other training. Also, fifty days will seem but a fraction of a second compared to the rest of your ten-year stay. Regardless, this will be the most important time that you spend at the Academy. You are all drow. Whether you are from the first house or the last one, you are all servants of Lloth with no more credentials in her eyes than any other. There will be no competition between you other than within the grand melee. Frian moved about his students as he began his lesson for the day. Though your respective houses may feud against each other, there must remain a unbreakable union between us as a people. We are drow, and we are hated by every other race in existence! Is this fair? No! But it is the reality of our people, and we must be unified in the Spider Queen to survive! All praise to Lloth! a student cried. Frian nodded at the appropriate comment, but readied his whip none-the-less should a student think that it was okay to talk during his lesson. Some of you might be wondering why we are so hated. I shall tell you. We are hated for no other reason than because we are drow. From our humble beginnings on the surface when we were persecuted by our surface cousins, to when we were driven down into the underdark by all of the surface races we have been hated unjustly. And even now, the other races that dwell with us in the underdark sit around their conference tables planning and plotting against us. And for what, I ask you again, for what reason do these other races conspire against us? Because we are drow! a student cried. Frian turned on him. Exactly. We are drow. We are the most powerful race in the underdark and the most prosperous by far. We were feared because of our power, and thus banished to the underdark. The other races thought this would limit our power and doom us to die, but we found the Spider Queen and are now more powerful than ever! All praise to Lloth! And what do we ask of the other races? Do we drive them away from us? Do we enact the punishment they deserve by ridding the world of their existence? For surely that is what they deserve. No! We try to live in peace with the Spider Queen, but they continue to attack, and so we must defend ourselves. Surely we must have done something to warrant this persecution? The question caught the Lore Master completely off guard, and he fumbled with his whip as he turned to face the student. What is your name? Zaknafein of house Do'Urden. Well, Zaknafein of the thirteenth house, he added for the rest of the drow in the room, we did nothing. Nothing, I tell you! Zaknafein coward under the outburst, but Frian turned his attention to the rest of his students. 'But surely Master Frian, we must have done something to deserved this awful persecution,' he said, mimicking Zaknafein's voice as if the student were but 5 years old. 'Surely the other races would not act unjustly. Surely we are deserving of everything we receive.' I tell you NO! The other races might claim that we have waged war on them, but that is only our reaction to their persecution, not the cause of it. And how should we react? Should we stand here defenseless and allow the other races to pound us into oblivion? And trust me, if we gave them the opportunity, they would. No! With the Spider Queen behind us, we shall meet each threat and push them back until we can reclaim what is ours? The surface? a student asked. Frian thought it might be Zaknafein, but it was not. Bah! Leave the surface with its cursed lights to the faeries and the short lived-humans. Down here, in the comfortable protection of the underdark, Lloth is with us, and woe to any drow that ventures to the surface without her protection. Zaknafein was having his doubts. He had not been drilled with this Lloth propaganda as a youth as had the rest of the students here, and now his mature intellect was having a hard time accepting it. He wished he could hear the story told by one of the other races. Zaknafein knew that was a wish that would never come true. Frian and the other masters would be the only ones to tell these students about the history of their race, and it would be up to Zaknafein to determine what he wished to believe.

* * * * *

As promised, Lore Master Frian Cal'Trestit, was the only teacher they had for the first fifty days. His classes lasted three hours each, and they took place three times a day at morning, noon, and night. The students went to bed each night with thoughts of hatred and revenge coursing through them. Fights often broke out and were usually settled only when a master made his appearance. When that happened, neither side won, for the ruthless masters punished both sides equally. Zaknafein saw this cruel treatment of the students by the masters and had a hard time believing the drow were as innocent as Frian claimed. Zaknafein quickly realized that the classroom was not the place to pose his questions about the legitimacy of Master Frian's tales. The master was too learned and eloquent at what he did to be debated by a first year student. Instead, Zaknafein turned to his fellow classmates. This had proven to be less than wise as well. Several fights had broken out as a result of Zaknafein's sacrilegious questions. The masters had to be quick to break these fights up, for while Zaknafein might be unsure of himself when it came to drow history, he knew how to handle himself in a fight. This unnatural curiosity did not escape the attention of the masters, particularly, Head Master Dantrag Baenre. When Dantrag had been just a master, he had fraternized with his students more than he should have, and as a result had gathered even more respect than his fellow masters. Now that he was Head Master, those students followed his every command as if he were their own matron mother. Dantrag decided that his prediction of Zaknafein finishing first in his class could only take place if the young male was taught his place. Dantrag also thought it best if a student was the one to do it. Craniasti Do'Juorian, was a noble of the eighth house. He was a seventh year student and ranked first in his class. Zaknafein was eating dinner in the cafeteria when Craniasti approached him. No one sat near Zaknafein, not even Drillmick, who had decided it was best to leave this one alone. First year students were heavily burdened with mundane tasks to keep them busy between classes, and they had very little time for meals. Zaknafein was very hastily shoveling in his meager portions when the older student sat down across from him. Zaknafein also sensed two other drow behind him, and he braced himself for trouble. The word is that you have some doubts about what Lore Master Frian has been teaching, Craniasti started in a low tone. The cafeteria was never very loud, but Zaknafein noticed that even the usual whispers had disappeared, and everyone in the room was trained on his table. It seems that you do not think being a drow is as honorable as it should be. It seems to me that you are harboring other ideas about what we are. Zaknafein looked the noble student in the eye as Craniasti pulled a long dagger out of his cloak. Perhaps you would like to tell me what you think a drow really is. Perhaps you would like to tell me who I really am. Zaknafein knew a fight was coming. Instead of honoring the noble with a response, he looked back down to the unfinished hash that lay on his plate, knowing he would not be able to eat the rest of it. He casually picked up his spoon with his left hand and began to work on his meal. Look at me when I talk to you, Craniasti said as he swung his dagger down onto Zaknafein's plate. Zaknafein's other hand moved like a viper, scooping up his fork and blocking the blow. He amazingly caught the vicious attack in the center prongs of his fork and was able to wrench the weapon out of his opponent's hand. Behind him, the other two drow began to attack, but Zaknafein was one step ahead of them. He flung a spoon full of the spicy hash over his left shoulder and turned to his right. The drow on his left took the food in the face, stinging his eyes and momentarily blinding him. The drow on his right attacked with his short sword, but Zaknafein deflected the blow to the side so it slammed into the table, shattering a glass and cutting the attacking drow's hand. Zaknafein dropped his spoon and picked up his dinner knife. Before the cut drow could even retract his hand, Zaknafein drove the knife into the table, pinning the sleeve of the drow's cloak. As the unfortunate attacker tried to free himself, Zaknafein drove his right elbow into his face, while his left elbow slammed into the blinded drow's gut. The first drow doubled over, and Zaknafein's fist snapped up into his face. The attack happened so quickly, and both drow were taken out so efficiently, that Craniasti had barely recognized how his attack had been defeated when Zaknafein turned his attention to the noble. Craniasti began to pull his sword as Zaknafein reached for the dagger. Dantrag watched from the corner of the room, smiling. Either outcome would have been good for him, for Zaknafein needed to learn his place, but this outcome was just as entertaining. However, as Zaknafein brought the dagger up by his ear and prepared to hurl it at Craniasti across the table, Dantrag froze. If the noble was killed, Zaknafein would not live long enough to even make it to his first grand melee. Craniasti also froze, for he did not even have his sword out yet, and the dagger was on its way. The whole cafeteria had their eyes transfixed on the projectile, and even though Zaknafein had thrown it as hard as he could, it seemed to flip in slow motion toward its target. The handle of the heavy dagger struck Craniasti in the forehead and he crumpled to floor. He fainted almost as much out of fear as from the blow to the head. Zaknafein did not even bother to look around as he quickly stood (for he had conducted the entire battle without once leaving his chair) and left the cafeteria. Dantrag walked over to the vacant table as soon as Zaknafein had left, staring at the three downed drow. They were each seventh year students and all ranked within the top ten in their class. Not only had Zaknafein not drawn a weapon or taken a hit, but he had defeated these drow with his silverware. The Head Master chuckled and walked away. There was one other drow in the room that paid the area special attention after the action was over. Jarlnian Del'Axle had been watching Zaknafein for some time, very curious about the questions the Do'Urden was asking. Jarlnian had been confident on entering the Academy that his views on Lloth would not be very popular among the other students and had kept them to himself. Now it looked like there was potentially one other student who might share his ideas. As Jarlnian left the cafeteria to go about his tedious chores, he made a note to link up with this Zaknafein as quickly as possible. If he kept beating up seventh year students, he would not last very long.

* * * * *

That night Zaknafein lay on his cot staring at the bunk above him. This evening had brought him his most unnerving fight so far. He did not know who the three drow students were that had confronted him, but he knew they were not in his class. This meant two things. One was that word of his questions was expanding further than his own class. Either his classmates deemed it necessary to tell the upperclassmen they worked for that there was a student in their class asking peculiar questions, or the masters were spreading the word. Either way, it was not very comforting. He had thought that his questions were innocent enough. He did not understand that his upbringing differed so greatly from each of the other students. The truths of the drow society had been literally beaten into them at a very early age. Now Lore Master Frian was just repeating what they already knew. Granted, he did so with much more flair and artistry, and the results left the students excited and angry instead of bloodied and bruised, but it was the same message. The second thing that worried him about his fight today was that his unique questions were not only spreading throughout the Academy, but they inspired other students to attack him. If he was so wrong, why didn't anyone say why? Instead, every time he posed a difficult question he was met with fists and blades. He was accused of disgracing Lloth and that he should be punished. He wished someone would just give him a straight answer. A pebble bounced off his chest. Zaknafein's hands flashed toward his weapons as he turned his head. The drow in the cot across from his was sitting up. It was Jarlnian Del'Axle. Jarlnian had used his influence as a noble to convince the drow who normally slept here that he did not want to tonight. To the misplaced student, it mattered very little where he slept, and he had agreed. Now Zaknafein looked at the noble, wondering if he was going to be assaulted for his curiosity again. He doubted it. Jarlnian would not risk disturbing the night. The masters at the Academy had made it very clear that there was to be no talking during the night. It was very easy to comply with this for their days were so busy that few had the stamina to stay up. That was a very impressive display you put on this evening, Zak, Jarlnian signed in code. Since he was talking in code, he would have had to spell out Zaknafein's name, thus the contraction. Zak looked around at the other students, and Jarlnian was a little worried he did not understand the hand code. He realized that as a noble he was taught many things the other students were not, and it was possible that this common male had not learned it. Zaknafein was actually hesitating because he wanted to make sure no one else was watching them. Also, he was a little surprised at Jarlnian's mastery of the code. Jarlnian continued. You took down three armed seventh year students without drawing a weapon. You should have killed them. This demanded a response. What for, Jarl? They were poorly trained and unskilled. There was not reason to use lethal force. Jarlnian smiled at Zak's use of the code. I would think before you repeat those sentiments to anyone else. The one you knocked out with the dagger was a noble son of the eighth house. He is ranked first in his class. You should be careful. They will come again for you. Why? Zak asked. I did nothing but defend myself. I caused none of them any lasting injury. Besides, they started it. You injured his pride, Jarl responded. That is a lasting injury, and it festers more than you can know. They would be foolish to attack me again. I have proven the better fighter without drawing a weapon. If they attack again, I will defend myself with my blades, and they will be lucky to walk away. Jarl smiled at the student's cockiness. I do not doubt your skill, but you are overlooking a very important fact. They know of your skill as well, and if they return, they will not allow you to defend yourself. You will fall asleep one night, and I shall find you the next morn with a dagger in your chest. Where is the honor in that? Zak continued to question. If he is as important as you say, what could be gained by killing someone as low as myself in my sleep. A child could do that. How would he prove himself the better fighter unless he engaged me straight up? He is not the better fighter, and he knows it, Jarl responded. He knows it, you know it, and everyone knows it. No one expects him to challenge you straight up, but they also do not expect him to just accept the disgrace you dealt him. If he kills you in your sleep that means that he survived the encounter while you did not. His honor is regained in the fact that he survived. You assume that there are rules of engagement. And you approve of this? Zak asked, the disgust on his face clearly visible. Jarl smiled broadly. It is the drow way. It is our way. Zak did not like the response, but he could tell that Jarl did not like it either. It was, however, the truth. Zak wanted to push this issue, but Jarl continued. The grand melee is only fifteen days away. Don't think that your prowess has gone unnoticed. I hear things. No one likes you very much. You are from a low ranked house, you do not understand Lloth, and you are obviously skilled with your weapons. You will be a target when the grand melee comes. I can defend myself. I've seen you handle yourself against the simple threats that occur from time to time when no blood is going to be shed, but when we get to the grand melee, and the weapons are no longer lethal, your classmates will not feel restrained in any way. There are sixteen of us. Can you stand up to fifteen to one odds? You might have had an advantage since most would have focused on the students belonging to ranked houses, but your secret is out. What are you suggesting? Or are you just trying to be helpful? Zak knew exactly where Jarl was going with this. I suggest a partnership. If we join together we stand a better chance of survival. Zak looked curiously at this noble. My doubts about our 'Glorious Spider Queen' do not offend you? Even in the hand code the sarcasm came through very clearly. They intrigue me. I have an open mind. I like to hear both sides of the story before I make my decision. Yours is a refreshing view point. How would a partnership between us be beneficial? Zak continued, not yet willing to join up with this opportunistic drow. Others will be making teams when the time comes. I doubt you will get many other offers. Together we stand a better chance of survival. You mean you stand a better chance of survival, Zak corrected. He remembered what Drillmick had said about Del'Axles' fighting ability. We both do. If anyone comes for you, they will need to go through me. If anyone comes at me, they will need to go through you. Zak was motionless for a while. Some how I feel I am getting the short end of this deal. Then we have a deal! Jarl signed emphatically. You will not be sorry, I promise. My skill with my blades is unsurpassed. Uh, except maybe by your own. And perhaps Dantrag's. But I am good. Do not fear for that. I have- Jarl continued signing long into the night, but Zak closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep, hopeful that his time at the Academy now might not be as lonely as it had started out.

Chapter 8 The Grand Melee

In the next several days, the two friends talked a great deal. Most of these conversations dealt with that day's lessons and took place at night. Jarlnian revealed very little about his own views, letting Zaknafein do most of the talking. Jarl occasionally threw in a few poignant questions that made Zak think, but for the most part, he was comfortable letting Zak control the conversation. They never talked about the upcoming grand melee. Zak still harbored doubts as to his partner's fighting skill, but he kept those thoughts to himself. Jarl knew that he was not thought of very highly when it came to the use of weapons. He was very careful during the first fifty days not to get into any fights. His status helped him a little, but any time he encountered a situation where a fight might arise, his wit and cavalier attitude always won out and prevented the potential conflict. The day for the grand melee finally came, and the students were led away from the Academy and into a large cavern just outside of the complex. This site was set up with many catwalks above the mostly level cavern, allowing the masters to survey all of the action without having to mingle among the students. Each student was presented with a collection of wooden poles that simulated drow weapons. Zak and Jarl each chose similar poles, though Jarl's were a bit longer. Zak wondered how the unskilled drow would be able to handle the long swords without tangling himself up in them. Zak had been trained in the traditional two-weapon fighting style. This involved keeping both weapons in front of you. In Zak's mind, there just was not room to maneuver both long swords unless your arms were significantly longer. As if to prove his point, Jarl waved his weapons in front of him and had them bang against each other several times, causing him to drop one. He grimaced as he looked at Zak. This might take some getting used to, he said as he picked up his weapons. Zak sighed. If this character proved to be as unskilled as was reported, Zak would dump him quickly, taking him out himself if need be. The two of them moved off to a small cove on the edge of the cavern as the rest of the students spread out. If we last to the end, which of us shall be the one to claim victory? Zak asked. I think we should fight it out normally, Jarl replied. Don't you? Of course, I'll probably backstab you as you finish off the last enemy so I won't need to worry about it. Zak cast him a serious look, and Jarl just smiled, keeping his partner in the dark as to if he was kidding or not. Zak did not get a chance to press the point as the masters started the grand melee. Zak readied his weapons and quickly stepped away from Jarl, casting him a careful glance. I'd be stupid to backstab you now, he responded. Then I'd have to defeat all these drow by myself. No, I'll wait until much later. Zak really wished they had talked about this in the days before now, but again he was not able to flesh out this conversation for three drow approached them. Zak took notice that one of them was Drillmick. He remembered how the drow of the sixth house had claimed Jarlnian as his main target back when they had first met. What worried Zak was that he had gathered two other drow into his team. Jarl did not seem concerned with the odds as he rushed the group wildly, screaming as he did. His blades were all over the place, and Zak was worried that one of the masters might call him out for hitting himself. The three drow attackers were very startled by this unconventional charge and scattered. Two of the drow came Zak's way while Drillmick stayed with Jarl. Zaknafein had waited eagerly for this moment to come for the last fifty days. His days in the Do'Urden gym had seemed like a distant memory, but now it all came flooding back as he engaged the two drow before him. Zak was forced on the defensive early, as he was facing three blades at once, but he quickly turned the tide of the battle with a few successful parries. Zak dove to the side, singling out the drow who held a two-handed pole. The drow attacked down, and Zak caught his blade with an X parry. He then kicked out with his foot at the exposed legs. The drow sidestepped the attack, but in doing so, he blocked off his partner who had moved around to attack Zak. He also lost the leverage with his weapon. Zak used one of his swords to sweep away the long pole, and sent the other one into the drow's gut. The crossed up drow tried to step back away from the jab, but ran into his partner whom he had cut off again. Zak's pole jabbed hard into his opponent's stomach, and a light from one of the masters above appeared on the defeated student's face. The other drow took a moment to look up at the catwalk to see that it was Dantrag who had made the call. When he looked back down, he had already been hit five times by Zak, who had not been distracted. Dantrag shone his light again. Zak still did not have the time to look up, for he heard Jarl's frantic call. As Zak surveyed his partner's plight, he almost thought of not helping. Jarl was backed against a wall, trying desperately to fend off the two blades of his attacker. Jarl crossed himself up more times than not, yet still some how managed keep Drillmick's weapons from hitting him. Zak! he called again, and cast a glance over Drillmick's shoulder at his partner. Drillmick took the time to look over his shoulder as well, and that is when Jarl exploded. He used his right foot to push away from the wall and bowl his opponent over. Drillmick still had not been hit by a weapon, but as he scrambled to his feet, Jarl was just a blur of wooden poles. His two weapons spun about his body as much behind him as in front. Drillmick was totally shocked by this transformation, and both his weapons were blasted from his limp hands, as he was pummeled in defeat. Dantrag cast a light on the defeated drow, and Jarl stood over him. And so falls house Faen Tlabbar. Who can stand against the mighty Del'Axles! Zak did not see the humor in the display. Others are watching, he said. Your trick will not work again. Nor will it need to, Jarl responded. No one will dare attack us now that they have seen our skill. That statement proved to be less than accurate as three more drow came after them. They had all seen Jarl's spectacular flurry and charged him. Jarl's twirling blades kept them at bay quite effectively. Zak watched the first ten seconds of the battle, wondering if he should join or just let his cocky partner handle all three by himself. It looked like he just might mange it, but Zak approached anyway. One of the attackers broke off to meet the new threat. Zak was unimpressed with this student's skill, as he was worse than either of the other two he had already defeated. He dispatched him quickly and turned to see Jarl suddenly fall to his knees in mid flurry as the weapons of his opponents flew over his head. He swiped out their legs and then jumped over them and slapped them each in the head. Too easy! he shouted. Is there no one here to defeat me. As Dantrag shone his light on the two defeated drow, he scowled. His mission was two-fold during this grand melee. He wanted to keep an eye on Zaknafein to see if his skill matched the Head Master's prediction, but he had also been charged by his matron mother to keep an eye on Jarlnian. So far he was unimpressed with either. In Zak's defense, he had not been challenged thus far, but there was no defense for Jarlnian. His style was very unorthodox and full of holes. Dantrag could not argue with the results, but the only skilled opponent they had faced thus far was Drillmick. The fighters from house Baenre and Barrison Del'Armgo were still out there. Quinter of house Baenre and Yer'Athor of house Barrison Del'Armgo had not teamed up with anyone, but they were doing fine by themselves. Soon, they had defeated six drow of their own, leaving just four drow left. Jarl and Zak eyed up the two skilled fighters remaining, wondering if they were going to go one-on-one. Quinter and Yer'Athor had not teamed up. As Yer'Athor approached, Quinter stayed back, thinking to pick off all three as they scuffled. A pebble struck the drow in the head, and he looked up. Dantrag had recognized his fellow Baenre's plan and signed that he was not to interfere with this fight. Dantrag wanted to see the true outcome. Yer'Athor swung a huge two-handed pole. Like his father and weapon master, Uthegental, Yer'Athor was very tall and quite large. Jarlnian gulped as he watched the huge drow swing his sword about. He remembered the days when he had wielded such a weapon, and knew he would not have lasted long against this one with that style. He did not use that style now, though, and charged the drow. Yer'Athor swung in a huge arc waist high to fend off the charge, but Jarl rolled under it, swinging for the drow's legs. The big fighter was unusually quick and stepped away as he swung down. Jarl's weapons hit only air, and he was forced to put both poles up to block the attack and was knocked off balance. He then received a hard boot to the head and was thrown out of the way. Jarl's ranking would have been fourth if Zak had not stepped in. The Do'Urden moved in front of his fallen partner and fended off the bigger drow's flurry of attacks. Zak not only defended himself, but was pushing Yer'Athor back quite steadily. Dantrag smiled, for he saw that this fight would be over very soon. Zaknafein had leaped into the battle very off balanced, but had turned the tide quickly and was moments away from scoring a hit on his over-worked opponent. True, Yer'Athor was struggling desperately to keep up with Zak, but he was well-trained, and he refused to let anything through. Still, he knew it was only a matter of time. Jarlnian was not patient enough to wait. He leaped to his partner's right side and struck out with his own weapons. Dantrag nearly swore out loud. Why didn't the stupid Del'Axle stay out of it? Yer'Athor was happy. He stepped back and spun around completely, bringing his huge weapon in hard from his left, right at Jarl. Zak cursed his partner as well. He could not follow the spin because Jarl was in the way, and now Jarl could not get out of the way of this new attack because Zak was hindering him. Zak bailed, and Jarl went tumbling as his poles absorbed the attack with a hastily assembled parry. Zak had to retreat even further to keep from getting taken down by the tumbling Del'Axle. Maybe everything he had heard about this noble's fighting skill was true. Yer'Athor was thinking the same thing as he tracked down the scrambling Jarlnian. Though he had Jarl in a helpless situation, Yer'Athor had carelessly turned his back to Zak. Dantrag prepared to shine his light on both Yer'Athor and Jarl, for while Zak would easily be able to strike down the big drow, he would not be able to do so before he knocked out Jarl. Zak exploded into motion, and instead of jabbing his weapons into Yer'Athor's back, he dove in front of the drow and came up with a parry to block his partner. It was an act of desperation that had not come from reason, and Yer'Athor blew through the weak parry, striking Zak hard on the shoulder. Zak dropped his weapons in pain, as Dantrag lit up his face. Stupid, the Head Master muttered. Yer'Athor smiled to himself, knowing he should feel lucky to have defeated the skilled drow that lay before him. He stepped past Zak to finish Jarl as well, but his prey was gone. Yer'Athor looked about quickly, and discovered Jarl's location as he felt a pole hit the back of his knee. His leg buckled, and he received two more hits as he fell to the ground. Dantrag frowned as one of the other masters called Yer'Athor out. He signed to Quinter to take out this stupid Del'Axle quickly. Quinter had seen Jarl's style and smiled as he approached him. The Baenre warrior was the best trained at the Academy, and Jarl recognized that right away. Still, the swashbuckling style was not something that Quinter had ever seen before, and he could not find a hole. Jarl smiled as he wove his blades about his body, inviting attacks by twirling his weapons behind his back. Quinter scowled at the flagrant style, thinking he was being made fun of. He launched into an array of attacks that would have struck down almost anyone else. Jarlnian hit each attack twice with his weapons, laughing as he did. Marvelous! Simply outstanding. You are terrific. That one was cool. Do it again. Though the comments were made with sarcasm, Jarl truly was impressed with the attacks. He had never seen them before, and he was absorbing them like a sponge. He tried to view Quinter as if he were Qui'tilla, teaching Jarl new maneuvers. Quinter spun about suddenly, slashing his weapons high, then low. He then jumped back only to jump forward with both weapons coming in from opposite sides. Wow! Jarl remarked, fascinated. He had never imagined a move like that, and he barely got his weapons up to defend against it. Jarl could tell the patience of the masters above was wearing thin, and he decided to end it. Mind if I try that one? he asked as he suddenly switched modes. The alteration in his style was a slight one as his weapons changed from blocking blows to delivering them. Quinter was suddenly on his heels. Then Jarlnian launched the spinning double high, double low maneuver as if he had invented it. The move mixed so well with his already lively style, that Quinter barely recognized it as his own, and only when Jarl jumped back, causing the Baenre's weapons to miss their blocks, did he realize what was going to happen. He tried to brace himself for the double thrust, but he was crossed up, and Jarl struck him on the wrists, relieving him of both his weapons. As the poles clattered to the stone floor, Jarl brought his weapons up to Quinter's neck, one on each side. You'll have to teach me some more of your moves later. Quinter growled and started to charge, but his face was lit up from above, and he held his anger in check. And so a noble Del'Axle is atop the class, one of the masters said to Dantrag. Dantrag nodded and walked away. A noble perhaps, he muttered to himself, but he is no Del'Axle. Despite his mother's wishes, he put Jarlnian out if his mind for now. He was more concerned about Zaknafein. He still did not understand what had made the drow sacrifice himself for someone of Jarlnian's caliber. If the roles had been reversed, and Jarlnian had sacrificed himself so that Zak, the better fighter, might face Quinter, it would have made sense. He would keep his eyes on the fourth ranked Do'Urden, confident that Zaknafein would not keep that ranking. Next year he would be first.

* * * * *

Krol opened the door and entered the audience chamber warily. He smiled when he saw that his sisters were not present. Matron Reinela waited patiently at the front of the room. Stop loitering around and give your report. Krol rushed up to her throne and bowed deeply. I come with news of Jarlnian. He has finished first in his class in the grand melee. Reinela smiled at this. Most of the other important houses had masters at the Academy. There were eight masters each at Melee-Magthere, Sorcere, and Arach-Tinilith. Of those 24 masters, House Del'Axle had none of them. They had six high priestesses, and all of them had graduated from the school of Lloth towards the front of their class, but in these troubled times with a war imminent, Reinela wanted to keep all of her assets close at hand. Because of this lack of influence within the Academy, information was hard to get. Krol and the common drow males that served under him as scouts were the best in the city. Still, the grand melee had taken place twenty days ago, and Krol had only discovered the outcome now. He defeated fighters from house Baenre, Barrison Del'Armgo, and Faen Tlabbar to earn the top spot. Two others also fell at his hand, but they were from the lesser houses. The five total 'kills' are two more than anyone else in the grand melee. He is in a small but skilled class. What of his relationships with the other students? Reinela asked. He is one of two nobles in his class, but the other is of a much lesser house - I believe the 17th. He has kept himself clear of fights and has handled himself with care. From what I've heard, he has formed a loose alliance with another student, fourth in the class behind Baenre and Barrison Del'Armgo, though reports are he is better than both. Zaknafein is the student's name. He is from house Do'Urden, the thirteenth house. What sort of alliance? Reinela did not care too much for this other male. He was of the thirteenth house, and therefore not important. The ranked houses made a point not to know anything about a house that was higher than tenth. Such a house was still several centuries from even thinking about a place in the top eight. None of them would ever risk attacking a ranked house. They fought together during the grand melee and are often seen together during classes and sparring sessions. Reinela waved off the information, considering it not to be important. Likely this student's fourth ranking was solely due to her son's prowess. If he had fought on his own, this Do'Urden would likely not have cracked the top ten. Have you other information to report? I have scouted out the illithid compound, Krol responded. And? Reinela prompted after Krol had paused for a significant time. I don't like it. Reinela wanted to be mad at her son, but since she had trusted him enough to send him on the scouting trip in the first place she might as well listen to what he had to say. Explain. Two drow houses went into battle against the illithids and were defeated soundly. Now over five dozen of them are enslaved in some sort of hypnotic trance. We could have defeated either house just using our priestesses, and that they were defeated by the illithids does not mean the mind flayers are indestructible, but they are on guard now. Reinela nodded her head. She had hopped her son was not going to use the lower houses' defeat to mirror what would happen if House Del'Axle attacked the compound. She beckoned for him to continue. Not only is the illithid compound prepared for an attack now, but they are also better equipped with the addition of the slaves. An attack now, or even in the next few years would be foolish. The illithids had been living on their own, ignoring our existence because Menzoberranzan did likewise. Now all of their defensive measures are focused on another drow attack. We still might win, but we would lose more than we would gain. What do you suggest? We should wait at least a decade. I do not think any of the other houses will have organized against us during that time. All of my information still says that they can't decide who wants to attack us. That decision won't be made for some time yet. We have time on our side, and I suggest we use it. By waiting, one of two things will happen. Either the illithids will slacken their defenses against us since no further attacks have taken place, or another race will attack them, causing them to redirect their efforts. Remember that the lower houses encountered the illithids due to their relative closeness to a rich vein of ore. I would not be surprised if the svirfnebli have been looking at that ore for some time as well. With the illithids now distracted, the deep gnomes might take advantage of it and give us the distraction we need. It was sound reasoning, Reinela knew. She knew that the males in her house were not fighters and her position as the fourth house was only possible by utilizing the skills that her males did have. Espionage was one of those skills. Very well, she said. We will wait. I want you to continue to keep your scouts focused on not only the illithids, but also the svirfnebli. If you see a window of opportunity, we must be ready to take it. As you wish, Matron Mother. Krol bowed deeply and left the room.

* * * * *

Dantrag's predictions were proven correct, and Zaknafein finished first in the grand melee the next year. He and Jarlnian switched places as the Del'Axle finished fourth. The following year Zak won the melee again, and Jarl finished sixth. With the early exit, Zak had to finish off more of the students by himself. In the fourth year Jarl finished eighth, threatening to fall into the lower half of the class. Zak did not know what to think. Both times that Jarl left early, he was knocked out by Drillmick of House Faen Tlabbar. Zak had seen the first fight between the two during the first grand melee and knew that Jarl was better than Drillmick. Jarl had taken out Quinter of house Baenre during that first grand melee with very little effort, yet here he was falling to a much weaker fighter. Zak usually turned to finish off Drillmick shortly after his victory over Jarl, but if he did not, the other student would probably finish in the top five. Zak tried not to think of his friend's collapse. The earlier Jarl left, though, the more difficult it was for Zak to advance. The other students realized that after the top three (and potentially Jarl) the fall off in skill was dramatic. The only way they stood a chance of breaking into the top five was to band together in groups of three and sometimes four. Zak still managed to finish first each year. The real battle was for second place. Quinter and Yer'Athor alternated that position. During the third year, Quinter had engaged Yer'Athor right away to put the battle behind him. He lost and was ranked last in the class. After that, both students realized the potential risk of fighting too soon and always put off their battle till last. Well, almost till last. Zak always stood by to wait for the winner. Neither Quinter nor Yer'Athor wanted to defeat the Do'Urden student as a team. They told anyone who asked that they wanted to win by themselves, but in reality, they were scared they might lose, and that would bring even more disgrace to their skills. Also, neither of them was stupid enough to engage him early, for that would guarantee a low rank for them. Zak had so obviously separated himself from the rest of the field that the masters began to talk about it. Most of the masters had been around when Dantrag had waltzed through the Academy, and they turned to him for answers. He is too good, one of the masters said. They were all seated around a table in a private room. The other students have given up even trying to beat him. It has gotten so bad that when I use him in sparring sessions to show why a certain parry or attack stance is wrong, he still beats me. It is not good for the other students to see. We just are not capable of teaching him anymore. It's not his skill level that disturbs me, another master spoke up, it is his technique. It is too good. Zaknafein has never once been forced to improvise or make up moves. There are techniques for fighting off multiple attackers, but when faced with three or four, they rarely work and the average fighter is forced to improvise. Zaknafein does not have to. His moves are so quick and strong and perfect, that he never has to stray from his technical style. How is that a bad thing? one of the younger masters asked. After these students leave this Academy, they will do very little fighting against other drow. Most of their battles will take place against the other races that constantly invade our tunnels. You and I both know that a hook horror could care less if your parry is right or wrong, if you can't improvise, you will not survive. So far, Zaknafein has not been pushed to his limit yet. Until then, we will never know how good he really is. What does it matter? Dantrag spoke up finally. He had been listening to this discussion with very little interest. They were talking about this student as if he were the best fighter ever. Did they forget who he was? Did they not realize they were in the presence of the greatest drow fighter ever? So Zaknafein does not reach his true potential. Our job is to train him in the way of the drow and we are doing that. Our job is not to build up the thirteenth house so it is as strong as possible. The oldest master at the Academy scowled at the young Head Master. Although he respected Dantrag's skills, he did not like his selfish attitude and made it known often. Do you not listen to Lore Master Frian's lessons? Or do you just assume they do not apply to you? We are one people. It is our job to ensure that the drow warriors that protect our city are as well prepared as possible. If this young Do'Urden becomes a weapon master, which he undoubtedly will, and his trained warriors fail to repel a threat that endangers the city because we neglected our duty, I will make sure you are next in line to fight off the invasion. Dantrag drew one of his swords so fast, it looked like he had just picked it up off the table. You forget to whom you are talking! he shouted as he stood and leveled his blade at the master. Dantrag wanted to kill him, but inside he knew he was right. Still, Dantrag could not let such an obvious reprimand go without response. Sit down, Baenre, one of the other masters said. Zaknafein is the best student to have ever enrolled in the Academy. This calls for special consideration. Dantrag was shocked at such a blatant claim against his legacy. What did you say? This situation needs special attention. Dantrag knew these masters were trying to goad him into action. It worked. Very well, Dantrag sheathed his sword and sat down. Twenty years ago most of you were still here, and I imagine you held a similar meeting concerning me. The then Head Master entered the grand melee to teach me a lesson. It did not work. We shall do the same thing again. Only this time it will work. I will see to it. With that, Dantrag rose and left the meeting room. The masters looked at each other for a long while. When Dantrag had been a student, they had tried to teach him that he was not invincible. Unfortunately, they had proven that he was. His cocky and superior attitude was a direct result of that failure. Now if Zaknafein were to defeat Dantrag, they might be able to fix what they had mistakenly done two decades ago. Of course, if Zaknafein did not win, the problem would only grow worse. Zaknafein would have to win.

Chapter 9 The Timeless Art of Survival

The night before the fifth grand melee Zaknafein was having serious doubts about his continuing partnership with the noble of the fourth house. He truly enjoyed their late night conversations, and without the flamboyant drow, life at the Academy would be very dull and pointless indeed. But Jarlnian was proving less than helpful when it came to the grand melee. Outside of the melee cavern, Jarlnian and Zaknafein made a mockery of the sparring sessions and training exercises that the masters put them through. Zak did so because they were all far too easy, and Jarl because he made a mockery of everything. The more the masters tried to drill technique and discipline into his fighting style, the more he disregarded their instruction. Jarl always defeated his opponent during those sparring sessions, but as soon as they picked up the padded sparring poles and entered the cavern, all that skill and fighting desire seemed to leave him, and he fell to the first or second opponent that faced him. And where do you plan on finishing this year? Zak signed to his friend after the other students had gone to sleep. Ninth? Tenth? Last? Tenth sounds good, Jarl signed back. I'd like to keep my demise consistent. Why? Why don't you fight? Jarl took his time as he thought about the question. He turned it around. Why do you fight? You are the best fighter in the class. Why do you feel you need to continually prove it? Why not let Quinter or Yer'Athor take the top spot for once. Lloth knows they want it. You want me to throw the fight? Zak was shocked. But that would be dishonest. Jarl actually laughed out loud. He quieted himself and looked around. A few of the other students rolled over, but none seemed to have been woken. What color is your skin?! What is this sense of honor that you have? It will only destroy you Zaknafein. Zak looked at Jarl and was sorely puzzled. You ask why I do not fight; I shall tell you. I want to survive. I won the first grand melee. I know where my skill lies in regard to the rest of the class. That is good enough for me. You feel that you are the best in the class? Zak asked, his mockery creeping easily into his hand code. There is your pride and honor again. Foolish drow. I do not care if I finish atop my class. I know my skill, and I am comfortable with that. You will graduate first in this class, do not worry. Unless some jealous student searches out your back with a dagger, you will have the honor you so desire. The seventh year students had never made a second attempt on Zak. It was not because they did not want to, but because Dantrag had promised a horrible death to anyone that made a move against the prize student. You will graduate and probably become the weapon master for your house. You will have immediate respect and praise as one of the best fighters in the entire city. Do you think Dantrag and Uthegental will enjoy having competition from a lowly common male from the thirteenth house? You think you will be safe from attack? There are twenty thousand drow in this city, Jarl continued. If half of them are female, the highest rank you will ever be able to achieve is ten thousand and one. If you walk outside of this city to live among the gnomes or dwarves, do you believe your skill will gain you respect there? You will be dead before you can tell them your name. How will your honor and pride help you then? The art of survival is something you need to learn, Zak. Though you have not had any formal teaching, you probably know more about the true nature of Lloth than the top graduate of Arach-Tinilith. You know more about the art of fighting than all but maybe Dantrag himself. But you still have everything to learn about how to survive. You are a coward, Zak replied simply. You do not wish to take on the responsibility of the skill you posses, so you deny it exists and hide in a cloak of ineptitude. You do not wish stand up for what you believe, so you bow to the Spider Queen and ask for more beatings. You are a phony. Zak was trying to incite his friend, but Jarl merely laughed at the accusatory words. Perhaps, but I plan on living a long prosperous life. I doubt you will live to see your fourth century. When we fight tomorrow, Zak said, you and I will not be partners. As you wish, Jarl replied, but Zak had already rolled over.

* * * * *

True to his word, when the grand melee started, Zak was on the other side of the cavern from Jarl. Jarl sighed as he readied his poles against his first opponent. Zak's accusations were not as meaningless to Jarl as he let on. Part of him wished that he were first in the class. He and Zaknafein lived oppositely from the rest of the students. They did not lie, cheat, or steal to get ahead. They did not sacrifice their morals in the face of Lloth. Yet they succeeded at what they did. Jarl took that rebellion one step farther by refusing to fight in the traditional way of the drow. It would be nice to show the masters that they were not as smart as they thought and he could be the first student in the class. With this in mind, Jarl mowed down Drillmick before the drow could even realize that his enemy was not teamed up with Zak and should be easier than normal. Jarl decided he did not want to graduate at the bottom of his class like all the other Del'Axles did. Matron Reinela would skin him alive. But there was no reason to rise to the top before the last battle. Still, as his next opponent walked toward him, he decided he could have a little fun while he waited for that final battle. Dantrag was disguised as Quinter. Gromph Baenre, his older brother was a master at Sorcere and had disguised Dantrag quite convincingly, making him even appear two inches shorter to match Quinter. The student from House Baenre had not wanted to sit out, but neither did he want to fight with Dantrag. As Dantrag approached Jarl early in the melee, he smiled. He was supposed to be keeping an eye on this one, but ever since the Del'Axle noble had started to drop in class ranking, Dantrag had paid very little attention to him. Dantrag noticed the ease in which Jarl dispatched Drillmick, the student who had knocked him out the two previous years, and wondered if Jarl would actually be fighting up to his potential today. Looking to leave the melee early this year, Quinter? Jarl said as he slowly walked toward the Head Master of the Academy. Like in the first year? Dantrag replied, wanting to remind Jarl how he had defeated Quinter in the first grand melee. A rematch then, Jarl said, deciding he would put the Baenre out quickly. The two joined. Dantrag kept it simple, not wanting to reveal his true identity right away. He had watched Jarl's style during the first battle against Quinter and felt he could pick it apart rather easily. The things he had seen were things only a master would see, and revealing them to Jarlnian would not be wise. Instead, he felt he could defeat Jarl with traditional attacks. Jarl had other ideas. His spinning poles and twirling limbs stayed defensive only briefly and soon launched into an all out attack. Jarl tried to pretend that he was back in the Del'Axle gym, fending off four different fighters at once. With as quickly as Dantrag moved his own poles, that was not hard to imagine. Dantrag was quickly realizing how Quinter had lost that first encounter. The Head Master had absolutely no idea where the next attack was coming from and barely avoided or blocked the lightning fast poles. Dantrag threw his caution to the wind and began to counter with blocks and attacks that Jarl had never seen before. As Dantrag's boot came up to accurately kick aside one of Jarl's attacks, and his other pole was blocked neatly with one of the Baenre's two weapons, the second one went jabbing toward Jarl's face. The Del'Axle fell back as he leaned out of the way of the attack, somersaulting backwards several feet. He came up in a low crouch. That was a new one. Dantrag could see the sudden caution in his opponent. He did not think his game was up yet, but it soon would be. You'll find I'm full of surprises. Jarl did not contemplate the situation for too long and leaped up into an attack. Dantrag stood his ground, deflecting each of the attacks away flawlessly, rolling each parry past the tiny hilts of the wooden poles and rapping Jarl in the knuckles. The hits were too quick and minor for the masters above to see, but Jarl felt them. He also knew that he was being played with. No matter what his eyes told him, this was not the same drow he had fought four years ago. A sudden idea occurred to him and he let up on his attacks. Dantrag jumped at the chance to take the offensive and pummeled the backpedaling student. Jarl began to throw in his old style parries. As Dantrag tried to sweep each of his attacks into the next one, he found that his poles were meeting far more resistance than they should. Jarl smiled when he saw the hitches in the Baenre's style and began to turn the tide of the battle. Dantrag was off his rhythm now. He could see the holes in Jarl's defense each time he threw in one of the unorthodox blocks, but Jarl knew they were there too and covered them up before Dantrag could respond. Instead, the Head Master was kept guessing as to when the next hard block was going to come and was out of sync. Jarl could taste victory as he bore down on his opponent, almost knocking him down with the last powerful block. As Dantrag stumbled and Jarl moved over him, the Del'Axle felt an explosion of pain jolt through his back, and he dropped his weapons and fell to the ground. Yer'Athor stood over him grinning broadly, holding his long pole tightly in both hands. The large drow turned to finish off who he thought was Quinter, but Dantrag was not as bad off has Yer'Athor had thought. The Head Master was a whirlwind of poles as he charged the overmatched student. Yer'Athor was hit a dozen times within the first five seconds, and he dropped his weapons crying out loud that he was beaten. Dantrag did not even give the big drow a second look as he moved away from the two downed drow to search out his next victim. From the ground, Jarl scanned the catwalks above. After a thorough search did not reveal Dantrag, he smiled and let out a low whistle. Good luck Zak.

* * * * *

Zak was fighting with extra determination. He tried to use the comments made by Jarl the night before as motivation. The two drow believed in the same things, but while Jarl was willing to compromise to avoid conflict, Zak was beginning to realize that he welcomed conflict if it arose because of his beliefs. This was not exactly the case during the grand melee, for each student fought whoever was near them regardless of personal beliefs and convictions, but to Zak, knowing what he did about all the other students, he could not help but bring the Good vs Bad conflict into this melee. Every foe he defeated proved that a drow could exist and prosper without embracing Lloth. And so Zaknafein mowed down his opponents with a viciousness and efficiency that scared the masters who watched from above. Often they were so sure of Zaknafein's victories that they called out students even before the finishing blow fell, knowing that it would come within seconds. With the other three quality students involved with each other in the far end of the cavern, Zak met no real challenges until it was just he and Dantrag left. Zak had fought with Quinter twice before, and was looking forward to a more worthy opponent than the ones he had just dealt with. The masters above looked on with interest, for they knew who Quinter really was. Neither fighter spoke as they walked toward each other. Dantrag wanted to really see how good this drow was before he defeated him. He kept his attacks routine and fundamental. They were executed with incredible strength and speed and would have felled anyone else in the class other than perhaps Jarl, but they were nothing that Zak had not seen before. Zak responded as expected, blocking and countering the moves perfectly. The masters above smiled at the display. The sparring the two fighters were doing was nothing short of art. It was the best example of perfection that any of the observers had ever seen before. After several minutes, Dantrag was satisfied and decided to end it. He ducked a high cut and locked poles with his right weapon as his left searched out Zak's knee. As expected, Zak sidestepped the strike and brought his high weapon down to ward off the attack. Instead of backing away, Dantrag rolled in the opposite direction of Zak's sidestep, coming up almost behind the other fighter. His right weapon pushed off of Zak's, keeping it from fending off his new position. Zak quickly swept his other weapon down around his back to block the expected cut and then spun around with his first weapon already in line for Dantrag's second attack. Now Zak stood over Dantrag with both of the Head Master's attacks defeated and his momentum lost. Dantrag was forced to hop backwards. The Head Master was shocked. He had crossed up his opponent and attacked him from behind. Zak had not hopped or rolled out of the way. He had not leaped over the attack or tried some risky maneuver. Instead he had calmly executed traditional blocks and counters, defeating Dantrag so easily that it was almost as if he had expected the move. Dantrag was not finished yet. The two fighters stood ten feet apart, and Dantrag threw one of his poles at Zak's head. Instead of frantically bringing both his weapons up to fend off the projectile like most students would, Zak simply brushed the pole away with his right weapon and easily turned away Dantrag's charge with his other one. He then brought his first weapon down toward the Head Master's vulnerable shoulder, forcing Dantrag to roll to the side. As if Zak had planned it, Dantrag moved to the opposite side of where his thrown weapon had fallen. Zak did not become over anxious as he attacked his prone opponent like most students would, but kept his attacks rhythmic and under control. Dantrag swiped his single weapon back and forth desperately, trying to keep the skilled student off him. He finally managed to work himself into a position where he could scamper off and retrieve his thrown pole. Dantrag was feeling embarrassed now. It looked like Zak was outfighting him, but all Dantrag was really doing was underestimating his opponent. Neither of his first two attacks would have taken out a really skilled fighter, but they would have at least made them improvise. Instead, Zak refused to loose his technique and as a result, appeared to be the better fighter. Dantrag had only one option left. He walked slowly toward Zak, pumping his left arm several times, faking another thrown weapon. Zak did not flinch. Instead, the student initiated the next confrontation. Dantrag staggered under the blows, but slowly regained his edge and began to turn his parries into attacks. His moves stayed high, bringing Zak's weapons up even with his shoulders. Dantrag threw in two more quick swipes at Zak's head and then stepped back and shoved his weapons forward, low and angled in from shoulder width apart. It was the double thrust low. The masters watching above had seen the move coming as soon as Dantrag had begun his high attacks. Zak also knew it was coming and accepted the high attacks as he contemplated what he was going to do about it. The correct parry was called the cross-down. Zak did not like it. The idea was to cross you weapons down in an X to catch the thrusting weapons, keeping them down and away from your body. It might defeat the attack, but it left you with your blades pointing at the ground with no ability to counter. Zaknafein did not like the parry for it brought no advantage. Regardless of what was possessing Quinter to fight so well, Zak knew that he was going to have to end this fight with something creative. He reluctantly crossed his weapons down, catching both of Dantrag's sword poles before they struck home. On the spur of the moment, Zak released one of his blocking poles, hoping to keep both of his opponent's weapons busy with his left pole while his right came up aimed toward Dantrag's side. The Head Master smiled as he angled one of his weapons down and released the pressure from his other weapon. With the extra effort Zak had put into his remaining blocking pole, when Dantrag let up suddenly on his attack, Zak spun to the side, suddenly off balance. His left weapon went hard to the left and his right attack went high. Dantrag easily ducked under the pole and kicked with his foot, catching Zak behind the knee. Zak stumbled backwards, his weapons out wide as he tried to regain his balance, but Dantrag was on him quickly, striking him twice in the side and jabbing him once in the gut. The defeated student fell to his back with Dantrag standing over him, his pole resting against Zak's neck. The cross-down is the correct parry, he said, dropping the magical disguise he had been wearing. Zak was at a loss. He had thought something was strange about the way Quinter had fought, but the intensity of the battle had not allowed him to speculate as to what was going on. Now that he saw he had been fighting Dantrag, he cursed himself for his foolish parry. There had been no way it could have worked against the Head Master. Dantrag helped Zak to his feet. You shall retain the top ranking, he said. Quinter will keep the second ranking he earned from last year. You fought well. Zak thanked him for his praise, but he heard the hollow quality of Dantrag's voice. It was the voice of someone who felt they were invincible. Zak knew the Head Master was not invincible. He had fought even with him and had actually gained the advantage several times before his foolish maneuver with the cross-down parry. He would never make that mistake again. As far as the other masters were concerned, this experiment had been a complete failure. Not only was Dantrag's ego bigger than ever, but now Zak had been conditioned to think that each time he tried to improvise, he gave his skilled opponents the advantage. Not only had his defeat come as a result of poor improvisation, but each of the times he had gained the upper hand it had been the direct result of one of Dantrag's ill conceived maneuvers. Jarl came up to Zak to congratulate his friend on fighting Dantrag so evenly, but Zak was not in the mood to talk and mumbled a reply before storming out of the cavern. Foolish pride, Jarl muttered under his breath before he followed the rest of the students back to the Academy.

* * * * *

Dantrag was relaxing at his desk in his private chambers in the Academy. As Head Master, his office and chambers were even nicer than the ones he would have as weapon master back home, but that did not change the fact that he wished to be out of this position and back in the Baenre compound. He had just finished his thirteenth year as Head Master, and he was wondering how much longer he would have to keep this position. He imagined that in order to please his mother, he would have to stay as long as Jarlnian Del'Axle stayed within the Academy. He and Zaknafein had just finished their ninth year and would start their tenth after the week layoff between years at the Academy. Right now Dantrag was going over the list of graduating students and assigning them to patrols. He also had the responsibility of picking a new master at the Academy, for one of the older masters was returning to his house to become a weapon master. Dantrag was deep in thought when his door opened. Knock before entering! he scolded without looking up. I shall not be disturbed. I apologize. I did not know, came the response. Dantrag looked up quickly from the parchments on his desk and saw his oldest sister standing in the doorway. He nearly tripped over himself as he scampered out from behind his desk and bowed deeply before the high priestess. I'm sorry, Triel. I did not know it was you. I must have missed your message. I gave no message as to my visit, she responded. A male should always be ready to accommodate a female. Of course, Dantrag responded. He stayed in his bow a little longer until he realized that his sister was telling him to accommodate her. Please take a seat. He motioned toward the chair opposite his desk. Triel wanted to make a comment that she did not need to be told when or where she could sit, but decided to make her point by sitting behind her brother's desk instead of in front of it. Dantrag eyed up her choice of seating with quiet resentment. Would you like a drink? If I wanted a drink I would have told you to get me one, she replied curtly. I did not come for a social call. In fact, I did not come for you at all. Gromph? Dantrag asked, referring to his older brother. Triel nodded. Sit down. Dantrag did as he was told and took a place across from his sister as she leaned back in the Head Master's comfortable chair. Your brother is going to be made Head Master of Sorcere for this upcoming year. Our house will be honored to have two Head Masters out of the three. For a while, Dantrag responded. Oh? Triel said in a sarcastic fashion. Do you know something I do not? I believe Matron Baenre assigned you to this position. Have you some special intuition that allows you access to our matron mother's wishes before she makes them known to me? If Triel were one of Dantrag's students, she would have been dead after her first sarcastic comment. Now the Head Master of the Academy was forced to sit in his own private chambers and take abuse from his sister while she reclined in his chair. Still, he was not stupid enough to let any of that anger show. Matron Baenre placed me here to oversee one of my students. He will be graduating next year. Our matron mother has promised that I would become our weapon master after my time here. I am not aware of any such promise, Triel responded. You have been put here not to oversee Jarlnian Del'Axle's training, but to determine if he is really a noble of the fourth house. Your responsibilities regarding that drow do not end once he graduates but when you have completed your task. After which, our matron mother will give you another task. Whether that task is to become our weapon master or to clean out the sewers beneath our house, it is for Matron Baenre to decide, not you. Dantrag was fuming now. He could kill her right now; he was sure of that. He knew she had some spells that she could cast within a heartbeat, but Dantrag did not think it would take him that long. She was very vulnerable right now, and they both knew it. They also both knew that if Dantrag killed Triel, or even thought about it openly, Matron Baenre would find out, and Dantrag would wish he was dead. And how is your task coming along? Triel continued. You have been observing Jarlnian for nine years now. Have you learned what we asked of you and just forgotten to tell us? Dantrag took special notice of Triel's use of personal pronouns. Some how she thought that what ever tasks their matron mother had given him some how also came from her. She wanted Dantrag to think of her as equal with their matron mother. It would not work. I believe Jarlnian is currently ranked eleventh in his class, Dantrag said. He fights like a Del'Axle. He is not worth our attention or concern. It is not for you to decide what is important to our house or to Matron Baenre, Triel scolded. What you think is immaterial. If I understand correctly, Jarlnian won the grand melee the first year. He defeated a fighter from our house to gain the title. Yet you feel he is not skilled? His style is perplexing, Dantrag explained. He does not fight like a drow warrior but as a court jester with no rhyme or reason to his actions. He got lucky that is all. He could never pose a significant threat to a trained fighter. I understand you fought him a few years ago in the grand melee, Triel stated. How did you stand up to him then? Dantrag was shocked. How did she know about that? Dantrag had indeed entered the melee and had fought against Jarlnian, but no one outside of the Academy should know. Dantrag had almost lost his fight against Jarlnian and had only survived when Yer'Athor had attacked the Del'Axle from behind. I won the encounter, Dantrag said flatly. Indeed, Triel agreed, her voice hinting that she knew exactly how the battle had gone. So after nine years you have learned absolutely nothing. Actually, I don't know what out matron mother expected from you. I have over 200 students under me and many other responsibilities to handle. I can not alwa- Silence! Triel screamed. Your loyalty toward your matron mother supercedes any other responsibilities. If Matron Baenre told you to kill each of your students, you would do so or suffer the wrath of Lloth. You have no excuse for failing other than your own incompetence. If I were to have given Jarlnian special attention, it might have alerted house Del'Axle as to our investigation. I did not want betray our matron mother. Therefore I have shown none of the students preferential treatment. Does that go for Zaknafein as well? Dantrag did not know why Triel's extensive knowledge continued to shock him, but it did. Stupid male! Triel said when she saw the look on her brother's face. You underestimate our ability to gather information. You also overestimate your importance to our house. If you fail in this, do not think that your skill with your weapons will save you. Your talents are the result of your heritage and Lloth's closeness with our house. Any future son that comes from our matron mother's loins will no doubt be just as skilled as you are. You are not indispensable. Weapon Master Drelmn is not as skilled as you, but he is an excellent teacher and has served our house well. We do not need a new weapon master. Dantrag swallowed his pride and nodded his head. I shall learn of this student's true identity. I will not fail you. Triel rose with a smile on her face. Very good. You would be wise to visit your brother soon to congratulate him on his new position. Our matron mother does so like it when her sons do well. Dantrag said nothing more as he watched his sister leave his office. Jarlnian would be starting his six months at Sorcere soon. Maybe Dantrag would pay his brother a visit.

Chapter 10 Improvisation

Gromph was busy studying a scroll when Dantrag walked into his office unannounced. The wizard was not as strict as his younger brother and looked up before he scolded the intruder. The scolding did not come. Welcome Dantrag. Though you are only a short distance away at Melee-Magthere, it was been many years since I have seen you. What brings you to Sorcere? Must you ask? Dantrag said as he moved to sit down in a chair opposite the wizard's desk. You have just earn the title of Head Master. It is not an easy title for one as young as yourself to obtain. Gromph looked at his brother carefully. The older brother had never understood Dantrag's unique sense of sarcastic humor. Gromph was not young. He should have obtained this position a century ago if the late Head Master had not held on to it for as long as he had. Also, Dantrag had been named to the position of Head Master at an insanely young age. Thank you, Gromph said slowly, still not sure if he was being insulted or complimented. You came just to congratulate me? Dantrag smiled. Not exactly. I have a student entering Sorcere this year. Of course you do, Gromph cut in. All of your students spend the first six months of their tenth year at Sorcere before moving on to Arach-Tinilth. What is special about this student? Dantrag told him. He explained about Matron Baenre's interest in Jarlnian and her suspicions about his heritage. I see, Gromph said after the explanation. And what do you want me to do about it? I need you to divine his true house. Gromph sat back and thought about it. Without his true name, that will be very difficult. Well, if I had his true name I would not need your help, Dantrag explained. Gromph conceded the point. All drow have a very distinct magical signature. If you could obtain a sample of his blood or a lock of his hair or something more substantial I could work out something. Dantrag pondered this. The final grand melee was just a few days away. It was scheduled at the beginning of the year before the students went off to Sorcere and Arach-Tinilith. He could enter the melee again, but drawing blood with a wooden pole would not be easy. Also, Dantrag did not know if he wanted to fight Jarlnian or Zaknafein again. After his fight with the Do'Urden student, Zak had become even more focused and determined than before. Dantrag was not sure of the outcome. He will be in your care for six months, Dantrag said. Surely you can arrange something. Gromph paused in thought for a while. There is a thirtieth year student from our house. I could assign this Jarlnian to him. Arranging an incident where his blood or hair could be taken will take some time though. I will send a message to you when the task is completed. Very, well. Dantrag stood and nodded toward his brother.

* * * * *

Ever since their argument about fighting with honor, Zak and Jarl had not fought together during the grand melee. Jarl had allowed himself to slip to eleventh in the class, while Zak had continued to secure his spot at the top of the class. Around the seventh year, Quinter and Yer'Athor finally decided to join forces to bring down the confident fighter from the thirteenth house. Almost every year in all of the other classes, a student from the first or second house won the top spot, and only when one of them was not present or a noble from a ranked house was in the class did that dominance yield to someone else. Quinter and Yer'Athor were determined to keep that streak alive. They were defeated soundly. Zak was so sure of himself that the panic most should feel at facing the two skilled fighters was absent, and he proceeded like he did against the other students that attacked him in groups. Dantrag watched from above with jealousy. When he had been through the Academy, he had been the only student from his house and there had not been a fighter from Barrison Del'Armgo. He had not had the type of quality competition that Zak had. Therefore, he did not get the same type of respect offered the warrior from House Do'Urden. In the tenth year, Quinter and Yer'Athor decided to work together from the start. They swept through the other fighters so quickly and easily, their two different styles meshing together very well, that they felt confident they could defeat Zak this year. It was now or never. Despite the fact that Zak had won the top spot the last eight years running, if he lost it this year, it would belong to someone else. The drow way cared very little about fairness. If you could not survive, even if all the cards were stacked against you, you did not deserve the top spot. The pair had worked through just about everyone when they came upon Jarlnian. The noble was leaning casually against one of the cavern walls, a few defeated and unconscious students lying at his feet. His arms were crossed with his two sword poles hanging from his belt. Well met, he said easily as if the three were in a tavern ready to get caught up on old times. Yer'Athor growled as he walked toward the prone figure, but Quinter grabbed his companion's arm before he could get too far. The Baenre student was the only one that really respected Jarl's skills. The noble had defeated him in the first year quite easily, and he had watched Jarl's attacks on Dantrag during the fifth grand melee when he had been hiding on the catwalk. Yer'Athor had over matched Jarl several times during the past nine years, including the first year when Jarl had technically beat him. He did not hold Jarl's fighting skill in any type of high regard, but he waited to see what Quinter wanted. Join us, the Baenre said. Jarl pushed himself away from the wall when he heard this. He had not expected an offer of alliance. To what end? I know you have been hiding your skill from the masters and the rest of the class. Quinter motioned at the students that lay on the ground. You are a noble. You deserve better than a fourth ranking. If I am not the best student in the class, then I do not deserve the top ranking, Jarl replied. Yer'Athor growled at this, for it was a direct jab at the pair. They were trying to get the top ranking when everyone knew who the best student was. Quinter did not back down. The only way to defeat him is to present him with the best competition possible. We are stronger together than apart. Are we? Jarl persisted. Quinter was taken aback. You are not proposing that you stand a better chance against him alone than with our help? Let's find out, shall we? Jarl slowly unhooked his poles from his belt and stood ready. Very well, foolish noble, Quinter said as he readied his weapons. I gave you a chance. If fourth is all you want, then it is what you shall have. Both skilled fighters rushed Jarl and attacked. It was almost as if Jarl had erected a wooden dome around himself, for each of the pair's attacks were deflected long before they came close to the noble. Quinter and Yer'Athor spread out, placing themselves on opposite sides of Jarl, but the Del'Axle's wooden shield remained intact, deflecting all of the attacks. Jarl knew he was better than either of these two fighters, but he also knew he would tire quickly if he had to continue to block Quinter's lighting fast attacks and Yer'Athor's powerful ones. He dove to the side, rolling into a defensive stance to try and get the two fighters on the same side of him. It worked, and the frustrated pair came in side-by-side. Jarl put up his wooden shield again, but this time kept it mainly in front of him. To the masters above it looked like Jarl was juggling his poles, and the skilled noble actually did toss his weapons between hands a few times for no other reason than to frustrate his opponents. Quinter came in hard from his left, putting all his strength behind the blow. An idea flashed through Jarl's mind, and he held is right hand weapon up vertically to accept the blow. Quinter's pole hit the stationary block hard and put the fighter off balance slightly. He was quick to realize, though, that the incorrect block left Jarl's right torso open for attack. As Quinter's weapon flashed toward the opening, Jarl's left pole came in to intercept the attack. His left weapon had been dealing with Yer'Athor, and now the big drow eagerly attacked the new, even bigger opening. With his one weapon still locked in place with Quinter's at Jarl's right side, the nimble Del'Axle pivoted on the block, sweeping it across his body towards Yer'Athor's attack. Quinter was still off balance from the unusual block and Jarl's willingness to open himself up to Yer'Athor, so he was not braced to resist the shove. As Yer'Athor stepped in toward Jarl to attack, Quinter stumbled away from him, and the two collided. Their weapons actually intercepted each other. To Yer'Athor it looked like Quinter's weapon had blocked his attack, and he turned on his partner briefly, not sure what was going on. Jarl took this moment of confusion to drop into a crouch and sweep his leg out at his tangled opponents. Only Quinter was off balance enough to buckle under Jarl's kick, and Yer'Athor pushed him to the ground without thinking. When the big drow finally realized that Quinter was not Jarl, the real enemy had already stood back up and was attacking. Yer'Athor spun around to meet the charge, but Jarl had far too big an advantage, and the overmatched student stumbled backwards. He actually stepped on Quinter, and the Baenre student reflexively attacked the leg. Yer'Athor fell in a heap on top of Quinter. Jarl smiled as he leaped over the two and slapped them both in the head. As the masters above lit up their faces, Jarl laughed. It is good that we fought, otherwise Zak would have faced the two of you and been disappointed. Now we will truly find out who the best student in the class is. Quinter and Yer'Athor were furious, and they turned on themselves. You clumsy oaf! You stupid weakling! Jarl figured they needed to figure out which one of them was going to be third as he had taken them down at the same time. He let them solve the problem by themselves. Zak was waiting. So you have decided to fight today. Zak was standing a short ways away. He had watched the entire fight with Quinter and Yer'Athor and had been very impressed. Jarl had just defeated two highly skilled opponents using nothing but improvisation. Zak braced himself for the unique attacks. He had never fought against Jarl before and was looking forward to the opportunity. Yes, well, Jarl responded, I have my moments. Zak took the offensive, spinning his attacks in as close a copy of Jarl's movements as were allowed within his strict technical regimen. Jarl did not respond in kind, keeping his weapons relatively motionless compared to his opponent, only moving them to block the attacks and not with any extra flair. Zak backed off at the unexpected response, and Jarl took the offensive. Again, the Del'Axle kept his moves exact and precise, directly out of the textbook. Zak settled down into a defensive posture and quickly forgot about trying to mimic Jarl's style and began to treat this fight like any other. Zak did not want to relax too much, thinking that Jarl would explode into a chaotic flurry at any moment, but he did not. Even though Jarl had never fought with this style before, it was far from foreign to him. He had not only studied it many times when he had fought against it, but the masters of the Academy had drilled it into his head for the past several years. Though it had looked like he had not been paying attention, he had. From above, to the masters looking on, it looked like a fight that would never end. Like when Zak had fought Dantrag, the two fighters looked like mirror images of each other. There were a few differences with this fight. Zak was bigger and stronger than Jarl. Like a true Del'Axle - even though he was not - Jarl's strength lay in his speed and quickness. Dantrag and Zak were almost identical copies with regard to physique, and so their styles were nearly identical. They were also very quick and could not only defeat most of their opponents by buckling their enemies' weapons under a barrage of heavy attacks, but could also hit them faster than they could keep up with. Jarl's blocks did buckle slightly under Zak's strength, but his quickness was such that he could recover before Zak could pressure him further. At the same time, Zak could block Jarl's lightning quick attacks with such authority, that the Del'Axle wondered if Zak was copying his own unorthodox style. Zak was not, and there was nothing unorthodox about what either of the two students was doing. Jarl knew how good Zak was, and also knew that he had very little chance of breaking through his defenses without resorting to his swashbuckling routine. He also knew that Zak would be able to pick apart that routine much like Dantrag had done earlier, and the Do'Urden would not be fooled by any antics Jarl might throw in. But this is so boring, Jarl said under his breath after several minutes so only Zak would hear it. Then spice it up, Zak responded. I'm not stopping you. Jarl still did not feel confident resorting to his old style. He had watched how Dantrag has defeated Zak and began to form a strategy in his head. Behind the two fighters, Quinter and Yer'Athor had stopped their petty feuding and were watching the fight with interest. As they looked on they both realized that Jarl had been right. Neither of them deserved the top spot in the class, and as they watched Jarl increase the speed of his attacks, they also realized that neither of them deserved to be second either. Zak took notice of the increased speed and put himself in a strong defensive stance. He saw that with the increased speed, half of the attacks would never even come close to Zak if he let them go unblocked, but Zak would play along for now. He thought he knew where this might be headed, and when Jarl made a crossing attempt at Zak's head, he was proven correct. Both of Zak's weapons came up high to protect his head, but Jarl pulled both attacks short as he stepped back and then stepped in with both weapon points aimed at Zak's groin. The double thrust low. Zak smiled as he tossed his right hand weapon in the air and caught the pole again in the middle of the blade. He thrust his arm down from its elevated position with the pole horizontal in his grasp. It collided with both of Jarl's weapons and forced them down toward the ground. With his outstretched arms pulled so sharply down, Jarl stumbled forward just as Zak lashed out with his free left hand, hilt leading. The left fist struck Jarl solidly in the face and the sound of crunching cartilage was loud enough for everyone to hear. Lights and sirens went off in Jarl's head as he stumbled backwards, barely hanging on to consciousness. He brought his weapons up weakly, but Zak blasted them from his grasp. As Jarl fell backwards, he barely even felt the half a dozen blows that fell on his body from Zak's weapons, and the light from the masters that lit up his face was not recognizable from the fireworks that were already going off in his head. Jarl some how managed to hold on to consciousness, and as he shook the cobwebs from his head, he saw Zak standing over him with an empty hand outstretched. Are you okay? Jarl took the extended hand and pulled himself up. He nearly passed out from the blood rush, but with Zak's strong arm, he steadied himself. I'll live, I think, he reached up to his busted nose from which blood was starting to flow. It's nothing a little healing salve can't fix, I hope. I thought you weren't supposed to improvise? And I thought you never played it by the book, Zak shot back. Some friend, Jarl mumbled as a couple of the masters came down to help the injured student. Dantrag was too distracted by the end of the battle to realize he should be down there collecting some blood. How did you like that? one of the other masters on the catwalk came up to Dantrag. The Head Master pulled one of his beautiful swords out and looked at it. He imagined how hard he would need to grip his weapon in the middle and how forcefully he would need to thrust it down in order to deflect two weapons. If he had been using real weapons he would have cut his own hand off, Dantrag said, examining the fine edge of his weapon. True, said the other master, but he was not using real weapons. That awareness of his situation allowed him to improvise correctly with very positive results. Dantrag knew the master was right. When Zak had improvised earlier against him he had mistakenly thought that he was fighting against Quinter. If he had been, the variation on the cross-down parry might have worked. Now Zak had better understood his situation, and as a result had been successful. The cross-down is still the correct parry, he insisted as he sheathed his weapon. Perhaps, the other master conceded, but if there is a better one out there, Zaknafein will be the one to find it. Or maybe it will be one of his students. I've never seen a fighter that understands battle so well. Dantrag decided to let the jab at him, intentional or not, pass. He realized that the masters would sing this Do'Urden's praise as loudly as they could, and since he was of the thirteenth house, a place where someone would hardly expect to find such skill, he would definitely stand out. Dantrag was supposed to be powerful. He was of the first house. This made his accomplishments less glorious in everyone's eyes but his own. Dantrag would fix that. He did not know when, but sometime in the future he would confront Zaknafein and defeat him. It might be a decade, or it might be a century, but he would prove to the city that he was the best. With all the attention focused on Zak, he had totally forgotten how well Jarl had fought. The Del'Axle had stood up to him for longer than anyone other than Dantrag. The noble was definitely not from the fourth house, but Dantrag did not worry about it. He had passed the responsibility of discerning Jarl's true heritage to Gromph, and he would wait for word from his brother.

* * * * *

Zak knew little about magic. His mother had taught him nothing about his innate abilities, and the first months at Sorcere were spent tuning in those talents. His lack of magical skill had nothing to do with his intellect, and once he was shown how to use his abilities, he mastered them quickly. Because of Zak's initial lack of magical skill, he was not given a very advanced thirtieth year student to shadow. The mage in training was a common drow from a house ranked somewhere in the teens. He had very little to teach Zak and was more interested in watching the top ranked fighter dispatch the creatures he summoned. The mage had never been trained with a weapon, and Zak's mastery of the blade entranced him. Zak did learn a little, such as how to access the abilities within magical items such as wands and weapons, but he did not gain much of an understanding with regard to spell casting. What he did have access to, though, he tried to master as well as he could. Just a year ago, he would have scoffed at the idea of including magic in his fighting, but now after his successful improvisation against Jarl, Zak was more than willing to open himself up to other options. If Zak was the least advanced in his class when it came to an understanding of magic, Jarl was first. The noble already had complete mastery over his innate abilities, which was augmented by his magical piwafwi. He was assigned to an advanced thirtieth year student from House Baenre named Elrial. Jarl was always careful to keep his true heritage secret to everyone, but he was getting frustrated with the frequency in which he came in contact with members of his true family. Between Quinter and Dantrag back at Melee-Magthere, Jarl had thought he had seen enough, but now he was to serve under Elrial for six months, and the head of Sorcere was also a Baenre. Elrial recognized Jarl's strength right away when he had the fighter demonstrate his innate abilities. Though Jarl tapped into the strength of his piwafwi very efficiently, Elrial noticed that the medallion that hung around his neck stayed inactive. The medallion was the symbol of House Del'Axle and signified that he was a noble of that house and should have added even more strength to his abilities. The mage was about to point this out but remembered what Gromph had told him. Matron Baenre did not believe this male was really from House Del'Axle. That would definitely explain his inability to tap into his house's power. If Jarl knew about his true lineage, Elrial might tip him off that he was under investigation. Instead, Elrial complimented him on his use of the piwafwi. You wear very heavily enchanted items, and you use them well, but do you truly understand how they work? Jarl was confused. Hadn't he just demonstrated how they worked? He had kept himself levitated for almost fifteen minutes. What do you mean? I am able to access them, aren't I? Yes, you can use them to improve abilities you already have, but can you use them by themselves? Can you manipulate them beyond your innate powers? Explain. Your boots, Elrial began, they help you move silently. It is a skill that you can probably perform better than anyone even without the boots. Enhancing that ability is hardly using the enchantment to its full potential. It is a very powerful enchantment, but not that difficult to understand or manipulate. Jarl was actually learning something for a change. Show me. Elrial closed his eyes and reached out mentally to Jarl. He touched his apprentice's mind and made contact. Carefully he brought Jarl's focus down to his boots. The Del'Axle could now see the items clearly in the magical plane. He could almost read the enchantment on them as if the symbols were written in ink. He watched as Elrial reached down to one of those symbols and flipped it. They both opened their eyes. Now try your boots, he said. Jarl hopped up and down slightly, and the boots banged on the floor as loudly as if they were made of lead. Are they ruined? Jarl asked suddenly, a deep worry evident in his voice. Elrial laughed. Hardly. All you need to do is- but Jarl had his eyes closed again and with in moments, his feet were as quiet as a whisper. Elrial was impressed. He had expected to have to reverse what he had done, but Jarl did it as quickly and expertly as the mage ever could have. Before Elrial could show the fighter what other items he possessed that could be altered, Jarl was doing his own inventory check. After a little bit, he got his coin pouch beneath his piwafwi to jingle loudly and then turn suddenly silent again. Jarl looked up at the Baenre mage, thinking he might like his time here after all. Show me more. Of course. Elrial smiled broadly. He had been instructed by Gromph to gain this student's confidence so that when the trap was sprung, Jarl would not be able to see it coming or suspect anything afterwards. Right now, Jarl would willingly step into a portal that led into the abyss if Elrial told him to. This would be easy.

Chapter 11 What's in a Name

The trap was a simple box. It was a full month into Jarl's time at Sorcere when he came upon the box. Elrial had shown him, or Jarl had snooped through, just about everything within the mage's quarters. Thirtieth year students received very generous rooms in which to experiment and store their magical devices. A student at Melee-Magthere needed only his weapons and the rest he supplied from within. For a mage, the energy came from within, but they needed many different devices through which to channel that energy. For every four items that Elrial had shown him, Jarl had swiped one of them. Once he returned home to the Del'Axle compound, he had plans to start his own collection of magical trinkets. Elrial would unknowing provide him with a good starting quantity. This particular box was about six inches cubed. It sat high up on a little referenced shelf. Elrial had passed over this shelf casually when he had gone through all of his items with Jarl saying that none of the items on that shelf were very interesting. He was right for the most part. Most of the items were creations that the student mage had made early on in his schooling and held little power or intrigue. Something was different about this box. Jarl was alone in the room as Elrial was attending one of his advanced classes. He levitated up to the shelf and carefully removed the box from among the other junk. He walked over and placed it on the main table in the center of the room. Jarl took a seat at the table and studied the box. It was a cube and each side had a unique concentric design worked into the metal sides. Jarl could not really tell what kind of metal it was. His only experience with metal was the weapons he carried. This box was made out of something completely different. Jarl rolled it around on the table for several moments until he was confident that it was right-side-up. Now, how do I open it? There was no visible hinge, and there were no cracks that would indicate that the box had a lid at all. Jarl closed his eyes and studied the box again, falling into its magical composition. There were hundreds of symbols surrounding this box and Jarl had absolutely no idea what they all meant. He waded through them like walking through a densely packed herd of rothe. Finally he saw one that he recognized. It was a variation of a symbol that Elrial had shown him when dealing with a magically sealed door. This was definitely the lock that needed to be opened, but Jarl wanted to make sure it was not trapped first. Elrial had shown him what several different types of traps looked like from fireballs to lightning, but Jarl saw none of those symbols now. If it was trapped, it was done so with spells Jarl had never seen before. Well, he muttered, you only live once. He flipped the symbol and opened his eyes. The box glowed slightly and a seam of light appeared around three sides of the lid as the box prepared to open. Then nothing. Jarl had been backing away slowly preparing for whatever might be in this box, but nothing happened. It looked like the lid was going to swing up, but the light had disappeared and the box sat unchanged on the table. Jarl reached forward to examine the box closer. Then it happened. As soon as Jarl's slender fingers touched the side of the box the lid sprang open and the head of a viper came out. Jarl had no time to react, and the snake sunk its fangs into the wrist of the startled drow. Jarl wanted to yank his hand back, but he found that he could not. The teeth of the deadly snake were sunk deep into his wrist, and the eyes of the magical creature stared hard at Jarl. It sprouted from the box like a genie from a bottle, just an intangible mist that gradually materialized into a solid form. The end of that solid form was currently attached quite securely to Jarl's arm. The fight was the fiercest of Jarl's life. Even his battles with Zak or Dantrag did not come close to comparing. Jarl did not use his muscles or weapons in this fight, but his mind. The viper had a paralyzing lock on its victim, not as a result of its venom, at least not yet, but as a result of pure fear. Jarl slowly pulled himself out of that pit, his mind clawing up the sides of the black hole until it finally was back in touch with his other senses. The first sense that hit him was immense pain, and the reflexive reaction that should have taken place as soon as the viper had made its appearance finally occurred. Jarl yanked his arm away. The viper let go at once and slowly receded back into its box and closed the lid. Jarl stood up, kicking the chair out of his way as he backed up holding his injured wrist tightly with his other hand. He stared at the twin pricks of blood that marked where the snake had sunk its teeth in, and he could feel the numbing poison as it slowly worked its way up his arm. He was too paralyzed in fear and dread to even think of anything he could do to stop it. Elrial entered the room. He took one look at the box on the table and then at Jarl and knew exactly what had happened. Don't move! he shouted as he ran into a side room, smiling as he went. He had not expected Jarl to be able to open the box for several weeks yet and had not set up the alarm system that would have alerted him to when the box had been opened. It was only pure luck that he had happened in when he had or Jarl would have died. Elrial came back to Jarl carrying a small dish of ointment and a vial of liquid. Drink this. Jarl was in no position to question the order and compiled. His body went limp almost immediately, and Elrial slowly lowered him to the floor. He applied the ointment to the wound and wrapped it tightly. He then moved the fighter to the couch. That will teach you to snoop around when I'm gone. He turned his back on the unconscious student and moved to the table. He made absolutely sure the box would not suddenly open when he picked it up and carried it into his personal chamber. It was not such a difficult task to remove the blood from the box without waking the viper, if you knew what you were doing.

* * * * *

Dantrag responded to the messenger almost immediately and arrived at Gromph's study within the hour. When the Head Master of Melee-Magthere entered his brother's chambers, he saw that Gromph was putting the final touches on his magical summoning circle and respectfully stayed quiet and out of the way. Gromph stood finally. He held up a small vial of reddish liquid. This is a sample of Jarlnian's blood taken just this morning. I am going to summon an imp. He will not be able do anything with it, but he can take it to something that can. Why not deal with the demon directly? Dantrag asked. An imp is already more trouble than it's worth. Trust me, demons are no walk in the park. It is better to deal with a creature of a lesser intellect. Without further explanation Gromph began the process. He first activated the circle of protection. He then opened a small portal. Finally, he called upon the creature he had chosen from his research. Dantrag watched on in interest. He had never seen a mage summon a creature before. He had sneaked a few peeks into the Baenre chapel when his sisters and mother had summoned handmaidens of Lloth, but this was different. This time he was involved. The circle shimmered as it was exercised to contain the rift within. A puff of gray smoke slowly materialized into the form of a very ugly creature. The imp was roughly the same height as Dantrag, but its legs and arms were thin and curled up to its body, disguising its true size. Its torso was fat and bloated, supporting a set of wings on its back and a horned head above its hunched shoulders. The wings beat slowly, keeping the imp hovering slightly over the stone floor. Its head looked around, trying to determine where it was. With one look at Gromph, the imp stopped looking around. When drow were involved, the chance that there was an imperfection in the magic circle went down considerably. The imp knew its drow well, and if he was not mistaken, this one was the Archmage at Sorcere in Menzoberranzan. The creature did not know Gromph by name, but it recognized the robes he wore. What do you want? it asked with a hissing lisp. Information, Gromph replied. We wish to learn the true identity of a student here at the Academy. The word we caught the imp by surprise until he saw Dantrag standing in a corner. Dantrag stepped toward the circle, smiling at the trapped creature. If the imp was correct, this one was the Head Master at Melee-Magthere. Upon closer inspection, the imp also saw that they were both Baenre nobles. Something must be up. What is this student's name? We don't know his name, Dantrag said angrily, that is why we have summoned you! Gromph gave his brother an angry look that told him to be quiet. He is called Jarlnian Del'Axle, Gromph said to the imp. The creature thought about responding to Dantrag's outburst but decided to let it pass. The fourth house? the imp asked, though it was pretty sure. Gromph nodded. And you think the matron mother is claiming an illegitimate noble? Again Gromph nodded. A serious charge. We seek proof. I have a blood sample. Gromph held up the small vial. Toss it to me, the imp said a little too quickly. Gromph was about to throw it but hesitated and then scowled. If you drop it I shall lower the circle and . . . he motioned to his brother. Dantrag quickly understood his role and drew his weapons. The blades gleamed in the candlelit room as the Head Master twirled them about his body skillfully. If the imp had saliva, it would have swallowed hard in apprehension at this. Instead, it turned back to Gromph. Throw me your vial, and I shall catch it. The Archmage did so, though he still did not trust the imp and helped the throw along with a simple levitation spell. The imp snagged it sure enough and held it up so he could look at it. I can not do anything with this. No, Gromph agreed, but you can take it to someone who can. Your high priestesses could perform such a task in a matter of hours. Why not ask them? Because I have asked you to do it, Gromph replied. The imp knew how drow society worked and had already guessed that their mother had given this task to these two Baenre brothers. Now the creature knew it. They could not go back to their sisters or mother if they were the ones who had given them the task in the first place. It will take time, the imp said, resigned to the task. It was not that difficult, for all the imp had to do was run between its master and these drow, but it hated dealing with its master. You have ten days, Gromph replied. One hundred, no less, the imp argued. It could do the task in three hours, but it was lazy. Gromph paused a long time. Very well, I shall give you eleven days. If you do not have answers for me by that time, I will make sure my brother kills you slowly. Even if the imp did bring them the answers they needed, Gromph would still let Dantrag kill the pitiful wretch. It was always good to banish creatures you called on so they could not come back for you. The imp thought about trying to bargain for more time, but it saw that it was pointless. I shall barely know the race of this pitiful creature in eleven days, it complained holding up the blood, but I shall see what I can find out. You will bring us his true name and house, Gromph demanded. I shall try. You will! Gromph called on his control of the beast, willing it to obey. Yes! I will! With that, Gromph dismissed the imp back to the abyss. He turned to Dantrag. And so we wait.

* * * * *

Eleven days in the life of a drow pass in a heartbeat, and the two Baenre brothers found themselves back in the summoning chambers at the appropriate time. When I summon this creature, Gromph began to explain, it will be compelled to tell the truth. It will have no choice but to reveal what it has found. It knows this and does not like it. Likely it will have prepared several answers in advance to confuse us. They will have to be truthful, but they may be misleading at the same time. Dantrag nodded. He did not like this already. He was a fighter and hated all of the rules and regulations that went on with magic. You had to recite the spells at a certain volume, tone, and speed. Any small infraction did not only mean that the spell would fail, but it would usually bring serious harm to the caster as well. He preferred extracting information by force. He knew his brother was powerful and that they would probably get the information they wanted, but if this failed, he would do it his way. Gromph began his chant and soon the imp was floating in front of them once more. The grin on the creature's face was impossible to hide. It knew who Jarl was and what his true family was. It also knew how Matron Reinela had acquired the sacrificed son. The fact that the two drow who were asking were of House Baenre made this all the sweeter. Do you have the information we are looking for? Gromph asked. I do, the imp replied. It had gone to its master almost immediately after being dismissed eleven days ago. The lesser demon that controlled the imp had little reason to accommodate its servant, but since the request had been made by drow elves, the demon completed the task. Too many are the times that when a demon failed, the drow would go to a handmaiden of Lloth. With so simple a task, the handmaiden would demand to know why it had been summoned. When they learned of the uncooperative demon, things got messy. Is Jarlnian a noble of House Del'Axle? Gromph asked. The imp smiled. If they did not know how to ask questions, this was going to be fun. Yes. Gromph was stunned, but Dantrag realized the error in the question. Of course Jarlnian was a noble of House Del'Axle now. Was he born a noble of House Del'Axle? he asked. The imp turned on the younger brother. I am not required to answer you. Dantrag pulled his blades. And I do not need a circle of protection. Was he born a noble? Gromph asked, trying to diffuse the situation. Again it was a poorly worded question. The imp could decided to interpret the word he to refer to Dantrag, as they were just talking. Either way, the answer was the same. Yes. Jarlnian was born a noble? Gromph asked again, realizing the ambiguity of the first question. How many times must I answer the same question? the imp replied. With the confusion, Gromph was loosing his grip on the creature. As many times as I require. Now answer the question. Was Jarlnian born a noble? Yes! Dantrag had already considered the possibility that Jarl could be a noble from another house. He was also getting sick of these games. Did Matron Reinela Del'Axle give birth to Jarlnian? Dantrag asked, careful to use as many names as he could to keep the ambiguity out of the question. The imp turned back on him to tell him to shut up, but it knew that Gromph would just repeat the question. Besides, it could lie to this one, not that it wanted to. No, she did not. What is his true name? Gromph cried, throwing a burst of energy at the imp to get him to comply. With the use of the pronoun again, the summoned creature might have been able to sidestep the question, but not with the extra thrust by the powerful wizard. Iblith! the thing shouted. Both drow were surprised that the imp was able to ignore the command, neither realizing that it was impossible for it to do so. It enjoyed the startled looks on the brothers' faces. Yes, you stupid males. The child was born under the name of Iblith. Did you not know that is how Lloth views all males? You are nothing more than excrement. Gromph was busy checking his circle to see if something was wrong. He did not have a lot of experience dealing with these vile creatures, but he knew something had to be wrong for the imp to so blatantly disregard his command. The imp ignored the mage and focused on Dantrag. Matron Baenre believes this too. She thinks of all of her male children as offal, as iblith. It focused its eyes right on Dantrag. She has even secretly named one of her sons such. Dantrag already had his weapons out and was standing right on the edge of the circle. Tell me the drow's house! Del'Axle. The true house! The imp was shocked by this fighter's strength. It actually felt compelled to scream Baenre, but it had already answered that question, in a manner. With this little victory, it had freed itself from Gromph's control. I have already answered that question. Dantrag rushed into the circle, shattering any chance that Gromph had of regaining his hold on the creature. The imp weakly held its arms up to fend off the attack, but Dantrag cut them off. The wings came next, and the creature was soon lying on the floor. The whole time it was laughing. Dantrag had his weapons crossed over the creature's neck, pinning it to the ground. Tell me the true house! The imp felt no compulsion to answer truthfully now. Oblodra, he replied, the most obvious lie he could tell. Jarl had no psionic powers. Dantrag let his weapons slip into both sides of the creature's neck. Or was it Del'Armgo. Or perhaps it was DeVir. Dantrag sliced the creature's head off and proceeded to hack up the rest of the grotesque body. The imp dissolved into a mist as it went back into the abyss. Or perhaps he is your brother, the mist said softly. Iblith Baenre sounds about right. Then it was gone. Dantrag turned on Gromph angrily. The mage was sitting very confused in a chair, his head in his hands. It felt none of that, he said, not even looking up. It felt none of your attacks, and you did no real damage to it. It was out of my control. Tell me something I do not know, Dantrag said in a harsh tone as he approached his brother, weapons still drawn. What am I supposed to do now that your magic has failed? My magic did not fa- Gromph began angrily, standing up. There was a blade tip inches from his neck. He quickly sat back down and quieted. Dantrag did not. If your magic did not fail, then what happened just now? It should have been compelled to tell the truth. Even when you questioned it, I could feel my spell working. Even after . . . Dantrag started. After you entered the circle? No. My spell had been broken by then. It had gained control of the summoning. If it had left the circle, though, it would have felt my wrath as well. Please, Dantrag replied, I have seen your magic at work. Likely any of your attacks would have missed and hit me. Besides, my blades would have cut him down before you spoke your first syllable. Gromph was in no position to refute the claim right now. What are you to do then? Are you going to report these events to our matron mother? Dantrag realized that Gromph was telling him he had no real options. Any failure, regardless of whose fault it was, was his responsibility. His matron mother did not care how he got his answers, only that he got them. If he did not, he could blame no one but himself. I shall get the information I need with my own methods. I was going to do so anyway, but I had hopped to have a little more information to work with. So long brother. Dantrag sheathed his weapons and stormed out of the room.

Chapter 12 Crude Methods

Krol Del'Axle stood outside the door while the first year student rushed inside to announce his visit. He reappeared a few seconds later. The Head Master will see you now. Krol had no idea why Dantrag had summoned him. The Academy messenger had come to the Del'Axle compound with a very formal request for an audience with Krol. The message had found its way to Krol who was out scouting, and he had responded to it within six hours. As he stepped into the office, wary as ever, Krol was very impressed. Dantrag had adorned the room with several exotic weapons and drow artifacts. The head of an enormous hook horror was mounted on the wall. There were several other displays of what Dantrag had accomplished, but none of them measured up to the Head Master himself. Dantrag rose from behind his desk gracefully and extended his hand to Krol. Thank you for coming on such short notice; I know you must be busy. Please, have a seat. Krol moved slowly to the offered chair in front of the desk. He was not quite as bold as Triel had been and would not even dream of taking the seat behind the desk. If he had, Dantrag would have laughed it off. The Head Master needed this male alive for a little while at least. Would you like a drink? Dantrag asked, standing at his drink bar and hovering a pitcher over two glasses. No thank you, Krol responded. Dantrag filled both glasses anyway and brought one back to Krol. The Del'Axle noble had no choice but to accept the glass, though he had no intention of drinking it. Dantrag took his glass back to his chair and downed half of it in one swig. Please, he added, holding up his drink, it really is excellent. Krol had been scared of poison or some other drug, but watching Dantrag drink so freely from his glass calmed those fears. He took a small sip. It was drugged. Dantrag did not like truth serums for they often disoriented the drinker. Krol was far too wary not to notice when his senses went. No, this drug just increased the wine's already intoxicating ability, totally relaxing the body and mind. Krol felt the stress leave him almost immediately and took another sip. It is excellent, he agreed, keeping the glass on his lap and nursing it occasionally. We live a hard life, Dantrag said with a long sigh, propping his feat up, as males. Dantrag had taken so much of the drug over the years to help him sleep, that he was pretty much immune to it now. It seems we can never meet our matron mother's expectations. I imagine your matron mother is just as demanding as mine. You called me here to complain about our role in society? Krol asked skeptically, taking another sip from his glass. Dantrag smiled, knowing the drug was working. Krol would have never interrupted him otherwise. Not exactly. It is just always on my mind. I'm sorry for burdening you with my problems. So why did you summon me here? Dantrag paused as if he were searching for the right words. I have not even told my students this yet. Next year we are planning a trip to the surface. The graduating class this year will lead that raid as part of their patrol duties. It is a strong class, but a small one. I am in need of a point scout. No one in the class qualifies? Krol asked curiously. Dantrag shook his head. The top students have let the competition within the grand melees get the best of them and have ignored our training with regard to stealth. They are a group of loud fighters who think that pompous bragging and the banging of metal weapons is the best way to sneak up on an enemy. I need someone who has spent many years leading scouting patrols. I need you. Krol was shocked and silent. He took another long drink from his glass. I know you did not graduate very high from your class when you were at the Academy. This is a school for fighters, and the other skills that you posses are not valued as much. Unfortunately this philosophy has left me with a bunch of great fighters, but no good scouts. This normally is not a problem. We patrol the tunnels around Menzoberranzan looking for creatures to fight. If we can attract monsters to our location, all the better. That way we can rid the tunnels of danger and keep our city safe. A trip to the surface is different. When we go to the surface we will spend many days traveling through tunnels that make the ones around our city seem tame by comparison. We will not have the luxury of a city to resupply us and tend to our wounds. We need to move as quickly and quietly as possible, avoiding as many conflicts as we can. But me? Krol still could not believe what he was hearing. House Del'Axle has the best scouts in the entire city. Everyone knows that. You are the leader of those scouts, and therefore the best scout in all of Menzoberranzan. It must be frustrating to be as skilled as you are but get no respect from the females in your family. I'm sure they don't appreciate you for what you can do. Actually, Krol spoke up, remembering the issue with the illithids, my matron mother listens to my advice and takes many of my recommendations. Dantrag rolled his eyes. I have no idea what that must be like. I mean look at me, he held his arms out wide, motioning to his luxurious office, I am the Head Master at Melee-Magthere. I am one of the most revered fighters in all of Menzoberranzan, yet do you think Matron Baenre respects that? Why just the other day I was told that at the slightest slip, I would be killed and replaced. I was told that I am no more special than any other male my matron mother could produce. I guess things must be different for you. I mean your matron mother has been barren for what, 125 years? Actually, it's more like 150. Dantrag exploded into motion, leaping suddenly over his desk. Krol fell backwards in his chair at the sudden motion, but was hauled to his feet by the strong arm of the Head Master. Dantrag threw him up against the wall of his office, and before Krol could gather his wits, Dantrag had his blades crossed over the Del'Axle's neck like a huge pair of scissors, just like he had done to the imp. Krol had no idea what was going on. He had just been having a harmless discussion with the Head Master. He was trying to fathom leading a patrol to the surface when suddenly Dantrag had attacked him. How old is Jarlnian? Dantrag screamed at him. Uh, um, 29, Krol responded, still not knowing what was happening. Yet by your own words, Matron Reinela Del'Axle has been barren for at least 150 years. The intoxication left Krol's mind like a flood. So too did the color from his face vanish. For a dark elf, he was looking very pale. Explain! Dantrag commanded, his quivering blades drawing a few thin lines of blood on Krol's neck. I, uh, we, how, Krol had no idea what to do. The cold of the blades was very noticeable pressed under his chin. He could not think straight. Do not think that I won't kill you, Dantrag said. I do not fear your house in the slightest. Matron Baenre will back me no matter what. Besides, I can always claim self defense. Sure, I will not have a scratch on me, and you will only have the one killing mark on you, Dantrag tightened his weapons again, but everyone knows how you fight, you pathetic noble. Now answer me! Who is Jarlnian? W-we stole him. From whom? Dantrag persisted. This was already going much better than before. We took him from- Krol's arms snapped up and hit both of Dantrag's bent elbows. The stronger drow had relaxed a little once the confession had started and was not prepared for the counter. His blades opened slightly, and Krol dropped to the floor beneath them. Dantrag snapped his weapon back together and sliced off the majority of Krol's trailing ponytail. The elusive drow rolled to the side quickly, just ahead of Dantrag's boot and came up in the far corner of the room, his rapier out and ready. Dantrag looked at him and laughed. Come, Krol Del'Axle, fight me. He held both of his swords at the ready. I'll even make it fair. He sheathed one of his weapons. Or maybe I'll even play to your strength. He turned around so his back was to Krol. Sneak up on me and thrust that fine rapier of yours into my back and you can go free. Krol was not so stupid. Instead his eyes floated around the room looking for some way out. Even if he did get out, Dantrag would pursue him up to and inside of the Del'Axle compound. Krol tried to think of what kind of damage the Baenre could do if he took on the house guards. What would Matron Reinela say? She would kill her son of course. But then what? She could refute Dantrag's claims. He really had no proof of anything. It was all a moot point though, for there was only one way out this office. The door was past Dantrag. So it was all a lie? he called out. Which part? Dantrag responded, his back still turned. Going to the surface. Dantrag turned around at this. No, we are going to the surface. And me? Dantrag laughed heartily. The worst student in the Academy is more stealthy than you. I'd sooner have a deep gnome lead my patrol, though your brother will probably be the lucky one. Ah, Krol said, my brother. I almost forgot about him. Yes, my mother has not been barren for the last 150 years. In fact just 29 years ago sh- Krol did not even see Dantrag throw the dagger, and it ripped through his cloak as it just missed him. I know more than you can guess, Dantrag said. I have already inquired the denizens of the abyss with this question, offering them a sample of your brother's blood for identification. They have told me everything. Now I want to hear it from your lips. I will know if you are lying, and I will kill you. Krol did not believe it. He could not believe it. If Dantrag really knew who Jarl was, Krol would be dead no matter what he said. His only hope was that Dantrag was bluffing. We stole him. From whom? Dantrag repeated the question from a few minutes ago, making it very clear that he did not enjoy doing so. I do not know. Krol saw the dagger in Dantrag's hand this time, for he did not throw it, but Krol still did not know where it came from. The Head Master had two more of the throwing blades tucked in his belt and held this one up by his ear as he repeated the question. From which family did you steal the child? Do you think I would let myself know the answer to that question? Krol responded. Dantrag was puzzled by this answer and held his dagger in check. I knew this time would come, Krol continued. I purposefully did not learn the name of the house so that it could not be taken from me. How could you not know the name? Dantrag was not happy. It was one of the much lower ranked houses, somewhere in the twenties. You have students from those houses every year, yet I bet if I showed you five symbols from those houses, you would not be able to identify four of them. Dantrag really wanted to throw his dagger, but Krol was right. He never paid those houses any attention because the students never amounted to much. But Jarl had finished second in the class. He could not be from a low ranked house. Before he made that accusation, he thought of Zaknafein. He was from the thirteenth house, yet was the best fighter he had ever faced. What are you going to do? Krol asked. Dantrag could kill him, but that would only bring attention to this situation, something Matron Baenre would not want. He did not think Krol would tell his matron mother of this. That would bring about Krol's death rather quickly. Of course, Dantrag could only let him go if he felt he was telling the truth. In the end, Dantrag over-estimated his ability to persuade. Besides, Krol's story was far more believable than the truth. As good as the Del'Axle was as a thief, stealing a noble child (Dantrag had gotten that much from the imp - Jarl was a noble) from any of the ranked house would have been impossible and would have set off alarms all over the city. If Krol has stolen the child from a lower house, it had probably set two of the houses against each other when an accusation was made. Dantrag put his dagger away and sheathed his other weapon. He backed away and motioned to the door. You may go. You have been most helpful. I trust you will keep this conversation a secret. Krol walked toward the door slowly, keeping an eye on the dangerous drow before him. You will not speak of this either? That is for me to decided. If the council chooses to levy a charge against your house, the first warning you shall have will be the countless fireballs that will rain down on you before wave after wave of drow soldiers, all backed by high priestesses, tear your house to pieces. Have a good day. Krol ran out of the office.

* * * * *

And now we venture into the Spider Queen's most sacred lair. Zak and Jarl had seen very little of each other during their time at Sorcere. After Jarl's positive showing during the final grand melee, Zak had done a lot of analyzing of their friendship. He had called it off for a while after they had fought that night during their fifth year, but Zak had reconciled those differences. What do you mean? Zak asked. The two of them were standing in the courtyard of the Academy. Jarl pointed toward the huge spider-shaped building that dominated the cavern. Tomorrow we begin our last six months at the Academy, and they shall all be spent there, Arach-Tinilith, the school of Lloth. Zak knew this, of course, but he did not see how the next six months would be any different from the last nine and a half years. The whole Academy preached the virtues of Lloth. He said as much. True, Jarl agreed, but nowhere are those ideas and philosophies put into practice more than in Arach-Tinilith. The Lore Master said that Lloth makes us stronger. You and I finished first and second in our class, and Lloth could not be further from us. The mages of Sorcere claim that Lloth is their goddess, but none of their spells involve the evil deity. Arach-Tinilith is different. There the priestesses practice what they preach. Zak nodded. He had fought against these teaching for almost a decade, and he would continue to do so. Jarl saw this determination on his friend's face. I know that you criticized me for my unwillingness to show my true colors before, Jarl said, but I recommend you reconsider your stance before tomorrow. Disbelief will not be tolerated. If you speak out against Lloth, you will be killed, or worse. They care nothing for your status as first in your class, and do not think that you can take them on in battle. You might fight off one or two, but do not underestimate them. Jarl and Zak moved back into Melee-Magthere and talked long into the night. Jarl recounted all of his experience with his many sisters and their devotion to Lloth. He emphasized their strength and power, knowing from past conversations that Zak's only experience with females was his mother. Zak absorbed the information like a sponge. He did not like the idea of hiding his beliefs just to save face, but he was slowly learning that survival was the only thing that anyone at the Academy, and in fact all of Menzoberranzan, cared about. He promised himself he would survive. He did not care what he had to do to accomplish it, but he would survive. He had no devotion to any deity, and therefore was not tied down by any moral code that he would be held accountable to. Instead, he set his own code for himself. Right now that code insisted that he survive. Zak's time at Arach-Tinilith was even worse than what Jarl had warned him about. Zak nodded his head and agreed like a stupid male every time he was questioned about his understanding of Lloth. The priestesses had seen countless males sleep walk their way through the last six months, and to them, Zak was no different. The thing that made it really hard for Zak was Malice Do'Urden. The only daughter of Matron Vartha Do'Urden was going to graduate at the same time as Zak. Malice knew very little of the skilled fighter, but his class rank excited her quite a bit. She knew that Vartha would likely promote him to weapon master upon his return to the house, and he would play a very important role in the family. Malice also knew what kind of upbringing Zak had with his mother's flawed ideas. Malice had been one of the priestesses to sacrifice Zak's mother shortly after he left for the Academy, and truly wondered how the male would react once he found out. Zak was forced to recite his beliefs time and time again, each time echoing the praises of Lloth louder than before. Malice accepted this for now, but promised him that the true tests were yet to come. This abuse kept up for six whole months. The only way that Zak was able to cope was by fanaticizing about killing each priestess he met. They detailed to him their powers and strengths, but Zak focused on what they did not stress: their weaknesses. Jarl had sung their praises before, but Zak, though he saw these strengths, also recognized several weaknesses. The most prominent weakness was their confidence. Each tenth year fighter that came through Arach-Tinilith was treated like mud, and they all accepted this treatment. None of them ever fought back or complained. Because of this, the priestesses had grown complacent believing that no male would ever raise a weapon against them. Zak held his weapons in check for now but dreamed of the day when his house did war with another and he would be able to silence the wagging tongue and snapping whip of a Lloth priestess for good.

* * * * *

Graduation came after what seemed like a lifetime. Zaknafein was given the highest honors in his class, while Malice did not graduate at the top of hers. Zak smiled at this. He felt it would be the first of many victories over the now high priestess of Lloth. Each school had their own private ceremony, honoring their students before the grand ceremony in the main assembly hall of Arach-Tinilith. Zak was seated halfway up in the enormous chapel watching on in horror as the females went through their dark rituals. The top student of Arach-Tinilith stood naked in front of a flaming brazier, calling out to some hideous demon. As Zak looked around at his other classmates he saw a mixture of emotions on their faces. There was lust, curiosity, awe, or all three, but all were focused on the activities on the stage. Zak tuned them out. He stared at the ceiling and went through fighting maneuvers in his head. As the ceremony on stage reached a fevered pitch and approached climax, Zak felt something brush his leg. It was Malice. She was crouched before him, her robes open in the front revealing far more of her than Zak had ever cared to see. She was beautiful, but her beauty was only skin deep. Zak tried to pull away from her advances, but as he looked around him, other male and female students were entangled with each other everywhere. His mind screamed out that this was wrong, that this type of physical lust was detrimental to the soul. He wanted to draw his weapons and hack Malice to pieces, or at least he wanted to run away. He did neither. He was going to survive. As Malice climbed on top of him, Zak sent his mind as far away as possible, but it was difficult. He was at least determined not to enjoy it.

* * * * *

The day after graduation, Dantrag walked through the corridors of his real home. It felt good to be back in the Baenre compound, safe and secure. He only had a few days before he went back to the Academy to train his patrol. He had already resigned as Head Master to join the patrols and assigned himself to the group heading to the surface. They would train for a few months before making the trip, but with his blades in his hands tearing apart the creatures of the underdark, the time would go by quickly. Dantrag stopped outside of the Baenre gym, remembering fondly the days in which he had trained under Drelmn, the weapon master whose title would soon be his. Actually, Dantrag had done very little training and after the first year, did most of the teaching. His time had been very comparable to that of Jarl and Zak. Each of them had surpassed their teachers in skill very early on and had then been pitted against an array of drow from within the house. Dantrag was about to enter the gym when he heard sounds from within. He could hear excited voices and the occasional banging of weapons that would indicate a teaching session. Dantrag opened the door. Inside was Quinter and Drelmn locked in a slow motion reenactment. Quinter was holding one of his practice weapons loosely in the middle, using it to fend off both of Drelmn's weapons, as his other was poised to strike Drelmn in the face. Of course we fought with wooden poles, Quinter was saying, so he didn't cut his hand. Dantrag cleared his throat, and the two other drow turned to look at him. They both stood up straight and bowed slightly toward the noble. Welcome, Dantrag, Drelmn said. Quinter was just telling me about the best fighter in the Academy and the parry he invented. Is that so, Dantrag replied leveling a gaze at Quinter as he approached the pair. Yes, Drelmn continued. Of course I realize that the move could never be used in actual combat, but still, to come up with it in the heat of battle is quite amazing. Quite, Dantrag agreed, though he was not really listening. He was more focused on Quinter. So you think Zaknafein was the best fighter at the Academy? Uh, the best one that I ever fought against, he was quick to add. Well, we'll just have to fix that. Dantrag's weapons leaped out of their sheaths, and he bore down on the younger fighter. Quinter was holding practice weapons that had no real edge, but they were well balanced. Dantrag was using the finest blades in the entire Baenre compound. Quinter had no chance to move onto the offensive as he backpedaled furiously. His parries came later and later. Soon his hilts were actually closer to Dantrag than his blades were. As Quinter approached a wall of the gym, Dantrag bounced one of his attacks off Quinter's out of position parries, and dragged his weapon over the extended hilt. The blade easily sliced through the leather guard and took three fingers with it. Quinter howled as he dropped the weapon and brought the other up to fend off his deadly foe. Dantrag batted it out wide with his left weapon and then cleaved the arm just below the elbow with his right. So clean was the cut, that Quinter only realized what had happened when his own fore arm struck him in the foot. The injured graduate felt his back come up hard against the wall behind him, and he was frozen in fear and pain. There, Dantrag said in a harsh whisper, his bloody right weapon tip poised at Quinter's neck, now you know who the best fighter in the Academy really was. You see, you would have never known unless we had this little encounter. You can thank me later . . . Dantrag turned and took a step away, as if he were going to leave it at that, but turned suddenly and sliced Quinter's head from his shoulders. . . . when you see me in hell! Dantrag watched as the body of the skilled fighter slumped slowly to the floor, leaving a bloody streak on the wall. He turned from the grizzly scene to look at Drelmn. The parry was wrong, he said. Of course it was, the weapon master responded, bowing deeply. Enjoy your title while it lasts, Dantrag continued as he walked toward the humble drow. If our matron mother does not give it to me soon I might . . . he cast a glance back at Quinter and the huge pool of blood that was forming around him, I might have to take matters into my own hands. Drelmn was too terrified by what he had just seen to reply. He kept his eyes glued to the floor as Dantrag left the gym. Lloth protect us, he muttered under his breath after Dantrag was gone. Quinter's infraction had been small, but the price had been big. Once word of this incident made it through the house, and Drelmn would make sure it did to protect his other fighters, no one would even speak to the secondboy.

* * * * *

Zaknafein bowed low before Matron Vartha Do'Urden. Rise, she said. Zak did. You have brought great honor and praise to this house, young Zaknafein. Your actions will not go unrewarded. For the glory of Lloth, Zak replied humbly. Vartha was pleased. She had been skeptical about sending the uneducated male to the Academy but now saw that she had made the correct decision. How long are you to stay with us? Only a few days. I have been assigned to patrol the tunnels around the city. When did you return from the Academy? she asked. A few hours ago, he replied. What kept you from coming before me immediately? Zak swallowed. I was looking for my mother. Do you know where I might find her? Vartha smiled. She has served the Spider Queen in the highest possible way. She was sacrificed on the day you entered the Academy to aid you in your studies. Lloth has smiled on you ever since. She's dead, Zak said, his knees threatening to give way. His hands were quivering over his weapons as his teeth clenched tightly together. Malice conducted the ceremony herself. It was done with the utmost care and precision. We could not allow such an ignorant female to continue to live within our house. Zak came within a heartbeat of killing everyone in the room. Malice was there, as well as Stiu Alnan, the house's weapon master. Zak fought against the urge, and in that instance he transformed himself. His anger took control. It did not send him into a killing rage, but placed a frightening calm over him. A smile spread over his face, and he bowed again. Of course. Lloth would not allow it. He rose slowly, every muscle on edge. Is there anything else? Vartha shook her head. You may go. I shall be in my quarters, he said evenly, preparing for my return to the Academy. Perhaps I shall pay you a visit later on tonight, Malice spoke up. Zak turned to look at her, seeing the obvious lewd intentions in her eyes. I will look forward to it. Zak spun about and left the room.

Part III The Surface

Is pride a good thing? I have often wondered this. So many of my accomplishments would never have happened if I had not maintained a very proud view of myself and of my skills. It is impossible to enter a mortal battle and emerge victorious if you go into it with low expectations of yourself. When I fight goblins or kobolds, I know that I will not lose. They know it too, and I believe it aids me in victory. But what of the negative aspects of pride? Drow as a people are very proud. We are quite aware of the fear we inspire in others, and it not only gives us a measure of confidence, but also aids us in battle when our opponents lose heart. Could there be a negative side to this? Could an over-inflated image of oneself push you to destruction at the hands of a foe that you had no right to challenge? Khazid'hea is perhaps the best example of this. The sentient sword has been passed on to many different users, and in almost every case, it has brought destruction to those who wield it. I have tried to do research into the creation of this magical weapon, but I have found little to tell me what I want to know. What I do know is the key to mastering the weapon is not to control it, but to control your own pride. The sword has an ego that will always exceed anyone who wields it. It desires to be held by the most skilled warrior in existence, and will never be happy if it feels its current owner does not meet those criteria. Of course there is only one fighter in all the realms that can hold that title, and if you are not careful, Khazid'hea might convince you that you should be that warrior, or at least that you should seek him out. I am not foolish enough to believe that there is no one in all the realms that can defeat me, but I am also not blind to my advanced skill. I enjoy being tested as to the limits of that skill. I will admit that my pride sometimes comes into play and forces me into battles that might not be necessary, but it is hard to deny my skill when victim after victim fall to my blades. Will my pride be the end of me? Will I finally encounter an enemy that I can not defeat? I sincerely hope not, but I know that my hopes and desires count for little. The answer will come with time. For that, I can only wait.

- Dantrag Baenre

Chapter 13 Pride

The courtyard of the Academy seemed different to Jarlnian Del'Axle as he entered the cavern through the guarded archway. He had been gone only a few days, but it seemed very distant to him now. There were two dozen first year students gathered in the courtyard, playing the games that all initiates go through. Each one of them wanted to know who was the strongest or the most skilled, and they all had stories to tell of how they had defeated their respective weapon masters in training. There were two students from house Baenre this year and another large drow from the second house as well. Jarl sighed as he watched these students from the top houses as they gathered crowds around them. Quinter and Yer'Athor were very good fighters, but they were quite common in their houses, and their skill did not outshine any of their fellow common soldiers by that much. How weak house Del'Axle looked when compared to Baenre or Barrison Del'Armgo! Jarl's house had one student enter the Academy every third or fourth year, and they never finished better than halfway up the class. Jarl noticed that a few students had turned their attention toward him. He struck quite a figure standing at the entry to the courtyard. His status as a noble of the fourth house was hard to miss with the extravagant piwafwi and his confident posture. As more and more students stopped what they were doing to look toward the entry to the courtyard, Jarl began to lose confidence that he was the reason for the extra attention. As he turned to look back toward the archway, Jarl saw that Zaknafein was walking slowly toward him. The powerful drow looked very different from when Jarl had seen him last. Zak had been celebrated by his house and now wore an equally decorative piwafwi as Jarl. It lacked the markings of a noble, but that mattered little. His weapons had also been upgraded and bore the initials of the finest weapon smith in the city. Though his equipment had been changed drastically since Jarl had last seen him, the noble was sure something else had changed with Zak. The top graduate's face was very stern and sincere. Zak had never been one to joke, but now he actually looked angry. His eyes had gotten much harder in the few days he had been home and his posture stiffer. He looked like a typical drow warrior. Jarl began to wonder if Matron Vartha had done something to him to inspire this change of demeanor or if the constant drilling and instructing of the Academy had finally gotten to him. Jarl shrugged his shoulders and decided to play along until the reason for this change made itself clear. It looks like you are a celebrity, Jarl said jovially as he nodded toward the students who were staring their way. Zak had been proclaimed as the best fighter the Academy had seen in the lifetime of the masters. The proclamation had not been unanimous, for Dantrag had other ideas, but it had been made. Zak just grunted in response to his supposed fame. Two of the students approach the graduated pair slowly. Are you Zaknafein? one of them asked. Zak did not reply, but Jarl was quick to sing his friend's praises. Yes, this is the famous Zaknafein. The top graduate of the Academy last year, and the best fighter in all of Menzoberranzan. We will be honored to learn under you when you take up your position as Head Master of the Academy, the other one said. This comment caught Zak off guard for he did not think of his future beyond what was required of him within the next hour. The idea that he should become a master at this Academy and teach the ideas and philosophies that he despised was new to him. Jarl jumped in again. And he will be honored to instruct you, but you'll never make it to your second day at the Academy if you don't rejoin your class this instant. The two student's cast a look over their shoulder and saw that their class was being rounded up and herded into the main building of Melee-Magthere. They cast one last glance at their silent hero and scampered back to their fellow students. You inspire them, Jarl said. That is uncommon in drow society. Either one of them would put a knife in my back if they thought it would bring them even an ounce of respect or prestige, Zak said sourly. You think they would? Jarl asked, playing the devil's advocate. I doubt any student in this Academy would make a move against you even if they had half a dozen fighters beside them. They respect you too much. It is all foolishness, Zak spat back, looking Jarl in the eyes. The city worships this Academy as if it were the only reason for existence. Females strive to be one with Lloth, while males pursue magic and weapons. The only praise available to a drow is when he or she excels in one of these capacities. There is no true honor or respect among us. Only power and strength are praised. The quickest way to climb that ladder of power is to kill the person above you. Other virtues, though maybe less obvious, are ignored and even considered to be weaknesses. Zak was silent for a brief moment as he watched the last of the first year students entering Melee-Magthere to begin their ten-year adventure in learning the ways of the drow. The worst member of that class could defeat a goblin in battle with his eyes closed. Kobolds, orcs, and the whole lot of them are worthless when compared to the skill of the clumsiest drow. Still, they slave away to make sure that each of us is as well-prepared and well-trained as possible. Why? Jarl shrugged his shoulders, truly enjoying this unique view into drow society. To kill each other, Zak answered his own question. All we are doing is preparing to kill each other. You and I might call each other friends, but when our houses go to war, all that will be meaningless. I will live for one purpose: to kill you and everyone else in your house. Your house would never attack mine, Jarl said, a smile curling on his lips. You'd be annihilated. Zak was not in the mood. Regardless, all this talk of us needing to unite as a people to fight off those who would stand against us is a load of lies! I have lived 30 years, and I have not yet seen this hoard of enemies waiting to tear us apart. These so-called 'evil' surface elves are nowhere to be seen. Where are they? Who are we supposed to fight? Just once I'd like to journey to the surface to see these evil cousins of ours just to learn the truth. You might just get your chance. Both Jarl and Zak spun around at the unexpected voice to see Dantrag standing behind them. Jarl wondered how long he had been standing there and how much of Zak's speech he had heard. If he had just heard the end, then Dantrag was probably developing a very misleading view of the top graduate. Come with me, and you shall get your wish, Dantrag said and walked past the pair. Before following the former Head Master into the Academy, Jarl turned to Zak. What happened to you? Did your mother beat you? No, Zak replied, moving to follow his chief rival. His next comment was spoken quietly without turning his head, but Jarl was just able to hear it, and it explained everything. They killed her. Jarl and Zak had talked for many long hours while they had been in the Academy, and there remained one thing that Jarl did not understand. Zaknafein loved his mother. Not only was the concept of love hard to understand, but the reason for it was even more perplexing. Jarl would have paid good money for someone to kill his mother, his real one or his adoptive one. Drow did not love anyone or anything. Every relationship a drow had was pragmatic in nature. They would say or do anything if they felt it would get them what they wanted. Whether that need be physical pleasure, children, or a valuable ally, drow did not enter into relationships without a personal motive. True love denied that philosophy. Jarl had only Zak's stories of his mother to enlighten him toward this strange idea, and it left more questions than answers. Zak had grown up under the protection and care of his mother. Zak had realized early on, and had relayed to Jarl, the fact that his mother was not intelligent. Her mental capacity was far below that necessary for a priestess. She could not read or write. Even her speech was often in error, and her vocabulary was nothing to brag about. But she loved her son. Zak had been the only drow that had not taken advantage of her. Zak was hers and hers alone. Zak returned that affection, protecting and caring for her in return when his skills and knowledge exceeded her own. This had come early on, for Zak had developed quickly, and he found the task of caring for his mother, though quite difficult at times, enjoyable. Jarl had always wondered why Zak had sacrificed himself during the first grand melee to protect him. The act had made little sense at the time because Zak could have easily defeated Yer'Athor and then gone on to defeat Quinter by himself. Zak would have then finished first every year. Instead, he had finished fourth that first year. Jarl came to understand that Zak's actions had been purely instinctual. He had seen a friend in need and had rushed in to help, giving no thought to his own well-being. If that was love, Jarl wanted nothing to do with it. The weakness of it was obvious. However, Jarl also envied the look on Zak's face each time he recounted a story involving his mother. While Jarl wondered what that feeling must be like, he did not think himself capable of love, nor would he ever find someone to return the favor. As the two friends followed Dantrag through the halls of Melee-Magthere, Jarl understood why his mother's death had brought about this change in Zak. The two like-minded students had gone through the Academy without a care. They allowed the teachings and philosophies they had been bombarded with to flow in one ear and out the other. Neither of them planned on abiding by the rules and they knew their skill was such that they could keep anyone from forcing them to. If they were killed for their beliefs, then that was one less thing they would have to worry about. Now those ideas and philosophies that he thought he had been impervious to had changed Zak's life. Zak had made himself vulnerable by caring for someone other than himself, and Lloth had taken advantage of that. The ways of the drow were no longer a set of beliefs, able to be accepted or rejected by anyone, they were now reality. Zak was a drow, like it or not, and he would live out the rest of his life within the drow society. He would either conform to that society, or he would suffer time and time again. Zak would never find a group of drow that would accept him. His mindset was not one that would ever be embraced, or even tolerated. Even recently, with the idea that he might be asked to serve as a master at the Academy, Zak had understood that the city was not going to stop for him or treat him any differently than anyone else. He would be forced to participate or he would be sacrificed like his mother. The room Dantrag led the two top students to was much smaller than most in the Academy. In it, another master waited as well as two top graduates from Sorcere. One of the mages was Elrial, the thirtieth year student under whom Jarl had served. Jarl nodded at him. The three new members of the room took a seat at the long table around which the other drow sat and waited. Soon the rest of the patrol party arrived. They were all the better students from Zak and Jarl's class. Yer'Athor, Drillmick, and two other fighters from the sixth and eighth houses entered the room. As Dantrag began to start the meeting, Jarl spoke up. Where is Quinter? Dantrag flinched a little at the question. Quinter will not be joining us. The rest of the table waited for more of an explanation as to why the third ranked member of the class would not be part of the patrol, but Dantrag offered none. About every 50 years, it is traditional that the Academy sends a patrol to the surface to lead a raid in Lloth's name. It is important to remember where we came from, why we are here, and most importantly, who is to blame. We have obtained the locations of several different settlements of our surface cousins and have chosen one of them for this raid. Zak noticed that all of the hate propaganda was gone from this speech. Dantrag no longer needed to justify the killing of elves with stories of how evil or deserving of punishment they were. By now, the instinctual hatred of the surface cousins was supposed to be automatic, and the reason why no longer mattered. More than 50 years have passed since the last raid and Lloth has grown restless. It is because of this that we have chosen this year to go. The graduating classes from both Melee-Magthere and Sorcere were exceptional this past year, and you have been chosen. Dantrag went on to detail the training that would take place over the course of the next few months, but Zak hardly listened. He was going to the surface. If the surface elves were as opposite from the drow as everyone at the Academy claimed, Zak wondered if he would find an opportunity to change sides. Zak heard his name mentioned several times during the discussion, and he was forced to pull his attention away from his fantasies and focus on the meeting. He would do what he was told, for now.

* * * * *

Drelmn walked into Matron Baenre's audience chamber slowly and knelt before the powerful female. As weapon master of the first house, he was given far more respect and privileges than all but Gromph and Dantrag, but he was still nervous approaching Matron Baenre on his own. Rise, Baenre said slowly, curious as to why he had come without being summoned. What do you have to say? Have you heard of the encounter between your second son and a common soldier named Quinter? Drelmn asked, knowing that very little escaped the matron mother's attention. Yes, Baenre smiled, I have. I have also heard that the rest of your men speak of my son only in hushed tones. They respect and fear him. This is very important for when he takes your place as weapon master. It is something you have been lacking in. Drelmn almost swallowed his own tongue as he gagged on the comment, wondering if his life was over. Don't worry, Baenre said, noticing the look on her weapon master's face, you have served this house well. We have not been to war against another house in several centuries, and you have not needed the kind of influence over the soldiers that Dantrag will posses. I fear that this time of peace for us will not last, and Dantrag's ability to control the fighters in this house will make us much stronger. Such casual references to Dantrag holding his position made Drelmn shift uncomfortably in front of Baenre's throne. The real reason for his visit had still not been brought up yet, and he did not know exactly how to go about it. Baenre noticed this uneasiness and questioned him on it. You have something on your mind, she said blatantly. Tell me. I agree with you that it is good for the soldiers of this house to fear Dantrag, Drelmn said carefully, but I do not believe that is the reason he killed Quinter. Baenre cocked her head slightly. Why do you believe he did it? Pride, Drelmn replied. At this response Matron Baenre did something she had not done in over 500 years. She threw back her head and laughed loudly. Drelmn was very startled by this reaction, yet stood quietly and unmoving in front of the matron mother. Baenre composed herself slightly at the sight of her rigid weapon master. You are serious, she said. Drelmn nodded. He is a very proud fighter. Does he not know that in the eyes of Lloth he is nothing? Does he not know that as a male, Lloth sees him only a little higher than the kobolds and goblins that scamper about in the sewers of this great city? Does he not know that any one of his sisters, and in fact any high priestess in the city, could kill him with little effort? Whether he knows it or not, he has a great deal of pride in his fighting ability and will stop at nothing to be known as the best fighter and, eventually, best weapon master in the city. And this Quinter threatened his position? Baenre asked, not believing a common soldier in her house would be able to stand up to her son. Drelmn shook his head. No. Quinter said that another fighter within the city was Dantrag's superior, and your son cut him down for it. Baenre sat in quiet contemplation. The idea that a male should have pride in his meager abilities was as foreign to her as the idea that Lloth might prefer ants to spiders. Yet here it was presented by a very reliable source. How do you feel this will effect his performance as weapon master of this house? Drelmn realized he was being tested, for if he slandered Dantrag now in an effort to retain his own position, Baenre would know. When I said that he would stop at nothing to be recognized as the best fighter in the city, that is what I meant. Right now Uthegental is generally heralded as the best weapon master in the city. I would not be surprised if Dantrag found a way to challenge him in personal combat. If he should defeat the second house's weapon master, I do not need to tell you of the implications. The idea of two houses fighting over a dead male was preposterous, but this was a unique case. Matron Mez Barris had uses for her weapon master that went beyond his prowess in battle. Uthegental had sired well over half of the second house's fighters and a good many of its priestesses as well. The loss of the huge male might indeed turn House Barrison Del'Armgo against the first house. While Baenre did not fear such a battle, she understood the necessity for House Barrison Del'Armgo to remain. Without that powerful house, the next in line was not even one third as strong as House Baenre, and the chance for an alliance between the remaining houses was far more likely. On a more practical level, if Dantrag was too focused on his personal accomplishments, he would forgo his responsibilities to his own house. Matron Baenre demanded loyalty among everyone in her house, especially her children, and any personal aspirations had no place. Matron Baenre understood that her weapon master was telling the truth, but did not know what to do about it. Then an idea came to her. I would like you to accompany me to the next council meeting. Drelmn was shocked. Triel normally accompanied Matron Baenre to the annual council meetings. Males were not welcome. He could not go against his matron's wishes, though. As you wish, he bowed deeply and left. As Baenre watched him go, she chuckled to himself. A male with pride. What is my house coming to?

* * * * *

It was a good thing that Zak had very little personal pride. Dantrag's pride blinded him into thinking he was the best fighter in the city. This pride could not only force him into battles that he was not able to cope with, but also made him react violently any time that his supposed superior skill was not recognized by others. Unlike Dantrag, Zak did not think he was the best fighter; he knew he was. This left him with nothing to prove. He did not care how other's viewed his skills, for he knew the truth of them. This was also how he had decided to live with regard to the teachings of Lloth, but that had failed him miserably. Lloth had required that Zak's mother be killed. Zak had cared little what others had thought about Lloth, knowing the truth for himself, but the idea that he could not be harmed by others' beliefs was not true. He had been emotionally scared by what Malice, under the direction of Matron Vartha, had done to his mother. He now had to fight down his anger each time someone sung the praises of Lloth or displayed the backstabbing attitude that was the drow norm. So far, this mind-set had not affected his views on battle prowess or he might have reacted differently when Jarl was named as the patrol's point scout. As the top graduate, the position should have been Zak's, but Dantrag did not want the Do'Urden to garner any more respect or honor from this expedition than necessary. It was not that he wanted Jarl to get any extra respect either, but with Quinter gone, Yer'Athor was next in line, and the brute moved about as quietly as an avalanche, at least compared to Jarl. Besides that, Jarl actually made more sense as the point scout. With Zak at point, the patrol got very little battle training and only passed each dead monster that their point had discovered and then disposed of without alerting his patrol. Jarl, as sneaky and silent as any drow Dantrag had ever seen, coordinated his actions with the main group much better. The training went on for much longer than Zak could stand. The rest of the troupe showed a lot of eager anticipation for the promised raid as well, but for many different reasons. Zak just wanted to see a surface elf. As he understood how this raid would work more and more each day, he knew there would be no chance to do any more than just see an elf, but he felt that if he was allowed just that, he would know the truth. For now Zaknafein had no choice but to continue going through the steps with his training patrol party. He nodded his head every time something was explained to him, and he killed everything he was ordered to. Beyond that, Zak's true motivation was far from that of his fellow drow.

* * * * *

As instructed, Drelmn accompanied Matron Baenre to the next council meeting. The weapon master stood behind the matron mother as she sat at the head of the table. It was a round table so there was no real definable head, but since it was shaped in the form of a spider with eight long legs protruding outward with a seat between each, it was possible to sit where the spider head would be. This is where Matron Baenre sat. The table was much larger than it had to be, measuring 25 feet across without the eight legs. The center was empty, leaving a two foot wide ring of actual tabletop to sit at. A small pit rested in the center of the floor in the middle of the table where incense could be burned. It was inactive now. The other matron mothers filed in slowly over the next fifteen minutes. Nothing of any real importance happened at these meetings, and it was becoming customary to be fashionably late. It was something that Matron Baenre did not like at all, which was one of the main reasons the other matron mothers did it. The ruling council did very little ruling. The only law in the city was: Don't get caught. When someone broke that law and drow justice was necessary, special council sessions were held, leaving these annual meetings with little real purpose. Whenever the council received a new member, either through the death of a matron or the destruction of a house, it took a while for the new matron to realize this. Eighth ranked matron mothers always tried to use the meetings to show off the strength of their houses or to try and spy on the other houses ranked ahead of theirs. This never worked. As the other matron mothers entered the small chamber that resided just inside the Baenre compound they each noticed the presence of Drelmn. The presence of Uthegental at these meetings already upset the matron mothers, and only confirmed what they already believed, that these meetings were just a formality, for males would never be allowed if actual Lloth related business was taking place. Maybe this was the start of something new, and within a decade, the weapon master for each house would always be present. Baenre smiled at the looks she got from her fellow council members, enjoying the disgust at Drelmn's presence. Baenre had asked him to come for a specific reason, and she was glad to finally see Matron Mez Barris enter with her huge weapon master in toe. Baenre had never given the drow more than a passing glance, and only then out of morbid curiosity at how any male could present himself as Uthegental did. Now Baenre paid more attention. If any male in the whole city should be proud, it would be this one. Uthegental had been known as the best weapon master in Menzoberranzan for over a century now, and the tales of his strength and prowess only increased as the years went on. Baenre did not see any pride in the weapon master's face now, only quiet respect and reverence as he pulled out the chair for his matron and then took up his station behind her. Mez Barris took a long look at Baenre's choice of escorts and truly wondered if the matron mother of the first house was mocking her. While Drelmn was dressed in the finest piwafwi Baenre could offer a non-noble, and his weapons and other equipment were some of the finest in the city, it was laughable to think of him on the same level as Uthegental. Even Dantrag, who stood several inches taller than Drelmn and weighed a good 30 pounds more, would look small and insignificant next to the huge weapon master from the second house. An interesting choice of escort, Mez Barris said so only Baenre could hear. He is my weapon master, Baenre declared much louder. He is the best one in the entire city. Uthegental grunted at this. The sound was barely audible, but Baenre had been waiting for it. You do not believe me? she asked, turning to look the male straight in the face. This little experiment into male pride was off to a good start. Uthegental was caught red handed now. He did not speak often, and had never done so at a council meeting. He hesitated. Mez Barris turned to look at him, interested as to how he would act. She did not believe Baenre would attack him, though it was a possibility. You believe that you are the better weapon master? Baenre continued. I am of the second house, he replied in a low rumble. I am not asking of your house's rank. I am asking of your personal ranking in the city. Do you feel you are better than my weapon master? My own accomplishments mean nothing. All is done for the glory of my house. Our ranking is second. It was the perfect answer, and Mez Barris beamed at Matron Baenre. Uthegental was viewed by many as a mindless ogre, but he had just effectively defeated a trap set by Baenre without bringing dishonor to himself or his house. Baenre was not finished, however. So you agree that Drelmn is a better fighter than you? she added. Uthegental said nothing, but shifted uncomfortably on his feet. Mez Barris saw that Baenre was not going relent until her target cracked. While the matron of the second house had confidence in her weapon master, she knew the drow had his limits. Perhaps you would like this settled officially, she offered. Mez Barris motioned toward the opening in the center of the table, which was more than enough room to hold a duel. Right here in front of everyone so you can put your mind to rest. Baenre turned to look back at Uthegental. Do you accept the challenge? I will do as my matron mother demands, he said obediently. Then it shall be. We could do with a little entertainment before the meeting. Drelmn will fight Uthegental for the title of best weapon master in the city. The rest of the matron mothers frowned at this. Now was not the time or place to decided matters concerning males. A few were about to say as much, but they did not want to speak out against Matron Baenre. Besides, a few were too curious to see the fight. Ninety percent of the tales about Uthegental came from over-exaggerated, third-hand accounts of his battles, and now they were all eager to see if the tales were true. There was one person in the room that was not that eager. Drelmn had stood behind Baenre quietly and reverently, but he could not help but notice where Matron Baenre was going with her line of questioning. Now he understood why he had been invited to this meeting in the first place. He would gladly take the ranking of thirtieth in the city to avoid facing Uthegental in battle. Pride was not something he fought with. He knew that was not an option, though, as Baenre motioned for him to enter the ring in the center of the table. As Drelmn dipped low to duck under the table, Uthegental casually stepped over it. He pulled his weapon from his back and stood ready. The huge drow held a massive double trident. It had a six-foot shaft with three viciously sharp prongs at either end. It looked terribly heavy, but Uthegental spun it about himself as if it weighed no more than a diatryma feather. Any fantasies that Drelmn held about being able to live through this battle left when he saw the muscles of his opponent rippling as he spun his huge weapon. Drelmn did not think Uthegental capable of hitting someone soft enough to only render them unconscious. This would be to the death, and everyone in the room knew whose death that would be. Drelmn saw little reason to prolong this encounter. He drew both his swords and attacked. The strikes came in very fast and strong. Though Drelmn was not as formidable as Uthegental, he was the weapon master of the first house, and he was no slouch. There were few weapon masters in all of Menzoberranzan, present company excluded, that would be able to stand up to him in battle. Uthegental almost yawned as he deflected the blows. By spinning the weapon in the center, he was able to move it very fast and only had to rotate his hands and wrists to do so. His strength combined with the weight and leverage offered by his trident sent Drelmn's attacks flying away. He could have killed Drelmn through exhaustion alone if he had wanted, for the smaller weapon master would never be able to land any of his attacks. Uthegental went on the offensive and the battle was over three seconds later. Drelmn had barely recovered from the devastatingly powerful parries when the double trident came swinging at his head. Drelmn got a weapon up to defend against the attack, knowing he had to block the shaft of the weapon, keeping his sword low to avoid the prongs. The bigger opponent pulled the attack back at the last second, his strong wrists stopping the weapon as if it had hit a stone wall. Drelmn's weapon went wide and high as he tried to block the phantom attack, and then Uthegental continued the strike just as quickly, catching the blade in the prongs of his weapon. He twisted the shaft sharply. If Drelmn had been strong enough to hold onto his weapon, his blade would have snapped in half. A hill giant did not even posses such strength, and the sword flew across the room, sticking into the table right in front of Matron SiNafay Hun'ett With Drelmn's attention focused on his lost weapon, Uthegental snapped the other end of his weapon at his opponent's second sword. The trident slid over the weapon and caught Drelmn's wrist in its prongs. Before the doomed drow could yank his arm away, Uthegental drove his weapon down toward the floor, the sharp prongs sinking deep into the stone and pinning Drelmn's wrist. The smaller weapon master was forced to his knees as he tugged futilely at his secured limb. His free hand tried to pull the shaft of the huge trident out of the floor, but it would not budge. While Drelmn struggled to free himself from the trident, Uthegental casually walked over to retrieve the sword that had stuck in the table. When the victorious drow returned, Drelmn had stopped his useless efforts and accepted the death that awaited him. Though the sword looked pathetically small in Uthegental's hand, it easily removed the head of the prone weapon master. The huge drow retrieved the lifeless head and brought it back to Matron Baenre. Uthegental held the head by its long white ponytail and gently set it on the table. Your weapon master, he said calmly. He returned to his weapon and pulled it out of the floor as easily as if it was standing in soft mud. He then moved back to his post behind Matron Mez Barris. Then it is settled, Baenre said finally, her voice expressing the awe she felt at what she had just seen. She would have to make sure to keep Dantrag away from this one. Baenre did not want to have to find another weapon master.

Chapter 14 A Storm Cometh

Three weeks. That is how long it took Dantrag's patrol party to make their way out from the depths of the underdark to the less ominous tunnels of a very prominent mountain range on the surface. Dantrag truly did feel it was his patrol party, though the idea was not shared by many. Whenever trouble arose, the members soon learned that while Dantrag was busy trying to figure out what to do, Zak and Jarl were already busy handling the situation. For the most part, Dantrag did not notice this loss of power, and no one felt the need to tell him. The actual trip to the surface was different from their normal training routes, and the Baenre noble took extra care to control his group. Like he had told Krol, it was not wise to engage enemies unnecessarily on a long trip such as this. The only significant encounter they had was with a small group of deep gnomes. There were only half a dozen of the miners, and though the drow could have easily dispatched them, Dantrag chose the safe route, not wishing to call attention to their presence this far from Menzoberranzan. Six poisoned cross bow bolts struck the gnomes from the shadows, and they were all asleep within seconds. After removing the bolts and using a bit of healing magic to close the puncture wounds, the dark elves continued on, leaving behind what would be a very confused mining party. As they neared the surface the change of atmosphere was very noticeable. The air took on a very fresh and crisp feeling. Wind was very common rushing both down and up the tunnels. The creatures they encountered were also far less menacing and dangerous than those that lived in the tunnels about their home city. On the twentieth day after leaving Menzoberranzan, Elrial, the Baenre mage who had accompanied the group, halted the raiding party. Elrial had studied the maps to the surface before leaving and was also using spells several times a day to check their proximity to an exit. Just ahead is an exit, the mage said. Maybe two hundred yards. Everyone could see the light streaming down the tunnel, but that had been a very common feature of their travels recently, and no one had paid it much mind. We must wait until it is dark, he continued. It should only be a few hours. Dantrag told the party to rest and prepare themselves. Tonight they would conduct their raid, and then they would travel back home. It was an awfully long journey for just a brief raid. Dantrag wanted to make sure everyone was ready and focused on their task. Zak and Jarl had said little during their journey, both thinking about what was to come. That silence continued now as they slowly watched the light fade away into darkness. As promised, the light disappeared within four hours and the patrol began to move toward the exit. What was awaiting them stole their breath away. The wind was strong and cool on this mid summer night, a sign of bad weather easily recognizable by anyone who had lived under the sky for any length of time. No one in this group had. They stood on the edge of a cliff overlooking an incredible landscape. On either side of them, the mountain range stretched in both directions, each peak dwarfing the stalagmites they were used to by such an extent it was ludicrous to even make the comparison. In front of them, the mountains tapered into hills for several miles before the rocky soil surrendered to the trees of a dense forest. A tremendous river cut through the forest and collected into a lake that looked to be easily twice the size of the main cavern of Menzoberranzan. Zak could not believe what he was looking at. He had held a pretty big view of himself and his importance back home. He had looked at the splendors of Menzoberranzan and had been impressed. Countless people had told him that he was the best fighter in the city and that he was destined for greatness. As his power and skill grew, the glories and splendors of Menzoberranzan ceased to amaze him, and it all seemed manageable. Now he felt like he was no more important than an infected wart on a goblin's ass. The tunnels they had just walked through seemed endless and unchartable, but they had only been six-foot square on average, and holding no real volume. Now he was looking at an expanse that was truly unmeasurable, and it appeared to go on forever. And the ceiling! There was none! Eventually all of the drow were looking up. They had all been told about the horrors of the sun and the many lesser sky lights of the night, but none of them were visible now. Instead ominous clouds hung over their heads. Though they were dark, they were backlit by the countless stars they hid, and there was enough light to see the churning of the storm that was brewing. To someone that lived on the surface, the clouds would seem to hang extremely low, especially when standing on a mountainside, but to the drow the clouds were unreachable. Lloth has blest us, Dantrag remarked as he too looked upward. The night lights have been doused. We will be able to operate in the infrared spectrum this night, giving us an even bigger advantage. As if to mock the cocky drow, an incredibly bright flash of lightening traced a jagged edge across the sky, blinding him. Dantrag swore and looked away as he blinked the splotches out of his eyes and changed his vision back to the normal spectrum. Let us not stand around, he grunted. It will be several hours before we even reach the elven village, and this night will not last forever. The drow moved down the side of the mountain as if they had scaled a dozen such cliffs in their lives. In reality, this was their first and the incredible amount of loose rock and gravel continued to amaze them. To their keen ears, their travel was noisy and clumsy, but in reality, the keenest scout in the realms would have a tough time picking out the ten dark figures in the night. Just before they entered the edge of the forested region a couple hours later, the rain began to fall accompanied by more lightening. A few of the drow thought it would be a good idea to turn back. Dantrag had studied the ways of the surface, as had both wizards, and while the weather change still caught them off guard, they knew it was not magic, and had nothing to do with their raid. As Jarl led the troupe into the woods, rain soaked and stumbling over invisible roots and rocks, he felt very out of his element. Still, he lead the group as well as any scout could, keeping low to the ground and making as little noise as possible. The few twigs and leaves that crunched as they moved through the trees were muffled by the storm around them so even they could not hear them. After only fifteen minutes of travel within the thick woods, Elrial called everyone to a halt. Just up ahead is the elven village, he said quietly. They will have guards and will be well protected. Dantrag turned to Jarl. This would not be easy, but as with so many things, greater risk brought the potential for greater reward. Take Zaknafein with you and scout the area ahead. Find where the guard locations are and return to us. He looked directly at Zak now. Do not engage the enemy. Both graduates nodded and continued on their own. As they neared the elven settlement they noticed the rain through the trees was very uneven, coming down much heavier in some places than others. Jarl looked up at the leafy canopy above them to analyze this phenomenon and saw that some sections of the trees had much more leaf coverage than others, creating a substantial barrier against the rain. A sudden realization occurred to Jarl and he grabbed Zak's shoulder, holding the bigger drow back. Zak was going to ask why, but Jarl silenced him with the hand code. He then pointed up at the trees around them. At first Zak saw nothing special about the branches, but then he saw the dense collection of limbs and leaves. Knowing as little as they did about these huge trees, both drow could still tell that these were not natural formations. In the underdark, plants served little use but for food. The idea that these trees could also provide shelter and lookout positions had never occurred to them. As they continued slowly, their eyes were no longer on the ground but were scanning the treetops. They spotted many more of the alcoves as they continued, and Zak appreciated the placement of them. They were scattered so that no two were in line with each other, making sure that each position had a clear view of the forest in front of them. In time of invasion, with an elf in each of these perches armed with a bow, they would be able to repel their enemies quite efficiently. With such a defense-orientated system protecting the elven village, Zak wondered why these positions were not in use now. In Menzoberranzan, each house always had at least two dozen guards on duty at all times, protecting against an attack that was always imminent in the dangerous underdark. It was quite obvious that these elves were not expecting any type of an attack. Zak's drow heritage brought a smile to his face before he could check it. These elves were careless and weak and would fall tonight. Then he began to reconsider. So far, the drow raiding party had covered several miles, but had met nothing that would cause them trouble. Jarl had not even stopped the group once for precautionary measures. To travel that far in the underdark without encountering at least a dozen deadly creatures was unheard of. The more Zak thought about it, the more he realized that these elves were not on alert because they had no reason to be. Now Zak saw these outposts in the trees as an unnecessary precaution. Instead of being unprepared, Zak realized these elves were prepared for everything. Unfortunately, tonight, they would find out how dangerous their world really could be. Again it was Jarl who stopped Zak. He pointed out another one of the guard posts that was still quite a ways in the distance. Zak saw nothing special about this post, and was about to say so when Jarl spoke up first, using the hand code. Change your vision to the infrared. Zak did, and he saw a very dim form crouching in the tree. Amazed, Zak changed his vision back. Even when he knew exactly where the elf was, he could not see anything in normal light. Reverting his vision back to infrared, Zak was able to pick out two more heat forms crouched in the trees ahead of them. What do you think? Jarl asked. Should we warn them? You want to return now? Zak responded. We have not skirted their perimeter yet. No, Jarl replied, not our party. Should we warn them? he asked again, pointing toward the nearest elven guard. Zak pondered this for several moments. He had no reason to believe that these surface elves were any less wicked than his own people. Besides, how might they react to Zak and Jarl when they announced their presence? No, they could not sound the alarm. The only way Zak and Jarl would survive this raid was if they used stealth. Zak shook his head, and Jarl smiled. He knew his friend was uneasy about this raid and had only wanted to point out that they had very little choice but to go through with it. The two silent drow made their way quickly around the guard posts, encircling their position and getting a good feel for the size of the elven village. The actual settlement was contained inside a grove of pine trees. From a distance both drow could tell that passing through the dense wall of pine needles would not be the best way to enter the village. Plus, from the few pine trees that stood away from the village and were available for inspection, Zak and Jarl could tell that the needles were quite sharp. Anything in the underdark that had needles this sharp, had them to dispense its deadly poison. In their uneducated minds, this village was very well protected. In the end, they returned to the point they had first seen the elven guards. This was obviously the entry to the village, as their had been very few guards elsewhere. Also, it looked like the pine trees tapered in this area. Dantrag accepted the information a few minutes later when Zak and Jarl returned to the patrol. They had been gone less than a half an hour, and despite his dislike for the pair, Dantrag trusted their judgement. Very well, he said after receiving the information. He then turned to the rest of the drow patrol to describe how they were going to dispatch the guards and then invade the village. Zak and Jarl waited patiently as Dantrag went to the other seven members of the patrol and gave each their assignments. Seeing that the group was ready to go and Zak and Jarl had still not received their marching orders, they were about to ask, but the other master from Melee-Magthere spoke up for them. What of Zaknafein and Jarlnian? Dantrag turned to look at them. They will stay at the entrance to the village to keep anyone from escaping. Also, should the elves call for reinforcements, they will prevent an ambush. The master, and in fact the rest of the patrol, was shocked. But Dantrag, the master said, these two are the best fighters in the patrol. The success of this raid depends on their involvement. Not only had the other master just declared that Dantrag was only the third best fighter, but he had also questioned his command in front of the rest of the group. The patrol leader drew one of his swords in a flash and approached the master. The targeted drow scrambled to draw his own weapon, but instead of attacking, which had indeed been Dantrag's fist impulse, he used his sword to point back at the crude map Jarl had drawn on the ground. I have great trust in the information that was just given to us. It tells me one of two things. Either these surface cousins of ours are so ill-prepared and ill-equipped that half our number could take them out without difficulty, or they have so many allies within these woods that they do not fear an attack. If the first is true, then it would make sense to keep our party as small as possible to avoid immediate detection. If the second is true then I fear going through with the raid at all, and leaving only Zaknafein and Jarlnian as guards may not be enough. It was well thought out reasoning, for Dantrag had contemplated it for most of the journey up to the surface, but the other master could see Dantrag had other reasons for leaving the two best fighters behind as guards. To challenge the Baenre fighter on these points now would mean his death, for Dantrag would not accept any dissent within his patrol. Instead the master only nodded his acceptance. Of course, he mumbled. Good, Dantrag said, sheathing his weapon and looking about the patrol to see if anyone else had a problem with his command. Everyone nodded. Let's go. For the glory of Lloth.

Chapter 15 The Imbalance of Nature

Ulrealiac shook the young elf a third time. Wake up, Garum. The elf grunted loudly, trying to pretend he was still asleep and rolled over in his bed. The older elf was not fooled and only shook Garum harder. I said wake up. You will not avoid your duties tonight. I don't care what the weather is like outside. You will take your turn at the guard. Garum finally gave up and opened his eyes. He sat up slowly in bed and rubbed the imaginary sleep out of them. He had been awake for many minutes, but did not want to go outside. He looked around at the thick walls of the hollowed out pine tree that constituted his home, wishing that he could take the warmth and protection of this tree with him. The guard positions were not without any protection against the elements, but the leafy canopy surrounding each post was nothing compared to the thick boughs of this pine. This tree, and every other tree in the grove, were the only structures that housed the elves of the village. There were no extra wooden panels added to the trees and nowhere would you find any type of nail or other metal support anywhere in the village. Still, even though the rain was coming down very hard outside, not one drop had yet penetrated the thick pine. If ever a leak in the tree was discovered, all it would take was a quick spell from one of the many druids in the village and the pine tree would sprout a new branch that would fill the void. These trees were not simple pines, but their strength and structure was a direct result of elven magic. This particular tree had two other levels apart from the ground floor. The woven branches that formed the other two floors and the steps leading to them were as strong and sturdy as the best homes in the nearest human city. Garum slowly rose from his bed, giving his father a frustrated look. Don't give me that, Ulrealiac said sharply. You knew what types of responsibilities you would incur by becoming a fighter in this village. You had the chance to pursue a different lifestyle like your brother, but you did not. His brother, Ryun, looked on with amusement. He was a druid in training. Even though his father was thought of as one of the best fighters in the village, and Ryun had the strength and ability to follow in his footsteps, he had been too intrigued with the forest around him to disregard his heart's true calling. Ulrealiac had not tried to persuade his older son's choice and had been very supportive in the lengthy and difficult process of becoming an official druid within the grove. He had been just as open and supportive of Garum when it came time for him to choose his profession and was happy to have at least one of his sons follow him. Garum, however, though he had as much skill as Ulrealiac had at his age, did not have even a fraction of the motivation or desire. Garum had heard stories of how his father had battled against goblins and giants, not only defending this grove but also going on expeditions outside of the forest to push back the evil races that lived within the nearby mountains. The younger son had listened to those stories and wanted to be able to have his own to tell some day, but so far, his life as a fighter within the elven village had only brought him decades of boredom and countless responsibilities. The village had seen many years of peace and prosperity. In the times of Ulrealiac's youth, the elven community had struggled to survive, their numbers dwindling as the years went by. Now the village contained almost one hundred adult elves and a dozen children. As Garum slowly strapped on his equipment, he could not help but catch his older brother's eye. Ryun had gotten up this night just to see his brother woken for his duties. The two got along very well, but Ryun could not help rubbing in the fact that Garum's responsibilities out-numbered his own. In truth, once Ryun became a full druid within the village, his duties would be much greater than his brother's. Though Garum was the younger, his time of instruction and training had been but a fraction of the time Ryun had spent and would still spend in study and training. No matter how slowly you get ready, your time on patrol will not be lessened, Ulrealiac said sternly. But nothing ever happens, Garum complained. Once a week I stay up all night watching the forest and nothing happens. I feel like I am useless. We are experiencing a time of peace, I agree, Ulrealiac said, but that peace is a direct result of the fact that none of stupid ocrs or goblins would dare attack us. Why? Because they know we keep a diligent guard. They know that in a moment's notice, we can fill the trees surrounding our village with archers so fast and completely, that we can slay three hundred of them before they even approach our grove. But isn't that knowledge alone enough to keep them at bay. Isn't it enough for them to believe we have guards posted? Perhaps if we took an expedition out to rid the mountains of the heinous creatures we would not even need any guards. Ulrealiac sighed. He had thought this way too once, but he had seen too many of his brethren die at the hands of goblins and the like. Here in our element we are strong, Ulrealiac said. The goblins would be foolish to come for us here. We would be just as foolish to go to the mountains to fight them. Though they are weak, they number as many as the trees in our forest. They have allied with the stone giants and in their own environment, they are a formidable force. If we are not to attack them, and they are not to attack us, then what is the point of keeping a guard? Though goblins and orcs and even trolls, should be smart enough to stay away, they often are not. Especially on a night like tonight with their thunder god supposedly having so much fun with the night sky, they might think it a good time to catch us unawares. They move through the woods as quietly as a drunken dwarf, but on a noisy night like tonight, they might think it worth the risk. Garum knew his father and he would not agree on this, and he also knew he would not be able to avoid his duties. He finished filling his quiver with arrows and reluctantly moved to the exit of the hollow pine and out into the wet night. The two remaining elves were quiet for a while, thinking about what was said. Will we ever see battle again? Ryun asked. He was nearly a century old, but still too young to remember the last time this grove had seen a fight. Most definitely. Right now your studies focus on the balance of nature and how it applies to the forest and the animals within. The number of predators and prey in a forest might fluctuate dramatically within a few years, but you know that neither will become extinct, and an overall balance will always remain. You will find that it is the same with the races of the realms. The evil races will grow in number and strength over the course of time, eventually coming to a point where they feel confident to fight against us and the other goodly races. They might win a few encounters. They might even drive us into hiding, but eventually, we will band together and push them back into the mountains. A balance will always remain. So we will see battle again, Ryun said, thinking of his lessons regarding the natural balance of nature, and soon, seeing how long we have lived in peace. And when it comes, we will be sorely pressed. Ulrealiac nodded, glad that at least one of his sons understood the need for a continued guard. Yes, but if we are ready for it, we will survive. Now it is late, and you have a busy day tomorrow. Ryun nodded and moved toward the stairs in the back that led to his room. Before he got there, a noise from the other end of the room caught his attention. Both Father and son turned to see Garum stumble back into the protection of the pine. Ulrealiac knew that his son had not had the time to make it to his post yet and wondered what could have turned him back. Then he saw the blood. Ulrealiac rushed forward quickly to his son, catching him as Garum collapsed. With one glance at the deep wound and the pale face of the young elf, Ulrealiac knew Garum was only moments from death. What? was all he could think to ask. The wound had not been made by an arrow, or any of the other wooden weapons that existed in the village. It was a clean cut made by a high quality blade, something no goblin or orc would ever carry. Garum only had the strength to utter one word, but it was the one word Ulrealiac had hoped he would never have to hear in his long life. Drow, Garum croaked feebly and then died. Ulrealiac gritted his teeth in anguish at the death of his son, but he knew he did not have the time to grieve now. The time for sorrow would come later, if ever, for when dealing with drow, nothing was for certain. Ulrealiac laid his son down gently and turned around to move toward the other end of the room. Ryun was too far away to see the wound or blood on Garum's rain-soaked body, but the way in which he had collapsed into their father's arms and now lay motionless on the floor was not an uplifting sight. Is he . . . Ryun started, but a quick glance from his father answered the unasked question. Goblins? he asked further, wondering if now was the time of the dreaded battle they both knew was coming. Even as he asked the question, Ryun knew that could not be the case. He also had realized that Garum had not had enough time to reach his post, meaning that he had been attacked while still within the grove. Goblins would have never been able to breach the grove without an alarm being sounded. Drow, was all Ulrealiac said as he moved to a locked chest hidden in the inner branches of their tree. Will we push them back? Ryun asked. He knew little of the drow. Thankfully, no one in the village, including Ulrealiac had ever seen a drow before. All they had were reports concerning other elven communities like their own that had been destroyed over the past few centuries. We will push them back, Ryun said this time, though the comment still carried a hint of questioning. Ulrealiac had pulled the chest into the open and turned to look hard at his son. You have not studied the drow because your studies have focused on the creatures of nature. Drow have nothing to do with nature and care nothing for its balance. With that he turned back to his chest. He opened it quickly and removed several items before he had revealed the object of his search. Ryun had moved to stand next to his father and looked on with apprehension. The sword? But you said that it was evil. Ulrealiac too looked at the sword with apprehension. No, he corrected, I said it could easily be used for evil, and should therefore remained locked up. Khazid'hea was the name of the sword, though it liked to refer to itself as Cutter. Just the fact that the sentient weapon had thought to give itself a nickname showed more than anything else how advanced its consciousness was. The nickname had been necessary because its former wielder had been an orc chieftain, a race known to use a language in which even two syllable words were a rarity. Khazid'hea had been very thankful when Ulrealiac had defeated the orc chieftain, thinking its fine cutting edge deserved to be wielded by someone as graceful and skilled as Ulrealiac had proven to be in the fight against the orcs. Upon the chieftain's defeat, Khazid'hea had altered its hilt from the one-eye visage of Gruumsh, the god of the orcs, to that of Corellon Larethian, the god of the elves. As Ulrealiac picked up the sword, admiring the crescent shaped hilt, Khazid'hea realized he was in trouble. This was a wood elf, a race not known for their use of metal weapons. The sword thought about altering its appearance to represent Ehlonna, the goddess of the woodlands, or even the goddess Mielikki, but Ulrealiac did not give the sword even a hint that either one would make him wield the sword. Instead, Ulrealiac spent a short time discerning the weapon's nature and stowed in his pack. As he now picked up the sword from the chest, he wondered if it was a wise course of action. The wooden weapons he possessed were of the finest quality and would stand up to any of their normal metal counterparts, but these were drow elves. They would be carrying enchanted blades that would decimate anything he owned. Still, if he were to die in battle and the sword fell into the hands of a dark elf . . . Ulrealiac did not get a chance to answer that question for the sound of someone entering his home interrupted his thoughts. He spun around to see Drillmick standing just inside the door. The drow smiled when he saw Garum's crumpled form on the ground. He had inflicted the death wound, and then Garum had slipped away from him. The excitement of being so near a dark elf, made Khazid'hea nearly leap out of Ulrealiac's hand, urging him to battle. The recognition in Drillmick's eyes as the drow looked at Garum, told Ulrealiac that this dark elf was the killer, and he needed no extra urging from his sword. Drillmick met the charge from the enraged father, turning his attacks aside easily. Ulrealiac held only one weapon, and Drillmick was able to turn the flow of battle quite easily. The surface elf was sorely pressed against the much younger, but better trained drow. Ulrealiac ducked a high strike, and then hoped back as Drillmick's other weapon swept in from the side. Ulrealiac stood up straight, and stepped in to deflect the same weapon as it retraced its previous swipe in a backhand. This momentarily crossed up the drow, and Ulrealiac spun the other way and slammed his free elbow into his opponent's face. Drillmick saw the move coming, and was able to turn in time so the blow only slid off his wet cheek, but it was enough of a blow to send him stumbling back a step. Ulrealiac underestimated how hard he had hit the drow and followed in quickly with two quick swipes of his sword. Drillmick saw this over-eagerness, and feigned to be off-balanced as he barely deflected the blows, leaving his side open for attack. Ulrealiac took the bait and swung his sword chest high. Drillmick smiled as he agilely angled his torso so the strike would only glance off his fine chainmail and struck at the elf's vulnerable head. Khazid'hea did not make a habit of glancing off too many things, and the vicious blade cut easily through the drow's armor and deep into his side. Drillmick recoiled in pain and surprise, and both of his high attacks faltered. Ulrealiac quickly slapped both weapons away and pressed his insurmountable advantage. Drillmick truly was stumbling away now, and as he took cut after cut, each one impossibly shredding his chainmail, he dropped both weapons. Ulrealiac finished it finally by thrusting Khazid'hea through the vile drow's heart. Ryun had watched the entire encounter and was in shock. He had never seen his father fight like that before. In all the sparring sessions he had had with Garum, Ulrealiac had been the teacher, and while he had usually beaten Garum, he had only done so gently. The killing fury he had just unleashed on this invading drow was something else entirely. As almost an after thought, Ulrealiac turned to look at his son. If you want to maintain a natural balance here, then run. But I want to help, Ryun cried, though after watching Drillmick, he was seriously considering running. You can best help this village survive by surviving yourself. Run far away. Tell others what has happened here today and our grove will live on in you. But . . . Ryun never got to finish his argument for another drow entered the room. Dantrag looked at Drillmick's body and cursed. He had read the reports from other patrol leaders who had led raids and knew that most were done without losing one drow warrior. He knew that most of those patrols only attacked smaller groups of elves and he was going against a much larger target, but that did not matter in Dantrag's mind. As he stepped over Drillmick's body, he did notice the way his chainmail was sliced up like it was goblin-made. Dantrag looked at Ulrealiac carefully, taking special note of the fabulous sword the elf held. He would be careful. Ulrealiac did not give this second drow too much time to contemplate the situation and came in hard again. Dantrag was easily three times the fighter that Drillmick had been, and the defeated drow had been better than Ulrealiac. Both Dantrag and Ulrealiac realized this huge skill difference right away. The surface elf hopped and jumped away from Dantrag's unyielding onslaught. Ulrealiac knew he had defeated the first drow because Drillmick had been unaware of Khazid'hea's considerable edge. The older elf wondered if he would be able to catch Dantrag just as unawares, but he would first need to be able to go on the offensive, something that did not look likely. In the face of such an overwhelming adversary, common sense told Ulrealiac to run, but there was one thing keeping him in the fight. Khazid'hea had also noticed the huge difference in skill between it present wielder and his opponent. If the sword could salivate, Ulrealiac's hand would be drenched by now. Never in its wildest dreams - and it had had many such fantasies locked in Ulrealiac's chest for over a century - did it think it would run into a fighter as skilled as Dantrag. Just when it looked like Ulrealiac would run, Khazid'hea reminded him of Garum. This drow is the leader, it said, he is responsible for bringing this raiding party to your peaceful grove. Khazid'hea really had no idea who Dantrag was, but it sounded good. Garum is dead because of this one. Let me taste his flesh, and I will avenge your son. Ulrealiac heard the thoughts of the sword clearly enough, and while they kept him in the fight for a little while, they held no real motivation, for he had already killed his son's murderer, and he knew he could not defeat this opponent. Khazid'hea realized this as well and tried a new strategy. Your wife is upstairs, and your other son is behind you. After this drow strikes you down he will kill them as well. You must fight as long as possible to give them a chance to escape. I will help you to protect them. This worked very well. Ulrealiac charged madly at Dantrag. The drow met the charge defensively, wondering what could have brought about such a drastic change in his opponent. The wood elf had done very little fighting up till this point, and had mainly danced about the room, avoiding Dantrag's blades. Dantrag had not rushed in to finish him off because he was wary Ulrealiac might be baiting him into a rush and had some magical counter prepared. Now Dantrag recognized these new tactics as nothing more than the frantic attacks of someone who knew they were about to die and had nothing to lose. Dantrag obliged Ulrealiac, blocking the furious attacks and backing the desperate elf against the branches of his house so he would not be able to dance about anymore. Ulrealiac worked Dantrag high, and the drow accepted the attacks, quickly catching them with one of his blades, and holding them long enough to counter with his other weapon. Ulrealiac tried to back way, but there was nowhere to go. Dantrag stepped back and came forward suddenly with both blades leading in the double thrust low. The cross down was impossible with only one blade, and Ulrealiac would never have thought of it anyway. What he did think of in the split second it would take Dantrag to complete the move was that he was dead. Nothing could stop that now. What he also realized was that while both of Dantrag's weapons would be impaling his midsection, the drow's head would be unprotected. With Khazid'hea still high from his recent attacks, Ulrealiac swung his magical blade at Dantrag's neck. Dantrag saw the swing coming, and also saw that if he continued with his own attack, he would not be able to block the deadly blow. Instead, Dantrag snapped both his arms straight, hurling his blades forward as he rolled backwards. Khazid'hea swept over Dantrag's tumbling form as both of the drow's weapons sank into Ulrealiac's gut, impaling him to his spine. The drow came out of his roll and observed his handi-work. Ulrealiac stood straight, both of Dantrag's weapons quivering in his stomach in a V. The dying elf still held Khazid'hea, and he threw it at Dantrag in one last effort to protect his family. The drow easily ducked the toss, but followed its flight in interest as it hit the hard ground and sunk halfway to its hilt. The hilt now appeared as a demonic head with two ruby-red eyes. If the sword had known more about drow, it might have picked some representation of Lloth, but Dantrag would have retrieved the sword even if it had kept the goodly image of Corellon Larethian. As Dantrag pulled the sword out of the ground, he was nearly overwhelmed by the psionic probing of the sword. He had never encountered a sentient weapon before, and the feeling of a second presence within him was very unnatural. Dantrag soon got the sword under control, and began to understand its true power. Khazid'hea too began to understand its new wielder. Dantrag was a noble of the first house of Menzoberranzan. Since it understood things as Dantrag did, Khazid'hea shared the drow's idea that he was the best fighter in that city. It did, however, also understand that Dantrag was not without rivals. Who is Zaknafein, it asked, and when will we kill him? Dantrag smiled as he held the sword in front of him, admiring its razor edge. Soon, he said out loud, very soon. As he retrieved his other two weapons from the now dead Ulrealiac, sheathing one of them, he remembered that there had been another elf in the room when he had entered. Ryun had long since disappeared. Just as Dantrag was about to leave, he heard what he thought was a female voice coming from above. Seeing some unique stairs in the corner of the room, Dantrag followed the voice to the second level of the tree home.

Chapter 16 Judgement Day

Zak and Jarl were bored. Neither one of them cared that they were missing out on the slaughter that was taking place only a hundred yards from them, for neither one of them harbored the same instinctual hatred for surface elves as did their companions. And even though the massacre was taking place so close to them, they had not heard one cry or any of the other sounds that usually accompany battle. There were several reasons for this. Perhaps the biggest though was the fact that drow raiders excelled at stealth. Like almost every other race at night, the elves were most likely sleeping right now. The drow, under Dantrag's command had been instructed to wake each victim right before they were killed. These surface elves were to be given as battle sacrifices to Lloth, and Dantrag wanted to make sure each elf was fully conscious at the time of death. Even if there had been no rain and no thunder to drown out any potential cries, Zak and Jarl doubted there would be any. This was a large village, but with the sentries taken out quietly, and the rest of the village asleep, the drow would be able to move unhindered throughout the grove killing the entire community quietly. Upon inspection of the dead elf sentries that Dantrag's group had left for Zak and Jarl to guard, the two saw another reason for the silent slaughter. Even if the village had risen up against the attacking drow, the absence of any metal objects on the three dead guards would have made for a very muffled fight. The drow were all taught about one of their most hated rivals, the svirfnebli. The deep gnomes lived with the stone around them in a far more intimate manner than did the drow. To the drow, the stone was not special in anyway, but it had practical uses and was usually the only thing available to construct their cities. If there were trees in the underdark, the drow would likely substitute wood whenever possible if it better served their purpose. The svirfnebli were not like that. They worshiped the stone and used it for things even the drow would never dream of. These elves were like that with their trees. Even the arrows they carried lacked metal tips and were instead sharpened to a wooden point. Their armor was made from the hides of the various animals that lived in the woods. They carried no swords, but were equipped with sturdy staffs and stout clubs. Drow lived for conquest and power. Svirfnebli lived for a peaceful existence with their stone surroundings. Zak imagined that these elves were the same way with their trees. And now his people were killing them for absolutely no reason at all. Let's go, Zak said suddenly, not even using the hand code. You want to fight? Jarl asked, knowing how much Zak despised this raid. Not into the village, into the mountains, Zak corrected, gesturing off to where he knew the mountains were, though he could see nothing beyond the trees around them. This interested Jarl. He had thought about this raid at great length and how he would react to what could happen. He had also spent a great deal thinking about what Zak would do and how it would affect him. Jarl prided himself in being ready for everything, but he had not expected this. You just want to abandon our post and leave our companions to die? Jarl asked, more than a little sarcasm in his comment. Yes, Zak said, very little sarcasm in his voice. Think about it, he continued, trying to get his friend to think seriously for a moment. Think about all the adventure we could find on our own in this fantastic new environment. Adventure? Jarl mimicked. Why would I want adventure? My house is fourth in all of Menzoberranzan, and I have been promised riches and prominence if I protect that status. Fine, Zak said in an angry voice. We can both go back to our houses as weapon masters and obey our matron mothers' whims and desires. And no matter our skill or success or whatever foolish promises that have been made to us, we will always be treated as second class citizens. Or we can go into those mountains and meet with things we've never seen before with no one to answer to but ourselves. What about when the sun comes up? Jarl asked. Each drow in the raiding party was required to do reading as to the horrors of the surface, and there were quite a few accounts of what the sun could do to drow equipment and in fact to drow themselves. You've faced both me and Dantrag in battle and you are still scared of a little light, now it was Zak's turn to be sarcastic, but he had a point. Jarl was quiet for a while, thinking about something Zak had obviously already given a great deal of thought to. What about the races of the surface? You might not believe the stories about how evil our surface cousins are, but you know first hand how evil we are, and you have to believe that the races of the surface teach their kids the same thing we were taught in reverse. The difference is that those tales have quite a bit of validity attached to them. Let them see us for who we are, Zak said. Will they? Jarl responded. Word of what is going on behind us right now will definitely be spread across the land. With our appearance so soon after such a massacre, do you think we will be viewed in a favorable light. Our own scouting made this raid possible, and our skill inspired Arach Tinilith to choose our class. I hardly think we are guiltless. Still, Zak pleaded, we have a better chance of happiness on the surface than with our people in the underdark. Jarl laughed out loud. Zak gave him a fierce glance, thinking he was the butt of the joke. No, Jarl said, deflecting the look, I've just never heard of a drow seeking happiness before. Peace of mind maybe, but happiness . . . Are you sure you are a drow? Sometimes I wonder, Zak said under his breath. As the two continued to discuss their options, they were being scouted from above. Ryun had made his escape while Dantrag had been slaughtering his father. He had skirted the grove and came to the point where he knew the drow would have had to enter the grove. He had picked up one of the bows discarded by the dead guards, and had an arrow knocked and pointed at Jarl's back. Ryun had been trained on the weapon briefly, but he had no real proficiency with it. His training had been very different from his brother's, who could put an arrow in each of the drow before either knew he was there. Maybe if it was a bright day and the distance to his target was half as much, he might have had more confidence in his shot, but as it was, in the pouring rain and darkness, he was scared he would miss. If he missed and announced his position to the deadly enemies, he knew he would not last much longer. He lowered the arrow, lamenting he had not chosen the path of his father and brother. Still, he was almost a full-fledged druid, and they were powerful in their own rite. Just because these drow used straightforward tactics to do battle did not mean that was the only way to fight them. Ryun put the bow down for now and began to fall within himself and call out to the forest around him looking for assistance. Down below, the hair stood up on the back of both drow's necks as the air about them hummed with magical energy. They both became very quiet and drew their weapons. Zak and Jarl searched the area around them briefly, but did not have time for a thorough search as three huge bears came charging out of a thicket to their left. Neither drow had ever seen one of these animals before, but they did not need any foreknowledge to know the bears were formidable opponents. For their enormous size, they were amazingly quick and agile, leaping over a fallen log and pouncing on the unprepared drow. Zak and Jarl dove to the side at the last second, not wishing to get crushed beneath the incredible bulk of the animals. Two of the creatures turned on Zak, and while he thought his weapons could cut one of them down easily, he knew the other one would be free to attack him. Instead of a frontal attack, Zak needed to dance around the hostile creatures, nicking and cutting them while staying just out of their reach. Zak finally got one of them to cut the other off, and he was able to wade in with his blades. The bear's fur offered little protection against the drow weapons, and Zak had placed three separate lethal wounds on the creature within a second. Instead of slowing the animal, it only enraged it more. One of the dying bear's paws lashed out at Zak. He got a blade up to block the blow, but the strength of the attack was not something the drow was prepared for. Though he cut the bear severely on the arm, he was thrown violently back into the trunk of a strong tree, blasting the wind from his lungs. The wounded bear came at him still, swiping a clawed paw right at Zak's face. Though he was dazed, Zak had enough presence of mind to duck and glanced up as the bear took a huge chunk out of the sturdy tree. In a crouched position, Zak thrust both of his weapons up into the belly of the bear, cutting a huge gash into the already dying creature. Adrenaline could only take the bear so far, and as its strength left, it made one last effort to crush the elusive drow, falling straight down. Zak tried to leap to the side, but he tripped over a root, and caught a trailing paw of the dead bear on the leg, cutting a deep gash in his calf. Before Zak could analyze the severity of the wound, the other bear was on top of him. Still on the ground, Zak tried to roll away from the creature, but its quickness defeated the drow, and the bear kicked him into another tree. Zak curled himself into a ball, but the trip over the uneven forest floor and the ending collision with the tree nearly knocked him out. Zak was covered with multiple bruises, and the wound to his leg hampered his movements. The bear did not stop though, and rushed the crumpled form of the drow. Zak came up slowly, prepared to fend off any attack, but the bear did not swing its deadly paws and tried to crush its opponent against the tree. Zak got his back off of the trunk behind him just in time to save his life, but he did not move quick enough to stay out of the bear's long reach. The huge creature grabbed the relatively small elf in its arms and tried to squeeze the life out of him. Zak's arms were pinned to his side, and useless as his breath was quickly crushed out of him. He could feel his slender ribs begin flex under the immense pressure and knew he did not have much time left. It was a monumental effort to levitate under these conditions, especially with the weight of a quarter ton bear hanging on to you, but Zak was out of options. Calling on the magical piwafwi he had just been given and the magical talent he had mastered during his time at Sorcere, Zak was able to bring himself up just high enough to lift the bear off the ground half a foot. The creature was not stupid, but it panicked none-the-less releasing its prey and falling safely back to the ground. Zak, on the other hand, with the terrific weight of the bear released so suddenly from his levitation spell, shot up into the branches of the tree. The bear looked up into the darkness, wondering what in the world he was fighting. The bear thought about climbing the tree, but circled it once, just to make sure the dark elf had not dropped out on the other side. Just as the bear got both its paws on the trunk, Zak dropped out of the tree onto the back of the bear. Both of his weapons dove into the back of the bear's neck, biting deep into the vital area. Adrenaline or not, the bear crumpled beneath the drow, dead before it hit the ground. Zak stood, panting heavily and favoring his injured leg. He looked about for Jarl, and tried to test exactly how hurt he was. He did not get much chance to rest though, for Ryun was not finished yet. As soon as Zak had engaged the two bears at once, the druid in training realized they would not be enough to defeat him. Instead of staying within the forest to call for aid, Ryun reached out to the nearby mountains, falling deep within his magical calling. He touched upon several powerful creatures, but none of them would be able to traverse the distance between them fast enough to make a difference. Then he felt a creature whose power so nearly overwhelmed him that he almost lost consciousness. Ryun fought against the will of this beast, bending it to his own, and the creature was helpless to refuse the call. Confident that more help was now on the way and knowing he was too weak to summon anything else, Ryun raised his bow and followed Zak's fight against the two bears hoping that a clear shot on the drow would present itself. After both bears were dead, and Zak was left standing alone, Ryun almost let his shot fly, but he felt the other creature that he had called approaching, and he held his fire. Zak sensed the presence of the new creature as well and looked around frantically in the woods for it. It was only at the last second that he looked up and saw the wyvern descending right for him. Zak dove to the side, favoring his leg and just avoiding the creature's deadly claws as it landed in the small clearing. As Zak came up to analyze this new foe, the first thing that entered his mind was that he was faced up against a dragon. The wyvern was powerful, but it was no dragon. It was not nearly as intelligent as its distant cousin and had no arms to attack with. Perhaps the biggest difference was its size - only a quarter as large as an average dragon. Its best attack was swooping down on its prey as it had almost just done to Zak, but it also had a poisoned tail, which it now swept at the prone drow. Zak ducked behind a tree for protection and the wyvern nearly ripped the roots out of the ground. Zak could see he had the mobility advantage in the crowded forest, but it was his only one, and with his injured leg, it was not as pronounced as it might have been otherwise. Zak ducked another tail sweep and charged toward the creature, hoping that without arms, the beast would be defenseless against close attacks. The wyvern waved one of its mighty wings at the running drow and blew him from his feet. It then beat its other wing and hopped into the air, trying to land on the sprawled drow. Zak rolled at the last second, lashing out with his weapons at the powerful leg that landed next to him. The creature was scaled, but Zak was able to slip under the armor and score a hit on the leg. The wyvern shrieked as the blade cut him and tried to stamp its attacker, but Zak was on the move again, rolling up under the belly of the huge creature and stabbing his weapons into the chest. The attack was made from Zak's back, and the wyvern thrust its head down to catch the drow in its mouth. Zak quickly abandoned his attacks against the vulnerable underbelly and used his blades to fend off the mouth of the angry beast. The two swords created an impenetrable shield above the drow, clicking off facial armor and teeth several times each second. After many attempts to get past the painful blades, the wyvern changed tactics and hopped away from Zak and swept its tail in from the side. Zak rolled up into a crouch and got both weapons up vertically in front of him as the tail came crashing in. Like when he fended off the first bear's attacks, his blades bit hard into the sweeping tail, but he was also thrown backwards. Zak was prepared this time and had a levitation spell ready. By elevating his flight path, Zak collided with the less sturdy branches in the tops of the trees around him, avoiding the painful trunks. The wyvern saw its prey fly into the branches of a nearby tree, and craned its neck to go after him. Finding his footing within the branches of the tree, Zak fended off the thrusting attacks by the head of the angry creature and was also able to throw in a few of his own strikes. As Zak timed one of the head thrusts, he was able to jump to a higher branch and thrust down into the wyvern's eye. The enraged creature cried out in pain at the attack and turned about. Zak took this opportunity to leap on to the wyvern's back. Bracing his feet on the wing joints of the much larger beast, Zak went to work on the wyvern's neck. His thrusts hit more often than they were deflected by the scales, and the wyvern cried out even more. Much to Zak's discomfort, his mount tried to take to the air. Blinded by pain and only with the use of one eye, the wyvern was not able to escape the tangling branches of the trees about him. What it had intended to be flight, turned into just a frantic flapping of its wings and a chaotic dance through the trees. This unorthodox method actually proved far more effective in protecting the wyvern from the drow on it back for Zak had to relent in his attacks to pay attention to the countless branches that scraped across the back of the wyvern, threatening to hurl Zak to the ground where he would be fair game for the claws and teeth of the desperate creature. Zak gave up all together when a significantly large limb clipped him on the shoulder and nearly threw him off his perch. The scales of the wyvern were wet from the rain and offered no grip to the precarious drow. Zak fell to his chest on the back of the huge neck he straddled, wrapping his arms around the wyvern to hold on for dear life. As he did this, he felt a very fleshy section of the wyvern's neck just above its chest and below its head. Altering his grip slightly, Zak was able to thrust one of his swords into the unprotected area. If the wyvern had been frantic before, now it was doubly so. It thrashed about so violently that it tore several of the smaller trees out of the ground as it tried to throw the drow from its back. The harder it tried to remove Zak, the more it sealed its doom, for with every jolt that he took from the numerous branches that struck him from every direction, Zak's blade twisted and turned inside the wyvern's neck. The weapon finally severed one nerve too many, and the wyvern's actions began to slow down. With the onslaught of the tree branches lessened, Zak was more able to guide his blade inside the creature, which was far more effective than his random cuts of a few moments before. The great creature finally came to rest on the ground, its tail switching back and forth as the body convulsed in the final stages of death. Zak was barely able to pry his arms away from around the neck he had held onto in a vice grip that mimicked what the second bear had done to him a few minutes previous. He crawled off the back of the dead wyvern, his breath coming in desperate gasps. There was not one part of his body that did not ache. His injured leg was screaming out to him now after being beat upon so relentlessly on the back of the wyvern. Zak could not find the immediate strength to stand and knelt on the ground as he tried to bring his pulse and breath under control. An arrow nicked him in the side and sent him spinning to the ground. From above Ryun cursed himself for his miss and turned to get another arrow. When he brought his weapon back in front of him to line up a second shot, Zak was gone. Ryun spun all about on his perch, searching the ground for where the injured drow could have gone. He could not have moved far, Ryun thought. Still, there was no trace of him anywhere. The elf was getting desperate, and he kept spinning around, not letting his back stay pointed in any one direction for too long. It was a noise at his back, though, that alerted him to the drow's position. Ryun spun about and saw that Zak had levitated up to his perch and was less than two feet away. The range for the bow was point blank, but Zak batted it aside as Ryun fired, sending the arrow harmlessly away. Ryun held his bow in front of him as he scrambled for the staff slung to his back, but Zak was too quick and forced Ryun to abandon his quest for a weapon and just try to get out of the way. As the surface elf backed out of Zak's reach, the drow changed his strategy and hacked up the limb Ryun was balancing on. Under the fine cuts of drow made weapons, the limb did not last long, and Ryun went tumbling out of the tree, landing hard on his back. Zak was quick to follow and floated down so he stood over the prone elf. Zak poised his weapons over his enemy's neck, and Ryun did not offer any resistance. The surface elf just closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable. Zak paused. He had told Jarl back in the Academy that all he wanted to do was see a surface elf so he could determine their true nature. Now he had his wish, and he was just going to kill him. As Zak paused, his weapons ready to dispatch death at the slightest movement from Ryun, he analyzed the elf below him. Two things were obvious right away. The first was that Ryun was not only ready to die, but content to do so. Ryun looked calm and relaxed even though Zak was about to violently rip his throat open. Zak had never stood over a drow like this with life on the line, but he had placed several of his classmates in a position similar to this in the grand melee. They had been anything but calm. Even though they knew they were beat, and all Zak was going to do was prod them with a dull wooden pole, they put up a furious protest. Here this elf was expecting death, and he welcomed it gladly. What awaited him when he died? His deity. What awaited a drow when he died? Lloth. Zak did not look forward to his death, because he knew the abyss would not be kind to him, and he doubted even the most devote of Menzoberranzan's priestesses really looked forward to the time they would stand before Lloth in person. Apparently this elf served a god that was kind to his subjects. He welcomed his followers into the afterlife with open arms and affection. Ryun would go to be with his father, mother, and brother and was actually looking forward to it. How Zak wished for such security! The second and more painful thing by far was how this elf accepted death without protest. Even though death was not that terrible a thing for this elf, life still had to be far preferable. This elf did not plead for his life because he knew that the drow above him would not offer him any mercy. Ryun knew his killer was an evil drow and death was certain. This judgement levied against Zak by the simple elf struck deep into his heart. Any idea of a possible existence on the surface fled in that moment. How he wanted to be judged fairly and not be taken at face value, but how could he argue with the judgement? This elf was just defending his grove, taking on an enemy that was obviously his superior. How did Zak respond? Did he try to reason with the elf? Did he try to show the elf that he was not evil like the rest of his comrades? No. He had reacted like he had been trained to do, like any drow should. He had attacked and tried to kill the elf. Zak pulled his weapons back, stepping away from his potential victim. After waiting for too long, Ryun opened his eyes to see what was wrong. He found himself looking into a very humiliated drow. Ryun had defeated him more soundly than if he had been able to summon a red dragon to fight the drow. As Ryun slowly propped himself up to regard this dark elf that continued to step away from him, Zak pointed one of his weapons toward the woods. Go, he said weakly. Ryun looked confused, for he did not understand the drow's language. Go! Zak screamed, taking a menacing step toward the elf. Ryun understood perfectly now and jumped to his feet and scampered off into the woods, fatefully back in the direction of the grove. Zak was lost in emotion when he heard the cry from the direction in which Ryun had run. It was terror stricken and ended suddenly, like someone had severed the elf's vocal cords right in the middle of it. Zak blindly ran after the elf, almost tripping over Ryun's decapitated body just a short way into the woods. He recovered just in time to get one of his weapons up to block a blade that seemed to swing in from out of nowhere. Zak backpedaled and gathered himself as he prepared to meet this new attacker. Dantrag stepped out from behind a tree, Khazid'hea gripped tightly in his left hand. Is this Zaknafein? He is nothing compared to you. He let this weak surface elf escape. Kill him. Dantrag had not yet learned the ways or desires of his new sword and took the bait completely. You let him get away, Dantrag said, motioning to the dead elf at his feet. Zak said nothing. He looked at Dantrag and saw exactly what Ryun had assumed. Dantrag was evil personified. He was the main character of all the stories the goodly races told their children when recounting the horrors of the drow. Dantrag was the reason Zak was doomed to live his life out in the underdark, never able to gain acceptance on the surface. Though Ryun's judgement of Zak had been inaccurate, it rung true with Dantrag. Even though his body had been beaten beyond what he should be able to bear, Zak was more than ready to cut Dantrag down. Your skill must not be as great as everyone has said, Dantrag said slowly, drawing one of his other swords to join with Khazid'hea. It must not be, Zak said, slowly backing away from the fallen surface elf. Perhaps you need another lesson. Please, Zak said through gritted teeth, rain water pouring down his stern features, teach me so I can be just like you. Dantrag exploded into motion leaping over Ryun's body and swinging his new sword. It was a foolishly aggressive move against someone as skilled as Zak, and the younger drow simply stepped behind a thin tree trunk. Dantrag would imbed his blade into the tree, and Zak would cut him down. Even as Zak stepped back to his original position to carry out the move, he had not yet comprehended that Dantrag's sword had cut cleanly through the tree trunk and not only was Zak now out of position, but the felled tree was falling in his direction. Dantrag snapped Cutter back across the space vacated by Zak, forcing the Do'Urden to bring up his blade to block it and open his other side. Zak's second weapon barely intercepted the attack, and he then had to give up both blocks as the tree came crashing down. He rolled to the ground just ahead of the tree, and without the temporary barrier, he might have been struck down right there. Dantrag would normally have to skirt around or over the tree, but with Khazid'hea in hand, he cut right through it. This second display of how sharp Dantrag's new sword was did not escape Zak's attention, and as he scrambled back to his feet, he took caution to duck beneath it. Zak intercepted Dantrag's second attack with his own blade and then caught Cutter on the return swipe. With their blades locked together, both drow stared hard at each other, their faces not more than a few inches apart, and each hated what he saw. Despite his weakened condition, Zak was the one who won the shoving match, sending Dantrag back, tripping over the recently felled tree. Like the first bear he had fought, Zak was hurt beyond what he should have been able to endure, and was operating only on adrenaline. He needed to end this fight quickly, or Dantrag would easily be able outlast him. With that in mind, Zak chased his stumbling opponent. Dantrag was too skilled to be defeated so easily, and feigned to trip over the tree and swiped at Zak's legs as he fell. Zak jumped high in the air, soaring over Dantrag's crouched form. The Baenre fighter tried to cut Zak out of the air, but a blade intercepted the strike. Zak landed with his weapon still in contact with Dantrag's and stabbed back blindly to where he knew his opponent crouched. The former head master knew his back was vulnerable, and he also swept his weapon back behind himself in a defensive effort. The two weapons collided, and both fighters spun about, keeping their weapons locked to each other so they knew where their opponent was. Zak was standing and Dantrag was still crouched low. He tried to rise, but Zak beat down on him to keep him low, careful to make sure both of Dantrag's weapons were busy so he could not attack his unprotected legs. Dantrag realized what his former student was trying to do and deflected one strike to the left with enough time to snap the same blocking blade across to the right and catch the second attack, freeing up his other weapon. Zak was forced to back up, and Dantrag stood. They came together furiously. This was not a sparring session. This was not the grand melee. Aside from Dantrag's less than challenging encounters in the elven grove, this was the first time either of them had been locked in mortal combat with an adversary similar to themselves. Dantrag fought with pride; Zaknafein fought with hatred. Zak's was the stronger and more justified emotion. Dantrag saw immediately that Zak was possessed with something he had never fathomed. Each attack and parry was made with such authority that Dantrag wondered if their weapons would explode each time they hit. They were heavily enchanted, though, and even Khazid'hea would be hard pressed to knick one of Zak's swords. If not their weapons, then their arms, Dantrag thought as he barely parried Zak's latest jarring blow. Dantrag wondered if he could take advantage of his opponent's over aggressive nature. He attacked with both of his weapons high, and then swept them back low in an almost ridiculous attempt to hit Zak's left thigh. With both of Dantrag's blades parallel, Zak could block the blow with only one sword, and could use the other to make an unblockable attack. Zak took the bait. He positioned his left weapon to intercept the double strike and sent his right in search of Dantrag's face. Dantrag rotated his left wrist just before his blade hit Zak's blocking weapon and swung it in a rapid circle between the two fighters, colliding hard with Zak's attacking sword. The force of the parry, forced Zak's right arm over his left one, hopelessly pinning his other weapon to his side. Now Dantrag had both of Zak's weapons occupied with one of his. He quickly freed his right weapon and sent it toward Zak's gut. A half second later he released his left weapon and struck at Zak's face. With his arms now free, Zak had no chance to block the first attack, but Dantrag had at least expected him to try. The thing he did not realize was that Zak had seen the entire rouse from the beginning. He had willingly fallen into the trap, knowing he had to do it completely in order to catch Dantrag off guard. What Dantrag did not know was that the gash he now placed on Zak's side did not even rank in the top five of most severe already on his body. Zak shrugged off the searing pain that should have doubled over almost anyone else, and brought both of his weapons up to stop Dantrag's second high attack. Dantrag was so shocked at Zak's willingness to except the vicious wound that he did not pull his attack in time. One of Zak's weapons blocked the blow while the other struck at Dantrag's unprotected wrist. Dantrag was forced to drop Khazid'hea in order to keep his left hand attached. Still, Dantrag thought that he now had the advantage even though he held only one sword. Surely Zak would not be able to continue fighting with the gash in his side, and Dantrag's wound was only minor. If Dantrag did now have the advantage, someone forgot to tell Zaknafein. The possessed Do'Urden came on with even more ferocity, fighting off the pain in his body with a primal scream. Dantrag was helpless beneath the onslaught and only because Zak was blinded by rage and pain was Dantrag able to block each attack, for they were not really aimed at anything. Still, Dantrag could not recover his footing, and he soon tripped over a tree root, while Zaknafein blasted his remaining weapon from his grasp. Zak now had Dantrag in the same place that he had held the surface elf a few minutes before. Zak's blades did not hesitate this time, and as his weapons came down for the killing blow, he was happy to see that Dantrag was not calm about entering Lloth's presence at all. An arrow thudded into Zak's right thigh, and he faltered. Zak turned to his right and instinctually swung both his weapons in front of him, impossibly blocking the second and third arrows that were aimed at his heart. The hidden archer cried out suddenly and toppled from the tree he was perched in. Zak ignored this fortunate instance and turned back toward Dantrag without giving the elven archer a second thought. Dantrag was horrified by what he saw. What stood before him was not a drow; it was a demon. To block thrown knives was one thing, Dantrag had done that, but arrows moved too quickly to even see. Dantrag knew he was dead, and waited for the killing blow. It would never come. With the blocked arrows, Zak had used up the last of his energy reserve, and his adrenaline had taken him as far as possible and beyond. His arms went slack and he lost the grip on his weapons as he crumpled to the ground. Dantrag scrambled to retrieve his most recently lost sword to finish Zak, but as he picked it up, a call from his left caught his attention. The archer! Dantrag picked up his weapon and dove to the ground as an arrow zipped over his head. He came out of his dive to see the elf that had been knocked out of the tree preparing another arrow. He was favoring one leg, but that hardly affected his aim. Dantrag threw a glance up at where he had been perched before and saw Jarl in the tree. Jarl cried out a second time, and the archer spun around and up to send his next shot into the tree. Jarl dropped from his perch and the arrow thudded into a tree branch where he had just been. Dantrag charged as the skilled archer quickly prepared another arrow. The sight of a dark elf charging toward him at full speed, made the archer fumble slightly, but he still had an arrow knocked and ready before Dantrag reached him. The agile drow leaped high into the air suddenly, activating a levitation spell. The surface elf elevated his aim just as quickly and fired at the same moment that Dantrag released his spell. The arrow flew just over Dantrag's descending head, and the drow landed right in front of the unarmed archer. Dantrag swept his blade across the elf's throat as he spun about. He reversed the grip on his weapon and thrust it backward under his left arm. The blade sunk deep into the dead elf's chest and Dantrag spun back around so he could see the expression on the archer's face. Never attack a drow from the shadows, he said to the elf, who was not only already dead, but unable to understand his language anyway. Jarl walked around from the back of the tree now, and Dantrag quickly pulled his weapon back out of the elf's chest. He knew Jarl and Zak were friends of sorts and wondered if the Del'Axle would take up the fight for his fallen companion. Jarl did not even make like he had seen the two fighting. I was only able to get at him after he took down Zak, Jarl lamented as he jogged over to the fallen drow. It looks like you guys had quite a fight here. Dantrag wondered if he was referring to the fight he and Zak had just had, but then he looked at his surroundings for the first time since entering the small clearing. On the ground lay two huge bears and a dead wyvern. Dantrag did not have any names for the dead creatures, but he could clearly see that vicious wounds had been necessary to kill each one. Drow weapons had definitely made them. You must be just as hurt as Zak here, Jarl said as he knelt beside the badly injured drow. Jarl quickly swung his pack from his back and pulled out two flasks containing a light blue liquid. Dantrag was a little confused as he walked toward the pair and let his vision slip back into the infrared spectrum. He gasped audibly as he looked down on Zak. The gash in his right side was clear enough, glowing a bright red, but it looked minor indeed compared to his other wounds. He still had the arrow stuck in his thigh, plus another gash in his other side that also looked like it had come from an arrow. His leg was torn badly by some type of claw. Plus his face and arms were so badly scraped and swollen, Dantrag did not know how Zak had even been able to move, much less fight. Jarl was busy pouring one of the healing potions down Zak's throat as Dantrag stepped up behind him. After he was done, Jarl turned to Dantrag with the other potion in hand. He took one look at the drow and shook his head. You look fine. What happened? Did you make him do all the work? Dantrag just stood there dumbfounded, unable to think of anything to say and still very much in awe of what Zak had been through. Jarl kept the second potion for Zak and turned back to administer it, barely holding in his smile. He, of course, had seen exactly what had taken place. He had led the bear that had gone after him on a wild chase throughout the woods before dispatching it. By the time he returned to help Zak, the drow was putting the final touches on the wyvern. Jarl then watched on in interest as Zak had let the elf go and then in even more interest as he had fought and nearly killed Dantrag. The archer in the tree had escaped his attention until after he had shot Zak, and Jarl made sure there were no other elves about before he had announced his position to Dantrag. Zak was slowly regaining consciousness as Jarl poured the second potion into his mouth, saving a little to sprinkle over some of his more serious wounds, including his thigh from which he had just pulled the arrow. Zak regained his strength quickly and was able to stand within only a few minutes. His memory was a little foggy with regard to what had happened right before he had passed out. Dantrag was happy to see the Do'Urden regard him with his usual anger and not the primal hatred that had almost slain the Baenre. Before Zak could truly regain his bearings, Dantrag began to give orders. Come with me, you two. The raid should be over by now. We have been victorious this night.

Chapter 17 A Colorful Tombstone

The rain had slowed to only an occasional drop by the time the trio entered the pine grove. What had once been a pleasant clearing amid several dozen pine trees now looked like a war zone. Elven bodies hung from the branches of the trees, as their homes burned. The ability of the thick pines to repel the weather worked against the village, as the magical fires set by the mages in the group were able to stay lit in the dry lower regions of the trees. Blood lay in deep puddles as much as the rainwater did. Zak imagined that if he had walked through the center clearing on any other night, he might not even realize that he was surrounded by a hundred elves or that he was in the middle of a community, so well had the elves blended their homes into the forest. Now it was impossible to miss. Huge sections of the pine trees were torn away, laying bare the innards of the homes so that none of the elves could escape. The destruction was not complete, however, and the drow were herding the surviving children and a few young elf maidens into the center of the grove. The bile in Zak's stomach began to rise, as he watched his companions line up the children for execution. He knew what was going to happen. These children were going to be sacrificed to Lloth. The adults would have been too difficult to handle, and they had been killed while they lay in their beds, but these children cowered before their executioners, too scared to even cry. Dantrag took control of the situation as he entered the scene and soon had thirteen children lined up before the raiding party. Drillmick had been the only casualty, and Zak was the worst hurt among the remaining drow, though several others had cuts and bruises. Dantrag had studied enough of the surface tongue to prepare a brief speech for the frightened children before him. Zak did not understand what was being said, but he had a good idea. In his companions' eyes, this was not savage murder, but retribution for persecution long ago brought against the drow. Though the pinnacle of this persecution was said to have been forcing the drow into the underdark, none of the dark elves seemed too eager to return to the surface. Surely a prisoner's greatest desire is to leave his cell and feel the wind on his face once again. Something made Zak think that the drow were not prisoners in the underdark but willing inhabitants. The whole thing was a lie, but Zak really saw no gain in it. They come up to the surface to kill a bunch of surface elves and then return to the underdark. They return with no riches or wealth. They had gained no useful knowledge. All they were doing was being cruel for the sake of being cruel. It was pointless. As Dantrag yelled particularly loud at one child, the young elf burst into tears, and Dantrag slit him up along his chest. The child fell back, dead before it hit the ground. The rest of the children stayed quiet. It did not matter though, for Dantrag was just about finished anyway, and then the killing started. When the children realized there was no hope at all, the tears they had been holding onto came freely, and the wails were heart wrenching. Zak wanted to throw up, as he closed his eyes to the spectacle. Still the voices of the dying children called out to him, too innocent to realize that no mercy could be had. Zak needed to act; he had to act to keep the small thread of hope he clung to. He needed to rush out and kill Dantrag right now. His conscious would not allow him to stand here and listen to the horrible shrieks of the children, shrieks made louder and longer by Dantrag's ever slowing blade. Even though his eyes were closed, in his mind's eye Zak could still see Dantrag slicing the children up as slowly as possible, some how taking pleasure from the process. Zak needed to stop it, but he could not. He could kill Dantrag. He knew that. With Jarl's help, if it was available, he might even be able to stand up against the remaining elves. Then what? Was he to live on the surface? Could he return to Menzoberranzan? As much as Zak disliked Jarl's acceptance of the drow way, Zak realized there was some practical sense to it. Jarl wanted to survive. If Zak really did want to make some type of difference in his people, he would have to adopt that philosophy too. Still, the children . . . And then it was over, or so Zak thought. He opened his eyes and saw that one young maiden remained. She had been the oldest of the group, though still probably not a decade old. The possibilities of what Dantrag might do to her tore at Zak's soul, and he promised himself that if Dantrag in any way disgraced her before her death, he would strike the drow down and his own life be damned. Dantrag did not touch the girl, though. Instead he took a step away from her, saying several things in her own language and pointing toward the entry to the grove. Was he going to let her go? Then it was clear to him. Dantrag wanted a surviving witness to what had gone on here today so the deeds of the drow could be spread far and wide. Dantrag continued to point toward the exit to the grove, but the girl was rooted to the ground, too scared to even breath. Zak stepped forward. Kill her. Dantrag looked up from the girl and met Zak's eyes, seeing again the killing demon that had defeated him before. In the corner of his mind he heard Khazid'hea begging Dantrag to kill the rebellious drow, but Dantrag was learning how to shut the sword out. We must have a witness, Dantrag said calmly, looking to the rest of the drow for support. You would let her live? Zak asked. You would steal from Lloth? This child has been promised to our Spider Queen, and you would let her live? Zak truly wanted to save the girl, but he realized she was already dead. Even if she lived a thousand years, her soul had been taken away from her this night, and her dreams would never be the same. He was too late to save this village, but in his mind the fact that his brethren wanted word of this massacre to spread was the bigger tragedy. If this was some personal vendetta or even true justice, what did it matter if anyone else heard about it? Dantrag did not look as confident now as he turned to the rest of the patrol for help. You care for this child?! Zak cried. There should be no room in your heart for mercy if you truly serve the Spider Queen! Dantrag's eyes flashed red at this. I care nothing for this pitiful creature, he replied. To illustrate his statement, he casually swung Cutter backwards toward the child without even looking. The young elf acted reflexively at the attack, raising one of her arms to block. The vicious blade severed the arm just above the elbow. The child emitted a horrible cry and fell to the ground, clutching her bloody stump. Zak took a menacing step toward Dantrag, his weapons still in their sheathes. Dantrag quickly drew a second blade and stepped between the child and Zak, his weapons up in an X. Stop! Zak just snarled at the patrol leader. Finish the deed. Dantrag looked deep into the eyes of his rival and saw the truth. You care for this child, he said so only Zak could hear, echoing Zak's own accusation of a few seconds ago. Step aside, Zak said, barely holding onto control of his emotions. Don't worry, Dantrag chuckled, she will die. This way the Spider Queen can feel her pa- Zak moved so quickly that afterwards, no one was really sure what had happened. Zak pulled both of his weapons bringing one of them down into the X Dantrag had made with his weapons. The strong parry that was already in place should have held the attack, but Zak's strength was too much at this moment, and he drove the parry apart. The X opened wide so that each of Dantrag's swords struck his opposing wrists. He reflexively dropped his weapons before Cutter removed a hand, and then received Zak's other weapon hilt across the head. Dantrag stumbled to the side, and Zak stepped around him, immediately forgetting that he even existed. Zak was now focused on the child before him. He stood over her and saw her demeanor change. His weapons were poised over her dying form, and a strange calm came over her. It might have been strange for any of the drow looking on, but to Zak, the calm expression on her face gave him a sense of purpose as he finished the act Dantrag had started. Zak turned away from the dead child after he had paid his silent respects, and turned to face whatever was awaiting him. The entire patrol was staring at him in awe. Dantrag was busy fumbling with his bloody hands, trying to figure out what had just happened. From the ground, Khazid'hea did not know if it should scream at Dantrag to pick it up and kill Zak, or if it was Zak it should be calling to. That confusion only inhibited Dantrag more. Jarl finally stepped forward. As the group's point scout, he held some level of authority. The night will be over soon, and we need to get back to the cave or we will be caught in the dawn's light. These words seemed to break the spell that Zak had cast on the group, and they all moved to follow Jarl. Zak did not move for a while, standing among the dead children as the stars came out. He sheathed both weapons and reached out to the sky, as the nightlights lit up the carnage within the grove. Zak thought he could feel the spirits of these children floating up to be with their murdered families for the rest of eternity. They would exist in peace from now on. The fear and pain they experienced today would not be allowed to even approach their psyche in their new home. Dantrag picked up his weapons and cast a look at Zak. He looked very vulnerable standing in the middle of the grove with his hands empty and his eyes turned to the sky, but Dantrag wisely sheathed his weapons and hurried after the rest of the group. Zak too followed them eventually, but only after he had rid himself of any guilt associated with this raid.

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The patrol made it back to the cave opening just before dawn. Jarl began to lead them back into the tunnels, but Elrial stopped him. It looked like Dantrag was not going to do anymore leading on this raid, and Elrial knew the procedures just as well. Everyone remove your equipment and return to the cave entrance. Your last memory of the surface will be the cursed sun. The drow quickly did as they were told, storing their belongings deep inside the dark protection of the cave and returned to view the horrible sunrise. The sky in the east was already a glow with the colors of dawn and they did not have long to wait. Zak and Jarl both wanted to know if life on the surface was at all possible in the future, and the following display put several doubts in their minds. As the sun rose slowly over the distant mountains, illuminating the rain-soaked landscape each one of the drow cried out in pain and fled back to the safety of the dark cave. Truly it was painful, but Zak and Jarl challenged each other to see which could withstand it the longest. In the end, Elrial called an end to it before either of them lost their sight permanently. Come back within the cave, the mage instructed, but remember that sight well. Zak knew he would and shifted his vision back and forth between the actual and infrared spectrums to remove the splotches that seemed to be burned permanently on his eyes. As he was about to continue inside, Jarl tugged on his sleeve. Look at that. Zak followed his friend's arm and looked back over the distant forest where the elves of the grove would never again see the sunlight filter into their grove. Above the drenched trees hung a very distinct arch of color. Living in the dark underworld and using infravision 90 percent of the time, Zak saw only variations on the shade of red. Now he saw every color imaginable stretched vividly across the sky. What is it? Zak asked, breathless at the beauty of it. It is a rainbow, Elrial said from behind them. As a mage, he was very familiar and comfortable with candlelight, and he had seen the effect before in water mist that was sometime necessary for his spells. Of course the name of it came from the rain that had just felt, which did not exist in the underdark. But it could be found easily enough in any book detailing the weather patterns of the surface. You don't see that in the underdark, Jarl said quietly. Something that beautiful does not belong in our homeland, Zak agreed. He cast one last look at the rainbow and the smoldering grove above which it hung. It looks fine right where it is. I hope it lasts forever. The two of them turned to follow the rest of their patrol back into their dark home.

Chapter 18 Did You Bring Honor to our House

Did you bring honor to our house? Jarl looked up from his kneeling position to answer Matron Reinela's question. The raid was a success. Ninety-three elves were killed, and we lost only one. Reinela knew the details of the raid, every house involved did. Dantrag was being honored for leading the most successful raid in over a thousand years. Every house knew the important details, though the conflict between Dantrag and Zaknafein went unreported. But how did you do personally? she asked. My personal accomplishments do not matter. All was done for the glory of Lloth. This was the right answer, and Reinela smiled, but she still wanted to know. I was the patrol's point scout, arguably the most important position. I was in charge of ensuring the patrol's safety and made sure we did not walk into a trap. Jarl was purposefully leaving the number of his kills out to annoy his mother. Besides a bear, he did not have any kills. I killed seventeen elves. Reinela had no reason to doubt her son and was very pleased. If anyone had thought to keep track of the kills by adding up what each returning patrol member told his matron mother, it would have been discovered that the elven village must have been at least three times as large as it really was. Besides, Lloth encouraged lies. What are to be my responsibilities now? Jarl asked once his mother's silence continued for several moments. You know of our precarious position as the fourth house in this city. Jarl nodded at his mother's statement. What you don't know is that we have a plan to rectify that problem and perhaps even advance our position. Jarl's ears picked up at this. He had hoped his duties would go beyond simply standing guard and repelling any house that came attacking. Reinela then told him of the mind flayer cavern they had discovered and the drow who were being held prisoner there. Jarl knew very little about illithids, but he knew enough to know this was no easy task that Reinela wished to take on. Krol has told me that the svirfnebli are preparing to make a move against the illithids to secure the ore deposit, and our time to act will come soon. You and Krol will continue to gather information for our house until the time to strike comes. You will lead our fighters in that battle and will be responsible for training the drow that we rescue. Jarl nodded and began to rise. Wait! Reinela called. I have not dismissed you. My apologies, Matron Mother, Jarl bowed deeply. Reinela smiled at her obedient son. You will need this. Jarl looked up, and Reinela handed him a red headband. This will protect your mind from unwanted psionic intrusion. It will not make you immune to the mind flayers, but it will keep them from easily reading your thoughts. Jarl put it on, and with his long white hair hanging over it, it was nearly invisible. After receiving the gift, he remained in a kneeling position, not wanting to leave early again. Reinela appreciated the obedience and made him wait several minutes before dismissing him.

* * * * *

Did you bring honor to our house? Zak looked up from his kneeling position to answer Matron Vartha's question. The raid was a success. Ninety-three elves were killed, and we lost only one. Vartha knew the details of the raid, every house involved did. Dantrag was being honored for leading the most successful raid in over a thousand years. Every house knew the important details, though the conflict between Dantrag and Zaknafein went unreported. But how did you do personally? she asked. My personal accomplishments do not matter. All was done for the glory of Lloth. This was the right answer, and Vartha smiled, but she still wanted to know. I was involved with the scouting effort of the main village, and I was chosen to protect the group against ambush, forcing me to battle several deadly creatures summoned by an elf wizard. Zak was purposefully leaving the number of his kills out to annoy his matron mother. I killed only one elf maiden. Zak was unique among the patrol members, as he was the only one who did not lie. Only one! Vartha shrieked. Malice was there two, and her frown was equally severe. It was her mother's place to scold Zak, and she remained quiet. You have brought disfavor on our house! I did not, Zak dared to disagree with Vartha. Dantrag Baenre led the patrol, and he positioned me such that I would not be able to obtain any kills. He is jealous of the praise I have received and thought to get even with me. Vartha was intrigued by this. And how did you respond to this slight? When there was only one elf left, I challenged him for the kill. He denied me again, but I defeated him and killed the child. You challenged Dantrag Baenre openly in front of the rest of the patrol? Malice asked in shock. I did, Zak responded. I defeated him and took the kill. This was not in the official report, Vartha said, not doubting her future weapon master, but wanting to hear his explanation. Who filed that report? Zak asked, knowing full well that Dantrag had. Vartha understood it as well. Zak had openly challenged the patrol leader in front of the rest of the group and had won. Not only that, but the patrol leader was Dantrag Baenre, the secondboy of Matron Baenre, and a male who was predicted to have quite an impact on the city in the future. You may be excused, Vartha dismissed Zak, and he left quickly. Once he was gone, Malice turned to her mother. Do you think Dantrag will retaliate? Vartha shrugged her shoulders. The dealings of males do not trouble me in the least. But if he disgraced Dantrag in front of the entire patrol . . . Matron Baenre will not lead her house to war over the honor of a male, even if it is her secondboy, Reinela said confidently. If that is your worry put it out of your head. If this Dantrag takes it upon himself to attack Zaknafein, then that is their business to decide. If Zaknafein defeated him once, I have no doubt that he will be able to do it again. Malice was unconvinced. Her mother's words brought little comfort. Her intuition told her that this conflict between Zaknafein and Dantrag was just the precursor to something bigger. She would not openly disagree with her mother, but she would need to make sure she was ready if something should happen. Right now, she put those thoughts out of her mind. Zak had just returned after an absence of over several months. She had slept alone too many nights in a row for her liking.

* * * * *

You brought honor to our house. Dantrag looked up at his mother and smiled. Even though Elrial had been on the raid as well, he was there alone right now, making him think that this meeting was going to entail more than just the success of the raid. Are you ready to take on the responsibilities of weapon master of this house? Baenre asked slowly I am, Dantrag replied, smiling broadly. Shall I inform Drelmn of the change or will you? Drelmn is dead, Baenre said casually. Triel, who stood next to her mother, enjoyed the shocked expression on her brother's face. Uthegental, the weapon master of the second house, killed him to obtain the title of the best weapon master in the city, Baenre added. I shall avenge his death and restore honor to this hou- You will do nothing of the kind! Matron Baenre shouted, standing from her throne. But if he has- Matron Baenre rarely used her whip, but she did now. Dantrag had never known such pain. The most powerful drow in the city had to restrain herself somewhat, for no male could survive her full fury, but she let Dantrag know that he should never question her command again. Baenre had not realized how accurate Drelmn had been with regard to Dantrag's pride. It had to be strong in order to inspire him to speak out so blatantly against her. In reality, Khazid'hea had been the main reason for Dantrag's quick comeback. From now on, Dantrag would need to learn how to keep his sword's comments from influencing him so dramatically. If their partnership was going to work, he would need to exercise his control better. The ranking of weapon masters within the city does not matter. Since you are the youngest and least experienced among all the weapon masters in the city, in my mind you rank last among them. Dantrag struggled back to his knees, his muscles still convulsing from the beating he had taken. Say it! Baenre cried, her whip poised to strike again. Khazid'hea tried to maintain its influence over Dantrag, but the drow shut it out. I am the least among all the weapon masters, he said humbly. If only Zaknafein had found me instead of you, Khazid'hea lamented. Dantrag could hear the thought and nearly threw the sword across the room, but he exercised incredible willpower and stayed motionless in front of his mother. Baenre was satisfied with this for now and sat back down. The room remained quiet and motionless for many minutes. Dantrag grew restless and looked up at his mother. She gave him a very expectant look. Dantrag took this to mean, What are you still doing here? and began to rise. Where are you going? Baenre asked coldly. Dantrag did not know what to say. I thought that- Baenre snapped her whip above her son's head, and he shut up. Why do males have to be so stupid, she asked herself, though loud enough for Dantrag to hear. Yes, why? Khazid'hea echoed. Dantrag did not need the distraction as he tried to think what he was forgetting. He had no idea. Baenre realized they would be here for quite a while if she waited for her stupid son to figure it out. I asked you if you were ready to take on the responsibilities of being weapon master of this house. You said 'yes,' which implies that you have completed the task that I had previously given to you. Triel smiled broadly at Dantrag's confusion as he looked up at his mother. The sight of his grinning sister reminded him of the last time he had seen her, and then it hit him. I have discovered Jarlnian Del'Axle's identity. Triel stopped smiling at this. She had assumed her brother had failed and was looking forward to another whipping display. You have? Baenre asked. He is a noble, Dantrag said, though not of house Del'Axle. He was stolen from one of the lesser houses in the city. Which one? Dantrag knew the question was coming and dreaded the answer he had to give. I know that it is a house ranked somewhere in the twenties, but I do not know the name. Then you have failed me, Baenre said, preparing her whip. House Del'Axle does not even know the name of the house, Dantrag said quickly. Baenre held her whip in check for now. Explain. I interrogated Krol Del'Axle, the one who conducted the actual theft- You alerted the fourth house as to our investigation! Triel burst out, pulling her own whip to beat her brother. Before she could do anything against him, Matron Baenre put a restraining hand in front of her daughter to stop any attack. Baenre realized, as had Dantrag, that Krol would not be able to tell anyone within his house that he had spilled their secret or his life would be forfeit. Baenre nodded for her son to continue. Dantrag took a brief moment to gloat over his older sister and went on. He told me that he had stolen the child from a lesser house but had kept the name of the house secret to even himself, knowing that there was a potential he would be caught later. Clever, Baenre said, for a male. So you have no way to determine the true house? Dantrag shook his head. If it is still important, I will try to make an inquiry, but since the theft happened so long ago, the evidence will be hard to come by. Don't houses claim nobles from other houses as their own all the time? Only after a house war, and the other side is totally defeated, Baenre explained. Any drow that is not killed, including nobles, are absorbed by the victorious house. House Del'Axle has not conducted a house battle in a very long time. Did you not go to Gromph as I suggested? Triel asked. Yes, Dantrag responded, but he was unable to help me. Explain, Baenre demanded. Dantrag did as he was told. He explained how he had gone to Gromph and explained Matron Baenre's concern. They had collected a sample of Jarl's blood and then summoned the imp. After the time determined, they called it back. We learned that he was a noble, but after that the imp told only lies. Baenre was not convinced. She knew about the spell Gromph must have used and that her oldest son was a powerful mage. A simple imp should not have been able to refuse them. What kind of lies? Dantrag tried to think back. We asked what his true name was, but the imp cursed us. What did it say exactly? Baenre asked again, growing frustrated. It had been over a year now, and Dantrag had worked hard to forget what the imp had said the moment he had left his brother's summoning room. He had thought it all to be worthless. It did not come back to recollection that easily. Baenre became frustrated and muttered about how stupid males were again. This time she did something about it and cast a spell on her son. Suddenly Dantrag's memory became an open book and the incident in Gromph's chambers seemed to have taken place only seconds ago. We asked what his true name was, and the creature responded, 'Iblith.' It went on to say, 'Yes, you stupid males. The child was born under the name Iblith. Do you not know that is how Lloth views all males? You are nothing more than excrement.' I don't see how that was a lie, Triel said, smiling at her brother. Baenre cast a nasty look at her oldest daughter, and Triel wisely shut up. Baenre also thought they were not lies, though she believed they went further than just insulting her sons. She knew that if Gromph had cast the spell properly they could not be lies. The only thing that made sense, though, was something that she did not even want to contemplate. Continue, she bade her son before her memory-enhancing spell wore out. Dantrag nodded, easily pulling out the next piece of the conversation from his memory. The imp turned his attention to me and continued. 'Matron Baenre believes this too. She thinks of all of her male children as offal, as iblith. She has even secretly named one of her sons such.' This last comment caught Triel's attention, and she was filled with dread at the possibility. She was recalling a sacrifice she and her sisters had made some 31 years ago. Dantrag could tell that his story had some hidden meaning to the two females, and he continued. We asked again for the true house, but the imp said that it had already told us. Gromph told me that he lost control of the imp at this point, and I rushed into the circle to extract the information manually. The imp cried out several different houses that it knew I knew could not possibly be the real ones before looking me in the face and saying that Jarlnian was my brother, and his name was Iblith Baenre. Dantrag had finished his story and the memory spell expired. As you can see, Dantrag said, all lies. Neither of the females was listening to him now, but they were trying to fathom the only possibility that presented itself. How old is Jarlnian? Triel asked. Dantrag thought briefly. He graduated last year, so he just completed the first year of his fourth decade. He's 31. A very intense shudder went down Matron Baenre's spine, and her mind went racing. How could House Del'Axle have pulled off such a theft and kept it hidden from her for all these years? Dantrag could see something was terribly wrong, but had no idea what. What is it? You are excused, Baenre said. You have completed your task and are now weapon master of this house. But, what- Matron Baenre cast him a sideways glance, and Dantrag was gone from the room within two seconds. She turned her attention back to her daughter. What are we going to do? Triel asked. For the first time in her life, Baenre did not have the answer. I don't know. But we will do something.

Part IV Chaos

Lloth is the goddess of Chaos. By most drow's standards, my time in Menzoberranzan was very short. For me, it was far too long. I saw things there that no one should ever have to see or even hear about. As appalled as I was, I often think back to it when the subject of chaos comes up. What went on in that cursed city was not really chaos in the truest sense of the word. Chaos is the unpredictable nature of the universe. Weather is perhaps the best example of this. As good as the sailors and pirates along the Sword Coast are at predicting the weather, they are still caught unawares as storms roll in from out of nowhere. Blizzards in the north and sandstorms in the south pop up without warning and leave just as quickly. It should be noted that this type of chaos does not exist in the underdark. There is no weather or even modest temperature changes in the dark realm of my people. Any normality this should inspire is thrown to the wind, which also doesn't exist. True chaos is unpredictable and uncontrollable. No one can harness it and to approach its understanding would be to approach god-hood. Surely the events in Menzoberranzan catch most off guard, to say the least. Doomed houses have no idea their fate is only hours away as they go about their daily business. The magic of the Lloth Priestesses is also very unpredictable. They might summon a powerful creature from the abyss to help them in battle only to have the hell-spawn turn on them without provocation. As wild and unpredictable as life in Menzoberranzan can be, it is not true chaos. Someone is always pulling the strings. Whether that someone is Matron Baenre, Jarlaxle, or even myself at times, someone always knows what is going on and what the outcome will be. The drow practice organized chaos. I feel this is the main reason why my people will not survive. Everyone is practicing deceit and betrayal because that is what their deity requires of them. Some are better than others, and they survive. The weak are eliminated. The problem with this life style is that when the weakest house is destroyed, there is always another house waiting to take its place. With as often as they kill each other and as infrequently as they reproduce, the drow can not survive. Does this sadden me? Not really. On one hand I realize that there could be more like me. How many other drow have lived like Zaknafein, fighting against the system hoping to make a difference? How many other drow have redeemable qualities? I will cast my vote for, Not many. Still there is a corner of my heart that wishes a few drow will survive. Drow are a beautiful race. Maybe as they near extinction they will see the folly of their ways and will seek to change themselves. Until that time comes, and I believe it will come, though long after I am gone, they will continue to kill themselves and live in their organized chaos.

- Drizzt Do'Urden

Chapter 19 Spies Like Us

A battle is coming. We need to be prepared. We need more information. The two creatures conversed mentally, as easy as one might breath. They did not so much project their thoughts to each other as they shared them. They belonged to a community of other mentally linked creatures and at any time, anywhere within their cavern, they could communicate with each other as if they were all of the same mind. That was actually not far from the truth. They were illithids. Which race will strike first? The gnomes care nothing for us and are only after the ore. We would be initiating any fight with them. We do not need more slaves at the moment. We would be wise to avoid conflict. Agreed. There was no room for debate within the illithid community. Each answer to each question was derived from their collected knowledge and no further debate was necessary. The questions were only asked to bring a structure to their thought pattern. And what of the drow? The drow concern us. We do not know of their true mission. Revenge? Conquest? The ore? We do not know. Lloth leads them in such a way that it defies structured thought or reason. The illithids had several dozen drow as slaves. They had obtained them a decade ago, and after ten years of scrutiny, they had learned little of the evil race. In order to analyze their thought patterns and motivations, too much of the drow's psyche had to be given back to them and they reacted violently to the illithids around them. After several failed attempts at gaining any knowledge of the drow's way of life, the illithids had decided to keep their valuable slaves in a state of mindless servitude. Any other race would say that illithids were the most hideous and evil race in all the realms. Illithids did not see themselves that way. They killed out of convenience and ignorance. To them, if another creature blocked a passage, it was just simpler to kill them than to ask them to move. As far as manual labor, it made more sense to acquire slaves to do the work for them. As a result, illithids had developed a very impressive superiority complex that was second to none. They lived like kings within their own cavern. The other races stayed clear, and if they did not, they ended up as slaves, working the gardens, herding the cattle, or fighting and dying for entertainment. As little as illithids respected the other races, they held drow in a special place in their consciousness. Though their current drow had been captured during a pathetic attempt at an attack, several illithids had lost their lives, and the telepathic creatures could tell that the drow they defeated were not very powerful by drow standards. Now some of their advanced scouts had detected more drow movement within the tunnels around the cavern and the time for another battle might soon be at hand. Will this fight go as well as the last one? If we can assume that they will learn from their mistakes, then no. If they have the ability to understand why they lost before, might it also stand to reason that they would not be so foolish to attack again? Since the drow were all united in Lloth, the illithids assumed that meant they shared a consciousness similar to their own. What happened to one, was experienced by all. If that were the case, these new drow would know exactly how badly the last fight against the illithids had gone. This misunderstanding of how drow lived only bolstered the fact that they needed to gain more information about their dangerous neighbors. Perhaps if House Del'Axle did know the full extent of the last battle and how thoroughly the lesser houses had been annihilated, they would not even bother thinking about a second attack. Instead, both Jarlnian and Krol were scouting around the edges of the illithid cavern. Every time they drew near, they could feel the pressing of the illithid's mind probes. They were still a mile away, but the probes were strong. The ruby red headband that Jarl wore throbbed against the powerful probe each time he ventured too close, and the cautious drow backed away. Matron Reinela had told him the magical headband would protect him against mental intrusion, but he saw very quickly that it would not stand up to the illithids if pressed too far. It was more of a warning device right now, and Jarl was quick to heed its warnings. Two more drow approach. Is the time for battle at hand? We sense only two. They are probably just gathering information again. Drow had been scouting the tunnels around the cavern off and on for the past decade, never showing themselves visibly, but they were as obvious to the illithids as if they had been carrying torches. This type of superiority usually inspired confidence within the illithids, but some dissention within the common mind had kept them from acting against the scouts. They needed information not more slaves. The type of scouting the drow were doing made no sense to the illithids. The mind flayers needed no scouting. They kept advanced guards at the edge of their cavern to warn of intruders, but scouting was not necessary. When a battle came, they simply consumed the first attackers in a mental barrage and instantly knew their enemies' entire battle plan. The community reacted accordingly and could easily repel the best planned attack. Perhaps we should be investigating them more closely. No illithid has ever been within the drow city. What is the need? The drow should not be underestimated. Knowledge of our enemy will only strengthen our position. The individuality of the second illithid rose up briefly, but was quickly put to rest. It knew what the community wanted. I shall go with them, it said. The use of singular personal pronouns was not common within the illithid community, but there were times when it became necessary. Illithids often sent individuals outside of the community to gain information about a particular race or magical item when its presence or power was made known to the mind flayers. This particular community had not yet attempted such an effort, but the central brain had the ability to temporarily link up with other illithid communities and knew the procedures. The other illithid communities were excited - well, as excited as the emotionless race ever got - at the idea of sending one of their own to live with the drow to gain information. Not only would this scouting effort increase the knowledge of this community, but all illithids everywhere would gain from the expedition. It was necessary to give the illithid scout a name. Though it was over a century old, it had never been given one. It was now, though very little effort was made to make it pronounceable. The name was more a thought pattern than anything verbal. The illithids would learn from this mistake quite quickly. Jarl was getting frustrated. He had scouted around the cavern for over an hour now. The cavern itself was not even a mile across, but because he could not get any closer than a mile without feeling the mental intrusion of the mind flayer community, and only then when the tunnels came that close, the circuit he walked was much larger. Krol was beside his brother, and even though he had been one of the best scouts in the city for about ten times as long as Jarl had been alive, he yielded to his brother on this trip. He could feel the mental intrusions as well, but unlike Jarl, he had not connected with his magical headband in the same way, and could not use it to fight back. He saw magical items as having power within themselves, and did not understand how to prod them further. Instead, each time they drew near to the cavern, he grew dizzy and nearly lost consciousness. Is it always this way? Jarl asked, using the hand code. This was his first trip out to the cavern while Krol had been here countless times. No, Krol replied. I never get this close. Krol had gotten almost all his information from scouting the lesser houses that had foolishly attacked the compound. He also had an acquaintance within the svirfnebli. The deep gnomes were able listen to the stone, and even at this great distance were able to map out the entire illithid cavern down to the last stalagmite. Alliances between the two feuding races were not common, but Krol made it worth the gnome's trouble, offering him plenty of precious stones and also promised that he and his companions would have access to the ore once the Del'Axles defeated the illithids. If Matron Reinela had known about this, Krol would be on an altar faster than he could think. That was why he never planned on telling his mother how he had gathered his information. This close? Jarl repeated, sarcasm dripping off his fingers. You have given Matron Reinela maps of the compound. Have you been lying? I have been resourceful, was all he said in response. Jarl decided not to press the point. Instead he saw that the tunnel ahead branched back toward the illithid compound. As pointless as it seemed, Jarl was determined to prod every possible point in the cavern's perimeter. The two started slowly down the new tunnel, carefully feeling out for the mental shield that surrounded the cavern. It was not there. Jarl was sure they had passed the point at which they had been turned aside every time before, but his mind stayed clear and unhindered. Tapping into his magical headband, he slowly reversed the enchantment on it, reaching out with it down the tunnel. After several agonizing moments, he finally felt the presence of the mind flayers and quickly snapped his mental block back in place. They are ahead, maybe another half mile, Jarl said. Could this be a breach in their defenses? Jarl nodded to his brother, but inwardly he doubted it. This tunnel was not huge, but was big enough that it would be hard for the illithids to miss. That they had left this avenue wide open scared Jarl more than it brought him confidence. Still, he led Krol forward slowly. The two actually saw a few goblin slaves before they ever felt the illithid barrier. Jarl brought the two of them to a halt. He did not want to press this opening. If it truly was a breach in their defenses, alerting the illithids to their presence would only close this opening, leaving House Del'Axle no point of attack in the future. The goblins were busy gathering rocks. It looked like a pretty pointless task, but Jarl had seen House Del'Axle slaves dig holes and then fill them up again. The main thing was to keep them busy so they could not think about how they could not think about anything. Further past the goblins, deeper into the cavern a few drow were visible. There were four of them on their hands and knees tending to a moss bed in which a few edible plants grew. Jarl could hear Krol growl quietly behind him. The same instinctual reaction at seeing their kind at such degrading work rose up in Jarl, but he put it down easily. Rushing in blindly now would gain nothing. It is a disgrace, Krol said quietly. And what do you want to do about it? Jarl asked back. We can not free them by ourselves. All we can do is observe what goes on and report back to Matron Reinela. If we could free even one of the slaves, we might be able to get invaluable information from him. Jarl agreed, but unless one of the slaves presented themselves to the pair, there was no way to sneak in undetected. A noise from behind brought both brothers to attention, and they turned to see a goblin approach from down the tunnel. How this creature had wandered so far away from the compound that it could have looped in around the drow, was something neither could understand. What they did understand, was that if the goblin got any closer, he would definitely see them. In reality, the goblin was under full control of the illithids and only saw what he was told to see. The pitiful creature would walk straight through a fire if the illithids did not tell him to turn. Not only that, but attacking the creature would alert the illithids as to their presence when the mental link with the goblin was broken. Krol did not know this, and as he leaped form his hiding place, driving his sword through the chest of the goblin, Jarl wondered about the prudence of such an action. The goblin did not react in any other way then to fall dead, dropping his armful of rocks on the ground before him. Krol stood over the dead goblin grinning at his actions as if the task had been a difficult one. More noise from down the tunnel, back the way they had come, brought him to attention. Two more goblins came, arms full with rocks. Krol wanted to attack again, but Jarl caught his attention first. The two goblins walked past them without once giving either drow a first glance. Then came three more goblins. How did they remain under the illithids' control so far from the cavern? Krol asked. I don't kn- Jarl started but cut his response short as they both felt the mental intrusion approaching. A dozen more goblins came into view down the tunnel and behind them walked two illithids. As soon as the mind flayers saw the drow, the goblins leaped into action. What had been armfuls of useless rocks, now turned into armfuls of useful projectiles. Both Del'Axles danced around as they charged their opponents amidst the hail of rocks. Goblins fell faster than could be counted, and the illithids did nothing but watch. Krol finished off the last one of the pathetic creatures, and turned to the closer of the two illithids. The creature was franticly waiving its arms in front of its body as if the soft limbs would be able to repel Krol's weapon. With hesitation at first, knowing the reputation of the powerful race, Krol went through a few attack routines, but after he had severed both arms, and no counter attack was forth coming, he thrust his blade into the creature's heart. It emitted a painful cry and fell dead. Jarl was next to Krol now and held him back before he could attack the second illithid. Please, the illithid said in a very watery voice that sounded nothing like the creature Krol had just killed. Please do not kill me. The two drow could barely understand the mind flayer's voice, but they understood the meaning behind it. The illithids had taken the time in the past to listen to the pleadings of the races they enslaved, and knew how it was done. I surrender. Please do not kill me. Krol smiled. Jarl frowned. He had never faced, or even seen, an illithid before, but from everything he had read and the mental shield he had just skirted, he knew these creatures were supposed to be powerful beyond reason. But as much as he wanted to doubt the genuineness of this situation, he could not help but feel that the illithid in front of them really was helpless. It stood six feet tall but did not seem to have one muscle on its body. It wore only a slight tunic, with no weapon visible. Its spindly four-fingered hand looked far too weak to even hold a weapon. Its skeletal structure seemed only strong enough to support its frame, and added no extra strength to the creature. The four thick tentacles emerging from its face seemed formidable, but after facing an six-headed high priestess whip, Jarl was not worried. If it were not for this creature's famed mental attacks it would be quite pathetic. Those mental attacks were nowhere to be found right now, and it worried Jarl more than a little. Krol was eager to kill it, but Jarl continued to hold him back. Maybe there was something special about this tunnel. There was no mental barrier here. Perhaps the illithid's mind powers did not work here. Then how did these two illithids control the goblin slaves? The illithid could feel the hesitation within Jarl and was worried the drow would not accept his surrender. It got down on its knees, so its taller frame did not intimidate the shorter dark elves. Please, do not kill me. I will be your slave. This caught the attention of both drow. As Krol questioned the illithid as to his potential loyalty, Jarl became even more concerned. Any race that kept slaves knew what it meant to be one and should want nothing to do with it. Jarl knew how drow kept slaves and would kill himself before he ever accepted such a fate. The illithids' entire society was based on slaves. This creature should be begging for a blade right now, knowing what lay in store for it if it was taken captive. What is your name? Krol asked. Methilxctreququestrinptriaz, the illithid responded, using the name that had been given to it. Krol nearly fell over. What? Methilxctrequques- Methil is good enough, Jarl cut in. He still did not like this situation, but he understood that the illithid wanted to come with them. If the creature was really as powerful as legend suggested, it would not need to set a trap to kill the two drow. If it wanted just to infiltrate the city and then wreak havoc, Jarl would like to see it try. On the other hand, if it really was helpless, Matron Reinela would be quite pleased with the slave. What better way to get information about the illithid compound than to interrogate an illithid? Even with as powerful as illithids were supposed to be, Jarl doubted the strongest of that race would be able to stand up against the seven Del'Axle high priestesses. Krol tied a leather strap around the creature's wrists to secure them, almost breaking the thin appendages in the process. Krol gave several instructions to Methil as he lead the creature back down the tunnel away from the illithid compound. Jarl gave one last look at the carnage they had left behind, taking special notice of the dead illithid, remembering the very clear cry it had given. Jarl shrugged and turned to follow his brother. Behind, the dead illithid slowly changed back into the form of a particularly tall kobold. Methil dropped the illusion as soon as it felt that Jarl was no longer looking. In the main cavern, the goblins that had been collecting rocks now moved to collect the dead bodies in the nearby tunnel. The illithids had watched the whole encounter through the eyes of Methil and were pleased.

* * * * *

Krol, Jarl, and Methil all stood in front of Matron Reinela. Lillium and Goria were there as well, and the two eldest daughters wrinkled their faces in disgust at the hideous mind flayer before them. He came willingly? Matron Reinela asked after Krol had relayed what had happened. In the telling of the tale, the scout tried to spice it up as much as possible, but he began to realize exactly how easy the capture had been and wondered if they had not made a huge mistake. The memory of him standing in front of the same trio with a different gift ran through his mind. When he had stolen the Baenre child from the spider web, it had seemed like a very good idea at the time, but each day since, he constantly wondered how he could have been that stupid. Trenian had died that day, some 31 years ago. Now if his mother and sisters decided to kill one of the noble sons for their foolish actions, Krol had a bad feeling they would not be disposing of Jarl. We had him outnumbered, Krol tried to explain. If he attacked one of us, the other would be able to strike him down. He must have known this and surrendered. The two daughters in the room restrained their laughter with rude coughs. Matron Reinela was not so amused. Still, she realized that this was not the same type of situation as before when her sons had stolen the Baenre child. If the illithids decided to attack their house, the entire city would stand against the mind flayers. As far as this solitary illithid, Matron Reinela did not fear it. Why did you allow yourself to be captured? she asked Methil directly. Your sons over-power- it started to transmit mentally, realizing that the powerful high priestess would be able to receive the mental communication. Matron Reinela shook her head, violently casting the illithid out of her mind. Speak aloud at all times! she demanded. Methil had not forcibly entered her mind, but the mind flayer was still surprised at how easily the drow had closed off her consciousness. Your sons over-powered me, Methil spoke. The watery voice was far more disturbing than the mental intrusion had been, but Matron Reinela preferred it. She did not like what had been said, however. You can read my mind, Reinela said bluntly. You know I do not believe you. You could have easily enslaved both of my sons, yet instead, you allowed yourself to be captured. Why? Why am I still alive? The personal pronouns still did not seem natural. If you believe my surrender was insincere, why have you not yet killed me? We will ask the questions! Lillium shouted, her whip out and ready to attack. Reinela motioned for her daughter to be quiet. She had not killed this illithid because she wanted information. She wanted to learn more about the strengths and weaknesses of the mysterious race. She quickly realized this was the same reason that Methil had not killed Krol and Jarlnian. The illithid wanted information as well. This type of speech was not common for Methil. Illithids were used to very straightforward reasoning and simple statements. All of this double talk and trickery was an attempt to fit in with what Reinela and the other drow in the room were emanating. Methil also wished to test the matron mother. She passed. You wish to learn about our people, Matron Reinela said aloud for the other three in the room that had not figured this out on their own. Jarl had figured it out a long time ago. We crave knowledge, Methil responded. The drow have lived near us for as long as we can remember, but you are far more complex than the goblins, kobolds, or even the gnomes. This worries us. Matron Reinela nodded. Very well, she said to the surprise of all in the room. Was their matron mother actually going to allow a spy to remain within their house? You shall stay by my side, and I shall learn from you all that I wish about your race. In exchange- Methil started, finishing the deal. In exchange you shall live! she cut the illithid off. Though she had very little experience reading the facial expressions of the ugly mind flayers, she could tell this one was not happy. This was not a typical drow male that she could intimidate. You will also perform tasks for me, she continued, putting to use your powerful skills. Methil was growing more restless by the second. This city of ours is one of chaos, Reinela went on. Information is the most valuable commodity, out-shining mithril and adamntium by leaps and bounds. To know what your enemy is thinking is the ultimate goal of every matron mother within this city. With you hiding in the shadows, I shall have the upper hand with everyone I talk to. In the process, you shall gain a very intimate knowledge of the way our city works. You will come to understand our motivations and desires better than we do ourselves. Methil had been prepared to loose a considerable blast of energy at the pompous matron and make an escape, but this new piece of information brought pause to the illithid. With the mental link maintained with the elder brain back in the illithid cavern, the other mind flayers listening in on the conversation agreed with the proposal. Very well, Methil agreed. Your offer is a generous one. I'm glad we could agree on this, Reinela smiled. Please let my two daughters know of your physical needs, and we shall have a room prepared for you. With that, Reinela dismissed her two sons. Krol's head was spinning. No matter how many times he saw his mother at work, turning his blunders into gold, he was still amazed every time she did it. Jarl was just happy to be living within a house that was so well led. He was quite confident they would prosper for a long time to come.

Chapter 20 What to do?

Inside the Baenre compound, a large, little used room was filled to capacity. Matron Baenre had gathered all of her children together to discuss the implications of what they had discovered. House Del'Axle had stolen one of their noble sons and claimed him for their own. Not only that, but they had stolen him during one of the most sacred of drow ceremonies, Hakia-Corus, the act of sacrificing a third born son. All of the nobles of House Baenre had been gathered but one. Vendes was the youngest of the Baenre nobles, conceived on the very night the theft of Iblith Baenre had taken place. She was currently attending Arach Tinilith, still a long ways from graduating and then even further from becoming a high priestess and an official member of the family. The other ten daughters sat around a very long table with their mother at the head. Many of them had left important responsibilities within the city and the house to attend this meeting. Dantrag and Gromph were there too. They sat at the far end of the table. They were well aware of their position in the house, and though both of them thought of themselves as powerful and knowledgeable, neither one expected to do any talking during this meaning. Baenre had instructed them to come only because she knew that in whatever action they might take, the house's chief wizard and weapon master would probably play large roles. You all know why we are here, Matron Baenre started. Our house has been disgraced and humiliated in Lloth's eyes. House Del'Axle has made a grave error. How are they still in the Spider Queen's favor? one of the daughters asked. For that matter, how are we still in her favor? Sos'Umptu answered this question. On the night in question, Trenian Del'Axle, third born son of Matron Reinela, was given to Lloth in Iblith's place. Under direct order from Matron Baenre, Jarlnian was only to be referred to by his rightly given name. Our house promised to give Lloth a third born son, and that gift was given. Lloth returned her blessing to our Matron Mother by giving her yet another daughter. Then should we pursue this matter further? another daughter asked. If Lloth received our gift, what care is it of ours that House Del'Axle has a new male. He was dead to us anyw- Baenre stood suddenly and slammed the table. They stole from us!!! Her face was a beet red, and the daughter who had just spoke nearly fainted dead away. Dantrag watched with interest from the end of the table. He had struggled with the idea of pride quite a bit in recent weeks, and he felt he had brought it under control. Apparently his mother still had a long way to go. They stole from us during a sacred sacrifice, she continued. Though I was blessed for the fulfillment of our promise, House Del'Axle stole the majority of our glory by completing the act. Neither house slighted the Spider Queen, but that does not mean she does not still wish us to take vengeance on the offending house. Should we bring it before the council? They will not give us justice, Triel responded. They will not condemn a house over just one male, and since no crime against the Spider Queen was committed, they will not take any action against House Del'Axle. Bringing it before the council would only alert our enemies as to our intentions. Then we must act on our own. House Del'Axle will not even be able to formulate an idea of retreat before they are destroyed. Baenre was seated again and calm, or as calm as she would ever be. No, she shook her head. We can not take direct action against another house in the city. The council would unite against us. We are more powerful then the next three houses in line combined. We can wipe out any house we choose. They all know this, but they do not act against us because we have not used that power against them. As soon as they feel they are in danger, they will unite the entire city against us. Then we shall do it in secret. Triel was shocked at the naivete of her sister. They will know. The whole city will know. There is not one house execution that takes place in this city that the ruling council is not aware of. Though no evidence is left, nothing can be hidden from a high priestess of Lloth, and the city will know we were responsible. Then we can get another house to do it for us, another daughter suggested. Houses DeVir, Faen Tlabbar, and Hun'ett all wish to see the fourth house removed from in front of them. If we should give them a nudge, or just wait a few decades and do nothing, they will likely take out House Del'Axle for us. Baenre was on the edge of fury again. We are the first house of Menzoberranzan, likely the most powerful drow house in the underdark. We do not rely on lesser houses to do our killing for us. The 5th, 6th, and 7th houses all have too much to gain. Though House Del'Axle might fall to one of them, it will not be for their crime against us, but because the killing house wanted to improve its standing. Then what can we do? a frustrated daughter cried out. We can not go to the council with out problem, we can not attack directly, and we can not use another house. What other options do we have? Thus the reason for this meeting, Baenre said solemnly. The daughters around the table suddenly came to attention. In every other such instance, their mother had gathered them together to tell them what they were supposed to do. This was different. Matron Baenre did not know what to do and was turning to her family for assistance. Then we must attack them indirectly, a daughter said. We can hit them with a plague or a disease. She looked at the other ten high priestesses sitting around the table. We have the ability to wipe them out without ever leaving our compound. Don't forget House Del'Axle boasts the second most high priestesses in the city with seven, Baenre countered. They are in Lloth's favor, and while we would probably overwhelm them, they will know of their attackers and will warn the rest of the city before the task is done. What if we use one of the lesser races? House Del'Axle does not posses many soldiers. We could over-run them with orcs or trolls. Our house will not be represented by colnbluth, Baenre said, using the drow word for anything that was not drow. She did not need to elaborate on this point. A cave in, then, came another suggestion. House Del'Axle has several stalactites hanging above their compound. With the right combination of spells, we could wipe them out in a heartbeat. That is too impersonal, Baenre replied. I want Reinela to not only know who her executioners are, but also the reason for it. She must not feel that she was sent to Lloth by mere chance. Everyone at the table was getting frustrated now. It seemed that Baenre's eagerness to punish the fourth house was only matched by her unwillingness to accept any of their proposals. If we can not use a ranked house because of their own potential gain, what about a lesser house. We could make an attack through them, bolstering their house with our own fighters. No lesser house could perform the task, Baenre said. Even Houses DeVir, Faen Tlabbar, and Hun'ett, though capable, would have a hard time talking down the fourth house. The lesser house would not have to take it down, the daughter argued. They would not even have to have much representation during the fight. All they would need is to be present. We would do the fighting and they would take the credit. I heard you the first time, Baenre said curtly. What I said is that no lesser house could perform the attack. If we want the city to believe that we played no part in it and this lesser house committed the act on their own, then it would first have to be believable that they could do it. No house outside of the council is capable. House Do'Urden. All heads turned toward the end of the table. Dantrag even looked about for the speaker until he realized it was he. Actually it had been Khazid'hea speaking through Dantrag. Dantrag cursed his carelessness with regard to controlling the powerful weapon and fully expected to be punished for his outburst. Instead of lashing out at her son from across the vast table, Baenre looked at him with interest. If you have something to say, say it. Dantrag was quickly trying to think of someway he could explain his breach of protocol, but instead, he began to listen to his sword. It was actually making some good points. House Do'Urden could succeed against House Del'Axle. Though Matron Baenre was the chief matron of the city, she did not care about the lesser houses and had no idea what rank this house held or anything else about it. She motioned for Dantrag to continue. House Do'Urden is the thirteenth house in the city, though it has as many fighters as any house between them and Del'Axle. Their high rank is rooted in the fact that they only have two high priestesses, Matron Vartha, and her daughter, a recent graduate from Arach-Tinilith, Malice Do'Urden. And why should this house be willing to go into battle against the fourth house? one of Dantrag's sisters mocked. Because we will tell them to, Dantrag responded. It was a disrespectful answer, but it played well into Matron Baenre's already inflated ego. He was right. What house would dare oppose the wishes of House Baenre? Dantrag knew the answer was not good enough, but he was only now working out the whole scenario in his head. They are a strong house, but their lack of high priestesses has kept them from advancing. They will fight with us, for they shall be able to absorb any priestesses from the fourth house once it is defeated. If there are any left, Matron Baenre grinned. But the rest of the city must believe them capable? Triel pressed. They could do it, Dantrag said. House Do'Urden not only has as many fighters as any house below them, but they are skilled as well. They just recently graduated a student from the Academy that was the best Melee-Magthere has seen in many years. Khazid'hea grunted at this comment, but it knew Dantrag did not really believe it. All they are lacking is more high priestesses. The easiest way to solve that problem is to conquer another house and take them. House Del'Axle is the weakest house with the most high priestesses. I'm actually surprised House Do'Urden hasn't thought of this already. So we are to turn the thirteenth house into a juggernaut? Not even remotely, Dantrag almost laughed at his sister. We will be conducting the actual fighting. You all, he motioned to his sisters around the table, will assault the Del'Axle high priestesses, exacting the justice our Matron Mother demands, while I will lead our troops against the pathetic fighters of the fourth house, using the Do'Urden soldiers only as fodder. There will be no high priestesses remaining for them to claim, they will take great losses in the actual battle, and any Del'Axle soldiers that join their house will only make them weaker. Triel was now warming to the idea too, despite the fact that Dantrag had proposed it. Besides, even if House Do'Urden does gain in strength, how long do you think they will last? They will be twelfth, but capable of taking out any house below them, up to, and perhaps including, the third house in the city. They will be removed out of fear, and our secret involvement with the fall of House Del'Axle will die with them. Matron Baenre liked the idea a lot. She was already working on how she would present the task to Matron Vartha Do'Urden. She did not care enough about her son and his exploits to know about Zaknafein or the rivalry between the Do'Urden fighter and her own son. Even if she did, she would have cared little. Hanging from Dantrag's belt, the demon head on the hilt of Khazid'hea smiled. It would make sure that Dantrag and Zaknafein had a chance to fight in the upcoming battle. It cared little who won, all it wanted was to be wielded by the winner, whoever that might be.

* * * * *

Matron Vartha and Malice sat in the Do'Urden audience chamber discussing the matters of the house when the house's page entered. He was only twelve years old, and was going through the training that all males of the house went through. This was the first time he had ever been in this chamber and the first time he had ever had to speak with either of the two powerful females. He did not speak now either, and respectfully kept his eyes on the floor. What is it? Vartha asked, annoyed that the boy would interrupt them, but also knowing that he had most likely been commanded to come here by someone else. I have been sent to inform you that we have a visitor from House Baenre who wishes to speak with you, Matron Mother. Malice and Vartha exchanged curious glances as the page continued to stare at the floor. I told you that the conflict between Zaknafein and Dantrag would turn into something more substantial, Malice said. Vartha shook her head, though she could think of no other reason for the visit. She turned back to the page. Show the messenger to this chamber and be quick about it. Do not keep him waiting. The page began to bolt out of the room, but hesitated at Vartha's last comment. What is a matter child? Is your hearing bad? Malice prepared her whip. It had been so long since she had beaten a male. I beg your forgiveness, Matron Mother, the page said humbly. You referred to the messenger as a 'him.' The messenger is in fact a high priestess. Go doubly fast then, boy! Vartha cried. The page was gone in a flash. A high priestess? Malice asked. It was not common for them to be used as simple messengers. It was not even common for them to leave the house for any reason. Zaknafein has really gotten us into trouble now. Vartha again had no response, but still had a problem believing all this was over a male. Triel Baenre walked into the audience chamber a short while later, sending even bigger shock waves through the two Do'Urden females. Triel was the first born of Matron Baenre. Next to the Head Mistress of Arach Tinilith, a title Triel would eventually have if she did not inherit house Baenre first, this high priestess was the most powerful non-matron mother in the city. It is an honor to speak to speak with you, Matron Vartha, Triel said graciously, bowing low. Vartha felt very uncomfortable. While she and Triel were the same age, the matron mother had nowhere near the same power or prestige as her visitor. Vartha should be bowing to Triel. She was not about to say this though. Thank you, Triel. What brings the first house of our great city to my house this day? My Matron Mother would like me to invite you to our house. Matron Baenre is looking forward to speaking with you on matters of great importance that will strengthen both of our houses. What are these matters? Vartha asked. Triel just smiled. I'm afraid I am just a simple messenger. My Matron Mother did not elaborate further. She said only that she wishes to speak with you as soon as possible. Also she thought it would be best if you made your trip to our house as quietly as possible. With that, Triel bowed again and showed herself out. A simple messenger, Malice echoed in a less than respectful tone. A simple trap setter is more like it. Baenre has plans to ruin us! Vartha shook her head. I know your thoughts on this matter, but I disagree with you. Baenre has no reason to cause me or my house harm. If Zaknafein has dishonored their secondboy in some way, then I trust Matron Baenre to allow her son to handle it by himself and not bring the females of the houses involved. Then what else could it be? Malice paced back and forth in front of her mother's throne. Matron Baenre does not make social calls, and she does not send her first born daughter to deliver simple messages. If she had sent a male to deliver the message, would you be this paranoid? Vartha asked. Malice was about to snap back a response, but she remembered her place. She also realized her mother was right. Vartha had to accept this invitation. She could not ignore Triel like she could have ignored a common male. I will see what Matron Baenre wants. If it is about Zaknafein, I will hand him over without complaint. If it is something else, I will do what is best for this house. You should not worry about it. Malice stopped her pacing just long enough to bow toward her mother and then left the room. Lloth let me live a while longer, Vartha prayed quietly as her daughter exited. I fear Malice is not ready to be a matron mother.

Chapter 21 Battle Plans

Vartha Do'Urden had never been within the Baenre compound before and any fantasies that she might have held about rising to prominence within the city to challenge the top house fled in a heartbeat. The shear size of the compound alone dwarfed anything Vartha could have imagined, but beyond the size, each portion was decorated with intricate statues and thousands of magical lights. It was unclear if the purpose for such a display was an effort to please the Spider Queen or to intimidate visitors such as herself. If Vartha was supposed to be intimidated, it worked very well. Despite her discomfort, everyone within the house treated her with respect and honor. It seemed that all had been told of her visit, and each drow she passed bowed deeply and averted their eyes. Two powerful drow males had met her at the gate of the house, and they escorted her through the compound. It seemed to Vartha that they were taking a round about trip to get to where they were going, but again, she assumed it was just to show off the size and splendor of their house. They finally arrived at the Baenre chapel, and Vartha realized that the process of intimidating her had only just begun. The chapel was the most prominent structure within the compound, even more so than the dormitories that housed the thousand common soldiers. The male escorts were not allowed within the chapel, and merely pointed toward the main entrance. Vartha understood and entered through the vaunted double doors. Matron Baenre waited within the chapel, sitting just in front of the central altar. The holographic image of a drow female morphing into a spider and back again dominated the area under the huge dome, but it by no means was the only extravagant decoration within the chapel. Baenre looked small and weak amidst the glory of her chapel, but Vartha was quick to remember that this glory and splendor came from the withered matron and only reflected her power, doing nothing to diminish it. I hope my escorts treated you with respect and showed you here in a prompt fashion, Baenre said as a greeting. Vartha nodded. If they displeased you in any way- They performed well, and I was impressed with them, Vartha said quickly. Do you want them? Baenre asked. I can have them escort you home and remain within your house. Vartha did not know how to handle this. She was the matron mother of the thirteenth house. She had no right to be speaking with Matron Baenre as if they were equals, and she definitely had no right to be lavished upon with all the courtesy and honor that the first house insisted on giving her. Vartha shook off that discomfort. Even if she was not supposed to be here, she was, and she would not ruin the experience by feeling inadequate. That would be a welcomed gesture, Vartha replied. Baenre hesitated slightly, not having expected Vartha to accept the offer. Very well, she replied. They will serve you well. I'm sure they will, Vartha agreed, enjoying the fact that she had been able to cause Baenre some discomfort. I am quite interested to discover why I have been invited to your glorious house. Surely Lloth has blest you. The Spider Queen has been kind to us, but it has not come without sacrifice. It has also not come without responsibility. It is one of those responsibilities that has caused me to request your presence. Baenre motioned toward a chair next to her own, and Vartha took it. How much do you know about the houses that have representation on the council? Baenre asked. I know only the houses and their rank, Vartha replied honestly. Though you might not believe it, there is quite a bit of intrigue among houses even at my level, and I am forced to be wary of those around me with little time left to study the ranked houses. Baenre smiled. Perhaps the time for you to worry about the houses around you will soon be over. Baenre enjoyed the look she got from her guest and continued. The fourth house is House Del'Axle. They are a weak house and do not deserve the ranking of fourth. Their presence within the council has kept more deserving houses and matron mothers from their proper place within this city. Our culture demands that the strong triumph over the weak. It is the only way we can survive as a people against all the other races that would strive to destroy us. We need to encourage strength by rewarding it, and eliminate weakness by punishing it. Vartha listened closely, very interested as to where this was going. She had been told that she was not going to have to worry about the houses around her, implying that whatever Baenre had planned, it would strengthen her house. She also realized the veiled threat that went along with that promise: weakness was punished. Lloth has let me know that it is my responsibility as this city's chief matron mother to ensure that the spots on the council are held by the most powerful matrons in the city, representing the most powerful houses in the city. House Del'Axle does not meet these criteria. Matron Reinela Del'Axle and her six daughters are powerful by themselves, but they have squandered that power and have allowed the rest of their house to crumble around them. They must be removed. Is this not a job for the council to take on? Vartha asked. Perhaps, Baenre agreed, but I do not see it that way. Houses DeVir, Faen Tlabbar, and Hun'ett have all been plotting against house Del'Axle, and they all have the means to destroy them, but their time has passed. They should have taken action decades ago, but they have not. Now they no longer deserve the honor of removing the fourth house. Vartha was not an idiot. You would have me lead an attack against house Del'Axle? Surely you understand that while I do have a powerful house for my rank, I can not challenge the fourth house and expect to win. I have not brought this charge to you without offering my own aid. I know that you do not have many daughters. House Del'Axle's strength lie within their high priestesses. While you could easily dispatch their common soldiers, you will not be able to destroy their priestesses. With that my house will offer you aid. Though the Del'Axle priestesses are powerful, my own are even more so, and I have them in much greater number. Why not just attack the fourth house yourself? Vartha asked. You could handle them easily. It is true, but what would the rest of the city think? We could destroy any house within the city. Having such power is a great burden. If the other houses thought that we are willing to use that power against them, they would unite against us and throw the entire city into civil war. We can not be the instigators in this attack. But there has to be another house more capable than us? Vartha pleaded. She enjoyed the compliments she was receiving, but she also knew her house was growing in strength and numbers right now. Having to prepare for battle and taking losses during that battle would greatly weaken her position. Like I said, Baenre repeated, the other ranked houses have had their opportunity and have let it slip by. They no longer deserve the honor. I have asked Lloth for guidance, and she has pointed me toward your house. Baenre wondered what her goddess would think of her comparing receiving information from Dantrag with getting it directly from Lloth. Such a statement, if it had been made with conviction, would be enough to put her outside of the Spider Queen's favor. But House Del'Axle is still in Lloth's favor, are they not? Vartha continued, trying to find an out. To attack them would be to anger the Spider Queen. Both of our houses will be attacking the fourth house. House Baenre will be responsible in the eyes of Lloth. We have brought the duty of destroying the house on ourselves and we will accept the judgement from the Spider Queen for our actions. Our involvement can not be made known to the rest of the city, for reasons I have already explained. You will be responsible for eliminating the fourth in the eyes of the city. Baenre paused to let this sink in. This means that you will receive all of the prestige that goes along with that, such as absorbing any surviving members of the house into your own. Baenre paused again. This includes any surviving priestesses. Baenre smiled as she saw the light go on in Vartha's eyes. Dantrag was clever indeed. Vartha's initial reaction was that of excitement, but she quickly tempered it. The way Baenre laid it out, it really did look like a walk in the park. She knew all about House Del'Axle's fighting ability and her own soldiers would take them out easily. If House Baenre carried out their claim to counter the priestesses within the house, it would be an easy victory. If Baenre's involvement was made known to House Del'Axle early on in the battle, they might surrender quickly, leaving hundreds of drow to be absorbed by House Do'Urden. As good as this all seemed, Vartha's wisdom would not let her look at this blindly. There had to be a catch. There has to be some reason Baenre was involving House Do'Urden. There were dozens of ways to destroy a drow house if you were as strong as House Baenre. Matron Baenre had indeed been presented with those ways already, but she had refused them. Even if there was a catch, even if this was not as sweet as it seamed, what could Vartha do about it? She had just been charged by Matron Baenre to do her bidding. How could she refuse? Very well, Vartha said quietly. House Do'Urden will do its part. Baenre smiled broadly. Lloth will smile upon you. Go now and prepare your house for a fight. The battle will take place within the week. My two escorts will follow you home as promised, and I hope they bolster your forces.

* * * * *

I don't like it. And what would you like? Vartha bit back, looking at her daughter sternly. The only daughter softened considerably. Perhaps you would have liked to have been right. Perhaps you would have preferred Matron Baenre to say that since Zaknafein had dishonored her son, the first house in the city felt obligated to wipe us out. Zaknafein was present in the room, though he did not quite understand why, and stiffened at the mention of his name. He sincerely hoped this meeting was not about him. He looked over at Stiu Alnan, house Do'Urden's weapon master, for advice, and his former teacher just shook his head and returned his eyes forward. Still, Malice continued at a much reduced tone of voice, it is not good for our house. We are being used as a pawn in a feud between the greater houses. Vartha conceded this and nodded. She had just relayed her conversation with Matron Baenre to her daughter and the two males present. She had asked that Stiu Alnan be in attendance because any fighting their soldiers were going to have to do would be organized by the house's weapon master. Zaknafein was there because he would soon become the weapon master and Vartha wanted him to learn. She also held a tiny suspicion that he might have played a role in their house being chosen by Matron Baenre. It is the fact that Matron Baenre wants her house to be responsible for the attack in Lloth's eyes that has me worried, Malice said. This implies that there is some feud between the two house that involves Lloth. The fact that they will not bring it in front of the council implies that it is not legitimate. Legitimate or not, Vartha cut in, it is going to send our house to war, and I want to know what it is. Maybe it is not between Del'Axle and Baenre, Zaknafein spoke up, surprising everyone in the room. He gathered three curious glances and continued. What if the real fight is between Del'Axle and us. Baenre has been brought in by Del'Axle to lull us into a false sense of security. We go to war with Baenre at our side, and then at the critical moment, Baenre steps aside and we are eliminated. Do you know something? Malice asked. Zaknafein shook his head. I merely present it as a possibility. If House Del'Axle has a problem with us, why not attack us directly? Malice continued. The same reason House Baenre can not attack House Del'Axle. The ranked houses can't just start eliminating the lesser houses or there would be chaos. Just the way Lloth likes it, Vartha muttered under her breath. Everyone looked to her and she continued. Or maybe House Del'Axle has a feud with us AND House Baenre has one with House Del'Axle. Baenre steps aside and lets us die, and then they step back in and eliminate Del'Axle. Is there any scenario in which we do not get burned? Malice asked. If Matron Baenre is telling the truth, we shall not only not get burned, but we shall come out of this mess as perhaps the third or fourth strongest house in the city. What is the likelihood that Matron Baenre is telling the truth? Malice asked. The entire truth? Not very likely, Vartha admitted. But there is some truth to what she said. Such as? Malice pressed. Such as the fact that House Baenre can not dispose of houses at will and does need a lesser house to front them. Such as whoever defeats House Del'Axle will have the right to claim all of their surviving members and grow significantly stronger. Such as we will be waging war against House Del'Axle within a week regardless of whether we figure out what Baenre's true motives are." Malice nodded her head and finally accepted the facts of the matter. That does not mean we have to enter the battle unprepared, Vartha continued. We should spend the remaining time before the battle trying to figure out as much as possible about our enemies. She turned to look at Stiu Alnan. You need to prepare our soldiers for a fight. I want you to keep a short leash on them. None of them are to leave this compound. If someone in our house is responsible for tipping off House Del'Axle as to the coming attack, they will have to face me before they face Matron Baenre. Trust me, there will not be much left of them by the time they make it to the first matron mother.

* * * * *

Despite Vartha's command that no one should leave the Do'Urden compound, Zak was outside of his house that very night. We should not be meeting like this, Jarl signed quickly as he saw Zak approach. How would you prefer us to meet? Zak replied. Perhaps we should be talking beneath the fading light of Narbondel. I mean we should not be meeting at all, Jarl bit back. He was tired of his friend's cynical and sarcastic remarks, but he only had himself to blame. Zak had been a naive drow with no sense of intrigue or trickery before he met Jarl. Now, Zak looked the typical drow warrior and as strong and formidable as any in the city. Though Jarl liked to think of himself as Zak's tutor of sorts, he knew that his friend's strength lay mainly in his skill with his weapons. That was something that not only could Jarl not claim any responsibility for, but he hoped he would never have to face. I grow tired of this life, Zak started. They had planned this meeting while they had been returning from the surface raid. They both realized that they would have little chance to socialize and would miss the conversations they used to have. Common drow were free to roam the city and there were several taverns and gaming facilities set up for their enjoyment, but these were mostly frequented by the lesser houses, and no noble would dare enter such a dangerous and unguarded environment. Am I to be your suicide note, Jarl responded. Before you contemplate ending your existence, please consider that you are only three decades old. You have twenty times as much life left in you. That is what troubles me. Zak slumped into a sitting position. They were meeting in a tiny cave located just inside of the city's perimeter. Zak knew that his house was going to war against Jarl's within a few days and that this would be the last time they would ever talk to each other as friends. If he had something to say, it had to be now. The Academy was bad, but it was easy enough to shut out the lies. Now those lies are reality, and I am forced to live them. The only way to shut them out is to end my life. And what traumatic event has drove you to this decision? Jarl pressed, thinking Zak must have just inherited some new responsibility. Zak just about told him of the coming raid, but he held it in check. As much as he wished to warn Jarl, he knew that if House Del'Axle knew about the coming attack, his own house might not survive. Instead he toyed with the idea that Jarl might survive and be absorbed by his house. How powerful would house Do'Urden be then! Does it need to be something specific? Zak responded. Isn't it enough that I have to live with the memory of what happened in the wood elves' grove? Isn't it enough that I have to put my blades to use defending what I despise most? Isn't it enough that I have to share a bed with the high priestess that murdered my mother? Jarl had seen Malice before, and wondered if that was really such a curse. He still did not understand Zak's feelings for his lost mother and would look at such a situation pragmatically. If he had to sleep with someone, Malice would be his short list. What happened to the drow I knew in the Academy? Jarl asked. What happened to the drow who refused to accept the life that had been given to him and would fight against everything he hated? What happened to the drow that refused to compromise his beliefs even in the face of overwhelming odds? Why do you mock me? Zak asked. Do I? Jarl countered. I am proposing valid questions. In the Academy, you were a crusader. Now you have traded your belief system for comfort. You are the one who said we needed to survive above all else! Jarl smiled. I said we needed to survive. Is what you are doing surviving? According to your assessment of your life, I think you are not. How do you define survival? Is it enough that your heart beats in your chest? Is it enough that you draw breath? Or is it something more? Zak wanted to strike back with his weapons, but as usual, Jarl was correct. Zak looked out over the city, most of which was visible from their vantage point. His eyes lingered on the Baenre compound. I can not fight them all. Are you frightened of Dantrag? Jarl asked, seeing where his friend's gaze was pointed. Zak turned on Jarl suddenly, the desire to cut out the drow's tongue barely restrained. Never that one! You lie, Jarl said so calmly it stole all of Zak's bluster. Are you scared of meeting Dantrag in battle? No. I've seen you two fight. You have no reason to be scared of that one. But that is not what I meant, and you know it. You are scared that you might become like him. Zak looked suddenly sheepish. Jarl continued. Aside from ourselves, there is no drow male in the city that does not envy Dantrag's position. Even Uthegental secretly dreams that he could be the weapon master of the first house. You have the ability to surpass Dantrag. To do so, you must become like him. Unless you are careful, you shall do exactly that. Zak wanted to reply. He wanted to counter what was being said. But he had no counter for the truth. If you define survival as simply living. Jarl went on, then continue as you are. In time your name will grow in fame and prominence and every young male will look toward you as the model drow warrior. But if you think that survival is more inclusive than that, then have no fear. You will never become what you despise. From what great fount do you speak? Zak asked. From what ledge do you preach? How has your life been so similar to mine that you can relate to what I am going through? You are a noble. You are the most prized possession of your house. Am I? Jarl bit back, not thinking before he laid out his life for Zak to see. Does my mother value my life? I think not. I was given as a sacrifice to Lloth when I was born. I was condemned to be spider food for no more reason than I was a male. Though still unfair, your mother was given to Lloth for reasons that at least made sense. So don't tell me that I can not relate to you, my friend. I know better than anyone does the place of males in our society. I know what our glorious Spider Queen requires. Yet I have survived. Matron Reinela sacrificed you at birth? Zak was confused. Jarl just laughed. You have no idea, do you? Matron Reinela is not my mother. Do I fight like any other Del'Axle you have ever seen? Matron Baenre herself gave birth to me. My own sisters carried me to the altar and gave me to the Spider Queen. My two new brothers rescued me, and one was killed for the deed. I am living proof of the lies and deceit in which we must exist. Dantrag is my brother, and I strive to be as opposite of him as I possibly can. Zak was in shock. Jarl enjoyed the look on his face. So now you know. Jarl was right; now Zak knew. He knew why Baenre was so anxious to destroy House Del'Axle. It was a good thing that what Jarl had told him was so amazing by itself or Jarl might grow suspicious of his friend. Zak was finally able to get himself under control. Then we will have to survive together, Zak said after a few moments of silence. It is the only way. The two had said enough for now. They exchanged parting words and left to return to their own houses. Zak wondered if he should tell his matron mother of this dramatic revelation, but he decided to keep this morsel to himself. He did not want to embrace any aspect of drow life, but secrecy and trickery were two that he would allow himself.

* * * * *

Triel and Dantrag sat around a small table in a private room within the Baenre compound. At least Triel was seated. There was only one chair in the room. Triel had the others removed before Dantrag entered. They were going over the battle plans, and Dantrag did not like it. With or without Khazid'hea prodding him, he wanted to fight Zaknafein on even ground. Beyond this upcoming battle, Dantrag did not see too many opportunities to accomplish this. This was the perfect opportunity to get his chance, but the way Triel was outlining the fight, Dantrag and his soldiers would not take part in the battle unless it was absolutely necessary. With what he knew about the strength of the Do'Urden fighters, he did not think it would be. We need to apply more pressure right at the beginning, Dantrag said. Their fighters are not powerful, but if they are not wiped out in the opening moments, their priestesses can bolster their defenses. If that happens, the battle will take much longer than what we are planning for, increasing the risk something might go wrong. Your fears are misplaced, brother, Triel responded. We will handle the Del'Axle priestesses, and they will not influence the fight. Are you sure? Dantrag dared to question. Matron Baenre speaks highly of the Del'Axle females. Triel looked ready to strike him but Dantrag eased her fury. I have no doubt that you will overwhelm them, but I am concerned with ending this fight as quickly as possible. To do that we need to strike hard and fast with all our available strength. We should not take our foes for granted even if victory is assured. Why are you questioning my authority? she asked, detecting something else behind her brother's words. I am not questioning your authority, Dantrag replied. Our Matron Mother placed me in charge of the battle, and I am just tell- Correction, Triel interrupted. You are in charge of the soldiers. I am in charge of the battle. Our fighters will stay back as long as possible. Matron Baenre does not wish to lose any fighters in this battle. It will look bad if Baenre soldiers are left strewn across the ground after the fight is over. I don't think we would be able to keep our involvement secret then, do you? But- No! That's final. Triel looked curiously at her fuming brother from across the table. I am in charge of this battle, and my word is final. Unless, of course, you wish to challenge me for command. Dantrag blanched at this. Khazid'hea was begging for its wielder to take up the offer, but the weapon master quelled the desire. Triel egged him on. You know you can strike me down right now. I am defenseless before you. There is but six feet between us. Surely I would never be able to get a spell off before you could drive your new-found weapon into my heart.# Dantrag knew she was right. There was no way she could get a spell off, was there? It would take him one second, maybe. There was nothing she could do to stop him. Then reality hit him. He could not kill her. What would happen to him? His mother would roast him alive. He could not even try to attack her without forfeiting his life. Instead he just stood there, fuming. Triel laughed. This was the true power of Lloth. She knew her spell capabilities and knew that if Dantrag attacked her right now, there would be nothing she could do about it. If he was but six feet further away, she would be able to hit him with a barrage of paralyzing spells and then pummel him with her whip, but at this distance, she was dead. She knew that, but she also knew Dantrag could not attack her. He had been beaten down all his life and knew he was not worthy to raise a weapon against a high priestess of Lloth. He might be the greatest male fighter in the city, but he was not worthy enough to even challenge a female. With Dantrag sufficiently humbled, the battle plans continued. Dantrag often suggested options, and Triel did the exact opposite no matter how sound the advice. She knew House Del'Axle would fall regardless of what strategy they used. Dantrag swallowed his pride and just waited for the day when he would be able to get revenge.

Chapter 22 The Battle

House Del'Axle occupied one of the coveted spots along the edge of the Clawrift, a huge gorge that was said to be bottomless. The deep crevice made attacking from that side of the house impossible and lessened the sections of the compound that needed to be defended. House Del'Axle kept a vigilant guard on the remaining side of their compound, but nothing could prepare them for the forces that gathered in the shadows. One moment three dozen of them were standing guard quietly, thinking about how mundane their duties were, and the next moment a wave of utter despair and horror swept over them. The emotion was so strong and sincere that a few died right on the spot. The rest were stunned beyond recovery. They were outlined with farie fire, hit with poisoned crossbow bolts, and then hidden with globes of darkness. In less than three seconds, the entire guard unit of the best scouting house in the city was wiped out and the attacking troops moved in. All drow had the ability to produce globes of darkness, ranging from one to two yards in width, but a drow priestess could create much larger ones. The Baenre priestesses did this now, and soon the entire Del'Axle compound was domed in total darkness. The drow inside the dome could see just fine, but to those on the outside, House Del'Axle had just disappeared from sight. Anyone who was watching was wise enough to get as far away from the area as possible, knowing that when House Del'Axle reappeared (if it ever did) it would be totally destroyed. Any witnesses to this attack would then also be destroyed. Dantrag watched from a floating disk as the Do'Urden troops moved quietly toward the main living quarters that housed the rest of the Del'Axle soldiers. This would be over in minutes. He did not even know why he had come. He watched as Zaknafein moved within the troops below. Beside Dantrag, Triel and Matron Vartha had their own disks. The three of them surveyed the battle opening. Your troops will win a glorious fight this night, Triel assured Vartha. The matron mother was not so sure. What of their priestesses? she asked. You will aid us as your Matron Mother promised. Of course, Triel smiled. She would have waited longer, but now she instructed her priestesses to begin the assault. The battle would be over very quickly now.

* * * * *

Within the main stalagmite structure, Matron Reinela and her three oldest daughters were gathered with Methil and Jarlnian. They were outlining potential attack strategies against the illithid compound, and Methil was actually being quite helpful with rejecting and proposing strategies. At first Matron Reinela wondered why the mind flayer was so cooperative, but as they ran through a few scenarios, she understood. Methil told them everything about the compound because there was really no way the attack could be carried out successfully. Reinela was getting very frustrated, so when the mental blast struck them, she was totally unprepared for it. She and all three daughters cried out in a sudden burst of extreme pain. Jarl was not targeted in the attack, and for that he was grateful. He looked on in confusion as even Methil cried out in horror. The youngest of the daughters screamed the loudest and was then suddenly quiet as she toppled to the floor. Jarl could tell from the way she landed that she would not be getting back up, ever. Actually, if Methil had not been there, they would have all died. The mind flayer had not been targeted either, but could sense the attack and had instinctually erected a mental shield that lessened the force of the blast considerably. Reinela recovered, barely, and looked around at her daughters, two of whom were struggling back to their feet. What was that? She was looking directly at Methil when she said it, but the illithid just shook its bulbous head. We are under attack, Lillium said as she slowly regained her senses. Nonsense! Reinela cried. Who would dare attack us? Another blast of energy coursed through the room, but with the mind flayer's shield in place, the priestesses were able to fight against it. What is going on? As if on cue, Krol raced into the room. Matron Reinela, we are under attack. Who is it? It is the thirteenth house, Krol said, leveling a gaze at Jarl, House Do'Urden. Reinela looked at Jarl as well. Go! she shouted, but both brothers were already racing out of the room.

* * * * *

Down below on the compound floor, the Del'Axle soldiers had emptied the barracks before they could be ambushed inside. They now stood toe to toe with the Do'Urden soldiers, fighting for their lives. They were losing them. Most of them had been roused from their beds, and the suddenness of the attack was amazing. Despite all that, this was the thirteenth house! Never had such a high ranked house challenged one so low. They had their eyes on the three above them, but this was a total shock. Not only that, but the Do'Urdens were winning. Zaknafein avoided the fight as much as possible, redirecting most of his attackers into the blades of his fellow soldiers. He kept scanning for Jarl, but so far the flamboyant fighter was nowhere to be seen. His unique fighting style, plus the fact that he was few inches taller than most of the Del'Axles should have made him easy to spot.

* * * * *

Jarlnian was not among the fighters. Instead, he and Krol were racing down through the chapel and the quarters occupied by the nobles of their house. They came to a window that overlooked the whole compound and saw that their house was being slaughtered. Jarl spotted Zaknafein easily enough. The Del'Axle fighters chose to avoid him as much as possible giving the talented fighter the ability to move freely through the battle. Jarl also knew that the priestesses he had just passed in the chapel were preparing to enter the battle. Behind the main fight, making themselves visible in the windows and doorways of the main dormitory, the common priestesses began to make their presence known as well. They started by bolstering their own fighters with an array of offensive spells. Jarl watched as one Del'Axle fighter in particular, who was frantically fending off four different blades with his one weapon, suddenly burst into motion so fast that his movements were just a blur. His strength had been altered as well and he blasted the weapons out of the hands of his attackers and decapitated them a short while later. That type of transformation was taking place all over the battlefield as the Del'Axle priestesses proved their worth. Aside from the defensive spells, the females also began to hurl fireballs and lightening bolts into the crowd of Do'Urden fighters. The attackers were launched high into the air as explosions of energy ripped into their ranks. Watching from a safe distance, Dantrag turned to his sister to say See, I told you so, but Matron Vartha beat him to it. My soldiers are being killed down there! Where is this protection you promised? Triel and the rest of her priestesses were still confused as to how the high priestesses within the compound had repelled their initial attack. If that had been successful, they would have changed their focus long ago. Now, yanked back to reality by the matron mother, Triel surveyed the scene. House Do'Urden's priestess were trying to protect their fighters, but they did not have the same type of cover afforded to the Del'Axle females, and several of the fireballs were aimed at them. Triel rallied her Baenre priestesses, and they began a very effective counter attack. The structures in which the Del'Axle females were hiding began to crack and crumble under the powerful waves of energy the Baenres were able to produce. Several of the Del'Axle spells misfired, and the soldiers below suffered the brunt of it. Once again the Do'Urdens were able to gain the upper hand and pushed back the surging Del'Axles. Zaknafein was quickly realizing that the tide of this battle had very little to do with the strength of either group of fighters and that it would be decided between the females involved. If he wanted to help his house out as best he could, he would be wise to tip the scales in Do'Urdens favor and start taking out priestesses instead. The idea appealed to him anyway, and being relatively inactive in the melee battle, he had the opportunity to escape. A quick scan of the compound showed him where the main chapel was, and he made his way toward it. Malice was in charge of organizing the Do'Urden magical attack and defense, and up until now she had been madly scrambling about to get anything done. Now that the Baenre priestesses had joined the fight, she suddenly found her job much easier. With her attention freed up, she took the time to find Zaknafein. She spotted him just as he entered the main stalagmite that housed the chapel. What are you doing? she called out to him telepathically. I'm going to have some fun, he responded.

* * * * *

Jarl saw the sudden turn of events back in favor of the attackers and wondered what could be going on. He knew a bit about House Do'Urden and knew they did not have a very ample supply of priestesses, only two high priestess, and Jarl doubted Matron Vartha would take part in the battle. With his sisters still in Lloth's favor, Jarl knew there was no way the Do'Urden counter parts could seriously threaten his house. Yet here they were over-powering the Del'Axle priestesses. Jarl needed to get more information, but as the lightning bolts and fireballs rained down upon the main structure, his lookout near the window ceased to be a safe place to stand. He and Krol ran away from the window just as a significant fireball came screaming in, exploding violently against the far wall. What's going on out there? Krol demanded. That can not be the fire power of a thirteenth house. They must be getting help from another house, Jarl reasoned. Which house would ever align with one ranked so high? Jarl ventured back to the window, which was much bigger now, and caught sight of three figures off in the distance watching the battle. They were floating on magical disks and too far away to get a good look at any of them, but Jarl swore he recognized one. Dantrag? he said to himself in disbelief. What? Krol asked from behind him. House Baenre his aiding house Do'Urden, Jarl said calmly as he turned back to face his brother. Krol was shocked. House Baenre! We are doomed! Why would the first house attack us? What have we ever done to- Krol stopped suddenly as he looked at his brother. You! It's you they want! Jarl had come to the same conclusion, but what was he supposed to do about it? You need to give yourself up, Krol said. Turn yourself over to the first house and spare us. You must be out of your mind, Jarl responded. I'd sooner jump into the Clawrift, then hand myself over to the Baenres. But you are the reason this house is in peril. You stole me, Jarl countered. If it wasn't for you, none of this would be happening. Krol drew his rapier. I took you from Matron Baenre, and I have no problem giving you back. Jarl looked at his brother comically. Put that away. We stand the best chance of survival if we stick together. Wrong, Krol said closing to within six feet of his brother. We stand the best chance of survival with you safely in the hands of a Baenre High Priestess. I don't believe this, Jarl sighed. Krol leaped forward suddenly, his sword in line for Jarl's heart.

* * * * *

Upstairs, Matron Reinela and her daughters were just coming back to their senses from the shock they had received. Methil was displaying some amazing loyalty and protecting the high priestesses from further attacks. Reinela was finally able to sort things out and opened a scrying circle to observe the battle. She quickly saw where their efforts needed to be focused and reached out to her remaining daughters who were scattered throughout the compound. Each daughter slowly gathered a few common priestesses and they attacked and defended as one. In the main audience chamber, each of the three high priestesses influenced one of these groups, doubling and sometimes tripling their effectiveness. While Methil stood guard, the priestesses of House Del'Axle began their response to Baenre's attacks. On the floor of the compound the fighters were all but forgotten and the real battle had switched to the females. Concentrated groups of Del'Axles that were able to both defend and attack began to respond to the Baenre onslaught. Triel had not organized her own priestesses as well, and she saw that these concentrated groups were easily over-powering groups of Baenre priestesses that often outnumbered their attackers. Matron Vartha saw that her priestesses were being mostly ignored and decided to keep it that way. She relayed a message to Malice for the Do'Urden priestesses to focus on aiding in the battle below and not above. With the magical help, the Do'Urdens regained the upper hand once more in the seesaw battle. Dantrag saw this strategy and regretted that all the fighting would be over before his soldiers could be released. Allow me to enter the battle, he pleaded with his sisters. With their priestesses distracted, their soldiers will fall easily, and there will be no buffer protecting their females. It was wise advice, but Triel was determined to keep her fighters from entering this battle. Instead she told half of her priestesses to focus on defending against the attacks of the Del'Axle females and the other half to focus on the fighting below. She realized if she could redirect the Del'Axle priestesses' attention, they might be more susceptible to attack. Matron Vartha looked on in horror as the Baenre priestesses loosed spell after destructive spell at the soldiers below, caring little which side was taken out in the process. You are carelessly destroying my forces! she cried. Triel tried to hold back her laughter. I apologize Matron Vartha, but from this distance they all look the same. Vartha did not see any humor in the situation. She was now desperately wishing that she would have found some way to get out of this fight while she had been conversing with Matron Baenre, but now that she was here, she had do make the best of it. She removed a small pouch of bright yellow powder from her voluminous robes and dumped a small pile into her hand. Muttering a quick incantation, she blew the powder toward the battleground. The yellowish powder grew in size and speed in tremendous fashion and soon filled the entire compound with a yellow cloud. With another quick spell, Vartha waved her arms and the cloud disappeared, leaving behind hundreds of yellow heads. The hair of each fighter not of house Do'Urden had been died from white to bright yellow. Perhaps that will aid your priestesses' aim, Vartha said venomously. Thank you, Triel replied sarcastically. The Baenre priestesses had little excuse for their careless attacks now and began to decimate the Del'Axle fighters exclusively. The Del'Axle priestesses replied in kind, and Triel could see that because of her priestesses carelessness in destroying both sides, and with the effective attacks of the Del'Axle females, there no longer remained enough Do'Urden soldiers to finish the task. Triel turned to Dantrag. You may begin you attack now. Dantrag did not need to be told twice. As he jumped down from his floating disk, Triel relayed the message to her priestesses that the Baenre fighters were entering the battle and more caution was to be taken to protect them. As Dantrag charged wildly into the battle at the head of his troops, cutting down the first three drow that stood before him (two Del'Axles and one Do'Urden), he desperately looked for Zaknafein, wondering where he could have gotten to.

* * * * *

The entrance to the Del'Axle chapel was guarded by two alert males. They both brought their weapons to attention as Zaknafein strode toward them. Stop! they cried. Throw your weapons to the ground an- but they were already dead. Zaknafein walked through the doors and into the main chapel. The loud chanting to the Spider Queen filled the vast chamber, and Zak had little trouble spotting the priestesses. This was one of the more powerful collections of Del'Axles. The high priestess stood directly in front of a flaming brazier and was surrounded by eight other priestesses. They cried out with impressive vigor, and the flames danced high in the center of their unholy circle. The air hummed with energy, and Zak could feel the hair stand up on the back of his neck. What are you doing? he heard the voice of Malice again. He tried to shut her out, but her power was impressive. You can not fight these priestesses. They will strike you down with a thought. Zak refused to listen to the discouraging words. As true as they were, Zak could see that the priestesses' attention was elsewhere, and he was not going to turn away now. Just the sight of the ritual made him wonder if this was how Malice had sacrificed his mother. As he walked confidently toward the circle of power, he passed an altar and picked up a large wine bottle. While still a ways away from the females, he heard their chant reach its climax as they were undoubtedly releasing some fantastic attack on his fellow soldiers outside. As the flames leaped high in the brazier, he hurled the bottle at the coals. The highly alcoholic liquid was not meant for drinking, for the sturdiest dwarf alive would not be able to handle it. Instead it was usually used for exactly what Zak used it for now. The glass shattered violently against the cast iron brazier, but the noise was lost in the chant. The alcohol drenched the high priestess and she exploded into a ball of flame. The other priestesses continued their chanting, inspired by how powerful their spell had suddenly become. As the high priestess was quickly consumed in fire in a one way trip to meet with her goddess, the spell was doomed to fail, and the backlash sent all eight common priestesses reeling. Their robes were covered with alcohol as well, and as they tried to fathom what was going on their robes began to catch fire. Their high priestess fell dead into the middle of the brazier and their composure was totally lost as the hot coals spilled everywhere, adding to the flames that licked at their robes. This was when Zak walked into the circle. As impressive as the flames were that roared up around him, they were nothing compared to the fires that burned behind his eyes as he executed the unholy priestesses. Only when two priestesses were left did they realized they were under attack, and though they had practiced spell casting under duress, nothing could have prepared them for this. Zak left the nine flaming corpses in a neat circle as he stormed through the chapel to hunt for more victims. As impressed as Malice was, she realized that he had gotten lucky, and he would not be able to use that same strategy the next time he encountered priestesses. She tried to get him to return to the battle outside, but Zak fought back. Not until I kill everything in this damnable chapel! he cried, knowing Malice would be able to hear him. He threw open a door at the far end of the chapel and walked straight into the Del'Axle nursery. All around him children were screaming in fright as two very young females tried to calm them. Malice could see the scene through Zak's eyes. She smiled. As you wish. Kill them all.

* * * * *

Jarl's weapons came out in a flash and slapped Krol's pathetic attempt at an attack away. Jarl danced out of range. He could feel shock waves shuddering though the compound each time a magical attack hit home. Their house was crumbling around them, and here they were fighting amongst themselves. This is crazy, Jarl said as Krol cautiously stalked him. Not only are you more to blame for this attack than I am, but there is no way you can beat me in a fight. Krol did not relent. I will not be taken by Baenre, he said. Jarl could see the terror written clearly on Krol's face. If Baenre caught him they would easily be able to finger him as the thief some three decades ago. If Reinela caught him and blamed him for this attack, his suffering would be tenfold. Give yourself up, and this will all be over, Krol pleaded desperately, not caring if it made any sense. I'm afraid not, brother. Krol screamed wildly and charged again. Jarl batted the attack away and sidestepped the charge, slapping Krol in the rump with the flat of his blade and tripping him to the floor. Krol picked himself up and watched as his hair that hung in front of his face suddenly turned bright yellow. I'm dead for sure now! he screamed. I've been marked! There is no escape! He was borderline crazy now. He looked about wildly for some means of escape. All he saw was Jarl standing in front of him, yellow hair and all. Die! he screamed. He charged one last time, and Jarl shrugged. He slapped the attack aside with one weapon and braced his other one to accept the mad rush. Krol impaled himself on the weapon to its hilt. The air left his lungs in a rush and he was petrified in pain as Jarl held him up. Better me than someone else, he said. He pulled his blade free and let Krol fall to the floor, quite dead. Jarl wiped his weapons clean and sheathed them, taking notice of his yellow ponytail. What next, he sighed. With nothing else to do, he scrambled back up the steps toward the main audience chamber.

* * * * *

Dantrag looked everywhere for Zaknafein, but the skilled Do'Urden was nowhere to be found. As the fighting turned into a slaughter, the Baenre soldiers easily pushing back the Del'Axles, priestesses or not. Dantrag knew his presence on the battleground was no longer needed, and as a fireball exploded right next to him, he realized it was not the safest place to be either. The Del'Axle chapel looked inviting as possible shelter and also as the possible location of Zak. As Dantrag raced into the stone structure, he paused at the sight of the two dead guards. He did not need to look at them too long to know exactly who had done it. He was just about to enter the main chapel, but a massive explosion rocked the chapel and threw Dantrag to the floor. When he picked himself up, he saw that the entrance into the chapel was now completely blocked with rubble. He cursed his luck and began to look for a way around.

* * * * *

Don't just stand there, kill them! Zak fought against both his own killing rage and Malice's mental suggestions, but as the two young females ran at him frantically, wielding two small maces, he could not control his instinctual reactions. He defended himself as he had been trained, killing both nursery attendants within the first seconds of attack. As the bile rose in his stomach at what he had done, Malice did not relent. Kill them all! Kill them now! None of the children were even a decade old yet, but they had all been trained in what to do during an attack. They each had a small dagger and rushed the killer that had invaded their sanctuary. These children looked nothing like the elves that had been slaughtered in the grove. Their faces were contorted so they looked like tiny devils all wielding their deadly daggers. Though they looked nothing like the surface elves, their cries were the same. As Zak hacked them to pieces, he could not shut their cries out of his head. It only lasted a few seconds, but to Zak the massacre went on forever. It seemed like there was an endless supply of the little demons and Zak's blades were moving on their own accord against his will. It was simple logic that if he did not defend himself, they would tear him apart. The daggers were not toys, and with as many wounds as the children could inflict, Zak's life was in jeopardy. Still, even though Zak knew he had to kill them, that made him all the angrier. What kind of race would teach their children to be ruthless killers? These kids should be running and playing like he imagined the elven children had done in their beautiful grove. Instead these children were being taught about the Spider Queen and how to use a dagger to stab anyone that threatened them. When it was over, Zak could not bear to look at what he had done, but Malice's control over him was increasing and she forced him to take in the carnage. The tiny bodies were barely recognizable amidst the gore that filled the room. With a primal growl, Zak pulled himself away from the scene and stumbled out of the room as the chapel shook violently. Someone had taught those children to be killers. Zak had a good feeling that those ultimately responsible were upstairs. With Malice still tugging on him to return to the battle, Zak ran up to the upper levels of the main Del'Axle structure.

Chapter 23 The Fall of House Del'Axle

The main battle did not need Zaknafein or Dantrag. It was now officially a rout. There were still two concentrated groups of Del'Axle priestesses after Zak had dismantled one, but the Baenre priestesses had formed themselves together in more organized groups and effectively removed them from the battle. The Del'Axle fighters were now giving themselves up left and right. They knew they had lost as soon as the legion of Baenre fighters had entered the battle. The Do'Urden soldiers willingly accepted the defectors, but the Baenre soldiers could care less. Anyone with yellow hair was an enemy regardless of whether they were holding weapons. This policy got a bit confusing, for a few of the Baenre soldiers had been affected by Matron Vartha's spell as well. It had not specifically been targeted at Del'Axles, but at anyone who had not been Do'Urden. Vartha saw the fight was over and pleaded with Triel to call off her soldiers. Triel complied after a while, seeing that even if House Do'Urden was able to claim all of the remaining fighters, their losses today would still be substantial. Too bad. The fight was still not over though, for there was still the matter of the three high priestesses within the main structure, one of which was Matron Reinela. Triel had instructions to make sure Reinela died in this fight. The main stalagmite structure was well protected with magical shields, but it would not last long under the barrage that Triel called for.

* * * * *

Zak could barely keep his balance as he raced up the steps, the structure shaking all around him. Still he easily dispatched the few guards that had been left in place along the route to the main chamber at the top. Malice could tell where he was going and called powerfully for him to stop. Zak was not listening. He had figured out how to ignore her, but he did not expel any extra effort to remove her completely. As he reached the top of the steps, the doors to the main audience chamber were obvious, and he pushed through them without hesitation. Inside, Reinela, Lillium, and Goria were trying to figure out what they were going to do. They knew they had lost and while they still did not know Baenre was involved, they had a pretty good feeling this attack went beyond the thirteenth house. Methil was standing guard taking all of this in. The illithid had no idea how common these types of battles were and wondered what would happen to the Del'Axle high priestesses now that they had lost. This scouting mission was going very well. Now if only Methil could find a way to survive. Maybe the victorious house would be willing to take a mind flayer into their service. When Zak burst into the room, he brought a welcomed distraction. The Do'Urden was only able to take three steps before he was hit with a crippling spell from Matron Reinela. Zak dropped both his weapons and came to a complete stop. In the back of his mind, Malice wished him a painless death and left him be. Zak cursed his eagerness for the kill as he struggled against the powerful spell. He could move his arms and head a little bit, but for all intents and purposes, he was paralyzed. Reinela recognized Zak from the descriptions she had received of the famed fighter who had finished ahead of her son in the Academy. If he had made it this far up the chapel without sustaining any significant injuries, he had no doubt been instrumental in the fall of her house. She might have lost the war, but she would enjoy winning this battle. The famous Zaknafein stands before us, Reinela told her two daughters. Behold the most powerful male in all of Menzoberranzan! Kind of pathetic, Goria said as she walked up to him. Though I must admit he is rather handsome. Perhaps we can have a bit of fun with him before we kill him. Zak tried to scowl at her, but it took him several seconds just to change facial expressions. He was tugging furiously at his limbs, his muscles so tensed that he was scared he might break a bone. Still, his right hand only moved an inch every dozen seconds as it slowly made its way toward his cloak. Oh we'll have fun with him, Lillium said as she pulled out her whip. She realized that this was going to be the very last male she would ever get to whip. She struck at Zak viciously, the venom of her whip only adding to Zak's immobility. Most victims of a beating curled up into a ball against such an onslaught, but Zak did not have that luxury and could not even wince as the snake heads bit into his most vulnerable areas. Zak's hand was just about to the inside of his cloak now, and the slight movement had gone mostly unnoticed. Tell me, Reinela spoke up, walking toward the male to join her daughters, where is your strength now? You depend on your muscles to give you power and success, and when they fail you as they have now, where does that leave you? She turned around and walked back toward her throne. Behold the power of the Spider Queen! she cried as she held her arms up high above her head. She spun around and loosed a lightening bolt right into Zak's chest. She could have killed him if she wanted, but this torture session was going to last much longer. Instead the electric shock caused Zak's limbs to convulse despite the powerful hold spell. His right hand was able to go inside his cloak and back out again all in rhythm with his spasms. Zak held his right hand closed and brought his arm away from him slowly. Your skills mean nothing! Reinela continued. I am defeated. I know that, but I want you to know that your house, what ever tricks they used, did not win because you or any other member of your house is stronger than I am. As soon as Zak moved his arm out in front of him as far as he wanted, he slowly worked his face into a smile. What is so funny? Reinela asked, staring hard at Zak. Both daughters held their whips high as they too looked intently at their captive. Zak slowly and painfully opened his hand. It took far too long in Zak's mind, but the three females were too confident in their powers to think that Zak could be attempting anything offensive. Finally his fingers uncurled enough to release the tiny porcelain sphere he had taken from his inner cloak pocket. Without thinking, each priestess followed the sphere's decent to the floor, eyes wide in curiosity. It was not affected by Reinela's hold spell, and Zak realized that his eyes were still open and barely got his lids down in time. The sphere shattered against the stone floor, and it was as if the sun had taken up residence within the small chamber. All three females shrieked in pain and reeled backwards as the intense light burned their eyes. Zak was suddenly released from the hold spell, and he went in six different directions at once, as all his muscles had been straining against the spell. He gathered himself quickly, and with his eyes still closed, searched out his weapon on the floor. The two screaming daughters were easy targets, and as both of their voices were silenced, Reinela began to panic. She pulled her whip out and twirled it about her body wildly. Zak still had his eyes closed, but could hear the snapping of the snake heads clearly enough. Reinela uttered curse after curse at the clever male, stupidly marking her location for her attacker. Still with her whip in constant motion and its multiple heads unaffected by the light in the room, Zak was cautious to approach. With his eyes slit, he could see that the light in the room was returning to a tolerable level. He could also see that Reinela was regaining a bit of her composer. Zak took careful notice of where she was standing and ran around behind her, tripping loudly and purposefully on a step. Reinela smiled as she spun around at the noise and released a fireball, unaware that she was standing right next to her throne. The fireball traveled five feet and exploded against the high-backed chair. The powerful wave of fire swept her off her feet and threw her across the room. Zak could open his eyes fully now, and he walked up to the dying matron mother. Her eyes could still not see anything, but her arms were frantically waving in front of her trying to ward off what she knew was coming. Behold the power of the Spider Queen, Zak said in a harsh whisper, first hand. He thrust his weapon down, and Reinela's arms ceased their motion, forever. Zak stood back from his work and released all his pent up rage and fury. He suddenly remembered that there had been a mind flayer in the room and spun about to look for him, but Methil had made himself scarce. Zak turned back to the dead priestesses before him. He wanted to take satisfaction or pleasure in their deaths, but he could not. Zak knew they needed to be killed, and was glad they were dead, but the knowledge that there were countless others like the females that lay at his feet forced him to realize that he could not remove the scourge of his people from the world. His skill, no matter how great and unmatched, would still never allow him to make a meaningful difference. Even now, another house had moved in to take the place of Del'Axle as fourth in the city, giving some ambitious daughter somewhere in the city an opening to create her own house to fill the void. It was a never-ending cycle of death and rebirth. Zak could not change it; he could only play his part in it. As Zak thrust his weapons back into their sheaths, he heard applause coming from a far corner of the room. He turned to see Jarl walking toward him. Bravo, bravo, he praised, still clapping his hands. It's about time someone ended her talkative mouth. I truly hated her. You have my thanks. Zak did not appreciate Jarl's sarcastic assessment of what had just occurred. He liked it even less when Jarl drew his weapons. However, I'm afraid that I gave my word to Reinela that I would protect this house against all enemies regardless of previous affiliations. Don't be a fool, Zak responded, his weapons staying at his side. Your house is destroyed, likely mine with it. There is no reason for us to do battle. I have no grudge against you nor you against me. Did you hate my sisters so? Jarl asked motioning to his dead relatives. Zak looked down at them and realized he did not even know their names. I didn't think so. I do not hate your house either, but that does not mean I will not defend against it just as you can attack mine without any proper motivation. It is the way of our people. Congratulations, Dantrag, you have become what every male dreams of: a true drow warrior. Zak's weapons leaped into his hands at Jarl's last comment. He and I are nothing alike. Really. Is that why you just marched through my house killing everything in sight regardless of their personal demeanors. What if there were some like you - or at least like you used to be - with morals and convictions that go against the norm of our people? Did you bother to pause and question them as to their loyalty to the Spider Queen before you drove your sword through their hearts? They stood guard, protecting the priestesses of Lloth. That spoke of their true convictions. I did not see you jumping in to protect your fallen sisters and mother. Nor did I see the children of my house standing guard, yet they also accepted death from the blades of Dantrag. Stop calling me that! Zak rushed Jarl, and the two engaged in what would be their final battle.

* * * * *

Dantrag was getting desperate. Every way up into the main structure was blocked. Outside on the compound floor, the battle was over and the casualties were being sorted out. Above, the Baenre priestesses were still bombing away at the top of the main stalagmite determined to extract Matron Reinela, or at least bring the whole structure down with her inside. If Zaknafein was inside, as Dantrag believed, the weapon master did not have much time to get him. As Dantrag looked upward at the remaining structure, he saw a blown out window that looked big enough to act as a door. He quickly levitated up to the portal and stepped through, successfully bypassing the blocked lower levels. Lying on the floor just inside the window was Krol Del'Axle. Dantrag suppressed a grin as he saw the massive wound on the scout's chest. Too bad. Dantrag did not waste his time as he felt the floor beneath him shake as the attacks continued. Instead he raced through the hallways, taking note of the several dead guards that lined the narrow corridors. Zak had definitely been this way. Following the trail of bodies, Dantrag only hoped he would meet his nemesis in time.

* * * * *

Zak and Jarl fought as if there were no tomorrow. For one of them, it was literally true. Jarl knew he was dead. His house was gone, and Matron Baenre was the reason. There was no escaping from her, Jarl knew. In a few moments the magical barriers protecting the audience chamber would crumble and the room would explode. Whether Jarl would be taken captive or killed on the spot mattered little. All he knew was that after this night, his life as Jarlnian Del'Axle would be at an end. Who better to put him out of his misery than Zaknafein? This was more than just a suicide effort, however. Jarl did feel honest anger toward his friend. They had spoken not two nights ago, and Zak surely must have known about this attack, but he had said nothing. Jarl refused to look at this realistically. Of course Zak could not inform Jarl of the fight. If House Del'Axle had been tipped off, it would have spelled doom for House Do'Urden. Zak had had no choice in the matter. It was the drow way. Jarl could see that Zak was a drow warrior now. The skilled Do'Urden had just stormed through the Del'Axle compound killing everything in sight. He cared little for who died or why. It was his duty. It was his job. Jarl, while not agreeing with it, understood it. It was all part of the survival plan. Well, Jarl could survive too. And as hopeless as his case seemed, he planned on giving it his best shot. To Zak, this fight was beyond reason. With the exception of killing the 12 priestesses, Zak had acted mostly against his loosely thrown together set of beliefs. It was true, as Jarl had said, that he did not have any quarrel with anyone within this house. He did not know the names of the drow he killed and, frankly, he did not care. He had lost, and he knew it. He knew now that he could not maintain his righteous set of beliefs and still survive in this city. It was kill or be killed. Thus, neither Jarl nor Zak acted as friends. There was no room for friendship in the life of a true drow warrior. Their battle was a perfect picture of why the drow society was ultimately doomed to failure. Here were two excellent fighters. Side by side they could repel the most powerful of foes. If used effectively they could bring prominence and power to any house. Not only that, but they were good friends as well. And here they were, killing each other, for no more reason than the whims of a few matron mothers. Jarl was a blinding whirl of motion. Besides his brief clash with Krol, he had seen no action in this battle, and his energy level and stamina played no role at all. He danced about in his unique swashbuckling style sending a flurry of attacks toward Zak. Zak was the textbook opposite of his wild opponent. Zak had seen nothing but action since the beginning of the battle, and the abuse he had just been through against the three high priestesses weighed down on his body heavily. Fatigue should have been a factor, but it was not. Like when he had been on the surface battling Dantrag, Zak was able to put aside all those physical afflictions and fight on pure adrenaline. Still, Zak worked solely defensively. He was not so caught up in rage as to forget whom he was fighting. Jarl was more than a formidable opponent, and his unique style of fighting was something very new to Zak. Though he had seen it many times before, this was the first time he had ever faced it. Zak's blocks and parries snapped into place, leaving no opening at all for Jarl's whirling blades. The odd style worked best against multiple attackers, confusing them and crossing them up. Against Zak, it just looked foolish. Zak blocked a sweeping high attack and was able to rotate the same blade down low to push aside a low thrust from Jarl's other weapon, leaving Zak's off hand free. He sent it in high toward Jarl's head. Jarl ducked easily, but Zak had known he would and sent his right boot toward Jarl's face. Instead of rolling away, like was expected, Jarl hopped forward and caught the kick under his left arm, pinning the leg to his side. Zak was caught off guard and tried a daring move by pivoting on his secured leg and sweeping his left foot toward Jarl's head. The crouched fighter did roll away now, and with Zak's leg still pinned under his arm, he sent the taller fighter tumbling. Jarl leaped to his feet quickly as Zak spun to the ground. He ran over to the fallen drow, but Zak was quick and spun around to his back, swing one of his blades out wide as he did. Jarl had to quickly check his rush, or risk being impaled by the defensive sweep. This pause allowed Zak the time he needed to get back up, and the two were at it again. Zak went on the offensive now as much as Jarl. Around them, the room shook and rocked from the magical beating it was taking from outside, but neither fighter noticed. Slowly but surely, Jarl was wearing Zak down, and they both knew it. Both could see it was only a matter of time before Zak crumbled under the unending attacks of his opponent. Both also realized that with risky improvisation as Zak's only option, Jarl would be ready for it. Zak had to try something else. Jarl pushed hard, and Zak was forced to back pedal furiously in order to keep his enemy at bay. Jarl saw that they were nearing the center of the room where Zak had done battle with his sisters and mother. A plan formed in Jarl's head, and he pressed on. Unbeknownst to him, it was the same plan Zak had already put into motion. Jarl struck low and hard, forcing Zak to hop backwards. Jarl then snapped his blades up high and Zak leaned back to bring his weapons up. The Del'Axle was not finished yet, and kicked out at his opponent's gut. Zak tried to take another step in retreat, but he had backed into one of Jarl's dead sisters, and he tripped. With his upper body already leaning backwards, Zak lost all semblance of balance and toppled over. His back hit the stone floor hard and his right weapon went skittering across the floor. Jarl grinned as he leaped over his sister and sent his two weapons in for the kill. Zak swept his remaining sword above his chest, knocking both of Jarl's blades aside, but the nimble fighter was quick to react, locking a hilt with the one blocking weapon and pushing it back out of the way. Without hesitation he drove his remaining weapon down. Out of the corner of his eye, Jarl could see Zak bringing his right arm back in, but he knew that the empty hand could not stop the deathblow. The hand was not empty. Five of the six heads on the high priestess whip bit hard into Jarl's face and chest, and though he had built up a tolerance to the poison during his years as a page, the shear suddenness of the attack shocked him. Even without the poison, the pain was intense, and Jarl's attacking blade missed the mark. Zak cocked his right arm again and lashed out at his attacker. Jarl was too close and disoriented to put up an effective defense and merely waved his blades in front of him to ward of the attack. Several heads still got through, and one hit him right between the eyes, stealing his sight. Zak rose quickly, a sword in one hand and a whip in the other. The high priestess whip was inanimate. The snake heads hung limply from the handle. In the hands of a priestess, the snake heads would be able to attack independently, almost possessing a will of their own. They did not do this for Zak, and if Reinela (the whip was hers) was still alive, the snake heads would actually turn on its male wielder. Still, the whip was no less venomous and, in the hands of Zak, no less accurate. Now Jarl tripped over his dead sister as he backpedaled away. With just his one sword, Zak would have been able to overcome his disoriented opponent, but with the whip in his other hand he totally overwhelmed him. Zak knocked one weapon out of Jarl's hand and wrapped the end of his whip around the hilt of the other one, yanking it free as well. Jarl flew to the ground from a kick to his midsection and Zak stood over him. With out even thinking about his action, Zak raised his sword for the kill. Then he paused and looked at his blade. It was red. It was covered in blood. Drow blood. The blood of his people. Here he was about to thrust his weapon into yet another drow chest. Why? Because Matron Baenre told him to? Because Matron Vartha told him to? Because Malice told him to? What about him? What did he want? What did Zaknafein want? Zak lowered his raised weapon. What are you doing?! Jarl cried. Kill me! What is wrong with you? Zak shook his head. You were right. If I'm not careful I will turn into Dantrag. What? Jarl was not enjoying this moment at all. The sounds of stone cracking and crumbling was very audible in the small chamber and Jarl knew that House Baenre was only a few seconds from breaking in. He was going to die. He would have preferred to do so by Zak's blade, quick and painless. Now was not the time for soul searching. Jarl was trying to figure out what to say, but the room exploded. The far wall opposite of where the Clawrift lay exploded inward, finally yielding as the magical shields gave way. Huge chunks of limestone and granite rained sideways into the pair. Jarl curled up on the ground, but Zak was standing prone. A huge chunk of rock clipped him in the arm, and he spun to the ground, losing his whip. The dust and noise settled, and Jarl scrambled to his feet, recovering one of his weapons. He looked out of the room through the gaping hole and saw his fate awaiting him. Triel Baenre sat on her floating disk as she and Matron Vartha slowly floated toward the hole. Jarl looked around frantically, trying to find some way he could escape. His eyes searched the room, but he found only one means to avoid the vengeful Baenre. Zak was slowly getting to his feet, very sore and bruised. He looked up to see Jarl charging at him again, a very desperate look on his face. Kill me! he cried and lashed out with his weapon. Zak was almost the one to die as he barely got his weapon up to catch the strike. For as much as Jarl apparently wanted to die, he did not give Zak many openings to carry out the request. Zak had fought through pain before, but that had had been all it was, just pain. Now he was disabled. He could not bring his right arm above his shoulder and it hung limply by his side. While he held his weapon in his left hand, he needed his right for balance. Jarl pushed him harder and harder, his rage and desperation blinding him to his opponent's helpless state. Triel smiled when she saw Jarl. She had not seen him since she had presented him to the spiders in the distant cavern, but she imagined to herself that she could recognize him. You escaped me once, she mumbled to herself, but not this time. She raised her arms and prepared to blow him into oblivion. To her side, Matron Vartha saw Triel preparing to cast a spell and she cried out. No! Zaknafein is too close. You'll kill them both. Triel stopped and looked at Vartha. He is only a male. But he is to be my weapon master, she replied. Please let them finish. If Zaknafein wins, you will not need to waste your spell. If he does not, you will be able to kill the Del'Axle while you have his full attention. Triel did not know why she listened to the matron mother, but she did. She held off for the moment. As the fight neared its end, though, she saw that she would still need to use it. Zak would not win. Zak's parries came later and later, and each of Jarl's attacks drove him further into retreat and put him more off balance. Zak finally had to duck a high cut and received a knee to the face. He fell back and Jarl now had him in the same position that he had been in. Trust me, Jarl said as he raised his weapon, I'm doing you a favor. Just outside of the chamber, Vartha looked on in horror. Now would be a good time, she said hurriedly to Triel. Triel had no intention of obliging. So as Jarl drove his weapon down, it was Vartha who let loose a terrific spell. Zak was lying flat on his back, watching as Jarl's blade came down, and then he was gone. In the briefest of seconds, there was a terrific noise, the room filled with livid energy, and then it was quiet. Jarl was gone. As Zak was getting up, Dantrag rushed into the room. The weapon master's eyes lit up at the sight of the wounded drow. This would be an easy kill. He took three steps toward Zak and a voice stopped him. Dantrag, I assume the rest of the compound is clear? Dantrag spun about to see his sister and Matron Vartha step off their floating disks and into the audience chamber. It was not much of a chamber anymore. The roof was all but gone, and there were multiple holes throughout the room. It looked more like a high platform now, completely open to the outside. Dantrag looked back the way he had come and realized Triel thought that he had taken the long route just to make sure everything was cleared out. He nodded to his sister. He cast one more look at Zak, who was limping over to a huge hole in the back of the room and sighed. They would not have an opportunity to fight today, not with both Triel and Vartha looking on. Zak approached the hole carefully, noting the large cracks and unstable rock formations that made up the floor. He also felt a slight breeze, which was rather uncommon in the underdark. The reason why became obvious when he peered out of the hole. This side of the stalagmite bordered the very edge of the Clawrift. Zak looked out into it and saw complete darkness. So long, my friend, he called into the abyss. Triel and Vartha were busy rooting through the rubble and debris, trying to figure out which bodies were which. What happened up here? Vartha asked, looking intently at the four dead high priestesses. Zak walked over and told his story. She was dead when I arrived, Zak said, pointing to the youngest of the three Del'Axle daughters. The other three I killed. You killed three high priestesses? Triel said, her voice on the edge of laughter. Malice now floated up to the top chamber and nimbly stepped through one of the gaping holes. Zaknafein? she cried as if she were looking at a ghost. I thought you were dead. Both Triel and Vartha looked curiously at her. Malice explained. I was linked with him, and I followed his progress through the lower levels of the chapel, but when he got to this room I assumed him dead. Malice bent over to examine the bodies. They were obviously killed by a drow blade. Triel turned back to Zak in shock. You killed three high priestesses?! Four, Malice corrected, remembering his exploits in the main chapel. And eight common priestesses. Twelve in all. Triel could only laugh. She turned to Dantrag. Perhaps you were right. House Do'Urden might have been able to do this on their own. Dantrag did not know if he was being complimented or humbled. He bowed toward his sister. And what of Iblith? Zak looked around at the others, confused by the question. Dantrag continued and then Zak understood. What of our brother? Dead, Zak spoke up. Dantrag turned to address Zak. Show me his body. Zak motioned toward the back of the room. Dantrag quickly leaped over some rocks and ran back toward the gaping hole. The floor gave way slightly and he barely caught himself at the edge of the drop, his toes hanging out over the abyss. Watch that first step, Zak said. It's a killer. He went in there? Dantrag asked, very disappointed. I saw it myself, Triel said. Our vengeance is satisfied. Come, let us leave this place. The thirteenth, uh, twelfth house can do what they wish with what remains. Dantrag walked past Zak, Khazid'hea begging for some action. They exchanged careful glances, and then Dantrag disappeared over the ledge, floating back down to the compound floor. Zak swore would never become like him.

Chapter 24 Picking up the Pieces

Matron Baenre sat on her floating disk overseeing the official removal of House Del'Axle. The rest of the ruling matron mothers were there, including the newest member of the recently promoted eighth house. They had decided that it was a clean elimination and that no trace of evidence remained. While they all praised the perfection of the deed, they all also knew which house had supposedly done it. No one could believe that the thirteenth house could have taken out the fourth. No one was supposed to know any of the details, but Triel had let a few things slip just to make sure they continued to talk about the strength of Do'Urden and not wonder if they had had any help. The juiciest detail she spread was how many priestesses Zaknafein had killed: twelve, and four of them high priestesses. She wanted to make sure this got around because it would no doubt elevate the Do'Urden fighter to one of the most respected males in the city. Anything to humble Dantrag. Matron Baenre looked on as the orc slaves cleared away all of the broken remains of what had been the fourth house. House Do'Urden had made sure to remove all the bodies before hand. As the rubble was swept into the Clawrift, a shout from one group of orcs rang out clearly. Baenre quickly floated over to see what the commotion was. Methil had used his races extraplanar abilities to sink into the stone during the Del'Axle's destruction. Now that it could feel the presence of several matron mothers near by, the mind flayer thought it might be a good time to resurface. It was met by a hoard of orcs. Half of them fled, but the other half raised their pick axes and charged. Methil sent out wave after wave of psionic blasts that wiped out his attackers. They all stood dumbfounded and drooling, their minds totally fried. Methil then knocked them down with a wave of his hand, hitting them with a kinetic burst of energy. Once they were removed, the mind flayer met eyes with Matron Baenre. Baenre saw the ease with which the mind flayer disposed of the orcs, and cast her own spell to bring the illithid into submission. Methil felt the tremendous energy right away and fought hard against it, but it was almost too much. No mind flayer had never faced this kind of opponent, and the illithids back in the cavern that were paying attention took careful note of this. Eventually, Methil tipped the scales back to an even level, pushing back the matron mother's will. In actuality, Baenre had simply let up on her spell, convinced that she could overpower this creature if need be. What are you doing here? Baenre asked, projecting her thoughts mentally. I was part of the destroyed house. I served Matron Reinela. I now whish to find another house in which I may be of service. Baenre was not fooled so easily. She knew no member of a race as powerful as the illithids were would eagerly seek out a new master once their old one had been destroyed, and Baenre doubted house Del'Axle had the power to keep a mind flayer against its will. You are studying us. Methil bowed humbly. I would be honored to serve one as wise as you. Baenre smiled. You shall have your wish.

* * * * *

Zak sat on the edge of his cot with a sword in his hand. It was three days since the destruction of House Del'Axle and the troubled drow had spent most of each night like this. He could not see much reason to continue living. All it would take was a quick motion with his wrist and his fine blade would be sheathed in his heart. It would be quick and it would be final. The only thing he had left to live for was spite. And that emotion was not very enriching. House Do'Urden had lost most of their soldiers during the fight with the Del'Axles. They had recovered some of them through defections made by the losing side, but it had not made them stronger in that area. They did obtain almost two dozen priestesses which went a long way toward healing the damage done by the poorly executed fight, but their house would suffer for a while. Zak looked at his sword and shook his head. He would live to see Narbondel's light one more time at least. He decided it would be his penance. It was his punishment for not being strong enough to stand up to the lies of his race directly. He would continue to walk the tight rope of survival, enacting his private vendetta against the Spider Queen when he could, and appeasing the females around him when he must. Zak rose to put his sword away and froze. Something was not right within the house. He was not sure if it was a noise, a magical presence, or something else entirely, but something was not right. Instead of putting away his weapon, he belted it and its twin to his waist and moved silently out of his small room. Zak had been given residence within the main Do'Urden structure usually reserved for nobles. House Do'Urden did not have many nobles so there was room. Zak crept carefully up the steps toward the main audience chamber and opened the doors slowly. It was very dark in here. The magical blue glow that Matron Vartha usualy maintained was gone, and it took Zak several moments for his eyes to adjust. Matron Vartha stood in the middle of the room, and Jarl stood next to her. Zak's weapons leaped into his hands. Step away from her! Jarl nodded humbly and stepped away, quickly sheathing his hidden sword. Without Jarl to support her, Vartha toppled over, a massive blood stain covering her back. The murderer looked down at the dead matron mother, back up at Zak, and shrugged. You have come to eliminate my house in the dead of night? Zak accused. Now who has become Dantrag? Jarl shook his head and stepped closer to Zak, removing his hooded cloak. My grief is with Vartha and Vartha alone. I hold no animosity toward your house. Zak could see why. Jarl was covered with burns all down the right side of his body, the side that had been facing Vartha when she had blasted him through the Del'Axle wall and into the abyss. How Jarl had managed to remain conscious during the ordeal, much less alive was a mystery to Zak. He also noticed something else very different about the drow that stood before him. Nice hair. Jarl grimaced as he brought his hand up to rub his bald head. Well, yellow wasn't exactly my color. All of the Del'Axles that house Do'Urden had taken in and a few unlucky Baenre's (including Jarl) had kept their yellow hair, for Matron Vartha's spell had not been temporary. It was reversible, however, and several priestesses had gone to work to return the captured drow's hair color to white. Yellow is not your color? Zak asked, looking at Jarl's modified piwafwi. Are you sure? Jarl had removed any indication from the cloak that it had once marked him as a noble of the fourth house in the city. He had kept the garment because of its magical ability, but he had put his own colorful design into it. Yellow, red, blue, orange, violet, and several other colors streaked down the length of the cloak like a- You look like a rainbow, Zak said, remembering the name for the fabulous arc of colorful light they had seen on the surface. I remember you said that something as beautiful as a rainbow did not deserve to exist in our homeland. I wish to prove you wrong. You are going to be a rainbow in the dark? Zak asked, skepticism heavy in his voice. The reason why there were no rainbows in the underdark went way beyond the fact they did not have rain. That was minor. The real reason was that they had no light. The literal and symbolic meaning of this hit Zak hard. Join me, Jarl said, almost desperate. Together there is no telling what we could do. You want to bring light to the city of Menzoberranzan? Well, Jarl grinned. As much as they can take. Jarl Del'Axle, the 'Giver of Light and Life,' Zak said mockingly. Jarl bowed low. At your service, though I no longer belong to any house, so you can drop the surname. Jarl Axle? Zak questioned. Yes, Jarlaxle responded, hearing the name out loud for the first time. It has a bit of a ring to it. Don't you think it is a bit obvious? Zak asked. I mean won't Matron Baenre realize who you are? Jarlaxle shook his head. She has already forgotten about me. She has bigger fish to fry now. Besides, I can put on a disguise. He pulled out his ruby red headband and put it on, pulling one half so it was angled on his head, covering up one eye. You look ridiculous. Jarlaxle took off the headband and looked at it. He liked the mind blocking ability and had already found out it did not work unless he wore it on his head. I'll have to fashion it into a proper eye patch then. And I'll need to get a hat. A big one. Zak laughed despite himself. He slowly put away his weapons, realizing that there was no longer a threat to his house. Jarlaxle was a survivor, and he understood that it involved more than just breathing. Come with me, he asked again. Zak longed to. He really did, but he knew that he could not. Jarlaxle was a rogue now. He had no house and he had nothing to protect him other than his own cunning. Though that was substantial, it was not comforting to think about. Zak already knew the answer Jarlaxle would give if he invited him to join House Do'Urden. He could see that Jarlaxle was going to enjoy life on his own. Zak shook his head. What would we do? Sneak around killing matron mothers and high priestesses? I believe we would get caught. Have you no sense of adventure or daring? Where is the drow that wanted to run into the mountains when we were on the surface? That drow has had some sense knocked into him, Zak responded. A drow is not meant to live alone. No member of any race is. I hate Lloth. You know that, and I know that. I despise everything about drow society and their wretched customs, but within my house I am protected. Because of my house I have been given the ability to kill four high priestesses. I applaud you for your desire to bring light to this dark world, but I choose to do so within the protection and security of my house. Jarlaxle nodded, understanding and respecting Zak's decision. Then this is good bye, dear Zaknafein. Whether we me meet again, or not, you shall definitely hear of me. And I have no doubt that I shall hear of you. Jarlaxle bowed low again, dropping his good arm in front of him, wishing he had something to wave (he really needed to get a hat). He then pivoted sharply on the stone floor, his boots making a loud clicking, and ran off as silent as a whisper, leaping out of a window. Zak had a smile on his face as he turned about, totally forgetting that his matron mother lay dead on the floor. That reality was acutely reminded to him as he saw Malice - Matron Malice - standing behind him. How long had she been there? How much had she heard? Zak knew she could hide herself from sight and had little doubt that she had been there the whole time. She had even probably watched Jarlaxle kill Vartha, not lifting a hand to stop it. Malice smiled at Zak's shocked expression. She casually glanced over his shoulder toward the fallen high priestess. Such a pity. Zak did not know what to think. He held no love for Vartha and celebrated her death as he would any high priestess of Lloth, but he began to wonder if he had not been safer with her at the head of the house rather than Malice. Zak cast a glance back at the window, wondering if it was too late to take Jarlaxle up on his offer. You made the right decision to stay within this house, she said, catching his glance toward the window and understanding its meaning. We shall be needing your skills in the years to come. Many shall wonder how we were able to take out the fourth house all by ourselves. You will be their answer. They can never question us openly, for to speak of such a thing when it has been carried out to perfection is a grave breach of protocol. No, they will not question us openly, but they will wish to test our strength. Malice walked about as she continued. If you truly desire to kill the servants of Lloth, then you made the right choice by staying with your house, for I feel you will get many opportunities in the very near future. Malice looked hard at Zak to see his reaction to her statement. Zak remained stoic. Oh don't think what you just said to your bald friend went unheard. And don't think it was news to me either. I have had my eyes on you ever since I discovered how ignorant your bitch of a mother was. Zak stiffened at this, and Malice smiled all the more. I hear the curses you spit at me as we share a bed and you think I am asleep. I know the reason you did not want to kill the Del'Axle children. I know what you think of our Spider Queen. Malice had thought about arranging a test for Zak where he would be force to kill an unarmed drow. She would have disguised a kobold as a drow elf and force Zak to do battle against it. There was little time or need for it now. There were too many actual drow to kill. Normally one such as yourself, if ever there has been one, would find himself strapped to an altar. Perhaps that time will someday come, but I can not deny your skill or your passion for killing high priestesses. That will be too useful to waste now. Malice looked hard at Zak now. I will be keeping a close eye on you in the years to come. If you ever bring disfavor on my house I shall kill you so slowly that you might die of old age before the process is completed. Zak tried to take the threat without flinching, but it was difficult. As for our house, Vartha is not a big loss. Besides, I am already with child. Zak's expression changed at this. Was he going to be a father? He remembered fondly the days that he and his mother spent together. Perhaps a child of his would be different. Perhaps his moral disposition would be passed on along with his seed. Malice saw this change in her prized soldier and was confused at first. Then she understood. The child is not yours, she said coldly. That would indeed be a prize, but apparently your seed is not as efficient as your blades. Zak was confused. Not his? But that meant that Malice was sleeping with someone else. At first Zak was jealous, but that passed very quickly. That was one task that he did not look forward to in the future. If Malice had found someone else within the house that suited her better, Zak was happy. Stiu Alnan was injured in the battle and he is getting old. You will replace him as weapon master of this house very soon. First you will spend time as a master at the Academy, the invitation has already come. You will represent our house well and will return as weapon master. You will then see if you can't turn the useless Del'Axle fighters into meaningful soldiers. Malice had said enough for now, and she turned to leave Zak alone in the room. Zak stood and thought about his suddenly changed life. He thought about pulling out his sword again, but he did not. Instead, he cast one more look at the window though which Jarlaxle had left, shrugged his shoulders, and returned to his room. He had a difficult life ahead of him, and he needed to get some sleep.