Homeland - Rewritten

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Part 2: Baenre
Chapter 6: Deadly Dance
Chapter 7: Discovery
Chapter 8: To do some good...
Chapter 9: Scrying's a disrupting thing…
Chapter 10: "Two-Hands"

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Part Two: Baenre

Chapter 6: Deadly Dance

The sounds of battle outside stopped abruptly, but the thoughts of the twins were too far away to notice, or even care. Then the door opened abruptly, the two of them stumbling out of the side chamber, eyes distant and vague.

"Quetzal?" Matron Malice snarled, "Drizzt?" Quetzal looked up, the blur in front of her eyes clearing, looking at her Matron. Then she noticed the well-dressed crowd around the chamber, most of all a withered old drow standing next to Malice.

Her head turned to Zak, eyes narrowing in concern as she noted his sorry state. His broken swords lay at his feet, and he clutched a wound on his side, blood trickling down a side of his mouth. Matron Malice held a spider-shaped dagger, poised to strike. What was going on?

Zak placed a hand on Drizzt's shoulder. "Show them, Drizzt. Show them the dagger."

Drizzt blinked, his eyes coming into focus. A shiver passed through him. "We can't, Master Zaknafein. We don't have it anymore."

"What?" Zak cried. A look of horror racked his face. He gripped the boy's shoulders in desperation. "But what happened to it?"

Drizzt frowned, as if finding it extremely difficult to recall what had happened. "There was a lady in the chamber," Quetzal said for her twin. "She took the Dagger from us."

Zak gave Drizzt's shoulders a rough shake. "Who? Who was it who took it from you? One of your sisters?"

Drizzt winced in pain, shaking his head empathetically. "No, no. We don't know who she is, and now she's gone."

Zak released him, his shoulders slumping in defeat. Malice pressed the cold blade of the spider-shaped knife against his throat. "You have lost, Zaknafein. Whatever subterfuge you planned has fallen apart. You escaped your doom once, but will not this time." She spat.

"Wait a minute, Matron Malice. The spider is swift in dispatching its prey, but is never hasty."

Malice hesitated, holding the knife against the taut skin of Zak's neck. She watched in surprise as, with stiff, jerky movements, Matron Baenre approached the boy Drizzt. He watched her calmly, even as his twin appeared quickly at his side.

The ancient drow reached out with a gnarled hand, cupping his chin, as the drow lady had done so before, raising his strange lavender eyes to her, even as his sister watched. Quetzal realized that she had hidden the flute and tome inside her robes, sometime before.

"Tell me more of this lady you spoke of, boy," Matron Baenre commanded.

Drizzt squirmed in the withered drow's grip, but could not escape the pincer-like grasp. "We've already said, Matron Baenre. We don't know who she was," Quetzal said respectfully, recognizing the symbols on the other drow's robes.

Baenre felt surprised. The voice seemed to come from the both of them, at once, yet the boy had not spoken. Matron Malice looked hard at her youngest children, noticing that they looked...different now. They no longer seemed to speak of themselves as two separate, but close people, but as one united being. She felt an inexplicable surge of elation.

"Oh? Then why did you give her the dagger?" Matron Baenre found herself directing the question at the both of them.

Drizzt bit his lip, as if not understanding himself. "She...she told us to give her the dagger, because Matron Mother Malice would be glad if we did so."

"Somehow, when she said it, it all made sense," Quetzal added immediately after Drizzt's voice left off, sounding like a complete sentence.

Malice could not stand it any longer, Quetzal could see. The Matron Mother's face was glowing red hot in absolute rage, and she pulled away from Zaknafein, to turn the knife on them. "Liar!" she cried. Drizzt saw that Zaknafein started forward from the wall, as if he would attack Malice if she attacked them.

"No, Matron Malice, the children do not lie," Matron Baenre rasped in annoyance. "See? The truth is written on their faces." She waved a stunned Malice back, turning back to face the calm purple stares of the twins. "Tell me. What did this lady look like?"

"She was beautiful, the most beautiful drow lady we had ever seen." Drizzt said.

"Only her dress. It was... made of spiders," Quetzal continued, in an awed voice.

At this, a gasp rippled through the drow crowd around them. Matron Baenre nodded, as if this confirmed one of her suspicions.

They blinked at this. "Did we..." Quetzal started.

"...Do something wrong, Matron Baenre?" Drizzt finished. A whisper coursed through the drow, at their strange way of talking.

The crone cackled. "No, children. You did very well." She released him from her grip. "Now be gone. We have important things to discuss."

The twins nodded together, scampering with relief down the archway, but not before flashing two impertinent grins back at Baenre.

They raced down the passage, feeling a sense of relief away from the scrutinizing glances of the drow elf crowd. A shout echoed down after them then. "All hail Lloth!"

The two of them screeched to a stop, glancing back at the winding stone corridor. Something had happened, but they somehow did not feel their customary curiosity.

"Are they conducting a mass?" Quetzal mused.

"In this place?" Drizzt questioned.

They shrugged and ran back to their chamber, barely noticing the carved doorways and intricate tapestries, to the more somber part of the House where their room was.

Slamming shut the door, the jumped onto the beds with a whoop of relief, then paused and looked at each other.

The link was still there, as strong as ever. Sitting down, they gave a mutual consent to use their time now after their dismissal to explore it a little.

They looked at each other, detaching themselves a little from their surroundings.

Drizzt? Quetzal asked tentatively.

It still works Drizzt replied, feeling relieved.

That it does. Quetzal grinned. Now we can speak to each other privately!

Drizzt shared his sister's excitement. The last time they had spoken about what they thought about Lloth, Briza had caught them. Drizzt was sure that they hadn't yet recovered fully from the whipping. How they hated that sting of the cruel whip!

They reached further in, their eyes growing wider as they began to comprehend the nature of the drow lady's gift. Whoever she was.

They walked quickly inside the chamber at Malice's summons, to stand in the corner, Drizzt's gaze on the floor as befitting a page prince, Quetzal taking in the summons.

Her gaze seemed a little strange, and no wonder, for Drizzt was also looking through her eyes. It was one of the things they had learned about their gift. Physical senses like sight and hearing could be 'borrowed' through the link. Thus both Drizzt and Quetzal could 'see' through her eyes.

Drizzt foretold a sudden drop in Briza's beatings about making him keep his eyes on the floor. He was not yet comfortable with this type of 'sight', for two worlds seemed to be superimposed on each other, the sight of his ten wiggling toes, and what his sister was looking at for the moment.

Closing his eyes helped, but Drizzt knew that Briza would whip him if he did so, thinking he had fallen asleep. Briza often whipped him for the strangest of reasons, sometimes just for the sake of inflicting some pain.

Zaknafein strode into the chamber, Malice looking up, pleased. "Thank you for responding to my summons so promptly, Zaknafein." She purred.

Zak walked past them to kneel before the Matron's chair. "Of course, Matron Malice." The words came easily to him now. He was getting used to the role of the obedient servant. Malice's deep red lips parted in a wicked smile, and it was clear she liked him this way.

The twins shared a slight thought of confusion as they sensed something untoward about the weapon master, but did not voice anything.

"I have word from the council concerning your fate," Matron Malice spoke up. "As you escaped from being a drider, it was as if the sentence had never been passed."

Zaknafein had to be a drider? Quetzal, and thus Drizzt, looked at Zaknafein, a look of surprise passing through her face, but only for a fleeting moment. They still did not understand fully what had happened.

Zak, of course, looked very relieved. The twins knew about the sentence of being a drider, the worst punishment in Menzoberranzan. What had Zaknafein done to be sentenced before? However they somehow did not seen to care. It was yet another intrigue in this ultimately tangled place.

Zak gave a curt nod. "I am pleased that I will be able to continue serving you, Matron Malice. Will you be arranging any personal punishment for my lapse?"

Quetzal saw that Matron Malice beckoned Zak closer, and whispered something to him that the twins could not catch. Bored with the entire thing, they engaged in another mental conversation about essentially nothing. Their lives at this particular stage were particularly lacking in excitement.

Zak smiled at the twins as he drew back from his Matron. She had commanded him to serve her, personally. Master her by serving her, Jalyfein had said. Yes, he would do just that.

The twins were stifling yawns of boredom, Zak retaining his smile, in his heart, and in his eyes. The two of them had not been tainted by the evil of Lloth yet, and as he had breath, he would prevent her from doing so. He would prevent Lloth from corrupting his children.

The door to their small room creaked open, Quetzal poking her head out. Seeing no one in the corridor, she called Drizzt mentally, and they walked briskly out, Drizzt's head down, just in case.

They did not dart into the same corridor they had frequented since youth, to the 'Narbondel' balcony, as they called it. Instead, they walked to another corridor past many of the rooms, a darker one, the walls after its sudden curve lined with fungus from undisturbed years.

It led to a short flight of steps, which they quietly climbed, feet making not a sound. It was quiet, very quiet. After all, it was even earlier than when they usually woke to see Narbondel's lights.

The door at the end of the stairway showed a half-finished carving of windows, with drow looking in and out of them.

Drizzt twisted the doorknob, and it swung open noiselessly. Darting in, they closed the door behind them, with a click.

The door opened to a balcony, also half finished like the door, that reached out forgotten in the shadow of another, grander balcony. The adamantite railing was not carved, and the floor littered with debris.

The balcony had a good view of the courtyard, though little else. However, the courtyard was what they were targeting, and they settled down on a flat rock they had dragged to the very edge of the rail, that now served as a makeshift bench.

Below, all would be pitch darkness to a surface dweller, but the twin's infravision made out heated shapes of slaves, scurrying past the courtyard.

Then the drow soldiers of House Do'Urden filtered into the plain square slowly, the twins making out the cool shapes of their adamantite weapons and armor. The drow soldiers, all three hundred and fifty of them, assembled into neat rows, disciplined and motionless. They looked magnificent from up there, but they were not what Drizzt and Quetzal had woken up to see. Not yet, at least.

Another drow came into view, levitating down from the ornate balcony shadowing theirs, to land gracefully below on the courtyard. The drow's hair was cut in the manner of the Do'Urden nobles, his piwafwi flowing gracefully behind him, his twin swords tightly in their scabbards at his side.

Zaknafein nodded curtly at the soldiers, and they began their exercise. Above, Drizzt and Quetzal watched with enjoyment.

They had stumbled on this particular secret before the incident with the Dagger, and had quietly switched from watching Narbondel, to watching the training of the soldiers of Do'Urden. Certainly it was far more exciting.

The weapons flashed with light, glinting as they moved in their deadly dance. The twins dearly wanted to learn to dance that deadly dance, to move with the same grace as the soldiers below. Already they had grasped quite a bit of the exercise, comically imitating some of its points, with two scaffolding poles that they had discovered among the rubble.

Drizzt stifled a bark of laughter as his sister's pole caught in the side, almost jarring her over the edge. Quetzal returned the amusement when Drizzt, not paying attention, let his long pole trip himself up, to land sheepishly on the angular pebbles strewn on the floor of the balcony.

They were improving, they could charitably say.

However, the more interesting bit of the training below could not be observed, as when the exercise reached its end, the two of them would have to go back in for their tasks of the day. Most disappointing, but they slipped back out whenever they could.

Quetzal made it a point to surreptitiously inquire about the routine of the fighting, taking note of the demonstrations, which the twins wished to watch.

When Zaknafein and another soldier faced off, or Zak merely dancing alone, his swords a blur in his expert hands.

We need to find real weapons Quetzal told her brother.

Or something close Drizzt agreed.

Below them, the exercise drew to a close, the two of them reluctantly exiting the balcony, picking their way through the debris, then closing the door behind them.

With real ones we can find our favorites Quetzal said. Instead of poles, they would be able to try out more of the interesting weapons, which they had seen below.

A moment passed in which they met Briza in the corridor, who promptly gave Drizzt another heinous task, and handed Quetzal another thick, boring book to study. She had already finished the spells in the spell book.

Drizzt did not even question his task - scrub all the dishes in the house - the two of them thinking up a way to overcome their small problem, brows furrowing in concentration.

They entered the immense kitchen of the house, Drizzt not even groaning this time as he looked on the piles of dirty plates to be washed, sitting ominously next to a pail.

Quetzal seated herself on a crate, cross-legged as she placed the thick book on her lap, conjuring a brighter light to read by, while her brother squatted by the pail and the drain, armed with a scrub and cloth.

Drizzt lost count of the dishes quickly, his hands automatically picking one up, scrubbing and rinsing, then drying it to place it carefully in a growing stack.

Around perhaps the hundredth or so dish, Quetzal looked up.

I have it she told him triumphantly.

Yes? Drizzt asked, doing a deft spin of the plate over his left hand, catching it with his right. He was rather proud of that.

This is what we do Quetzal quickly outlined their 'master' plan.

Drizzt rather abruptly forgot about the dishes, until Vierna appeared in the doorway, her stern face frowning at the sudden lapse. Quickly, Drizzt began to clean the dishes industriously, hoping he had not earned any lashes for his pause. Vierna's only response was to toss him a cloth, and leave just as quickly as she had appeared. Drizzt curiously walked up to the cloth, amazed when his hands were suddenly cleaned of their dirt. With a whoop, he set to his easier task. Each dish only required a mere touch with the magical cloth, before it would gleam spotlessly white. Quetzal mouthed a silent thanks to their sister. Vierna was the least cruel of their sisters, often aiding them in Briza's impossible tasks.

This makes it easier. She told Drizzt happily. Briza had given them half the day to complete her task, which meant that this would provide them hours of free time to devote to their 'plan'. Drizzt grinned at her, his hands working the dishes like a blur. Quickly, all the dishes were clean, and he piled them into the cabinets, ready for use. The cloth was quickly disposed of, as were most of Vierna's gifts. Vierna had warned them of the dire consequences if they did not obey this last rule of hers. Quetzal glanced through the last bit of the book, committing it to memory just as quickly, then hopped off the crate, book tucked under one hand, feeling the flute against her side inside the robes. Drizzt walked over to her, then they walked out of the doorway and down the winding corridors, to less familiar ways, Quetzal with a sketchy idea of where they were heading.

She winked at Drizzt when she saw the entrance to the chapel, knowing she was going in the right direction, then greeted Maya who was entering the archway. Maya returned the greeting curtly, giving them a suspicious glance, then continued on her way, believing the two of them were on another of Briza's chores.

How wrong she could be.

***

Chapter 7: Discovery

The two children were bent over the small tome, a silvery flute negligently lying on the plain bed, ignored through their concentration.

"We suppose it's possible," Drizzt said doubtfully, unconsciously referring to himself as part of them.

Quetzal grinned, taking up the mithril flute, then started to play the notes on the page of the tome very slowly and carefully, trying not to make any mistakes.

She had realized that the tiniest mistake could result in catastrophic reactions, as some of the tunes were very alike.

The tunes dipped into a weaving whisper as Quetzal 'described' their destination in a single harmony, then the music rose in a crescendo.

On top of the opposite bed, an oval like mirror appeared, with every shade of silver present, swirling, spiraling to the center.

Drizzt's eyes were glued on it, in wonder, his sister also looking through his lavender orbs, checking her handiwork even as she concentrated on the tune.

The gate stopped its hypnotic whirl, straightening into a blank picture, a blurred picture that cleared to show a room with a high ceiling, smaller than the family chapel, empty. A curtain sat at the side, as were a few racks of wooden, padded weapons.

Quetzal's playing quickened, securing the gate, then the two of them leaped through. They made contact on a thick, gelatinous surface, but were quickly through.

They landed softly, on cold stone floor, Quetzal 'ordering' the gate to stay put for the time being, then put her flute into her robes. Prudently, Drizzt closed the main door to the corridors outside, then made sure that they were truly alone.

Only then did they get on to the more serious business of exploring the training gym. As one, they turned to the wooden weapon rack, eyes wide in excitement as they hefted each practice replica of a weapon, testing them. They had agreed on this earlier - find the weapon that they liked most, then get on to the more interesting part of finding the real weapons.

They quickly bypassed the quarterstaffs, Drizzt swinging a spear, Quetzal trying out a mace, laughing as the ball simply rebounded from the end of its chain from her throw, nearly missing her head. Drizzt decided that the spear appeared to have too many flaws. As its handle was of wood, it could easily be chopped away by the keen adamantite weapons that the drow carried.

They put the weapons carefully back into the rack, trying out another two, their hands managing to work faster as they cooperated together, both gauging their own, and each other's weapons.

Drizzt moved a halberd into an arc, nearly hitting his own sister, the wooden imitation crashing noisily into the rank. They jumped, looking around nervously to see if the sound had alerted anyone, then continued.

Quetzal stabbed forward with a sword as long as her frame, but the tip kept dipping towards the floor, out of her control.

They had estimated the time they had until the gym would be occupied again, keeping time as they kept glancing out of the door to a balcony from the gym, marking Narbondel.

All too soon, it was time for them to return, for Briza would be looking for them soon. The twins looked wistfully at the wooden weapon rack.

They hadn't even finished half of the selection available.

Carefully replacing the weapons, they stepped back into the portal, Quetzal closing it once they were safe in their room. They had estimated enough time to allow their heat signatures on the wood to cool off.

Looking at each other with a satisfied smile on their faces, they agreed to do this again, next time.

It was a dangerous thing to do, but they grasped at each excitement in their lives.

The same thing endured for many days, the both of them sneaking off chores whenever possible.

It was with a sense of achievement that they finally finished trying out all the selections, then went back to scanning for their weapon of choice.

Drizzt picked up two swords, that reminded him of Zaknafein, then shook his small head as the tips dipped to the floor. Too boring.

Quetzal selected a morning star, a wicked looking weapon, half of which was thicker than the handle, and studded with cruel spikes. It did not suit her, for some reason.

Drizzt took up sabers; the blades that thickened as it reached the wedge like tip. The twins did not like using shields, finding them too restricting, and influenced in this by the fact that the weapon master of House Do'Urden did not use the clumsy, defensive things. He whirled in a circle, the swords fitting well, but not quite.

Quetzal reached for a pair of scimitars, the ends curved, thrusting them out in an offensive but crude action. Maybe, but also not quite.

A childish smile lit up both their faces as they realized what they had to do. They exchanged their weapons, Drizzt now holding the curved swords, Quetzal the two sabers.

Perfect.

Ignoring the rack now, they twirled the weapons in their best imitation of the soldier's morning exercise, a child's imitation of a masterpiece, but going through vaguely the appropriate motions.

Thrust down, cross the swords, then push upward, your left foot forward...

Quetzal happened to glance at Narbondel, saddened to notice that it had reached their invisible cue line. She relayed that information to Drizzt with a thought, then they put the weapons back on the rack, regretfully curbing their excitement and leaping back through the magical gate.

It was now the Black Death of Narbondel, what passed as nighttime in the drow world. Two stark white heads were bent over a small tome, lighted up by a magical glow.

"Duplication," Quetzal read softly.

"Area of Effect: Special?" Drizzt questioned the book.

"It means focused on something only." Quetzal explained absently, studying the book. "Range: Sight of Caster. I wonder if it applies through a magical gate," she mused.

"Magic within magic? I don't..." Drizzt said.

"I suppose. Duration: Permanent." Quetzal grinned at Drizzt.

"Don't say it." Drizzt told his sister.

"I told you so," Quetzal said anyway, with a smug smile. Drizzt had doubted this part of their plan. Drizzt sighed, frowning at the next line.

"Casting time..." he warned.

"Well it just means we go earlier." Quetzal suggested.

Drizzt shrugged, not able to argue anymore, his heart secretly looking forward to their next, most important, visit.

The twins stood in the training gym again, relieved to have finished yet another of Briza's cruel chores - mopping the floor of all the corridors.

They had, of course, cheated at this. Even Briza had given them a day to do this. "Polish the floors till they shine!" she had snarled at Drizzt. "Or else..."

They did not need to know what the 'or else' was, but Briza took pleasure in snapping the whip off her belt, giving them a full view of the six snake heads.

Quetzal had remembered a spell of 'haste' from her clerical lessons, casting it on Drizzt. The rest of the day had been a blur, literally.

Earlier than ever, they now were inside the gym. Looking at each other, they began their search for the location of the real, adamantite weapons in the gym.

It did not take very long. Drizzt's infravision located cool shapes behind the large curtain that they had always passed in indifference, thinking it to be no more than one of the many tapestries that adorned the plain walls of the Do'Urden compound.

Yanking it to the side, their lavender eyes feasted on a wide array of gleaming adamantite weapons, more impressive than the wooden practice rack. Quickly, Drizzt took down a scimitar and a saber, dropping them carefully in front of Quetzal, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor.

Quetzal put the tome on her lap, her mithril flute swaying from side to side in a hypnotic movement as she played the music, that weaved in perfect harmony like the most complete of tapestries. It was a complex tune, so complex that Drizzt could not follow it.

The scimitar's shape blurred, then the hard edges swayed with the flute, as if the twins had been knocked unconscious and were just awakening, their vision as if unfocused.

The image of the scimitar flowed impossibly to the side, wavering as Quetzal's tune called it to solidify, over and over in a varied chorus, each rhythm different, and each pitch higher or lower.

Drizzt wondered how his sister managed to concentrate on the notations so well. In truth, Quetzal was hardly looking at the book, the notes coming into her mind a split second before she played them, as she was caught up in the power of her wordless song.

Finally the duplicate rested on the floor, a perfect replica of the original scimitar; even the enchantments imbued on the original existed in this magical copy. Drizzt glanced out, noting that Narbondel had already touched the agreed mark, and he pulled his already tired sister to her feet, keeping the scimitar and saber back into the rack.

Drizzt took up the copy even as Quetzal stumbled through the gate.

He admired the fine work of the weapon; dimly hearing the notes as Quetzal closed the portal, then collapsed on her bed for a breather.

The tip was finely edged, ready to cut through anything, the weapon itself rather heavy for his childish frame, but he knew better than to try it out in the confines of their small room.

Quetzal recovered enough to prop herself up. "The magic drains..." she began, almost apologetically.

"We have a lot of time..." Drizzt assured her.

Quetzal nodded, closing her lavender eyes. They could wait till the next day, then the next, until they had duplicated all the weapons, then could try them out, taking out the possibility that their heat patterns would not be seen on the cold metal of the originals.

They would also have time to surreptitiously practice at night, though one of them would have to crouch right at the end of the small room.

Drizzt and Quetzal had long since taught themselves to survive on little sleep.

So it went, for three more cycles of Narbondel, both of them feeling a surge of satisfaction as they finally held their choice of weapons each, Drizzt two scimitars, Quetzal two sabers.

Still, they had to practice in the gym, apparently the only place that was crafted to suit the use of such weapons, other than the very exposed courtyard.

Zaknafein felt tired from the training that day, after pushing himself through so many continuous bouts that he had quickly lost count. Dismissing the soldiers early, he dragged himself to his room, which adjoined the training gym.

He noticed something almost immediately. On the floor of the training gym was a myriad of heat patterns, crossing each other.

Suspicion rising, he walked over to the fast cooling signatures, his sharp eyes picking out two separate patterns. Two separate intruders then.

What was strange was that the intruders, whoever they were, did not seem to have entered or moved out from any of the exits to the training gym.

More curious now, he stood up from the completely cooled patterns, carefully checking all the equipment and furniture in the Do'Urden gym, noting some things of interest.

There was an old, barely noticeable dent in the side of the rack of wooden replicas. Looking more closely, he noted a matching dent on a halberd.

His eyes noted a few newer scratches on the hinges of the curtain rack, but were not fairly recent, saying that the intruders had weapons of their own.

Most strange... the intruders had apparently just come to practice, but if it had been Vierna, Briza or the sisters, he would have been told. And from what he remembered of the heat patterns, they were erratic and clumsy, not characteristic of any drow he had taught.

If not drow... one of the slaves? Zak immediately dismissed that thought. Slaves were not even allowed weapons, let alone magic.

What then? Zak decided to get to the bottom of the matter. He estimated the time the intruders had come, gambling on the fact that whoever they were, they came regularly enough.

His weariness forgotten, he placed a heat shadow over an obstruction, for him to hide near to watch. Tomorrow, he would get to the bottom of this matter.

Briza stopped Drizzt and Quetzal as they walked away from the secret door leading to the unfinished balcony.

She brandished a scraggly looking duster in front of Drizzt. "I want you to dust all the tapestries in the house," she snarled at the page prince, whose gaze was on the floor.

Turning to Quetzal, she continued. "As I want you to check your brother's work. If one speck of dust remains on the tapestries, I will whip the both of you out a hair's breadth of your lives."

Drizzt inwardly sighed, picking up the duster even as Briza raked the both of them with a final glance just overflowing with superiority, striding away with the hard clacks of her boots.

This was going to take even longer than the polishing of the corridors.

Zaknafein dismissed the soldiers early to practice on their own, returning to his chambers, his swords at the ready as he crouched, concealed by the heat shadow and the obstruction.

A quick glance at Narbondel told him that he was early, and he settled back to think, something that he had done often after the incident with the Dagger of Menzoberra.

He had discovered a flaw in Jalyfein's plans. What if he, pretending to serve Lloth, woke up one day to find that he had turned into Lloth's slave?

The question was hard to dismiss, and hard to answer.

A light patter alerted him, and he pulled himself smaller against the obstruction, peeking out.

Perhaps receiving one of the greatest shocks in his life.

Drizzt and Quetzal, his children, had materialized on the stone floor of the training gym, a portal behind them, even as Quetzal played a few notes on that flute of hers. More surprisingly, Drizzt carried two scimitars and two sabers, adamantite.

Zaknafein did not remember losing any of the weapons from the Do'Urden training gym.

As he watched, astonished, Quetzal tucked the flute back into her robes, taking the two sabers from her brother.

"That new move Uncle Zak tried yesterday..." Drizzt began. They had one of those rare moments in which they managed to see 'Uncle Zak' performing.

"New for us..." Quetzal continued, knowing what Drizzt was saying even before he finished his sentence.

"Anyway," Drizzt grinned, his small frame holding the scimitars awkwardly, but in a definite position, even as Quetzal raised hers.

Zak realized he was watching with an open mouth. Somehow, his newest 'title' of 'Uncle Zak' ate at him, but he quickly ignored the ache. They had been observing him?

His questions were answered as Drizzt and Quetzal, going through a series of incomplete conversations, went through one of the demonstrations he had done yesterday, Drizzt taking on the offensive, even as Quetzal countered.

Their moves were slightly inaccurate and slow, but they were only children. Zak felt himself swelling with pride as he realized that they had only watched the move once, but could imitate it already, albeit imperfectly.

Drizzt's scimitars were moving in a '8' formation, twisting over each other as they sliced at Quetzal. Zak winced. What if one of Drizzt's clumsy blades made contact, and had cut into his Quetzal?

Quetzal however, moved into the appropriate counter, metal hitting metal, as they grinned at each other.

It was only a friendly contest to them, Zaknafein realized. And a potentially dangerous one, although they obviously did not notice that fact.

He could stand it no longer as the last slow swipe of Quetzal's nearly connected with Drizzt's leg, blocked awkwardly by a scimitar.

Zaknafein stepped out from the heat shadow. "That is not the way," he said sternly.

The twins jumped guiltily, the tips of their weapons lowering to the floor as they turned to look at Zak.

"What are the two of you doing?" Zak demanded.

They flinched. "Well..." Drizzt began.

"...Since no one is willing to teach us, and we have..." Quetzal said

"...Nothing better to do other than Briza's evil chores... oops." Drizzt said mildly.

Zak stifled a laugh. It was better not to encourage the two of them.

"Anyway, we decided to try ourselves, by watching you in the morning." Quetzal continued truthfully.

"Are you angry with us, Master Zaknafein?" Drizzt asked then, a little tentatively.

Zak looked stern, and the twins hung their heads, expecting a beating, or worse. Then they heard laughter, hearty laughter, and they looked up to see the weapon master's shoulders shaking with sobs of mirth. The situation was all too ludicrous for Zaknafein.

"Can you teach us?" Drizzt asked, hopefully.

Zaknafein calmed down, looking at the twin's eager expressions. This had a great implication. He would be disobeying Malice, risking his act as a submissive servant. He asked himself, what did he care?

Zak nodded. The twins smiled smiles of relief and excitement as they considered the depth of the agreement.

This was going to be highly enjoyable, damn what Briza thought about it.

***

Chapter 8: To do some good...

Drizzt's scimitars rolled over a sword, inexpertly but accurately aiming for his opponent. "I have you!" he cried triumphantly.

His opponent merely smirked, a sword angling back and smashing away the scimitar, then engaging the second even as his other sword went past Drizzt's crude defenses.

Twist to the side! Quetzal cried at her brother.

Drizzt automatically complied, twirling away from the sword, but quick as he was, his opponent was faster, the sword giving Drizzt a stinging slap, then another as Drizzt struggled to get an even stance.

"Faster," Zaknafein scolded, working the boy hard. Already sweat beaded on Drizzt's brow, even as his small head crinkled in frustration as he struggled against the weapon master.

They had, in a phrase, asked for it.

Zak flipped his blades forward in a blurring run. "Third-feint-and-counter!" he warned Drizzt.

Drizzt steadied himself in the appropriate counter. Zaknafein's blade dipped even as the other lunged forward. Drizzt slapped the thrusting sword, the other blade rising suddenly under him, impossibly fast, even as he hit it away.

The first sword danced back to his side, Drizzt getting one of his flashes of inspiration. Twisting to the side, his scimitar hilt hit the feinting sword accurately wide, the other scimitar deflecting the 'counter' movement. His first scimitar recovered faster than his opponent's did. With a shout of triumph, it angled towards Zaknafein. The weapon master cursed, his sword sweeping forward to slap Drizzt's hand, causing Drizzt to let go of the scimitar in pain.

The boy was good, Zak admitted, as was Quetzal. The two of them had learnt much in the first weeks that normal drow did not learn for months. They seemed to have a photographic memory, which captured his every move to turn the move on him later.

He still had to decide which of them memorized and which of them simply moved. Either of them always watched the fights, the other engaging him. It looked as though they discussed the movements privately, for what Drizzt encountered in a fight; Quetzal would use against him later, and vice versa. Albeit crudely, but that could be corrected in time.

Disgustedly, Drizzt lowered the tip of his scimitar, signaling a wish for the end of the training session, Zaknafein agreeing. Drizzt was tired, he could see. The boy had refused to stop earlier, had almost held out for an hour.

Long for one who had still to turn thirteen years of age, long for one whom would have started his real training at sixteen years of age.

Drizzt was better than Quetzal at fighting, but only slightly better. His moves came faster and more confidently, while Quetzal apparently was more cautious at committing herself.

Zak bitterly reminded himself what Quetzal would become eventually. He could not stop that, but he would be damned if he let Drizzt become a wizard, under Rizzen's influence.

Drizzt picked up the scimitar, admiring the blade even as he tucked it awkwardly into the sheath. He grinned at Zaknafein, the older drow allowing an answering smile to creep on his face.

"You are getting better, but you need more practice," Zak said finally, the hint of approval lighting up Drizzt's small face.

Practice was hard to get in a page prince's life, Zak knew. Admittedly their only practices would be with him, in the training gym.

Zaknafein motioned for Quetzal to come over, the elven girl slipping off the chair and trotting toward them obligingly.

"Now the two of you battle," he said calmly.

Quetzal winked at Drizzt, drawing her sabers as Drizzt took out his scimitars. Zaknafein settled on the chair to watch.

The two of them began warily, circling each other, a move that they had learnt from Zak. Drizzt's eyes narrowed - the warning an inexperienced fighter gives when he is about to attack. Quetzal's sabers rising into a defensive mode.

Drizzt lunged forward anyway, swords flickering in quick strokes that gleamed a cold gray in the infravision of the drow.

Quetzal had somehow anticipated this move, sabers going out in the appropriate parry, then angling under the sword to kick Drizzt's supporting leg.

Drizzt also seemed to know about his sister's move beforehand, moving his leg out of the way even as one scimitar rolled over the saber to slap at Quetzal's hand.

Quetzal promptly danced away and out of proximity, to try and strike at Drizzt's exposed back, but Drizzt had turned around too, parrying the thrust.

Watching and calling out hints to the both of them, Zaknafein found that he was watching a mirror-like dance, one opponent perfectly anticipating the other.

He knew the twins were special, different from the drow. They laughed often, were truthful, and did not respect their other older siblings much.

Their vaguely formed morals resembled his closely, and he often asked himself why he had not discovered who they were earlier, as they reminded him of himself.

Zak found he enjoyed these impromptu lessons, that he enjoyed defying Matron Malice's will in this subtle way. Teaching them the weapon skills early... that was not really a significant thing. Except that his influence would extend to them.

There was a certain thrill in this, this game he was playing, a backhanded, sneaking game so evident of Menzoberranzan. A thrill that he was doing wrong by the 'law' of the drow, knowing the high possibility of getting caught, and the satisfaction that nothing had happened. So far.

To do some good...

Jalyfein had advised him to 'Master her by serving her'. He supposed that this was his chance, to oppose Lloth's will even as he obeyed her outwardly. Certainly the Spider Queen would not look kindly on teaching one of her 'prized' priestesses the way of the warrior, of influencing a priestess to Zaknafein's unorthodox views.

Zaknafein's views held Lloth in ultimate contempt. He had no respect for his evil goddess, hated and despised her for what she had done to the drow elves.

Once, the drow had been noble and enlightened as the surface elves. He blamed Lloth for their downfall into these scheming, wicked creatures, which lived in an imagined world of common enemies, and common gains.

She was always watching, he knew. Not that he cared, now. Let her watch if she wished, watch him do his bit for a better, more worthy god.

Quetzal's saber rang against Drizzt's scimitar, the metal ring bringing Zaknafein out from his memories.

"Each move must give an advantage!" he shouted at the contesting drow. Quetzal grimly pressing on with her sabers, while Drizzt settled into a defensive routine.

"Oh no you don't," Quetzal muttered, her swords diving wide to open an obvious hole in her defense. Drizzt took advantage of it cautiously, fully expecting a feint as his feet fought to find good footing in the rush.

Each move must give an advantage...

Drizzt slid forward all the way, swords held close to him like a barrier, even as he came up too close near to Quetzal, his twin looking surprised, the look on her face alone brightening his face even as he suspected that the surprise was an act.

The sabers connected with his swords, metal locking on metal even as they came to a standstill.

Zak knew that their movements were still holding the formal ideals of the novice, formal offensives and defensives that would prove detrimental in a true fight.

No matter, they still had time. A lot of time.

Drizzt's foot angled out even as he tried to push away the sabers, but Quetzal neatly stepped on the kicking limb, causing a small yelp of pain as she refused to be deflected.

Something the both of them hadn't considered was that they both lost balance at the same time as the opposing forces on the sword and the boots refused to cooperate. The twins fell into a laughing heap of sabers, scimitars, and elves.

Zaknafein got up from his chair, joining in the mirth. That was something he did not hear often, the ringing peal of elven laughter, genuine and not wicked, something he treasured always when the twins were training under him.

"Something new," Drizzt grinned as Quetzal lay down on the floor, eyes closed for a moment while a smile creased her face.

"Live and learn," Zak remarked, pulling the both of them to their feet.

The mithril flute poked out from Quetzal's robes, and he decided to finally ask her what it really did. "What does your flute do?" Zak asked, his tone polite and calm.

Quetzal got up as Drizzt supported her. Trustingly she confided in Zak.

"It can perform many spells that wizards and clerics do," she said, giving the small tome of spells to Zak, who flipped through it with a dawning comprehension.

"However the casting time – playing time is longer than actually casting a spell," Quetzal said, remembering the duplication spell. If a wizard were to cast that spell, it would only have taken a few minutes.

"Very useful though," Drizzt added, remembering the 'Anti Magic' jade spider. It still sat motionless in the archway, not able to be enchanted again, even with the combined efforts of Malice and Briza.

That had been looked over by Matron Malice. For some reason, Zaknafein knew, the Matron of House Do'Urden wished to cultivate the relationship between the page prince and the budding cleric.

Unlike Vierna, Zaknafein immediately saw why, having first hand experience on the answer himself. Most male drow inwardly disliked female ones, knowing that the females had better treatment than they did, although the only difference was another set of genitals.

A wizard and a cleric that trusted each other and worked as a close team would be a powerful tool in Matron Malice's hands.

How was he to prevent that? To separate this laughing pair, so obviously suited for life together, was a painful stab in his heart. He could not, would not do it.

There did not seem to be any question for this. Better that he could spare the both of them the harsh trials and lies of the drow life, that they should live its lie. Even together, they would face a lot of disappointment and sorrow.

Zaknafein had experienced it already, his four centuries of life laden with bitterness and discontent.

"Zak?" a voice somewhere in front of him alerted him to reality.

"Yes?" he replied.

Drizzt and Quetzal pointed towards Narbondel. The fires had, Zak was disappointed to see, already reached the agreed mark.

With two final impish smiles, they leaped through the portal, while he slowly turned his back on the gym, to return to the courtyard.

Today's chore did not seem that bad. Drizzt kneeled before the immense carved balcony of the house, polishing it vigorously. Briza had ordered him to polish the entire balcony, not as much as polishing every doorknob in the house, but almost as bad.

he magnificent balcony stretched even into the house, and was wide enough for the family and many of the commoners to stand in.

He finished buffing an image of a giant spider battling what looked like a svirfneblin gnome, then looked down.

Below the balcony, on the courtyard, were the drow soldiers of Do'Urden, training hard. Drizzt had to keep reminding himself of his task.

Quetzal was seated quietly on a stool dragged from the other room, memorizing yet another spell. Drizzt was somehow satisfied to note that she also kept glancing covertly downwards.

He hoped he could soon become as good as Zaknafein, before Briza and her evil chores killed him first. Drizzt could see that he had become 'better' than when he and Quetzal had simply watched and copied the exercise. His scimitar moved faster and more surely now, but still slower than the weapon master's.

Actually, the twins had worked out a good plan to learning. They had realized earlier on that fighting and paying attention at the same time was rather difficult, so while one of them engaged the weapon master, the other would observe Zaknafein.

It was a dispassionate sort of concentration. Their eyes became recording devices, just absorbing the movements into their 'common' mind, for replaying and consideration later.

Or if there were more than one bouts in a day, the other watching twin would 'feed' the fighting one tips and instructions. In this way, they avoided more than one stinging slap of Zak's swords.

They had found early that 'Uncle Zak' was not like other drow. He could laugh at things that did not necessarily hurt others, and his code of rules resembled theirs, what they had formed in their childish minds that they thought were right.

He also treated the both of them fairly, never beating them like their elder sisters. However, as the twins held Zaknafein to be the 'model' of what they were to become, they followed his every order, a scolding enough to make them feel shame.

Zaknafein had seen this behavior in them earlier, and was careful not to disappoint or hurt them. He admitted to himself that he was not built for this 'idolatry' of himself. It felt strange when he looked at the twins, to see their shining admiration and loyalty.

He promised himself not to take advantage of it.

"It's working well..." Quetzal said to Drizzt, more to keep conversation going than anything else.

Drizzt nodded from where he was now wiping the onyx carving of a lot of high priestesses. They went to the training gym immediately after their chores, and then after they woke from sleep. It was better than chores all day long.

Drizzt and Quetzal suspected that Briza sometimes made up cruel chores on the spot for Drizzt to do when he appeared to have free time. At the same incidents, giant tomes of history or difficult spells on scrolls would materialize in her hands.

Vierna appeared less and less now as she neared the end of her studies for high priestess. She would be ordained one in three years or so, with honors. Matron Malice had been pleased with her work with Drizzt and Quetzal.

She had taught them the precepts without hurting the bond. For that, Malice had whispered into the right ears, and Vierna would graduate in a few years, a short period of time in the life of a drow.

Zaknafein appeared pleased at that idea when they asked him about it. The twins knew that Vierna was his daughter, and certainly appeared to be. Briza was too cruel, Maya too... pliant, like Rizzen. They seldom saw Dinin, but he was Rizzen's.

Certainly they did not like their father Rizzen. He scowled most of the time, but was very submissive to Matron Malice. Zaknafein did not like him either, saying he owed the patron no respect.

Drizzt sighed at the strangeness of this world they lived in, as he started to polish the end of a dragon's tail.

So they continued this strange teaching for many more months, the twins growing stronger and faster with each few hours of a lesson.

Soon Zaknafein had taught them the fundamental use of all the weapons, and was moving on more seriously towards the handling of swords.

Drizzt was now able to hold his own against Zak for an hour, Quetzal slightly less, a great achievement for the thirteen-year-old drow children.

Nothing had yet transpired of this conspiracy, the children growing more relaxed.

Zaknafein knew that they would be caught sooner or later, with him to blame, chiefly. He found he did not fear the consequences.

To do some good, Jalyfein had told him.

Zaknafein told himself that he would honor his promise, both to Jalyfein, and to himself.

A small act of defiance, teaching the children, his children, behind the backs of Malice and the others, but worth it and all the trouble that would go with it.

Every time he heard the clang of metal against metal, followed by the inevitable light conversations and accompanying laughter, he justified his action, stilled his doubting heart.

Each time the twins smiled at him with their pure, innocent grins, it lifted his spirits.

Perhaps they had come as a gift from elsewhere to save his soul.

With them, in their name, he would continue to fight Lloth's machinations, to protect them from Lloth's corruption.

Perhaps this time, Zaknafein told himself optimistically, these two would survive, heart and soul.

***

Chapter 9: Scrying's a disrupting thing…

"Have you seen Quetzal and Drizzt often nowadays?" Matron Malice inquired of those present, which were namely all her daughters except for the youngest one.

This had transpired due to the sudden lack of appearances from the twins. They apparently only appeared during the morning and during meals now, the other times as if disappearing somewhere. Matron Malice did not like the thought of this.

"They have been keeping out of sight then," Briza growled. "They must be taught their place." She put her hand, predictably, on the six hissing snake heads of her whip.

"Perhaps they are on your chores," Vierna dared to say.

Briza glared at Vierna, eyes ominous. "No," she snarled. "The twins have been scarce of late, and I have seen that they are usually not in the places of the chores."

That was true, Vierna admitted. They either finished the work impossibly fast, or did not do it at all, both criminal offences in Briza's eyes. Finishing her chores early meant that magic had been utilized, something that Briza definitely did not allow.

"Take the scrying bowl." Matron Malice said. She would have to use the most prized possession of House Do'Urden. The two were most likely the only other children she could bear for the rest of her life, and she would have to correct them whenever they fell out of her course.

Briza glared at Maya, who had turned automatically to go to the treasure room. "It is the place of a high priestess to take the treasures," She said in contempt, then whirled out of the room.

Zaknafein stepped agilely away from the younger drow's charge, with a grin as he quickly parried, then flicked one sword forward, ready to give Drizzt a stinging slap on the side for such a wild offensive.

Drizzt somehow was able to block the thrust, countering with one of his own.

Zak smiled in satisfaction. They were indeed getting better. Quetzal watched the rather one-sided fight from the chair, her eyes staring at him.

So that was how they did it. The one not fighting would watch, then tell the other of his moves later. Zak, however, did not know how to counter that idea, and was secretly pleased that it was happening.

"You learn fast," he commented, as Drizzt gave the appropriate parry for a few feints.

Drizzt's answer was a grin, a knowing grin, which confirmed Zaknafein's suspicions. In a few months, they had mastered most of the 'formal' moves of the sword, a considerable repertoire.

From the chair, Quetzal was also grinning, the book Briza had given her to memorise forgotten by her side.

Give me some time, Zak asked in his mind, to no one in particular. Give me some time, and they'll learn more, of fighting and of the heart.

The children seemed to take his word as gospel. That alone made his self-appointed job a little easier.

"So we know," Matron Malice commented, looking into the picture of the scrying bowl. Her son Drizzt was fighting Zaknafein, not spectacularly, but well for his age.

From the angered priestesses' high vantage point, they could see Zak giving Drizzt a commentary while easily fending off the child, even as he added a few stinging slaps to accentuate his points.

Quetzal sat in the corner, a smile on her face even as she looked as though she was intently watching the fight.

"I will fetch them," Briza growled, snapping her hissing whip from her belt.

"That is of no consequence." Matron Malice rebuked, taking out the house emblem from her neck-purse, then sending summons off to the trio.

She sat back on the throne of the family chapel, fingers tapping, eyes narrow with suppressed rage. What was Zaknafein trying to do now?

Apparently him as an obedient servant, although appealing, was none other than a façade. Matron Malice was angry, her mind coming up with a suitable punishment. He would not escape so easily this time.

Then she would erase whatever influence he had given the twins, and raise them properly, as befits drow nobles.

As for Zaknafein…Dinin would make a good weapon master. Her heart told her otherwise, but she made up her mind. He had disobeyed her for the last time.

Zaknafein felt the coin growing hot in the neck-purse, and he took it out. A summons, at this time? What did Matron Malice want?

Drizzt similarly stopped, feeling the coin in his neck-purse growing hot, as did Quetzal. They looked at each other curiously, then at Zak.

Zak shrugged, sheathing his swords, even as the children smiled at him and walked into the swirling portal, back to their rooms.

Shoving the weapons under their beds, they walked out of the door, Drizzt's gaze on the floor, Quetzal guiding him to the chapel.

Zaknafein hurried to the chapel, as his assumed persona of a mindless tool would have done so. He entered to find that the children were already inside, Drizzt and Quetzal walking towards their customary corner, minds whirling with complications.

"Thank you for responding to my summons so quickly, Zaknafein," Matron Malice purred, though there was something else in her eyes.

"It is my role as your obedient…" Zak began in curt tones, the words coming easily to his mouth.

"Liar," Matron Malice snarled suddenly. "What have you been doing teaching the twins?"

Drizzt and Quetzal exchanged looks of horror. They had been caught.

Malice saw the look, returning to Zaknafein with a triumphant smile. "You have disobeyed me for the last time, Zaknafein. No doubt you knew of the twin's importance to House Do'Urden. So many years, of lies!" her voice had risen to a high shriek of outrage.

She calmed down, enjoying the apprehension in Zaknafein's eyes. "I sentence you…" she began, Zak dreading the result.

"No," Quetzal spoke up, loudly enough to be heard.

Matron Malice swung her glare onto her youngest daughter, but Quetzal refused to back down.

"It is not his fault," she said coldly, a voice unlike that of her own.

Briza was stunned. Quetzal hadn't even asked permission to speak! She snapped the whip from her belt, ready to administer punishment.

"What did you say?" Malice asked in a seething voice.

"It is not his fault," Quetzal repeated in an unemotional voice. Zak was open-mouthed in astonishment at this.

"I ordered him to do it," Quetzal said, her voice holding the harsh sound of convincing truth. "He is a male, and would not disobey."

The words were painful to the weapon master, who looked on impulse at Drizzt. The page prince's head was lowered, as if not noticing anything in the chamber.

"Why did you do this?" Matron Malice demanded, now more in curiosity.

"I have read the history that Briza has provided me with. Weapons killed most of the famous high priestesses of Lloth. If we were but trained fully in this skill, would that not lessen such fatalities?" Quetzal said, sounding exactly like the sisters during a 'tactical' discussion.

An image of Matron Ginafae leaped into Malice's mind. She nodded in grudging ascent. "This early?" She asked.

"The better. I would learn faster now, when I have more free time." Quetzal replied in the same neutral tone. "If you have found fault in this…"

"It is a good idea," Malice interrupted. "But Drizzt?"

"Drizzt is destined to be my bodyguard, as you have said yourself on occasions." Quetzal said. Suggestions from Drizzt were sounding in her mind, she just picked up the best one then embellished it on the spot.

Malice nodded again. "Very well then. I will consider this, but continue with your training." She shot Zak a glare. "However, if what you are saying is not true…"

She left the threat hanging. Quetzal bowed then strode out of the door with as much dignity as a thirteen-year-old could muster, Drizzt trailing behind.

Zaknafein followed them, not understanding what had transpired. When they were out of sight and hearing of the family chapel, near the rooms of the twins, Quetzal started to cry, in sobs that racked her shoulders.

Drizzt whispered something comforting, then stopped Zak as he instinctively moved forward to help. With a tremulous smile, he said, "We've never lied before," in a small voice, apparently some explanation, then supported his sister into the room.

Zaknafein was left in the corridor, with a grim look on his face. Yet another pedestal of innocence had been knocked out from under the twin's feet.

They were now allowed officially to visit the training gym, but Briza's chores seemed to triple, and they were under close, unseen surveillance every moment.

Zak looked closely at the twins when they next appeared at the gym, but they seemed none the worse for wear, Quetzal looking resigned. They hardly spoke a word that day.

Now he did know Malice's intent for these two. Drizzt as a wizard did not sit well with Zaknafein. There was a potential in him to become a good swordsman, as could Quetzal.

He too, was under a closer watch now. Malice would tolerate no other foolishness from her weapon master.

Had the secret training been a disadvantage to them?

***

Chapter 10: "Two-Hands"

Drizzt felt the coin in his neck-purse glow, even though Quetzal's did not. Shrugging, she followed him as he promptly answered the summons, not needing Briza's whip to hurry him along.

Quetzal lurked outside the chapel as Drizzt entered cautiously.

"Do you know what this day marks?" Matron Malice asked when he arrived at the side of her great throne in the darkened anteroom.

"No, Matron Mother," Drizzt replied, keeping his eyes on his toes. There had to be more life than ten wiggling toes, he thought. Only during Zaknafein's lessons could he lift his gaze from the floor in public, and then could only watch as Zaknafein proceeded to give him a very 'stinging' lesson of swordsmanship. Literally, that was. It had been three years, and he still hadn't managed to even touch to weapon master with his scimitars yet. Neither could Quetzal and her sabers, though she came close once.

However, Drizzt corrected that thought, it was a feint. Quetzal had ended up sprawled on the floor, while Zak began a lecture on avoiding feints.

It was still more enjoyable than cleaning dishes though.

He slipped one foot out of his boot and began doodling on the stone floor, his body heat leaving discernable tracings. Drizzt was quick and agile enough to complete simple drawings before the initial heat cooled, as was his sister.

Sometimes they huddled together in their room, drawing blasphemous pictures about Briza, or about spiders in particular.

"Sixteen years," Matron Malice said. "You have breathed the air of Menzoberranzan for sixteen years. An important period of your life has passed."

Drizzt didn't see much significance in the announcement, though his sister, listening with him, certainly did. He felt his twin growing excited in his mind, and was about to ask her why, when Matron Malice interrupted.

"Look at me," she ordered him.

Drizzt felt confused. His first prerogative had been to look at the person whom he was speaking to, but after having suffered numerous beatings from Briza, he and his twin had discovered a new way to avoid it. Simply put, Drizzt saw through Quetzal's eyes.

He knew the high price of disobeying, so he forced his gaze upwards, using the tracings on Malice's robe to guide his eyes.

Then he saw her, the mighty Matron Malice Do'Urden, her face flushing with angry heat. Drizzt steeled himself, fully expecting a blow.

"Your tenure as page-prince has ended." Matron Malice explained. "You are now a noble of House Do'Urden, and are accorded all the…"

Drizzt's gaze unconsciously slipped onto the floor.

"Look at me!" his mother screamed in sudden rage.

Terrified, Drizzt snapped his gaze upwards, to the now brightly glowing heat of the Matron Mother's face. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the glowing red of her hand, swing down to administer punishment.

He knew better than to avoid it, accepting the blow, though wisely keeping his eyes glued on her angry face.

"No more a servant!" Matron Malice roared. "To continue acting so will bring disgrace on our family!" She grabbed him by the throat and hoisted him up.

"If you bring dishonor on House Do'Urden," Malice said slowly, "I will put needles in your purple eyes."

Outside the anteroom, Quetzal shuddered. She did not doubt that Matron Malice would enjoy sticking needles into Drizzt's eyes.

The summons rang now, in her neck-purse, and she stepped quickly into the family chapel. Matron Malice had put Drizzt down, not looking surprised that she had appeared so quickly, then sat back onto her throne.

Quetzal looked immediately at Drizzt, whose mind was experiencing a sense of exultation and excitement.

Zaknafein moved behind Vierna into the dim antechamber of the family chapel. Matron Malice was seated on her throne, along with the rest of the family inside the chapel, though no other seats were present. This was to be a formal meeting, he decided, for only the Matron was accorded the comfort of a seat.

"Matron Malice," Vierna said in her most reverent voice, "I present to you Zaknafein, as you have requested."

Zaknafein exchanged nods with Matron Malice as he moved to Vierna's side, but he was more concerned about the youngest Do'Urdens, including Drizzt, who stood naked to the waist by Matron Malice's side.

Quetzal flashed the weapon master a breezy smile, and Zak relaxed somewhat. Whatever it was, they weren't in trouble. Yet; he mentally corrected. The two of them had the greatest capacity he had ever seen of 'getting into trouble', as that quaint phrase so succinctly put.

Malice held up one hand to silence the others, then signaled for Briza, holding a house piwafwi, to continue.

An expression of elation brightened both Drizzt's, and Quetzal's, faces, as Briza chanted through the appropriate runes, then placed the cloak, shot with black and purple, on his back.

"Greetings, Zaknafein Do'Urden," Drizzt said heartily, drawing stunned looks from all over the room but for his sister, who was also grinning. Matron Malice had not given him leave to speak – he hadn't even asked her permission!

"I am secondboy of House Do'Urden now, no more the page prince. I can look at you now – I mean at your eyes and not at your boots," 'now' meaning always, and not only during practice. The twin's smiles disappeared when they saw the burning scowl of Matron Malice.

Vierna stood as if struck to stone, her face stunned, and mouth hanging open.

Zaknafein was amazed, but also slightly resigned. He brought up a hand to pinch his lips together, to prevent them from spreading into a smile that would have erupted into laughter. He could not remember the last time he had seen the Matron's face this bright!

Unwittingly, they had probably stumbled into more trouble.

The twins prudently stepped away from Malice's side, but the smile remained in their eyes.

Zak took a long step forward to distract Malice's attention away from the twins. "Secondboy?" he asked, sounding impressed for the sake of Drizzt's swelling pride. "Then it is time for you to fully start training."

Matron Malice glared at Zak. "The twins have already learned the basics at your hand, as we have observed. He is to be a mage, and it is time for him to learn under Rizzen, limited as his command of the arts is."

"Are you so certain that wizardry is his lot, Matron Malice?" Zak was quick to question.

A series of 'accidents' in which one sister or other caught Zak cursing Lloth and such had destroyed his 'servile servant' facade, but Malice did not seem to mind now, after his careful 'placation'.

"He appears intelligent," Malice replied, then shot them a look. "At least, most of the time. Vierna reported his strong grasp of the innate powers. The house needs a new wizard." Malice snarled reflexively, causing the twins to wince slightly. "Sorcere seems the natural course."

Zak took a flat coin, flipped it up, and then caught it deftly. "Might we see?"

"As you wish," Matron Malice replied, not surprised at the inquiry. Zaknafein preferred the cold steel of a sword to the crystal component of a wand.

The twins exchanged a glance, only vaguely understanding what was happening. Quetzal knew that Sorcere was the Mage School, but they didn't wish to go there, did they? Before she could say anything, Zak was already in front of them. The weapon master handed Drizzt a coin. "Flip it," he said.

Drizzt looked at him, then at Quetzal. Shrugging, he curled his finger under the coin, flipping it up into the air, then catching it just as quickly. He then held it back to Zaknafein with a confused look, not understanding what was the importance of what he had done.

In stead of taking the coin, Zak handed him another one. "Try both hands," he said.

A test? Quetzal offered her brother. Drizzt shrugged, flipping both coins up, then catching them easily.

Zak caught the eye of Matron Malice, then handed Drizzt two more coins. "Try four," he said.

Four coins went up, four were caught. The only part of Drizzt that had even flinched were his hands.

"Two-hands," Zaknafein said to Malice. "This one is a fighter, and belongs in Melee-Magthere." He felt Quetzal looking at him, and resolved that he would deal with Drizzt first, then Quetzal. The second task would be much, much harder, deep inside Zak knew that Malice would never allow one of her daughters to be a warrior. Even if that same daughter showed much promise in that area of study.

"I have seen wizards perform such feats," Malice said in annoyance, not pleased by the look of triumph on Zak's face.

A test. Quetzal repeated to Drizzt. This time, he nodded a fraction of an inch to his neck as the both of them stared at Zaknafein.

Zak handed two more coins to Drizzt. Now enjoying the game, Drizzt put them into motion, six going up and landing on the correct hands.

"Two-hands," Zak said emphatically. Quetzal could see that Malice was motioning for the weapon master to continue. The grace of her brother's display was undeniable, but Quetzal knew she could do that. Why could she not follow Drizzt into this Melee-Magthere then?

"Could you do it again?" Zak was asking. Drizzt piled the coins back onto his curled fingers, ready to flip, each hand working independently. Zaknafein stopped him there, taking out four more coins, then pausing to study Drizzt's concentration. Quetzal noted that the coins were also tightly held in the weapon master's hands, for Drizzt to make out more easily in flight.

"Catch them all, Secondboy," he said in all seriousness. "Catch them all, or you will land in Sorcere, the school of magic. That is not where you belong!"

Drizzt had a clearer idea of what was happening now, but his brow furrowed in concentration, then he took a deep breath to steady himself. The coins were flipped up, Drizzt sorting through the individual heat glows. The first two fell into his hands, but he could see from the scattering patterns that the rest would now.

Exploding into action, Drizzt spun in a complete circle, his hands an indecipherable blur of motion. Then he stood before Zak, a grim look on his face. Almost shyly, he opened his hands, a smile spreading across his, and Quetzal's face.

There were five coins on each hand.

Zak looked slightly impressed, then walked over to Matron Malice. "Two-hands," he said a third time. "He is a fighter, and I am out of coins."

"How many could he catch?" Malice said, awed despite herself.

"How many could we stack?" Zak shot back, with a triumphant smile.

Matron Malice chuckled out loud and shook her head. "Very well, Zaknafein. The Secondboy is a fighter."

Zak nodded and started back to Drizzt, his eyes meeting the pleading ones of Quetzal. Before he could say anything else, Matron Malice interrupted him.

"Quetzal Do'Urden, however, will be a high priestess of Lloth." Malice claiming back the upper hand, guessing at Zak's next move.

Zaknafein uneasily caught the hint that she would revoke the first pronouncement about Drizzt if he said anything else that day.

The three of them walked back into the training gym, Drizzt and Quetzal holding their weapons. They had been here before, and so did not require introductions.

Quetzal had a slightly wistful smile on her face, knowing that she could but enjoy a few more years of training before going under Vierna's, or worse, Briza's tutelage.

She wished to become a fighter. Why could she not?

Zaknafein gave her a sympathetic smile. "It is our way," he told her, guessing at her thoughts. "Drow female have to be priestesses to Lloth."

Quetzal reluctantly acknowledged that fact. "Why did you..." she began.

"...Ask us to move out of our rooms?" Drizzt finished.

"You will spend the next few years of your lives here. You will sleep here and eat here," Zak said calmly.

They grinned. No more chores.

"Now, we'll be continuing what I taught you this morning." Zak said calmly. Drizzt sat on the seat, while Quetzal unsheathed her sabers, dumping the scabbards next to Drizzt.

Zak's eyebrow rose. "First lesson now," he said dryly, as Quetzal turned back to him, "Take better care of your weapons."

The sheaths had been taken from the weapon store a few weeks earlier, when Zak had learnt what they normally did to their swords when they reached their rooms.

Quetzal sighed. She kept forgetting.

Zak nodded curtly, signaling the beginning of the bout. The swords flashed and sang together, as if what had transpired before had not happened, as if they had not left off the fight in the morning.

Quetzal parried a blow, then another, and another, feeling pleased with herself for being alert, then launched into an attack of her own.

Parry, parry, thrust, parry Drizzt instructed from the sidelines, sending images of what Quetzal should and could be doing, as she usually did for him.

Quetzal flew through the instructions, then Zak's swords came into a pincer like movement. "Pincers," he warned, then the swords snapped quickly together from both sides, like a scissors.

Quetzal went through the appropriate parry, her swords winding wide, like an opening 'V', then pirouetting forward to thrust at the exposed weapon master, a move the twins had thought of earlier.

Zak leapt back agilely, his swords in front as he easily parried the blow. "Good," he said with a wolfish smile, not even winded as he pressed on.

One sword darted at her leg, Quetzal easily parrying, then another at her side, then another feint lower down. Quetzal quickly suspected that he was trying to force down her defense, and she grimly held the swords closer, recovering them quickly higher up.

Without any warning, Zak's swords dived under her sabers, his right hand twisting up to catch both her sabers, even as the other reversed direction to just slap painfully at her.

"Double feint," Zak explained, lowering his swords.

The twins recalled irritably that the weapon master always seemed to carry out the move on them first before explaining it to them, earning them a whole series of bruises and aches.

Quetzal also lowered her sabers, Drizzt coming closer as per normal.

"It is usually attempted on more experienced drow. The drow suspects that his weapons are being forced down, he keeps his weapons high, then you dive under his defense." Zak said succinctly.

Quetzal bit down a smile. More experienced...however she had done exactly as he had transpired.

"Whatever happens in battle, always keep an even stance," he scolded her then. "Your swords were too close and too high, even if you are anticipating a move, keep them in front of you."

They nodded, knowing better than to argue with this bit. Drizzt had done that once, defending a counter he had thought up, and Zak had promptly proven that he was wrong through a series of stinging slaps.

The counter wasn't wrong, they told him. It was just that it needed a little refining.

That had caused Quetzal to get the same series of stinging slaps. Zaknafein obviously thought them too stubborn for their own good.

More exhilarating than chores, Drizzt grinned, as Zaknafein continued his demonstration, then motioned for Drizzt to start.

Quetzal went back to her chair, nursing the new smarting hit on her hand, but treasuring the information. In a real fight, she would have been skewered by the thrust.

Drizzt was curious. After Zaknafein had pointed out the counter to him, and they had practiced it a few times, the weapon master's mind did not seem to be fully on the fight now.

In fact, Zak was thinking about what he should have done with Quetzal. Should he argue again with Malice in the future, after the Matron had more or less forgotten her unspoken threat? It was useless, he admitted, but he felt that it would be good to try.

Absently, he batted away one of Drizzt's thrusts, the younger drow growing a little frustrated. Zaknafein wasn't even concentrating!

Use his own move on him, now that he's not fully in the fight Quetzal suggested, mentally visualizing the double feint. Her mouth and Drizzt's curled into a wicked grin of anticipation.

Drizzt began flicking hits at Zaknafein's legs, easily deflected by the weapon master.

A flicker of consciousness surfaced in Zaknafein. The boy was trying to lower his defense? His mind struggled past this unnerving thought, returning to the closer one at hand. Should he show Matron Malice how much better her daughter was at fighting then at spells?

Instinctively his weapons recovered higher with each deflecting, as if anticipating a high hit. Drizzt gave Quetzal a mental wink, then his right scimitar rose to catch the swords, even as the other dived towards Zak's exposed chest.

Zak 'woke up' abruptly, his eyes widening in surprise. His student had turned the same move on him! Cursing himself for not paying attention, he slid his swords off the curved blade of Drizzt's by lifting them in the opposite direction, then slicing horizontally, all the while desperately twisting away, his elbow glancing off the thrusting scimitar's flat side, knocking it wide.

Drizzt blinked. Apparently this was a move on impulse. His scimitars weaved into a defensive routine from shock, but recovered.

Too late, for Zak had attacked with renewed fury, angry with himself actually, but wishing to end the fight more quickly.

In a matter of seconds, Drizzt lay on the floor, nursing new bruises, one scimitar near Quetzal, the other skittering across the room.

His eyes held a stunned shock, and Zak bent over to help him up. "Never surprise a weapon master when he's thinking," Zak advised him with dryly. "They tend to overreact."

***

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