Homeland - Rewritten

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Part 3: DeVir
Chapter 11: Kindred
Chapter 12: The Stain of Blood
Chapter 13: Grim Preference
Chapter 14: Melee-Magthere
Chapter 15: Routines

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Part Three: DeVir

Chapter 11: Kindred

Quetzal pressed in with a series of low thrusts. Drizzt tried to back away to find more even footing, but the relentless assault followed his every step, and he was forced to keep his blades on the defensive.

"Double cross low!" Zak commanded from the sidelines, where he had been circling the fight, a makeshift referee, his knees bent.

Quetzal immediately dropped to a low crouch and came up under Drizzt's defense.

Drizzt twirled his scimitars in a masterful cross, but Quetzal had anticipated that, through a nudge in her conscious link between Drizzt, quickly assaulted again. Drizzt sensed that he had been set up, fully expecting even knowing exactly what Quetzal would do next. She shifted her weight to her back leg, then dove in, both sabers aimed at his stomach, and where the wide tapering ends could do the most damage.

Drizzt smiled, a wolfish smile grown from the heat of combat, Quetzal winking back. Drizzt then spun his scimitars into a downward cross. On sudden impulse, he hesitated before intercepting his twin's weapons, then jumping back, earning a painful slap on his thigh. Disgusted, he threw both his scimitars on the ground.

Quetzal lowered her weapons, even as Zak stepped forward, confused. "You should not have missed that move," he said bluntly.

"The parry is wrong," Drizzt replied.

"The cross-down defeats the attack, but to what gain?" Quetzal agreed.

"When the move is completed, my sword tips remain too low for any effective attack," Drizzt continued.

"And I may slip back and free," Quetzal finished.

Zaknafein had become used to this trait of theirs finally. "But you have defeated her attack," he said.

"Only to face another," Drizzt argued. "The best position I can hope to gain from the cross-down is an even stance."

"Yes..." Zak prompted, not understanding his students' problems with that.

"Remember your own lesson!" Quetzal shouted.

"Every move should bring an advantage, you preach to us, but we see no advantage in the cross down!" Drizzt finished his twin's sentence in an equally loud voice.

"The both of you recite only one part of that lesson for your own purpose," Zak scolded, now growing equally angry. "Complete the phrase, or use it not at all! 'Every move should bring an advantage, or take away a disadvantage'. The cross-down defeats the attack, and your opponent has gained the advantage if he even attempts such a daring move! Returning to an even stance is far preferable at that moment."

"The parry is wrong," Drizzt stubbornly said.

"Pick up your swords," Zak growled at him, drawing his own. Drizzt hesitated, and Zak attacked, his swords leading the way.

Quetzal stepped forward with her sabers, but Zak gave her not a glance, implying that this was Drizzt's fight. Confused, she retreated slightly to watch, but ready to join if anything untoward happened.

Drizzt picked up his scimitars and deflected the first attack, with one single move, while the both of them wondered whether the weapon master was really attacking or just teaching.

Zak pressed in furiously, snapping off cut after cut, backing Drizzt in circles. Drizzt defended well enough and began to notice an all familiar pattern beginning to emerge as each of Zak's attacks went lower and lower, forcing Drizzt's hilts up and out over his scimitar blades.

"Double thrust low!" Zak growled, and his swords dove in, even as Quetzal, replaying the fight with Drizzt earlier, saw a solution in a flash of insight. And just as quickly 'taught' it to Drizzt.

Drizzt was ready for Zak now. Smiling smugly, he executed the cross down, then snapped his foot up between his scimitar blades, as Quetzal had 'thought' to him, catching a surprised Zak on the face. The stunned weapon master reeled back.

"The parry is wrong!" the twins chorused, a triumphant tone in their voices, as Drizzt dived forward to take advantage of the situation.

Zak recovered impossibly fast, though his nose bled, meeting Drizzt's attack defensively, then kept on a defensive routine until he began to focus more clearly. Then he laughed, a clear, genuine laugh, the twins joining in.

Zak was still laughing as he twirled his swords, one diving down to Drizzt's parrying scimitar, as the other forced the remaining scimitar wide, then diving under the arcing blade as Drizzt sliced at his exposed chest, turning a circuit, to drive a booted heel into Drizzt's knee.

Before Drizzt could react, he found himself lying flat on the floor, Zak standing above him, gingerly touching his face.

"You know something? That is the fifth time I've broken my nose," The weapon master observed mildly, sending the twins back into a gale of laughter.

"It is a better counter," Zak admitted, when the mirth had subsided, and Quetzal had tended to the nose.

He received twin smug expressions, looking into their lavender orbs. Zak marveled at the ease of their stance, the way they held their swords as if they were but extensions of their hands. Their training, or at least for Quetzal, had already progressed far above 'basic techniques', as Matron Malice called it.

The trio figured she did not need to know about it.

"In real battle with you, we would still have been defeated," Drizzt said, unconsciously rubbing his knee.

"Surely," Zak said calmly, without a hint of pride or modesty, "but that is why we train."

"You expected something," Drizzt said.

Zak smiled and nodded. "That is perhaps because I have seen the counter against the cross down performed by another student."

"Against you?" Quetzal said, feeling a little less special as she thought their battle insights were not so unique.

"Not your counter to the double cross down. The circuit," Zak said, with a wink. "Hardly against me. I watched to counter fall from the same angle as you,to the same effect."

Their faces brightened again. "We think alike," Drizzt commented.

"We do," said Zak. "But my knowledge has increased through four centuries of experience, while you have not even lived through a score of years. Do not try to change all the counters just so you believe they are wrong. I have trained more soldiers than I can count, all the army of House Do'Urden and ten times that number when I was a Master in Melee-Magthere. I have taught Rizzen your sisters, and both your brothers."

"Both?" Quetzal asked.

"I..." Zak paused and shot a curious glance at them. "I see. They never bothered to tell you." He wondered briefly whether it was his place to tell them. He doubted Malice would care either way, she probably hadn't told them because she considered the story not worth telling.

"Yes, two," Zak decided to explain, "The both of you had two brothers when you were born: Dinin, who you know, and Nalfein, a wizard of considerable power. Nalfein was killed on the night you first drew breath."

"Against dwarves or vicious gnomes?" Drizzt squeaked, in the manner of a child asking for a bedtime story, the same eager, hungry gleam in Quetzal's eyes. "Was he defending the city from evil conquerors or rogue monsters?"

Zak couldn't even figure out who said the last bit, struggling to reconcile himself with the warped perceptions of their beliefs. "Bury the young in lies," he lamented under his breath, but to them he said, "No."

"Then against some opponent more foul?" Quetzal pressed, "Wicked elves from the surface?"

"He died at the hands of drow!" Zak snapped, stealing the eagerness from their eyes.

They slumped back to consider the possibilities, and Zak could hardly bear to watch the confusion that twisted their faces.

"War with another city?" Drizzt said somberly, "I did not know..."

Zak let it go at that, walking quietly back to his chamber. Drizzt looked at Quetzal, the both of them understanding that something important had transpired.

It had been quite a shock one night for Quetzal to wake up and find her sheets covered with blood. Drizzt was the next to wake, his mind dragged to consciousness by her mind waking up.

"Quetzal? Wha…" he began, his eyes widening.

Quetzal's face began to glow in the strange pinkish light of the infrared spectrum the signified extreme embarrassment. "Go back to sleep," she quickly said, grabbing her flute.

A few notes and the sheets returned to normal. Drizzt looked even more curious than ever when she started o play the portal tune, then even more mystified when she disappeared in the swirling silver of the portal.

He glanced back at the sheets. "Nothing wrong," he muttered irritably.

He felt around the edge of his mind, blinking as he looked into Vierna's room. Abruptly, his sister's voice sounded, a trifle curtly, Go back to sleep!

Quetzal came back moments later, her face slightly mortified and resigned.

"What happened?" Drizzt asked in concern.

"If you really must know…" Quetzal's smile was suddenly wicked. Then she sent him the entirety of Vierna's explanations.

Drizzt found himself blushing furiously. "But why…" then he shut up.

"However, if you tell Zak…" Quetzal said warningly.

"No…no I won't. Promise," Drizzt replied hurriedly.

"Still awake?" Quetzal questioned.

"Um," Drizzt said, then ducked back into his covers to the sound of Quetzal laughing.

Masoj was the first out of the room; his clothes in tatters, coughing smoke. That idiot master of his had conjured up the late Matron Ginafae, something he was absolutely forbidden to do.

Of course, that had called a yochlol to investigate.

Of course, the yochlol had sprayed them with spiders.

Of course, the spiders were crawly, hateful things.

However, Masoj was sure that did not justify Alton trying to rid himself of them by dropping a fireball on his feet. The blob of fire looked harmless, but always would expand outwards in a mushrooming cloud of fire, burning everything on its path.

Masoj touched his face, resignedly noting that his eyebrows were no longer there. It could have been worse; he tried to tell himself. Alton could have used an acid spell, or what was recently discovered, facetiously known as a 'stinking' cloud, something that would have easily covered Sorcere, spraying everyone with poisonous fumes.

A voice in his mind refused to listen, yelling at him a single phrase, over and over.

"I should have killed him when I had him in the web," Masoj lamented, speaking that phrase.

To his irritation, Alton stumbled out, scorched but alive, tearing the rags of his robes off. Nearby, a door opened from another room, the Master inside emerging, looking at them with understanding, then handing them spare robes, which they wore gratefully.

"Another experiment, Faceless One?" The Master asked politely, looking at the both of them, then inside the charred wreckage of the room.

Alton considered himself lucky that the original Faceless One had earned such a reputation for colossal experiments (and colossal miscalculations) which allowed him to get on with his more spectacular attempts to learn the name of the house that had destroyed his family.

"Yes," he said, marching back inside the room.

Masoj greeted the Master, who threw an ambiguous smirk over his shoulder, that said very eloquently: Too bad you are his student.

Too bad indeed.

The weapon master battled the both of them through long hours, sometimes with either of them, sometimes watching, while the days blended into weeks and the weeks into hours. Time became immaterial, the combatants simply fought until exhaustion, then went back to the training floor when they were able.

Students or not, Zak still had to train the soldiers of Do'Urden. During those hours, the twins fought each other, in impossible bouts. It was hard to fight someone so closely linked to you that they could feel what you were about to do next.

More often than not Zak would return hurriedly from the morning exercises to find that his students were still fighting, the weapons slashing at each other, neither having gained any advantage at all.

Zak conceded that if someone blocked this link between him and her, Drizzt would probably win. After a few hours, that is. Whether she liked it or not, Quetzal was better at her flute, and spells, as a drow female should be, than at her sabers.

They were good enough. Already they could out fight most of Melee-Magthere, and Zak shivered to think of what would happen after many more years of training, how magnificent they would become. Even more invulnerable, if the both of them happened to be cooperating together...

By the third year, at the age of nineteen, they could hold out for hours against the weapon master, even taking the offensive in some of their contests. Zak had already considered sending one of them out of the room while he fought the other, but had realized that it somehow didn't work.

Zak enjoyed these days of pure, uninterrupted training. Laughter often accompanied the clash of adamantite weapons in the training room. He watched Drizzt grow tall and straight, Quetzal shorter but developing in other areas that other drow of the opposite persuasion would find interesting.

The weapon master was thrilled to think that the masters of the academy would be hard put to hold a stalemate against them, even in their first year!

The feeling lasted only as along as Zak remembered the principles of drow life. How they would steal that smile from their faces.

There was a pointed reminder of the drow precepts when Matron Malice came to visit one day.

"Address her with proper respect," Zak warned them both as the ruler of House Do'Urden swept in, Maya announcing her presence.

The weapon master stepped forward, bowing to Malice, saying something that the both of them couldn't catch. When he turned back, he had an irritated look in his eyes, that usually precipitated either a quick, humiliating defeat, or a long, painful one during a fight. It meant that Zak had seen something he didn't like, and usually took it out with his swords.

The matron stepped away from him to stand before them. "I doubt not your prowess with the blades," she told them both, though she shot a sly glance at Zak. "You have the blood. There is more that makes a drow warrior – qualities of the heart! The attitude of a drow warrior!"

This was obviously aimed at Drizzt. They didn't know how to respond to her. They had only met a few times in the last three years, and they had exchanged no words.

Zak suddenly attacked, shouting, "Show her, young warrior!"

He hadn't referred to any of them. The both of them drew their weapons, at the same time, like mirror images, Zak engaging the both of them together.

He hadn't done that before.

In fact, Zaknafein valued his time with them, too much to allow Drizzt, or even Quetzal to slip up in front of Malice, to allow her to remove the both of them from his tutelage, dishonoring him in the process. Or simply take Quetzal away, for she had obviously trained longer than any of the sisters in House Do'Urden, to learn spells.

He had to allow Malice to let him continue teaching them. And the only way he could do that was to let her see how they could cooperate together, under him. It was something that Zak perceived Malice wanted, a drow warrior bonded with a cleric, a powerful tool for the house.

Particularly if the cleric also incidentally could use weapons well as any drow warrior.

Their minds linked closer, as Zak bore down on them with a fury they had never seen before, even when he showed them the cross down parry. He worked them both independently; the amazed pair already being driven back, their arms aching from the heavy blows.

"What are you..."Drizzt tried to ask.

"Show her!" Zak growled, slamming in again and again.

Drizzt barely dodged a cut that would have killed him, astonishment keeping his weapons on defensive, though Quetzal surged forward, already perceiving Zak's intent, hacking away at the weapon master.

Zak stole the offensive with a cunning circuit, slapping one of Drizzt's scimitars, then the other out wide with one sword. Then he used an unexpected weapon, bringing his boot straight up in front of him, then slamming the heel into Drizzt's nose.

Drizzt felt the crackle of cartilage and felt his blood running down his cheek. He tried to back away from his crazed attacker, trying to realign his senses.

His sister cut in front of him, intercepting the weapon master as he advanced. "Show her," he gritted out at the both of them.

Quetzal launched an attack of her own, the two drow elves as if intertwined in a confusing flurry of swords, sabers, and boots. Zak managed to break free, pushing his body out in a semicircle, using the momentum and the smooth floor to slide around Quetzal before she could react, a blade already whistling as if to stab her in the back.

Intercepted by a scimitar. Blood flowed freely down Drizzt's cheek, and Zak was sickened to see the hatred in his student's eyes. The scimitar dived, chopping at the weapon master's belly, but Zak was not there.

It was Quetzal's turn to take on a hit meant for Drizzt's legs. Their forms were then outlined in faerie fire.

Grimly, Quetzal dropped a ball of darkness on them.

Down! Drizzt ordered, the both of them scrambling out on their bellies.

A wise choice, for at the first hint of darkness, Zak had levitated up ten feet and swept his blades at their face level.

Angrier now, they let themselves be led back into the fight, when Zak dropped down from his magical perch in front of the globe.

A series of wicked pokes from the both of them drove him away from the globe. The twins had both seen (and felt) his cunning blind fighting, knowing they would have a better chance out of the darkness.

"Go with it," Zak gritted out, settling into an easy rhythm, his back prudently closer to the wall to discourage sneak attacks.

He prodded them on by covertly opening holes in his defense, allowing Malice to note their near perfect combination, one attacking, one looking out for tricks, catching his swords just before they did damage.

Zak 'twisted' his ankle, fighting to keep balance, opening an irresistible hole in his defense.

A thrust came, from Drizzt this time, as Zak's left arm streaked out in a cross cut that slapped the scimitar from Drizzt's hand.

"Ha!" Drizzt shouted, anticipating that move, launching their second ruse. His second blow knifed over Zak's shoulders, inevitably dipping in the follow through, while Quetzal struck at the other shoulder.

Her other blade was low and ready, waiting to catch Zak if he tried to parry the double strikes.

By the time they launched their second blows, Zak was already down on his knees. As their blades cut harmlessly wide, Zak's own flipped outwards in a wave movement that cut the other two out wide, then his hilts slammed out in a right cross, catching both of them simultaneously, hoping that Malice would ignore him hitting a drow female.

They leaned back a long step, eyes glazing over, remaining weapons falling with a clang on the floor.

"A feint within a feint within a feint!" Zak calmly explained.

The both of them slumped, unconscious, on the floor.

They woke up some time later. "Speak less and your jaws will heal faster," Zak advised them, his face still sour from what Malice had told him. He had bought them a little more time, until Drizzt left for the Academy, but that was about it.

They cast him a vile glance.

The weapon master shook his head. "We have become great friends," he said.

"So we had thought," Drizzt mumbled.

"Think clearly!" Zak scolded, "Do you think that Malice would have allowed a bond to form between her weapon master and her youngest, her prized youngest children? Especially if one is a female? You are drow, and of noble birth! You may have no friends."

Their gazes snapped up, hurt.

"None openly, at least," Zak conceded comfortingly. "Friends to drow are an unacceptable weakness. Matron Malice would never accept..." he paused, realizing he was browbeating his students. "Well at least we know who we are," said Zak awkwardly.

Somehow, to the twins, that didn't seem enough.

***

Chapter 12: The Stain of Blood

"Do'Urden?" Alton said again in a disbelieving voice, for the hundredth time that day.

"Matron SiNafay would not lie," Masoj said flatly. He did not like the idea that his Matron Mother had adopted this... this idiot into the house. Instead of killing him outright, as she should have when she found that Alton DeVir, no, Hun'ett now, was impersonating Gelroos Hun'ett, the original Faceless One.

"But Do'Urden... so far back in the hierarchy," Alton said defensively.

"Already it is growing more powerful each day," Masoj remarked. "None below can defeat it, and few above."

Alton's face narrowed in a manic expression that Masoj had seen before, when he had spent sixteen years trying to discern the guilty house.

"Vengeance," he said, in a cold, sure tone, his fist held before him, curling into a tight fist.

"Not until Matron SiNafay allows," Masoj reminded him.

Alton was not happy about that. Some part of him wished to set off now, to enact revenge on Do'Urden, but the other part told him about the sheer foolishness of his plan.

He nodded curtly at Masoj, who recognized a dismissal when he saw one, backing out of the room with a worried expression.

"Why am I doing this?" Alton moaned at himself. It seemed too much effort. His house was dead, most other drow, with the opportunistic manner of drow, would have gone his way, killing Gelroos Hun'ett and taking the place as a Master of Sorcere. And would have stopped there, more than content.

Why did he even bother to spend so much effort trying to discern the House? Alton had seen houses being vanquished before, and felt nothing. House DeVir had been the culprit of many such raids, and he felt nothing, the other soldiers of the vanquished houses readily joining DeVir's army. He felt nothing.

Vengeance was a hollow word, fuel for an extinguished flame. He didn't even like some of his sisters, tolerating the rest of his family. In fact, he reminded himself, he had seen Sorcere as a place of less hardship than the House DeVir.

Why then, this need for vengeance? Alton realized he was being extremely foolish, feeling like a child who was blindly striking back and his sibling because the sibling took away his favorite toy. The feeling was like that, but Alton felt sure of something – sixteen years had done nothing to lessen his rage.

A demon crashed inside House Teken'duis, the unsuccessful raiders of the previous night's raid, and the twins winced.

The nobles of all the houses had been called to watch this, an example of drow justice.

Drizzt and Quetzal watched in horror beside Zak as that same justice was carried out, in brutal efficiency. A house that failed in a raid would be open to retribution from the Academy, often left afterwards as a smoking ruin.

Zak's mouth set in a grim smile as he saw their expressions. They would remember this for the rest of their lives. For now, he could only hear the screams of the doomed house, but most clearly the high pitched, terrified wails of children, the children of House Teken'duis.

His hands clamped at his side as he fought for control. Those screams, exactly alike to those of doomed House DeVir, taunting him, denying his courage, above all calling him a coward, a coward.

Help me, those screams cried out. Help us...

They were abruptly cut off as a demon or such apparently found the hiding places.

Zak finally opened his tightly shut eyes, looking into those of the twins.

"Can't we stop it?" Drizzt said, his voice shaking.

"To interfere is death," Quetzal told him, more schooled in the rules of the city. "To do anything against Them is death, the..." she was shut up abruptly when Zak clamped a hand over her mouth, effectively ending the insult.

Giving the both of them a warning look, he detached himself from the scene, something he did most of the time in such situations, when his mind floated away from the ugliness into a place of silent, beautiful contemplation. Without this mental retreat, Zak knew, he would have gone mad a long time ago.

Drizzt and Quetzal suddenly had this feeling that their teacher was not with them. Zak's eyes were glassy and fixed in the general direction of the excitement, like an ebony statue.

"Zak?" Quetzal said softly, poking the weapon master.

"He's Thinking," Drizzt said. This, to the twins, meant that Zak was doing something in his mind, and would not answer questions or respond even if a Minotaur was to step on him.

They winced as three lightning bolts took out a vaguely female shape from the balcony of the house, clenching their fists, but unable to do anything.

A bubble of bitterness rose, and burst.

Zaknafein and his lizard mount padded softly on the ceiling, leaving a heat trail that would not be noticed unless someone knew what he was looking for.

Beside him, Rizzen rode his mount, occasionally shooting looks of hatred in Zak's direction.

The weapon master didn't care. He had been sent to deliver a message, with Rizzen, to Vierna in the Academy. Though why Malice couldn't have just sent a message disc was beyond him. Even if the message did not require such a disc, he did not understand why a normal soldier had not been sent instead of the two important males of Do'Urden.

Rizzen was to keep an eye on him, Zak realized. Something was going to happen, that Malice didn't want him to know.

He urged his mount on faster, Rizzen also quickening his pace. "In such a hurry, weapon master?" The other male smirked. Malice had implied as much to him what she was to do, and what his job was. The voice dripped in malicious glee.

Zaknafein resisted a strong urge to smash his companion's face.

"The message is not this immediate," Rizzen drawled.

You could do it, a voice in Zak's mind said. Hit him there, and there, and he'll be out like a light. Then you can get back to the House to see what Malice was doing.

"Then why are you with me?" Zak said bluntly. "Why did Matron Malice give the message to me to deliver, instead of giving it to you?"

Rizzen bristled at the implied insult that he was a servant. "I am patron of House Do'Urden," he began in a warning tone.

"As I was," Zak cut in easily. He's so close, the irritating voice said. Take out your swords – "Until Matron Malice withdrew your position," Rizzen said smugly.

Zak tried to ignore him, and more importantly, the voice. Hit him with a double cross, then hide his body in that grove –

"What is Matron Malice going to do?" he growled, more to himself.

"She is to speak with your students," Rizzen smirked.

Zak felt an expanding bubble of rage that he stifled quickly. The voice refused to go. Kill him and take the lizard back, then explain that –

They reached Arach Tirith after what seemed like a long, dragging time to Zak, a test to his self-control.

Vierna took the piece of paper when she met them in her chambers, opened it, and read, Zak watching her closely.

"I see..." she said, then her gaze turned onto Zak and Rizzen, slightly puzzled, as if wondering why Matron Malice had sent such a message with two drow messengers.

The message wasn't important. If the message wasn't important....

The rest of the incident was blurry to Zak, he only remembered his cold gaze burning into Rizzen whenever the patron tried to feebly stop his quick pace.

Then their mounts were hurrying back to the House, Zak dimly hearing a snickering behind him.

Rizzen came the closest in his life of being quickly disemboweled by Zaknafein then.

They woke up in their beds, their wounds tended by Matron Malice. "The armor will be replaced, and you have earned your robes." Malice was saying. "You are true drow now. You have earned it." She turned and walked out of the room.

The twins looked blearily at each other, their minds not really accepting what had happened.

Malice had walked into the room when they were getting in stride on an argument over a counter they had thought of, trailing Maya and Briza, and two drow males.

First she had fitted them out with chain mail and robes, then with the soft boots and jeweled scabbards of a drow noble.

Malice had spoken of the Right of Challenge – whatever that was, Quetzal certainly hadn't heard of it before.

Then Maya had claimed one of the male drow as her champion, Briza claiming the other.

The drow had attacked, showing inferiority in weapons to Zak's prime students. And they had killed, forced by Malice and Briza's spells.

The next moments were hazy, as the twins looked at each other. Briza had attacked Quetzal, Maya Drizzt. They did remember whips beating them into unconsciousness, still feeling the sting in their bodies.

They had killed – the image of the blood dripping from their weapons was still very clear, very real. In their lavender orbs, they both saw pain, as their pedestal of innocence had been knocked off under them.

On the table were their weapons, still glinting with the dark red sheen of drow blood.

When Zak had entered the room unannounced and very noisily later, he saw the both of them furiously cleaning their blades, as if trying to sear a stain off their hearts.

The twins looked up when they saw or rather heard, his entrance, and Zak's heart twisted to see the look of pain on their faces.

"What has Malice done?" Zak said softly, more to himself.

"Matron Malice," Quetzal corrected, her voice droning and sounding like a shade of her normal self, as if something had died inside. Zak's heart plummeted further.

Drizzt and Quetzal put down their sabers and scimitars in a clinking heap, Drizzt sitting down beside Quetzal.

Zak sat on the opposite bed, his face horrified. "Tell me what she has done," he ordered.

When he used that done, one simply did not disobey.

"Matron Malice came in with Briza and Maya," Quetzal began.

"And they gave us gifts," said Drizzt.

Thus, in a halting monologue, they gave a more or less full account of what had transpired. Zak didn't even feel anger anymore. He recognized what Malice had set out to do; something he had heard was to have been done to him a long time ago.

There was only pain.

Zak comforted them the best he could, then grimly stamped off to find Matron Malice.

Behind him, he could hear the soft scrape of cloth against metal.

Maya didn't look the least surprised when Zak came striding up to the family chapel, his face a thundercloud.

"Matron Malice," she said in her most reverent tone, "I present to you Zaknafein."

Zak walked past her, to stand before the smug queen on her high throne of stone and black velvet.

"Greetings, Zaknafein." Malice said, in a smug voice. "I am pleased to inform you that Drizzt will be leaving for the Academy tomorrow, though Quetzal will continue to train under for a few hours each day, so as to allow time for her learning."

Zaknafein had expected this news, but it still struck him hard. "Do not send him," he said, as emphatically as he could, warily eyeing Briza, who stood obediently next to Malice.

"He is a drow fighter, and must go to the Academy. It is our way," Malice said simply. "As for Quetzal, you must agree the offer is already generous."

It was, but Zak found himself about to demand that the both of them stay with him. He looked around helplessly, hating this room, Malice, Briza, and himself in particular.

He regained his courage, reminding himself that this time he had something worth arguing about.

"Do not send him," Zak growled. "They will ruin him!"

Matron Malice's hands clenched down on the seat of her stone chair.

"Already they is more skilled than half of those in the Academy," Zak quickly added a subtle hint. "Allow me two more years, and I will make them the finest swordsmen in all of Menzoberranzan!"

Matron Malice could not deny the possibilities of Zak's claim, from what she had seen of their progress. "He goes," she said calmly. "There are more to a drow warrior than mere skill, but qualities of the heart. As for Quetzal, drow females are never warriors. They both have lessons they must learn."

"Lessons of treachery?" Zak spat, too angry to care about the consequences. Normally he could at least control his feelings in public, but something had snapped inside him and he felt strangely lightheaded, buoyed on the sense that he was finally doing something worthwhile.

"Watch your tongue, Zaknafein," Matron Malice warned.

"I fight with passion!" Zak snapped. "That is why I win! Your twins too, fight with passion – do not take it from them!"

"Leave us," Malice told Briza and Maya, and they quickly left the room.

"Zaknafein," Matron Malice began in a low tone, "I have tolerated your blasphemous beliefs these many years due to your skill in weapons, and you have taught my soldiers well. Your love of killing drow, especially clerics of the Spider Queen, has served House Do'Urden well. I have not, and will not, be ungrateful."

"I warn you now, for the final time, that the twins are my children, and not their sire's! Drizzt will go to the Academy, and Quetzal will come under the tutelage of Briza," Malice paused briefly, then smirked at the expression of anger and frustration that flashed over Zak's face at the mention of the eldest sister's name.

"Of Briza, such that they will learn to be proper nobles of House Do'Urden. If you interfere this time, Zaknafein, I will not turn a blind eye to your deeds any more! Your heart will be given to Lloth. Now go," Malice leaned back in her throne.

Zak snapped a brief bow, then backed out of the room, trying to find some light in this dark and hopeless picture.

He turned to walk back to the training hall, passing a wall that he knew to be a hiding place, pausing before it.

Such walls now never failed to remind him of the screams, the screams of dying children, as those of House DeVir were located in their hiding place. In such a wall, of a secret but breakable door.

Their horror echoed in his dreams.

Looking back to the family chapel, his mouth set into a thin line of hatred and frustration. Perhaps they were better off after all.

***

Chapter 13: Grim Preference

Quetzal walked briskly down the dark corridors towards the training room, her head deep in a book while a glowing sphere of light tagged along behind her, allowing her to make out the words.

She had just been dismissed from a session with Briza, who spent most of the time telling her that males were inferior creatures.

Quetzal had heard it all before. It felt strange that Drizzt was not with her, but her step quickened. They always felt uncomfortable away from each other.

Zaknafein was probably having a last fight with Drizzt, she believed. Before he left the next day. The thought of fighting evoked a painful memory, of her bloodstained sabers and the command to kill ringing in their minds, but she pushed it aside, hurrying on.

The spells were not so difficult to learn, she decided. It was practicing over and over again when one could clearly see and hear a hissing whip in the background that made it hard to concentrate.

Another circumstance that made it difficult was the grim presence of her evil sister Briza, looming near her, ready to strike if she made the slightest mistake. Quetzal wouldn't have minded Vierna, or even Maya, as a teacher, but she really disliked the eldest Do'Urden sister.

Briza was almost as bad as Matron Malice was. The both of them exuded some kind of aura, which promised instant violence if provoked. It was like standing next to a volcano, a barely dormant one.

Drizzt was leaving, an insistent voice told her over and over again. Why couldn't she follow? There would always be this insistent tugging at her ver y being, until he returned from the Academy, ten years later. A short time in the life of a drow, but a long time for them.

Malice had implied to her that her lessons would slacken for the time being, allowing her to spend a bit more time with Drizzt. At the age of twenty, Quetzal understood why.

Then she realized that something was glowing, as bright as the globe beside her. The passage in front curved abruptly, and light was playing patterns on the stone in front of her.

It stabbed into her eyes, and she shut them quickly. What was happening? The light seemed to be coming from the training room.

Drizzt? Quetzal asked.

Help me! Drizzt cried in her mind.

His eyes were a blinding web of red and white explosions. Prudently squeezing her eyes shut, she waded into the bright light, her sabers sitting on her hands, the book forgotten on the passage way, the globe of light dispelled.

Silently, she padded into the room, her sharp hearing picking up a metallic ring somewhere ahead of her. She could feel that the something lying down in front was her brother, and someone else was attacking him!

Quetzal didn't know who the other was, but could roughly gauge his position. Without any other warning, she charged as Drizzt rolled away, feeling his sister coming.

The intruder was good. He somehow sensed her presence, and brought up swords to parry her furious thrust.

They fought blindly, Quetzal suddenly realizing that it was Zaknafein! Zaknafein's grace and expert moves were unique.

"Treachery," Drizzt yelled behind her, painful residual explosions bursting in his head. He could barely hold the edge of consciousness, backing away, scrabbling on the floor and losing a scimitar in the process.

"Why are you doing this?" Quetzal shouted at Zak, but his reply was a cunning cross, which she easily deflected.

The two opponents were relying on their hearing, and feeling the flow of battle. Every thrust was deflected, every counter avoided.

He forced her swords up, diving under, one sword catching her sabers, but the countering hilt found only empty space as she twisted and drove a booted heel into his stomach, knocking out his breath.

Nevertheless, his momentum allowed for a swipe that she barely escaped. Quetzal felt herself growing angrier. That swipe would have disemboweled her if she had not leaped away.

Then she realized Zak was no longer in front of her.

There was a metallic ring as a weapon, somewhere, hit the ground. A fear suddenly ate into Quetzal, her concentration lessened as she started to scan the gym for Drizzt, or Zaknafein.

"Treachery," Drizzt growled, somewhere, "Do you so hate to lose?"

"Do you not understand?" Zak yelled at him, Quetzal moving softly towards the voice, "To lose is to die! You may win a dozen fights, but you can only lose one!"

She felt some fear in Drizzt, knowing through him that Zak's sword was in line with his neck. She stopped, afraid to continue in case the wild weapon master completed his blow that would steal Drizzt from the land of the living.

It would have to be a clean blow, Zaknafein decided. He knew that he should do it, mercifully, before the masters in the Academy got hold of his charge. Then he would do the same to Quetzal.

There was another clink as another weapon flew across the hall.

Drizzt felt himself being hoisted to his feet. They stood face to face, neither seeing each other well in the bright glare, nor wishing to break the tension. After a long and breathless moment, the dweomer of the enchanted pebble faded and the room became more comfortable.

"A trick of Lloth's clerics," Zak explained, with a strained smile to try and ease Drizzt's anger. "Always they keep a spell of light at the ready, though I daresay I have used such a spell against clerics before, even high priestesses, more than a few times."

"Treachery," Drizzt spat for the third time.

"It is our way," Zak replied.

"It is your way," Quetzal corrected, behind them. "You smile so when you speak of killing clerics of Lloth, Do you love killing? Killing drow? Would you kill me, then, when I become a cleric?" Her voice was cold.

Zak did not respond, as if he could not find an answer to that question.

"That penchant is a cowardly response to your frustrations, yes? We asked you a long time ago, why you did not like your life. Does that justify killing others?" Quetzal's words bit into Zak, a dagger twisting in his heart.

He did not reply.

"You are one of 'Them', as you so succinctly put. You kill without feeling," Quetzal pressed in her cold, emotionless voice.

"I am not!" he said, breaking the silence.

"Then what are you?" Quetzal's voice was rising. "You try to kill us, what have we done to you? Tell us! What does this solve?"

I am a monster, Zaknafein's inner voice told him. Killing the both of you will save you from the Academy, will save you a lot of pain.

He could not voice the words.

"You would have killed us," Drizzt spoke up bluntly.

"But I did not," Zak retorted. "And now you live to go to the Academy, Drizzt – to take a dagger in the back, and you live to serve a twisted goddess, Quetzal. Because the both of you are blind to the realities of this world, because the both of you refuse to acknowledge what your people are."

"Or you will become one of them," Zak growled. "Either way, the Do'Urden twins I have known will surely die."

Their faces twisted, unable to deny the possibilities Zak was spitting at them. They felt the blood drain from their faces, although their hearts still raged. They turned as one and walked away, their glares lingering on Zak for many steps.

"Go then, Drizzt Do'Urden!" Zak called after them. "Go to the Academy, and bask in the glory of your prowess. Remember though, the consequences of such skills. Always there are consequences!"

Zak then retreated to the security of his private chamber. The closing thud of the door had such a sound of finality around it that Zak turned to face the empty stone.

"Go then," Zak whispered in quiet lament, "And find out who your people really are."

It was their last night together for a long while, but none of them were really speaking to each other.

Drizzt was a brooding, motionless lump on his blankets, while Quetzal was absently toying with her mithril flute, turning it over and over in her hands, sometimes poking her delicate fingers into the holes.

Sometimes they glanced towards the door of Zak's private room. The weapon master hadn't emerged from it ever since the fight, the most response they got while Quetzal grudgingly agreed to try and give Zak his food was a muffled "Go 'way."

So they had, though the food was left outside the door, in hopes that he would come out. Although they were of two minds of him coming out. The twins were still angry about what had happened, Drizzt having told Quetzal of the unprovoked fight, and they really did not wish to see his face.

Now they just sat where they always slept, thinking about Zaknafein's words, and their implications. Would they become like Zak, exposed as a bitter, tormented person? Or would they become as cold-blooded as Dinin and the others?

Either one was not a good choice.

The food was cold now, the dim, unremarkable gray showing clearly in the infrared spectrum, as cold as Narbondel, just noticeable from the balcony.

Quetzal began to play a melody aching and regretful, jumbled, holding a touch of accusation and pain. The discordant notes skittered over the song, scattered and complex, not able to be labeled a song, actually.

It was getting on Drizzt's nerves. "Stop," he growled, when the notes apparently reached the chorus. It was pulling on his soul.

Quetzal put down the flute. "I am glad that you've finally woken up," she said calmly.

Drizzt glared at her from where he was sitting.

"You are sitting there, rotting away, and tormenting yourself with 'what ifs' and 'why'." Quetzal relentlessly prodded on.

"So are you," Drizzt had felt.

"I can face them. Can you?" Quetzal challenged.

That was true. Quetzal seemed to have this practical ability of pulling out emotions and looking at them in some empty space, then discarding those she thought not worthwhile.

Silence reigned for a short moment.

"So you go tomorrow," Quetzal said, as if musing to herself.

Drizzt nodded curtly, his excitement dampened by Zak's words, still echoing in his mind.

"With a heavy load of doubts," his sister said maniacally. Drizzt stared at her.

"Throw them off," Quetzal said, her voice dreamlike in quality. Drizzt wondered briefly if his sister had gone mad.

"No, I am not mad," Quetzal said firmly. "You may be, soon, if you do not stop this."

Drizzt's eyes narrowed in rage. "Do you think it is so easy?" he growled.

"Self-control," Quetzal snapped. "Zaknafein told us..."

"Zak is a pretender! He's just like 'Them', deep inside. At least Matron Malice doesn't hide who she is! Nor does Briza!" Drizzt's voice was rising.

"We both are, and would be." When Quetzal was angry, her voice usually became very, very calm and cold, unlike Drizzt. "I have studied the law. Anyone 'guilty' of having a good heart dies."

"He could have done something!" Drizzt's anger was winding down.

"What?" Quetzal asked, mildly.

"We-ell," Drizzt started, unable to reply.

"Precisely. Now, unless you wish to show the Academy your worst face tomorrow, you had better sleep." Quetzal said with a tone of finality.

"I can't," Drizzt replied.

He could see his sister shrug, then his eyes widened as she drew her sabers. "Well then, draw your swords."

Drizzt wanted to say that he had enough of fighting for the day, maybe for his life, but he found himself grinning as he picked up his scimitars, the chasm between them closed, as he understood what Quetzal had been trying to do all the while.

His sister returned the smile, as her sabers met his in a satisfying ring of metal.

The twins didn't know it, but Zak was also fully awake.

He had been brooding, sitting on his bed with his hands shielding his face, feeling some kind of black despair.

He hadn't moved for a long while, had lost count of the hours as they meaninglessly ticked by.

A discordant melody had been jerking at his consciousness, as his inner voice banged on the walls, screaming at him.

Until now, Zak had simply ignored it.

In this subconscious state, his senses became more alert, and he was dimly realizing that his ears were picking up whatever was being said outside, registering them in his brain.

You are a pretender, the inner voice repeated. A coward and a pretender, living a lie, that has become too stifling to escape. This is your fate, the inner voice pressed.

Shut up! He yelled at it, but it refused to stop.

A pretender, a pretender...

Who are you? He'd asked it in frustration.

Your conscience, it had replied. It was an inner Zak, fighting to be let out.

Then Zak was aware of metal against metal, outside. He barely felt himself getting up from where he was sitting, and dragging himself over the room, his eyes focusing on the doorknob.

It silently opened, and he blinked, more to wake himself up.

The twins were fighting, and laughing, not noticing him.

"Double cross low!" Quetzal grinned, and went under Drizzt's defense.

"Repeating the lessons," Drizzt smiled back as if repeating something, going into the appropriate cross-down parry, his leg snapping out towards Quetzal, who jerked away.

Zak felt his jaw hanging open, and closed it.

"Torque vise," Quetzal warned, her two slightly offset sabers executing the move perfectly, while Drizzt countered.

Now, where had they learnt that? Zak asked himself indignantly. The move was his! Then he felt the urge to laugh, as his bubble of self pity dissipated.

The twins stopped briefly as the door clicked shut behind them, then turned and winked at each other.

"Pincers," Drizzt said, as if nothing had happened.

They woke up early, recovered from the exertions of the night's training, and smiled at each other. There was no need for farewells, but they shared a quick hug, then dressed quickly.

Drizzt buckled on his sword belt as Dinin entered to fetch him to the Academy. He glanced at the resolutely closed door to Zak's private chambers, and wondered if Zak would come out and attack him again, or bid him farewell.

He knew in his heart Zak would not.

In actuality, Zaknafein was lying on his bed staring at the ceiling. He felt slightly better now, though he did not feel prepared to go, and had decided that he didn't want to see his former student.

He knew what Drizzt would face, and in all honesty could not wish him a good journey. Zak knew that it would not be one.

Zak could hear their voices outside, and wished his door were thicker.

"The heat grows in Narbondel," Dinin's voice was faint, suggesting they were already on the balcony. "We must not be late for your first day in the Academy."

Zak rolled over, trying to shut out the words. Better that Drizzt was late, say, for the rest of his life.

"What is this place?" Drizzt's voice was barely heard, suggesting that he was whispering.

A wicked place, one that would kill your spirit and fill your head with lies, Zak silently shouted at him. Go then! See who you really are!

"This is the world," Dinin's voice sounded.

A pretender, you are a pretender... his inner voice reiterated.

"Do not worry, Secondboy. You will learn of Menzoberranzan in the Academy. You will learn who you and your people really are." Dinin's voice faded, which implied that they had levitated off.

"So you shall," Zak whispered, at the unheeding walls. "You shall."

***

Chapter 14: Melee-Magthere

Quetzal sat down on the plush bed of her new room. Matron Malice had moved her out of the training gym, to a 'more suitable' room.

It was possibly more than twice the size of the room she and Drizzt had shared before. And twice as lifeless and cold.

Distractedly, she looked around the room again. The bed was propped up in the top right corner. There were two doors, one at the bottom right, and one recently cut into the room. Quetzal had looked inside the adjoining room, and it was identical. Possibly for Drizzt, she realized, when he returned. If he returned.

Next to the bed sat a small table, and a chair. A huge bookshelf lined the other wall, stopping at the adjoining room, which was covered in musty books that Quetzal had no intention of touching, even reading.

There was an ornate table in the center, which looked as though it was for eating on, privately. There were a few food stains on it, imperceptible, as the room had already been cleaned earlier on.

A soft carpet covered the cold stone, and a tapestry hung on the south wall, as did a dresser. Quetzal stared at her reflection, which looked back at her.

Ornate as it was, the room felt very cold.

Weeks had passed since Drizzt had left, weeks since she had occupied this room. Her time was divided into studying alone, studying with Briza, and studying with Zaknafein, who seemed even more morose now than ever.

He hadn't spoken a single word to her yet, other than the formal greetings and farewells.

Quetzal noticed her sabers were gleaming on the table, carelessly dropped on her piwafwi. The jeweled scabbard beamed at her, but she was not paying attention.

"I can still feel the link," she whispered.

That was some comfort. Drizzt was very busy now, as was she, they did not find time to really speak to each other. They seemed to be separating, into 'him' and 'her', instead of 'us'.

Well, she had something that could remedy that. While flipping through the small tome, she had found a dimension spell. It was a normal dimension spell; that is, one transported oneself via a portal to another dimension.

Nothing remarkable about that spell, as it was used regularly by over inquisitive wizards.

Then she had wondered, what if she transported her mind to a dimension, and tied her spirit to her body so that it could at least feel what was happening around her in her room? There were many dimensions, and some were empty. And what if she did the same to someone else? The body would sleep, while the mind kept busy. It was ideal, though rather complicated.

Well, she just would have to work it out.

A portal appeared, clearing to show a landscape that appeared to be sculpted from fire. It was mostly burnt trees and red rock, with rivers of lava, and an immense volcano in front of her vision.

Quetzal stared, her eyes trying to find something to summon to her first. She had worked out a routine, first summon something to her, then try summoning herself to a chosen dimension, and then try summoning Drizzt.

This plane was one of the nearest ones. Quetzal's notes did not falter even as she scanned the land, trying to find a suitable experiment.

She sat in a careful circle of enchantments and runes, to ward off any accidents, cross-legged, her flute held to her lips, the small tome sitting on her lap.

Then something walked across the portal. It looked familiar, like one of the many painted pictures of monsters Vierna had shown her, long time ago. It stood on four paws; legs long and built for effortless loping. A canine, Quetzal observed, from the general structure of the russet-red coat, to the long bushy tail and the delicate muzzle. A wolf, she added, seeing the pointed, upright ears, that unique face, her excitement rising at seeing such a creature.

The wolf turned its head, blinking in surprise at the barrier. It's mouth gaped open slightly, and a lick of flame burned at the portal, the magic wavering, then pushing back the flame as Quetzal quickly blew another series of notes.

Samadhi wolf, she identified, her eyes widening in surprise and a little terror.

The wolf blinked as its magical flames had no effect, then dived through the portal in a single, graceful leap, landing on the cold stone of the room.

Quetzal belatedly remembered that she had forgotten to cast the spell to prevent creatures from going through the portal.

The wolf was examining her in curiosity, its eyes making do with the dim light Quetzal had been using to read by.

Quetzal realized its eyes were a contrasting, deep black that appeared to lack pupils. The hypnotic stare bored into her.

It sat down, a movement that made Quetzal jump reflexively, still looking at her calmly. And why would it not? Quetzal asked herself shakily. Why should it be apprehensive if those jaws appeared large and agile enough to take a drow's head off?

Quetzal closed the portal, then put down her flute. She did not want any more of the creatures to get in, and yet felt this strong urge to keep this one in. The wolf was sleek and graceful, besides, she was curious.

The Samadhi wolf watched, very calm, its gaze unnerving.

Shakily, Quetzal got up from her seated position, flute tightly clenched to her side.

The wolf watched.

Taking a steadying breath, she stepped out of the circle, then paused to look at the wolf.

It hadn't moved a muscle, staring at her unblinking.

She walked over the table, eyes warily fixed on the wolf, slowly and with unthreatening movements picking up a bit of the food left on the table from her morning meal, then tossing it to the wolf.

The morsel was snapped from the air. Then it settled back down, the only evidence that it had ever moved was a slight chewing sound, then a swallow.

Quetzal felt lightheaded, strangely. This was possibly suicidal, but she continued to feed the wolf, until she ran out of scraps. There was something unnerving about the creature, in the fact it had not attacked yet. Then again, it was supposed that souls from the Material Plane sometimes got stuck on the wolves' plane, over time getting pulled into wolf cubs, and becoming the soul of the wolf.

Thus the wolves were supposedly half sentient, that was, they thought like an animal, but were reasonably logical and could learn more than the usual creature, though not much more.

To the nine hells with caution, she decided, then sat down in front of the wolf, in a position that rather resembled the wolf's own.

Her hand descended, the wolf still looking at her calmly, then she was patting it, amazingly, while a contented croon could be heard deep in the wolf's throat.

The wolf was actually an adolescent male, just recovered from an embarrassing fight a few days earlier. A section of its purely instinctive mind told it that wolves were overcrowding the territory.

So it had been rather relieved to see a portal open to what looked like a cooler atmosphere. Samadhi wolves could breathe a jet of flame that would rival a red dragon's, but that didn't mean they liked heat. In fact, the highest rights in the hierarchy next to mating were shade.

Portals were very common on this world, wizards being a very curious sort, with a high rate of mortality.

So it had leaped in, and saw a strange looking being, that appeared to be the owner of the large den. It was playing some kind of soothing sound, then the portal closed. It hadn't really minded.

Owners were respected, and this one seemed slightly afraid of it, but offered it hospitality by feeding it a few scraps of food. And seemed rather pleased that it had eaten it.

Wolves believed in the tooth for a tooth law, and this one figured out that the rather slender looking creature must have been looking for a guard (sometimes the wolves live symbiotically with other denizens in the plane for this reason), the payment being food and nice rubs.

As was usually the case, the creature insisted on labeling the wolf with a name. It was something wolves didn't understand, why more intelligent creatures insisted on names. Wolves figured they did not need one.

However, if the owner of the cave-and-funny-food wished him to respond when the sound was called, he might as well. It was light duty; compared to some of the 'exchanges' he dimly remembered being told about.

Samadhi wolves had a problem. Over time, their prey in the planes, the flame deer, had developed a resistance to the scorching jets of flame, which were admittedly short-ranged, and could run faster than a wolf.

Thus such symbiotic relationships with, say, a fire dwarf, who could use a throwing axe on deer and such, provided easy meat, a shelter, and sometimes affection.

Over time, the wolves became less and less adept at catching deer on their own, not even working in packs any more.

The largest problem on that plane now was that the wolves had multiplied far above what the plane could hold. They were out of possible masters. Some wolves got spirited away to the Abyss for demons, but the remaining outcasts just wandered around until they either found a master, or died.

So this wolf considered itself lucky.

"Guard." Quetzal told the wolf, sitting on the bed. It seemed to understand, lying down on the foot of the bed, watching the doors.

Quetzal had successfully kept the wolf indoors so far. No one had noticed, except that Quetzal appeared to be eating more than usual. However, this fact was confined to the kitchens of Do'Urden and not to Matron Malice.

The common servant that came along each day to collect the dirty plates and clear the toilets did not notice the wolf.

Quetzal finally convinced it to sit on the bed each time the servant went in. The bed had been enchanted so as not to show any occupant sitting on it, so the wolf was invisible, so long as it didn't move.

It had taken a lot of bribery and demonstration to show it what it had to do.

Quetzal was embarking on the last stage of her experiment. A few notes on the flute shot her consciousness up and out of her body, into a gray plane, one of the uninhabited ones. Quetzal had called in the plane-where-mind-goes, showing ineptitude towards names that hadn't been noticed before.

Her flute would not be summoned with her, she had found through painstaking experimentation during the night when she should have been sleeping.

Now her hands weaved in a clerical spell, summoning someone towards the plane, a modified spell of her own. She was rather proud of it.

A figure formed in front of her, into a slightly puzzled looking, familiar face.

"Quetzal?" Drizzt asked. Then he relaxed. "This is a dream, isn't it?"

"Well, not really. It's an experiment," she replied. Their 'spirits' held hands, and she realized she could 'tell' him about things that they could have done only when they were together, their minds close.

"That's an interesting idea..." Drizzt began, then smiled, the smile erasing the gap between them since he had left.

"You first," they said at the same time, then laughed.

"Well, training here has not really started yet. Master Hatch'net mostly gives us lectures on the surface elves," Drizzt said, Quetzal noticing that his face held a righteous rage. "Oh yes. The Grand Melee is tomorrow."

"Can I watch?" Quetzal asked.

"Does it work this far?" Drizzt asked doubtfully.

"I think it could..." Quetzal replied. "Just keep your thoughts a bit blank, and tell me beforehand."

"I should be sleeping," Drizzt said.

"You are. At least, your body is," Quetzal amended.

"A useful spell," Drizzt decided, with a grin.

Quetzal hurried to her room once the link to Drizzt activated. Knocking in a short staccato on the door, she opened it, the wolf jumping off the bed and wagging its tail slightly in greeting.

"Salutations, Nhaz'aer," Quetzal smiled, then plopped onto the bed, the wolf getting on, knowing what its mistress was about to do next.

Quetzal looked through Drizzt's eyes, to find that the battle had already begun. At the corner, she could see Kelnozz of House Kenafin, who Drizzt had informed her, was his partner.

She could feel an excitement building in Drizzt, and then decided she would help him better if she could 'see' behind him, as well.

Using Drizzt as a marker, she created a scrying spell above Drizzt, comfortably settling down to watch. Drizzt was good, Quetzal admitted, finishing off all those he faced, the blue lights settling in his path as she overheard two masters above, one who sounded like Dinin.

A new opponent strode to Drizzt, his sword poles held easily in his hands, as he dove into complicated twists and turns, often driving Drizzt on his heels. Above her small 'portal', she overhead a master identifying the opponent, "Berg'inyon of House Baenre,"

Quetzal returned to the fight with a new interest.

Berg'inyon was good. He and Drizzt danced around for a long while, neither gaining an advantage, until the daring Berg'inyon came in with a familiar move, the double-thrust low.

Drizzt wore a barely concealed smirk on his face as he executed the cross-down parry, then his foot caught the surprised Berg'inyon in the face.

Dazed, Berg'inyon put a globe of darkness on himself, but Drizzt waded in. Quetzal heard another gasp above her as she strained to pierce the globe.

"I am defeated," Drizzt's opponent said after a while. Quetzal realized that the sounds through this portal were indistinct and the images unclear, but she could see something very clearly. Kelnozz, creeping up softly behind.

The globe was dispelled and the blue light shone on Berg'inyon. Quetzal felt a sense of exultation in her brother; her eyes narrowed as she saw Kelnozz's weapon swiftly flying towards Drizzt's exposed head.

Drizzt! Someone is behind you! Quetzal's voice sounded very loudly in Drizzt's mind.

Automatically, his scimitars arched behind his head, deflecting Kelnozz, as Drizzt muttered a silent thanks to his sister. He whirled, eyes widening for a moment as he saw Kelnozz.

"Treachery," he growled, launching into a furious attack that had Kelnozz disarmed in a few swift swipes, then defeated in the next thrust.

"He is good," the master above the portal gasped again.

Drizzt was quite sure that there were only a few more opponents, as the cavern had become deathly quiet. The sounds of fighting had ceased, yet none of the masters above had made any sound.

It came as a rush from behind, Drizzt turning and neatly sidestepping, but his opponent, holding a single sword, had flicked the longer blade at him. Drizzt deflected the pole easily, then danced around the heavy swipes of his opponent. The single sword optimized someone who had less agility but more strength.

Drizzt backed the opponent in circles, a series of painful prods pushing the two-handed sword wide, and then his scimitar poles plunged in.

"I am defeated," the student conceded, glaring at Drizzt.

Drizzt lowered his scimitar poles; a grin on his face as a signal was sounded somewhere, which told of the end of the tournament. He had won!

High above, Hatch'net turned to Dinin. "Thus a Do'Urden wins."

Dinin's swelling pride was deflated by the Master of Lore's next observation, "Elderboys should watch Secondboys with such skills."

They didn't notice as the unseen portal closed, couldn't hear as a would-be cleric in a room in House Do'Urden hugged her surprised new canine friend with a laugh.

***

Chapter 15: Routines

The saber flashed through the air, effortlessly slicing down, then weaving up in a follow-through. Quetzal's hands left faintly discernable heat trails as they expertly handled each blade, her eyes moody and far away.

The sharp sound as her sabers cut through the air was barely audible, but they seemed loud in the emptiness of the training gym. Quetzal had come here every cycle of Narbondel for as long as she could remember to practice for hot, exhausting hours, then return to her studies.

She mostly trained by herself, thinking up a few moves, then trying them out by herself, as well as repeating endlessly the many exercises. Zaknafein was seldom seen. Usually, he trained the soldiers of Do'Urden to near-collapse, then would retreat into his room for the rest of the day, occasionally (Quetzal hoped) coming out for food.

Quetzal could not remember the last time she had spoken to the weapon master.

Schedule, she grimaced, as she lunged forward to stab at the stomach of an imaginary enemy. Wake up, eat, study, study with Briza, study with Vierna, eat, practice, eat, study, and sleep. It sounded fairly simple, but was long and exhausting. Day after day, it simply got tiring, meaningless. She found herself looking forward to 'sleeping', which were the talks with Drizzt.

Nhaz'aer, the fire wolf, did not look a day older, even through the passage of nine years. Quetzal idly wondered how long its life span was, but the wolf didn't look as though it understood when she asked it whimsically. Still, it was a useful companion, Quetzal admitted.

Another saber swiped into an imaginary leg as Quetzal went down into a complete twist, that would slice both sabers down and upwards, effectively switching off the internal universe of the opponent, if there was one.

Zaknafein levitated up into the balcony, then paused briefly as he heard the almost imperceptible sounds of someone practicing inside.

He threw a glance down, where the soldiers had already dispersed. Every muscle in him screamed to go inside the training gym, to his room, where he could sleep in the dream-less, sound sleep of the exhausted.

You don't care anymore, do you? A voice nagged inside him.

That was one of the irritating things about working himself to exhaustion. That inner voice sounded more clearly and more reasonably in his tired mind, in that otherwise wonderful state of satisfied tiredness when his mind detached itself automatically from the body.

No, he told himself, and walked noisily inside the training gym.

Through his heavy-lidded eyes he made out the general features of that drow female – what was her name? Oh yes, Quetzal.

Another point about this emotional state was that it seemed to block out everything else except the pleasing image of him falling onto his bed and sleeping.

Automatically, he looked around for Drizzt, before bitterly remembering that his son had been gone to the Academy for nine years.

"Greetings, Quetzal," he said, a spark in his mind appearing after that particular memory.

Quetzal blinked, then lowered her blades. "Salutations, Zaknafein," she replied.

There was a pause, in which they studied each other; or rather Zak tried to focus through the sluggish bog of his tired mind.

Zak looked like he always had, to Quetzal, which was very strange. She had thought that the weapon master would have at least lost some weight, or would have those dark patches around his eyes that spoke of overwork. It hit her that he was probably used to this, must have been following this hard routine for most of his life. Lloth knew how he managed to survive.

Except for a certain dead weariness in his eyes, although he certainly looked used to it.

Zaknafein, on the other hand, only noticed two things about Quetzal. One, that she was wearing the robes of a cleric. Two, that she no longer seemed to be smiling.

It's your fault, isn't it? That inner Zak screamed at him.

You should have killed them when you could. Now how much pain would they face, that you could have spared them? Zak tried to shut out that voice, unsuccessfully.

He dimly felt his swords in his hands, and he looked down in surprise. Then he was charging, to more considerable surprise, a snarl sounding in his throat.

Quetzal blinked, raising her swords in a defensive position. "You're too tired," she shouted at the weapon master, but her call went unheeded.

Zak crashed into her with a fury, though her stunned shock kept her in defense.

"What are you doing?" Quetzal demanded.

Her answer was a primal growl, as Zak continued on a carelessly open offensive that he would have scoffed at if he was more awake.

"You're tired," Quetzal repeated, as she saw the holes in the crashing charge, "Go and rest."

"Not tir'd," Zak slurred, in a thick voice. His mind had shut off, his moves now purely instinctual as he pushed himself to the gray zone that was past exhaustion.

Quetzal fended off another vicious stab. "Zaknafein? Go and rest," she repeated, as if speaking to a child.

Zaknafein's eyes flashed, and Quetzal's hands began to ache from the heavy blows. "Won't," he said defiantly. Quetzal almost laughed at the absurdity of the situation.

"You do not have to do this," she remarked, as if in a normal conversation. "I am sure Matron Malice would not mind if her weapon master rested a little more, and did not keep such a telling training,"

"Malice can go to..." Zak began.

Quetzal hurriedly cut off the last word, "What if you time yourself? I don't think Dantrag attempts to kill himself from overwork every day," she said.

Zak snorted. "Dantr'g 's a bumbl'ng, pompous idi't." He slurred, his voice sinking.

"Even an idiot, as you say, knows how to take care of himself," Quetzal said reasonably.

"You sayin' I'm and idi't?" Zak growled, launching a wild, though ineffective assault.

"No," Quetzal replied, easily deflecting the swords. "Rest?"

Zak's mind idly kicked into motion, a short gasp of energy. What was he doing?

Attacking a priestess of Lloth. The inner voice said casually.

She is my daughter! Zak protested.

Quetzal will become twisted soon, in Arach Tirith. Kill her now, the voice replied.

No, Zak stated, wrenching back control. You are a fool; the voice seemed to say.

Quetzal felt relieved when Zak lowered his swords. She was certainly not confident enough to think about what she would have to do if he hadn't.

Abruptly, Zak spun around, and dragged himself into his room, the door closing with a click.

"Salutations, Quetzal," Drizzt, or rather Drizzt's spirit, said warmly.

"Salutations, Drizzt," Quetzal replied, with a smile.

They were back in the dimension, comfortably standing, or floating in the featureless landscape.

"How was your patrol today?" Quetzal asked, with the tone of one mildly interested in what was going on.

"We didn't meet anything of interest," Drizzt replied. He was a ninth-year student of Melee-Magthere, and they patrolled the caverns not far from the Academy with adamantite weapons, finely forged and cruelly edged.

"That is good," Quetzal said firmly.

"Not," Drizzt contradicted. Of all the times he had led his half of the class in patrols, they had only met one cave-fisher, which also escaped before the patrol could strike at it.

"Can you call Zaknafein up here?" Drizzt asked suddenly.

"No. The spell can only hold two," Quetzal replied, with a grimace. That had been through painstaking experimentation, with some unusual effects.

"A pity," Drizzt sighed. "Perhaps if we were both to talk to him..."

"He would stop trying to kill himself through his work?" Quetzal finished dryly; "I don't think so."

Drizzt's eyes widened.

"Oh yes, you didn't know?" Quetzal remarked. "Our dear Zaknafein, has a slightly suicidal mindset. He does not wish to escape into the Underdark, and yet does not wish to live in this society. I do not believe Zak would kill himself directly, so..." she left it hanging.

Drizzt pondered that for a moment. "His life is empty," he said finally.

"That, is a good summation of the whole point," Quetzal was developing a sarcastic streak, that was irritating Briza immensely.

"Hook horrors?" Quetzal repeated.

Drizzt nodded, a heavy, resigned look on his face. "The patrol met several of them this day," he said in an emotionless voice.

"Yes..." Quetzal prompted.

"I found the messenger, another student. He told us that a princess of Baenre had been caught by hook horrors," Drizzt continued, in the same tone.

"I could hear the scream, the scream of a child," Drizzt said, Quetzal listening with a certain dread fascination. "So I charged, leaving the others behind. I took out two of them," Drizzt said, his fists clenched, "But the child died."

"Hook horrors could not have been this close to the city, not with experienced patrols further away in the tunnels. Master Hatch'net knew what was going to happen! The child was, as he said," Quetzal's twin curled his lip into a snarl, "A lost waif, of no consequence."

Quetzal didn't know how to answer.

"You must survive," She said finally. Drizzt merely nodded in acquiescence. "Prove them wrong."

"That image, of the dying child," Drizzt said, his voice almost a whisper. Then his eyes became fiercer. "There is something else."

"There are rumors of vengeance against our house," Quetzal said for him. Drizzt looked up, his expression suspicious.

"Briza told me." Quetzal explained. Drizzt relaxed slightly.

"On the night that we were born, House DeVir ceased to exist. Our House was the perpetrator." Drizzt said grimly, Quetzal's eyes widening. "What was more, Nalfein was killed, on that night, by Dinin."

"I was wondering about that," Quetzal said somberly. "The third living sons are sacrificed to Lloth. You still live."

Drizzt's eyes burned, but Quetzal held up a hand. "I feel no pity for one whom I did not know." She said practically.

"He was our brother," Drizzt said, in a measured voice.

"Was. Who are you to know who he truly could be? Like Rizzen, his father? A cowardly, ambitious person, or a cold and calculating one, like Dinin?" Quetzal argued.

Drizzt slumped back. "Who is Lloth to allow such acts of treachery?"

"She is the Queen of Chaos," Quetzal replied simply.

"An evil, amoral religion," Drizzt said.

Quetzal nodded. "From what I know," she replied. "There is a system of sacrifice in this city, that you would be glad you did not know. Have you seen the dungeons of Do'Urden? Briza has implied that the former patrons of the House languish there, in eternal torment."

Drizzt's eyes narrowed. "It is a difficult world." He unconsciously repeated Dinin's words before.

Painfully, they could still hear Zak's accurate words; "It is our way!"

Blearily, Zak sat up in the bed. What time was it now?

Slowly, he remembered what he had done the night before, with a growing sense of horror and extreme irritation with himself.

You are lucky it was not Briza, that inner voice told him.

Shut up, he absently told it. It was disturbing, this. He was beginning to speak with this voice as though it was another person.

I am you, the voice reminded him.

Shut up, Zak snapped at it, then looked up at the ceiling, loath to get up. What time was it?

That was a major setback in living in eternal darkness. Night was indistinguishable from 'day'.

He twisted until his legs managed to touch the stone floor, and reflexively reached for the swords on the small table.

Then he paused. Sleeping through the day did look inviting.

However, Zaknafein was a believer in getting things done, and he quickly wore the finely meshed chain mail, then belted on his scabbards, adjusting the piwafwi and slipping on the soft boots.

He deftly opened the lock, then pushed the door out.

Narbondel had just started glowing, at the base of the stone. Hurriedly, Zak levitated off the balcony, down to the courtyard where the other soldiers were assembled.

He nodded curtly to them, and then the exercise began.

Perhaps he should finish early today. What did he care if House Do'Urden's soldiers lost a few wars? All the better, Zak believed privately, if the rest of the house got wiped out along with its army.

His swords dipped in a follow-through, as he thought about inconsequential things. Zak remembered being on a surface raid during his tenure as a Master in Melee-Magthere, and he often thought about the black velvet of the surface sky, with the twinkling white gems that were called stars.

Beautiful, and strangely peaceful. Zak found himself retreating into that space in his mind now and then, that memory of the soft 'grass' beneath his boots and the everlasting sky above, the cool wind tossing his hair and lifting his spirit.

***

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Lledrith RavenWolf