Homeland - Rewritten

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Part 4: Hun'ett
Chapter 16: Games
Chapter 17: Sacrilege
Chapter 18: Homecoming
Chapter 19: Two-edged Favor
Chapter 20: To know our enemies
Chapter 21: Holy War
Chapter 22: Wizards, More Scrying, and the Fall of a House
Chapter 23: Father, our Father

Epilogue

Part Four: Hun'ett

Chapter 16: Games

"I've met the most enchanting creature I have ever seen," Drizzt remarked, residual wonder marking his face, like the ebbs of wine in a used glass.

"Oh?" Quetzal asked carefully, her thoughts veering into a most horrible image. How could her brother have met any other females if...

They were standing in the comfortable landscape of the Dream, as Drizzt rather inaccurately called the dimension.

"It's a panther, Guenhwyvar, Masoj's magical pet," Drizzt said in a rush, not seeing the flicker of relief and surprise in his sister's lavender orbs.

"Masoj is my teacher in Sorcere," Drizzt reminded her. "The Faceless one was giving me a lesson, and Masoj called up Guenhwyvar." He brushed away the odd encounter, his mind dimly asking himself why the Master had seemed so angry. Oh, Masoj had explained that it was a lesson, but it seemed so real.

"Ah," Quetzal said thoughtfully, the mention of the panther making her think of Nhaz'aer, the Samadhi wolf guard of her rooms.

Drizzt's brow furrowed. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

"I was thinking about the Festival of the Founding in a week or so. There is a rumor about the new Game inside," Quetzal told her brother.

"Masoj told me," Drizzt said slowly, "That it has something to do with a ball and a target, and two drow teams."

"That is putting it easily." Quetzal remonstrated with a smile. "However, this is important to Malice. Apparently the winner of the Game will have the favor of Lloth."

Drizzt's face twisted in distaste.

"Exactly," Quetzal said dryly. "All the sixty five..."

"Sixty seven," Drizzt corrected.

"Houses will compete, the winners playing on the Festival of the Founding itself. In Lloth's presence," Quetzal repeated the surprising last bit of information that Malice had announced to the family inside the House. She could remember the exultation in the sisters' faces, and the brief look of distaste, echoing Drizzt's own, on Zaknafein's face.

"Most probably, no House will use the nobles in the teams of five," Quetzal said.

"Why?" Drizzt asked.

"There is a new rule. The losers will be killed." Quetzal explained somberly. "Though some houses may find that this is a sacrifice in the eyes of Lloth, no high priestesses would probably be risked."

"I have a week off Sorcere," Drizzt remembered, with a slight hint of curiosity in his voice.

"The Houses wish to prepare for the Games," Quetzal told him. "Even the Academy is subject to the ruling council's wishes."

"This must be the most bizarre thing yet," Drizzt muttered irritably. What was Lloth thinking of?

"It will ensure many sacrifices, in Lloth's honor," Quetzal said, emphasizing the last word sarcastically. "However, it will be good to see you home, if only for a week."

They smiled, in the comforting blue of the dimension.

Zaknafein stood on the balcony beside Briza, his eyes hooded and brooding as he glared down at the gates.

Two figures levitated over it, instantly recognizable. Zak's eyes quickly sorted them out, lingering on Drizzt, who wore chain mail and the curving scimitars on his belt.

Are you afraid? Zak's inner voice asked.

Zaknafein had finally convinced himself that all this 'dual' personalities were in his mind, but the other voice, though irritating, allowed a platform on which he could look at the world, from the side of him which was always fighting to get out.

The other side, the one that lived in his actions, was the part of him, which he hated. Cynical, despondent, and cowardly described it very well. A survivor, not caring about what happened, the only thought to live to the next day.

Admittedly, it was the questioning, passionate side that gave him the skills with his sword. It was also the one that got him into trouble, most of the time.

"Drizzt is back," He almost jumped when Briza spoke beside him, in her harsh voice. He had been devoutly trying to forget her existence.

Not knowing what to say to that remark, he simply nodded, only to find that Briza had been speaking to Matron Malice, striding out behind them.

Zak bowed curtly, then exchanged nods with the Matron of House Do'Urden. Malice walked over to the rail, her youngest daughter trailing behind her, shooting a quick, excited grin at Zaknafein.

He felt a sense of relief and hope. The passion and laughter had not yet left Quetzal's eyes. Yet, he bitterly reminded himself, crushing that brief, warm glow.

"It is good that you are back," Malice said then, conversationally, "We have things to discuss."

Zak turned, to look at Drizzt and Dinin, now standing on the balcony in front of Matron Malice, eyes submissively downwards.

"You have some time to yourselves. I will call you all to the chapel in a while," Malice said graciously, the order more directed, Zak could see, to the twins, other than Dinin.

Drizzt's face was completely devoid of expression, but Zak could see that the smile was in his lavender orbs, matching the one in Quetzal's.

You just wait, Zak told him coldly. The last few months of your 'training' are in Arach Tinilith. The priestesses there would kill your spirit.

Drizzt turned his head, to look at Zak with a faint expression of curiosity and disapproval, as if he were a mage looking down at some scientifically interesting lower life form.

Zak's heart twisted, but his face remained immobile. So that was how it was now, drow warrior, he silently bit out at Drizzt. You have only contempt for the pitiful creature that was your teacher, yes?

Without a word of greeting, Zak whirled and stalked back into the deep recesses of the place that was never his home.

Quetzal paused outside a door, Drizzt behind her. Then she opened the door slowly, and stepped inside, beckoning her brother to follow.

Drizzt examined the room quizzically. It looked excruciatingly neat, except for the stack of books randomly around the room. On the bed. On the chair askew from the table. On the dressing table, one of the pages peeking out of the half open drawer.

Quetzal closed the door with a snap, then quickly locked it. As if on cue, a large wolf, the fur a russet red, bounded off what had looked like an empty bed.

"Nhaz'aer, I believe?" Drizzt smiled, admiring the sleek creature.

The wolf looked curiously at Drizzt, then sniffed at the drow elf's leg, before greeting Quetzal with a lick.

Quetzal made an affectionate sound, ruffling the thick fur of the wolf, then guiltily taking out something from the recesses of her robe, flicking it to the wolf.

Nhaz'aer snapped the snack out of the air, then contentedly padded over to lie down under the table.

"It is guarding the room for keep and board," Quetzal said dryly. "It seems to be a natural thing to it - though making Nhaz'aer understand that it is not supposed to bite the servants took some time."

"And Malice still does not know about it?" Drizzt said incredulously.

"Yes," said Quetzal, with a hint of pride.

Which was faintly surprising, considering. Quetzal obviously had been taking more food from the kitchens, and spent a lot of time in her room, as well as occasionally catching herself on the brink of referring to the wolf.

In actuality, Matron Malice believed secretly that Quetzal had been widening her social circle to include males, to put it delicately. Malice herself had done this when she was in her youth, and did not mention anything, though her eyes took on a sly wink whenever Quetzal appeared.

Drizzt opened the linking door and had a look. "This is my room?" he asked curiously.

"The very same," Quetzal smiled.

"A few more years then," Drizzt said with forced cheerfulness. He did not like the idea of living in House Do'Urden, a slave to Matron Malice, for the rest of his life.

There was a leaden silence.

Zaknafein paused at the door, avoiding the twin's eyes beside him.

Quetzal shrugged minutely, striding confidently into the chapel. "Matron Malice," she said in a respectful tone, "I present to you Zaknafein, and Drizzt."

Then were the males allowed to walk to her side, and exchange nods with Malice. Malice waited until all of the family was inside the chapel then began.

"I am sure all of you have heard of the Games," Matron Malice said in a sultry tone. "Five players. We are gathered here to choose the five."

There was a short silence, before Matron Malice turned her gaze onto Zaknafein. "Who of your soldiers do you recommend?" she asked, all business, but Zak saw with a growing sense of dread that her eyes were sparkling.

"Nyfein, Renazal, Tyrna..." Zak started in a droning voice that suggested he was not really paying attention, but had revised his speech earlier.

Matron Malice cut across his reiteration. "You shall be the leader of the team," she said, with a smile, as if purely making a comment.

Zaknafein's eyes widened briefly. The losing teams would be put to death! Then he nodded curtly. What did he care? He asked himself. One way or another, death seemed a better option than life in Menzoberranzan.

Behind him, the twins exchanged a glance. "Permission to speak, Matron Mother?" Zak heard Quetzal say, in the same submissive tone that put his teeth on edge.

Malice nodded, her smile lingering on Zaknafein.

Zak's hands started to itch, and then ache when he tilted his head slightly and saw the smug expression on Rizzen's face.

"Drizzt and I wish to join the team," Quetzal proclaimed in a clear tone.

Gasps sounded around the room, but Malice just leaned forward. "It is your true wish?" she asked, dark eyes boring into the twins.

They shifted uncomfortably, then nodded together.

"Very well," Matron Malice said, then leaned back in her throne. Things were going just as she had wanted them to. "Pick two more candidates, Zaknafein, then commence training immediately."

Zaknafein was dimly aware of himself automatically bowing, then walking out of the chapel door, the twins trailing behind him.

Once the heavy doors shut behind him, he whirled to face the grinning pair. "Why?" he hissed, "You know what would happen if a team loses."

"You are playing," Drizzt pointed out.

"Together, we stand a chance," Quetzal confirmed.

Zak leaned against a wall, running a hand through his hair. Apparently, he was stuck with this.

"Matron Mother, are you sure of your decision?" Briza asked timidly.

Malice lounged on the throne. "Of course," she smiled.

"Zaknafein is valuable to the House, while the twins are nobles," Briza pressed.

"If they should win," Malice idly twirled a curl of bone white hair, "House Do'Urden receives Lloth's favor. If they should lose, Lloth would look upon three such valuable sacrifices within a good light."

Briza's face slowly featured an evil smile, mirroring that on Malice's features, but there was a small tinge of doubt. The males were of no consequence, but Quetzal was a female, and was showing great promise.

As always, she trusted in Matron Malice.

"I almost had him!" Alton shouted at the walls, for the hundredth time. His burning eyes took in the scorch marks in his chamber, then he snarled again.

Masoj lounged not far away, a hand warily holding the onyx figurine of Guenhwyvar inside his pocket, ready to summon the panther if Alton's rage got out of hand.

"Matron SiNafay would not have been pleased, if you had," Masoj reminded Alton smoothly. The idiot mage had been overcome with rage when he saw the Do'Urden, and had tried to kill him with magic. It was lucky that Masoj had happened along in time, and equally lucky that Guenhwyvar could be summoned that day.

Alton subsided briefly, though his eyes still burned with rage.

"Matron SiNafay knows what she is doing," Masoj continued calmly. "Your revenge would come, in good time."

"You are lucky that Drizzt has forgotten about the incident when he sparred with Guenhwyvar," Masoj warned. "Matron SiNafay would not be pleased if Matron Malice found out about the matter."

"Better yet," Alton mumbled under his breath, calming down under the relentless onslaught of words from Masoj.

"The Games will start tomorrow," Masoj said, "Drizzt will play, but you are to do nothing," This had been a personal reminder from SiNafay, Masoj's mother. She had been very explicit in that detail.

Alton snarled again, but his voice had lost the edge.

Gradually, Masoj let the figurine slip back into the recesses of his robe.

Drizzt's wrist flickered, and the ball, limned in faerie fire by the mages around, flew high up in an arc, to be caught neatly by Quetzal, weaving in front of the drow male 'guarding' her.

The rules of the game were simple. One, that the ball could not touch the ground. Two, that no weapons were allowed, nor were the opponents allowed to fight each other. Three, the drow holding the ball could not run, but had to 'pass' the ball to a drow on his team.

The opponents played in a court that had been painstakingly erected a few days ago. The ground was covered in a smooth layer of sand, now marred by many footprints, a pit in the ground with one tunnel at the easternmost end, the entrance heavily barred. Now and again an inhuman snarl would emerge from the interior, and the players most definitely could understand what was inside. It was inspiration, if one could put it that way.

Above the long and wide pit was the spectator's stands, rows of uplifted seats, with a rail on the edge of the pit. Mages and clerics stood at spaced intervals, watching silently, ready to call out if the rules were broken.

On the westernmost side of the pit was a high platform with sheer sides, perfectly symmetrical, the sides carved with murals of giant spiders. The side facing the pit hung a huge black and purple flag, the flag of Menzoberranzan.

Only one drow sat on top of the platform, on a high throne of onyx and gold, flanked by two immense spiders. She was perfect beyond belief, bone white hair flowing down her shoulder, her dress an intricate linkage of spiders. Lloth herself sat on the throne, watching the game with a veiled interest.

Nobles of the Houses sat in the tiers around the pit, House Baenre and Barrison del'Armgo flanked the platform, the highest ranking houses seated nearest to Lloth.

Below, Quetzal caught the ball, of a strange rubbery texture, and whirled to pass it to Zaknafein. They were surprised at this, that they had made it so far. Over the week, the Houses had eliminated many teams, the numbers dwindling down to two - House Do'Urden, and House Baenre.

Idly looking back, Quetzal still felt very surprised. House Baenre had also knocked out many of the teams that would pose threat to Do'Urden's skill, which was instrumental in their rise, but the fact that they had made it so far was still very surprising.

Gritting her teeth, Quetzal dodged and ducked, even as the players flowed around Zaknafein, who was expertly twisting out of the high raised hands of his 'guard'.

The goals were two iron rings, magically suspended, one at both ends of the long court. The ball had to pass through the rings, or the rebound had to be caught. Any teams that allowed the ball to touch the ground would be instantly executed, for the ball represented Lloth's glory.

Zaknafein's hands itched to drop it.

Baenre's team did not mostly not comprise of nobles, except for Dantrag, Zak's rival. Zak heard that he had insisted on playing when he heard Zak was inside the Do'Urden team.

Now the slender, hated figure darted in front of him, threatening to slap the ball out of his hands, although that would have been a deadly error. Without his bracers, Dantrag would not have been able to catch the plummeting ball in time.

Sweat glistened like a fine, silvery film on the foreheads of all the drow players. They were nearing the final time, and the score was still the same, three scores to three. Dantrag's team was mostly clerics, with the exception of Baenre's weapon master. Zaknafein's team, as ordered by Malice, was the same; the two remaining players were common clerics.

Zaknafein snarled as the ball fell into the hands of a Baenre, recognizable by the patterned light robes that all of the players had to wear, then darted towards his defending side. An idea came to him quickly, the drow code flashing to his team, while a small smile played on his mouth. The enemy could not possibly decipher the signals. Crowding him, Dantrag scowled.

Then the weapon master of Baenre blinked as the Do'Urden team left from where they were trying to block the Baenre, and flowed into a definite position in front of the suspended ring. It was a vaguely fan like formation, with two drow elves, Drizzt and Quetzal, at the front, and one drow at the southeastern and western ends. Zaknafein stood in the center, ready.

Then Dantrag saw the logic behind the formation. Like sliding doors, two Do'Urden drow would raise their hands like barriers to prevent his team from penetrating the defended spot. He dared not try a shot into the ring, but knew he only had a certain time to hold the ball.

Quickly, he signaled his team to try and break in. There were heavy penalties for any slight on the rules.

Then one of his team barely made it inside. Not daring to hold on to the ball any longer, Dantrag passed the flaming thing to the Baenre cleric.

And cursed as Zaknafein leaped into the air, hands clasping the ball.

Drizzt was already inside the other half of the court as Zak passed, neatly catching, then passing it again to Quetzal, who stood inside the unprotected region.

With a tight grin, Quetzal's hand shot forward.

The ball, with a perfect arc, launched through the hoop.

Dantrag cursed again then glared at Zaknafein as the other weapon master favored him with a wicked, smug grin. His breath came easier as one of his team managed to catch the ball as it fell through the loop. Four three, Zak signaled to him, with another smug grin, then speeded off to block Dantrag as the ball sailed again.

Then the gong sounded, just as a Baenre was about to throw the ball.

Dantrag's face was an interesting rictus of fear and sheer hatred. The crowd gasped aloud, and Drizzt could see the pale face of Matron Baenre, next to the platform. Matron Malice had earned herself another, powerful enemy.

Lloth stood up from the throne, and all eyes turned to her, the Spider Queen of Chaos. She clapped her hands once and the Do'Urden team found themselves on the tier. The mages chanted a rune, a silvery barrier forming over the pit.

Dantrag shot one pleading glance at Matron Baenre, but the withered drow female pretended not to notice.

There was a scream, then more screams echoed around the pit. Horrified, the spectators watched as the hideous monsters tore into the team that had lost. Defenseless, the screams carried on and on, as the monsters started to toy with their food. Vaguely spider-like, the creatures towered over the Baenre team. With a sick hatred forming in their hearts, the twins looked up to see the smile on Lloth's face, of pure enjoyment.

Zaknafein jerked his gaze upward from the pit, his mind carefully becoming blank as he tried to block out the screams.

You're mine, a voice sounded in his mind, alien.

No one noticed as Zaknafein, numbly fascinated, picked his way through to the pile of weapons on the floor, which belonged to both teams, and swapped one of his swords.

The crowd looked on the new gate to the Do'Urden cavern. It resembled Lloth's spider dress, a tight linking of adamantite spiders that would animate if attacked.

Tentatively, Malice willed the gate to 'open'.

The crowd watched, astonished, as an opening was created, the small adamantite spiders flowing like silk away from a select arch.

Zaknafein dimly remembered Malice kneeling in front of Lloth earlier, while Lloth chanted something, then disappeared in an impressive flash of purple.

Right now, in front of Lloth's gift to the winning House, he could only feel the strange, pulsating purr of the new sword at his belt.

Dantrag's sword, Khazid'hea.

***

Chapter 17: Sacrilege

"Last day," Drizzt breathed in relief as he donned his ceremonial robes. The last six months in the school of Lloth had been the least enjoyable, and he felt an immense weight lifting off his shoulders. This day, he would see Quetzal again.

There was another presence in his mind when he entered the circular ceremonial chamber of Arach Tinilith, and he silently welcomed it.

Salutations, most beloved, Quetzal remarked archly, Here to witness your triumph against the foul slanders of the Spider goddess, to...

Drizzt silently laughed, but understood what his sister was trying to do. This ceremony may yet be the greatest trial of his life so far, for the twins had understood little of the drow society.

Vierna had promised him that in the Ceremony of Graduation, that most holy to the drow, he would see Lloth's glory.

They were afraid, fearing what they would find.

Thus, with lighthearted steps that did not echo the heaviness of Drizzt's heart, he shielded his eyes, and stepped into the line of other students behind the high priestesses sitting cross-legged around the brazier.

Zaknafein stood alone in the training hall, bemusedly staring at Khazid'hea. The overwhelming warmth that he felt every time his hand even touched the hilt was unnerving, at least.

The pommel was of a creature he had never seen before, but marveled at the intricacy of the carving. It was a canine animal with long legs and bushy tail, luxurious fur, and wise eyes, set with onyx. The handle was encrusted with jewels, and lapis lazuli and blood red rubies sat on the edges, the sword itself a work of art.

Dantrag's sword was a legend by itself. Khazid'hea, or Cutter, was rumored to be able to cut through anything. Now, standing before a neatly sheared pole of adamantite, the sword's glowing red line on the side still unblemished, Zaknafein was prepared to believe this.

It was wonderful to hold the perfectly balanced weapon, which flowed through the air and enhanced his attacks.

Khazid'hea was satisfied with its new owner.

From what the sword had heard, Zaknafein was the best weapon master in Menzoberranzan, and it only wanted to be wielded by the very best.

Right now, that category appeared to be filled.

The pommel had been difficult. Zaknafein's mind was guarded, and the sword could only make a guess, having sensed such an animal somewhere inside the walls of the House. Zaknafein appeared to be pleased with it, however.

The sentient sword darted and weaved in tandem to its inferior partner, feeling very satisfied with itself.

Drizzt leaned heavily on the wall outside the chamber where he had hurriedly exited, grasping his stomach and gasping.

He still could not get over what he had seen. The female student's screams, penetrating even the walls of the chamber, reminded him.

"Evil union," he whispered under his breath. Was that the 'highest' honors given to the best students?

A glabrezu, spawn of the Abyss, had appeared in the brazier where the high priestesses were, and summoned by the female student. Then... Drizzt shuddered.

The part of his mind inhabited by his sister felt even more horrified than he was. Was this what she would have to face, Quetzal thought, if she graduated? That sickening feeling of resignation settled in her heart, even while the physical body of Quetzal, so far away, whimpered.

Vierna then was beside Drizzt, her robe casually open in front. Drizzt, his head clearing, began to wonder about the price of his actions. The look on his sister's face, he noted with even more confusion, was not of scorn.

"You prefer privacy," Vierna said, making no attempt to close her robe, placing a hand on his shoulder, "I understand."

Drizzt, Quetzal noted with a faint sense of rising panic, grabbed Vierna's hand roughly. "What insanity is this?" he demanded.

Quetzal saw Vierna's face twisting in rage and comprehension. "You refused a high priestess," she snarled. "By law, she could kill you for your insolence."

Quetzal physically shuddered, so far away, Nhaz'aer pushing his wet nose into her open palm with no effect. She remembered that part, very clearly.

"I do not even know her," Drizzt shot back, "I am expected to..."

"You are expected to do as you are instructed!"

"I do not care for her..." Quetzal found her brother's hands were shaking, his mind a confused welter of emotions.

"Do you think that Zaknafein cared for Matron Malice?" Vierna demanded. That was a stab into the twin's hearts, Vierna's mention to their hero.

"Come back," Vierna purred, "Into the room. There is still time."

Drizzt shot her a cold glare, and Vierna had the uncomfortable feeling that he was not alone.

"The Spider Queen is the deity of our people. I am one of those who speak her will," Vierna sternly reminded them.

"I would not be so proud of that," Drizzt retorted, a wave of very real fear pushing against his principled stand, then felt a rush of strength, from the ceaseless support of his twin.

Vierna slapped Drizzt across the face, Quetzal feeling disoriented as the viewpoint rushed through air for a moment. "Go back to the ceremony!" she commanded.

"Go kiss a spider," Drizzt replied, "And may its pincers tear your cursed tongue from your mouth."

Now that was going too far, Quetzal decided. Already Vierna's hands were shaking in suppressed rage.

"You should take care when you speak to a high priestess," Vierna warned.

"Damn your spider queen!" Drizzt was shouting, "Though I am sure she found damnation eons ago!"

Far away, Quetzal, the more practical twin, took out her mithril flute and small tome from her robes. Flipped the pages to that of offensive spells, then to that of portals.

In the corner of her mind, Quetzal could still hear the stinging exchange, then felt an overwhelming outrage from Drizzt. Quickly, she drew back to his vision, surprised to find that they were in the city proper.

"Home?" Drizzt dared to ask after a while.

"Not yet," Vierna said in curt tones.

The minutes became an hour, and Quetzal suddenly realized where they were heading, when they passed a few corridors in a catacomb.

Frantically, she began flipping through the pages in the tome.

Far away, Drizzt felt that rising panic, and the wave of real fear grew stronger. They levitated into a chasm, and he could feel the malevolent evil in the chasm floor, as tangible as the thin mist that should have originated from some unseen tar pit.

"Do not fear," Vierna said, "I have put a spell of masking on us. They cannot see us."

"They?" Drizzt whispered weakly. On the link to his twin's mind, he could feel the horror and fright. Quetzal knew what was going on, and she was very afraid. That did not help his feelings.

Then he saw the drider.

Quetzal felt the edge of desperation as keenly as that of a knife. She sent half her mind there to ascertain what had happened.

Drizzt was not in a good shape. An arrow was firmly embedded in one leg, the poison already spreading, numbing.

He got one blade up in time to deflect the second arrow, then dropped on one knee to clutch at his wound.

There was a short humming sound in his ears, and the shaft fell out, as if it had been embedded in water.

Drizzt blinked, then mouthed a silent thanks to his twin. The cold poison had disappeared, but the leg still ached painfully. Quickly, he turned his attention back to the attacker. Right now, his only concern was getting out of the chasm.

He turned to flee, to seek a sheltered spot where he could levitate safely out of the chasm, but turned to face yet another drider.

A spider from waist down, a bloated drow from waist up, the horrible monster swung an axe at Drizzt, which was deflected by a scimitar.

Drizzt was composed now, confident he could defeat the drider, until he felt, rather than heard the command.

Quetzal took control with a single, astonishing swipe, causing him to twist to the side, the arrow from the other drider slicing into the axe wielding one. The monster stumbled, with a keen that was half frustration and half release, then screamed as a booming force tore into him, its abdomen cleanly sliced in a dozen places, as though it were the work of scimitars.

Confused, astonished and simply tired, he staggered back. A sword sliced into his shoulder, and Drizzt let out a yelp of pain and anger.

One hand useless, the other nonetheless deflected the moves with his remaining scimitar, Drizzt still felt confident. Until he felt the burning pain.

The sword drider's blade had some... acid on it! Drizzt lurched backwards, feeling the waves of exhaustion and unconsciousness sweep over him, his eyes dimly registering many more of the wretched creatures bearing down on him.

Far away, a voice cried out, in rage and pain.

Then Drizzt felt hands grasp his robe, and he was roughly lifted off his feet and slammed into the stone wall.

He opened his eyes to see Vierna's face.

"He lives," he heard her say, "We must get him out quickly and tend to his wounds."

Another figure moved out in front of him.

"I thought this the best way," Vierna was apologizing

"We cannot afford to lose him," came an unemotional response. The twins recognized the voice. Drizzt fought through the blur and forced his eyes to focus.

"Malice," he whispered, "Mother."

Her enraged punch brought him into a clearer mindset.

"Matron Malice!" She growled, her angry glowing face inches from his, "Do not ever forget that!"

To Drizzt, her coldness rivaled that of the burning pain in his shoulder, and the relief at seeing her quickly flooded away.

"You must learn your place," Malice roared, reiterating the command that had haunted the twins all their young life. "Hear my words," she demanded, and they heard her most keenly. "Vierna brought you to this place to have you killed. She showed you mercy," Malice cast a disappointed glance on Vierna.

"I understand the will of the Spider Queen more clearly than she," the matron continued, her spittle spraying Drizzt with every word.

"If you ever speak ill of Lloth, our goddess, again, I will take you back to this place myself! But not to die, that would be too easy." She jerked Drizzt's head to the side so that he could see the grotesque remains of the dead drider.

"You will return here," Malice promised him, "To become a drider!"

Zaknafein stood unseen in a heat shadow outside Quetzal's chambers, unsure of what to do. He had come running when he had heard a cry from that direction, but now the chambers were silent. To enter, or not?

His dilemma was solved when Quetzal staggered out with unseeing eyes, past him, towards the balcony. Zak shot a glance inside the wide door, seeing nothing, then leapt forward to take hold of Quetzal's hand, roughly spinning her around.

She blinked owlishly, focusing her eyes, but did not seem to be looking at him.

"What has happened?" Zak asked sharply.

Quetzal shook her head sharply, then looked back up. "Nothing," she said.

"You are not a good liar," Zak replied calmly, "What has happened?"

Quetzal tried to twist her hand out of his vice-like grip, and then gave up. "Ceremony of Graduation," she said sulkily, "Now, if you are satisfied, let me go. I wish to get some fresh air,"

She stalked off with the cold visage of any female noble of the Do'Urden house.

Zak slumped against the wall. Drizzt had been through the Ceremony, and Quetzal had no doubt been watching.

His head turned wearily to look at the dangerous, cold grace of Quetzal, his daughter, and believed that he had lost his twins for good. To Lloth, damned Lloth.

Quetzal, leaning out on the rail of the balcony adjoining the training gym, heard the now-familiar slam of Zaknafein's door.

***

Chapter 18: Homecoming

Drizzt was graduated - formally - on schedule and with the highest honors in his class. The twins had reasoned out that none of the Matrons inside the chamber had even noticed that they were gone, in the excitement.

He paused before the elaborate gate of House Do'Urden, his skin crawling when the adamantite spiders, linked together to cover the huge entrance to the Do'Urden cavern, flowed back to form a door. Quickly, he stepped through, ignoring the stares of the common soldiers, then crossed the courtyard towards the balcony.

"So I am home," Drizzt muttered, his meaning that he would stay, "For whatever that would imply."

There was a familiar presence on the balcony, and he looked up, to see all his sisters looking down on him, literally, and figuratively. Quetzal's mouth flashed into a warm smile, then just as quickly settled back to the nonchalant, cold mask that she wore habitually now.

"It is good that you are home," Briza called as she saw him rise over to the balcony rail.

Drizzt was not listening to her, but winked at Quetzal. Home he told her.

Quetzal understood. Although Drizzt had spent a week here nearly a year before, the rigorous training had not allowed him to feel much of House Do'Urden. Not that he would have liked what he would have seen, Quetzal admitted.

"Greetings, Prince Drizzt," Maya said, and the twins couldn't see if she was being sarcastic or not. "We have heard of the honors you achieved at Melee-Magthere. Your skill has done House Do'Urden proud." In spite of her words, Maya did not hide the derisive chuckle as she finished the thought, "Glad, I am, that you did not become drider food."

The twins' glares stole the smile from her face. There was something unnerving about that - surely, there were two stares, but it seemed to be of one single being.

Drizzt could see Maya and Briza exchange concerned glances, then uncertainly put their hands on their snake-headed whips.

Drizzt was now striding with measured steps down the corridor, his thought confusion and a welter of anger, against Zaknafein. Of all his kin, only Zaknafein appeared to be what he was not, but every time Drizzt reached a conclusion about the strange weapon master of House Do'Urden, Quetzal would tell him something that would break it up.

He kept glancing anxiously down every side passage, wondering where Zaknafein would make his appearance, then shot his sister a glance. Quetzal minutely shrugged.

"How long before you leave for patrol?" Maya asked, breaking them out of their contemplation.

"Two days," Quetzal replied, their eyes darting from side to side, not noticing the surprised look that Maya and Briza exchanged. Quetzal had spoken as if Drizzt had already told her about the plans, as if - she could be Drizzt herself.

Then they were at the antechamber doors, yet with not sign of Zaknafein. Quetzal concluded that the weapon master was probably hiding again.

"We know of your indiscretions," Briza snapped, suddenly cold, as she placed her hand on the latch to the antechamber door. The twins were not surprised at her outburst, beginning to expect such things from high priestesses of Lloth.

"Why could you not just enjoy the pleasures of the ceremony?" Maya added, "We are fortunate that the mistresses and the matrons were too involved in their own excitement to notice. You could have brought shame upon our entire house!"

"You could have placed Matron Malice in Lloth's disfavor," Briza was quick to add.

The best thing we could do for her, the twins silently thought, then quickly dismissed the notion, remembering Briza's uncanny knack of reading minds.

"Let us hope he did not," Maya said grimly, "The tides of war hang thickly in the air."

"I have learned my place," Drizzt assured them, "Forgive me, my sisters, and know that the truth of the drow world is fast opening before my young eyes. Never will I disappoint House Do'Urden in such a way again."

Well said Quetzal silently applauded. Drizzt had mollified the sisters, and also had not made any promises.

Noting with relief that Zaknafein was not in attendance, they slipped past the other sisters through the door.

"All praise to the Spider Queen!" Briza yelled behind him.

They paused, and met her gaze, bowing low. "Damn her," Quetzal muttered fervently.

Creeping behind the small group, Zak had studied Drizzt's every move, trying the measure the toll the Academy had exacted on his student.

Gone now, was the customary smile that lighted up their faces. Quetzal treated him with a polite deference, which verged on cold. They had witnessed the ceremony, Drizzt had gone through the ceremony - Zak knew then that the innocence that had separated them from the rest of Menzoberranzan had been irrevocably destroyed.

Zaknafein walked quickly back to his room, the image of their heartfelt accord with Briza's honoring of Lloth surfacing repeatedly in his mind.

"What have I done?" he asked himself, when he shut the door to his room. "Truly, when I look upon the drow - the drow warrior - that had been my most treasured, I shame for my cowardice! What have they lost that I may have saved?"

He drew his other sword from his scabbard, sensitive fingers testing the razor edge. "A finer blade you would have become if you had tasted the blood of the twins, to deny this world, our world, souls for the taking, to free these two from the unending torments of life," he lamented, lowering the sword tip to the ground.

You are a coward, the other voice told him bluntly, and this time, he wholeheartedly agreed.

Zaknafein grimaced, as he sat down heavily on his narrow bed. "A drow warrior," he snarled, then his shoulders slumped, his weapon clanging down on the stone floor, his head caught by the embrace of his hands, the only shield Zaknafein Do'Urden had ever found.

The twins spent most of the day at rest, idly playing with Nhaz'aer, or speaking about inconsequential circumstances, just for the sake of remembering the other's face, the other's voice, in the short time.

"I had thought, that Zaknafein was our salvation against the realities around us, the one glowing light in the darkness that is Menzoberranzan," Drizzt said quietly, as the heat of Narbondel dwindled.

"That is a lie, is it?" Drizzt asked.

Quetzal sat next to him on his bed, cradling Nhaz'aer's canine head, stroking the luxuriant fur as the wolf crooned.

She kept silent for a while, then sighed. "I do not know. However, sooner or later Briza and Maya would see through all those lies we are feeding them."

"You have been Briza's student for the past ten years. She does not seem to have noticed." Drizzt pointed out.

Quetzal laughed a mirthless laugh. "That is easy. You have but to keep your head down, memorize everything she tells you to, and keep a cold mask on your face."

It was the second day of Drizzt's stay in House Do'Urden, when Narbondel was beginning its cycle of light. The door to Drizzt's room swung open, Briza entering. "An audience with Matron Malice," she said grimly, knowing that Quetzal would have heard too.

A thousand thoughts raced through their minds as they followed their eldest sister down the corridors. Had they been discovered? Unconsciously, they eyed the spider carvings on the entrance to the antechamber.

"You should be more familiar and more at ease in this place," Briza scolded, noting their discomfort, "It is the place of our people's highest glories."

Lowest falls, more likely Quetzal informed Drizzt. Their private 'link' was not subject to any form of mind reading.

Drizzt fought the urge to snicker, all the while keeping his mind carefully blank.

Their confusion doubled as they entered the chapel, to find that Rizzen, Maya and Zaknafein stood before the Matron. Beside them, were Dinin and Vierna.

"We are all present," Briza said, going to her mother's side.

I do not know, Quetzal replied, just as confused.

Matron Malice paced slowly around the kneeling members, the twins dropping their eyes to the ground out of simple common sense.

Malice stopped before the twins. "You are confused by the presence of Dinin and Vierna," she said. They looked up at her. "Do you not yet understand the subtle methods of our survival?"

"We had thought that our brother and sister were to continue on at the Academy," Quetzal said.

"That would not be to our advantage," Malice said.

"Does it not bring a house strength to have masters and mistresses at the Academy?" Drizzt dared ask.

"It does," Malice said, "But it separates the power. You have heard of the tidings of war?" She was not surprised to find herself addressing the question to the both of them.

"We have heard hinting of trouble," Drizzt said, glancing at Vierna.

"But nothing tangible," Quetzal finished.

"Hinting?" Malice huffed. "They are more than most houses hear before the blade falls!" She spun away from the twins to face the whole group. "The rumors hold truth," she declared.

"Who?" Briza asked, "What house conspires against House Do'Urden?"

"None behind us in rank," Dinin said, the twins turning astonished look on his effrontery. It was not his place to speak, any more than it was Drizzt's.

"How do you know this?" Malice asked, apparently letting the oversight slip.

"We are the ninth house of the city," Dinin reasoned, "But among our ranks we hold four high priestesses, two of them former mistresses of Arach Tinilith, and a cleric in training." He looked at Zaknafein. "We have, as well, two former masters of Melee-Magthere, and Drizzt was awarded the highest laurels in the school of fighters. Our soldiers number nearly four hundred, all skilled and battle-tested. Only few houses claim more."

"What is your point?" The twins heard Briza say sharply.

"We are the ninth house," Dinin laughed, "But few above could defeat us..."

"And none below," Quetzal finished, understanding.

"You show good judgement, Elderboy," Matron Malice said, "I have come to the same conclusions myself."

The twins, on mutual agreement, started to distance themselves from the discussion, their eyes lingering on Zaknafein, kneeling impassively by the side. What would the callous weapon master think of this, the thrill of another war?

To all appearances, Zaknafein did not even appear to be listening to what was happening.

It is not Baenre, he could hear Khazid'hea's tone in his mind, trying to be helpful.

I do not care, Zaknafein informed it. Do'Urden can fall for all that matters to myself.

Zaknafein could feel the sword struggling with this for a while, then stopped. What does House Do'Urden do normally in a raid? It asked.

Zak understood that what Khazid'hea meant was, What did Zaknafein Do'Urden do in a raid?

He began to tell the sword. Anything to act as a distraction. Involuntarily, he glanced at the twins. They appeared to be absorbed in some mental discussion.

Probably about helping the house, he thought bitterly, then closed his mind to what was happening around him. Better that he did not know, than to feel more depressed with the blunt subtlety and cold realities of the drow world, that they could stay in this antechamber and plan the deaths of an entire House, of drow and drow children.

Drow children - their echoing screams haunting him, to be repeated again, by this raid. Zak shuddered, then lowered his gaze fixedly to the cold ground.

Drizzt sighed inwardly, pulling himself back into the discussion. Apparently they had decided that Baenre was not the culprit, but some house above them.

"If we learn of our enemies..." he began impulsively. All eyes snapped on him.

Zak, his mind kicking back into reality, stared. Some remnant, probably, of his Two-hands, but it was bad enough that it was being used for war.

"Continue," Matron Malice said.

"If we could discover which house plots against us," Drizzt said quietly, "Could we not expose it?"

"To what end?" Briza snarled at him, "Conspiracy without action is not crime."

"Then might we not..." Drizzt began, but Quetzal quickly cut him off.

"What we mean," she said smoothly, shooting a dangerous look at Drizzt for her brother to shut up, "Was that we should strike first. It is possible to summon creatures from the nether worlds, that may help us in our war."

"It is not allowed," Malice growled, but showed a faint interest.

"What if no one found out?" Quetzal smiled, "It is possible also to change the place where the creature is summoned, perhaps to the chapel of the conspiring house."

Drizzt could not believe what his sister was saying, but managed to keep his expression knowing.

"Then the demon would become loose," Malice pointed out, her curiosity rising.

"Not if a spell of binding was placed on it," Quetzal countered.

"There is no such spell," Malice said, but her conviction was weakening.

"There is. Drizzt and I found this, a long time ago," Quetzal said quietly, reaching into her robes. Pulling out the silver flute, and the small tome.

Drizzt's eyes widened.

Malice took the items from Quetzal, flipping through the tome. When she turned back to look, her face had a strange expression on it. "Where did you come by this?"

Quetzal looked uncomfortable, and did not reply.

Malice apparently decided it was not important, handing back the items. "Do you know how to use them?" She asked, her voice very, very tense.

Quetzal began to doubt the wisdom of showing Malice the flute. "Yes."

"We have a great edge in the war," Malice smiled, her smile evil. "That is the flute of Taur, last seen in Baenre's treasures. Is it true," she said slowly, "That you spells may be played?"

Quetzal nodded, under the Matron's intense stare.

"The summons - are possible?" Briza asked, almost breathless in excitement.

Again, Quetzal nodded, numbly.

"Ninth house?" Malice laughed then, "Soon, only seven houses will stand in front of us!"

"What of the patrol?" Briza started to ask, but the twins were not listening any more.

What are you doing? Drizzt demanded.

Saving your hide, Quetzal replied calmly. Malice is not pleased with you, and you will certainly face punishment if you continue to speak like this.

Drizzt could not think of anything to say. Had Quetzal become a true drow, like his other sisters?

I did not mean it, if it is any comfort to you, Quetzal said. Loosing a demon... is not a thing I would do.

Drizzt began to relax.

It ended mercifully soon, with Zaknafein the first out of the chapel. The twins watched him go, wondering whether to confront him here, or shrug it off.

Malice stepped in front of them. "Do not forget my words," she warned Drizzt, "No harm must come to your brother!"

"Quetzal," Malice said then, her voice moderated, "Come. I would like to see more of this flute." Quetzal gave Drizzt a despairing glance, then obediently followed Malice back inside the chapel.

***

Chapter 19: Two-edged Favor

"We have been chosen for a surface raid!" Drizzt announced, when the featureless landscape of the Dream curled around his form.

Quetzal looked oddly at him, not saying anything.

"In two days," Drizzt said, buoyed by excitement, "We will punish the surface elves!"

"Are you so sure of that?" Quetzal asked, her voice unemotional.

It was Drizzt's turn to stare. "The patrol is skilled," he said, slowly.

"Do the elves need punishment?" Quetzal retorted, "How sure are you, that they are evil? How sure are you, that they are always to blame? For every wrong we see?" The day had been spent studying drow history, for Quetzal, and she was feeling very irritable. More so when she scrutinized the venomous denunciations of the surface elves, and found many holes in the reasoning.

"They are evil," Drizzt growled, though his voice had a weight of doubt.

"Then so are you, and I, and the rest of this sorry world," Quetzal snarled, "Have you seen this surface world, to make such conclusions?"

"I will," Drizzt replied, also getting angry, "The surface elves killed our kin, and betrayed us!"

"So has House Do'Urden, and so has Zaknafein," Quetzal said, "How sure are you of this? I have looked at this other world, and it does seem a haven compared to Menzoberranzan."

"The sun..." Drizzt began.

"So will this perpetual darkness seem hell to those whose eyes are adapted to light," Quetzal snapped.

Drizzt was silent. Quetzal glared at him for a moment, then sighed. She regretted her curiosity of exploring, namely creating a portal, then glancing through, mostly now to the world most hated to drow. The visions she had seen... her ideas were sacrilegious, and her hatred flared whenever she saw her kin.

Pain always accompanies the breaking up of illusions.

Quetzal's sabers whistled through the air, spinning in a perfect concentric pattern, her mind detaching itself from her body. Malice had pressed her to 'demonstrate' the power of the flute, then asked her to call up an imp, at first.

Imps turned to manes, manes turned to a lesser demon, and then to a glabrezu, finally. Quetzal fought now, opponents of air, to forget.

The sabers slammed down, killing an imaginary opponent with a face remarkably like that of Malice, then she whirled and kicked at another, smoothly regaining her balance.

Superimposed on her vision was that of another pair of lavender eyes, miles away, footfalls soft on a tunnel of the Underdark, other drow elves occasionally crossing over. Dimly, Quetzal could see the lanky, hard muscled figure of Dinin, striding in front with a cleric.

She shook her head vigorously. A downward stab, then the follow-through, well timed, left saber rising to waist for defense.

"Did you please the goddess?" Matron Malice asked, more of a demand than anything else did.

Distractedly, Drizzt was looking at Quetzal, who was pointedly ignoring him. The twins had not spoken for days, a rift that was paining the both of them, but none did anything conciliatory, yet. Quetzal now stood with the other sisters, beside Matron Malice's throne, the others stood around in formal positions, listening to Dinin's excited recounting of the raid.

"And him?" Malice said, her gaze prickling Drizzt. Drizzt was aware of Dinin walking over, and draping a hand comfortably on his shoulders. Quetzal was looking at him now, he noticed, but with a cold expression of disdain and scorn.

"Drizzt got only one kill," Quetzal heard Dinin say, with a touch of pride, "but it was a female child."

Her eyes flickered from surprise, to disbelief, to absolute hatred.

The child lives! Drizzt told Quetzal, his heart becoming cold with an edge of panic. I saved her... look in my mind, and see.

The twins normally did not pry into each other any more, respecting privacy, but secrets could not be held within them from the other, for long.

Drizzt could feel Quetzal inside his mind, and he stoically waited as she brushed through with none of her usual gentleness.

"Only one?" Malice growled. The twins did not pay attention, nor see Zaknafein, in the shadows to one side, his face twisted in pain and despair.

Zaknafein wanted to shut off the elderboy's damning words, but he could not. Of all the evils Zak had seen in Menzoberranzan, this was the most disappointing. Drizzt had killed a child.

Quetzal appeared to be sifting through his memory... with a tight sieve.

"But the way he did it!" Dinin exclaimed, "He hacked her apart, sent all of Lloth's fury slicing into her twitching body! The Spider Queen must have treasured that kill above all others."

Brother Dinin has a very... bloody mindset, Quetzal 'said' suddenly, her voice gentle.

Drizzt felt very, very relieved. I almost thought that you did not believe,

I had my doubts, Quetzal said, with a reassuring mental sense flooding over Drizzt. What will come of the child? She mused. She has a better life than we, Drizzt said bitterly.

"Only one," Malice said, her scowl hardly softening.

"He would have had two," Dinin continued, "Shar Nadal from House Maevret stole one from his blade - another female."

"Then Lloth will look with favor on House Maevret," Briza reasoned.

"No," Dinin replied, "Drizzt punished Shar Nadal for his actions. The son of House Maevret would not respond to the challenge."

I wonder why, Quetzal remarked dryly, in their private conversation.

Drizzt fought to keep back a grin. Shar Nadal appeared to have a fascination with my scimitars. The son of House Maevret kept glancing at them when I spoke with him.

Zaknafein saw the grin, and seethed. He would smile, would he, when his evil deeds were recounted? On his hip, Khazid'hea throbbed, Zak resisting the urge to leap out there and then, and plunge the enchanted blade in Drizzt's marred heart.

"Well done, my children," Malice beamed, apparently satisfied. The twins smirked privately. "The Spider Queen will look upon House Do'Urden with favor for this event. She will guide us to victory over this unknown house that seeks to destroy us."

The twins followed Dinin out of the chapel, then caught sight of Zaknafein, in the long corridor ahead of them. Drizzt cast Zak a single, accusatory look, then pointedly turned down a side passage. Quetzal paused, looking at the weapon master, whose face was etched with a mixture of confusing emotions. Zak returned the stare, with something that felt like... hatred?

Who was he to judge them, the pretender?

Quetzal bowed mockingly, and then followed Drizzt, leaving the seething weapon master behind. The passage wound to another main corridor, then to their rooms, Quetzal knocking her code on the door.

Drizzt absently nodded at Nhaz'aer, bounding off the bed, then settled into a chair, his expression brooding.

"What is it?" Quetzal inquired, sitting down opposite her brother, on the plush bed, Nhaz'aer putting his powerful head in her lap for a pat.

"The surface elves - I... I can see them. Clearly. Like it just happened," Drizzt said, in a hollow voice. "The child - her dead mother, everything."

"In your thoughts?" Quetzal prompted.

"Yes. They walk with me," Drizzt rambled on, in a pain-filled tone, a monologue description of what had happened to the surface elves.

Quetzal stroked the Samadhi wolf's silky ruff, eyes looking into space as Drizzt ended the tale.

"Your action was just," she said, "And your wounds will heal."

"Not totally," Drizzt said, miserably. "I hear the screams."

"Do not forget." Said Quetzal.

Drizzt looked up, startled, but his sister continued. "We hear the screams. I have seen your thoughts," Drizzt understood then, why she had taken so much time in his mind in the chapel. Grief is lessened when shared.

"Do not forget," Quetzal repeated, "They are the best shield we will ever have, in this world."

Their door swung open, to reveal the bulk of their eldest sister. Nhaz'aer looked up from where it was lying on the bed, then ignored the high priestess. The spell would prevent any others from seeing the wolf - so long as it stayed on the enchanted region. Briza looked past Drizzt, to Quetzal. "An audience with Matron Malice," she said shortly, then swept out of the corridor.

"That damned flute again," Quetzal sighed.

"It was your idea," Drizzt reminded her, "If I recall."

"Be nice," Quetzal murmured, then walked out of the chapel, resignedly lifting out the flute with care.

Drizzt looked at Nhaz'aer. "A good life you have, wolf," he told it. The wolf raised its russet head, and yawned, showing an impressive array of teeth. Drizzt never called Nhaz'aer by its name if he could help it, for some reason the wolf could not determine.

"Ignorant of this world - you need only to sit on this bed, eat, and guard." Drizzt gave the wolf a final rub, then walked out of the corridor.

Sunk in his own thoughts, Drizzt wandered aimlessly through the halls of the House, distractedly glancing at the carvings that surmounted each door.

Turning a corner, he bumped into somebody, and looked up to see Zaknafein, wearing an enigmatic expression on his handsome features.

Zaknafein sat on his bed, starting vacantly into space. He had met Drizzt in the corridor, and they had agreed to a bout in the training gym. "Like old times," Drizzt had said.

Grimly, he drew Khazid'hea, feeling the oddly comforting warmth travel up his hand. If only Drizzt knew how wrong. This bout would not be friendly, but to the death.

Why would you kill him? Khazid'hea asked.

"He is a drow warrior," Zak growled, stressing on the word 'warrior'. "And he has killed a child."

As have many more before him. The sword replied, trying to understand its master, although looking forward to such a fight. Drizzt was said to be Zaknafein's equal. Khazid'hea did not like that idea.

"I would punish them all if I could," Zak replied. The memory of the doomed DeVir drow children kept springing to mind, like a thorn in his side. He would avenge them, in this way.

"He would leave in a day. When he returns…" Zaknafein left the words hanging, then touched the magically sharpened blade with sensitive fingers.

Quetzal appeared subdued when Drizzt had told her of the incident, and said little the rest of the day. Drizzt retired to his room after a few failed attempts to prompt his twin into less monosyllabic replies.

Nhaz'aer picked up the flute and its tome, with some complex juggling, then dropped them on Quetzal's lap. Tongue lolling out in a silent laugh, he padded to the foot of the bed, where he curled into a russet furred ball, his lithe body rising and falling with each gentle breath.

"I am sure that the both of them are hiding something from each other," Quetzal told the wolf. It looked up curiously, ascertained that her voice was not speaking of food, then lowered its head back to the covers, though politely looking at her with amber eyes, to express interest.

"They're very alike," Quetzal continued, "but they're just as willing to follow misconceptions."

Predictably, Nhaz'aer made no comment.

"I do not understand what motive Zak had in agreeing," she said, "He's unstable at best, most of the time. He has nothing to gain."

Nhaz'aer looked at her with its unblinking eyes, yawning.

"You do not understand either, do you?" Quetzal asked it, sounding amused. "I envy you, most of the time."

Growing bored with the conversation, Nhaz'aer let its gaze wander down to the tome in her lap, with its interesting smell and designs.

"Ah yes, the summons," Quetzal remarked. "Matron Malice is pleased," she said, in a sour tone, mimicking Briza. "I am beginning to regret this, though the idea of loosing demons amongst drow does have a certain attraction."

The wolf's ears pricked up at the mention of 'demon'. It was one of the words he recognized. He growled softly, hoping that his mistress would have the good sense not to try and keep one. Or better yet, not call them at all.

"Dangerous, but our victory will bring honor to House Do'Urden and status in the eyes of Lloth," Quetzal quoted word for word from Malice's earlier speech.

One thing, the Matron was allowing her more freedom from her 'lessons' with Briza. That was a blessing - though she was expected to be practicing summons. It was a very complicated, dangerous song to play, and she would have to keep up a steady stream of notes to keep the creatures in place.

However, she could, in this way, call more than one demon. Thankfully Malice had not asked her to call a balor, yet. Quetzal was not sure she could handle such a creature.

She reached out, and picked up the flute.

***

Chapter 20: To know our enemies

Belwar grimly dragged himself onwards down the corridor, carefully picking the more inaccessible ones, wide enough only for svirfneblin. The svirfneblin were deep gnomes, neither kind nor evil, out of place in the wicked Underdark, where they thrived.

Pain, a searing, throbbing pain, burned where his hands had been. His mouth set into a thin, hard line as the memories flooded him, again and again, the screams of his companions as they were cut down like a herd of fattened rothe.

Belwar had been privileged to lead a band of gnome miners from Blingdenstone, towards a rich vein of gems, close, too close to Menzoberranzan, that evil city of drow.

Sure enough, they had been discovered by no less than three drow patrols. It was nice to think that they believed deep gnomes to be worth that effort, he thought cynically.

There was a drow with lavender eyes – Drizzt; one of his companions had called him. Drizzt had done what Belwar had thought impossible, as he had defeated an earth elemental! They could only have captured him by surprise, as it was, but would not kill him slowly, through torture, as the drow first believed. It was not the svirfneblin way.

Then the rest of the drow patrol had come, led by a giant panther, and the outcome of the fight was predictable.

That was when the rest of this tale got even more unbelievable. Drizzt had asked his kin to spare him, Belwar. As an 'example' to Blingdenstone, but Belwar could see the pain and apology in the young drow's strange purple eyes. The eyes of Lloth, the svirfneblin clerics said, were purple. This drow was unlike anything Belwar would imagine that could be linked to the evil goddess.

It was strange how his mind was functioning under the dull pain.

Another drow, presumably the leader of the patrol, had cut off his hands, a further 'example'. Now, if he could just make the twenty miles without bleeding to death... but the experienced Burrow-Warden would not believe he could make it that far. He had tried to staunch the bleeding as well as he could, but it still flowed, not stopping.

He grimly, determinedly pressed on, out of sheer anger and a nagging urge to prove to the drow and to himself that he could make it.

Far away, in a luxurious room, Quetzal's eyes snapped open, and the deep, lavender pools filled with horror and loathing.

Nhaz'aer looked up from where it was vigilantly guarding the door, glanced curiously at its mistress, then gave her an encouraging bark before returning to its post. It was not inside a wolf to really care for anything that was not pack. Unlike, as some of the wolf Elders had said scornfully, some lower animal that would soon happily roll over on its back and beg for a tummy scratch from a master that it could get attached to.

A rustle behind it caused it to turn its head, and he saw Quetzal taking out the strange silver stick with holes in it. She began to play a tune, a sound that the wolf had gotten used to, and rather liked.

The wolf shrugged. It did not understand drow, and decided it never would. For example, there was the male drow next door that smelled oddly like his mistress, but was visually not. They appeared to share some pack mind, like the wolves. The other drow did not, as far as Nhaz'aer could discern.

Hopefully, it sniffed the bed sheets again, just for the chance that it may have become edible when his head was turned, then sighed, continuing its guard. The wolf was perfectly content to do such a light job most of the day.

Belwar could hear a distant, tinny sound in his ears, and he paused, leaning heavily against a smooth stone wall. The stones 'sang' that there weren't any living creatures within a mile or so from him, and he relaxed briefly.

The sound swelled into a sound not unlike the giant flightless bird of the Underdark made when it was happy, and it filled his senses.

The grizzled Burrow-Warden looked around warily, trying to discern its source, and also trying not to look at the trail of bright-glowing blood, in the infrared spectrum, that he had left.

There was a prickling sensation. When he looked down, he was amazed to see that his hands were healing themselves. The wounds were closing, the blood stopping its flow, and skin was growing as the thing scabbed over.

Belwar felt as though he was looking at a faster version of normal healing.

The scab, with an itchy feeling, gradually shriveled, then dwindled into a neat, white scar, which also disappeared.

There were two round stumps where his hands had been, but Belwar, not one to question his good fortune, hurried down the passageway.

Quetzal ended the song, opening her eyes. Unfortunately, healing spells did not include regeneration spells. Or rather, they did, but there was a warning: Sometimes the recipient's body would view the new limbs as some foreign object, and attack it with the normal cellular way, causing more trouble than before.

Quetzal decided not to test this theory out on the poor gnome leader.

There was a warning growl from Nhaz'aer, and Quetzal slipped off the bed to the untidy desk, making it appear as though she had been reading.

A knock sounded, respectfully now, on the door, then Briza barged in. "Matron Malice would seek audience with you," she said in curt tones, barely hiding her jealousy that another sister had found greater favor in the eyes of the Matron Mother.

Quetzal nodded demurely, picking up the flute and tome even as Briza scanned the room with hungry eyes, trying to spot something out of doctrine, then snorted and led the way, muttering to herself with irritation.

Quetzal paused in the doorway, rolling her eyes theatrically at Nhaz'aer then glided over behind Briza, to the soft, snuffling sound that passed as a wolfish snigger.

Through the winding passages and corridors of the Do'Urden House, then to the ostensibly wide, remarkably decorated main walkway to the family chapel.

They entered respectfully, then greeted Matron Malice, sitting on her high, black throne.

"Ah, Quetzal," Malice said, indicating the seat before her. "We will test your theory today,"

Quetzal had a sinking feeling, but her emotionless face did not show anything.

"Summon an imp there," Malice commanded, pointing towards a bowl of beaten gold, placed on an onyx platform in front of the throne.

Quetzal felt confusion twist her face, then stood up, understanding. The bowl was the very same scrying bowl of before, and the surface of the water showed a tunnel, of the dim Underdark.

She flipped the pages of the small tome to a bookmark, then lifted the flute to her lips.

Belwar stumbled on, bleeding from a dozen scratches. Apparently the healing spell did not take away the dull, searing pain, that caused him to lose concentration and walk into stalagmites.

The healed portion seemed very sensitive, and the skin had already broken. Belwar grimaced. The sharp stabs of pinpoint pain seemed worse than that of a large wound.

Morbidly, he wondered if one could die from pain.

He started to recite to himself all the names of the burrow – wardens in Blingdenstone, to pass the time. Seelk, the oldest... Vimar, the 'tall' one, victim of a joke... How far had he gone?

He looked at the stone of the tunnel, squinting at marks other denizens of the Underdark would see as mere scratches.

Belwar stared at the stone, tapping into the song, the faint sound that all deep gnomes could hear.

Fifteen miles to Blingdenstone, an eternity.

Quetzal sat back in the stillness of her room, trying to discern what was the egging anger on the other side of the link.

Drizzt appeared to be pushing her back, for some reason, she could not know.

He was tired though, and she 'sneaked' into a portion of his mind, to watch.

"...I know my abilities," Drizzt was saying, "As my limitations. I know how to survive."

Quetzal realized the other drow in front of Drizzt was Zaknafein.

"As have I," Zak shot back, "For so many centuries."

"The gym awaits," Drizzt said.

Oh, no. Drizzt had improved with his skills Quetzal knew, but so had Zaknafein. What was her brother trying to do?

"Your mother awaits," Zaknafein corrected. "She bids us all to the chapel. Fear not, though. There will be time for our meeting."

Quetzal felt a general sense of confusion in Drizzt's mind, and quietly slipped out. She had conveniently forgotten about the chapel.

Quickly, she slipped off the bed, patting Nhaz'aer, and then glided gracefully out of the room.

She met Drizzt in the main corridor to the chapel. His hands were clenched at his sides, his face furious and confused.

"Salutations, hero," she said calmly.

"Not you, too," Drizzt groaned.

"Ah. Were you, perhaps, referring to Zaknafein?" Quetzal asked innocently.

Drizzt glared at her, not saying anything.

"An earth elemental," Quetzal continued, "But the lightning bolt?"

Drizzt appeared to relax. "I do not know how that came along. Masoj aimed it, as though he was hurling it at myself."

"He was," Quetzal said grimly. "I was in your mind. Even when you are unconscious, I may hear what happens outside."

Drizzt's eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to say something, all thoughts of the gym and the weapon master forgotten.

Briza strode up to them, followed by a cringing Rizzen. "Come. Matron Malice expects us," she said imperiously, then swept inside the chapel.

Rizzen glared at the twins, contemptuously and in hatred. "Spawn of..." he began, then yelped as the flat of a saber blade smashed into his back.

"Have a care when you speak to females!" Quetzal warned.

Rizzen stuttered over an apology, but the twins had already walked inside the chapel. Drizzt looked at Quetzal carefully, but his sister had a look of satisfaction on her face. At the doorway, Briza nodded in approval, having witnessed the scene. "We will see to procuring a whip for you, as befits a cleric."

Quetzal smiled, then walked to Matron Malice's side, where her other sisters stood.

I find Rizzen very annoying, Quetzal informed Drizzt privately, Have you seen how he grovels in front of Matron Malice, and treats the slaves on the other hand?

No.Drizzt said numbly, watching the Patron of House Do'Urden limp in.

You really don't want to, Quetzal shuddered.

Belwar leant against the cold stone of the tunnel that the svirfneblin had dug, which had many side passages to other rich veins.

It had been a long, wearing trek, and he was glad to reach safer and more familiar ground.

Still, there were many more miles to go, and in the weary state of Belwar's mind, he was not sure he could make it in time.

Duty – he had to make sure no other svirfneblin ventured again to that vein, rich as it was. He had to tell the king, didn't he? He had to tell the city what had happened.

Belwar had long exhausted the names of the burrow-wardens, and was starting on the names of the streets in Blingdenstone.

It grew harder and harder to push away the obscuring fog of gray, but Belwar was determined not to succumb to oblivion. Once he slept, he knew, he may never wake up.

His stubby feet were aching from bruises, and his muscles screamed at him to stop.

In the tunnel, the burrow-warden Belwar stamped on, jaw set in a hard line. He would prove, above all, to the drow that svirfneblin could make it, even handicapped, to a place of safety miles away.

Idly, he wondered again about the source of the healing, his mind fluttering back to the lavender eyes of Drizzt, which followed him with sorrow, down the tunnel.

There had been a separate flicker inside those eyes. Belwar could not, now, figure out what it was, so he stored it away in his mind for future reference.

The first way of business was to get to the city. There, he would be safe, Belwar told himself, and dragged himself on...

"Think!" Malice growled, her breath hot on Drizzt's face, "You must know something!"

Quetzal looked worriedly at her brother, who was trying to back away from the overpowering figure. There was something, she knew, but for the life of her, she could not know what it was.

"One of you have learnt the identity of our attackers," Malice snapped, "Out there on patrol, one of you must have seen some sign."

"Perhaps we saw it but did not know what it meant," Dinin offered.

Quetzal knew that one fine day, Dinin's clever mouth would get ahead of him, and preferably in front of Briza.

"Silence!" Matron Malice cried, "Only when you know the answer to my question may you speak! Only then!" She turned to Briza, "Help Dinin find his memory!"

Quetzal found herself thinking of the earth elemental, and the electrical shot. Quickly, she sent the image to Drizzt.

"Masoj," Drizzt whispered. Malice put out her hand to still Briza.

"Masoj Hun'ett." Drizzt said, more loudly, "In the fight against the gnomes, he tried to kill me. When I battled the elemental," he spat out the last word as a curse towards Zaknafein.

Oh dear, Quetzal thought, looking at the suppressed rage on the weapon master's face as Drizzt's implied insult did not go unnoticed.

"Masoj Hun'ett struck me down with a bolt of lightning." Drizzt finished.

"He may have been shooting at the monster," Vierna remarked.

"No," Quetzal said. Malice turned her attention to her. "Masoj said, when Drizzt fell from the monster, that it had been 'too easy'."

"Masoj waited," Drizzt continued, "until I had gained the advantage over the monster."

"House Hun'ett," Malice whispered.

"Fifth house," Briza remarked, "Under Matron SiNafay."

"So that is our enemy," Malice said.

"Perhaps not," Dinin said. Quetzal sighed. Would the idiot male never keep his mouth shut?

"Explain!" Matron Malice ordered.

"Masoj Hun'ett was angry at being excluded from the surface raid. We left him in the city only to witness our triumphant return. Masoj has ever been jealous of Drizzt, and of all his glories, taken rightfully or wrongfully. Many are envious of Drizzt and would see him dead." Dinin said, shooting Drizzt a look.

Quetzal was uncomfortably aware of Zak's smug smile. Glancing at her brother, she saw he was, too.

Is this a threat? Drizzt was asking Quetzal privately, his reference she did not understand.

Many wish you dead, Quetzal repeated.

I know. was Drizzt's reply, sounding distant and sad, somehow. Lonely, in the trials in this sea of evil. Perhaps, evil is too strong a word, Quetzal corrected. Nothing material could ever be seen as evil, corrupt maybe, wicked, but not evil. Evil is a word she had taken to using with Lloth.

"Are you certain of your words?" Malice was asking Drizzt.

"There is the cat," Dinin interrupted. Quetzal sighed again, and mentally labeled Dinin as the perpetually, rebelliously cocky type of drow, that usually had a life span of a few seconds in certain conditions.

"Masoj Hun'ett's magical panther, though it holds more tightly to Drizzt's side," Dinin said. Guenhwyvar, Quetzal believed.

"Guenhwyvar walks the point with me," Drizzt protested, "As you ordered."

"Masoj does not like it," Dinin replied.

"Are you certain of your words?" Matron Malice asked.

"Masoj Hun'ett tried to kill me," Drizzt repeated. "I do not know his reasons, but his intent I have no doubt!"

"House Hun'ett then," Briza commented, "A mighty foe."

"We must learn of them!" Malice commanded, "Dispatch the scouts! I will know of the count of House Hun'ett's soldiers, its wizards, and particularly its clerics!"

"If," Dinin began again, then caught the stare of the other Do'Urden twin, her lavender eyes burning into his, a warning he could not ignore from a female.

Malice nodded briefly at Quetzal, noticing her interference.

"Prepare for war," Malice said, "We need not know of Matron SiNafay, or her standing with Lloth." As she said this, she smiled, an evil smile, at Quetzal.

Quetzal noted the stunned look in Drizzt's eye as he noted the furious proceedings, the gleam in every eye.

What did you expect? she bluntly asked.

Drizzt could find no answer.

***

Chapter 21: Holy War

Drizzt filed into the chamber, assiduously avoiding Zaknafein, as usual, then shooting the weapon master a glare when Zak settled in the shadows.

Zak's hand twitched towards his scabbards. Soon, perhaps, after this very war. The efforts had swept all of Do'Urden along, such that the both of them had not found yet any way, to have their little 'meeting'.

There was an outwardly interest this day. Zaknafein had heard briefly that Quetzal possessed some weapon, some skill that would be of grave outcome in the war, such that Matron Malice had not bothered to precisely look into House Hun'ett.

"Kneel," Matron Malice commanded, and the family sank to their knees.

"Our soldiers will go to House Hun'ett, led by Dinin, tonight," she smiled. "A small force, just for show," Her full lips emphasized the last word, and Zaknafein suddenly felt a sense of dread creep into his heart. What was this weapon?

"Drizzt and Zaknafein will hunt out the wizards, Masoj and the Faceless one. Sources tell that they have just set out from the House to the catacombs. The two of you are more than suited for this task," Malice said, now businesslike.

She handed two pairs of bracers to them. Drizzt noticed that Zaknafein slipped them on with the ease of practice. He did the same, then looked at Malice.

"Bracers of magic resistance," Matron Malice explained, "A treasure of House Do'Urden."

That would explain why the equipment looked rather familiar. Had he and his sister not seen them before, amid a pile of coins and gems?

Drizzt felt uneasy, and knew why. Guenhwyvar still belonged to Masoj.

"Now go, and serve House Do'Urden," Malice commanded.

Good luck, Quetzal said, Do you need Nhaz'aer?

Better not to let Zaknafein see it, Drizzt said sarcastically, Or he would run straight to the Matron.

Your choice. Quetzal replied, as Drizzt and Zaknafein walked out of the chapel.

Drizzt looked pointedly at the gym as they passed through it to the balcony. Zaknafein shook his head.

"We have to carry out our task before personal effects," Zak said, in a cool, smug tone, "But after we kill the wizards..." he left it hanging.

"You make it sound easy," Drizzt said, feeling the need to criticize the supremely confident weapon master, somehow.

"Oh yes, it is," Zak said, and smiled.

Have you done it so many times, Zaknafein, that you have found it 'easy'? Drizzt raged at Zak. How many have you killed?

Zak noted the young Do'Urden's simmering rage, shrugged imperceptibly, then levitated down to the courtyard, that was already buzzing with activity. The ranks of soldiers formed, pushing the slaves in front of them.

Zak and Drizzt took their lizard steeds, held ready for them by two slaves, the lizards padding patiently up to the ceiling, padding patiently, towards their destination.

"How would we find them?" Drizzt asked, "The catacombs is a large place."

"These bracers," Zak said patiently, as if speaking to an exceptionally slow child, "Can detect magic."

"What if they were not to use their magic?" Drizzt replied, lowering his rising voice.

Zak gave him a look that clearly told Drizzt what the weapon master thought of his intelligence. "Wizards always have wands. If not wands, rings. If not rings, staffs. And so on."

"Ah," Drizzt said, not knowing what was the correct reply to this. The lizards padded in circular like patterns, erratic and untraceable, automatically, as they had been trained to.

Zaknafein was silent, thinking of the children of Hun'ett. How they would scream.

Quetzal sat cross-legged on the floor, at Matron Malice's invitation. As was customary, the circle of eight clerics chanted to Lloth, in a prayer that was mostly unnecessary.

But custom demanded it, and custom would get what custom wanted. In this particular case, custom wanted death.

Quetzal took out the tome, and read and reread the notes, knowing that one small mistake would cause an immense backfire. Although this had not happened yet, she could never be certain.

Foolish, Drizzt was. And the weapon master. She knew, as she looked at their faces, that they would fight it out themselves inside the catacombs. Quetzal was not sure who would win, but she would, if forced to choose, vote on Zaknafein. The wily weapon master had four centuries of experience behind him, and could outfight Drizzt when he chose to, though it would be a long fight.

Quetzal briefly considered calling Nhaz'aer after them, though she knew that the wolf would have a sizeable problem concerning following the scent of the lizards.

From what she could see from Drizzt's view, her brother was upside down on the ceiling of one of the catacombs, ignoring the other beside him, just as Zak was ignoring him.

Her eyes dropped back to the tome on her lap. It was so easy, compared to the tune for healing. So easy, just a collection of consecutive notes. Almost ironical, she could say.

Dinin took a roundabout route as was usual, creeping into the mushroom grove, his soldiers behind him, readying weapons and measuring the structure in front of them.

Dinin smiled. Things appeared to have come full circle. Many years ago, on the night of Drizzt's birth, he had come to this same mushroom grove, with the same purpose.

Similarly, the gate of House Hun'ett was surrounded by shriekers. Similarly, Dinin's soldiers held the small crossbows, with the darts that held the magical silencer dweomers. The only difference, Dinin could see, was that there was an adamantine gate where the mushroom one of House DeVir had stood.

No matter, however. Matron Malice had hinted about a 'gate opener'.

The slaves looked wild and fearful. And right too, Dinin knew. Not many of them would make it through the night. They had better sense than to try and run, for they feared the drow more than death itself. Life with the drow, under their torture, made death seem a release. It was only a short time, after all, but the drow were notorious for being able to keep things alive in the most unlikely circumstances.

The houses around knew now, that House Do'Urden was planning a raid, but would not say anything. More likely they would watch, and smile at the outcome of the battle, whatever it would be.

House Hun'ett was the closest house to Baenre, and Dinin wondered briefly if the raid would be seen as a threat to the First House. Certainly House Do'Urden, strong as they were, would not be prepared for a Baenre raid.

Under his command, silent, the slaves leaped into position around the mushrooms, as history replayed itself.

"... two ... three ..." Dinin signaled in the drow code, around the magical silence cast by his troops.

As before, he imagined the 'click' as his weapon went off, burying a dart in the nearest shrieker. So it was all around, as the House's first line of defense was silenced by three-dozen enchanted darts. The House had not even anticipated this, for House Do'Urden had taken pains to remove all their darts from the mushrooms of DeVir.

"It has started," Matron Malice said, and the eight clerics bent in concentration, the first insinuating waves of energy roiling into House Hun'ett.

"Begin," she said harshly, in excitement. "Target the chapel. Balor. And also one to open the gates for our soldiers."

Quetzal nodded. A formidable mix, and a strain. She would not be able to perform much magic, clerical or otherwise, for many a day after this.

Up went the mithril flute, dancing into the first low notes of the incantation, her eyes fixing on the image the scrying bowl before her showed, of the clerics of House Hun'ett, gathered in some private meeting, probably to discuss strategies against House Do'Urden.

How ironic, indeed, that the strategies were too late.

Matron SiNafay looked up, her eyes slightly wild as she stuttered over her next words. "It cannot be," she said in disbelief.

"We are under attack," she breathed, her head throbbing already from the power of House Do'Urden's powerful clerics.

"Who?" one of her daughters said, probably automatically, but Matron SiNafay shrugged. "We will learn of it soon enough."

"It cannot be Do'Urden," another muttered, as she rushed towards of the room to alert the house, the others bending around the gemstone carving of Lloth, beginning their countering spell.

A scream from the cleric daughter going to the door caused them to snap up their heads, then their eyes widened collectively in absolute amazement and growing fear.

A shimmering appeared at the door, growing into a gigantic, canine faced demon, that roared, looking around the room.

A part of Matron SiNafay's mind noted the thin, silvery, lightning-like streaks around the body of the tanarri, as if some unknown force was holding it.

"Errtu," she heard one of her daughters say.

The monster swung its immense canine head to her, jaws dripping flame, and arching into the cruelest smile the Matron had ever seen.

The balor snapped out his whip, dragging the first daughter into his circle of flame, screaming, and his mouth now slightly open in excitement at the carnage it would have wrought by the end of this day.

The others could only watch, stunned, as the lightning sword and fires took care of them.

Matron SiNafay struggled as she was dragged inexorably towards the circle of dancing flame, hungry for her blood.

"Who?" she gasped, at the last moment.

The balor turned its terrible gaze on her. "Do'Urden," it snarled, taking pleasure in the look of absolute fear on the Matron's face.

"It cannot be!" SiNafay cried in terrible denial, "Do'Urden has been cursed by the Spider Queen! It cannot..."

They wandered through the maze of the catacombs, their bracers leading them on.

Drizzt was uncomfortably aware of the scimitars on his scabbards and the proximity of his companion, but stoically endured. There would be time soon enough.

The lizards padded on the ground now, safe from any 'witnesses' that may have happened on the way.

Zaknafein felt discomfited, the lizard beneath him squirming briefly, as if he had communicated his irritation to the beast.

But when it persisted, he began to suspect something, very wrong.

Zak held up one hand to stop, Drizzt looking at him with curiosity and a little suspicion. "Something is coming," Zak signaled in the drow code, then got off his steed, climbing effortlessly upwards to a ledge, their levitating abilities hampered by the bracers..

Drizzt glanced both ways down where they had gone, then too climbed up.

Some moments passed, and Drizzt looked sharply at Zaknafein, but the weapon master held up a hand. "Listen," Zak 'said'.

There was indeed, an insistent, rhythmic soft padding of paws.

"Guenhwyvar!" Drizzt cried, in excitement. Now he knew what the sound was.

"Shut up!" Zak hissed, automatically clapping a hand over Drizzt's mouth. Drizzt looked at him indignantly.

"What in the Nine hells do you..." Zak began, then uttered a word that did not deserve to be ever printed down.

Drizzt realized what had happed a moment later when the both of them were suddenly jerked upwards, ask if attached to something.

His hands immediately reached behind him – and stuck fast.

"I hope you're happy," Zaknafein hissed in absolute irritation and anger, as the two of them stuck together by several sticky lines, were hauled upwards together.

Dinin saw a shimmering form behind the adamantite gates. The balor emerged, causing a slight upsurge of panic in the slaves in front.

It shot a glare straight at him, and Dinin could see the flickering tongues of silver around the balor, which was under control.

The demon reached out, grasping hold of the gates, setting of glyphs that it heeded not. It wrenched the gate, and the adamantite, screeching briefly in protest, gave way, even as balls of absolute darkness descended, obscuring, on the compound.

The slaves poured into the courtyard, setting off more glyphs.

Too soon, perhaps, they were headed into the house, the balor immediately in front, a juggernaut of destruction and death, even the drow soldiers keeping a respectful berth.

Any resemblance between creatures of sentiment and the drow ended then, as a burst of laughter sounded when the balor reached out casually and tore several Hun'ett soldiers apart.

Above, the balor Errtu finished in the chapel, and bashed open the door, seeking blood.

It found it in the next room, the kitchens.

Quetzal started to insinuate a more subtle sound into the song, that Malice hardly found. This particular feat had taken her many days of practice and mental stimulation, but she believed that it would, and could work.

In a few hiding places, groups of drow children vanished with a short, chorused scream.

Drizzt fought for the first half of the ascent, kicking and spinning, ducking his shoulders under any outcrop that appeared as he refused to give up.

"Stubborn, aren't you?" Zaknafein was saying, with a certain manic cheerfulness.

Drizzt stopped briefly, one shoulder bruised, the other bloodied. "Yes," he snarled, then kicked at the wall.

"If you don't mind, your efforts are seriously paining me," Zak commented, gingerly touching his ribs with one hand, carefully avoiding the translucent thread.

"Your hands are free," Drizzt said, suddenly noticing, a surge of hope in his throat. "You can free us!"

"On the contrary," Zak said in that cheerful tone, "The swords would stick to the thread, or we would fall about..." the weapon master looked down, "Thirty feet."

Drizzt's eyes narrowed into slits, wishing that he could positively strangle the irritating drow bound to him. "Then you are just going to die?"

"All drow die, sooner or later," Zak said dismissive.

Drizzt contented himself with a glare, then swung them under another outcrop.

"Will you stop that?" Zak asked, whimsical, when they recovered from the stunning blow, "You know it won't help."

"At least I am trying," Drizzt snarled.

Zak rolled his eyes. "Sure you are," the weapon master replied.

Contrary to what Drizzt believed, Zaknafein had a plan. The weapon master had come up against cave fishers before, and he knew the first prerogative was not to panic. The second was to find out where the sticky threads were.

Having satisfied these, he allowed himself to be lifted up, using his self control to irritate his son, beside him.

There wasn't any prerogative to that. It was just a matter of personal pleasure.

Each time Zak looked at Drizzt, he heard the screams.

Drizzt soon resigned himself to his fate, debating that death was probably better than life in Menzoberranzan.

Zaknafein was just glad that the other had stopped trying to give them a serious case of concussion, and simply waited, tactical wisdom overruling the urge to cut off the translucent threads, and plunge them to certain death.

The angle of their descent changed, showing them the lip of the final ledge.

There was a movement beside Zak. He turned his head slightly, to find that Drizzt had twisted himself such that he would get a view of the monster.

Then his former student closed his eyes. Zak looked up, to see the proboscis and maw of the monster. Grimly, his hands flicked down to his swords, angling under the thread, then he jammed the swords with all his might upwards, towards the monster, his awkward position making it difficult to aim.

Drizzt opened his eyes, then stared at Zak in surprise.

"Did you think I would die so easily?" Zak said, somehow deflecting a blow from the cave-fisher's leg. "Oh hell."

A pincer connected with the sword, but Zak had miscalculated the precise angle, his sword glancing painfully off, skittering away, and sticking fast out of his reach.

Yield me! Zak's sentient sword, Khazid'hea, cried from his belt.

Zak drew the sword up quickly, to block a crushing blow, but Khazid'hea, its edge magically sharp, kept going, slicing through the pincer. The cave-fisher keened in pain.

Then a panther leaped onto the cave-fisher's back, almost sliding off. It raked and bit, a ball of frenzy, trying to find a break in the fisher's armored shell.

They were no longer being pulled in. The cave fisher had other business at hand.

"Guenhwyvar, I presume?" Zak asked.

Drizzt nodded, watching as the great cat tore up a section of armored claws, the cat's blood mixing with the cave fisher's own. Zak blinked, seeing the goo under the cave-fisher's feet dissolve when the blood hit it, knowing what would happen if the same blood found its way down the line towards them.

Guenhwyvar was now looking for an attack route through the pincers, and Zak did not hesitate, thrusting Khazid'hea forward into the shell, the sword slicing in where the panther claws had not.

The monster reeled about, the blood flow and the jerk shaking them from the filament altogether. They were agile enough to find handholds even as Khazid'hea clattered onto more of the goo.

Drizzt looked upwards, to the edge, watching as Guenhwyvar took advantage of the opening in the cave fisher's defense. A grunt beside him caused him to look to his side.

Zaknafein, practical when he wished to, was already climbing up the side, his sheer will finding handholds where there were none.

Drizzt shook his head, then followed, the both of them hauling themselves up separately to the level of battle. The cave fisher was already struggling in the throes of death.

Drizzt immediately rushed to his friend's side, while Zak retrieved his weapons.

The weapon master turned to see Drizzt facing the panther while it retreated, step by step, growling. He began to draw his weapons.

"Don't." Drizzt said, without turning his back. "What is wrong, my friend?" he said in softer tones to the panther, then dropping to one knee, "Do you not recognize me? How many times have we fought together?"

Guenhwyvar crouched low, tamping his hind legs, preparing to spring. Zak's hands went involuntarily to his sword hilts, but he believed what the other drow was doing, oddly enough.

"Masoj sent you to kill me!" Drizzt said bluntly, Zaknafein raising an eyebrow. He was, however, rather relieved to see that the cat relaxed.

"You saved me, Guenhwyvar. You resisted the command." Drizzt was saying.

Guenhwyvar's growl sounded in protest.

"You could have let the cave fisher do the deed for you, but you did not!" Drizzt retorted, "You fought the urges and saved my life! Remember me, Guenhwyvar, as a friend, a better companion than Masoj Hun'ett could ever be!"

Zak felt surprised that Drizzt was actually winning.

"Masoj claims ownership," Drizzt was saying, "I claim friendship. I am your friend, Guenhwyvar, and I'll not fight against you. Even at the cost of my own life!" he leaped forward, arms unthreateningly wide, face and chest exposed.

Zak stared at the back of his former student, Drizzt's words striking a chord inside him. Suddenly troubled, his eyes drifted to the cat.

Guenhwyvar reared and leaped up, burying Drizzt in a series of playful slaps and mock bites.

"Will we go?" Zak said after a while, irrationally impatient.

Guenhwyvar stared at him, as if just noticing his presence.

"A companion," Drizzt assured the cat, though throwing a smug look at Zak. "Take us to your false master."

***

Chapter 22: Wizards, More Scrying, and the Fall of a House

"It is finished!" Matron Malice breathed, "Dismiss the balors."

Quetzal nodded without faltering, the constant stream of complex notes abruptly changing their tune.

Surrounded by the wreckage of House Hun'ett, the balors roared, and fought the command.

We have not finished! the one known as Errtu protested harshly in her mind.

What the Matron wishes, will be done Quetzal replied firmly, in what she perceived as the cold, final tone of a true priestess.

There was a final, protesting snarl, then the balors vanished, to the considerable relief of the remaining troops of Do'Urden.

"Strange," a cleric muttered in the House Hun'ett, picking her way through the rubble caused by a demolished wall, "Where are the children?"

"Normally hidden," Dinin agreed, his eyes narrowing.

A whistle sounded from one of the soldiers, staring into a chamber at the far end of the sorry corridor. Dinin hurried over to notice.

Rizzen was already peering inside. "A mystery solved," he said calmly. Inside were charred, small bodies, which resembled the youthful remnants of the once proud house.

Dinin nodded, then frowned slightly. Something was not right, but he could not place a finger on it. Shrugging, he motioned for the troops to gather and leave.

The clerics cast spells of animation on the corpses of the more whole Do'Urden soldiers, and the whole macabre group trooped triumphant back to House Do'Urden.

"Well done, Matron Malice," the yochlol said from the brazier, drooping wax-like features steeping ice onto Quetzal's heart. "You have used the Lloth-given flute for a most unexpected purpose. Lloth is pleased."

Matron Malice nodded, giving Quetzal a slight look of acknowledgement. Briza, Quetzal could see, glared at her, not pleased at her sudden rise in the Matron's favor.

"This has pleased Lloth, that is true," the yochlol continued in its rasping tone, "But that does not dispel the displeasure your family has brought upon Lloth in the recent past. Do not think that all is forgiven, Matron Malice!"

Quetzal noted that Malice's face paled, and it was all she could do to prevent a gasp. Lloth knew!

"Displeasure?" Matron Malice dared to whisper, "How has my family brought displeasure to the Spider Queen? By what act?"

The yochlol's laughter came in an eruption of flames and flying spiders. Quetzal steely took control, willing herself not to crush all the crawling things and flinch from the heat. Her sisters did the same, she could tell.

How she hated spiders!

"I have told you before, Matron Malice Do'Urden," the yochlol snarled, "And I shall tell you for the final time! The Spider Queen does not answer questions whose answers are already known!" The ensuing blast of energy knocked all the priestesses to their feet.

Quetzal gingerly picked herself up from the far wall, noting with slight satisfaction that most of the spiders had been blown off, but her heart raced.

Oh, no.

"It is done?" Zaknafein could hear a nasal, high-pitched voice from beyond the tunnel entrance. "They are dead?"

"Hardly," Drizzt said smugly, enjoying, the weapon master could see, the look of dread that crossed what appeared to be Masoj Hun'ett's face.

"What is this, Guenhwyvar?" Masoj demanded, "Do as I command! Kill them now!"

Guenhwyvar stared blankly at Masoj, then lay at Drizzt's feet.

"You admit your attempt on my life?" Drizzt asked. Zaknafein stepped back into the shadows, as if about to return to House Do'Urden.

"I understand," Drizzt continued, as much talking to Zaknafein as to Masoj. "House Do'Urden is at war with House Hun'ett, even as we speak."

"No!" Masoj exclaimed. Matron SiNafay would not have attacked this early, disadvantaged as House Do'Urden was. Then Do'Urden must have attacked.

"House Hun'ett wishes to wage war on House Do'Urden. For what reason, I do not know, or care," Drizzt continued.

"For the vengeance of House DeVir!" came a reply from a different direction.

Alton stood on the side of a stalagmite mound, looking down on Drizzt.

Masoj could not see Zaknafein any more, which probably meant that the other drow had gone to House Do'Urden, to inform Matron Malice. He smiled. The odds had changed, so suddenly.

"House Hun'ett cares not for House DeVir," Drizzt remained composed. "I have learnt enough of the ways of my people to know this."

"I care!" Alton said, throwing back the hood. "I am Alton DeVir, lone survivor of House DeVir! House Do'Urden will pay for its crimes!"

"I was not even born during that war," Drizzt protested.

"It does not matter," Alton snarled, "You are a Do'Urden, a filthy Do'Urden. My justice will start, beginning with you."

Masoj tossed the onyx figurine on the floor. "Guenhwyvar," he commanded, "Be gone!"

The cat looked back at Drizzt, who nodded approval.

"Be gone!" Masoj cried again, "I am your master! You must obey me!"

"You do not own the cat," Drizzt said firmly.

"Who does then?" Masoj demanded, "You?"

"Guenhwyvar, only Guenhwyvar," Drizzt replied, "You are a wizard, and should have better understanding of the magic around you."

A gurgled gasp came from Alton's direction. Startled, Masoj turned back, to see the hilt of a sword, edge red and glowing, protruding from the other mage's back. Alton fell, surreal, to reveal another slender, well muscled frame behind him.

Zaknafein smiled, retrieving Khazid'hea without an effort. Catlike, the Do'Urden weapon master had climbed behind Alton while the deranged, obsessed wizard had been concentrating on Drizzt, to his ultimate surprise.

Drizzt rushed, taking advantage of Masoj's surprise, but the mage snapped his fingers, and disappeared. "Invisible," Drizzt roared, slicing at the air in front of him.

"Oh hell," he heard Zak say, then the weapon master dived into a roll in front of him, a lightning bolt thundering into the position where Zak had been.

"Will you shut up?" Zak hissed, "Listen!"

Drizzt now sensed a distant chanting, high up the cavern wall.

"I'll feint. You climb up," Zak said hurriedly, then started sprinting across the cavern floor, with a snarl, keeping his eyes fixed on that of Masoj's. "Wizard Masoj!" he called, "You will die!"

Masoj laughed, forgetting about Drizzt, aiming lightning bolts at Zaknafein, and using the weapon master as target practice.

"Damnation," Zak muttered, as he narrowly escaped another bolt, spots coming up in his eyes, which were tightly shut. What was Drizzt doing?

He dared not glance in that direction, in case Masoj would follow his look.

The lightning stopped for a moment, and he looked to the side, blinking as a fireball took in the onyx figurine on the floor.

"Guenhwyvar will not be a Do'Urden tool!" the wizard laughed, dancing a mad caper on the ledge, then pointed at Zak.

The weapon master rolled to the side, cursing.

Drizzt, now enraged, was climbing up the wall, finding handholds out of sheer will. Guenhwyvar was lost to him, he believed. Gone, to a mad wizard's entertainment.

There was a movement of air beside Masoj, and the wizard turned from where he had been backing Zak into a wall, his surprised eyes taking in a scimitar, slicing through his ribs. The other Do'Urden, Drizzt!

"No..." he cried in denial, "SiNafay said I would not die! She promised..."

"She lied," Drizzt said coolly, retrieving his scimitar.

Quetzal winced inwardly as the Matron screamed in rage. "Who? We must find the perpetrator!" The Matron was sure that none of her daughters had been involved, then turned a suspicious eye on Quetzal.

Quetzal looked back, allowing the same fear and rage on the Matron's face to appear over her features. Malice nodded, exempting her from suspicion. Quetzal had stayed in House Do'Urden for all her life since, under Briza's watch. It was unlikely that she had done anything, Malice thought.

"Vierna, Maya, Quetzal, leave us. Say nothing of this that would alert the culprit." Malice said. Quetzal bowed, along with her other two sisters, and exited. "Briza, stay."

Once out of the chapel, she excused herself, pleading exhaustion.

"I understand," Vierna said, "It must have been a strain, two balors."

With this, Quetzal hurriedly moved to her room, then climbed onto her bed, shutting the door behind her.

Helplessly, she leaned against the comforting stone. "What will we do, Nhaz'aer? Drizzt would be discovered," she lamented at the wolf, which gave a soft bark of greeting.

She closed her eyes, concentrating, trying to find Drizzt.

She found him easily enough, but there was an overlying strata of grief and emotion in his mind, and she could not get through to warn him.

Keep trying, she told herself, patting Nhaz'aer absently.

Drizzt cautiously got down to the floor, to see Zaknafein waiting for him. "Yours, I believe," the weapon master said indifferently, "Well won." Drizzt automatically caught the onyx figurine that Zak tossed at him, examining it for flaws. It was still perfect, but warm. Drizzt dared not call the panther, but tucked it in a pocket.

"Another laurel for the young warrior, with exploits beyond his years," Zak said, and Drizzt looked up. There was a perpetual scowl on the weapon master's face, his eyes haunted, visage brooding.

"You mock me?" Drizzt protested, "Why?"

"He who killed the hook horrors," Zak continued, his swords now in his hands, Khazid'hea throbbing with warmth. Drizzt responded by drawing his scimitars.

"He who killed the earth elemental," Zak said, launching a measured attack with one sword, the normal one, that Drizzt easily deflected.

Sudden fires erupted in Zak's eyes, as if the first contact had sundered some dam inside him. "He who killed the girl child of the surface elves!" Zak cried, "Who cut her apart to appease his own thirst for blood!"

Drizzt felt another, familiar presence in his mind, but dismissed it, knocked off emotionally. Seasoned warrior that he was, he automatically brought up a scimitar to catch the descending sword.

That is Khazid'hea! Quetzal warned, too late.

Zak's magic, stolen sword cut through a scimitar with glee, going on, nicking his arm.

"Murderer!" Zak cried, "Did you enjoy her dying screams?" he came at Drizzt in a furious whirl, his swords diving and slicing into every angle.

Drizzt, enraged by the hypocrite's accusations, shoved his sister to the side of his mind, screaming just for the purpose of hearing his own voice. He no longer used his scimitars to block Khazid'hea, instead always flicking one blade against the magic sword's side, blocking it harmlessly.

"What of you, Zaknafein Do'Urden?" Drizzt snarled, "I have heard of the exploits of House Do'Urden's weapon master! How he enjoys killing!"

"I have heard how murder comes so easily to Zaknafein!" Drizzt spat derisively, to the weapon master's growing rage, "The murder of clerics, of other drow! Do you so enjoy it all?" He ended the question with blows from both scimitars, designed to slip past Zak's defenses and kill the weapon master.

Will you listen to me? Quetzal cried at Drizzt.

After this. he replied curtly, then shut her out, ignoring the angry yells.

Zak's swords came up and crossed, lightning fast, throwing Drizzt's hands wide. Then Zak finished with a kick of his own, strong and accurate, at Drizzt's groin.

Drizzt sucked in his breath and twirled away, forcing himself to regain his composure. "Do you so enjoy it all?" he managed to ask again.

"Enjoy?" the weapon master repeated.

"Does it bring you pleasure?" Drizzt grimaced.

"Satisfaction!" Zak corrected. "I kill. Yes, I kill."

"To kill drow!" Zak roared, Khazid'hea's bright red edge burning with his rage. His weapons were up, but he waited Drizzt's next move.

Quetzal realized Drizzt was feeling confused, and tried to get in, but there was a certain wall there. "Stupid, stupid!" she wailed, Nhaz'aer turning his elegant head up to her in confusion.

"Do you think your mother would let me live if I did not serve her evil designs?" Zak demanded, elsewhere.

Quetzal sensed the confusion growing steadily.

"She hates me," Zak was saying, his voice now distant, "She hates me for what I know."

"Are you so blind to the evil around you?" Zak yelled in Drizzt's face. "Or has it consumed you, as it consumed all of them, in this murderous frenzy we call life?"

"The frenzy that holds you?" Drizzt retorted.

Good, Quetzal found. There was now an edge of doubt, but when she prodded his mind again, the wall was still there. Of all the ignorant, idiotic people that she tried to help!

"No frenzy holds me," Zak was saying calmly, "I live the best I can. I survive in a world that is not my own, not my heart." The lament in his voice, that Quetzal only heard distantly, confirmed her vague ideas of Zaknafein.

"I kill, kill drow, to placate Matron Malice – to placate the rage, the frustration, that I have in my soul. When I hear the children scream..." Quetzal was aware of a blur of motion, then the wall was gone.

She was aware of Khazid'hea, pointed at Drizzt's throat, drawing a drop of blood.

"The child lives!" Drizzt gasped, "I swear, I did not kill the child!"

The sword wavered, the red line of its edge dimming slightly. "Dinin said..." Zak began.

The rest of Drizzt's frantic explanation, that calmed the weapon master, Quetzal did not hear, turning away in a wail of rage, frustration and pain.

Drizzt would die this day, for Lloth's favor.

***

Chapter 23: Father, our Father

"Far enough?" Quetzal asked Drizzt irritably. Matron Malice had ordered all of House Do'Urden to stay inside after Zak and Drizzt had returned, but the twins had 'gone out', as they used to put it. Apparently Drizzt wished to tell her something.

Drizzt nodded, looking around. They were in the maze of Menzoberranzan, wandering around the stalagmite mounds, underneath the stone spears of the dark cavern of Lloth.

"I wanted to tell you that Zaknafein," Drizzt paused, probably for dramatic effect, Quetzal suspected, "Is our father."

Quetzal blinked. "Ah." Was all that she could say, suppressing the wave of astonishment and relief practically. There was no use, she could see, for 'Are you sure?' and hysterical outburst. She was the more practical of the two, Vierna had once observed.

"You don't seem very surprised, sister," Drizzt said, slightly accusing.

Quetzal shrugged, "It explains a few things. One, that you rather resemble Zaknafein in appearance. Perhaps that is also why we have the same beliefs."

"We have to escape Menzoberranzan," Drizzt said, seriously, "Into the Underdark. It is better to live there, in the wild, then in this evil place."

"I suppose you learnt this in the fight with him?" Quetzal did not appear to be listening to Drizzt.

"Yes... I felt you. You were trying to get in." Drizzt accused again, not understanding.

"To warn you," Quetzal snapped, "Malice summoned a yochlol after the war. It told her that someone in her family had displeased Lloth."

"Myself," Drizzt whispered, his eyes growing wider. He knew the consequences – he had hoped to hide his deed, something that he knew now was naive of him even to believe that it had worked.

"She used her scrying bowl," Quetzal continued, "To spy on the both of you."

"Malice knows?" Drizzt asked, but he knew the answer.

"Of course! What did you think I was trying to do? Help Zak kill my brother?" Quetzal growled. "Your idea of the Underdark – that is the only option now, is it not? We have to leave, now, perhaps."

"There is someone we have to take with us. Zaknafein," Drizzt said.

"Do you think he would leave?" Quetzal pointed out the flaw in Drizzt's plan. "He could have, before, anytime he wished."

"Yes," Drizzt replied stubbornly.

"Oh very well," Quetzal said ungraciously, then took out her flute, blowing a few notes.

I am informing Nhaz'aer to go to Zaknafein. Quetzal told Drizzt. Through the wolf I may inform him to come and join us here.

The red-furred wolf jumped lightly off the bed, now cloaked in some invisibility spell. Scrabbling with its paws, it opened the door, loping off into the corridor, directed by its mistress.

It's eyes felt strange. Not only was its mistress sharing its sight, but also her littermate, or brother, as the wolf understood the drow term.

The house was strangely quiet and deserted. The wolf loped on silent paws, cutting a beeline to the training gym and Zak's private quarters.

It stopped, going into a heat shadow, ears pricked. There was the sibilant sound of drow, walking towards it.

Its mistress and her littermate gasped, in its mind. A drow male, dressed in a nightshirt, was walking towards them, surrounded by three drow females, dressed fully in clerical robes, snake whips in hand.

There was a slight warring inside the wolf's mind.

Follow, its mistress commanded, and it padded forward.

No, the other said, Our sisters are obviously up to no good. Attack and run away with Zaknafein.

The wolf stopped hesitantly. The second command was more inviting. Nhaz'aer had no chance to use its Samadhi fire for a long time, as it had every capability of burning down House Do'Urden.

Follow and see what would happen. Malice has no quarrel against Zaknafein, for she knows his beliefs, the last bit, the wolf believed, was directed towards the other presence.

Its mistress' littermate was silent, and the wolf padded forward, doubly hidden by the spell and the heat shadows.

The wolf padded quickly into the chamber where the drow male was led, hiding in a corner.

"Matron," the drow male said, the words meaningless to the wolf, just birdlike sounds.

However, the other two presences commanded it to stay motionless, and watch.

"Perhaps you could tell me why you have summoned me," the drow male continued, "I would prefer to return to my slumbers."

Every sound was magnified tens of times, the sound of the biggest drow female resting her weight on another leg, to the soft 'scrr-ehss' sound of the drow female on the throne, rubbing her chin.

"Drizzt and Quetzal have gone," growled the female on the throne, "They left the house against my command."

The wolf could smell the rising confusion of the drow male, and the slight edge of fear, which was quickly suppressed.

"A spirited pair," the drow male said, "Surely they would return soon."

"Spirited," the female on the throne repeated.

"They will return," the drow male said, "There is no need for our alarm, for such extreme measures."

I suppose it is no use now to tell you I told you so, its mistress informed her littermate, who was silent.

"The twins disobeyed the Matron Mother," the large drow female snarled.

"Spirited," the drow male repeated, "A minor indiscretion."

"How often they seem to have those," the female on the throne commented, "Like a spirited male of House Do'Urden."

The drow male bowed.

He is pushing his luck the wolf's mistress commented irritably.

"The boy has displeased the Spider Queen!" the female on the throne growled, raising the wolf's hackles, "Even you were not foolish enough to do that!"

Here it goes, the wolf's mistress sighed.

Why? Malice would punish me, her littermate protested.

You obviously don't understand, do you? Watch! its mistress scolded.

"But you know of his crime," the female on the throne said.

"Leaving the house?" the male was protesting, "A minor error in judgement. Lloth would not be concerned with such a trifle issue."

"Do not feign ignorance, Zaknafein! You know the elven child lives!" the female on the throne snarled.

Damn both presences chorused, with feeling.

"We are now of the ruling council. Without Lloth's favor, we are vulnerable to attack," the female continued calmly. The Samadhi wolf was aware that she was the Alpha leader of the House, a great pack indeed. Most strange, it decided, and filed this fact away for further thought later during guard duty.

"You are aware of our ways and know we must do this," the female was saying.

"The Secondboy must be punished," the large female said.

The wolf decided it did not like her. She smelt of cruelty and killing without purpose, and the joy of inflicting pain.

"Am I to punish him then? I'll not whip the boy; that is not my place," the drow male said.

The stench of foreboding disaster was strong in the air, and the wolf wrinkled its sensitive nose, unconsciously preparing a bit of fire, instinctively.

"Then why disturb my slumber?" the drow male asked.

"I thought you would wish to know," the female on the throne purred, "You and Drizzt became so close in the caverns. Father and son."

See? its mistress told its littermate irritably.

"The elven child lives," the Alpha said, "And a young drow must die."

"No!" the drow male exclaimed, "Drizzt was young. He did not know what he was doing..."

"He knew exactly what he was doing!" the female screamed, the wolf wincing, "He does not regret his actions! He is like you Zaknafein! Too like you!"

"The Spider Queen demands his death," the female continued, in a softer voice, a fact that the wolf was heartily glad for.

"I beg you, do not kill the boy,"

"Sympathy, Zaknafein? It does not become a drow warrior. Have you lost your will?"

"I am old, Malice."

"Matron Malice!" the wolf winced again. The larger female's voice was even louder than that of the female on the throne.

Sorry, Nhaz'aer. A while more, its mistress apologized.

"Older still will I become if Drizzt is put to his death." The drow male said.

"I do not desire this either, but I see no alternative," the female on the throne said.

"Take me in the boy's stead," The drow male said.

No! the littermate cried in the wolf's mind, Oh. My apologies, Nhaz'aer.

Oh, stop moving! You'll never reach there in time, its mistress said crossly.

"You are a proven fighter," the female on the throne said, "Your value cannot be underestimated. To sacrifice you in Drizzt's stead will appease the Spider Queen, but what void will be left in House Do'Urden in the wake of your passing?"

"A void that Drizzt can fill. And you are aware that if you kill Drizzt, it would seriously affect his twin." The drow male argued.

"You are certain of this?"

"He is my equal in battle."

Hah! its mistress exclaimed.

Quetzal! the littermate protested.

"You are willing to do this for him?" the female on the throne asked, emitting an almost tangible wave of anticipation.

"You know that I am," the drow male s