Magecraft series: Ascension

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Part Three: No longer Page Prince
Chapter 11: Doorknobs and Masters
Chapter 12: Laner
Chapter 13: Gromph's Mansion
Chapter 14: Unexpected Meetings
Chapter 15: No longer Page Prince

Part Four: Through a Mirror of Spite
Chapter 16: Tier Breche again
Chapter 17: Through a Mirror of Spite
Chapter 18: First Day in Sorcere
Chapter 19: Dagger
Chapter 20: An'auvri

Epilogue

Part Three: No longer Page Prince

Chapter 11: Doorknobs and Masters

"Since you seem to know so much about doorknobs," Taralyn continued, the snake whip at her side hissing, "You can help the boy polish the doorknobs."

Jarlaxle’s eyes widened. "My dear Taralyn," he began. Taralyn’s hand flew to her whip, and he stopped hastily. "No problem at all, priestess."

Taralyn looked at the both of them consideringly, then turned around and glided off.

Drizzt looked at him curiously. "Do you need a cloth?" he asked.

"No," Jarlaxle grinned, "I’d just wait here until Zaknafein comes back from Sorcere."

Drizzt gave him a blank glance.

"Well," Jarlaxle smiled, "Zaknafein will help more than a cloth, if we can catch him before Malice does."

"Matron Malice," Drizzt said automatically.

"If you will, boy," Jarlaxle shrugged.

Greetings, page prince, Jarlaxle. Lanfaye commented in their minds, seeming to linger on the last name.

Drizzt’s eyes opened wider. "Uh, greetings, beloved of Lloth," he said awkwardly.

Jarlaxle’s eyes narrowed. "What do you want, Lanfaye?"

The priestess’ silvery chuckle resounded in their heads. Want? Well, Jarlaxle, if you would care to visit my room I could tell you in scrupulous detail.

A faint vestige of panic showed on Jarlaxle’s face. "I’ve told you before, it’s not... that is, Zaknafein is your father as he is my brother."

She chortled. You’re not my father or my brother. Fair enough for myself.

"Be serious, Lanfaye," Jarlaxle said, ignoring Drizzt’s increasingly mystified expression, "You could have called me up long before this. What do you really want?"

Oh, very well, Lanfaye lost her lazy tone, Taralyn said that as a mental exercise before I recover fully I could keep tabs on you. Aren’t you supposed to be polishing something, Jarlaxle?

"Well," Jarlaxle said, "Actually I was waiting for Zaknafein to come back so he can help. We’d finish faster that way."

The idea of asking the both of you to manually polish the knobs is to keep the both of you out of our hair, Lanfaye informed him. If you just ask Zak to do it by magic, then what’s the point? She paused suddenly. Come back from where?

Jarlaxle cursed under his breath.

Are you going to tell me? Lanfaye inquired, Or am I going to take a look? On second thoughts, I’d just love breaking into your shields and taking a look...

"Sorcere," Jarlaxle said quickly.

There was a hint of someone taking in a sharp breath. Oh my, Lanfaye commented. Malice is certainly not going to like that. I believe I overheard her ordering him to stay in the House until she said he was fit enough.

"Don’t tell her, then," Jarlaxle said easily, "Let her find out for herself."

Are you going to make me? Lanfaye asked archly.

Jarlaxle sighed. "Look, Lanfaye, why don’t we forget everything I’ve said so far, and let me go and polish the doorknobs? Zaknafein won’t be happy with me if he realizes I indirectly let Malice know."

What are you giving? Lanfaye challenged.

"On second thoughts, maybe Zak isn’t worth the effort," Jarlaxle muttered.

On second thoughts, Lanfaye mimicked him sweetly, I can always order you up here. I’m sure Zak will approve.

Lanfaye lingered a bit more on the rising wave of panic going through the psychic link from the weapon master, laughed, and considered for a moment before reaching with her slender arm for her book. Besides, she didn’t feel like telling the Matron anything today.

***

"Well, Zaknafein Do’Urden," said the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith, "Do you accept this honor?"

"Humbly and with all my heart," Zaknafein said automatically.

"Do you swear to serve the Academy for all your life?" the other Mistress asked.

"I do," Zaknafein winced inwardly. This sounded too much like a marriage for his own comfort.

"Do you swear to speak no lies?" No Masters of any school could, for some odd reason.

"I do," Zaknafein said.

***

"Wonderful," Jarlaxle said sourly, "Now I just wish Zaknafein would come back now. If he has the chain."

"Chain?" Drizzt asked.

"ArchMage chain," Jarlaxle said absently, then sighed and walked into his room, getting a rag from the drawers and walking back to Drizzt. Drizzt still had a blank look on his face, and he sighed.

"Right," Jarlaxle said, "All ArchMages have a chain of office. What else did you think Zak went to Sorcere for?"

"He wants to be ArchMage?" Drizzt breathed, "Then he’d light Narbondel."

"Among other things," Jarlaxle shrugged, and gave the next doorknob a few desultory swipes. "I haven’t done this for centuries."

"If you have something important to do go and do it," Drizzt said helpfully, "I can manage."

Jarlaxle raised an eyebrow at Drizzt. "That is one more un-drow like attitude, Drizzt, sacrificing without profit."

"Sorry," Drizzt said contritely. "But won’t it help you?"

"It certainly won’t help you," Jarlaxle pointed out, "Aren’t you listening? And besides, I am sure Lanfaye is around here somewhere." Jarlaxle tapped his head, then yelped.

"What’s wrong?" Drizzt asked anxiously. Jarlaxle was looking around suspiciously.

"Very funny, Lanfaye... ouch!" Jarlaxle winced. "I hate it when she uses her mind to do things."

Telekinesis, Jarlaxle. Lanfaye commented in his mind. Would you like another pinch?

***

Finally, Zak nearly heaved a sign of relief when the Mistress of Melee-Magthere took up the velvet cloth, and stood beside the other Mistress before the seat of the ArchMage. "Come," she said.

He pushed back his chair with what seemed like agonizing slowness and walked gracefully to stand before them.

"Thus this chain will bind you to your post," the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith picked up the chain. "Tier Breche welcomes you, ArchMage. Tier Breche welcomes you, Master of Sorcere." She carefully put the chain around his neck.

***

"Come in," Zaknafein said, looking up from the table of the new room. He’d magically transported everything inside.

N’aryo stepped into the room and closed the door, then looked around again. "Some things never change," he smiled. "What a mess."

Zaknafein sat down on the more comfortable bed. "Did you expect it would?" he inquired.

"Perhaps not," N’aryo said, sitting down on a chair. "What did you call me here for?"

"I’ve warded the room against listening," Zaknafein said. "Very well. Exactly why did you refuse in my favor?"

N’aryo chuckled. "When you get as old as I am, you tend to think more of what you can do before you die. I like you better than Nalrann. As I have said, I am far older than any mage in Menzoberranzan now, and will not live long. My House has a...son by the name of Tyrank’al. You are no longer a Master of Invoking and have yet to name your successor, which must be an ex-student of yours. When I die I may name my successor, but he cannot be from my own house for sake of...’fairness’, as they put it."

Zaknafein smiled. "For a moment there I doubted your sanity," he said dryly.

"Do not worry, for it’s still there," N’aryo grinned. "I trust you know what I would like you to do?"

"Well indeed," Zaknafein agreed, "Tyrank’al is rash but also a friend, and one of the more agreeable students I have had. Does Matron Kyorl know of this?"

"Of course she does," N’aryo said easily, "I informed her who I would vote for, and what I would do if I was nominated and... raised. She agreed."

"You could have told me beforehand," Zaknafein commented.

"Oh no," N’aryo said, "Your reaction is better this way. Yes, I know I could have extracted a promise from you beforehand, but it would only be ‘if’ I was selected and raised. Trust to chance, Zaknafein."

"And luck," Zak smiled slightly.

"I have heard of Jarlaxle," N’aryo admitted. "Well, will you?"

"I owe you that much," Zaknafein said truthfully, "Very well. The Masters are meeting after the recess for my announcement, and you may trust me to do the... right thing. But you do know that there will be no explicit agreement that my Matron will not decide to attack your House?"

N’aryo nodded and smiled, standing up, then bowed. "That is all that House Oblodra asks."

***

"How many more?" Drizzt inquired.

"Three hundred and four," Jarlaxle said easily, then scowled when Lanfaye laughed.

"Zaknafein had better show up soon," the weapon master added.

You didn’t do that one completely, Lanfaye informed him. Jarlaxle guiltily wiped along the sides.

"Master Jarlaxle, look!" Drizzt pointed.

The weapon master whirled to see a purplish-blue portal open, and Zaknafein stepped out, leaning heavily on his staff before closing the portal. The chain of office hung around his neck, and he raised an eyebrow at them. "What are you doing, Jarlaxle?"

"Taralyn told me to help Drizzt polish all the doorknobs," Jarlaxle sighed.

Zak waved a hand vaguely, and all the doorknobs they could see immediately shone with burnished polish.

"Thank you," Jarlaxle grinned, lowering the cloth.

Greetings, Zaknafein, Lanfaye told the mage, Oh. And congratulations.

"They just gave it to you like that?" Jarlaxle asked in disbelief, "I thought quite a few of the Masters aren’t sure of you."

Zaknafein shrugged. "They’re not. They gave it to N’aryo, but he refused it and voted for me."

"He did what?" Jarlaxle asked.

"You heard me," Zaknafein said, "And you know the rules as well. House Oblodra doesn’t expect any alliance of sorts with Do’Urden, but to repay the debt I named young Tyrank’al Oblodra as Master of Invoking in my place. He’s not a bad sort."

Fast, Lanfaye said admiringly.

"Thank you, priestess," Zaknafein grinned.

"N’aryo always was one for sneaky deals," Jarlaxle smiled.

"Aren’t we all?" Zaknafein inquired.

Chapter 12: Laner

"Where’s Zaire?" Drizzt asked tentatively, looking around.

"Stretching her paws by going back on her own," Zak shrugged, "She said she needed a run after being cooped up for so many days. She even made it sound like my fault."

It is, Lanfaye informed him.

"Don’t you start, Lanfaye," Zaknafein said, "I’ve had enough harrowing experiences today, thank you very much."

"Is this the drow that faced down two hook-horrors that broke through the patrol ranks to him?" Jarlaxle grinned.

"Hook-horrors?" Drizzt breathed, his mind whirling with images of the giant monsters of the Underdark.

"I always know where I stand with monsters," Zaknafein commented, "Either they die or I do. However, with Sorcere’s Masters, I’m never sure of any of them except possibly Taranlal Freth, Nalrann Armgo, Pael’ran Oblodra and Larama’ln Branche."

"How did you kill the monsters?" Drizzt asked.

Zaknafein smiled. "No good mage is ever caught without a trick up his sleeve," he said mysteriously.

"He means, he hit the first one with a blast of raw magic, ducked under the second one, a long magical blade flicks out of his staff, then cut off a leg at the side, ducked out when it collapsed, and smashed in his head." Jarlaxle said dryly, "Then finished the first one off with lightning bolts."

Zaknafein caught himself on the edge of preening. "A metal staff is sometimes better than swords, Jarlaxle," he commented, "Especially if it has blades in it."

Admirable. Lanfaye said, sounding disinterested. I believe Malice will start looking for you soon, ArchMage. Ah yes. Have you gone through Gromph’s rooms?

"After I speak with Malice, I suppose," Zaknafein sighed, "It’s not far from Bregan D’aerthe HQ."

Matron Malice. Lanfaye corrected automatically, then added, HQ? And at Narbondellyn? Is that not expensive?

"Head Quarters is a mouthful, and it’s at the outskirts of Narbondellyn, not inside." Jarlaxle said, then seemed to notice Drizzt for the first time. "Why, what are you still doing here for, page prince? Go and find Taralyn."

Drizzt bobbed his head, quelling his resentment at being treated like a child. Well, he was a child, but sometimes he really wanted to scream. He quickly walked away.

"Where is Mal – that is, Matron Malice now?" Zaknafein asked.

Chapel. Lanfaye said curtly, then paused, and her voice turned honey-sweet again. Jarlaxle, if you would care to pay me a visit now?

Jarlaxle looked to Zaknafein with imploring eyes.

"Have fun, Lanfaye," Zaknafein grinned.

Thank you. Jarlaxle, I expect you up here in a few minutes, or I’d make you come up here. Lanfaye said.

"Zaknafein, I’m shocked at you," Jarlaxle protested.

"It’s a small revenge for the centuries of teasing you’ve subjected me to," Zaknafein told him calmly, "Well then, Jarlaxle, if I remember correctly, Lanfaye’s room is upstairs."

The mage walked off with the Weapon master cursing fluently in dwarfish at his back, and smiled a secret smile. Perhaps Lanfaye would be good for Jarlaxle.

***

Zaire padded through the shadows of the Narbondellyn district stealthily, ignoring the Darkspires and everything else, until she reached, at a safe distance, the abandoned stalactite of the mansion of the late Gromph. There were signs that someone had tried to loot it, for small piles of ash surrounded the entrance and the gates.

The cheetah looked at the stalactite consideringly, then turned around and padded back serenely, this time ignoring the shadowy alleys and walking straight through the bazaar, the new mithril-silver collar encrusted with gems proclaiming her the ‘pet’ of some rich House. Common drow, slaves, and merchants of other races who got in her way hastily got out of it.

A stall amongst the slightly disheveled mess caught her attention, and she padded towards it, sitting down on her haunches several feet away and yawning.

One of the duergar mercenaries raised his two-handed axe, but another put a strong arm on his hand, and called out in the language of the gray dwarves.

There was a scuffle in one of the wagons parked behind the large stall, and a duergar walked out, wearing fine mithril armor instead of the plain iron of the other mercenaries, one-eyed, with a grizzly, quivering beard.

The fierce, calculating gaze fell on the cheetah, and the one eye widened. "That be Zaire, or me marther’s aye stinkin’ Redbeard!" he roared, "Whut are ye doin’ here without yer marster?"

Zaire flicked her ears irritably at the dwarf merchant-warrior.

"None o’ me business, eh?" the dwarf asked, wagging a finger. Zaire nodded.

"None o’ me business, den," the dwarf shrugged. "Yer marster’s seekretive even fer drow. Ye tell heem that hees books are heer, and tell heem that they’re aye hefty price." The dwarf looked at Zaire’s collar, noticing the flat, expensive coin of emerald with her name written with silver on it, and then he roared with boisterous laughter, causing some drow heads to turn in irritation.

"So hees ArchMage now, eh?" the dwarf gasped, "He told me heed give ye dat collar when he became ArchMage. So ah’ve lost me bet, ah see."

Zaire sniffed.

"Right, ye," the dwarf grinned, "Ah’m paying as sure as me name’s Laner Axeblade." He paused. "Why don’t ye tell yer marster t’ come an’ get it himself? Ah’ve been missin’ hees face, heem and hees brother. Dis way, Ah’d mek sure he pays fer hees books, or dat journey up t’ the surface cities won’t be worth me spit."

Zaire made a sound suspiciously like a sigh, and padded away, turning her back on the trader and moving into an alley, then to a number of others until she reached a quiet road. Pausing to collect herself, she crouched, then ran forward, her great strides eating up the ground. She was close enough to the House to use her speed, and she did love running.

The ground was eaten up by the cheetah’s prodigious speed, and her spine flexed up and down with her movements. Once a week Zaknafein would portal her and himself to a herd of wild rothe somewhere inside the Underdark, and let her pull down one.

Long tail streaming out behind her for balance, Zaire flew on towards the gates of House Do’Urden.

***

"How did it go?" Zaknafein asked Jarlaxle with a grin, many hours later as they strolled into Narbondellyn, Zaire padding sedately by their side.

Jarlaxle glared at him. "I don’t want to talk about it," he said flatly, then paused. "Have you been giving her ideas?"

"Me?" Zaknafein grinned.

"How did yours go?" Jarlaxle sighed, "Lloth, we are all being manipulated by females."

"If you call that manipulation, I like it," Zak remarked. "Fine. I didn’t give her the chance to scold me by apologizing first, then showing her the chain."

"That took you so long?" Jarlaxle asked, with some of his normal outrageousness.

"How did you know?" Zak challenged.

"Lanfaye was telling me," Jarlaxle said, "Among... other things."

"Ah," Zak said with delicacy.

"Why are we walking the rest of the way?" Jarlaxle asked sourly, "Wouldn’t it have been better if you just teleported us there instead of making us walk through Narbondellyn?"

He is showing off. Zaire commented.

Zaknafein wore his House medallion and the chain of office openly, and he fingered it before grinning at the cheetah. "So I am." He admitted.

"Diatryma," Jarlaxle muttered under his breath. Diatryma males had the tendency of ‘showing off’ their feathers, strength etc during their mating season.

"Perhaps so," Zak said dryly. He wrinkled his nose at the nearly stunning smell of perfume wafting from one of the stalls, where several females were gathered.

They finally wandered over to where Laner’s stall was. The merchant’s normal small train of wagons was in a tight circle behind him, probably stocked with mithril weapons and oddities collected from both the Underdark and from the surface world, which made the trader a popular figure amongst all three drow classes. It was enough to almost overwhelm the fact that Laner was a duergar.

Zaknafein and Jarlaxle towered over all the members of Laner’s train. All of them were duergar mercenaries, with only one female duergar, hard-faced even for a dwarf, apparently Laner’s sister. She too wore mithril armor.

Zak ran his eyes over the spell books, wands, swords, sabers, scythes and other enchanted weapons arrayed neatly on the ground and on the tables. The real merchandise that made Laner return year after year to Menzoberranzan were hidden in a wagon – those that had been ordered by the richer members of the drow city, always providing him with several full purses when he did leave.

"Me beard, ‘tis Zaknafein an’ Jarlaxle," Laner’s loud voice could be heard as he stamped out from behind one of the tables, a wide grin on his craggy face. His eyes fell on the chain of office, and his grin grew wider, if possible. "Ah see ah’ve lost me bet."

"So you have," Jarlaxle smiled, "Never bet with drow, duergar."

"Ah’d remember," Laner promised. "Now, about yer bet..."

"My books, you mean," Zaknafein said dryly.

"Yer bet," Laner corrected, "’Tis more important t’ me den a lot of paper. Whut if ah didn’t charge ye fer one book?"

"I’d state what I’d pay for the books, thank you," Zaknafein said dryly, "Or you’d lay off your bet by charging me higher for the rest."

"Yer aye worthy opponent," Laner grunted, as he waved for one of the mercenaries to fetch the books."

"My swords?" Jarlaxle asked.

"Dem too," Laner said, nodding to the mercenary. "Next yeer, does yer cheetah want aye... gazelle from th’ surface?"

"Gazelle?" Zaknafein asked blankly.

"Dat’s whut cheetahs eat up there," Laner stabbed a sausage-thick finger towards the ceiling, "An’ so ah thought, maybe Zaire’d like one t’ chase."

Zaknafein raised an eyebrow at his cat. Zaire yawned, showing white, sharp teeth.

"How much?" he asked cautiously.

"Five hundred o’ yer adamantite coins," Laner said comfortably, "Aye good deal on accounta yer me friend."

"Five hundred coins?" Jarlaxle choked, "How are we going to get that much out of the treasury?"

"No thanks, Laner," Zaknafein said, "Malice will skin me alive."

"Yer still patron?" Laner touched the side of his nose.

Zaknafein grinned at him, and the dwarf too, smiled. "Ah met yer Matron before," he said, "Fine feegure of aye female, but with a bad temper."

"I’ve noticed," Zak said dryly.

"Ah’d think ye have, unless yer blind." Laner said, then rubbed his hands together when two mercenaries came forward holding some packages reverently wrapped in thick, insulating material. He gestured for them to step back, then unwrapped the packages quickly.

Zaknafein looked at the first appreciatively, kneeling down to sift through the books, selecting some and discarding some, flipping through some critically, sometimes running through books on the discard pile again. Jarlaxle fell upon the second package’s contents – two scabbards and two swords. He picked up the swords, hefting them, then ran through a few simple movements, before raising them to his eyes to scan for defects. Finally Zak stood up, and nodded at the selects. Laner picked up the discards carefully and arrayed them on the table for general sale, wrapping up the selects again in the material. Jarlaxle picked up the sheaths and buckled them at his side, removing his usual pair, then slipped the swords in easily. He too, nodded at Laner.

"Two hundred for all except one, that one five hundred," Zak said calmly.

"An’ ah’d be a-betting dat last one’s th’ book ah managed to smuggle out of Candlekeep," Laner grinned. "It’s worth a thousand five hundred at least."

"Five hundred," Zak said firmly.

"One o’ those ye took were from th’ libraries of th’ Water Queen temple at Baldur’s Gate," Lane continued just as firmly, "Worth five hundred as well. An’ another’s from..."

"We go through this every year, Laner," Zak said wearily, "Give up on it, won’t you?"

"Where’s th’ fun, den?" Laner challenged.

Chapter 13: Gromph’s Mansion

"Do you really have to do that?" Jarlaxle asked again, "I mean, it’s not much effort making a portal to your room and dumping them there."

The package of books floated behind Zaknafein like a tame dog. Abeit flying. He grinned at Jarlaxle. "Believe me, this takes less effort to attach it to me and make it levitate than tearing a hole in the fabric of reality..."

Jarlaxle raised his hands. "I get it, I get it."

"So long as you do," Zaknafein said urbanely. The hubbub of the bazaar faded behind them, and they came to the gates of Gromph’s ex-residence. Or was it the residence of ex-Gromph?

"No wardings," Zaknafein commented, probing carefully.

"Good," Jarlaxle said, "I hate lightning bolts and all those other horrible things you mages use to kill others."

"It’s more fun than sticking swords through people," Zaknafein said dryly, "I mean, do you know what kind of damage sticking something in someone does?"

"Intimately," Jarlaxle grinned.

Zaknafein sighed, but Zaire made a sound suspiciously like a chuckle. They picked their way through the courtyard to the large stalactite, and stopped a few yards away, looking at it curiously. "I suppose I could open it forcefully or open it like Gromph would."

"I don’t know about you," Jarlaxle said, fingering his new swords, "But I’d like some more centuries of life to use these weapons."

"Very well," Zaknafein smiled, his eyes growing distant as he probed the door, his mind sifting instantly through the many complex layers of wardings on the door. "Step back, Jarlaxle," he said calmly. Hastily, the weapon master did so.

Zaknafein looked pointedly at the stone ground and pointed his staff at it, channeling a burst of raw magic through the tip. The ground surged upwards to form into an elf-sized, crude shape, vaguely humanoid, mouth a thin craggy line, eyes burning with blue light.

"Lloth, Zaknafein," Jarlaxle swallowed, "What are you doing?"

"You did say you wanted me to open it like Gromph would," Zaknafein grinned. "It’s slightly different from Gromph’s, of course. It’s not like I really need this one, or I’d make it more... refined. It is close enough for the spell’s sake." He nodded at the stone golem, and it lurched over to the door and touched a rune. A door opened, and Zaknafein shot Jarlaxle a triumphant look.

"I give up," Jarlaxle announced to the air, and followed the mage in, Zaire padding after him.

The mansion was predictably empty. Jarlaxle jumped when the golem walked in after them. "Make it go away," he said.

"Why?" Zaknafein grinned, "Do you think we can carry everything ourselves outside to where I can safely portal?"

Jarlaxle sighed, but still eyed the golem nervously. "Keep it far enough away from me," he said. Zaknafein winked.

The golem suddenly lurched forward in Jarlaxle’s direction, and the Weapon master retreated backwards and drew his swords before he knew it. Then he lowered his swords. "Very, very funny, Zaknafein."

The ArchMage chuckled, and led the way, probing for areas with the most stored magic. Tentatively he opened a door, to show a large library.

"Well, this is more like it," Zaknafein grinned, walking in and looking around.

***

Sosdrielle Vandree blinked from where she was standing in the bazaar. The mansion was far away, but she could make out the shape of the door. Was Gromph alive? Ignoring the indignant stare of the stall keeper, she put down the perfume bottle hastily and walked as fast as dignity accorded towards the mansion.

She was a member of one of the lesser houses, but without magical talent or ambition. She did possess a rare beauty, however, and had been Gromph’s mistress for some time. Sometimes she prided herself that Gromph seemed to show affection other than the bed accorded, but she could never be sure.

"Where are we going, mother?" Liriel Vandree, her daughter, asked tentatively from her arms.

"To see your father’s mansion, beloved," Sosdrielle said. Abruptly, she stopped. What if whoever was looking in the mansion was a looter? But that was impossible – no other mage could open the doors. Shaking her head at her suspicions, she half-ran to the mansion.

Her heart rose when she saw that the door had not been forced open, and quickly darted inside, clutching her daughter tightly.

***

"Are you bloody finished?" Jarlaxle demanded, "I want to see his famous treasure chamber."

Zaknafein looked reluctantly at the books he had picked out. "Oh, what the hell," he muttered, and opened a portal effortlessly, clearing to show his room. He started dumping books inside before remembering himself and pointing his staff at them. The books levitated off the shelves and dived into the portal, reappearing in his room. Satisfied, he began to walk outside.

Zaire growled menacingly, and rose into a crouch. Immediately, Jarlaxle drew his swords, and Zaknafein gripped his staff more tightly.

A drow female stepped into the room, holding a female child. Her beautiful face paled and crinkled in fear when she saw them, and she backed out, but Zak immediately froze her muscles in place.

"ArchMage!" she squeaked, seeing the chain around his neck, then recovered her composure somewhat, raising her chin proudly. "I am a noble of House Vandree, and..."

"You demand nothing," Zak said smoothly, "The ArchMage and Master of Sorcere defers to only those above Mistress of Arach-Tinilith rank." He was lying behind his teeth, as the status of ArchMage and Master together was still relatively shaky.

"Gromph’s sweet, I should think," Jarlaxle commented. He did not lower his swords.

"The girl does have his amber eyes," Zak agreed rather calmly. "And... some wizard talent." He did not bother to hide his contempt and distaste of a female wizard.

The girl’s eyes opened wider in fright.

"Where is Gromph?" Sosdrielle asked timidly.

"Didn’t you hear?" Jarlaxle grinned nastily, "He decided to pick a fight with Zak here. Worst decision of his life."

"And the last one he ever made," Zak agreed, "May Lloth burn his soul forever. Whatever. Now, what shall we do with her?"

"Let Zaire eat her?" Jarlaxle suggested.

Zak shook his head sadly. "She’s still priestess, though not a high one."

Jarlaxle considered this. "Let Zaire eat her, then bury her under the rubbish?"

Zaknafein rolled his eyes. "Zaire, would you like to eat her?"

Zaire made a sound like someone vomiting noisily. Sosdrielle turned even paler, if that were possible.

"In that case, I’d let her go," Zak said calmly. Jarlaxle raised his eyebrow. "On a few conditions. One, that you forget you saw us here. Two, you get out immediately. Three, don’t ever, ever let that daughter of yours enroll in Sorcere. I have ways of finding out if you disobey." Zak smiled, and in that smile was a hint of maliciousness, suppressed rage, sheer destructive power and above all a serpent’s cold, precise manner that he wouldn’t regret her dying in the most painful way possible.

"Yes, sir," Sosdrielle whispered, thoroughly cowed.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Jarlaxle took a menacing step forward, and the female quickly turned and ran off.

"I think I enjoy bullying people," Zak mused.

"You nearly frightened me," Jarlaxle shrugged. "Just try not to make it a habit. Can we trust her?"

"I don’t think they’d make much of us going through Gromph’s room," Zak said innocently, "Looking for several official Sorcere documents that had been in his possession."

"And why am I here?" Jarlaxle asked.

"You are merely accompanying me," Zak said firmly.

"Oh. Right," Jarlaxle said. "Now, about that treasure room..."

"You might want to be careful," Zak commented, "Or you might end up with a face worse than the Faceless One."

"I’ve wondered about him," Jarlaxle muttered, "He’s not a Master, is he?"

"No," Zak said, "One reason why he dislikes me was that the former Master of Invoking chose me over him for successor. He is a mage whose experiments occasionally have interesting benefits, so Sorcere allows him to stay, and besides, his family secretly pays Sorcere to give him rooms. On account of the explosions, you know."

Jarlaxle chuckled.

***

Then they had finished taking whatever was of interest and dumping it randomly into Jarlaxle’s room when Zak’s room was full, they strolled out of the mansion. The golem closed the entrance behind them, then sank back into the ground.

Jarlaxle sighed with relief.

"What’s this about you and golems?" Zak inquired.

"I just dislike them," Jarlaxle said flatly, "They’re horribly strong, the good ones look too much like us for my liking, and weapons don’t usually work on them. And if they do, it gives a hell lot of nicks to smooth out later. And you do remember the patrol where we stumbled on a water elemental, don’t you?"

Zak chortled. "Well enough. I do remember you attacking it first, and the priestess wailing she didn’t have any spells to counter ‘rare’ monsters like it."

"That was possibly the most stupid thing I had ever done," Jarlaxle said sourly, "I remember being very thankful you intervened somewhat, but I would have appreciated it if you had intervened before it decided to try and crack all my ribs."

"It succeeded too," Zak grinned. "Partly. I think I see your point."

"Good," Jarlaxle said, "Any longer and I would have to have your eyes examined."

Chapter 14: Unexpected Meetings

"Any jobs yet?" Zak inquired of Jarlaxle as they strolled through half-forgotten alleys (to Jarlaxle, that is) of their childhood to the Bregan D’aerthe HQ, the cheetah trailing behind them.

Jarlaxle snorted. "It does take some time, you know."

"Perfectly," Zak sighed.

They turned down yet another alley with a blind bend at the end, and Zaire began to growl before changing her mind to a disgusted sniff. Three scruffy-looking, armed commoners jumped out, then three more behind them.

The leader stepped forward. "Put up yourn hands an’ give us yourn money an’ we’d... oh, bloody hell."

Zaknafein looked at them mildly. "Anything else you’d like to say?" He put his hand up to finger the chain of office pointedly.

The leader swallowed, and stepped back, but one of his companions, slower of mind, looked at Zak. "’Dis is a hold up, if you understand," he said, "We’ve got you surrounded an’ outnumbered."

"That’s the ArchMage!" the leader hissed.

"One day I hope for people to notice my presence," Jarlaxle sighed.

"Yeah?" one behind them asked, and there was a small sound of fabric tearing. Zak held up a hand, and the small bolt stopped in mid air inches from between his shoulder blades.

Jarlaxle grinned, then leaped forward, swords sliding out of their sheaths, slipping into a comfortable rhythm. Zaire too darted forward, stealing the weapon master’s first by latching on to the neck of the leader and shaking roughly. The skin of elves and such did not have the protective covering of fur of animals, and tore more easily.

Zaknafein turned around, his hands fanning out before him, palms up, saying the few arcane words that he had found could take the place of the more long-winded, standard scorcher spell. A roaring jet of fire blazed out, engulfing the three whom were just turning to run. Looking at the ashes for a second, he then turned around to see Jarlaxle finishing off the last.

"Had our fun," Jarlaxle sniffed, wiping his swords.

"Right," Zak grinned, "Let us make it a point to shake the coin purses more, if you’d like." Zaire lowered her head to wash her paw demurely, then licked her mouth.

"The stain does still show," Jarlaxle commented.

Zak shrugged. "I don’t think anyone would comment much. Coming?"

Jarlaxle rummaged through the clothing and took out with immense satisfaction a bag of coins. "Ah. I see they got lucky a few times before us."

"Why do you want that?" Zak grinned, "I mean, it’s not as if Malice won’t absolutely ban you from the treasury any time soon."

"Looting, Zaknafein," Jarlaxle said, "Is a fine art and a comfort to the soul. If you have one." P>"Enough jibes," Zak sighed, "Going?"

Jarlaxle grinned. "Oh yes."

They wandered out into a few other alleys before coming out into a wider but no less dirty street. Some hunched figures were walking with head bent in their direction.

"I wonder how much Malice is actually going to take from the... that is, our stuff," Jarlaxle said, "I’d like to keep at least some of what we took from Gromph’s mansion."

"We’d see," Zak shrugged, "Malice is Malice. Even I cannot predict her."

The figures paused when they passed, and one raised her head, clutching at Zak’s robe with a bony hand. Zak looked down sharply and his eyes widened.

"Nina?" Jarlaxle asked incredulously.

***

"Zaknafein Do’Urden?" Dantrena asked, knocking on the door. She waited patiently for a while before knocking again, then counted under her breath to thirty before considering breaking in, decided she wasn’t suicidal and walked to the next door. Jarlaxle, with his usual forgetfulness, and left it unlocked.

She blinked when she walked in. The room was filled with...junk. Actually, a better and more generous term would be treasure, as it was filled with ancient, expensive-looking books, golden statues, swords encrusted with gems and forged of all sorts of metal, and such valuables.

She much doubted the weapon master had bought them. Jarlaxle was known to be more inclined to steal than to buy. If he wanted your purse, he’d hit you then take it, and Zaknafein as well, though the mage would probably somehow induce the coins into his own pocket instead.

What was going on? Dantrena closed her eyes and carefully located Lanfaye’s psychic presence, and politely ‘knocked’. One did not take liberties of the mind with a powerful telepath.

Yes, Dantrena? Lanfaye asked.

"Have you seen Jarlaxle or Zaknafein?" Dantrena asked, "Matron Malice is looking for them."

Lanfaye paused as she scanned the House for the mental ‘signatures’ of the pair. They’re not in the house, she replied at last, But Jarlaxle mentioned going to Narbondellyn.

"Narbondellyn? His room is full of..." Dantrena began, then stopped. "Oh. I see. Gromph’s mansion?"

Perhaps so, Lanfaye commented, then made the mental equivalent of a frown. Matron Malice is not going to like this. She told Zak specifically not to go to the mansion alone.

<"He isn’t alone," Dantrena said slowly, "I believe Jarlaxle is with him."

Probably so, Lanfaye paused, then sighed. Well, I’d try to look for them, I suppose, though it’d take some time to locate their signatures on Market Day.

"What if they were at Gromph’s mansion?" Dantrena asked.

Why then, I’d tell the Matron, Lanfaye shrugged. But are any more... things being taken in now?

"Not that I can see," Dantrena looked around for any portals.

Then they’d either be walking back or getting into more trouble Lanfaye said candidly. Somehow I believe it is the latter.

***

The other figure pushed back her hood, to show the now slightly wrinkled face of Marena. "I see the two of you have grown up," she said, looking at them critically as if they’d never left. "And risen in life, I believe."

Nina’s eyes widened at the chain of office and the two House Do’Urden medallions. "How?" she asked.

"Let’s just say we were lucky," Jarlaxle grinned, "How is everyone doing?"

"The... brothel was shut down a century or so ago," Marena shrugged, "Forcibly shut down. We make a living in... other ways now. What happened that the both of you didn’t come back?"

"Well," Zak said helplessly, "We went into Tirach. Um." Somewhere in the back of his mind a small voice protested he was ArchMage and patron of the Third House of Menzoberranzan, but years of habit of listening to Marena and the others on pain of a long lecture and beating kicked in even after laying dormant for so long.

"I thought I told the both of you not to?" Marena asked, her voice rising slightly. "The both of you deserve a switching. Don’t you listen to instructions?"

Even Jarlaxle looked embarrassed. "Can we discuss this somewhere else?"

"Where?" Nina asked, "This place is as good as any. What happened?"

"We were more or less caught," Zak said. Zaire looked severely puzzled as he explained, with Jarlaxle helpfully adding comments.

Nina and Marena looked at each other thoughtfully at the end. "Well," Nina commented, then eyed them again. "Perhaps it worked out for the best."

"Do you have a... job, now?" Jarlaxle asked suddenly.

Marena smiled. "Still full of questions, Jarl?" she asked, "I believed we told you as much. No, we do not."

Zaknafein also looked puzzled until he caught on. "How would you like to... work for us?"

"In a mercenary group known as Bregan D’aerthe," Jarlaxle continued quickly.

"Those new fellows in neat uniforms?" Nina also smiled. "We cannot exactly fight very well, Jarl."

"What we mean is we need a cook or two and some people to... keep the place," Zak said, "If we were to leave it to the mercenaries and to Jarlaxle here, it’d become a rothe pen in no time."

"If the soldiers are any where near the both of you," Marena said darkly, "That would be broadly true. Well. There are five of us left."

"Which?" Zak asked.

"Sherl, me, Nina, Zekres, Kirane." Marena said.

"Not Sherl," Jarlaxle sighed.

"I’d tell her you said that," Nina challenged.

Zaknafein chuckled.

"And you as well for not visiting so long," Marena continued. Zaknafein shut up.

"It’s not exactly our fault," Jarlaxle said mildly, "I mean, Matron Malice..."

"No excuses," Marena said in her ‘no-nonsense’ tone. "Now, where is this Bregan D’aerthe?"

"Bregan D’aerthe HQ is the large building with the tarnished, blank plaque somewhere in front of us," Zaknafein said immediately, then smiled ruefully at Jarlaxle.

"We passed it, I believe," Nina said, "The one with the large, messy yard?"

"It’s not messy," Jarlaxle protested, "Merely... filled."

Nina nodded at Marena. "Well, Marena will go for the rest while we go to see this HQ. Did the both of you clean it out when you moved in?"

"It’s only HQ for the soldiers," Zak said, "We have to stay in the House. Or Mali – that is, Matron Malice will get upset."

"Maybe about you," Jarlaxle grinned evilly.

"I’d say the same about Lanfaye," Zak retorted.

"Your ladies?" Nina grinned, as Marena hurried off.

"Not exactly," Jarlaxle sighed, "You could say we’re theirs, considering the sordid rules of this city..."

"You also haven’t learnt what things to keep your mouths shut about," Nina said sharply, "That’s blasphemy, that is, saying such things about Them." Nina referred to all nobility as Them, and apparently either hadn’t registered the fact that Zak and Jarlaxle were nobility, or had already and the fact that she had given them sound beatings in childhood had overruled them for the time being.

Zak grinned at Jarlaxle. One of their problems had been solved, but he wondered briefly if getting them to HQ was that good an idea. After a few days, the entire Bregan D’aerthe would be well bullied enough to ‘clean up your rooms’ and ‘wipe your feet before coming in’ sort of stuff.

Chapter 15: No longer Page Prince

Vierna knocked carefully at the door, and waited patiently for the inevitable confused scuffle indoors. A few more muttered curses and someone half-staggered to the door, stopped, and pulled back a chair to sit down. She sighed.

"Come in, Vierna," Zak said calmly from inside.

She opened the door to sweep her eyes disapprovingly over the mess that she was certain had not been cleaned since she had last looked in about two years ago. The only things that seemed to have changed position were the chemical experimental equipment.

Zaknafein turned around to regard her, rising to bow fluidly. She nodded stiffly at him. "Matron Malice requires your presence," she said.

"So soon?" Zak grinned. He enjoyed irritating Vierna almost as much as he enjoyed irritating Jarlaxle. And possibly Drizzt.

The corners of Vierna’s mouth turned down momentarily in displeasure. "If you’ve noticed, patron, today is the page prince’s sixteenth birthday."

Zak blinked, then sighed and fumbled for the staff. Zaire surfaced from under the table where she had been batting the large jewel that had belonged on Gromph’s staff in a bored fashion, and followed them out of the room, acknowledging Vierna’s existence with a cross between a hiccup and a bark.

Vierna walked to Jarlaxle’s door and knocked on it in turn. An almost-identical confused scuffle emerged, but this time the weapon master opened the door himself, looking faintly disheveled, hastily buckling on his swords.

"You’re not supposed to answer the door, Jarlaxle," Zak grinned. "And I won’t even ask what you were doing."

Vierna raised her eyebrow. "Next time I shall wait until you open the door, Zaknafein."

"Damn," Zak muttered.

"What’s going on?" Jarlaxle asked blankly.

Drizzt is sixteen, Lanfaye informed them curtly. And all of you are late. Begging your pardon, of course, sister.

Vierna nodded graciously to the air, and led them all away quickly in the direction of the family chapel.

"How’s Drizzt been so far?" Jarlaxle asked curiously.

"Been?" Vierna mused, "He shows promise. He has some magical talent, that much is clear."

"Magical talent?" Zak asked.

Vierna shot him an amused glance. "Afraid for your position, Zaknafein?"

Zak shrugged. "I never am."

"Whatever you say," Vierna said mildly, "He does not have your memory, of course, but if he were to join Sorcere he would eventually be a very powerful mage."

"Powerful mage or not," Zak retorted, "He still has to study."

Jarlaxle grinned at Zak. "Let him be a fighter, then."

"We’d see," Zak said calmly, "Another Do’Urden on the Master’s circle wouldn’t be too bad."

"Or in the Melee-Magthere circle," Vierna put in.

"That remains to be seen," Jarlaxle shrugged. "He can hardly be weapon master if he becomes so. And I know I don’t want to be a Master. Silly life."

"Thank you very much," Zak said dryly.

"You’re welcome," Jarlaxle smiled.

"I can’t believe the two of you are even nobles in the first place," Vierna muttered. She was considerably more respectful of the both of them when she was alone with them, and especially when she was alone with the both of them.

"If we weren’t nobles you wouldn’t be here in the first place," Zak pointed out.

"Sometimes I wonder if that was much of a loss," Vierna commented, then paused. "I’m wandering again. This is all your fault."

"His fault? I’m not surprised," Zak grinned at Jarlaxle.

"Hey!" Jarlaxle protested, "She’s not my daughter."

"I was talking about the both of you," Vierna said.

"Damn," Zak remarked.

"Perhaps so," Jarlaxle agreed solemnly.

Vierna entered the antechamber first, announcing their presence in her most reverent voice.

Zaknafein and Jarlaxle entered together, Zaire trailing behind them, noting that Malice was already seated on her throne, and the chairs stacked against the wall. A formal meeting, apparently, as only the Matron was allowed a seat.

Zak nodded at Malice, and Jarlaxle did so as well, nudging Zak unobtrusively in the ribs at Malice’s slightly swelled belly. Lanfaye grinned at them from the shadows of the throne. Malice nodded to Dantrena, who came forward with the house piwafwi, handing it to Vierna respectfully.

Drizzt’s face broke out in an elated smile as Vierna ran through the appropriate, though rather useless incantations and placed the magical cloak on his shoulders. Useless but formal, and therefore impressive, eh?

"Greetings, Zaknafein and Jarlaxle Do’Urden," Drizzt said immediately, drawing stunned looks from around the room, "I am Drizzt, Elderboy of House Do’Urden, no longer page prince. I can look at you now… I mean openly. And not at your boots. Mother told me so." His smile disappeared when he saw Malice’s scowl.

Vierna looked stunned, as did Taralyn. Dantrena looked confused, but Lanfaye looked faintly amused.

Zaknafein quickly bit down on his lip, but Jarlaxle let out a chuckle before gulping down and doing the same when Malice’s burning glare swiveled over to him. Zaire made a sound like a chirp.

Drizzt took a step away quickly, and Jarlaxle let out another chortle before turning it into a cough. Zak bowed his head to hide his grin, then went through a small bout of indecision. To get in trouble, or help the boy out of it?

Inwardly grumbling at his unwanted good nature, he took a long step forward. "Elderboy, eh?" he asked.

Drizzt looked up and opened his mouth to say something. Zak hurriedly used a bit of magic to clamp it shut. At least the boy was smart enough to understand and hide his affronted expression.

The boy would make a very... interesting mage.

Malice, with an obvious effort, let her anger go. Zak was impressed. Her tenuous grip on her temper had become more frayed of late during the months of pregnancy. Even Jarlaxle refrained from irritating her now.

"Time for him to train," Jarlaxle agreed, walking up to Zak.

Malice managed an amused smile. Zak blinked, and she grinned – actually grinned! At him. "What suggestions do you have, patron?" she asked, "For him to join Sorcere or Melee-Magthere?"

"Obviously my suggestion is Sorcere," Zak said dryly, "Apparently the boy has some talent."

"I suggest Melee-Magthere," Jarlaxle said, "The boy has remarkable reflexes that better befits a warrior."

Drizzt watched on, wide-eyed, as the two brothers argued his fate back and forth, though the smiles in their eyes took out any insult they would imply to each other.

"Wizards are good from far," Jarlaxle said, "But near..." Abruptly his sword whipped out towards Zaknafein’s throat. Zak reacted immediately, blocking the blow with the staff, deftly using the long end to hook out Jarlaxle’s foot, and then smashing the top end on the weapon master’s neck. Jarlaxle fell spread-eagled on the floor while Zaire quickly pounced, settling on top of the weapon master and yawning to show her sharp teeth. Then he grinned at Malice.

"You’ve proven your point, Zaknafein," Malice smiled, "But the question is, can the boy do that?"

"If he learns," Zaknafein sniffed.

"Get off, you silly bugger," Jarlaxle muttered, shifting. Zaire looked at Zak, who shrugged. The cheetah got off after pressing a paw, claws out, onto Jarlaxle’s chain mail pointedly.

"You didn’t have to hit that hard," the weapon master said accusingly as he got up, rubbing his neck ruefully. "Okay, with the exception of Zaknafein here, mages are usually useless up close."

"Yeah?" Zak asked, "Would you like to see the end of a bolt, point blank range?"

"Unless he has an opening towards raw magic," Malice said, "The boy cannot do that without chanting. Jarlaxle is right somewhat, patron."

"I could probe to see if he can," Zak said defensively, "And he could learn."

"Why not ask the boy?" Lanfaye suggested lazily after a while. Zaknafein and Jarlaxle immediately stopped their miniature debate, then looked as one at Malice.

Malice looked at Drizzt, who in turn looked rather stunned.

"A bad precedent," Malice murmured, "The Matron has always selected."

"Well, he could voice his sentiments aloud, then you approve," Jarlaxle said.

"Is he not too young?" Vierna asked.

"I’m not," Drizzt said quickly. Apparently Zak had forgotten to renew the gag. Malice glared at him. "Perhaps you have a point, Vierna. Jarlaxle, you said dexterity. Can you prove it?"

Jarlaxle nodded and took out a coin from his pocket, handing it to Drizzt. "Flip it, boy."

Drizzt looked at the both of them blankly, but they were staring at him with intent expressions. He shrugged, and did so.

***

"That was a good trick," Zak told Drizzt grudgingly when they came out from the chapel.

Jarlaxle grinned at the mage.

"Don’t say anything, Jarlaxle," Zak said sourly. "A fighter it is. Well, young Drizzt, good luck to you."

"Don’t worry, Zak," Jarlaxle said with a grin, "Maybe this next child is male. Then he can be a mage."

Zak raised an eyebrow. "Unlike a fighter," he said slowly as if speaking to a defective child, "A mage must be born with talent."

Jarlaxle grinned. "You’re his father."

Zak sighed. "Well then. I believe I’d have to close up Drizzt’s filter until normal standards," he said.

"Close?" Drizzt asked.

"Too dangerous for untrained to have too much access to raw magic," Zak said coolly, with a wink at Jarlaxle.

Jarlaxle snorted. "So maybe he’d be able to make brighter faerie fire."

"Say what you like," Zak said dryly, "The magic will come out some day, in some form. Maybe it’d just be a meager charming of creatures, maybe he’d be able to do bolts, but it’d come."

"When it does, I’m sure you’d deal with it," Jarlaxle said, with a grin. Zak glared at him.

"Where are we going now?" Drizzt asked curiously.

Zak raised an eyebrow at Jarlaxle. "Well, if you were a mage, to my room. Since you’re not, you’re going to the weapon hall. May you enjoy your stay there."

"Admirable," Jarlaxle said, "Not a hint of spite."

"That’s beneath you, Jarlaxle," Zak said calmly, "So he’s going to be a fighter. Well then, one way to look at it is that if he’s going to be as good as you’d say, he’d do well in Melee-Magthere to be a Master. If half as good, he’d at least take your place."

Jarlaxle grinned. "I’d take that chance."

"I’m here, you know," Drizzt said pointedly.

Zak glanced at him. "So you are," he said, "So?"

Drizzt glared at him. "I’m not page prince anymore," he tried again.

"So you are," Jarlaxle grinned, "So?"

Drizzt’s mouth opened in indignation to bite out an angry retort, found he couldn’t think of anything, and shut it again before stalking off in front of them. Zaire chirped again, and the two brothers shook with laughter.

Part Four: Through a Mirror of Spite

Chapter 16: Tier Breche again

"Do you know why I have called the both of you here today?" Malice asked from her throne.

Zak and Jarlaxle shot each other what did you do this time? looks.

"Forgive our ignorance, Matron," Zak began, an impish grin starting to spread on his lips.

Malice gave him an annoyed frown. She had seen that both Zak and Jarlaxle seemed to be spending a lot of time out of the house, and she would soon intend to find out what they were doing. Bregan D’aerthe, perhaps, but she’d heard more female names being sprinkled in their conversation when they thought no one was listening.

Zaknafein was wise enough to shut up. For himself, he was wondering why Malice’s moods suddenly began swinging between fiercely possessive, ice-cold, and piercingly suspicious.

"Drizzt will leave for the Academy in a month," she said smugly, waiting for the outburst.

None came. Both brothers continued looking at her as if expecting that she would continue. There was a long pause. Then Jarlaxle spoke up. "Well, it’s traditional..." he began cautiously. Malice’s temper had degenerated over the present year for some reason. Probably something female.

Thrown off her figurative orbit by this bland statement, Malice asked, "Aren’t you two going to object?"

Zak and Jarlaxle gave each other amused glances that irked her immensely. "Well, if it gives you any pleasure," Zak shrugged, then took a deep breath.

"No need," Malice said quickly. "But why...?"

"She thinks we’d object?" Jarlaxle whispered, though unfortunately loud enough to hear.

"Why should we object?" Zak inquired. "I mean, if I’ve had to sit through so many years of Sorcere with its long winded lectures and bloody dangerous experiments and competitions, what’s wrong with him doing a mere ten years in Melee-Magthere? If anything, it’s less dangerous."

"Nothing wrong with Melee-Magthere," Jarlaxle continued, "If anything, it might give him a firmer grip on reality, if all that backstabbing still goes on. And it will teach him what I can’t teach very well here – fighting in groups and against groups of trained fighters. And later he’d have the chance to do monsters."

"What made you think we’d object?" Zak asked mildly.

Malice glared at him, then sighed. "A wrong impression. Jarlaxle, you are to make full use of these last days in training him, then dress him properly for the first day. Zaknafein will take him there."

They nodded.

"How is Bregan D’aerthe?" Malice asked suddenly.

Jarlaxle blinked. "Considering the income that it’s bringing in, what do you think, Matron? Begging all respect, of course."

"Well enough to keep the both of you running off any chance you’d get," Malice said sharply. The brothers gave each other blank looks.

"As you wish, Matron," Zaknafein said in his mildest voice. This only seemed to irritate Malice more.

"I do not know why the two of you seem to spend so much time there when it’s ‘running like clockwork’, as you said once, Jarlaxle, but I mean to find out." She said coldly.

"The paperwork mounts up," Jarlaxle said, "And the clients all demand to speak with us personally. The important ones, at least."

"The two of you were adopted into House Do’Urden for purposes," Malice said, "And you are not to shirk your responsibilities! Do you understand?"

"Yes, Matron," the both of them said. What was wrong with Malice? A perfectly innocuous (sort of) talk on Drizzt going to the Academy suddenly twisting into a weird lecture and warning – odd, even for Malice.

Bowing, they exited the room quickly. Only when they were several corridors away did Jarlaxle speak up.

"Why did I have this feeling she was talking about you?" he inquired.

Zaknafein shrugged helplessly. "I have no idea. Malice has been acting strange since she caught us discussing in my room months ago."

"Something we said?" Jarlaxle asked, "I don’t remember us saying anything other than discussing the present status of the group."

Zaknafein shrugged. "Females. Where’s Drizzt?"

"Weapons hall, practicing with Zaire, I think," Jarlaxle said, then paused. "Well, he should be, if he knows what’s good for him.

"I was wondering where Zaire was and why her mind felt so busy," Zak sighed. "Well, who’s winning?"

"Sometimes Drizzt does," Jarlaxle said, "Sometimes Zaire does. Any advice you’d like me to tell him for the Academy?"

Zak gave him an amused grin. "Tell him not to bother to watch his back – his neck will ache. Tell him to watch all those around him, even those he presumably trusts."

"Including us?" Jarlaxle smiled.

Zak let out a bark of laughter. "Perhaps someday, but not now. If you’d excuse me, I believe I am wanted at Sorcere."

It was Jarlaxle’s time to laugh. "Masters don’t like it more than anyone else when someone of higher rank shows up. Believe me, you aren’t wanted."

"All the more why I’m going." Zak said, and smiled an evil smile.

"Why are you wearing that?" Jarlaxle asked, pointing to the long, slender whip on Zak’s side.

Zak shrugged. "It gets attention more than the staff sometimes. And besides, it’s fun to practise with when you’re good at it."

"Tricks with candles?" Jarlaxle asked sourly.

"I don’t waste my time on that," Zak said loftily, "Think of a whip as an extension to my hands. Or whatever."

Jarlaxle chuckled. "You mean it’s the current fashion in Masters of the Academy."

"That too," Zak admitted, "But most of them just have it and not know how to use it. Except possibly Hatch’net."

"The old boy’s still there?" Jarlaxle rolled his eyes.

"Where else would we be without his tongue?" Zak asked rhetorically, though he winked.

"Someplace less stressed and quieter," Jarlaxle muttered under his breath. "Old coot."

Zak grinned. "Ah yes. Tell Drizzt not to worry too much about what Hatch’net says either – or he’d never get any peace of sleep."

"I remember that," Jarlaxle remarked dryly.

***

Drizzt trailed along behind Zaknafein and Zaire, wearing the robes of a noble son, climbing up the stone steps of Tier Breche. Once they were inside the courtyard, Zaknafein completely ignored him and swept off towards Sorcere, the milling ranks of students paying attention parting before him.

Once two students were slower than usual in getting out of his way – representatives from del’Armgo and Oblodra. Zak’s whip suddenly leapt into his hands, and with a sharp sound both students were sprawled in an unceremonious heap on the ground. Zak’s whip came back to his hand; the short sword of one of them coiled in it. With a contemptuous sniff, Zak dropped the weapon with a clatter and swept off into Sorcere, leaving the students to disentangle themselves.

One of the students held a dagger when he got up, but thought better of it when Zaire turned casually and bared her teeth. Flushed with embarrassment they turned away back to the fighters.

The masters came out of Melee-Magthere suddenly, and started driving the twenty-five or so fighters inside. Zaknafein watched from the shadow of the entrance of Sorcere until Drizzt was inside, and silently wished him good luck. He did hope the boy would get out alive.

In the meantime, Zaknafein stalked up the steps, Zaire trotting behind him. In the corridor of the Masters’ rooms he ran into Tyrank’al. Zaire chirped a greeting, and the Master bent down to pat her head affectionately.

Tyrank’al was a sharp, intelligent mage inflicted with the near-hereditary common sense of Oblodran males. His rashness had toned down considerably over the years that he had been a Master, fortunately.

It seemed some sort of balance – the females were fanatical and slightly suicidal, the males the salt of the earth. Zak liked Oblodran male elves. At least he didn’t feel like he was speaking to a brick wall.

"Drizzt Do’Urden is in Melee-Magthere?" Tyrank’al asked.

"Why yes," Zak said. "Does Oblodra have a representative?"

"Not this year," Tyrank’al shook his head, "In six years, perhaps."

"Or maybe twenty four?" Zak asked slyly. Thirty was the age for a student mage.

"That remains to be seen," Tyrank’al said serenely, "Though Matron Kyorl believes the family has too much representatives in Sorcere as it is."

"Del’Armgo has a Melee-Magthere representative this year," Zak commented.

"Oh yes," Tyrank’al said, "Ver’ginran. Quite a big fellow, though secretly of course, I believe he has an intelligence figure that can be counted on the fingers of a Diatryma."

"Diatrymas have no fingers," Zak said automatically. Then he started to laugh.

"Quite so," Tyrank’al said seriously. He never smiled. "How is this Drizzt?"

"A suitable candidate for Sorcere, actually," Zak shrugged, "Jarlaxle had other ideas. He is very good, though. Drizzt, I mean. Once he actually nearly beat Jarlaxle."

"I see," Tyrank’al said, following Zak into Zak’s room. Zak closed the door, and the wards switched on.

"Now what was the point behind the sign?" Zak inquired. Fourth, second finger and thumb pressed together, middle finger through – ‘need to talk privately’.

"Several of the Masters would like to know if this Drizzt is Master material," Tyrank’al said. "The Mistress of Melee-Magthere is getting very old, and it may be now or never. Lloth knows that when this Master class finishes, the Mistress will only have a few years left at most."

"Jarlaxle thinks he is," Zak said.

"And you?" Tyrank’al asked frankly.

Zak thought about it a little. "Well, currently Drizzt does not have a very good grip on reality," he said seriously, "He’s too innocent for his own good. If Melee-Magthere doesn’t push that out of him I don’t know what will. He is Master material, unlike Ver’ginran, who if I’m not mistaken was the fellow whose my whip swept off his feet and confiscated his weapon."

"Tall, shoulders like an ox, sword with jeweled hilt?" Tyrank’al showed some interest.

"Yes," Zak said.

"That’s him." Tyrank’al said solemnly. "What would Drizzt have done?"

"Fallen as well," Zak shrugged. "Whips are hard to avoid. But he’d have gotten up faster, I would believe."

"Fair enough," Tyrank’al said, "We’d have to wait and see. Sorcere, as you obviously know, has finally agreed with Melee-Magthere over the... terms. We help them get a Master as head, and they stop bothering us in several other areas."

"Everything is fair," Zak grinned. "How’s N’aryo?"

N’aryo had sensibly abdicated in favor of ‘younger blood’, as he put it, instead of waiting until he became careless and took a dagger in the back, or a lightning bolt in the front. He stayed in House Oblodra occasionally agreeing to be a tutor, but mostly waiting for his turn to die.

"Fit as ever," Tyrank’al said, "Which annoys him. Bad cough yesterday, bot nothing else serious."

"Good," Zak said. He liked N’aryo, and not only because the elf had been instrumental in getting him to ArchMage rank.

"Sorcere will be watching this class, Zaknafein," Tyrank’al said solemnly.

Zak smiled. "Everything will go to plan, Tyrank’al. If it’s something elves do have, it’s patience, and time."

Chapter 17: Through a Mirror of Spite

Jarlaxle walked past the door of Zaknafein’s room, then stopped. There were sounds behind it – something unusual as late. He twisted open the door.

Zaknafein looked up from where he had been picking books off the shelf. His eyes now had a harder edge than before, and there were perpetually lines of sorrow or anger, of which Jarlaxle did not know which, etched on his face. His mouth had a near-perpetually sardonic, bitter twist instead of a grin.

Which was no wonder, considering what Malice had been openly doing.

"Moving out?" Jarlaxle asked casually. Zaknafein’s room was nearly bare, what was left of it neatly arrayed, a bad sign. Even Zaire’s mess of cloth under the table had gone.

Zaire glanced at him. Her gold-flecked eyes had no discernable expression, as always. Other than possibly boredom.

"Rearranging," Zaknafein said curtly. A blue-purple portal was open through which Jarlaxle could see Zak’s Sorcere room.

Jarlaxle rolled his eyes. "As if. Look, this is about Malice and that Rizzen fellow, is that right?"

Zaknafein stopped to raise an eyebrow at Jarlaxle. When he spoke his voice was deadly calm. "The Matron of a House is allowed to do whatever she wishes," he said coolly, "If it involves sleeping with another what is the patron to argue?"

"Well, the two before disappeared suddenly," Jarlaxle said.

Zaknafein never hesitated as he carefully picked a book of the shelf. "They got what was coming to them," he said calmly. Zaire made a nasty-sounding chuckle.

"Why don’t you ask her why?" Jarlaxle inquired. "And don’t tell me you don’t care. I know you do."

Zaknafein glared at Jarlaxle then suddenly looked very tired. "Perhaps I do," he said neutrally. "I asked her that once. She just smirked."

"I don’t know why she’s doing it," Jarlaxle shrugged, "But she does still... care. Two days ago I walked up from behind where she was watching Narbondel to ask a question, and the first thing she said when I spoke up was your name."

"She mistook you for me?" Zak asked, and Jarlaxle saw a brief flash of hope that suddenly vanished under centuries of rigid discipline. "Huh. Not much of a compliment."

"She’s probably doing it as some sort of punishment," Jarlaxle shrugged. "Lanfaye only spoke about you getting what was coming to you."

"How’s Lanfaye?" Zak inquired.

"You won’t change the subject that easily," Jarlaxle said. "She does seem to be keeping a lot of tabs on me, especially when I go to Bregan D’aerthe HQ."

"The shields aren’t working?" Zak managed a half-smile.

"No," Jarlaxle said sourly, "Your daughter takes a horrible satisfaction in breaking in."

"She was always curious," Zak mused.

"I was meaning to ask," Jarlaxle said cautiously, looking at the wards on the doors and in obscure parts of the room.

"They’re still working," Zak shrugged, slipping back into the dead calm.

"How is Drizzt?" Jarlaxle decided to work up to it.

"Two years to graduation," Zak said curtly. "Top in the Melee every year. This isn’t about him, is it? You could just as easily asked Vierna."

"No," Jarlaxle sighed, "Are you staying with the House?"

"You mean am I going to go rogue?" Zak asked, amused. "Well, I can, easily – I am ArchMage, after all."

"You’re not answering the question," Jarlaxle said.

"What would you do if I did?" Zak inquired.

"I’d go with you," Jarlaxle said simply, "I’ve been following you for too many centuries to stop now. And I believe Drizzt might, as well. We can survive with Bregan D’aerthe."

"All the males defecting," Zak laughed, a harsh sound, "Tempting, but no. No rogue has sat on the Master of Sorcere and ArchMage seat before, and they might decide to vote me off. Currently being in the Second House has its advantages. To give up my rank altogether, after the four centuries of work I put into achieving it? Not likely."

"I’m not asking you to," Jarlaxle sighed, "It was a thought."

"One that will not come true," Zak said firmly.

Barrison del’Armgo had a serious disagreement with Oblodra half a month ago, and was destroyed. Oblodra was currently smugly on top position, with Nalrann and Ver’ginran both suffering fatal accidents.

This had a note of sorrow, or at least regret in it – N’aryo had perished in the incident – the old mage taking out several hundred del’Armgo soldiers in one last, final blaze of mage fire.

"I see," Jarlaxle said somberly. "Will you ever be visiting?"

Zak looked at Jarlaxle for a long moment. "As much as I can manage, no," he said coolly, "I will, however, continue to spend time in Bregan D’aerthe."

"Good," Jarlaxle said helplessly. There was no way he was going to try and persuade Zak to stay anyway – just for company was... selfish. Jarlaxle squirmed inwardly until his conscience fled into a deep recess of his mind.

Zak nodded to Jarlaxle. "Give Lanfaye my regards – if she’d accept them." He shrugged, and moved through the portal, Zaire padding through after him. After a short moment, it closed.

Jarlaxle watched with faint horror as the wards abruptly faded. He walked over to the shelf with the room behind it, and tweaked the lever.

Nothing happened – it had been jammed shut.

"This is not a good sign," Jarlaxle said under his breath.

What isn’t a good sign? Lanfaye inquired. Jarlaxle groaned – the heavy mind-shields had also dissipated, apparently.

"Well, take a look," he said wearily. There was a not-uncomfortable sensation behind his eyes, and something else seemed to look around for a while before withdrawing.

I see... Lanfaye said. Oh dear. Does Malice know?

"Did you think he’d tell her?"

Did he really take everything?

"Yes." Jarlaxle said shortly.

Did he renounce the house? This was asked carefully. Lanfaye knew too well what Jarlaxle would probably have done if Zak had.

"No," Jarlaxle said curtly.

Good, Lanfaye said. Oh dear.

"I’m glad you know that," Jarlaxle growled, but Lanfaye’s presence had already gone. "Damn females," he said, then walked out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

***

Malice looked pensively out over the balcony, tracking the advance of Narbondel with sensitive eyes. She propped up her exquisite face with one hand, elbow resting on the adamantite railing, the other hand absently drumming an erratic rhythm on the railing.

Part of her wanted to go find Zaknafein to apologize for the past two years – no, not apologize – perhaps to explain, or tell him it was his own fault. You don’t even know if it’s his fault in the first place. What if you had...

Malice pushed back the pessimistic voice in her head that represented the part of her that wanted him back instead of the pathetic Rizzen or any others that she could have chosen amongst the ranks – drow with not as much backbone as an illithid. True, some of them were more handsome – but just not the same.

It was his fault, no matter what her weak mind might say. She’d very clearly heard him and Jarlaxle discussing some women known as ‘Kirane’, or ‘Zekres’. There were even names she had heard him say before in his sleep, of which she only had Jarlaxle’s word and his that they were their ‘childhood caretakers’. The caretakers couldn’t have lived that long. Not in Menzoberranzan, at least...

He was still patron, though. Malice irritably repressed the shiver that came when she thought of him still having that rank. Since Zak was essentially not Do’Urden in birth, if he was no longer patron he would be a commoner. A commoner ArchMage would not be affiliated to the house, a powerful tool she could not afford to lose. Did not want to lose, the voice corrected. Her teeth bared in an angry snarl at herself.

Strong hands slid around her waist, and she near-automatically leant back into the embrace, until she saw it was Rizzen and jerked away furiously. Rizzen backed off hurriedly, mumbling apologies. Malice contented herself with glaring at him enough to make him squirm, then dismissing him with a sharp wave.

Shouting at Rizzen wasn’t as entertaining as shouting at Zak – Zak knew perfectly well when to answer back and when to actually listen. It was more satisfying shouting at Zak, even though he usually either found a way around whatever she would demand of him or simply ignore it, though not in her presence. For a moment she’d thought... well, it didn’t exactly matter. Or does it?

The Matron returned to her thoughts. Zaknafein would not betray the House – she was pretty sure of that. He needed the rank it gave, and though there had been a commoner ArchMage once, there would never be a commoner Master of Sorcere. He had worked too long to achieve what he had today to give it up in one moment of righteous rage. If he ever had those kind of rages.

That is, she thought, he wouldn’t give up the House. What if he did? You know Jarlaxle and Drizzt would follow him...

She was getting maudlin lately. And you know perfectly well why.

Lanfaye’s presence abruptly filled her mind, then her daughter caught herself and withdrew, ‘knocking’ politely.

"Yes?" she asked.

Zaknafein has packed his room, Matron, Lanfaye said, excitement bubbling inside her, as well as a certain trepidation.

"Packed?"

Everything that belongs to him is gone, Lanfaye said, feeling fringes of intense emotional storms inside the fiery Matron. Despair, anger and horror were some of them. Technically, the shelves and such furniture belonged to the House.

Malice felt stunned. Her fingers clutched at the rail.

Jarlaxle says he has not renounced the House. Lanfaye said quickly.

There was some comfort in that. "Where has he gone?" Malice demanded.

Sorcere. Lanfaye said.

Sorcere – the one place where even a Matron would not be welcome except on official business. A Matron would not be welcome in Tier Breche except on the most important excuse.

And what would she want to find him for, anyway? Better that he would stay there, and stop bothering her. With this last thought Malice mentally dismissed Lanfaye and fled to her room, before any treacherous thoughts could undo her.

Chapter 18: First Day in Sorcere

"The students come to Sorcere today," Tyrank’al commented, closing the heavily warded door behind him.

Zaknafein looked up from where he had been studying a book. Zaire yawned, leaping lightly off the bed to pad to the other elf. Tyrank’al smiled at her and tossed her a tidbit, which the cheetah deftly caught and retired under the cluttered table at the other end of the room.

"I know," he said calmly. "The class has dwindled in number."

Tyrank’al smiled as he unearthed a chair and sat down. "That is only to be expected, ArchMage. Drizzt is the best candidate now, that Ver’ginran is dead, and Faen’lar Tlabbar’s accident." Faen Tlabbar had a disagreement with a lesser House, unfortunately a House with Bregan D’aerthe’s help. This had been a year or so before Zak had left his room in House Do’Urden.

"Does Matron Kyorl know?" Zak inquired curiously, though his voice still sounded dead.

"Of course not," Tyrank’al said, already feeling slightly uncomfortable. He felt as though he were talking to a zombie. Zaknafein had recovered slightly from his... incident; as Kyorl had put it, as in he stopped swinging between calm and destructive rage, but had settled on calm. If anything, his magic was better than ever, but he rarely ventured out of Sorcere now except to disappear somewhere near Narbondellyn. And to light Narbondel, of course.

"Very good," Zak said.

"Some of Melee-Magthere’s masters feel that they would be better for the job, of course," Tyrank’al said wryly, "But ever since Oblodra lost her representative, the others haven’t been listening much." The others – other Masters of Sorcere, more influential than Melee-Magthere. The fighters didn’t like it, but without mages, that city would have no one to light Narbondel except females, and that was worse.

"Ah," Zak commented. Tyrank’al felt as though a void of emptiness was opening beneath his voice, and he tried to fill it.

"Placing a new fighter on the seat would be surprising," he said, "We will have to hope that he survives."

"Who is to teach Drizzt?" Zak asked.

"I am." Tyrank’al smiled, and felt pleasure as Zak stared at him in astonishment.

"What? Oh. Oh yes. Good." The ArchMage said distractedly. A new law, passed carefully a year or so ago, had instructed that though lesser fighter students, or non-noble fighter students, would be thought by student mages, the noble ones would be taught by Masters. Another careful step towards their goal, and Arach-Tinilith had even approved!

"Teach him well," Zak commented, "Drizzt has talent."

"All rounder, is he?" Tyrank’al grinned, "Fighter and mage together..."

Zak smiled. "Not possible."

"Still, it was a thought," Tyrank’al said. "Well, if Master Larama’ln is finished lecturing them about rules, I would have to go."

"There’s one more noble in the class, isn’t there?" Zak asked dryly. "Mar’kara."

"Taranlal for that one," Tyrank’al said, "Both boys are candidates."

"Good luck to you," Zak said shortly, "And do try to change the boy a little – he’s not exactly what you’d call attached to reality."

"With my whip if I have to," Tyrank’al promised, bowed, and backed out in relief.

Zaknafein watched the door close, then looked at Zaire. The cheetah lay down, raising her head such that there seemed to be two cheetahs, one looking over the shoulder of the other. Her tail twitched.

"I don’t have time to play now," he said.

Yes you do. Zaire informed him. You have lots of time until tomorrow morning. You should go to your mate...

"Malice is not my mate!" Zak shouted, then calmed himself when Zaire returned his glare with cool equamity.

And I have no spots. Zaire told him. Zak searched her features for any sign of amusement, but didn’t find any. He contented himself with an annoyed grumble, and leant back down to read. He wished Drizzt luck – Tyrank’al was not exactly a hard taskmaster, but he had seen the Master’s students come out sobbing before after one of his ‘talks’. Perhaps it’d be good for him.

"Zaire?" Zak asked. The cheetah looked at him. "Go and take another look around Sorcere. Thank you."

Zaire rolled up and stretched luxuriously, then padded through the magical door, curling and uncurling her tail.

***

Drizzt and quite a few others in his class breathed a sigh of relief when Larama’ln ordered them out to meet their teachers for the next six months. Really, that elf was even more long-winded than Hatch’net, and incredibly more boring.

He missed his weapons – they weren’t allowed in Sorcere, but the sights to be had in the School of Mages nearly made up for that. Sorcere was stately and graceful and beautiful at the same time – not the insidious majesty of Arach-Tinilith, but something magical and not of any gods. Compared to dour Melee-Magthere, its mage-lit corridors were exquisite.

Their teachers were waiting outside, but Drizzt quickly noted that there seemed to be more students than teachers. One by one, his year mates were led away, until there were only two left – himself and V’asheren Mar’kara.

"Nobles both," he whispered. V’asheren looked at him.

"Quite so," he said. V’asheren’s House was still weaker than Do’Urden, and so the elf respected Drizzt, admired him, even. V’asheren was as much a friend as he had in Melee-Magthere, also a loner. Drizzt didn’t trust him, of course, but he did like him.

"Why?" Drizzt asked. They both bowed as Larama’ln strode out of the lecture hall and glared at them.

"Still wasting time here?" he roared, "Shirking your lessons?" He snapped the whip from his waist, and the both of them braced themselves.

"It is not any fault of theirs," a new voice called, and Larama’ln lowered his whip. Two mages hurried down from the stairs, wearing more ornate robes than students, and also Master’s bracers.

"Huh," Larama’ln snorted, and swept off angrily. Both Drizzt and V’asheren began to breathe again.

"Just in time," the older elf said, grinning infectiously. "I am Master Taranlal Freth, Master of Summoning."

The other elf had a serene expression on his face, though his eyes sparkled with sharp intelligence and some wit. Drizzt warmed to him. "I am Master Tyrank’al Oblodra, Master of Invoking. Welcome to Sorcere."

Drizzt looked at V’asheren. V’asheren shrugged minutely. "I am Drizzt Do’Urden..." Drizzt began.

"The ArchMage’s son," Tyrank’al nodded, "We have heard of you. Do not expect any special treatment, Drizzt, for you shall have none, and worse the beating if you do."

"I do not," Drizzt said quickly.

"Very good," Tyrank’al said. "Come with me. Your lessons will start soon." He turned and swept back up the stairs. Drizzt signaled see you later, to V’asheren.

"To the contrary, Drizzt," Taranlal said, "You may not for several months, if you have been paying attention to Larama’ln. You have, haven’t you?"

Drizzt nodded vigorously.

"Liar," Taranlal said. "Unless you’re insane or infinitely patient, of which your father is neither, you wouldn’t have."

Drizzt and V’asheren grinned tentatively. Taranlal nodded to V’asheren, seemingly forgetting Drizzt and then led V’asheren away. Drizzt ran up the stairs after Tyrank’al.

He caught up with the Master when they came onto the levels of the Master rooms, and blinked when he saw Zaire padding towards them.

"Zaire!" he exclaimed in happy recognition.

Immediately, Tyrank’al turned, his whip already out, giving Drizzt a stinging blow with the heavy handle across the face, hard enough to snap his head to the side. "Do not speak loudly here without permission!" he said sharply.

Drizzt bowed his head, but gave the cheetah a covert glance. Was it just him, or did he see the gold flecked eyes flicker in acknowledgement?

Zaire padded past him then, ignoring him. Feeling the first taste of disappointment in the day, Drizzt meekly followed Tyrank’al into his room.

"Close the door behind you," Tyrank’al said, and he did so automatically.

"Very good," the Master said, taking a seat. "Now, I shall recap part of what Larama’ln had been lecturing you about. You are to serve me for six months, in which I will teach you to master what little magical talent you may have. Be assured that these six months will be a paradise compared to the next six in Arach-Tinilith... ah, I see you shudder. The wise ones all do."

Drizzt didn’t know what to say or wonder if it was a compliment before Tyrank’al continued.

"You are to obey me as much as you can, and I can punish you, kill you even, if I see fit," Tyrank’al said. "Do not force me to do so."

Drizzt shook his head.

"Very good," Tyrank’al said seriously. "Now, what do you think of the past nine years in Tier Breche?"

Drizzt blinked. What kind of a question was that? "Well..." he began falteringly.

"The truth, mind," Tyrank’al said impatiently, absently slapping the hilt of his whip against his other palm, "Not some contrived, Lloth-satisfying excuse of an answer."

Drizzt nearly grinned at that. "Master Hatch’net’s talks were disturbing, but Mast... Weapon Master," he corrected, "Jarlaxle of House Do’Urden advised me not to pay too much attention to them."

Tyrank’al nodded.

"Er. It is tiring and sometimes frustrating, but I have learnt much about being drow," Drizzt said truthfully.

"Very good," Tyrank’al said again. "And what have you learnt about being drow?"

"We are capricious and treacherous and not to be trusted?" Drizzt suggested. He was getting tired of Tyrank’al’s weird questions.

Tyrank’al smiled. "Also materialistic and exceedingly evil? That is a stereotype, Drizzt. What we are, is a race that is very fixed on our world and our survival."

"Such that we will pull down all in front of us?" Drizzt demanded.

"Given a chance, all creatures would," Tyrank’al said. "Remember that."

"I will," Drizzt said. "Sir."

"Better and better," Tyrank’al said, "I was counting how long more you had before I had to beat you for disrespect."

Drizzt grinned, then hastily stopped when Tyrank’al raised his whip.

"Now, can you light that candle?" Tyrank’al pointed to a candle on his table.

"No," Drizzt said truthfully. "I am a fighter."

"No fighter but a student!" Tyrank’al corrected sharply. "Do it!" The whip was raised into an offensive position.

Drizzt quickly turned to the candle and willed a flame. There was something inside him, but he couldn’t get it out... then he understood. Tyrank’al had told him to light the thing, not to burn it...

A small bit of faerie fire appeared on the tip of the candle, and Drizzt turned back to Tyrank’al, and was gratified when the Master nodded in approval.

"You are quick," he said grudgingly.

"May I ask a question, sir?" Drizzt asked.

"You’re asking one already, but go on."

"What if I had lighted it? I mean, with real fire?" Drizzt asked impetuously.

"You can, boy?" Tyrank’al asked.

"No." Drizzt said.

"If you had lighted it with fire," Tyrank’al said slowly, "I would have killed you."

Drizzt blinked.

"A fighter crossed with an untrained, talented mage is too powerful for this world," Tyrank’al said. "Mages have to learn several weeks to cast the small fire-spell."

"Oh." Drizzt said.

"Now for your second task," Tyrank’al said. "Perhaps a simple cantrip."

Chapter 19: Dagger

Drizzt sat on his bunk, dangling his legs down to the lower one. He was studying his Melee-Magthere plain issue chain mail carefully.

There was a grunt from the bunk below him and V’asheren’s voice floated up in a sleepy whisper. "Go to sleep. Big day tomorrow."

"I realize that," Drizzt said dryly. Tomorrow he would graduate, and he was already feeling incredibly nervous, with a tight excitement that was preventing him from taking a much-needed rest.

His answer was a light snore from below, and he took some time to listen to it as it deepened. V’asheren’s snore had a character of its own. First he started with a preliminary ‘hnuff...blort...hnuff’ for a few minutes, which then continued to ‘hrnoul...shwee...hrnoul’ in a soulful, gruff voice, then an abrupt ‘fnurt’ in which there would be heavenly silence in which anyone else unlucky enough to be awake would bask in, that would be broken again after a short while.

He looked tentatively around the room. His class had dwindled dramatically to a mere sixteen; most of the ‘accidents’ taking place in Arach-Tinilith. Of the sixteen, only about six were actually sleeping in the plain student dormitory – the rest were running... errands. Drizzt grinned to himself – apparently the female students did feel lonely in their long years of study, and this only came once a year, after all.

Not only students, he remembered. Mistresses too. Some had given him and V’asheren inviting nods or smiles when they passed in corridors. Especially him... and Vierna had even seemed to approve. That vaguely shocked Drizzt, but not as much as he thought he would be. Six months with the frankly spoken Tyrank’al had been a vast eye-opener.

Jarlaxle had warned him about this. "Don’t get involved" had been his advice. It was all very well if the student was from a lower house, but Jarlaxle had said that Do’Urden was of the ruling rank, and needed no bonding ties that would not be to their advantage.

He wondered how Jarlaxle or Zaknafein were doing.

A soft blue light abruptly appeared, and Drizzt stared, hand reaching down for the weapon that was not there. Zaire padded out first, making an amused chirp at Drizzt’s stunned expression then Zaknafein. Drizzt blinked again then rubbed his eyes.

Zaknafein smiled, amused, and then muttered a few words. The breathing of all the students became the regular one of sleep. Then the mage turned to the door and waved his staff vaguely. A ward of silence appeared, blue-silver notching that floated several feet above the ground.

"What are you doing here?" Drizzt demanded.

"Doing here, sir." Zak corrected calmly, leaning against a bedpost. "Thinking of me was useful for locating your position. Show some respect to an elder and a better."

"I don’t think it’s allowed for anyone to come in here without permission..." Drizzt started, ignoring the last bit about a ‘better’. Zak waited patiently until Drizzt added a grudging "sir".

"I can find lots of excuses here," Zak smiled again, his terrible, sardonic, cold smile, "At this time of year, students and mistresses are very... active." He looked suggestively at the empty bunks. Drizzt’s face began to glow slightly from embarrassment.

"Tomorrow you will graduate," Zak said. "Do you know what will happen?"

"No." Drizzt said, "Vierna just said that I’d see the glory of Lloth. Sir."

"Hah," Zak said, "That’s what they told me when I was graduating. And Jarlaxle too."

"What actually happens, sir?" Drizzt asked morbidly.

"Something that may seem horrifying," Zak said dryly, "Don’t worry, the terrible bits only happens to females. The males have the tamer stuff."

"What happens?" Drizzt asked impatiently.

"Demons appear in their true forms to females," Zak shrugged, "And then... well, you’d see for yourself. For males, demons appear in assumed forms, I think. It’s called a vision. Most fighters have the same ones. Some fighters will have different ones that may mean they would become a Master, but half of the time they don’t." The Masters of Sorcere and Melee-Magthere were holding their breath for tomorrow.

"What did you see?" Drizzt asked impetuously. Zak waited again. "Sir."

"Good," Zak said. "I saw a huge cheetah," he grinned, patting Zaire, "In brief, its eyes glowed in the color of magic, and it held a staff in its teeth." Zaire sniffed. "Ah yes. Zaire here nearly went mad with rage at the entrance. It was lucky hardly anyone noticed."

"Oh." Drizzt said, brightening up.

"Now, what is important is that you do not disgrace your House, Jarlaxle, or myself tomorrow by doing something foolish," Zak said seriously. "Do not run out of the ceremony at any cost. If it is of any comfort to you, your seeing through the ceremony properly may prevent any such ceremonies in the near future."

"How?" Drizzt asked.

"That is not for me to divulge," Zak said calmly. "Goodnight, and sleep well."

"I can’t," Drizzt admitted.

"Lie down," Zak commanded. Hesitatingly, Drizzt did so, in time to see Zak start muttering again. He sat up, and opened his mouth to protest, but sleep came abruptly and whirled him away.

Zak grinned, and then Zaire padded through the portal. The ArchMage stayed to sweep away any vestige of magic before retiring through the portal and collapsing it behind him.

***

Zaknafein reappeared outside cool Narbondel, Zaire rubbing against him. He looked dubiously at the uniformly gray structure, then closed his eyes and probed again. Zaire sat down to keep watch in the darkness.

He touched the source of raw magic, and opened his eyes. First he tested it by looking at his staff – it was wreathed in green-gold, the color of raw magic. Faerie fire in the distance had an impure mix of blue and purple inside, and Zaire...the both of them had an odd aura of light moon-silver mixed it. He assumed that it was the link.

Only then did he turn his gaze to Narbondel. The tower was nearly pure dull green-gold, mixed with red-orange that was the residue of yesterday’s fire spell. There was a faint, ancient trace of weaved sky-cyan, the signature of a male magic caster. Something male versed in raw magic had created Narbondel, but he had always kept that to himself. The females would have an apoplectic fit if they found out, anyway.

There it was again. In the middle of tall Narbondel was a fiery speck of brilliant green-gold, though with the odd wreath of faint, jet black.

Curious, Zak made a portal to it, and looked carefully through.

It was a cocoon, suspended with thread. At the end was a broken stairway. The brilliant green-gold came from inside the cocoon.

The view was giving him a headache. He switched back painfully to normal vision, and then willed the portal closer to the cocoon.

Mages are nothing but curious. Zak thumbed something on his staff, and the thin, magically sharpened blade slid out, carefully slitting the cocoon open, and got a nasty shock when he saw a skull grinning back at him. He took a deep breath, and looked on.

The skull still had several rags of once-rich robes clinging on to it, and through the general structure Zak concluded it had once been female. The gold and silver jewelry he ignored, but he reached through the portal and took hold of the brilliant green-gold, which was in the form of a silver dagger, a large lavender purple gem on the hilt.

The jet-black tarnish hit him. In a moment of pure nausea he saw two immense lavender eyes, oddly like Drizzt’s but baleful ones, cruel ones. For a second they took on the same expression as his eyes seemed to have when he looked into a mirror. Pure dark, the black of all black colors of magic, seemed to writhe up his arm, a slimy maggoty feeling.

He spent the next five minutes retching violently down Narbondel, the dagger dropped with a clatter on the ground, though with enough presence that it was on the right side and not spiraling down into the depths of the time-tower.

When Zak recovered his composure, he located a tattered dagger sheath in the bones and took it out, then through some dint of prodding managed to sheath the dagger.

Ah... the sheath helped, though Zak felt like clawing it off immediately when he dumped it inside one of his pockets.

On impulse, he removed one of the armbands and looked at the spidery script. It was in an older version of the drow tongue, and he traced it out slowly.

"Menzo...Berra. Menzoberra!" Zak whistled a low whistle. Then the dagger would be Menzoberra’s famous dagger. Come to think of it, the legends never said what it did exactly, though it was a ‘Lloth-blessed relic of great power’. And the legends had never said how Menzoberra had died either. Zak looked slowly back at the yellowed bones, and noted faint scorch marks, and blotches of what looked like disease, that still glowed faintly in the black of black.

Because Zak was still curious about the dagger, he kept it in his robe for further use later. Because he was also conscientious about Lloth, he put the band back in with the skeleton and closed up the cocoon carefully before closing his portal. He didn’t like Lloth, but he did know she existed, and he didn’t want her wrath.

He took out the sheath again, and Zaire growled a soft warning at him. The sheath did not have a design of spiders as he thought it would, but a design of a dragon. A black one.

Did the dagger summon dark dragons? Perhaps so – Zak smiled at the interest this would bring. It would also explain how Menzoberra had managed to carve out a city in the Underdark with relatively few followers.

The purple gem caught his attention. From a certain angle... it did look like an eye. Watching him. Zak shook his head and put it in his robe.

"Do you know what it is?" he inquired of Zaire.

Bad. The cheetah replied with some agitation. Evil throw away now throw away dagger burn dagger!

"Anything more helpful?" he asked wearily, "No?"

The cheetah looked at him steadily. Very bad throw away now!

"Thanks anyway," Zak said. Zaire chirruped irritably at him.

"I’d like to see what it does," Zak said defensively, sitting down. It was nearly midnight. He had dismissed the procession that accompanied Gromph every day here – it was boring, cumbersome, and not many saw it anyway. He preferred it this way, coming early, and in the darkness and silence meditating or just thinking.

Zaire purred then, and he stood up. He trusted the cheetah’s internal clock better than the ‘formal’ way of telling the time.

Besides, if he said it was midnight, it’d be midnight. He laid his hands on Narbondel, and said the words for fire.

***

"And how did his graduation go?" Jarlaxle asked, sitting down.

Zak looked around the office of Bregan D’aerthe. It was carpeted richly, and had many wardings around it as well as other offensive and defensive spells, enough to ward an entire House.

"The boy didn’t run out," he said, "But he’s upset about it."

"Really." Jarlaxle grinned, "Did he accept any invitations?"

Zak chuckled hollowly. "Maybe he did. He wouldn’t tell me." Absently, he turned the sheath around in his hands, his skin crawling.

"What does that do?" Jarlaxle asked. Zak gave him the dagger, and watched in fascination as his brother turned it around and around without any indication of feeling anything. Then Jarlaxle drew the dagger, admiring the jewel.

"You don’t feel anything?" Zak asked.

Jarlaxle looked up. "Should I?" he asked suspiciously.

"I don’t think it works on fighters, then," Zak sighed, then flinched when Jarlaxle made as to give it back to him. "Sheath it first. Thank you."

Zaire made an angry muttering next to Zak. Evil thing must kill must kill evil thing.

"What’s into her?" Jarlaxle jerked his head at the cheetah.

"She doesn’t like the dagger," Zak shrugged, "Very unlike her to like or dislike inanimate things, even if they’re very obviously... bad, as she calls it. She didn’t even flinch when Malice summoned a yochlol ten years ago."

"Be careful then," Jarlaxle said. "Humph. Drizzt’s in the House now?"

"In my knowledge, yes," Zak said flatly, "But you should know better." Zak hadn’t bothered to go back to the House to meet Drizzt. He looked at the dagger again. Attempting to summon whatever the dagger held was like trying to breathe through muck, and he vomited quite a bit of blood after trying. Zaire had nearly gone mad with rage and fear – kept wailing about a warning, a bad warning, until he’d given up about it. And he did have a feeling about those lavender eyes.

Zak tossed the dagger to Jarlaxle. "Give it to Drizzt, would you?" It wouldn’t do the boy much harm, if the eyes meant what he thought they did.

Jarlaxle nodded solemnly. Catching the dagger, he made it disappear neatly into one of the folds of his clothing.

Chapter 20: An’auvri

Drizzt looked up when the door clicked open. Jarlaxle strode in, a very smug expression on his face as he twirled a set of lockpicks on his hand, then made them disappear somewhere into his robe.

"You’re supposed to knock," Drizzt complained.

Jarlaxle looked at him curiously. "Why? Knocking’s when you can’t get in and want the person to open the door to you. Since I can get in..."

"Forget it," Drizzt said wearily.

Jarlaxle closed the door behind him. "You sound like you swallowed a rat," he commented.

"If I swallowed a rat I’d be choking." Drizzt pointed out.

"Whatever," Jarlaxle waved away the question. "So. You’re going on patrol tomorrow."

"Yes." Drizzt said tonelessly. He returned to turning one of his scimitars over and over, fingers touching the jeweled pommel.

"Something wrong with you?" Jarlaxle pressed.

"No." Drizzt said. He began to examine the other scimitar.

"Something wrong with the Ceremony?" Jarlaxle grinned. Drizzt looked up and glared at him. "Some reaction at last!" Jarlaxle’s grin widened. "Now. What was wrong with the Ceremony?"

"Vile!" Drizzt spat out, "I mean, that glabrezu..."

"It didn’t happen to you," Jarlaxle shrugged. As long as he was concerned, that was the end of the matter. "Or did it?"

Drizzt’s mouth worked convulsively for a while. "No!"

"Then why get upset about it? I’d think it’s the girl’s problem and not yours." Jarlaxle said reasonably. "Hasn’t Tyrank’al taught you anything?"

Drizzt looked embarrassed. "They shouldn’t do it in public if it was so important." He said. It sounded lame even to him.

Jarlaxle grinned viciously. "I’m sure as far as the girl was concerned, she didn’t notice you. Tell me, did you accept any offers?"

Drizzt’s face burned.

Jarlaxle chuckled. "I won’t press you. Zaknafein wanted me to give you this." He took out the dagger scabbard and tossed it to Drizzt.

Drizzt caught it neatly, then stared at the thing. The scabbard was threadbare but beautifully done. The purple stone seemed to watch him as he drew out the scabbard.

He could feel something from the dagger. Some filth that seemed to slough away at his touch, and something that seemed to be released partly.

"Magic?" he asked quickly.

"How did you know?" Jarlaxle asked curiously.

"I can feel it." Drizzt said. The dagger was radiating a sense of right, like he was meant to hold it. Then something that had been calling for attention in his mind got to him, and he looked down at the scabbard.

Dark dragons – and he remembered. "A black dragon holding a dagger," he muttered, "This dagger. My vision!"

"What’s that?" Jarlaxle asked, sidling closer to take another look at the dagger.

"I saw a dragon holding this dagger," Drizzt said helplessly.

"In the Ceremony?" Jarlaxle asked. Drizzt nodded. "Well then. I don’t know how Zak found out, but it means the dagger’s yours. Pity, really – it must be worth quite a bit."

"Black dragon is evil," Drizzt protested.

"How do you know? Met one, have you?" Jarlaxle inquired.

Drizzt looked embarrassed. "No," he admitted. "But they say it’s evil."

"They, if I believe who you’re talking about, say that just about everything is evil," Jarlaxle said dryly, "Come to think of it, they’ve never said we were good either, have they? Only wronged, etc, etc. I like to think of ‘evil’ as well, something that sees thing in a different way from the norm such that the norm believes they are ‘evil’."

Drizzt stared at him. "Then... you believe everything is good?"

"I didn’t say anything about good," Jarlaxle commented. "Good is what you believe is beneficial or whatever. To some people, yes, they’d see Zak and me as evil, and some regrettable few would see us as good."

"But..." Drizzt started.

"You’re still young, boy," Jarlaxle said, not unkindly, "You don’t understand."

"I’m no longer a boy," Drizzt said.

"I’d tell you when I think so." Jarlaxle countered. "Now, your father and I will be seriously irritated if you were to die in the patrols."

"What would you do if I did?" Drizzt asked curiously.

"Finding your spirit and making it stay around here forever would be favorite," Jarlaxle grinned. Drizzt looked horrified.

There was a hesitant knock on the door, a knock that meant that the knocker knew she was entitled to barge in but was unsure of whether it was wise, i.e., if it would cause her any hurt.

Jarlaxle winked at Drizzt. "Come in, An’auvri."

The door was opened by a tiny young female drow, delicate face framed by a cloud of white hair, eyes a disconcerting dark green. She glared at Jarlaxle, placing perfectly formed hands on her hips.

"Who’re you to order me around?" she demanded. "I can tell Matron Malice!"

"I’m sure you can," Jarlaxle said lazily, turning around to face her. "Incidentally, I’m taller than you are, and..." the Weapon Master moved so fast that Drizzt blinked. He had closed the door and picked up An’auvri before she could protest, and lifted her up into the air.

"You’re growing," he commented to her frantic squeal of indignation.

"Of course I am!" she snapped, finally giving up to fold her hands with dignity over her chest, while her feet dangled a foot or so above the ground. "What did you think I’d do, shrink? Honestly, sometimes you say the most obvious things..."

"This is An’auvri?" Drizzt walked over, grinning at her furious glare. "The youngest sister?"

An’auvri pouted. "Yes, the one you’re sixteen years older than. Do you have anything more intelligent you’d like to tell me?"

"Let me guess," Drizzt said, "Lanfaye’s her teacher as well as wean-mother."

"How’d you know?" An’auvri inquired.

Jarlaxle grinned. "Let’s just say we recognize a certain attitude."

"How’s Lanfaye as teacher?" Drizzt asked, "I got Jarlaxle here. Not too bad, I suppose..."

"Hey!" Jarlaxle protested.

"Lanfaye’s nice," An’auvri grinned viciously, "Because every time Jarlaxle passes by or goes over Outside she just gives me something to do and goes off somewhere. She doesn’t even check if I do it."

Jarlaxle glared at An’auvri. She stuck her tongue out at him. Drizzt looked at the both of them, and started to laugh.

"What did you come here for?" Jarlaxle asked.

"Put me down first." An’auvri said.

"Say please." Jarlaxle smirked. He gave her a little shake.

"H-hey!" An’auvri protested, "Stop it!"

"And what must you say?" Jarlaxle asked, giving her another shake.

An’auvri tried to kick him, but Jarlaxle dodged deftly, then shook her again.

"Please." An’auvri muttered. Drizzt grinned.

Jarlaxle dropped her, but she landed softly, then abruptly turned and kicked at the Weapon Master again. He dodged, and his sword flew into his hand, landing her a stinging slap on her rump. She let out a cry of rage and snatched one of Drizzt’s scimitars from the bed, and swung wildly at Jarlaxle.

"Jarlaxle..." Drizzt began.

Jarlaxle winked at him, parrying the swing, then the following one. Then he twisted his wrist and the scimitar wrenched out of An’auvri’s hand for Drizzt to catch as it tumbled down near him.

"Checkmate." Jarlaxle smiled. An’auvri glared at him.

"Lanfaye!" she called. Jarlaxle winced.

"Damn." He said.

Yes, An’auvri? Lanfaye’s voice sounded in their minds. Greetings, Drizzt.

"Greetings, Lanfaye," Jarlaxle muttered. Drizzt snickered.

An’auvri gave Jarlaxle a triumphant look. "Jarlaxle’s been bullying me again," she said.

"Teaching her a lesson," Jarlaxle protested.

What kind of lesson? Lanfaye inquired.

"Er. Do Not Attack a Weapon Master when you don’t have any bloody Training?" Jarlaxle suggested. Drizzt nearly doubled over laughing.

Sounds like a perfectly reasonable lesson, Lanfaye said sweetly. An’auvri, dear, did you give them the message?

An’auvri’s cheeks burned crimson. "No." she said.

Oh. Well, Drizzt, the Matron wishes to see you in ten minutes about duty, patrols and suchlike. Lanfaye said serenely. She can’t use the summoning coin since she’s having company at the moment. And Jarlaxle, I’d like to see you about giving unauthorized lessons. An’auvri smirked at the crestfallen weapon master.

Drizzt nodded to Jarlaxle, sheathing the scimitars and tucking in the dagger behind one of the scimitar scabbards for concealment, then hurried out of the room.

Jarlaxle gave An’auvri a sour look. "Thank you very much." He told her.

"You’re welcome," she said brightly. "But you do seem to enjoy visiting Lanfaye – I mean, the two of you always take so long..."

Quite. Lanfaye seemed to grin. He just doesn’t want to admit it, that’s all...

Jarlaxle flushed, then fled out of the room, An’auvri’s mocking laughter floating behind him.

Epilogue

Drizzt struggled ineffectually with his bonds, and looked rather glumly at the four other captured elves of the patrol. Three had not woken up yet, and the other was giving their captures a blank look of shock.

The svirfneblin seemed as horrified of taking in five captives as Drizzt was of being caught by the gnomes, the evil gnomes.

They say everything else is evil. Tyrank’al’s voice surfaced in his mind. Ware the teachings of the drow, for they are sometimes false.

Drizzt attempted to relax, and looked on warily as the huddled svirfneblin came to a decision. The apparent leader walked towards him.

Drizzt took a quick inventory check and realized that the dagger, the dragon dagger, was still strapped to his belt. Odd...

The dagger was powerful indeed – one small nick and a gnome died in a very horrible way – the flesh melting from the bones like wax, or abruptly catching fire – it had so horrified Drizzt that he had put it away until they summoned the elemental. The elemental had taken out some drow and knocked out these four, before he’d managed to stick the dagger into it and withdraw quickly as the elemental just changed into boiling mud.

"No magic," the deep gnome growled in the drow tongue, "Or we will kill you."

"I can’t do magic..." Drizzt began, then stopped when he thought of levitation. "Mage magic, that is."

One of the gnomes whispered urgently and pointed to the dagger on Drizzt’s belt. The gnome leader nodded.

"If you touch that dagger, we will kill you. A clean blow, not like what your race would do." The leader said.

"Why didn’t you..." Drizzt began, then stopped. Whatever their reason, he didn’t want to be the one pointing out flaws in it.

"Your dagger burned up a gnome cleric that tried to remove it." The leader said flatly. "Only drow carry such evil things."

Drizzt bit down his protest, and thought strongly of Zaknafein and Lanfaye. Nothing happened, as he had half-expected.

"What are you going to do to us?" the other drow awake asked, drawing himself up. Drizzt mentally kicked him.

"Do? We will take you to Blingdenstone for judgement." The gnome said. "And there you may die."

"May die?" the drow half stood, eyes flashing. Drizzt saw an opening, and as all the gnomes had their attention fixed on the drow, pulled his hand to the dagger.

He winced when his groping hand cut itself on the edge of the dagger – parts of the scabbards were more than threadbare. Then he gasped as something seemed to reach into him and take, and take, without giving back...

The gnomes turned around too late.

Drizzt felt something grow outside, and there was a meaty sound in the air. Black mist began to form around them, malevolent and swirling and freezing cold.

The clerics began to cast spells, voices shaking in terror.

Then Drizzt noticed this...

The thing, whatever it was, had already formed. Not around them or near the sound, but behind them, in the corridor that led into the chamber...

***

Zaknafein paced agitatedly around the meeting hall watched by several Masters of both Sorcere and Melee-Magthere.

"If the patrol’s been attacked..." he muttered again.

"We can’t interfere," Larama’ln said sharply, "Arach-Tinilith will surely know."

Zaknafein glared at him, but had to admit that the older mage was right. Then the Master in charge of the scrying mirror made an astonished sound, and they turned.

Zaknafein began to smile.

***

I obey thee, Master. The words seared into his soul like white-hot brands, and he felt as though he was standing on thin glass between this world and one filled with shadows and filth and the dark of dark.

"Obey?" he whispered.

Of course, Master. Do I kill the gnomes?

Drizzt looked as the gnomes were backing around in fright. The leader began to advance menacingly towards him, holding a pickaxe firmly in both hands.

Six paces away, a blue tongue of flame shot out from the corridor, engulfing the leader. Drizzt shuddered as he felt the intense heat, and shrank against the wall.

Do you wish prisoners, Master?

Drizzt thought of what the patrol would do to the gnomes. It wouldn't even do to let them go, because they'd be caught this close to Menzoberranzan... "Kill them," he said shakily, "But quickly, mind."

Very well. The resounding voice sounded vaguely petulant at the last order. The drow awake was looking at him in awe.

More flame, white-hot now, engulfed the rest of the gnomes until they were but piles of ash on the ground. Then it padded into view from the corridor.

The corridor was small, and the creature nearly filled it from top to bottom, though Drizzt had the feeling that if it wanted to, it could become larger and larger, perhaps to fill the entire cavern of Menzoberranzan itself...

The other elf gasped. The creature was a dragon, serpentine neck arched gracefully, every scale gleaming in the black of black, eyes lavender like Drizzt’s very own. The leathery wings were folded neatly on its back, the skin on it also a deep black. As it walked, sparks flew as its claws contacted with the stone.

There was a silvery, magical rune burning with dull fire on its chest, but the dragon seemed unconcerned. Drizzt remembered lectures in Arach-Tinilith about dragons abruptly.

"Dragon of magic," the other drow said. The dragon turned to regard him, the lavender stare sharper than the sharpest drow sword.

Do I kill him?

"No," Drizzt said hastily.

I obey.

"Cut us loose?" Drizzt suggested. The dragon looked at him intensely.

I could make you loose. Do you require cutting?

"Whatever you like, then." Drizzt said. He was feeling awkwardly light-headed.

"Who are you talking to?" the elf asked.

He has dared to question. Do I kill him?

"No!" Drizzt said. "I’m talking to the dragon."

The dragon blinked, and the ropes fell off them in loops. Drizzt stretched his hands, then looked at the two unconscious students.

"We need to get back to the patrol..." he began.

I obey.

There was a sharp jerk in reality that nearly overturned his stomach, and his eyes watered as the world seemed to whir by, then they appeared suddenly in front of their very surprised patrol that was resting in another Underdark chamber.

Drizzt looked for the dragon. It was gone.

"Where are you?" he asked. Some of the elves looked at him as if wondering if he was mad.

I am here. I am always at your side.

Drizzt tried using his mind to speak. The dagger, then?

The tool of Summoning, it is called.

Why don’t you appear to the patrol? Drizzt grinned at the elves, who were beginning to ask questions. The other elf with him was babbling answers.

Elves excite easily, Master. Would you like me to appear?

No. Drizzt told it quickly.

Then why ask, Master?

Drizzt swallowed. This was going to take some getting used to – and Zaknafein and Jarlaxle were going to have a lot of explaining to do.

***

"You can summon the dragon?" Jarlaxle repeated. "A dragon?"

"He said that already." Zak said patiently. "Do you realize this? A Dragon of Magic! They can’t argue now..."

"They?" Drizzt asked. He had been given home leave for a short while, as were the others for their ‘defeat’ of the gnomes. The three of them were in Bregan D’aerthe HQ. Drizzt was feeling tired – and the wound on his hand was throbbing.

The both of them ignored him. "Imagine the things it can do!" Zak was saying, "It created Narbondel..."

"Narbondel?" Drizzt tried again.

They ignored him. "And helped Menzoberra to build this city..." Jarlaxle added.

"Menzoberra?" Drizzt asked. "Tell me something!"

"Shut up." Zak snapped.

"Very helpful, hah yes," Drizzt muttered. Then his eyes widened. "This is Menzoberra’s Dagger?"

"Drizzt’s Dagger, now," Jarlaxle corrected with a wry grin. "And are you going to have some fun wielding it."

Zaknafein gave a heartfelt chortle at Drizzt’s bewildered expression. "You’d see." He said, patting Drizzt’s shoulder.

Lledrith RavenWolf