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Krol Del'Axle stood outside the door while the first year student rushed inside to announce his visit. He reappeared a few seconds later. "The Head Master will see you now."
Krol had no idea why Dantrag had summoned him. The Academy messenger had come to the Del'Axle compound with a very formal request for an audience with Krol. The message had found its way to Krol who was out scouting, and he had responded to it within six hours.
As he stepped into the office, wary as ever, Krol was very impressed. Dantrag had adorned the room with several exotic weapons and drow artifacts. The head of an enormous hook horror was mounted on the wall. There were several other displays of what Dantrag had accomplished, but none of them measured up to the Head Master himself.
Dantrag rose from behind his desk gracefully and extended his hand to Krol. "Thank you for coming on such short notice; I know you must be busy. Please, have a seat."
Krol moved slowly to the offered chair in front of the desk. He was not quite as bold as Triel had been and would not even dream of taking the seat behind the desk. If he had, Dantrag would have laughed it off. The Head Master needed this male alive for a little while at least.
"Would you like a drink?" Dantrag asked, standing at his drink bar and hovering a pitcher over two glasses.
"No thank you," Krol responded.
Dantrag filled both glasses anyway and brought one back to Krol. The Del'Axle noble had no choice but to accept the glass, though he had no intention of drinking it. Dantrag took his glass back to his chair and downed half of it in one swig. "Please," he added, holding up his drink, "it really is excellent."
Krol had been scared of poison or some other drug, but watching Dantrag drink so freely from his glass calmed those fears. He took a small sip. It was drugged. Dantrag did not like truth serums for they often disoriented the drinker. Krol was far too wary not to notice when his senses went. No, this drug just increased the wine's already intoxicating ability, totally relaxing the body and mind.
Krol felt the stress leave him almost immediately and took another sip. "It is excellent," he agreed, keeping the glass on his lap and nursing it occasionally.
"We live a hard life," Dantrag said with a long sigh, propping his feat up, "as males." Dantrag had taken so much of the drug over the years to help him sleep, that he was pretty much immune to it now. "It seems we can never meet our matron mother's expectations. I imagine your matron mother is just as demanding as mine."
"You called me here to complain about our role in society?" Krol asked skeptically, taking another sip from his glass.
Dantrag smiled, knowing the drug was working. Krol would have never interrupted him otherwise. "Not exactly. It is just always on my mind. I'm sorry for burdening you with my problems."
"So why did you summon me here?"
Dantrag paused as if he were searching for the right words. "I have not even told my students this yet. Next year we are planning a trip to the surface. The graduating class this year will lead that raid as part of their patrol duties. It is a strong class, but a small one. I am in need of a point scout."
"No one in the class qualifies?" Krol asked curiously.
Dantrag shook his head. "The top students have let the competition within the grand melees get the best of them and have ignored our training with regard to stealth. They are a group of loud fighters who think that pompous bragging and the banging of metal weapons is the best way to sneak up on an enemy. I need someone who has spent many years leading scouting patrols. I need you."
Krol was shocked and silent. He took another long drink from his glass.
"I know you did not graduate very high from your class when you were at the Academy. This is a school for fighters, and the other skills that you posses are not valued as much. Unfortunately this philosophy has left me with a bunch of great fighters, but no good scouts.
"This normally is not a problem. We patrol the tunnels around Menzoberranzan looking for creatures to fight. If we can attract monsters to our location, all the better. That way we can rid the tunnels of danger and keep our city safe. A trip to the surface is different.
"When we go to the surface we will spend many days traveling through tunnels that make the ones around our city seem tame by comparison. We will not have the luxury of a city to resupply us and tend to our wounds. We need to move as quickly and quietly as possible, avoiding as many conflicts as we can."
"But me?" Krol still could not believe what he was hearing.
"House Del'Axle has the best scouts in the entire city. Everyone knows that. You are the leader of those scouts, and therefore the best scout in all of Menzoberranzan. It must be frustrating to be as skilled as you are but get no respect from the females in your family. I'm sure they don't appreciate you for what you can do."
"Actually," Krol spoke up, remembering the issue with the illithids, "my matron mother listens to my advice and takes many of my recommendations."
Dantrag rolled his eyes. "I have no idea what that must be like. I mean look at me," he held his arms out wide, motioning to his luxurious office, "I am the Head Master at Melee-Magthere. I am one of the most revered fighters in all of Menzoberranzan, yet do you think Matron Baenre respects that? Why just the other day I was told that at the slightest slip, I would be killed and replaced. I was told that I am no more special than any other male my matron mother could produce. I guess things must be different for you. I mean your matron mother has been barren for what, 125 years?"
"Actually, it's more like 150."
Dantrag exploded into motion, leaping suddenly over his desk. Krol fell backwards in his chair at the sudden motion, but was hauled to his feet by the strong arm of the Head Master. Dantrag threw him up against the wall of his office, and before Krol could gather his wits, Dantrag had his blades crossed over the Del'Axle's neck like a huge pair of scissors, just like he had done to the imp.
Krol had no idea what was going on. He had just been having a harmless discussion with the Head Master. He was trying to fathom leading a patrol to the surface when suddenly Dantrag had attacked him.
"How old is Jarlnian?" Dantrag screamed at him.
"Uh, um, 29," Krol responded, still not knowing what was happening.
"Yet by your own words, Matron Reinela Del'Axle has been barren for at least 150 years."
The intoxication left Krol's mind like a flood. So too did the color from his face vanish. For a dark elf, he was looking very pale.
"Explain!" Dantrag commanded, his quivering blades drawing a few thin lines of blood on Krol's neck.
"I, uh, we, how," Krol had no idea what to do. The cold of the blades was very noticeable pressed under his chin. He could not think straight.
"Do not think that I won't kill you," Dantrag said. "I do not fear your house in the slightest. Matron Baenre will back me no matter what. Besides, I can always claim self defense. Sure, I will not have a scratch on me, and you will only have the one killing mark on you," Dantrag tightened his weapons again, "but everyone knows how you fight, you pathetic noble. Now answer me! Who is Jarlnian?"
"W-we stole him."
"From whom?" Dantrag persisted. This was already going much better than before.
"We took him from-" Krol's arms snapped up and hit both of Dantrag's bent elbows. The stronger drow had relaxed a little once the confession had started and was not prepared for the counter. His blades opened slightly, and Krol dropped to the floor beneath them. Dantrag snapped his weapon back together and sliced off the majority of Krol's trailing ponytail.
The elusive drow rolled to the side quickly, just ahead of Dantrag's boot and came up in the far corner of the room, his rapier out and ready. Dantrag looked at him and laughed. "Come, Krol Del'Axle, fight me." He held both of his swords at the ready. "I'll even make it fair." He sheathed one of his weapons. "Or maybe I'll even play to your strength." He turned around so his back was to Krol. "Sneak up on me and thrust that fine rapier of yours into my back and you can go free."
Krol was not so stupid. Instead his eyes floated around the room looking for some way out. Even if he did get out, Dantrag would pursue him up to and inside of the Del'Axle compound. Krol tried to think of what kind of damage the Baenre could do if he took on the house guards.
What would Matron Reinela say? She would kill her son of course. But then what? She could refute Dantrag's claims. He really had no proof of anything. It was all a moot point though, for there was only one way out this office. The door was past Dantrag.
"So it was all a lie?" he called out.
"Which part?" Dantrag responded, his back still turned.
"Going to the surface."
Dantrag turned around at this. "No, we are going to the surface."
"And me?"
Dantrag laughed heartily. "The worst student in the Academy is more stealthy than you. I'd sooner have a deep gnome lead my patrol, though your brother will probably be the lucky one."
"Ah," Krol said, "my brother. I almost forgot about him. Yes, my mother has not been barren for the last 150 years. In fact just 29 years ago sh-" Krol did not even see Dantrag throw the dagger, and it ripped through his cloak as it just missed him.
"I know more than you can guess," Dantrag said. "I have already inquired the denizens of the abyss with this question, offering them a sample of your brother's blood for identification. They have told me everything. Now I want to hear it from your lips. I will know if you are lying, and I will kill you."
Krol did not believe it. He could not believe it. If Dantrag really knew who Jarl was, Krol would be dead no matter what he said. His only hope was that Dantrag was bluffing. "We stole him."
"From whom?" Dantrag repeated the question from a few minutes ago, making it very clear that he did not enjoy doing so.
"I do not know."
Krol saw the dagger in Dantrag's hand this time, for he did not throw it, but Krol still did not know where it came from. The Head Master had two more of the throwing blades tucked in his belt and held this one up by his ear as he repeated the question. "From which family did you steal the child?"
"Do you think I would let myself know the answer to that question?" Krol responded. Dantrag was puzzled by this answer and held his dagger in check. "I knew this time would come," Krol continued. "I purposefully did not learn the name of the house so that it could not be taken from me."
"How could you not know the name?" Dantrag was not happy.
"It was one of the much lower ranked houses, somewhere in the twenties. You have students from those houses every year, yet I bet if I showed you five symbols from those houses, you would not be able to identify four of them."
Dantrag really wanted to throw his dagger, but Krol was right. He never paid those houses any attention because the students never amounted to much. But Jarl had finished second in the class. He could not be from a low ranked house. Before he made that accusation, he thought of Zaknafein. He was from the thirteenth house, yet was the best fighter he had ever faced.
"What are you going to do?" Krol asked.
Dantrag could kill him, but that would only bring attention to this situation, something Matron Baenre would not want. He did not think Krol would tell his matron mother of this. That would bring about Krol's death rather quickly. Of course, Dantrag could only let him go if he felt he was telling the truth.
In the end, Dantrag over-estimated his ability to persuade. Besides, Krol's story was far more believable than the truth. As good as the Del'Axle was as a thief, stealing a noble child (Dantrag had gotten that much from the imp - Jarl was a noble) from any of the ranked house would have been impossible and would have set off alarms all over the city.
If Krol has stolen the child from a lower house, it had probably set two of the houses against each other when an accusation was made. Dantrag put his dagger away and sheathed his other weapon. He backed away and motioned to the door. "You may go. You have been most helpful. I trust you will keep this conversation a secret."
Krol walked toward the door slowly, keeping an eye on the dangerous drow before him. "You will not speak of this either?"
"That is for me to decided. If the council chooses to levy a charge against your house, the first warning you shall have will be the countless fireballs that will rain down on you before wave after wave of drow soldiers, all backed by high priestesses, tear your house to pieces. Have a good day."
Krol ran out of the office.
***
"And now we venture into the Spider Queen's most sacred lair."
Zak and Jarl had seen very little of each other during their time at Sorcere. After Jarl's positive showing during the final grand melee, Zak had done a lot of analyzing of their friendship. He had called it off for a while after they had fought that night during their fifth year, but Zak had reconciled those differences.
"What do you mean?" Zak asked.
The two of them were standing in the courtyard of the Academy. Jarl pointed toward the huge spider-shaped building that dominated the cavern. "Tomorrow we begin our last six months at the Academy, and they shall all be spent there, Arach-Tinilith, the school of Lloth."
Zak knew this, of course, but he did not see how the next six months would be any different from the last nine and a half years. The whole Academy preached the virtues of Lloth. He said as much.
"True," Jarl agreed, "but nowhere are those ideas and philosophies put into practice more than in Arach-Tinilith. The Lore Master said that Lloth makes us stronger. You and I finished first and second in our class, and Lloth could not be further from us. The mages of Sorcere claim that Lloth is their goddess, but none of their spells involve the evil deity. Arach-Tinilith is different. There the priestesses practice what they preach."
Zak nodded. He had fought against these teaching for almost a decade, and he would continue to do so. Jarl saw this determination on his friend's face. "I know that you criticized me for my unwillingness to show my true colors before," Jarl said, "but I recommend you reconsider your stance before tomorrow.
"Disbelief will not be tolerated. If you speak out against Lloth, you will be killed, or worse. They care nothing for your status as first in your class, and do not think that you can take them on in battle. You might fight off one or two, but do not underestimate them."
Jarl and Zak moved back into Melee-Magthere and talked long into the night. Jarl recounted all of his experience with his many sisters and their devotion to Lloth. He emphasized their strength and power, knowing from past conversations that Zak's only experience with females was his mother.
Zak absorbed the information like a sponge. He did not like the idea of hiding his beliefs just to save face, but he was slowly learning that survival was the only thing that anyone at the Academy, and in fact all of Menzoberranzan, cared about. He promised himself he would survive. He did not care what he had to do to accomplish it, but he would survive.
He had no devotion to any deity, and therefore was not tied down by any moral code that he would be held accountable to. Instead, he set his own code for himself. Right now that code insisted that he survive.
Zak's time at Arach-Tinilith was even worse than what Jarl had warned him about. Zak nodded his head and agreed like a stupid male every time he was questioned about his understanding of Lloth. The priestesses had seen countless males sleep walk their way through the last six months, and to them, Zak was no different.
The thing that made it really hard for Zak was Malice Do'Urden. The only daughter of Matron Vartha Do'Urden was going to graduate at the same time as Zak. Malice knew very little of the skilled fighter, but his class rank excited her quite a bit. She knew that Vartha would likely promote him to weapon master upon his return to the house, and he would play a very important role in the family.
Malice also knew what kind of upbringing Zak had with his mother's flawed ideas. Malice had been one of the priestesses to sacrifice Zak's mother shortly after he left for the Academy, and truly wondered how the male would react once he found out.
Zak was forced to recite his beliefs time and time again, each time echoing the praises of Lloth louder than before. Malice accepted this for now, but promised him that the true tests were yet to come.
This abuse kept up for six whole months. The only way that Zak was able to cope was by fanaticizing about killing each priestess he met. They detailed to him their powers and strengths, but Zak focused on what they did not stress: their weaknesses. Jarl had sung their praises before, but Zak, though he saw these strengths, also recognized several weaknesses.
The most prominent weakness was their confidence. Each tenth year fighter that came through Arach-Tinilith was treated like mud, and they all accepted this treatment. None of them ever fought back or complained. Because of this, the priestesses had grown complacent believing that no male would ever raise a weapon against them.
Zak held his weapons in check for now but dreamed of the day when his house did war with another and he would be able to silence the wagging tongue and snapping whip of a Lloth priestess for good.
***
Graduation came after what seemed like a lifetime. Zaknafein was given the highest honors in his class, while Malice did not graduate at the top of hers. Zak smiled at this. He felt it would be the first of many victories over the now high priestess of Lloth.
Each school had their own private ceremony, honoring their students before the grand ceremony in the main assembly hall of Arach-Tinilith. Zak was seated halfway up in the enormous chapel watching on in horror as the females went through their dark rituals. The top student of Arach-Tinilith stood naked in front of a flaming brazier, calling out to some hideous demon.
As Zak looked around at his other classmates he saw a mixture of emotions on their faces. There was lust, curiosity, awe, or all three, but all were focused on the activities on the stage. Zak tuned them out. He stared at the ceiling and went through fighting maneuvers in his head.
As the ceremony on stage reached a fevered pitch and approached climax, Zak felt something brush his leg. It was Malice. She was crouched before him, her robes open in the front revealing far more of her than Zak had ever cared to see. She was beautiful, but her beauty was only skin deep.
Zak tried to pull away from her advances, but as he looked around him, other male and female students were entangled with each other everywhere. His mind screamed out that this was wrong, that this type of physical lust was detrimental to the soul. He wanted to draw his weapons and hack Malice to pieces, or at least he wanted to run away. He did neither.
He was going to survive. As Malice climbed on top of him, Zak sent his mind as far away as possible, but it was difficult. He was at least determined not to enjoy it.
***
The day after graduation, Dantrag walked through the corridors of his real home. It felt good to be back in the Baenre compound, safe and secure. He only had a few days before he went back to the Academy to train his patrol. He had already resigned as Head Master to join the patrols and assigned himself to the group heading to the surface. They would train for a few months before making the trip, but with his blades in his hands tearing apart the creatures of the underdark, the time would go by quickly.
Dantrag stopped outside of the Baenre gym, remembering fondly the days in which he had trained under Drelmn, the weapon master whose title would soon be his. Actually, Dantrag had done very little training and after the first year, did most of the teaching. His time had been very comparable to that of Jarl and Zak. Each of them had surpassed their teachers in skill very early on and had then been pitted against an array of drow from within the house.
Dantrag was about to enter the gym when he heard sounds from within. He could hear excited voices and the occasional banging of weapons that would indicate a teaching session. Dantrag opened the door. Inside was Quinter and Drelmn locked in a slow motion reenactment. Quinter was holding one of his practice weapons loosely in the middle, using it to fend off both of Drelmn's weapons, as his other was poised to strike Drelmn in the face.
"Of course we fought with wooden poles," Quinter was saying, "so he didn't cut his hand."
Dantrag cleared his throat, and the two other drow turned to look at him. They both stood up straight and bowed slightly toward the noble. "Welcome, Dantrag," Drelmn said. "Quinter was just telling me about the best fighter in the Academy and the parry he invented."
"Is that so," Dantrag replied leveling a gaze at Quinter as he approached the pair.
"Yes," Drelmn continued. "Of course I realize that the move could never be used in actual combat, but still, to come up with it in the heat of battle is quite amazing."
"Quite," Dantrag agreed, though he was not really listening. He was more focused on Quinter. "So you think Zaknafein was the best fighter at the Academy?"
"Uh, the best one that I ever fought against," he was quick to add.
"Well, we'll just have to fix that." Dantrag's weapons leaped out of their sheaths, and he bore down on the younger fighter. Quinter was holding practice weapons that had no real edge, but they were well balanced. Dantrag was using the finest blades in the entire Baenre compound.
Quinter had no chance to move onto the offensive as he backpedaled furiously. His parries came later and later. Soon his hilts were actually closer to Dantrag than his blades were. As Quinter approached a wall of the gym, Dantrag bounced one of his attacks off Quinter's out of position parries, and dragged his weapon over the extended hilt. The blade easily sliced through the leather guard and took three fingers with it.
Quinter howled as he dropped the weapon and brought the other up to fend off his deadly foe. Dantrag batted it out wide with his left weapon and then cleaved the arm just below the elbow with his right. So clean was the cut, that Quinter only realized what had happened when his own fore arm struck him in the foot.
The injured graduate felt his back come up hard against the wall behind him, and he was frozen in fear and pain. "There," Dantrag said in a harsh whisper, his bloody right weapon tip poised at Quinter's neck, "now you know who the best fighter in the Academy really was. You see, you would have never known unless we had this little encounter. You can thank me later ..."
Dantrag turned and took a step away, as if he were going to leave it at that, but turned suddenly and sliced Quinter's head from his shoulders. "... when you see me in hell!"
Dantrag watched as the body of the skilled fighter slumped slowly to the floor, leaving a bloody streak on the wall. He turned from the grizzly scene to look at Drelmn. "The parry was wrong," he said.
"Of course it was," the weapon master responded, bowing deeply.
"Enjoy your title while it lasts," Dantrag continued as he walked toward the humble drow. "If our matron mother does not give it to me soon I might ..." he cast a glance back at Quinter and the huge pool of blood that was forming around him, "I might have to take matters into my own hands."
Drelmn was too terrified by what he had just seen to reply. He kept his eyes glued to the floor as Dantrag left the gym. "Lloth protect us," he muttered under his breath after Dantrag was gone. Quinter's infraction had been small, but the price had been big. Once word of this incident made it through the house, and Drelmn would make sure it did to protect his other fighters, no one would even speak to the secondboy.
***
Zaknafein bowed low before Matron Vartha Do'Urden.
"Rise," she said. Zak did. "You have brought great honor and praise to this house, young Zaknafein. Your actions will not go unrewarded."
"For the glory of Lloth," Zak replied humbly.
Vartha was pleased. She had been skeptical about sending the uneducated male to the Academy but now saw that she had made the correct decision. "How long are you to stay with us?"
"Only a few days. I have been assigned to patrol the tunnels around the city."
"When did you return from the Academy?" she asked.
"A few hours ago," he replied.
"What kept you from coming before me immediately?"
Zak swallowed. "I was looking for my mother. Do you know where I might find her?"
Vartha smiled. "She has served the Spider Queen in the highest possible way. She was sacrificed on the day you entered the Academy to aid you in your studies. Lloth has smiled on you ever since."
"She's dead," Zak said, his knees threatening to give way. His hands were quivering over his weapons as his teeth clenched tightly together.
"Malice conducted the ceremony herself. It was done with the utmost care and precision. We could not allow such an ignorant female to continue to live within our house."
Zak came within a heartbeat of killing everyone in the room. Malice was there, as well as Stiu Alnan, the house's weapon master. Zak fought against the urge, and in that instance he transformed himself. His anger took control. It did not send him into a killing rage, but placed a frightening calm over him.
A smile spread over his face, and he bowed again. "Of course. Lloth would not allow it." He rose slowly, every muscle on edge. "Is there anything else?"
Vartha shook her head. "You may go."
"I shall be in my quarters," he said evenly, "preparing for my return to the Academy."
"Perhaps I shall pay you a visit later on tonight," Malice spoke up.
Zak turned to look at her, seeing the obvious lewd intentions in her eyes. "I will look forward to it." Zak spun about and left the room.
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