|
The courtyard of the Academy seemed different to Jarlnian Del'Axle as he entered the cavern through the guarded archway. He had been gone only a few days, but it seemed very distant to him now.
There were two dozen first year students gathered in the courtyard, playing the games that all initiates go through. Each one of them wanted to know who was the strongest or the most skilled, and they all had stories to tell of how they had defeated their respective weapon masters in training. There were two students from house Baenre this year and another large drow from the second house as well.
Jarl sighed as he watched these students from the top houses as they gathered crowds around them. Quinter and Yer'Athor were very good fighters, but they were quite common in their houses, and their skill did not outshine any of their fellow common soldiers by that much.
How weak house Del'Axle looked when compared to Baenre or Barrison Del'Armgo! Jarl's house had one student enter the Academy every third or fourth year, and they never finished better than halfway up the class.
Jarl noticed that a few students had turned their attention toward him. He struck quite a figure standing at the entry to the courtyard. His status as a noble of the fourth house was hard to miss with the extravagant piwafwi and his confident posture. As more and more students stopped what they were doing to look toward the entry to the courtyard, Jarl began to lose confidence that he was the reason for the extra attention.
As he turned to look back toward the archway, Jarl saw that Zaknafein was walking slowly toward him. The powerful drow looked very different from when Jarl had seen him last. Zak had been celebrated by his house and now wore an equally decorative piwafwi as Jarl. It lacked the markings of a noble, but that mattered little. His weapons had also been upgraded and bore the initials of the finest weapon smith in the city.
Though his equipment had been changed drastically since Jarl had last seen him, the noble was sure something else had changed with Zak. The top graduate's face was very stern and sincere. Zak had never been one to joke, but now he actually looked angry. His eyes had gotten much harder in the few days he had been home and his posture stiffer. He looked like a typical drow warrior.
Jarl began to wonder if Matron Vartha had done something to him to inspire this change of demeanor or if the constant drilling and instructing of the Academy had finally gotten to him. Jarl shrugged his shoulders and decided to play along until the reason for this change made itself clear.
"It looks like you are a celebrity," Jarl said jovially as he nodded toward the students who were staring their way. Zak had been proclaimed as the best fighter the Academy had seen in the lifetime of the masters. The proclamation had not been unanimous, for Dantrag had other ideas, but it had been made.
Zak just grunted in response to his supposed fame. Two of the students approach the graduated pair slowly. "Are you Zaknafein?" one of them asked.
Zak did not reply, but Jarl was quick to sing his friend's praises. "Yes, this is the famous Zaknafein. The top graduate of the Academy last year, and the best fighter in all of Menzoberranzan."
"We will be honored to learn under you when you take up your position as Head Master of the Academy," the other one said.
This comment caught Zak off guard for he did not think of his future beyond what was required of him within the next hour. The idea that he should become a master at this Academy and teach the ideas and philosophies that he despised was new to him.
Jarl jumped in again. "And he will be honored to instruct you, but you'll never make it to your second day at the Academy if you don't rejoin your class this instant."
The two student's cast a look over their shoulder and saw that their class was being rounded up and herded into the main building of Melee-Magthere. They cast one last glance at their silent "hero" and scampered back to their fellow students.
"You inspire them," Jarl said. "That is uncommon in drow society."
"Either one of them would put a knife in my back if they thought it would bring them even an ounce of respect or prestige," Zak said sourly.
"You think they would?" Jarl asked, playing the devil's advocate. "I doubt any student in this Academy would make a move against you even if they had half a dozen fighters beside them. They respect you too much."
"It is all foolishness," Zak spat back, looking Jarl in the eyes. "The city worships this Academy as if it were the only reason for existence. Females strive to be one with Lloth, while males pursue magic and weapons. The only praise available to a drow is when he or she excels in one of these capacities.
"There is no true honor or respect among us. Only power and strength are praised. The quickest way to climb that ladder of power is to kill the person above you. Other virtues, though maybe less obvious, are ignored and even considered to be weaknesses."
Zak was silent for a brief moment as he watched the last of the first year students entering Melee-Magthere to begin their ten-year adventure in learning the ways of the drow. "The worst member of that class could defeat a goblin in battle with his eyes closed. Kobolds, orcs, and the whole lot of them are worthless when compared to the skill of the clumsiest drow. Still, they slave away to make sure that each of us is as well-prepared and well-trained as possible. Why?"
Jarl shrugged his shoulders, truly enjoying this unique view into drow society.
"To kill each other," Zak answered his own question. "All we are doing is preparing to kill each other. You and I might call each other friends, but when our houses go to war, all that will be meaningless. I will live for one purpose: to kill you and everyone else in your house."
"Your house would never attack mine," Jarl said, a smile curling on his lips. "You'd be annihilated."
Zak was not in the mood. "Regardless, all this talk of us needing to unite as a people to fight off those who would stand against us is a load of lies! I have lived 30 years, and I have not yet seen this hoard of enemies waiting to tear us apart. These so-called 'evil' surface elves are nowhere to be seen. Where are they? Who are we supposed to fight? Just once I'd like to journey to the surface to see these evil cousins of ours just to learn the truth."
"You might just get your chance."
Both Jarl and Zak spun around at the unexpected voice to see Dantrag standing behind them. Jarl wondered how long he had been standing there and how much of Zak's speech he had heard. If he had just heard the end, then Dantrag was probably developing a very misleading view of the top graduate.
"Come with me, and you shall get your wish," Dantrag said and walked past the pair.
Before following the former Head Master into the Academy, Jarl turned to Zak. "What happened to you? Did your mother beat you?"
"No," Zak replied, moving to follow his chief rival. His next comment was spoken quietly without turning his head, but Jarl was just able to hear it, and it explained everything. "They killed her."
Jarl and Zak had talked for many long hours while they had been in the Academy, and there remained one thing that Jarl did not understand. Zaknafein loved his mother. Not only was the concept of love hard to understand, but the reason for it was even more perplexing. Jarl would have paid good money for someone to kill his mother, his real one or his adoptive one.
Drow did not love anyone or anything. Every relationship a drow had was pragmatic in nature. They would say or do anything if they felt it would get them what they wanted. Whether that need be physical pleasure, children, or a valuable ally, drow did not enter into relationships without a personal motive.
True love denied that philosophy. Jarl had only Zak's stories of his mother to enlighten him toward this strange idea, and it left more questions than answers. Zak had grown up under the protection and care of his mother. Zak had realized early on, and had relayed to Jarl, the fact that his mother was not intelligent. Her mental capacity was far below that necessary for a priestess. She could not read or write. Even her speech was often in error, and her vocabulary was nothing to brag about.
But she loved her son. Zak had been the only drow that had not taken advantage of her. Zak was hers and hers alone. Zak returned that affection, protecting and caring for her in return when his skills and knowledge exceeded her own. This had come early on, for Zak had developed quickly, and he found the task of caring for his mother, though quite difficult at times, enjoyable.
Jarl had always wondered why Zak had sacrificed himself during the first grand melee to protect him. The act had made little sense at the time because Zak could have easily defeated Yer'Athor and then gone on to defeat Quinter by himself. Zak would have then finished first every year. Instead, he had finished fourth that first year.
Jarl came to understand that Zak's actions had been purely instinctual. He had seen a friend in need and had rushed in to help, giving no thought to his own well-being. If that was love, Jarl wanted nothing to do with it. The weakness of it was obvious. However, Jarl also envied the look on Zak's face each time he recounted a story involving his mother. While Jarl wondered what that feeling must be like, he did not think himself capable of love, nor would he ever find someone to return the favor.
As the two friends followed Dantrag through the halls of Melee-Magthere, Jarl understood why his mother's death had brought about this change in Zak. The two like-minded students had gone through the Academy without a care. They allowed the teachings and philosophies they had been bombarded with to flow in one ear and out the other. Neither of them planned on abiding by the rules and they knew their skill was such that they could keep anyone from forcing them to. If they were killed for their beliefs, then that was one less thing they would have to worry about.
Now those ideas and philosophies that he thought he had been impervious to had changed Zak's life. Zak had made himself vulnerable by caring for someone other than himself, and Lloth had taken advantage of that. The ways of the drow were no longer a set of beliefs, able to be accepted or rejected by anyone, they were now reality. Zak was a drow, like it or not, and he would live out the rest of his life within the drow society. He would either conform to that society, or he would suffer time and time again.
Zak would never find a group of drow that would accept him. His mindset was not one that would ever be embraced, or even tolerated. Even recently, with the idea that he might be asked to serve as a master at the Academy, Zak had understood that the city was not going to stop for him or treat him any differently than anyone else. He would be forced to participate or he would be sacrificed like his mother.
The room Dantrag led the two top students to was much smaller than most in the Academy. In it, another master waited as well as two top graduates from Sorcere. One of the mages was Elrial, the thirtieth year student under whom Jarl had served. Jarl nodded at him. The three new members of the room took a seat at the long table around which the other drow sat and waited.
Soon the rest of the patrol party arrived. They were all the better students from Zak and Jarl's class. Yer'Athor, Drillmick, and two other fighters from the sixth and eighth houses entered the room. As Dantrag began to start the meeting, Jarl spoke up. "Where is Quinter?"
Dantrag flinched a little at the question. "Quinter will not be joining us." The rest of the table waited for more of an explanation as to why the third ranked member of the class would not be part of the patrol, but Dantrag offered none.
"About every 50 years, it is traditional that the Academy sends a patrol to the surface to lead a raid in Lloth's name. It is important to remember where we came from, why we are here, and most importantly, who is to blame. We have obtained the locations of several different settlements of our surface cousins and have chosen one of them for this raid."
Zak noticed that all of the hate propaganda was gone from this speech. Dantrag no longer needed to justify the killing of elves with stories of how evil or deserving of punishment they were. By now, the instinctual hatred of the surface cousins was supposed to be automatic, and the reason why no longer mattered.
"More than 50 years have passed since the last raid and Lloth has grown restless. It is because of this that we have chosen this year to go. The graduating classes from both Melee-Magthere and Sorcere were exceptional this past year, and you have been chosen."
Dantrag went on to detail the training that would take place over the course of the next few months, but Zak hardly listened. He was going to the surface. If the surface elves were as opposite from the drow as everyone at the Academy claimed, Zak wondered if he would find an opportunity to change sides.
Zak heard his name mentioned several times during the discussion, and he was forced to pull his attention away from his fantasies and focus on the meeting. He would do what he was told, for now.
***
Drelmn walked into Matron Baenre's audience chamber slowly and knelt before the powerful female. As weapon master of the first house, he was given far more respect and privileges than all but Gromph and Dantrag, but he was still nervous approaching Matron Baenre on his own.
"Rise," Baenre said slowly, curious as to why he had come without being summoned. "What do you have to say?"
"Have you heard of the encounter between your second son and a common soldier named Quinter?" Drelmn asked, knowing that very little escaped the matron mother's attention.
"Yes," Baenre smiled, "I have. I have also heard that the rest of your men speak of my son only in hushed tones. They respect and fear him. This is very important for when he takes your place as weapon master. It is something you have been lacking in."
Drelmn almost swallowed his own tongue as he gagged on the comment, wondering if his life was over.
"Don't worry," Baenre said, noticing the look on her weapon master's face, "you have served this house well. We have not been to war against another house in several centuries, and you have not needed the kind of influence over the soldiers that Dantrag will posses. I fear that this time of peace for us will not last, and Dantrag's ability to control the fighters in this house will make us much stronger."
Such casual references to Dantrag holding his position made Drelmn shift uncomfortably in front of Baenre's throne. The real reason for his visit had still not been brought up yet, and he did not know exactly how to go about it.
Baenre noticed this uneasiness and questioned him on it. "You have something on your mind," she said blatantly. "Tell me."
"I agree with you that it is good for the soldiers of this house to fear Dantrag," Drelmn said carefully, "but I do not believe that is the reason he killed Quinter."
Baenre cocked her head slightly. "Why do you believe he did it?"
"Pride," Drelmn replied.
At this response Matron Baenre did something she had not done in over 500 years. She threw back her head and laughed loudly. Drelmn was very startled by this reaction, yet stood quietly and unmoving in front of the matron mother. Baenre composed herself slightly at the sight of her rigid weapon master. "You are serious," she said.
Drelmn nodded. "He is a very proud fighter."
"Does he not know that in the eyes of Lloth he is nothing? Does he not know that as a male, Lloth sees him only a little higher than the kobolds and goblins that scamper about in the sewers of this great city? Does he not know that any one of his sisters, and in fact any high priestess in the city, could kill him with little effort?"
"Whether he knows it or not, he has a great deal of pride in his fighting ability and will stop at nothing to be known as the best fighter and, eventually, best weapon master in the city."
"And this Quinter threatened his position?" Baenre asked, not believing a common soldier in her house would be able to stand up to her son.
Drelmn shook his head. "No. Quinter said that another fighter within the city was Dantrag's superior, and your son cut him down for it."
Baenre sat in quiet contemplation. The idea that a male should have pride in his meager abilities was as foreign to her as the idea that Lloth might prefer ants to spiders. Yet here it was presented by a very reliable source. "How do you feel this will effect his performance as weapon master of this house?"
Drelmn realized he was being tested, for if he slandered Dantrag now in an effort to retain his own position, Baenre would know. "When I said that he would stop at nothing to be recognized as the best fighter in the city, that is what I meant. Right now Uthegental is generally heralded as the best weapon master in the city. I would not be surprised if Dantrag found a way to challenge him in personal combat. If he should defeat the second house's weapon master, I do not need to tell you of the implications."
The idea of two houses fighting over a dead male was preposterous, but this was a unique case. Matron Mez Barris had uses for her weapon master that went beyond his prowess in battle. Uthegental had sired well over half of the second house's fighters and a good many of its priestesses as well. The loss of the huge male might indeed turn House Barrison Del'Armgo against the first house.
While Baenre did not fear such a battle, she understood the necessity for House Barrison Del'Armgo to remain. Without that powerful house, the next in line was not even one third as strong as House Baenre, and the chance for an alliance between the remaining houses was far more likely.
On a more practical level, if Dantrag was too focused on his personal accomplishments, he would forgo his responsibilities to his own house. Matron Baenre demanded loyalty among everyone in her house, especially her children, and any personal aspirations had no place.
Matron Baenre understood that her weapon master was telling the truth, but did not know what to do about it. Then an idea came to her. "I would like you to accompany me to the next council meeting."
Drelmn was shocked. Triel normally accompanied Matron Baenre to the annual council meetings. Males were not welcome. He could not go against his matron's wishes, though. "As you wish," he bowed deeply and left.
As Baenre watched him go, she chuckled to himself. "A male with pride. What is my house coming to?"
***
It was a good thing that Zak had very little personal pride. Dantrag's pride blinded him into thinking he was the best fighter in the city. This pride could not only force him into battles that he was not able to cope with, but also made him react violently any time that his supposed superior skill was not recognized by others.
Unlike Dantrag, Zak did not think he was the best fighter; he knew he was. This left him with nothing to prove. He did not care how other's viewed his skills, for he knew the truth of them. This was also how he had decided to live with regard to the teachings of Lloth, but that had failed him miserably.
Lloth had required that Zak's mother be killed. Zak had cared little what others had thought about Lloth, knowing the truth for himself, but the idea that he could not be harmed by others' beliefs was not true. He had been emotionally scared by what Malice, under the direction of Matron Vartha, had done to his mother.
He now had to fight down his anger each time someone sung the praises of Lloth or displayed the backstabbing attitude that was the drow norm. So far, this mind-set had not affected his views on battle prowess or he might have reacted differently when Jarl was named as the patrol's point scout.
As the top graduate, the position should have been Zak's, but Dantrag did not want the Do'Urden to garner any more respect or honor from this expedition than necessary. It was not that he wanted Jarl to get any extra respect either, but with Quinter gone, Yer'Athor was next in line, and the brute moved about as quietly as an avalanche, at least compared to Jarl.
Besides that, Jarl actually made more sense as the point scout. With Zak at point, the patrol got very little battle training and only passed each dead monster that their point had discovered and then disposed of without alerting his patrol. Jarl, as sneaky and silent as any drow Dantrag had ever seen, coordinated his actions with the main group much better.
The training went on for much longer than Zak could stand. The rest of the troupe showed a lot of eager anticipation for the promised raid as well, but for many different reasons. Zak just wanted to see a surface elf. As he understood how this raid would work more and more each day, he knew there would be no chance to do any more than just see an elf, but he felt that if he was allowed just that, he would know the truth.
For now Zaknafein had no choice but to continue going through the steps with his training patrol party. He nodded his head every time something was explained to him, and he killed everything he was ordered to. Beyond that, Zak's true motivation was far from that of his fellow drow.
***
As instructed, Drelmn accompanied Matron Baenre to the next council meeting. The weapon master stood behind the matron mother as she sat at the head of the table. It was a round table so there was no real definable head, but since it was shaped in the form of a spider with eight long legs protruding outward with a seat between each, it was possible to sit where the spider head would be. This is where Matron Baenre sat.
The table was much larger than it had to be, measuring 25 feet across without the eight legs. The center was empty, leaving a two foot wide ring of actual tabletop to sit at. A small pit rested in the center of the floor in the middle of the table where incense could be burned. It was inactive now.
The other matron mothers filed in slowly over the next fifteen minutes. Nothing of any real importance happened at these meetings, and it was becoming customary to be fashionably late. It was something that Matron Baenre did not like at all, which was one of the main reasons the other matron mothers did it.
The ruling council did very little ruling. The only law in the city was: "Don't get caught." When someone broke that law and drow justice was necessary, special council sessions were held, leaving these annual meetings with little real purpose. Whenever the council received a new member, either through the death of a matron or the destruction of a house, it took a while for the new matron to realize this. Eighth ranked matron mothers always tried to use the meetings to show off the strength of their houses or to try and spy on the other houses ranked ahead of theirs. This never worked.
As the other matron mothers entered the small chamber that resided just inside the Baenre compound they each noticed the presence of Drelmn. The presence of Uthegental at these meetings already upset the matron mothers, and only confirmed what they already believed, that these meetings were just a formality, for males would never be allowed if actual Lloth related business was taking place. Maybe this was the start of something new, and within a decade, the weapon master for each house would always be present.
Baenre smiled at the looks she got from her fellow council members, enjoying the disgust at Drelmn's presence. Baenre had asked him to come for a specific reason, and she was glad to finally see Matron Mez Barris enter with her huge weapon master in toe. Baenre had never given the drow more than a passing glance, and only then out of morbid curiosity at how any male could present himself as Uthegental did. Now Baenre paid more attention.
If any male in the whole city should be proud, it would be this one. Uthegental had been known as the best weapon master in Menzoberranzan for over a century now, and the tales of his strength and prowess only increased as the years went on. Baenre did not see any pride in the weapon master's face now, only quiet respect and reverence as he pulled out the chair for his matron and then took up his station behind her.
Mez Barris took a long look at Baenre's choice of escorts and truly wondered if the matron mother of the first house was mocking her. While Drelmn was dressed in the finest piwafwi Baenre could offer a non-noble, and his weapons and other equipment were some of the finest in the city, it was laughable to think of him on the same level as Uthegental. Even Dantrag, who stood several inches taller than Drelmn and weighed a good 30 pounds more, would look small and insignificant next to the huge weapon master from the second house.
"An interesting choice of escort," Mez Barris said so only Baenre could hear.
"He is my weapon master," Baenre declared much louder. "He is the best one in the entire city."
Uthegental grunted at this. The sound was barely audible, but Baenre had been waiting for it. "You do not believe me?" she asked, turning to look the male straight in the face. This little experiment into male pride was off to a good start.
Uthegental was caught red handed now. He did not speak often, and had never done so at a council meeting. He hesitated. Mez Barris turned to look at him, interested as to how he would act. She did not believe Baenre would attack him, though it was a possibility.
"You believe that you are the better weapon master?" Baenre continued.
"I am of the second house," he replied in a low rumble.
"I am not asking of your house's rank. I am asking of your personal ranking in the city. Do you feel you are better than my weapon master?"
"My own accomplishments mean nothing. All is done for the glory of my house. Our ranking is second."
It was the perfect answer, and Mez Barris beamed at Matron Baenre. Uthegental was viewed by many as a mindless ogre, but he had just effectively defeated a trap set by Baenre without bringing dishonor to himself or his house. Baenre was not finished, however.
"So you agree that Drelmn is a better fighter than you?" she added.
Uthegental said nothing, but shifted uncomfortably on his feet. Mez Barris saw that Baenre was not going relent until her target cracked. While the matron of the second house had confidence in her weapon master, she knew the drow had his limits. "Perhaps you would like this settled officially," she offered. Mez Barris motioned toward the opening in the center of the table, which was more than enough room to hold a duel. "Right here in front of everyone so you can put your mind to rest."
Baenre turned to look back at Uthegental. "Do you accept the challenge?"
"I will do as my matron mother demands," he said obediently.
"Then it shall be. We could do with a little entertainment before the meeting. Drelmn will fight Uthegental for the title of best weapon master in the city." The rest of the matron mothers frowned at this. Now was not the time or place to decided matters concerning males. A few were about to say as much, but they did not want to speak out against Matron Baenre. Besides, a few were too curious to see the fight. Ninety percent of the tales about Uthegental came from over-exaggerated, third-hand accounts of his battles, and now they were all eager to see if the tales were true. There was one person in the room that was not that eager.
Drelmn had stood behind Baenre quietly and reverently, but he could not help but notice where Matron Baenre was going with her line of questioning. Now he understood why he had been invited to this meeting in the first place. He would gladly take the ranking of thirtieth in the city to avoid facing Uthegental in battle. Pride was not something he fought with. He knew that was not an option, though, as Baenre motioned for him to enter the ring in the center of the table.
As Drelmn dipped low to duck under the table, Uthegental casually stepped over it. He pulled his weapon from his back and stood ready. The huge drow held a massive double trident. It had a six-foot shaft with three viciously sharp prongs at either end. It looked terribly heavy, but Uthegental spun it about himself as if it weighed no more than a diatryma feather.
Any fantasies that Drelmn held about being able to live through this battle left when he saw the muscles of his opponent rippling as he spun his huge weapon. Drelmn did not think Uthegental capable of hitting someone soft enough to only render them unconscious. This would be to the death, and everyone in the room knew whose death that would be.
Drelmn saw little reason to prolong this encounter. He drew both his swords and attacked. The strikes came in very fast and strong. Though Drelmn was not as formidable as Uthegental, he was the weapon master of the first house, and he was no slouch. There were few weapon masters in all of Menzoberranzan, present company excluded, that would be able to stand up to him in battle.
Uthegental almost yawned as he deflected the blows. By spinning the weapon in the center, he was able to move it very fast and only had to rotate his hands and wrists to do so. His strength combined with the weight and leverage offered by his trident sent Drelmn's attacks flying away. He could have killed Drelmn through exhaustion alone if he had wanted, for the smaller weapon master would never be able to land any of his attacks.
Uthegental went on the offensive and the battle was over three seconds later. Drelmn had barely recovered from the devastatingly powerful parries when the double trident came swinging at his head. Drelmn got a weapon up to defend against the attack, knowing he had to block the shaft of the weapon, keeping his sword low to avoid the prongs.
The bigger opponent pulled the attack back at the last second, his strong wrists stopping the weapon as if it had hit a stone wall. Drelmn's weapon went wide and high as he tried to block the phantom attack, and then Uthegental continued the strike just as quickly, catching the blade in the prongs of his weapon. He twisted the shaft sharply.
If Drelmn had been strong enough to hold onto his weapon, his blade would have snapped in half. A hill giant did not even posses such strength, and the sword flew across the room, sticking into the table right in front of Matron SiNafay Hun'ett.
With Drelmn's attention focused on his lost weapon, Uthegental snapped the other end of his weapon at his opponent's second sword. The trident slid over the weapon and caught Drelmn's wrist in its prongs. Before the doomed drow could yank his arm away, Uthegental drove his weapon down toward the floor, the sharp prongs sinking deep into the stone and pinning Drelmn's wrist.
The smaller weapon master was forced to his knees as he tugged futilely at his secured limb. His free hand tried to pull the shaft of the huge trident out of the floor, but it would not budge. While Drelmn struggled to free himself from the trident, Uthegental casually walked over to retrieve the sword that had stuck in the table.
When the victorious drow returned, Drelmn had stopped his useless efforts and accepted the death that awaited him. Though the sword looked pathetically small in Uthegental's hand, it easily removed the head of the prone weapon master. The huge drow retrieved the lifeless head and brought it back to Matron Baenre.
Uthegental held the head by its long white ponytail and gently set it on the table. "Your weapon master," he said calmly. He returned to his weapon and pulled it out of the floor as easily as if it was standing in soft mud. He then moved back to his post behind Matron Mez Barris.
"Then it is settled," Baenre said finally, her voice expressing the awe she felt at what she had just seen. She would have to make sure to keep Dantrag away from this one. Baenre did not want to have to find another weapon master.
|