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Zaknafein walked up the white marble steps toward Tier Breche, the drow Academy. There were three main buildings within the Academy. The largest was Arach-Tinilith, the school of Lloth. Here was where potential priestesses spent decades of study learning the intricate ways of Lloth. It was carved out of the stone to look like a huge spider, and it dominated the cavern of Tier Breche.
The next two buildings were roughly the same size but very different in shape. Sorcere was the home for drow wizards. It was housed inside of a huge stalagmite, tall and narrow. Potential mages spent 30 years within the tower learning their magical art.
Zaknafein knew very little of magic or priestly powers as his mother had not taught him. All he knew was how to use the two swords hanging from his belt. Stiu Alnan, his weapon master and the only drow he had known other than his mother, had given these weapons to him.
Even though the weapons he wore had only been in his possession for a short time, he had carried one weapon or another for as long as he could remember. Zaknafein's mother had not been a strong female, and the other common soldiers in the house had preyed on her endlessly. For a drow male to take advantage of a female was a crime punishable by death, but Irelnia, Zaknafein's mother, was not your typical drow female.
She was weak and slow-witted. She endured the abuse stoically and without much resistance. Zaknafein was the result of one of these encounters, and Irelnia had a reason to live. She cared for her son as well as she could. The males gave the female a brief reprieve during her pregnancy and a few years after the birth of Zaknafein, but resumed their abuse of her soon after.
When Zaknafein was 10, he walked in on such an encounter. The drow male had disrobed and had left his weapons unattended as he raped the helpless female. Zaknafein picked up the weapon and defended his mother. The male was one of the better fighters among the common soldiers, but when Zaknafein was done with him, he could barely run away.
Stiu Alnan showed up a few days later, taking Zaknafein under his wing. His first reaction at seeing one of his men cut up, was to punish the offender, but when he came to the small room that housed mother and son and found Zaknafein guarding his mother with sword drawn, he understood the young male's potential.
Now Zaknafein was the pride of Stiu Alnan. As he passed through the guarded entrance to the Academy, he paid little attention to the buildings for the education of magic, instead he moved toward the third building. Melee-Magthere was a squat, pyramid-shaped building. It was not ornately decorated, nor did it have any of the security that the other two buildings possessed.
If ever a non-drow managed to sneak this far into the city, they would sneak no further. Melee-Magthere did not have extra security for it housed and trained the most vicious and skilled warriors in all of the underdark. Zaknafein moved toward this building, eyeing up the other young drow that milled about in the courtyard. He had not been around other drow his own age before, and the feeling was an odd on. He had known only one-on-one relationships up till this point of his life, and now he felt a bit of agoraphobia creeping into him.
Zaknafein picked out one group of clustered students in particular and studied them. There were about a dozen drow all huddled around one central figure. The drow of interest was dressed in a very fine cloak and the weapons strapped to his sides were of the highest quality of anyone in the group. He waved his arms about in dramatic fashion has he recounted some dramatic tale to those that stood by eager to listen.
"He is Jarlnian Del'Axle," a voice from the side spoke, identifying the drow in question.
Zaknafein turned quickly, his hands instinctively falling to his weapons.
"Easy," the drow said, backing away quickly, but making no move toward his own weapons. "My name is Drillmick of house Faen Tlabbar, sixth house of Menzoberranzan."
Zaknafein relaxed. "My apologies, but you startled me. I am Zaknafein of house Do'Urden." He did not know what rank his house held. "What is so special about him?" he asked, turning back to look at the cluster of drow.
"Jarlnian is a noble of the fourth house. From the rumors I've heard, he thinks quite a bit of himself. I imagine he plans on being first in the class."
"You don't think he shall?" Zaknafein asked. He had not missed the fact that Jarlnian was of the fourth house and Drillmick was of the sixth. Though the naïve drow did not understand how the chaotic city worked yet, he could easily see the jealousy written on Drillmick's face and was smart enough to figure out the rest.
"No," Drillmick said, turning his eyes back to Zaknafein, "he shall not. Del'Axles are not known for their fighting prowess, and this stuck up noble will be no different."
"Are Faen Tlabbars known for their fighting prowess?" Zaknafein asked curiously.
"Are Do'Urdens?" he bit back, not wanting to get into a meaningless debate. "It matters not what houses we are from, for we are not nobles. For us there can be only personally victory, and for me, it will come at the expense of that noble."
Zaknafein decided not to press the issue any further, not understanding why someone should hate another based on nothing other than a name and a title. Even if he had wanted to push the conversation further, the masters of Melee-Magthere came into the courtyard and rounded up all of the students. With the cracks of several whips, the students quickly fell in line, the weapons bringing back painful childhood memories. Zaknafein was not so conditioned, but he followed suit.
They were led inside of the building and maneuvered through several long halls until they stopped at a large oval room. This class was a small one of only 16 students, and they all fit easily into the room. A few students that knew what was going on took a seat and soon the rest followed.
Drillmick sat down next to Zaknafein. It was important to make allies early on in the Academy, for it was a dangerous place if you were not careful. The young fighter from the sixth house had been very intrigued by Zaknafein's movements when he had gone for his weapons after Drillmick had startled him. Zaknafein would do well in this class.
Also, Zaknafein had not given his house's rank when he had introduced himself. This meant either the young drow did not know it, or more likely, that it was so high, it was better left unsaid. In either case, Zaknafein probably did not know about the ranked houses, or the intrigue that existed between them. If Drillmick wanted access to Zaknafein's skills as an ally, he would need to make the union worthwhile by offering information in return.
"There is the Head Master," Drillmick whispered into Zaknafein's ear, "Dantrag Baenre."
Zaknafein had already been staring at the drow, and this revelation explained quite a bit. Dantrag was dressed in a very ornate piwafwi with the symbol of the first house emblazoned across the chest. The cloak was sleeveless, and Dantrag's powerfully muscled arms were displayed prominently with his thumbs hooked on his belt. Hanging just outside his hands were his swords. They were like pieces of art, and Zaknafein wondered how he could get a pair that looked like that.
The most enrapturing feature of the Head Master was his face. He was only 20 years older than the students that sat before him, and that youth was very evident in his features. Instead of weakness, his youth displayed his strength and confidence. He was the youngest Head Master ever, and the other masters at the Academy, some who were more than ten times his age, treated him with the utmost respect and fear.
Dantrag's eyes spanned the group in front of him, taking in each student one by one. His eyes were penetrating and all seeing. With each brief gaze at a student, he mentally predicted their eventual class rank. He had done this evaluation with each of his previous five classes as Head Master, and with the first of those classes just past the halfway point in their time at the Academy, he had been surprisingly accurate.
As Dantrag leveled a gaze on Zaknafein, the young fighter returned it. Zaknafein searched out this Head Master just as much as he was being examined. Zaknafein wished to do well here to make his mother and matron mother proud. If Dantrag was the most powerful drow at the Academy, then Zaknafein had a target to shoot for.
Dantrag's steady posture fell a little as his eyes met with Zaknafein, both drow realizing the strength in the other. The Head Master smiled broadly as he mentally moved the Do'Urden to the front of the class. The staring contest did not last much longer for the Lore Master at the Academy demanded everyone's attention.
"My name is Frian Cal'Trestit. I am the Lore Master here at the Academy. I shall be the only teacher you shall have for the next 50 cycles of Narbondel. The lessons you shall learn from me will not be hard. You will not limp away from this room, as you will from much of your other training. Also, fifty days will seem but a fraction of a second compared to the rest of your ten-year stay.
"Regardless, this will be the most important time that you spend at the Academy. You are all drow. Whether you are from the first house or the last one, you are all servants of Lloth with no more credentials in her eyes than any other. There will be no competition between you other than within the grand melee."
Frian moved about his students as he began his lesson for the day. "Though your respective houses may feud against each other, there must remain a unbreakable union between us as a people. We are drow, and we are hated by every other race in existence! Is this fair? No! But it is the reality of our people, and we must be unified in the Spider Queen to survive!"
"All praise to Lloth!" a student cried.
Frian nodded at the appropriate comment, but readied his whip none-the-less should a student think that it was okay to talk during his lesson. "Some of you might be wondering why we are so hated. I shall tell you. We are hated for no other reason than because we are drow. From our humble beginnings on the surface when we were persecuted by our surface cousins, to when we were driven down into the underdark by all of the surface races we have been hated unjustly. And even now, the other races that dwell with us in the underdark sit around their conference tables planning and plotting against us.
"And for what, I ask you again, for what reason do these other races conspire against us?"
"Because we are drow!" a student cried.
Frian turned on him. "Exactly. We are drow. We are the most powerful race in the underdark and the most prosperous by far. We were feared because of our power, and thus banished to the underdark. The other races thought this would limit our power and doom us to die, but we found the Spider Queen and are now more powerful than ever!"
"All praise to Lloth!"
"And what do we ask of the other races? Do we drive them away from us? Do we enact the punishment they deserve by ridding the world of their existence? For surely that is what they deserve. No! We try to live in peace with the Spider Queen, but they continue to attack, and so we must defend ourselves."
"Surely we must have done something to warrant this persecution?"
The question caught the Lore Master completely off guard, and he fumbled with his whip as he turned to face the student. "What is your name?"
"Zaknafein of house Do'Urden."
"Well, Zaknafein of the thirteenth house," he added for the rest of the drow in the room, "we did nothing. Nothing, I tell you!"
Zaknafein coward under the outburst, but Frian turned his attention to the rest of his students. "'But surely Master Frian, we must have done something to deserved this awful persecution,'" he said, mimicking Zaknafein's voice as if the student were but 5 years old. "'Surely the other races would not act unjustly. Surely we are deserving of everything we receive.' I tell you NO!
"The other races might claim that we have waged war on them, but that is only our reaction to their persecution, not the cause of it. And how should we react? Should we stand here defenseless and allow the other races to pound us into oblivion? And trust me, if we gave them the opportunity, they would. No! With the Spider Queen behind us, we shall meet each threat and push them back until we can reclaim what is ours?"
"The surface?" a student asked.
Frian thought it might be Zaknafein, but it was not. "Bah! Leave the surface with its cursed lights to the faeries and the short lived-humans. Down here, in the comfortable protection of the underdark, Lloth is with us, and woe to any drow that ventures to the surface without her protection."
Zaknafein was having his doubts. He had not been drilled with this Lloth propaganda as a youth as had the rest of the students here, and now his mature intellect was having a hard time accepting it. He wished he could hear the story told by one of the other races. Zaknafein knew that was a wish that would never come true. Frian and the other masters would be the only ones to tell these students about the history of their race, and it would be up to Zaknafein to determine what he wished to believe.
***
As promised, Lore Master Frian Cal'Trestit, was the only teacher they had for the first fifty days. His classes lasted three hours each, and they took place three times a day at morning, noon, and night. The students went to bed each night with thoughts of hatred and revenge coursing through them. Fights often broke out and were usually settled only when a master made his appearance. When that happened, neither side won, for the ruthless masters punished both sides equally.
Zaknafein saw this cruel treatment of the students by the masters and had a hard time believing the drow were as innocent as Frian claimed. Zaknafein quickly realized that the classroom was not the place to pose his questions about the legitimacy of Master Frian's tales. The master was too learned and eloquent at what he did to be debated by a first year student. Instead, Zaknafein turned to his fellow classmates.
This had proven to be less than wise as well. Several fights had broken out as a result of Zaknafein's "sacrilegious" questions. The masters had to be quick to break these fights up, for while Zaknafein might be unsure of himself when it came to drow history, he knew how to handle himself in a fight.
This unnatural curiosity did not escape the attention of the masters, particularly, Head Master Dantrag Baenre. When Dantrag had been just a master, he had fraternized with his students more than he should have, and as a result had gathered even more respect than his fellow masters. Now that he was Head Master, those students followed his every command as if he were their own matron mother.
Dantrag decided that his prediction of Zaknafein finishing first in his class could only take place if the young male was taught his place. Dantrag also thought it best if a student was the one to do it. Craniasti Do'Juorian, was a noble of the eighth house. He was a seventh year student and ranked first in his class.
Zaknafein was eating dinner in the cafeteria when Craniasti approached him. No one sat near Zaknafein, not even Drillmick, who had decided it was best to leave this one alone. First year students were heavily burdened with mundane tasks to keep them busy between classes, and they had very little time for meals. Zaknafein was very hastily shoveling in his meager portions when the older student sat down across from him. Zaknafein also sensed two other drow behind him, and he braced himself for trouble.
"The word is that you have some doubts about what Lore Master Frian has been teaching," Craniasti started in a low tone. The cafeteria was never very loud, but Zaknafein noticed that even the usual whispers had disappeared, and everyone in the room was trained on his table. "It seems that you do not think being a drow is as honorable as it should be. It seems to me that you are harboring other ideas about what we are."
Zaknafein looked the noble student in the eye as Craniasti pulled a long dagger out of his cloak. "Perhaps you would like to tell me what you think a drow really is. Perhaps you would like to tell me who I really am."
Zaknafein knew a fight was coming. Instead of honoring the noble with a response, he looked back down to the unfinished hash that lay on his plate, knowing he would not be able to eat the rest of it. He casually picked up his spoon with his left hand and began to work on his meal.
"Look at me when I talk to you," Craniasti said as he swung his dagger down onto Zaknafein's plate. Zaknafein's other hand moved like a viper, scooping up his fork and blocking the blow. He amazingly caught the vicious attack in the center prongs of his fork and was able to wrench the weapon out of his opponent's hand.
Behind him, the other two drow began to attack, but Zaknafein was one step ahead of them. He flung a spoon full of the spicy hash over his left shoulder and turned to his right. The drow on his left took the food in the face, stinging his eyes and momentarily blinding him.
The drow on his right attacked with his short sword, but Zaknafein deflected the blow to the side so it slammed into the table, shattering a glass and cutting the attacking drow's hand. Zaknafein dropped his spoon and picked up his dinner knife. Before the cut drow could even retract his hand, Zaknafein drove the knife into the table, pinning the sleeve of the drow's cloak.
As the unfortunate attacker tried to free himself, Zaknafein drove his right elbow into his face, while his left elbow slammed into the blinded drow's gut. The first drow doubled over, and Zaknafein's fist snapped up into his face.
The attack happened so quickly, and both drow were taken out so efficiently, that Craniasti had barely recognized how his attack had been defeated when Zaknafein turned his attention to the noble. Craniasti began to pull his sword as Zaknafein reached for the dagger.
Dantrag watched from the corner of the room, smiling. Either outcome would have been good for him, for Zaknafein needed to learn his place, but this outcome was just as entertaining. However, as Zaknafein brought the dagger up by his ear and prepared to hurl it at Craniasti across the table, Dantrag froze. If the noble was killed, Zaknafein would not live long enough to even make it to his first grand melee.
Craniasti also froze, for he did not even have his sword out yet, and the dagger was on its way. The whole cafeteria had their eyes transfixed on the projectile, and even though Zaknafein had thrown it as hard as he could, it seemed to flip in slow motion toward its target.
The handle of the heavy dagger struck Craniasti in the forehead and he crumpled to floor. He fainted almost as much out of fear as from the blow to the head. Zaknafein did not even bother to look around as he quickly stood (for he had conducted the entire battle without once leaving his chair) and left the cafeteria.
Dantrag walked over to the vacant table as soon as Zaknafein had left, staring at the three downed drow. They were each seventh year students and all ranked within the top ten in their class. Not only had Zaknafein not drawn a weapon or taken a hit, but he had defeated these drow with his silverware. The Head Master chuckled and walked away.
There was one other drow in the room that paid the area special attention after the action was over. Jarlnian Del'Axle had been watching Zaknafein for some time, very curious about the questions the Do'Urden was asking. Jarlnian had been confident on entering the Academy that his views on Lloth would not be very popular among the other students and had kept them to himself. Now it looked like there was potentially one other student who might share his ideas.
As Jarlnian left the cafeteria to go about his tedious chores, he made a note to link up with this Zaknafein as quickly as possible. If he kept beating up seventh year students, he would not last very long.
***
That night Zaknafein lay on his cot staring at the bunk above him. This evening had brought him his most unnerving fight so far. He did not know who the three drow students were that had confronted him, but he knew they were not in his class. This meant two things.
One was that word of his questions was expanding further than his own class. Either his classmates deemed it necessary to tell the upperclassmen they worked for that there was a student in their class asking peculiar questions, or the masters were spreading the word. Either way, it was not very comforting.
He had thought that his questions were innocent enough. He did not understand that his upbringing differed so greatly from each of the other students. The "truths" of the drow society had been literally beaten into them at a very early age. Now Lore Master Frian was just repeating what they already knew. Granted, he did so with much more flair and artistry, and the results left the students excited and angry instead of bloodied and bruised, but it was the same message.
The second thing that worried him about his fight today was that his unique questions were not only spreading throughout the Academy, but they inspired other students to attack him. If he was so wrong, why didn't anyone say why? Instead, every time he posed a difficult question he was met with fists and blades. He was accused of disgracing Lloth and that he should be punished.
He wished someone would just give him a straight answer. A pebble bounced off his chest. Zaknafein's hands flashed toward his weapons as he turned his head. The drow in the cot across from his was sitting up. It was Jarlnian Del'Axle. Jarlnian had used his influence as a noble to convince the drow who normally slept here that he did not want to tonight. To the misplaced student, it mattered very little where he slept, and he had agreed.
Now Zaknafein looked at the noble, wondering if he was going to be assaulted for his curiosity again. He doubted it. Jarlnian would not risk disturbing the night. The masters at the Academy had made it very clear that there was to be no talking during the night. It was very easy to comply with this for their days were so busy that few had the stamina to stay up.
"That was a very impressive display you put on this evening, Zak," Jarlnian signed in code. Since he was talking in code, he would have had to spell out Zaknafein's name, thus the contraction.
Zak looked around at the other students, and Jarlnian was a little worried he did not understand the hand code. He realized that as a noble he was taught many things the other students were not, and it was possible that this common male had not learned it.
Zaknafein was actually hesitating because he wanted to make sure no one else was watching them. Also, he was a little surprised at Jarlnian's mastery of the code. Jarlnian continued. "You took down three armed seventh year students without drawing a weapon. You should have killed them."
This demanded a response. "What for, Jarl? They were poorly trained and unskilled. There was not reason to use lethal force."
Jarlnian smiled at Zak's use of the code. "I would think before you repeat those sentiments to anyone else. The one you knocked out with the dagger was a noble son of the eighth house. He is ranked first in his class. You should be careful. They will come again for you."
"Why?" Zak asked. "I did nothing but defend myself. I caused none of them any lasting injury. Besides, they started it."
"You injured his pride," Jarl responded. "That is a lasting injury, and it festers more than you can know."
"They would be foolish to attack me again. I have proven the better fighter without drawing a weapon. If they attack again, I will defend myself with my blades, and they will be lucky to walk away."
Jarl smiled at the student's cockiness. "I do not doubt your skill, but you are overlooking a very important fact. They know of your skill as well, and if they return, they will not allow you to defend yourself. You will fall asleep one night, and I shall find you the next morn with a dagger in your chest."
"Where is the honor in that?" Zak continued to question. "If he is as important as you say, what could be gained by killing someone as low as myself in my sleep. A child could do that. How would he prove himself the better fighter unless he engaged me straight up?"
"He is not the better fighter, and he knows it," Jarl responded. "He knows it, you know it, and everyone knows it. No one expects him to challenge you straight up, but they also do not expect him to just accept the disgrace you dealt him. If he kills you in your sleep that means that he survived the encounter while you did not. His honor is regained in the fact that he survived. You assume that there are rules of engagement."
"And you approve of this?" Zak asked, the disgust on his face clearly visible.
Jarl smiled broadly. "It is the drow way. It is our way."
Zak did not like the response, but he could tell that Jarl did not like it either. It was, however, the truth. Zak wanted to push this issue, but Jarl continued. "The grand melee is only fifteen days away. Don't think that your prowess has gone unnoticed. I hear things. No one likes you very much. You are from a low ranked house, you do not understand Lloth, and you are obviously skilled with your weapons. You will be a target when the grand melee comes."
"I can defend myself."
"I've seen you handle yourself against the simple threats that occur from time to time when no blood is going to be shed, but when we get to the grand melee, and the weapons are no longer lethal, your classmates will not feel restrained in any way. There are sixteen of us. Can you stand up to fifteen to one odds? You might have had an advantage since most would have focused on the students belonging to ranked houses, but your secret is out."
"What are you suggesting? Or are you just trying to be helpful?" Zak knew exactly where Jarl was going with this.
"I suggest a partnership. If we join together we stand a better chance of survival."
Zak looked curiously at this noble. "My doubts about our 'Glorious Spider Queen' do not offend you?" Even in the hand code the sarcasm came through very clearly.
"They intrigue me. I have an open mind. I like to hear both sides of the story before I make my decision. Yours is a refreshing view point."
"How would a partnership between us be beneficial?" Zak continued, not yet willing to join up with this opportunistic drow.
"Others will be making teams when the time comes. I doubt you will get many other offers. Together we stand a better chance of survival."
"You mean you stand a better chance of survival," Zak corrected. He remembered what Drillmick had said about Del'Axles' fighting ability.
"We both do. If anyone comes for you, they will need to go through me. If anyone comes at me, they will need to go through you."
Zak was motionless for a while. "Some how I feel I am getting the short end of this deal."
"Then we have a deal!" Jarl signed emphatically. "You will not be sorry, I promise. My skill with my blades is unsurpassed. Uh, except maybe by your own. And perhaps Dantrag's. But I am good. Do not fear for that. I have-" Jarl continued signing long into the night, but Zak closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep, hopeful that his time at the Academy now might not be as lonely as it had started out.
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