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The night before the fifth grand melee Zaknafein was having serious doubts about his continuing partnership with the noble of the fourth house. He truly enjoyed their late night conversations, and without the flamboyant drow, life at the Academy would be very dull and pointless indeed. But Jarlnian was proving less than helpful when it came to the grand melee.
Outside of the melee cavern, Jarlnian and Zaknafein made a mockery of the sparring sessions and training exercises that the masters put them through. Zak did so because they were all far too easy, and Jarl because he made a mockery of everything. The more the masters tried to drill technique and discipline into his fighting style, the more he disregarded their instruction.
Jarl always defeated his opponent during those sparring sessions, but as soon as they picked up the padded sparring poles and entered the cavern, all that skill and fighting desire seemed to leave him, and he fell to the first or second opponent that faced him.
"And where do you plan on finishing this year?" Zak signed to his friend after the other students had gone to sleep. "Ninth? Tenth? Last?"
"Tenth sounds good," Jarl signed back. "I'd like to keep my demise consistent."
"Why? Why don't you fight?"
Jarl took his time as he thought about the question. He turned it around. "Why do you fight? You are the best fighter in the class. Why do you feel you need to continually prove it? Why not let Quinter or Yer'Athor take the top spot for once. Lloth knows they want it."
"You want me to throw the fight?" Zak was shocked. "But that would be dishonest."
Jarl actually laughed out loud. He quieted himself and looked around. A few of the other students rolled over, but none seemed to have been woken. "What color is your skin?! What is this sense of honor that you have? It will only destroy you Zaknafein."
Zak looked at Jarl and was sorely puzzled.
"You ask why I do not fight; I shall tell you. I want to survive. I won the first grand melee. I know where my skill lies in regard to the rest of the class. That is good enough for me."
"You feel that you are the best in the class?" Zak asked, his mockery creeping easily into his hand code.
"There is your pride and honor again. Foolish drow. I do not care if I finish atop my class. I know my skill, and I am comfortable with that. You will graduate first in this class, do not worry. Unless some jealous student searches out your back with a dagger, you will have the honor you so desire."
The seventh year students had never made a second attempt on Zak. It was not because they did not want to, but because Dantrag had promised a horrible death to anyone that made a move against the prize student.
"You will graduate and probably become the weapon master for your house. You will have immediate respect and praise as one of the best fighters in the entire city. Do you think Dantrag and Uthegental will enjoy having competition from a lowly common male from the thirteenth house? You think you will be safe from attack?
"There are twenty thousand drow in this city," Jarl continued. "If half of them are female, the highest rank you will ever be able to achieve is ten thousand and one. If you walk outside of this city to live among the gnomes or dwarves, do you believe your skill will gain you respect there? You will be dead before you can tell them your name. How will your honor and pride help you then?
"The art of survival is something you need to learn, Zak. Though you have not had any formal teaching, you probably know more about the true nature of Lloth than the top graduate of Arach-Tinilith. You know more about the art of fighting than all but maybe Dantrag himself. But you still have everything to learn about how to survive."
"You are a coward," Zak replied simply. "You do not wish to take on the responsibility of the skill you posses, so you deny it exists and hide in a cloak of ineptitude. You do not wish stand up for what you believe, so you bow to the Spider Queen and ask for more beatings. You are a phony."
Zak was trying to incite his friend, but Jarl merely laughed at the accusatory words. "Perhaps, but I plan on living a long prosperous life. I doubt you will live to see your fourth century."
"When we fight tomorrow," Zak said, "you and I will not be partners."
"As you wish," Jarl replied, but Zak had already rolled over.
***
True to his word, when the grand melee started, Zak was on the other side of the cavern from Jarl. Jarl sighed as he readied his poles against his first opponent. Zak's accusations were not as meaningless to Jarl as he let on. Part of him wished that he were first in the class. He and Zaknafein lived oppositely from the rest of the students. They did not lie, cheat, or steal to get ahead. They did not sacrifice their morals in the face of Lloth. Yet they succeeded at what they did.
Jarl took that rebellion one step farther by refusing to fight in the traditional way of the drow. It would be nice to show the masters that they were not as smart as they thought and he could be the first student in the class. With this in mind, Jarl mowed down Drillmick before the drow could even realize that his enemy was not teamed up with Zak and should be easier than normal.
Jarl decided he did not want to graduate at the bottom of his class like all the other Del'Axles did. Matron Reinela would skin him alive. But there was no reason to rise to the top before the last battle. Still, as his next opponent walked toward him, he decided he could have a little fun while he waited for that final battle.
Dantrag was disguised as Quinter. Gromph Baenre, his older brother was a master at Sorcere and had disguised Dantrag quite convincingly, making him even appear two inches shorter to match Quinter. The student from House Baenre had not wanted to sit out, but neither did he want to fight with Dantrag.
As Dantrag approached Jarl early in the melee, he smiled. He was supposed to be keeping an eye on this one, but ever since the Del'Axle noble had started to drop in class ranking, Dantrag had paid very little attention to him. Dantrag noticed the ease in which Jarl dispatched Drillmick, the student who had knocked him out the two previous years, and wondered if Jarl would actually be fighting up to his potential today.
"Looking to leave the melee early this year, Quinter?" Jarl said as he slowly walked toward the Head Master of the Academy.
"Like in the first year?" Dantrag replied, wanting to remind Jarl how he had defeated Quinter in the first grand melee.
"A rematch then," Jarl said, deciding he would put the Baenre out quickly.
The two joined. Dantrag kept it simple, not wanting to reveal his true identity right away. He had watched Jarl's style during the first battle against Quinter and felt he could pick it apart rather easily. The things he had seen were things only a master would see, and revealing them to Jarlnian would not be wise. Instead, he felt he could defeat Jarl with traditional attacks.
Jarl had other ideas. His spinning poles and twirling limbs stayed defensive only briefly and soon launched into an all out attack. Jarl tried to pretend that he was back in the Del'Axle gym, fending off four different fighters at once. With as quickly as Dantrag moved his own poles, that was not hard to imagine.
Dantrag was quickly realizing how Quinter had lost that first encounter. The Head Master had absolutely no idea where the next attack was coming from and barely avoided or blocked the lightning fast poles. Dantrag threw his caution to the wind and began to counter with blocks and attacks that Jarl had never seen before.
As Dantrag's boot came up to accurately kick aside one of Jarl's attacks, and his other pole was blocked neatly with one of the Baenre's two weapons, the second one went jabbing toward Jarl's face. The Del'Axle fell back as he leaned out of the way of the attack, somersaulting backwards several feet. He came up in a low crouch. "That was a new one."
Dantrag could see the sudden caution in his opponent. He did not think his game was up yet, but it soon would be. "You'll find I'm full of surprises."
Jarl did not contemplate the situation for too long and leaped up into an attack. Dantrag stood his ground, deflecting each of the attacks away flawlessly, rolling each parry past the tiny hilts of the wooden poles and rapping Jarl in the knuckles. The hits were too quick and minor for the masters above to see, but Jarl felt them. He also knew that he was being played with.
No matter what his eyes told him, this was not the same drow he had fought four years ago. A sudden idea occurred to him and he let up on his attacks. Dantrag jumped at the chance to take the offensive and pummeled the backpedaling student. Jarl began to throw in his old style parries. As Dantrag tried to sweep each of his attacks into the next one, he found that his poles were meeting far more resistance than they should.
Jarl smiled when he saw the hitches in the Baenre's style and began to turn the tide of the battle. Dantrag was off his rhythm now. He could see the holes in Jarl's defense each time he threw in one of the unorthodox blocks, but Jarl knew they were there too and covered them up before Dantrag could respond. Instead, the Head Master was kept guessing as to when the next hard block was going to come and was out of sync.
Jarl could taste victory as he bore down on his opponent, almost knocking him down with the last powerful block. As Dantrag stumbled and Jarl moved over him, the Del'Axle felt an explosion of pain jolt through his back, and he dropped his weapons and fell to the ground.
Yer'Athor stood over him grinning broadly, holding his long pole tightly in both hands. The large drow turned to finish off who he thought was Quinter, but Dantrag was not as bad off has Yer'Athor had thought. The Head Master was a whirlwind of poles as he charged the overmatched student. Yer'Athor was hit a dozen times within the first five seconds, and he dropped his weapons crying out loud that he was beaten.
Dantrag did not even give the big drow a second look as he moved away from the two downed drow to search out his next victim. From the ground, Jarl scanned the catwalks above. After a thorough search did not reveal Dantrag, he smiled and let out a low whistle. "Good luck Zak."
***
Zak was fighting with extra determination. He tried to use the comments made by Jarl the night before as motivation. The two drow believed in the same things, but while Jarl was willing to compromise to avoid conflict, Zak was beginning to realize that he welcomed conflict if it arose because of his beliefs. This was not exactly the case during the grand melee, for each student fought whoever was near them regardless of personal beliefs and convictions, but to Zak, knowing what he did about all the other students, he could not help but bring the "Good vs Bad" conflict into this melee.
Every foe he defeated proved that a drow could exist and prosper without embracing Lloth. And so Zaknafein mowed down his opponents with a viciousness and efficiency that scared the masters who watched from above. Often they were so sure of Zaknafein's victories that they called out students even before the finishing blow fell, knowing that it would come within seconds.
With the other three quality students involved with each other in the far end of the cavern, Zak met no real challenges until it was just he and Dantrag left. Zak had fought with Quinter twice before, and was looking forward to a more worthy opponent than the ones he had just dealt with. The masters above looked on with interest, for they knew who Quinter really was.
Neither fighter spoke as they walked toward each other. Dantrag wanted to really see how good this drow was before he defeated him. He kept his attacks routine and fundamental. They were executed with incredible strength and speed and would have felled anyone else in the class other than perhaps Jarl, but they were nothing that Zak had not seen before.
Zak responded as expected, blocking and countering the moves perfectly. The masters above smiled at the display. The sparring the two fighters were doing was nothing short of art. It was the best example of perfection that any of the observers had ever seen before.
After several minutes, Dantrag was satisfied and decided to end it. He ducked a high cut and locked poles with his right weapon as his left searched out Zak's knee. As expected, Zak sidestepped the strike and brought his high weapon down to ward off the attack. Instead of backing away, Dantrag rolled in the opposite direction of Zak's sidestep, coming up almost behind the other fighter.
His right weapon pushed off of Zak's, keeping it from fending off his new position. Zak quickly swept his other weapon down around his back to block the expected cut and then spun around with his first weapon already in line for Dantrag's second attack. Now Zak stood over Dantrag with both of the Head Master's attacks defeated and his momentum lost. Dantrag was forced to hop backwards.
The Head Master was shocked. He had crossed up his opponent and attacked him from behind. Zak had not hopped or rolled out of the way. He had not leaped over the attack or tried some risky maneuver. Instead he had calmly executed traditional blocks and counters, defeating Dantrag so easily that it was almost as if he had expected the move.
Dantrag was not finished yet. The two fighters stood ten feet apart, and Dantrag threw one of his poles at Zak's head. Instead of frantically bringing both his weapons up to fend off the projectile like most students would, Zak simply brushed the pole away with his right weapon and easily turned away Dantrag's charge with his other one. He then brought his first weapon down toward the Head Master's vulnerable shoulder, forcing Dantrag to roll to the side.
As if Zak had planned it, Dantrag moved to the opposite side of where his thrown weapon had fallen. Zak did not become over anxious as he attacked his prone opponent like most students would, but kept his attacks rhythmic and under control. Dantrag swiped his single weapon back and forth desperately, trying to keep the skilled student off him. He finally managed to work himself into a position where he could scamper off and retrieve his thrown pole.
Dantrag was feeling embarrassed now. It looked like Zak was outfighting him, but all Dantrag was really doing was underestimating his opponent. Neither of his first two attacks would have taken out a really skilled fighter, but they would have at least made them improvise. Instead, Zak refused to loose his technique and as a result, appeared to be the better fighter.
Dantrag had only one option left. He walked slowly toward Zak, pumping his left arm several times, faking another thrown weapon. Zak did not flinch. Instead, the student initiated the next confrontation. Dantrag staggered under the blows, but slowly regained his edge and began to turn his parries into attacks. His moves stayed high, bringing Zak's weapons up even with his shoulders.
Dantrag threw in two more quick swipes at Zak's head and then stepped back and shoved his weapons forward, low and angled in from shoulder width apart. It was the double thrust low. The masters watching above had seen the move coming as soon as Dantrag had begun his high attacks. Zak also knew it was coming and accepted the high attacks as he contemplated what he was going to do about it.
The correct parry was called the cross-down. Zak did not like it. The idea was to cross you weapons down in an "X" to catch the thrusting weapons, keeping them down and away from your body. It might defeat the attack, but it left you with your blades pointing at the ground with no ability to counter.
Zaknafein did not like the parry for it brought no advantage. Regardless of what was possessing "Quinter" to fight so well, Zak knew that he was going to have to end this fight with something creative. He reluctantly crossed his weapons down, catching both of Dantrag's sword poles before they struck home.
On the spur of the moment, Zak released one of his blocking poles, hoping to keep both of his opponent's weapons busy with his left pole while his right came up aimed toward Dantrag's side. The Head Master smiled as he angled one of his weapons down and released the pressure from his other weapon.
With the extra effort Zak had put into his remaining blocking pole, when Dantrag let up suddenly on his attack, Zak spun to the side, suddenly off balance. His left weapon went hard to the left and his right attack went high. Dantrag easily ducked under the pole and kicked with his foot, catching Zak behind the knee.
Zak stumbled backwards, his weapons out wide as he tried to regain his balance, but Dantrag was on him quickly, striking him twice in the side and jabbing him once in the gut. The defeated student fell to his back with Dantrag standing over him, his pole resting against Zak's neck.
"The cross-down is the correct parry," he said, dropping the magical disguise he had been wearing.
Zak was at a loss. He had thought something was strange about the way "Quinter" had fought, but the intensity of the battle had not allowed him to speculate as to what was going on. Now that he saw he had been fighting Dantrag, he cursed himself for his foolish parry. There had been no way it could have worked against the Head Master.
Dantrag helped Zak to his feet. "You shall retain the top ranking," he said. "Quinter will keep the second ranking he earned from last year. You fought well."
Zak thanked him for his praise, but he heard the hollow quality of Dantrag's voice. It was the voice of someone who felt they were invincible. Zak knew the Head Master was not invincible. He had fought even with him and had actually gained the advantage several times before his foolish maneuver with the cross-down parry. He would never make that mistake again.
As far as the other masters were concerned, this experiment had been a complete failure. Not only was Dantrag's ego bigger than ever, but now Zak had been conditioned to think that each time he tried to improvise, he gave his skilled opponents the advantage. Not only had his defeat come as a result of poor improvisation, but each of the times he had gained the upper hand it had been the direct result of one of Dantrag's ill conceived maneuvers.
Jarl came up to Zak to congratulate his friend on fighting Dantrag so evenly, but Zak was not in the mood to talk and mumbled a reply before storming out of the cavern. "Foolish pride," Jarl muttered under his breath before he followed the rest of the students back to the Academy.
***
Dantrag was relaxing at his desk in his private chambers in the Academy. As Head Master, his office and chambers were even nicer than the ones he would have as weapon master back home, but that did not change the fact that he wished to be out of this position and back in the Baenre compound.
He had just finished his thirteenth year as Head Master, and he was wondering how much longer he would have to keep this position. He imagined that in order to please his mother, he would have to stay as long as Jarlnian Del'Axle stayed within the Academy. He and Zaknafein had just finished their ninth year and would start their tenth after the week layoff between years at the Academy.
Right now Dantrag was going over the list of graduating students and assigning them to patrols. He also had the responsibility of picking a new master at the Academy, for one of the older masters was returning to his house to become a weapon master. Dantrag was deep in thought when his door opened. "Knock before entering!" he scolded without looking up. "I shall not be disturbed."
"I apologize. I did not know," came the response.
Dantrag looked up quickly from the parchments on his desk and saw his oldest sister standing in the doorway. He nearly tripped over himself as he scampered out from behind his desk and bowed deeply before the high priestess. "I'm sorry, Triel. I did not know it was you. I must have missed your message."
"I gave no message as to my visit," she responded. "A male should always be ready to accommodate a female."
"Of course," Dantrag responded. He stayed in his bow a little longer until he realized that his sister was telling him to accommodate her. "Please take a seat." He motioned toward the chair opposite his desk.
Triel wanted to make a comment that she did not need to be told when or where she could sit, but decided to make her point by sitting behind her brother's desk instead of in front of it. Dantrag eyed up her choice of seating with quiet resentment. "Would you like a drink?"
"If I wanted a drink I would have told you to get me one," she replied curtly. "I did not come for a social call. In fact, I did not come for you at all."
"Gromph?" Dantrag asked, referring to his older brother.
Triel nodded. "Sit down." Dantrag did as he was told and took a place across from his sister as she leaned back in the Head Master's comfortable chair. "Your brother is going to be made Head Master of Sorcere for this upcoming year. Our house will be honored to have two Head Masters out of the three."
"For a while," Dantrag responded.
"Oh?" Triel said in a sarcastic fashion. "Do you know something I do not? I believe Matron Baenre assigned you to this position. Have you some special intuition that allows you access to our matron mother's wishes before she makes them known to me?"
If Triel were one of Dantrag's students, she would have been dead after her first sarcastic comment. Now the Head Master of the Academy was forced to sit in his own private chambers and take abuse from his sister while she reclined in his chair. Still, he was not stupid enough to let any of that anger show. "Matron Baenre placed me here to oversee one of my students. He will be graduating next year. Our matron mother has promised that I would become our weapon master after my time here."
"I am not aware of any such promise," Triel responded. "You have been put here not to oversee Jarlnian Del'Axle's training, but to determine if he is really a noble of the fourth house. Your responsibilities regarding that drow do not end once he graduates but when you have completed your task. After which, our matron mother will give you another task. Whether that task is to become our weapon master or to clean out the sewers beneath our house, it is for Matron Baenre to decide, not you."
Dantrag was fuming now. He could kill her right now; he was sure of that. He knew she had some spells that she could cast within a heartbeat, but Dantrag did not think it would take him that long. She was very vulnerable right now, and they both knew it. They also both knew that if Dantrag killed Triel, or even thought about it openly, Matron Baenre would find out, and Dantrag would wish he was dead.
"And how is your task coming along?" Triel continued. "You have been observing Jarlnian for nine years now. Have you learned what we asked of you and just forgotten to tell us?"
Dantrag took special notice of Triel's use of personal pronouns. Some how she thought that what ever tasks their matron mother had given him some how also came from her. She wanted Dantrag to think of her as equal with their matron mother. It would not work.
"I believe Jarlnian is currently ranked eleventh in his class," Dantrag said. "He fights like a Del'Axle. He is not worth our attention or concern."
"It is not for you to decide what is important to our house or to Matron Baenre," Triel scolded. "What you think is immaterial. If I understand correctly, Jarlnian won the grand melee the first year. He defeated a fighter from our house to gain the title. Yet you feel he is not skilled?"
"His style is perplexing," Dantrag explained. "He does not fight like a drow warrior but as a court jester with no rhyme or reason to his actions. He got lucky that is all. He could never pose a significant threat to a trained fighter."
"I understand you fought him a few years ago in the grand melee," Triel stated. "How did you stand up to him then?"
Dantrag was shocked. How did she know about that? Dantrag had indeed entered the melee and had fought against Jarlnian, but no one outside of the Academy should know. Dantrag had almost lost his fight against Jarlnian and had only survived when Yer'Athor had attacked the Del'Axle from behind. "I won the encounter," Dantrag said flatly.
"Indeed," Triel agreed, her voice hinting that she knew exactly how the battle had gone. "So after nine years you have learned absolutely nothing. Actually, I don't know what out matron mother expected from you."
"I have over 200 students under me and many other responsibilities to handle. I can not alwa-"
"Silence!" Triel screamed. "Your loyalty toward your matron mother supercedes any other responsibilities. If Matron Baenre told you to kill each of your students, you would do so or suffer the wrath of Lloth. You have no excuse for failing other than your own incompetence."
"If I were to have given Jarlnian special attention, it might have alerted house Del'Axle as to our investigation. I did not want betray our matron mother. Therefore I have shown none of the students preferential treatment."
"Does that go for Zaknafein as well?"
Dantrag did not know why Triel's extensive knowledge continued to shock him, but it did.
"Stupid male!" Triel said when she saw the look on her brother's face. "You underestimate our ability to gather information. You also overestimate your importance to our house. If you fail in this, do not think that your skill with your weapons will save you. Your talents are the result of your heritage and Lloth's closeness with our house. Any future son that comes from our matron mother's loins will no doubt be just as skilled as you are. You are not indispensable. Weapon Master Drelmn is not as skilled as you, but he is an excellent teacher and has served our house well. We do not need a new weapon master."
Dantrag swallowed his pride and nodded his head. "I shall learn of this student's true identity. I will not fail you."
Triel rose with a smile on her face. "Very good. You would be wise to visit your brother soon to congratulate him on his new position. Our matron mother does so like it when her sons do well."
Dantrag said nothing more as he watched his sister leave his office. Jarlnian would be starting his six months at Sorcere soon. Maybe Dantrag would pay his brother a visit.
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