still.
"Finish the strike” Malice said to Drizzt. Drizzt looked at
his scimitar, then to Malice, unable to believe what he was
hearing.
"Maya's champion must be killed” Briza snarled.
"I cannot-" Drizzt began.
"Kill!" Malice roared, and this time the word carried the
weight of a magical command.
"Thrust!" Briza likewise commanded.
Drizzt felt their words compelling his hand to action.
Thoroughly disgusted with the thought of murdering a
helpless foe, he concentrated with all of his mental strength
to resist. While he managed to deny the commands for a
few seconds, Drizzt found that he could not pull the
weapon away.
"Kill!" Malice screamed.
"Strike!" yelled Briza.
It went on for several more agonizing seconds. Sweat
beaded on Drizzt's brow. Then the young drow's willpower
broke. His scimitar slipped quickly between Byuchyuch's
ribs and found the unfortunate creature's heart. Briza re-
leased Byuchyuch from her holding spell then, to let Drizzt
see the agony on the phony drow's face and hear the gur-
gles as the dying Byuchyuch slipped to the floor.
Drizzt could not find his breath as he stared at his blood-
stained weapon.
It was Maya's turn to act. She clipped Drizzt on the shoul-
der with her mace, knocking him to the floor.
"You killed my champion!" she growled. "Now you must
fight me!"
Drizzt rolled back to his feet, away from the enraged fe-
male. He had no intention of fighting, but before he could
even drop his weapons, Malice read his thoughts and
warned, "If you do not fight, Maya will kill you!"
"This is not the way” Drizzt protested, but his words were
lost in the ring of adamantite as he parried a heavy blow
with one scimitar.
He was now into it, whether he liked it or not. Maya was a
skilled fighter-all females spent many hours training with
weapons-and she was stronger than Drizzt. But Drizzt was
Zak's son, the prime student, and when he admitted to him-
self that he had no way out of this predicament, he came in
at Maya's mace and shield with every cunning maneuver he
had been taught.
Scimitars weaved and dipped in a dance that awed Briza
and Maya. Malice hardly noticed, caught in the midst of yet
another mighty spell. Malice never doubted that Drizzt
could defeat his sister, and she had incorporated her expec-
tations into the plan.
Drizzt's moves were all defensive as he continued to hope
for some semblance of sanity to come over his mother, and
that this whole thing would be stopped. He wanted to back
Maya up, cause her to stumble, and end the fight by putting
her in a helpless position. Drizzt had to believe that Briza
and Malice would not compel him to kill Maya as he had
killed Byuchyuch.
Finally, Maya did slip. She threw her shield out to deflect
an arcing scimitar but became overbalanced in the block,
and her arm went wide. Drizzt's other blade knifed in, only
to nick at Maya's breast and force her back.
Malice's spell caught the weapon in midthrust.
The blood-stained adamantite blade writhed to life and
Drizzt found himself holding the tail of a serpent, a fanged
viper that turned back against him!
The enchanted snake spat its venom in Drizzt's eyes,
blinding him, then he felt the pain of Briza's whip. All six
snake heads of the awful weapon bit into Drizzt's back, tear-
ing through his new armor and jolting him in excruciating
pain. He crumbled down into a curled position, helpless as
Briza snapped the whip in, again and again.
"Never strike at a drow female!" she screamed as she beat
Drizzt into unconsciousness.
An hour later, Drizzt opened his eyes. He was in his bed,
Matron Malice standing over him. The high priestess had
tended to his wounds, but the sting remained, a vivid re-
minder of the lesson. But it was not nearly as vivid as the
blood that still stained Drizzt's scimitar.
"The armor will be replaced” Malice said to him. "You are
a drow warrior now. You have earned it” She turned and
walked out of the room, leaving Drizzt to his pain and his
fallen innocence.
"Do not send him” Zak argued as emphatically as he
dared. He stared up at Matron Malice, the smug queen on
her high throne of stone and black velvet. As always, Briza
and Maya stood obediently by her sides.
"He is a drow fighter” Malice replied, her tone still con-
trolled. "He must go to the Academy. It is our way”
Zak looked around helplessly. He hated this place, the
chapel anteroom, with its sculptures of the Spider Queen
leering down at him from every angle, and with Malice
sitting-towering-above him from her seat of power.
Zak shook the images away and regained his courage, re-
minding himself that this time he had something worth ar-
guing about.
"Do not send him!" he growled. "They will ruin him!"
Matron Malice's hands clenched down on the rock arms
of her great chair.
"Already Drizzt is more skilled than half of those in the
Academy” Zak continued quickly, before the matron's an-
ger burst forth. "Allow me two more years, and I will make
him the finest swordsman in all of Menzoberranzan!"
Malice eased back on her seat. From what she had seen of
her son's progress, she could not deny the possibilities of
Zak's claim. "He goes” she said calmly. "There is more to the
making of a drow warrior than skill with weapons. Drizzt
has other lessons he must learn”
"Lessons of treachery?" Zak spat, too angry to care about
the consequences. Drizzt had told him what Malice and her
evil daughters had done that day, and Zak was wise enough
to understand their actions. Their "lesson" had nearly bro-
ken the boy, and had, perhaps, forever stolen from Drizzt
the ideals he held so dear. Drizzt would find his morals and
principles harder to cling to now that the pedestal of purity
had been knocked out from under him”
"Watch your tongue, Zaknafein” Matron Malice warned.
"I fight with passion!" the weapon master snapped. "That
is why I win. Your son, too, fights with passion-do not let
the conforming ways of the Academy take that from him!"
"Leave us” Malice instructed her daughters. Maya bowed
and rushed out through the door. Briza followed more
slowly, pausing to cast a suspicious eye upon Zak.
Zak didn't return the glare, but he entertained a fantasy
concerning his sword and Briza's smug smile.
"Zaknafein” Malice began, again coming forward in her
chair. "I have tolerated your blasphemous beliefs through
these many years because of your skill with weapons. You
have taught my soldiers well, and your love of killing drow,
particularly clerics of the Spider Queen, has aided the as-
cent of House Do'Urden. I am not, and have not been, un-
grateful.
"But I warn you now, one final time, that Drizzt is my son,
not his sire's! He will go to the Academy and learn what he
must to take his place as a prince of House Do'Urden. If you
interfere with what must be, Zaknafein, I will no longer
turn my eyes from your actions! Your heart will be given to
Lloth”
Zak stamped his heels on the floor and snapped a short
bow of his head, then spun about and departed, trying to
find some option in this dark and hopeless picture.
As he made his way through the main corridor, he again
heard in his mind the screams of the dying children of
House DeVir, children who never got the chance to witness
the evils of the drow Academy. Perhaps they were better off
dead.
Chapter 11
Grim Preference
Zak slid one of his swords from its scabbard and admired
the weapon's wondrous detail. This sword, as with most of
the drow weapons, had been forged by the gray dwarves,
then traded to Menzoberranzan. The duergar workman-
ship was exquisite, but it was the work done on the weapon
after the dark elves had acquired it that made it so very spe-
cial. None of the races of the surface or Underdark could
outdo the dark elves in the art of enchanting weapons. Im-
bued with the strange emanations of the Underdark, the
magical power unique to the lightless world, and blessed by
the unholy clerics of Lloth, no blade ever sat in a wielder's
hand more ready to kill.
Other races, mostly dwarves and surface elves, also took
pride in their crafted weapons. Fine swords and mighty
hammers hung over mantles as showpieces, always with a
bard nearby to spout the accompanying legend that most
often began, "In the days of yore. . “
Drow weapons were different, never showpieces. They
were locked in the necessities of the present, never in remi-
niscences, and their purpose remained unchanged for as
long as they held an edge fine enough for battle-fine
enough to kill.
Zak brought the blade up before his eyes. In his hands,
the sword had become more than an instrument of battle. It
was an extension of his rage, his answer to an existence he
could not accept.
It was his answer, too, perhaps, to another problem that
seemed to have no resolution.
He walked into the training hall, wherePrizzt was hard at
work spinning attack routines against a practice dummy.
Zak paused to watch the young drow at practice, wonder-
ing if Drizzt would ever again consider the dance of weap-
ons a form of play. How the scimitars flowed in Drizzt's
hands! Interweaving with uncanny precision, each blade
seemed to anticipate the other's moves and whirred about
in perfect complement.
This young drow might soon be an unrivaled fighter, a
master beyond Zaknafein himself.
"Can you survive?" Zak whispered. "Have you the heart of
a drow warrior?" Zak hoped that the answer would be an
emphatic "no” but either way, Drizzt was surely doomed.
Zak looked down at his sword again and knew what he
must do. He slid its sister blade from its sheath and started a
determined walk toward Drizzt.
Drizzt saw him coming and turned at the ready. "A final
fight before I leave for the Academy?" He laughed.
Zak paused to take note of Drizzt's smile. A facade? Or
had the young drow really forgiven himself for his actions
against Maya's champion. It did not matter, Zak reminded
himself. Even if Drizzt had recovered from his mother's tor-
ments, the Academy would destroy him. The weapon mas-
ter said nothing; he just came on in a flurry of cuts and stabs
that put Drizzt immediately on the defensive. Drizzt took it
in stride, not yet realizing that this final encounter with his
mentor was much more than their customary sparring.
"I will remember everything you taught me” Drizzt prom-
ised, dodging a cut and launching a fierce counter of his
own. "I will carve my name in the halls of Melee-Magthere
and make you proud”
The scowl on Zak's face surprised Drizzt, and the young
drow grew even more confused when the weapon master's
next attack sent a sword knifing straight at his heart. Drizzt
leaped aside, slapping at the blade in sheer desperation, and
narrowly avoided impalement.
"Are you so very sure of yourself?" Zak growled, stub-
bornly pursuing Drizzt.
Drizzt set himself as their blades met in ringing fury. "I am
a fighter” he declared. "A drow warrior!"
"You are a dancer!" Zak shot back in a derisive tone. He
slammed his sword onto Drizzt's blocking scimitar so sav-
agely that the young drow's arm tingled.
" An imposter!" Zak cried. " A pretender to a title you can.
not begin to understand!"
Drizzt went on the offensive. Fires burned in his lavender
eyes and new strength guided his scimitars' sure cuts.
But Zak was relentless. He fended the attacks and contin-
ued his lesson. "Do you know the emotions of murder?" he
spat. "Have you reconciled yourself to the act you commit-
ted?"
Drizzt's only answers were a frustrated growl and a re-
newed attack.
"Ah, the pleasure of plunging your sword into the bosom
of a high priestess” Zak taunted. "Th see the light of warmth
leave her body while her lips utter silent curses in your
face! Or have you ever heard the screams of dying chil.
dren?"
Drizzt let up his attack, but Zak would not allow a break.
The weapon master came back on the offensive, each thrust
aimed for a vital area.
"How loud, those screams” Zak continued. "They echo
over the centuries in your mind; they chase you down the
paths of your entire life”
Zak halted the action so that Drizzt might weigh his every
word. "You have never heard them, have you, dancer?" The
weapon master stretched his arms out wide, an invitation.
"Come, then, and claim your second kill” he said, tapping
his stomach. "In the belly, where the pain is greatest, so that
my screams may echo in your mind. Prove to me that you
are the drow warrior you claim to be”
The tips of Drizzt's scimitars slowly made their way to the
stone floor. He wore no smile now.
"You hesitate” Zak laughed at him. "This is your chance to
make your name. A single thrust, and you will send a repu-
tation into the Academy before you. Other students, even
masters, will whisper your name as you pass. 'Drizzt Do'Ur-
den; they will say. 'The boy who slew the most honored
weapon master in all of Menzoberranzan!' Is this not what
you desire?"
"Damn you” Drizzt spat back, but still he made no move to
attack.
"Drow warrior?" Zak chided him. "Do not be so quick to
claim a title you cannot begin to understand!"
Drizzt came on then, in a fury he had never before
