vate quarters. Alton had set the younger students of
Sorcere to work repairing the blasted place, but the scorch
marks on the stone walls remained, a legacy of Alton's fire-
ball.
"I have” replied Masoj. "I have heard of his skill with
weapons”
"Eighth in his class after the grand melee” said Alton, "a
fine achievement”
"By all accounts, he has the prowess to be first” said Ma-
soj. "One day he will claim that title. 1 shall be careful
around that one”
"He will never live to claim it!" Alton promised. "House
Do'Urden puts great pride in this purple-eyed youth, and
thus 1 have decided upon Drizzt as my first target for re-
venge. His death will bring pain to that treacherous Matron
Malice!"
Masoj saw a problem here and decided to put it to rest
once and for all. "You will not harm him” he warned Alton.
"You will not even go near him”
Alton's tone became no less grim. "I have waited two
decades-" he began.
"You can wait a few more” Masoj snapped back. "I remind
you that you accepted Matron SiNafay's invitation into
House Hun'ell. Such an alliance requires obedience. Matron
SiNafay-our matron mother-has placed upon my shoul-
ders the task of handling Drizzt Do'Urden, and I will exe-
cute her will”
Alton rested back in his seat across the table and put what
was left of his acid-torn chin into a slender palm, carefully
weighing the words of his secret partner.
"Matron SiNafay has plans that will bring you all the re-
venge you could possibly desire” Masoj continued. "I warn
you now, Alton DeVir” he snarled, emphasizing the sur-
name that was not Hun'ett, "that if you begin a war with
House Do'Urden, or even put them on the defensive with
any act of violence unsanctioned by Matron SiNafay, you
will incur the wrath of House Hun'ett. Matron SiNafay will
expose you as a murderous imposter and will exact every
punishment allowable by the ruling council upon your piti-
ful bones!"
Alton had no way to refute the threat. He was a rogue,
without family beyond the adopted Hun'etts. If SiNafay
turned against him, he would find no allies. "What plan does
SiNafay . . . Matron SiNafay . . . have for House Do'Urden?"
he asked calmly. "Tell me of my revenge so that I may sur-
vive these torturous years of waiting”
Masoj knew that he had to act carefully at this point. His
mother had not forbidden him to tell Alton of the future
course of action, but if she had wanted the volatile DeVir to
know, Masoj realized, she would have told him herself.
"Let us just say that House Do'Urden's power has grown,
and continues to grow, to the point where it has become a
very real threat to all the great houses” Masoj purred, lov-
ing the intrigue of positioning before a war. "Witness the fall
of House DeVir, perfectly executed with no obvious trail.
Many of Menzoberranzan's nobles would rest easier if . . . "
He let it go at that, deciding that he probably had said too
much already.
By the hot glimmer in Alton's eyes, Masoj could tell that
the lure had been strong enough to buy Alton's patience.
The Academy held many disappointments for young
Drizzt, particularly in that first year, when so many of the
dark realities of drow society, realities that Zaknafein had
barely hinted at, remained on the edges of Drizzt's cogni-
zance with stubborn resilience. He weighed the masters'
lectures of hatred and mistrust in both hands, one side hold-
ing the masters' views in the context of the lectures, the
other bending those same words into the very different
logic assumed by his old mentor. The truth seemed so am-
biguous, so hard to define. Through all of the examination,
Drizzt found that he could not escape one pervading fact: In
his entire young life, the only treachery he had ever
witnessed-and so often!-was at the hands of drow elves.
The physical training of the Academy, hours on end of du-
eling exercises and stealth techniques, was more to Drizzt's
liking. Here, with his weapons so readily in his hands, he
freed himself of the disturbing questions of truth and per-
ceived truth.
Here he excelled. If Drizzt had come into the Academy
with a higher level of training and expertise than that of his
classmates, the gap grew only wider as the grueling months
passed. He learned to look beyond the accepted defense and
attack routines put forth by the masters and create his own
methods, innovations that almost always at least equaled-
and usually outdid-the standard techniques.
At first, Dinin listened with increasing pride as his peers
exalted in his younger brother's fighting prowess. So glow-
ing came the compliments that the eldest son of Matron
Malice soon took on a nervous wariness. Dinin was the
elderboy of House Do'Urden, a title he had gained by elimi-
nating Nalfein. Drizzt, showing the potential to become one
of the finest swordsmen in all of Menzoberranzan, was now
the secondboy of the house, eyeing, perhaps, Dinin's title.
Similarly, Drizzt's fellow students did not miss the grow-
ing brilliance of his fighting dance. Often they viewed it too
close for their liking! They looked upon Drizzt with seeth-
ing jealousy, wondering if they could ever measure up
against his whirling scimitars. Pragmatism was ever a
strong trait in drow elves. These young students had spent
the bulk of their years observing the elders of their families
twisting every situation into a favorable light. Everyone of
them recognized the value of Drizzt Do'Urden as an ally,
and thus, when the grand melee came around the next year,
Drizzt was inundated with offers of partnership.
The most surprising query came from Kelnozz of House
Kenafin, who had downed Drizzt through deceit the pre-
vious year. "Do we join again, this time to the very top of the
class?" the haughty young fighter asked as he moved beside
Drizzt down the tunnel to the prepared cavern. He moved
around and stood before Drizzt easily, as if they were the
best of friends, his forearms resting across the hilts of his
belted weapons and an overly friendly smile spread across
his face.
Dnzzt could not even answer. He turned and walked
away, pointedly keeping his eye over one shoulder as he
left.
"Why are you so amazed?" Kelnozz pressed, stepping
quickly to keep up.
Drizzt spun on him. "How could I join again with one who
so deceived me?" he snarled. "I have not forgotten your
trick!"
"That is the point” Kelnozz argued. "You are more wary
this year; certainly I would be a fool to attempt such a move
again!"
"How else could you win?" said Drizzt. "You cannot defeat
me in open battle” His words were not a boast, just a fact
that Kelnozz accepted as readily as Drizzt.
"Second rank is highly honored” Kelnozz reasoned.
Drizzt glared at him. He knew that Kelnozz would not set-
tle for anything less than ultimate victory. "If we meet in the
melee” he said with cold finality, "it will be as opponents” He
walked off again, and this time Kelnozz did not follow.
Luck bestowed a measure of justice upon Drizzt that day,
for his first opponent, and first victim, in the grand melee
was none other than his former partner. Dnzzt found
Kelnozz in the same corridor they had used as a defensible
starting point the previous year and took him down with his
very first attack combination. Drizzt somehow managed to
hold back on his winning thrust, though he truly wanted to
jab his scimitar pole into Kelnozz's ribs with all his strength.
Then Drizzt was off into the shadows, picking his way
carefully until the numbers of surviving students began to
dwindle. With his reputation, Drizzt had to be extra wary,
for his classmates recognized a common advantage in elimi-
nating one of his prowess early in the competition. Working
alone, Drizzt had to fully scope out every battle before he
engaged, to ensure that each opponent had no secret com-
panions lurking nearby.
This was Drizzt's arena, the place where he felt most
comfortable, and he was up to the challenge. In two hours,
only five competitors remained, and after another two
hours of cat and mouse, it came down to only two: Drizzt
and Berg'inyon Baenre.
Drizzt moved out into an open stretch of the cavern.
"Come out, then, student Baenre!" he called. "Let us settle
this challenge openly and with honor!"
Watching from the catwalk, Dinin shook his head in disbe-
lief.
"He has relinquished all advantage” said Master Hat-
ch'net, standing beside the elderboy of House Do'Urden. " As
the better swordsman, he had Berg'inyon worried and un-
sure of his moves. Now your brother stands out in the open,
showing his position”
"Still a fool” Dinin muttered.
Hatch'net spotted Berg'inyon slipping behind a stalagmite
mound a few yards behind Drizzt. "It should be settled
soon”
"Are you afraid?" Drizzt yelled into the gloom. "If you
truly deserve the top rank, as you freely boast, then come
out and face me openly. Prove your words, Berg'inyon
Baenre, or never speak them again!"
The expected rush of motion from behind sent Drizzt into
a sidelong roll.
"Fighting is more than swordplay!" the son of House
Baenre cried as he came on, his eyes gleaming at the advan-
tage he now seemed to hold.
Berg'inyon stumbled then, tripped up by a wire Drizzt
had set out, and fell flat to his face. Drizzt was on him in a
flash, scimitar pole tip in at Berg'inyon's throat.
"So I have learned” Drizzt replied grimly.
"Thus a Do'Urden becomes the champion” Hatch'net ob-
served, putting his blue light on the face of House Baenre's
defeated son. Hatch'net then stole Dinin's widening smile
with a prudent reminder: "Elderboys should beware se-
condboys with such skills”
While Drizzt took little pride in his victory that second
year, he took great satisfaction in the continued growth of
his fighting skills. He practiced every waking hour when he
was not busy in the many serving duties of a young student.
Those duties were reduced as the years passed-the young-
est students were worked the hardest-and Drizzt found
more and more time in private training. He reveled in the
dance of his blades and the harmony of his movements. His
scimitars became his only friends, the only things he dared
to trust.
He won the grand melee again the third year, and the year
after that, despite the conspiracies of many others against
him. 1b the masters, it became obvious that none in Drizzt's
class would ever defeat him, and the next year they placed
him into the grand melee of students three years his senior.
He won that one, too.
The Academy, above anything else in Menzoberranzan,
was a structured place, and though Drizzt's advanced skill
defied that structure in terms of battle prowess, his tenure
as a student would not be lessened. As a fighter, he would
spend ten years in the Academy, not such a long time con-
sidering the thirty years of study a wizard endured in 50r-
cere, or the fifty years a budding priestess would spend in
Arach- Tinilith. While fighters began their training at the
young age of twenty, wizards could not start until their
twenty-fifth birthday, and clerics had to wait until the age
of forty.
The first four years in Melee-Magthere were devoted to
singular combat, the handling of weapons. In this, the mas-
ters could teach Drizzt little that Zaknafein had not already
shown him.
After that, though, the lessons became more involved.
The young drow warriors spent two full years learning
group fighting tactics with other warriors, and the subse-
quent three years incorporated those tactics into warfare
techniques beside, and against, wizards and clerics.
The final year of the Academy rounded out the fighters'
education. The first six months were spent in Sorcere,
learning the basics of magic use, and the last six, the prelude
to graduation, saw the fighters in tutelage under the priest-
esses of Arach- Tinilith.
All the while there remained the rhetoric, the hammering
in of those precepts that the Spider Queen held so dear,
those lies of hatred that held the drow in a state of controlla-
ble chaos.
Drizzt, the Academy became a personal challenge, a
private classroom within the impenetrable womb of his
whirling scimitars. Inside the adamantite walls he formed
with those blades, Drizzt found he could ignore the many
injustices he observed all around him, and could somewhat
insulate himself against words that would have poisoned his
heart. The Academy was a place of constant ambition and
deceit, a breeding ground for the ravenous, consuming
hunger for power that marked the life of all the drow.
Drizzt would survive it unscathed, he promised himself.
As the years passed, though, as the battles began to take
on the edge of brutal reality, Drizzt found himself caught up
time and again in the heated throes of situations he could
not so easily brush away.
Chapter 14
Proper Respect
They moved through the winding tunnels as quietly as a
whispering breeze, each step measured in stealth and end-
ing in an alert posture. They were ninth-year students
working on their last year in Melee-Magthere, and they op-
erated as often outside the cavern of Menzoberranzan as
within. No longer did padded poles adorn their belts; ada-
mantite weapons hung there now, finely forged and cruelly
edged.
At times, the tunnels closed in around them, barely wide
enough for one dark elf to squeeze through. Other times,
