A/N: This is the sequel to Of Pride and Revenge, my first story about Gromph and Dantrag. I doubt that this will make much sense if you haven't read that story first. Usual disclaimer: with the exception of a few original characters, the characters, places etc. are not mine.
Thanks to my beta reader Chi.

Prologue

Pain. So much pain that he couldn't even pinpoint it. His entire body seemed to be put on fire, and he felt as if his skin had been pulled off his flesh. He wondered how anyone could feel so much pain and be still alive.

With a tortured groan, he turned his head to look around him. He was lying on a small bed in a dimly lit room without any other furniture, a room that seemed incredibly dark and frightening - to a drow who had spent his whole life in the darkness. It was cold, he was alone, but for some reason his mind was still working perfectly, despite the pain that should have driven him mad.

Suddenly he felt a strange tickling on his hip, and with another effort he looked down to see the gaping wound where his belly had once been. A big, but not huge, brown spider - he couldn't remember what this species was called - was crawling over his torso, and when it crossed the wound the pain immediately disappeared, and he watched in disbelief how the wound closed in mere seconds.

The spider continued its way up to his chest, and following it with his eyes, the drow realised now that he had to be dead. His heart had been pierced, judging from the form of the wound on his chest, and this was probably some kind of strange torture he had to face after his death. Watching in utter amazement, he saw the spider crawling over the bloody chest, again healing the wound and leaving smooth, only slightly scarred skin.

A soothing feeling overcame the drow, a feeling of being safe, being home - a feeling so unusual that he couldn't name it. The pain was gone now, leaving only a languid numbness that was far from uncomfortable.

Then he heard a deep voice, in his mind rather than in his ears, and he was unable to say if it had just appeared or if it had been there all the time and he had only been oblivious to it. It was a powerful voice, but friendly and familiar, and although he couldn't discern any words, he knew that the voice was calling him, inviting him, promising him to bring him home ...

And all the time the spider was sitting on his chest, staring at him out of countless eyes with an expression that betrayed greater intelligence than any animal could possess. The spider was luring him, too, but the drow could also see that it expected something in return ...

Dantrag woke up abruptly, his eyes wide open in an almost panicked expression. He clutched one hand involuntarily to his chest, touching the greyish scar where Drizzt Do'Urden's scimitar had hit him months ago. Breathing heavily, he quickly scanned the room, only gradually calming down when he noticed that everything was alright. He was not in that strange place anymore, but in Gromph's quarters at Sorcere, in Gromph's bed, with no spiders in sight and no strange voices that came out of nowhere.

He slowly closed his eyes, forcing himself to steady his breathing. When he looked up, he noticed for the first time that his brother wasn't sleeping, but sitting beside him on the bed and staring at him in a mixture of concern and curiosity.

"This dream again," Gromph stated rather than asked. Usually he wouldn't take any dreams seriously, but this was far from usual. Dantrag - who had hardly ever remembered any of his dreams until then - had dreamt the same thing almost every night for weeks, each time awakening in confusion and fright.

The Weapon Master had kept the content of this dream to himself for a while before he had finally asked his brother for help. It was always the same - the terrifying room, the pain, the spider that healed his wounds, the luring voice, the promises and expectations of his strange saviour ...

Neither of them could ignore the meaning of this recurrent dream, not after what had happened during the last months. Dantrag had been resurrected by a high priest of Selvetarm - although Gromph had been the driving force behind this resurrection - and after he had successfully defeated and killed Drizzt Do'Urden, the god of war and battle had shown his favour quite openly a few weeks ago. Selvetarm's interest in Dantrag couldn't be denied, and this dream - whether it was sent by the god himself or by one of his followers - was an unmistakable sign that it was a serious interest.

Dantrag nodded slightly and sighed, running a hand through his long hair. He didn't want to look his brother and lover in the eyes, knowing too well what Gromph thought about the whole matter. Yet he felt a slender hand on his chin only a second later, forcing him to look up in Gromph's grim, uncompromising eyes.

"You are feeling flattered, aren't you? That even a god is impressed by your fighting prowess?" the Archmage said with a scowl, his voice slightly derisive. "Being Menzoberranzan's best Weapon Master - by right, not by chance - is apparently not enough, is it?"

"You make this sound like I had chosen any of this. I do not like these dreams, most certainly not, but what am I to do if a god has decided that ... Hells, I don't even know what he wants!" Dantrag replied angrily. It wasn't the first time that Gromph was mocking him like this, warning him, as if it was in Dantrag's power to do anything against this.

"Triel has accepted your return without asking too many questions. She has accepted that a priest of Selvetarm resurrected you, but she won't accept a heretic in her House. She can't, least of all if it's her own brother. You make one step towards Selvetarm, and she'll have you on the sacrificial altar before you even realise what you have done!"

Gromph was grabbing Dantrag's wrist, and his voice had taken on a slightly pleading tone, despite his anger. The Weapon Master opened his mouth to give a furious retort, but he remained silent when he realised that Gromph was simply worried about him. He didn't want to lose his brother again, and Dantrag knew that Gromph was right. Triel, as Matron Mother of Menzoberranzan's First House, could and would never tolerate a single worshiper of any other deity than Lolth in her city, let alone in her closest family. While Selvetarm was less hated by the Lolthians than Vhaeraun, his worship was still strictly prohibited in Lolth' holy city.

Dantrag knew all this, and still he couldn't help but feel drawn to this mysterious god about whom he hardly knew anything. The Weapon Master had always been susceptible to flattery - how should he not feel honoured by a god's interest in him? He sighed deeply, certain that he had no choice if he wanted to survive. He had to try and ignore these dreams and hope that Selvetarm would simply leave him alone after a while.

More tired than he had been hours ago before his reverie, he sank back on the bed, slightly snuggling against his brother and closing his eyes again. He felt Gromph stiffen, before the mage obviously decided that there was no point in continuing this discussion tonight and simply lay down beside him, welcoming the familiar closeness of his only confidant.

The high priest kneeled before the altar, as still as the statues around him. His eyes were closed, his face was a mask of concentration, but his lips were slightly opened, almost as if in rapture. Spiders crawled over his back, his shoulders, even through his hair, but he did not seem to notice. The arachnids were hardly an unusual sight in a temple of the Spider Demon.

After what seemed to be hours the drow finally stood up and opened his eyes, taking a deep breath before he turned around to face the younger priest who stood at the temple's entry. He motioned for him to come closer, and it was only when they were standing next to each other that the Patron of House Zaere finally broke the silence.

"It is time," he whispered, and excited tension filled his voice. The two priests bore a striking resemblance - had it not been for their age and the long scar on the Patron's face, one might have mistaken them for twins. As it was, they were father and son.

"I am still not convinced of this plan, Patron," the younger priest said sternly. "The risk is extremely high, and even if we are successful - "

"Do you doubt Selvetarm's will, Shyntas?" There was no answer. "Then watch your tongue."

"The Lolthians had centuries to beat him into obedience. This will not be easy," Shyntas objected, this time in a more respectful tone. His Patron was known for his volatile temper, and he did not take impudence lightly.

"That is why I am taking care of this, and not you," the older drow hissed. Shyntas hesitated, but he nodded finally. He knew that his father was in the highest favour of Selvetarm. The young high priest did not understand why this Menzoberranyr Weapon Master was of such a great importance to the Spider Demon, but he should know better than to question his God's will - or to defy his Patron.

After a last glance at the enormous black spider statue above the altar, Tarlyn Zaere turned around and left the chapel. It was time to lead Dantrag Baenre to where he belonged.