Chapter Six

Drizzt Do'Urden wondered if he had ever seen a day as beautiful as this one when he left Mithral Hall on a clear winter morning. It was cold, but the sky was perfectly blue, the winter sun shone so brightly that it stung his eyes - but Drizzt enjoyed it nonetheless. There was no such beauty in the Underdark, no such peace.

The drow began to run, not because he was in a hurry - actually, he had not even a definite destination - but simply because he liked running over the dry ground and grasses, feeling the cold wind on his face, and as Catti-Brie was not with him this day, he did not have to wait for the slower and less nimble human. He had asked her to come with him - he always did - but she had preferred to stay with Bruenor, who was in a particularly bad mood. Several months had passed since the drow attack, but the losses among dwarves and humans had been considerable and painful, and Bruenor kept cursing the "damn dark elves".

Drizzt sighed and took a small onyx statue out of his pocket to call Guenhwyvar to his side - this was too perfect a day to think about his kin, especially as he was rather sure that they would finally leave him alone. Menzoberranzan would need time to lick her wounds after the failed raid on Mithral Hall and the deaths of several prominent personalities, Matron Baenre first of all; and with Vierna dead there was no other Do'Urden left to chase him, hoping to regain Lolth's favour.

The drow hummed the melody of some cheerful song he had once heard in Silverymoon, while he crossed a small stream at the foot of the mountains, balancing on a narrow bridge. Guen had hurried ahead, savouring her freedom after three days during which Drizzt had not called her. When the ranger hopped on the bank of the stream, he heard Guen's growl not far away and tensed immediately. Without the slightest sound he caught up with the panther, who was not facing any foes, but merely standing at the entry of a deep cavern. Drizzt furrowed his brow - the cavern had been occupied by different creatures over the last years, goblins, orcs, bears, wolves, but there was nothing unusual about it.

And then Drizzt heard it - screams, panicked and broken by sobs. It was a female voice, probably a human, perhaps from one of the small villages in the surroundings, crying for help. She was apparently deep in the cavern complex, as her cries were merely audible. Even Drizzt with his keen ears had nearly missed them.

It was, however, a cry for help - something Drizzt Do'Urden could not ignore. Scimitars drawn, Guen by his side, he quickly entered the first room of the cavern, surprised to find that it had obviously been abandoned for some time. There were no fresh traces from any creature at all - no one had passed through this room for weeks! Drizzt winced and moved even more cautiously into the cavern complex. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. He knew he should get help instead of advancing so recklessly, but it would take him an hour to run back to Mithral Hall, and even longer to return with help. Judging by the woman's cries, he decided that he did not have that much time.

Against all instincts and sanity, telling him that he was being foolhardy, he went on. After all, he had Guen by his side, and the two of them had survived for a decade in the Underdark - whatever awaited them in these caverns, they would find a way to defeat it.

Drizzt knew he was on the right path when the screams became louder and louder, and then they broke off suddenly. The drow halted and listened, trying to discern what had happened - had the woman been gagged, or even killed? Yet Drizzt could not hear any sound, no voices, no footsteps, nothing. He scrambled through an opening in one of the stone walls into a small, nearly round cavern, completely dark just as the ones before it. Guen growled as she entered it behind him, and Drizzt agreed fully - something was amiss. He could not discern many details of the cavern, despite his infravision, and he certainly saw nothing that lived, nor did he hear anything. But he sensed that they were not alone.

He was slightly unnerved, and glad to have Guenhwyvar with him. His eyes suddenly widened in surprise when he saw a movement in front of him, and a lithe, tall figure seemed to appear from nowhere. A drow, Drizzt recognised immediately, and one with an extraordinary piwafwi that could conceal him even from the eyes of someone who stood only several paces before him. But now the drow had opened his magical cloak, revealing himself.

Drizzt tensed even more when he noticed two things about the fighter - and he obviously was a fighter, wearing armour and two sheathed long swords. The first thing was the brooch that held his piwafwi - it showed the Baenre House insignia, one every Menzoberranyr drow knew. The second was this one's eyes - not red, but like warm amber, and yet so full of hatred and cruelty.

Dantrag Baenre.

Impossible! screamed a voice in Drizzt's mind, but there could be no doubt about the drow's identity. Before him stood House Baenre's Weapon Master, the one Drizzt had killed several months ago - and he had been sure the Baenre had been dead! The renegade tightened his grip on the scimitars, quickly glancing around. They seemed to be alone, but Drizzt knew that drow never came without allies, and he did not see the woman who had cried for help either. These thoughts whirled through his mind in a matter of seconds, but Dantrag did not give him enough time to sort it out. Actually, he began to explain some things.

"Drizzt Do'Urden. Well met again," Dantrag said, his deep voice mocking and confident. Drizzt had seldom heard a voice as powerful and overbearing as this one's. "Don't look at me like that - you did not expect to get away with killing Menzoberranzan's finest warrior?"

Drizzt sighed - he was growing tired of those conceited warriors who had nothing better to do with their impressive skills than seeking him out to prove their superiority. Fighters like Dantrag Baenre, or Artemis Entreri, could become anything they wanted, yet they wasted their time on their ridiculous pride.

"What do you want, Dantrag?" Drizzt said more than he asked, speaking slowly as he was not used to his native language anymore. "You fought me, and you lost. And you know that your defeat was not due to bad luck. Why do you think it will be different now?"

Anger flashed through Dantrag's hard eyes, but he remained calm. "Things have changed, Do'Urden," he stated simply, but Drizzt interrupted him suddenly, "Where is the woman?"

"An illusion," came the answer, but not from Dantrag. Another drow, smaller than the two fighters, stepped in sight, ending his invisibility spell with a wave of his slender hand. Drizzt winced in confusion and terror when he recognised him: the Archmage of Menzoberranzan, Gromph Baenre. Dantrag's eldest brother and, besides Jarlaxle, Menzoberranzan's most powerful male.

Drizzt regained his composure quickly, even though he inwardly began to panic. He was sure he could have defeated Dantrag and even some other soldiers the Weapon Master might have brought with him, but Gromph? Judging by all Drizzt had heard about him, the Archmage could kill him and Guen with a flick of his wrist. Maybe, if he acted fast, he could take Dantrag down before Gromph killed him, but it seemed an impossible task, even with his enhanced speed. Why give them the pleasure to see him struggle?

"Killing me with a wizard's help? What will that prove?" he said, his voice calm despite his seemingly hopeless situation.

"Nothing. Gromph is only here to ensure that we won't be bothered." Even as Dantrag spoke these words, the Archmage uttered a short spell, waving his right hand in a nearly casual manner, as if shooing away a fly. Guen growled in frustration and denial, but she could not withstand this drow's power. She tried to approach the two Baenre brothers, but green mist was forming quickly around here and she was sent back to her home plane.

Drizzt sheathed his scimitars, drawing incredulous stares from both Dantrag and Gromph.

"You will kill me," he stated. "Why should I give you the pleasure to fight you, if this encounter will end with my death anyway?"

How bitterly this situation reminded him of a similar encounter not so long ago, when he had been taken prisoner by Jarlaxle on Vierna's behalf. His sister had wanted to sacrifice him, and Artemis Entreri, who had aided the drow to capture Drizzt, had negotiated that he might fight the renegade before he was killed. Drizzt had refused to take up his weapons to satisfy the assassin's desire to prove himself before he died anyway.

He did not understand that there was a small difference here.

"Ah, because we will visit your human whore once I have finished you off. You gave her something that belongs to me ... And what we will do to her depends greatly on your cooperation now. I heard she was quite attractive for a human - there are enough drow who favour exotic females in their bed. She would be a beautiful add-on to some Menzoberranyr brothel, don't you think?" Dantrag replied with a wicked grin. He was enjoying this already, even before the true fight began.

Drizzt felt the urge to tear out the Weapon Master's heart with his bare hands. Nothing angered him more than someone speaking like this about his closest friend. The Hunter screamed in him, urging him to take out his blades and attack this demon. But Drizzt's discipline fought him down - he would not allow this one to provoke him.

"Catti-Brie remains safely in Mithral Hall."

"Do you believe stone walls will keep the Archmage of Menzoberranzan at bay?" Dantrag laughed in his face, tossing a sly grin to his brother, who stood at his side, staring hard at Drizzt.

The renegade nearly cringed under this stare - he remembered the ease with which Gromph had sent Guenhwyvar away, along with the stories he had heard about the Archmage in his years at the Academy. No, Catti-Brie would not be safe from this one, not even in Mithral Hall.

"If you will go to her, you will torture or kill her either way, no matter what I do," Drizzt countered, but his voice trembled when he said these words. He had never before felt so helpless, and the thought of Catti-Brie in Dantrag's and Gromph's hands nearly made him gag.

"Will we? We might, yes, and we might not ... Refuse to fight, and we certainly will do things to her which you cannot even imagine," the Weapon Master promised. "Do you want to die with the knowledge that your stubbornness caused her so much pain?"

Drizzt exploded into motion before Dantrag even finished his last sentence. If this one wanted a fight, he would get one. He doubted the Baenres would leave Catti-Brie alone, even if he accepted Dantrag's challenge, but he could not bear the thought that he might have missed the chance to save her.

Gromph quickly stepped back as Drizzt jerked out his scimitars and charged - he was magically protected against any attack, but he did not want to stand in his brother's way. Dantrag managed easily to dodge Drizzt's first attack, as it was more an outburst of rage than a well directed charge, and drew his swords in the same second.

Drizzt's second attack was matched by a perfect parry, and the ring of metal filled the small cavern, echoing back from the walls. The first minutes of the fight were more an exchange of routine attacks - routine attacks that would have easily defeated a lesser fighter - than a true attempt to beat the other. They had battled only months ago, yet they were again measuring each other. Dantrag had to get used to Drizzt's speed as the renegade virtually danced around him, each time attacking from a different side or angle, and Drizzt noticed that Dantrag wielded his blades with greater control and precision without his bracers. He forced himself to calm down - Dantrag was too formidable an adversary for hasty, daring charges.

They parted after several minutes, yet their stares did not unlock. Despite his hatred and anger, Dantrag managed to keep his head - he had understood the great advantage Drizzt had gained thanks to his enhanced speed and let him take the initiative. Drizzt complied willingly and attacked with swift, precise blows which Dantrag intercepted before they even came close to his body. Two steps, too quick for Dantrag to follow, brought Drizzt diagonally behind his foe, and one blade came immediately down on Dantrag's side, one to his knee. Both blades hit Dantrag's blocking swords.

Drizzt drew back several steps, while Dantrag turned around and attacked with his left sword, which was closer to his adversary. The renegade could only jump aside, surprised that the Baenre had even managed to parry his former attack - Dantrag had not seen the scimitars approaching, yet his block had been perfect.

For a split second, Drizzt lost his balance under Dantrag's furious attacks, but he quickly regained the offensive through his speed. He forced Dantrag's swords down with a double-thrust on his legs, turned his wrists outwards and thus twisted Dantrag's arms. Even while the Weapon Master complied, Drizzt yanked Icingdeath up and struck at Dantrag's head, not leaving him enough time to get a blade up in a parry.

Drizzt knew that he had him now, but the curved blade of his scimitar hit only air - Dantrag had dropped to the ground. The Baenre did not finish his backward roll, but kicked at Drizzt's right wrist to force the younger drow back, thus preventing him from pressing on his attack. A twitch of his leg and abdomen muscles brought him back on his feet and in the same fluid motion, his twin swords dashed against Drizzt's thighs. Icingdeath blocked one blade on the left, but Drizzt's right hand could barely hold Twinkle, let alone parry this powerful blow - the drow blade drove deep into his flesh.

Dantrag was good, unbelievably good. The realisation that he might very well lose this fight made Drizzt ignore his pain. He was not too badly wounded, and his following parries came more and more firmly. Then, suddenly, he tried to hit Dantrag's left hand, his scimitar too close to himself to reach the Baenre's body. Dantrag slightly angled his sword to block the curious stroke, but Drizzt altered his movement in the last moment and thrusted forward. Dantrag recognised the feint too late to do anything else but jump back, followed by a furious, impossibly fast whirl of attacks.

A smile appeared on Drizzt's features - he was pressing Dantrag hard with his speed, and he felt the Weapon Master slowing down and breathing heavily. He forced Dantrag to retreat to the cavern wall, again working his swords low to pull his right hand up and punch him in the face with a scimitar hilt. So close to the wall, Dantrag could not drop himself again. But the Weapon Master's slowness had only been simulated - reacting quickly, he turned his head to the side, so that Drizzt's fist crashed into the wall. The younger drow groaned, even more as Dantrag shoved him away - their long blades were not adapted to a fight so close to each other.

Drizzt held his balance and continued to block every deft attack he was confronted with, but he realised slowly that he could not win this fight, unless he found a way to use his speed to his advantage. He tried desperately to think of a feint or a manoeuvre that would put Dantrag off balance, his hands working in perfect movements to hold the thin swords at bay.

Suddenly, Drizzt pivoted to the side, angling his body and his blades so deftly that he managed to parry the next two blows with Icingdeath alone, leaving Twinkle free to attack. His position was too awkward for a lethal strike, but he succeeded to cut a deep gash in Dantrag's side.

The Baenre's face turned into a mask of pain, but his self-discipline kept him from flinching or stumbling. He worked fast to turn Drizzt's former advantage - to block both swords with one scimitar - into a disadvantage - to be confronted to two quick blades pressing aggressively on Icingdeath alone, while Twinkle was left in an awkward angle after the successful attack. Dantrag practically tore the scimitar from Drizzt's hands while the renegade still had to bring Twinkle before him. Icingdeath clanked to the ground. To fight Dantrag with two weapons was difficult enough, with one blade it was simply impossible.

Just as Drizzt wanted to reach for the dagger on his belt, Dantrag cut his girdle. Drizzt stumbled when the leather belt fell down, nearly wrapping itself around his legs. He knew that he offered Dantrag an opening - but the Weapon Master did not finish it: he just slapped him in the face with the broadside of his right sword, while his left one held Twinkle at bay.

Drizzt recognised that Dantrag was playing with him when the Baenre wasted another opening, cutting a slash in Drizzt's upper arm instead of dealing out the killing blow. He is arrogant, too confident of victory, he will make a mistake, Drizzt tried to reassure himself, wincing through his pain - but Dantrag did not make a mistake. He seemed to be tireless, still as fast as when their battle had begun, while Drizzt began to slow down.

Twinkle suddenly flew out of his hand and fell to the ground, and Drizzt could hardly understand how Dantrag had managed to disarm him completely. The clamour rang in Drizzt's ears like the announcement of certain death. Another nearly playful hit on his thigh made him stumble, followed by a brutal thrust that pierced his kneecap. His right leg gave in under him and he slumped to the ground, in a last effort trying to draw the dagger that was hidden in his boot.

The feeling of a cold blade against his throat made him pause. Dantrag stood over him, smiling, and Drizzt swallowed hard when he felt the Baenre's second blade between his thighs. Against all rationality, he peered to the entry of the cavern, hoping that Catti-Brie and Bruenor would come to his aid. Had he not always been rescued by his friends or simply by good luck?

A glance at Dantrag's eyes showed him that the best thing he could hope for was a quick, painless death.

"Well, Drizzt," Dantrag said in a rough, breathless voice, "what do you think now? Are you still convinced that Zaknafein would have beaten me?"

Drizzt glared at him, his eyes full of venom - how was it even possible that Dantrag had become so much better? Yes, even better than Zaknafein, as Drizzt had to admit to himself.

"I think that Zaknafein would have cut this smug grin out of your face," he growled between clenched teeth - and cried out in pain when Dantrag's sword nearly cut through his right thigh, before it swung back and did the same to his left leg. Tears ran over Drizzt's cheeks, his vision blurred, but he still saw Gromph stepping to Dantrag's side, looking derisively down to the loser. Yet Dantrag barely noticed his brother, his gaze fixed on Drizzt as he growled, "Tell me the truth!"

With Dantrag's sword between his torn thighs and the certainty that this drow wouldn't hesitate to harm more sensitive parts of his body, Drizzt whimpered in a broken voice, "You would have beaten him ..."

A pleased, but cruel smile twisted Dantrag's handsome features, and he sheathed the sword whose tip had pressed against Drizzt´s throat. He lifted the other one as well, gently touching the bloody blade, and chuckled.

"Time for me to get Khazid'hea back. But don't worry, I have enough time to watch you die," he said in a casual way, and thrusted the sword in Drizzt's belly, slowly slicing him up to the chest. Drizzt's eyes widened, his torn lips parted, but no sound escaped them in these seemingly endless moments of pain. The blade ripped open a lung and was pulled back. Dantrag crouched slowly beside the renegade and his fingers touched the blood-soaked torso almost tenderly.

"Maybe I'll make an exception to my habit of sleeping only with drow, when I visit your whore," he whispered in Drizzt's ear. Then he looked him in the eyes, laughing quietly when Drizzt stared at him in shock, incredulity and pain. The renegade coughed blood, struggling against death, but life finally left his broken body.

Dantrag's sword sank to the floor, and the Baenre looked at the torn body for a long time, still breathing heavily. He took his bracers from Drizzt's ankles and examined them quickly before he strapped them to his wrists. When he felt Gromph's long fingers on his shoulder, the Weapon Master got up and turned around to face his brother. Gromph was not smiling, but his eyes showed respect, approval, understanding. He took Dantrag's hands in his own, slowly raising them to his lips to kiss the blood from the calloused fingers, without breaking their eye-contact. Dantrag knew that only Gromph's presence made this victory a perfect triumph. He wrapped his arms suddenly around his brother, crushing him against his chest and kissing him fiercely. He felt Gromph's fingers roaming over his body, suddenly touching the long gash in his side. Dantrag winced and drew back, but he smiled when his brother handed him a small bottle filled with some bluish liquid.

"You thought I would need it," the fighter stated, opening the vial.

"I knew he would not die without hurting you."

The Weapon Master grinned and drank the healing potion, relaxing as the magic filled his body and closed the wound, leaving flawless black skin under the torn links of his chain mail.

"What will we do with him? I don't want him to be eaten while we're retrieving Khazid'hea. Triel will probably want a proof for his death," Dantrag said, kicking the dead renegade in the side.

"Matron Mother Triel," Gromph corrected with a grin, but then he produced a small gemstone out of a pocket and quickly cast a spell on the corpse to protect it from scavengers, at least until they came back to take it with them. Dantrag stepped closer to his brother and wrapped an arm around his waist when Gromph started a teleport spell, softly chanting the seemingly incoherent words.


Khazid'hea sensed him. Its former master. The one who had controlled it too much for its liking, but the worthiest wielder it had ever known. Not like this weak human woman who always lost when sparring with her drow fiend. This drow friend who had killed Dantrag. Khazid'hea did not understand why its dead master was here - even a sentient sword has only limited intelligence - but neither did it care.

Well met again, it sent.

A smile lit up on Dantrag's features when he appeared in the woman's quarters in Mithral Hall and immediately heard these welcoming words. The human was not there, but several oil lamps were lit and their light stung his eyes. Feeling the sword's presence, he loosened his grip on Gromph's waist and stepped to the small wooden table with the woman's gear. Cutter was sheathed in a brown, tawdry scabbard, but its hilt had already changed back into the old demon head form.

You replaced me, the sword growled in Dantrag's mind, and its voice sounded almost sulking.

The Weapon Master laughed and drew his new right-hand sword, before he took Khazid'hea and sheathed it.

I killed Drizzt Do'Urden. Immediately, a wave of savage emotions - hunger, rage, approval, joy - invaded his mind, the tumultuous thoughts of his chaotic sword. It took him several seconds to silence it - he had nearly forgotten Khazid'hea's will power. I suppose you didn't forget me, Cutter, but I will remind you nonetheless that I'm no weak human, he scolded it telepathically.

"Forgive me for disturbing this tender reunion, Dantrag," he heard Gromph's amused voice behind him, "but have you decided what to do with the woman?"

The Weapon Master turned to look at his brother, meanwhile tucking his now unneeded sword under his belt.

"We wait for her. I want her to know that I killed him," he snarled. His voice trembled with venom, and the amber of his eyes shifted into a fiery red. Drizzt's death had not been enough to satisfy his thirst for revenge.

"Did you mean what you said to the renegade before he died?" Gromph asked, his voice deprived of jealousy or any other emotion; only a hint of cruel amusement was visible in his eyes. He sank casually on a cushioned chair, perfectly at ease - there was nothing in Mithral Hall that could threaten him, least of all this weak girl they were waiting for. Dantrag shrugged and began to examine the other items on the table, softly lifting the beautiful longbow.

"No, of course not; I don't want her. Honestly, how could any sane drow desire such a clumsy creature? But I will not leave her alone - she may be of use to me. As far as I know, our sister Qirva has a weakness for human females as slaves ... Such a beautiful gift might facilitate my return to the Academy."

Gromph arched an eyebrow, obviously surprised. They had never spoken about Dantrag's future, but Gromph had presumed that his brother wanted his old position back. But Qirva was Mistress at Arach-Tinilith, and even though Triel was officially Head Mistress, Qirva had taken on many of her tasks because Triel had to focus on House Baenre.

"Qirva? So you do not wish to be again Weapon Master of House Baenre?"

"Head Master of Melee-Magthere grants me equal power and more freedom. I suppose that Triel is quite content with Andzrel as her Weapon Master - he is capable, and more obedient than I am," Dantrag explained, leaning against the table. "And if Qirva pleads for me - and she will - why should Triel oppose? She will be glad to have me at the Academy, at least for some time. All the more as it will strengthen her standing among the other Matrons if she puts a Baenre at the top of Melee-Magthere."

Gromph nodded after a short pause - it was a simple idea, but it could work. Qirva probably did not care about Dantrag's position and was easily corrupted, so why should she and Triel oppose Dantrag's wish? Especially as the current Head Master he would replace was a Del'Armgo, one of Uthegental's sons. Gromph started to say something, but he held his tongue when he saw Dantrag tensing.

Someone's coming, he signed. A split second later, Gromph heard the steps on the floor as well - the long paces of a human, not a dwarf - and he readied a spell while Dantrag moved to the door. As soon as it opened, the fighter grabbed the woman's arm and yanked her in the room, putting one hand on her mouth and slamming the door shut with his foot. Gromph cast a spell that would shield the room acoustically - he did not want anyone to hear the woman call for help.

Catti-Brie - that was her name, if he remembered correctly - struggled, shock and fear in her eyes. She screamed when Dantrag pushed her to the ground, and tried immediately to get back on her feet.

She froze in place when she recognised the two drow in her room: one who should be dead, and the other who could kill her with a thought. Catti-Brie had never seen the Archmage, but she had been with Entreri when the assassin had assumed Gromph's form to enter his office. Her eyes widened even more when she saw the mithral bracers on Dantrag's wrists, but she swallowed hard and said, "Ye're foolish to come here! There're hundreds o' dwarves around, they'll hear ye sooner or later -"

She tried to sound firm and strong, but her trembling voice and the tears on her cheeks betrayed her. Gromph chuckled and stared at the woman, his cold gaze making it clear that anyone who would try to help her would die.

"What do ye want, then?" she stammered, backing off to bring as much ground as possible between herself and the drow. She understood that Dantrag wanted his sword back - and somehow she knew that the strange blade with the demonic hilt was Khazid'hea - but what about her? And where was Drizzt?

Her unspoken question was answered when Dantrag crouched beside her and produced a locket out off a pocket in his piwafwi to dangle it before her eyes: a white unicorn head, the symbol of Mielikki. A gift Regis had once given to Drizzt, back in Icewind Dale.

Catti-Brie cried out and tore the locket from Dantrag's hands, then sobbed when the drow slapped her in the face and split her bottom lip.

"What did ye do to him?" she sobbed, desperate and confused by the drow's silence.

"What do you think? I fought him, beat him, cut him open and let him drown in his own blood," Dantrag finally replied, his common faultless, but heavily accented.

Normally, he would have described Drizzt's death in detail, but he lacked the right vocabulary in the unfamiliar tongue. "And you, ssindossa, will help me. Drizzt's death for my Matron, your life for my future Head Mistress. You can be glad, I won't kill you."

Dantrag laughed and shared a brief look with his brother - what awaited Catti-Brie was far more cruel than death.

"I won't help ye in any way!" the young woman snapped, her eyes and her voice defiant despite her sobs. Dantrag softly touched her cheek - this tender gesture from the hands that had killed Drizzt nearly made her choke.

"Go on, struggle. My sister likes to break her slaves herself, and she will take great pleasure in your defiance," he chuckled and rose. He looked again to Gromph and nodded, smiling when the Archmage began to chant. Catti-Brie tried desperately to keep her eyes open, but sleep claimed her within seconds.

ssindossa: whore