The halls of Arach-Tinilith were enough to cow any arrival into quiet submission, at least those coming from the houses. Alystin Kenafin was probably the most uncomfortable out of all of them. She was no priestess, much to the chagrin of perhaps her entire house. But even Sorcere required that its students study here for quite some time. She tightened her grip on her staff slightly to hide her discomfort.
Goddess, but she hated the Academy. The thirteenth house in the city offered her little protection, even if her family still ruled within the Upper Third. And so she was an outcast. The males she was among saw her as little more than the embodiment of every domineering female they hated. And the priestesses were no kinder, never passing up an opportunity to remark upon her pursuit of inferior magics. Surely, if they had been her mother or sister, they'd have beaten it out of her.
Not that Chardalyn didn't try, she thought bitterly, looking around her new surroundings. She lingered in the shadow of her sister, Sinjss. The older female was harsh, yes, but Alystin firmly believed that the demon you knew was generally better than the demon you didn't. Or at least, the barbs were easier to prepare for. Besides, there was no real escape from the second daughter here: Sinjss was just finishing her studies, freedom closer to her grip with every passing day.
"Show some pride, sister. You are a noble, lest you have forgotten," Sinjss said with her casual sharpness, disdain curling her elegant lip. "The Matron expects much of you."
Alystin fought the urge to mutter something about the Matron's expectations and lowered her gaze. "Yes, Sinjss." Once her sister was satisfied with her obedience, she looked away and tried not to let it sour her mood any more.
To be the fourth daughter was frustrating, to say the least. Chardalyn, the eldest, bore all the expectations of the house, yes, but also occupied a special place in the Matron's heart. An heir to House Kenafin, a priestess of power and ambition. Sinjss in turn was groomed to compete and challenge for the Matron's throne. Everything firstborn did, she was encouraged to do better. The third was a spare, ignored until she moved up in the line of succession.
And Alystin, as the youngest, was barely ever in her mother's attentions. The Matron had not raised her or even touched her since she was born. Instead, that task had fallen to Chardalyn, who was somewhat bitter about the whole endeavor. Nor had the priestess been appreciative of a female whose talents lay in the arcane arts. Sinjss was not much better, despite the fact that they were close in age.
It meant existing on the fringe of the family, avoiding most of society and keeping her own company. It was hardly any wonder that she'd found solace in books.
"Nedylene, I hadn't figured you for the type to keep around fighters," Sinjss said, her subtle tone of disapproval jerking Alystin out of her private reflections.
The offending person was female, too, almost making the situation worse. Alystin could read it in Sinjss's face easily, the same thing that both she and Chardalyn had pushed upon the young mage: What kind of female would stoop to a male's calling?
"I keep forgetting that you live in a box, Sinjss," Nedylene said slyly. She was not a large or powerful female drowess, but she made up for her slim frame and unassuming posture with destructive magics that rivaled some of the instructors. "This is Sabal. I happen to simply prefer it when she's on my side."
The armored girl at Nedylene's side shrugged slightly. Sabal had not grown much in height over the handful of months she'd spent at Melee-Magthere, but she still stood at about an average height. Signs of childhood malnutrition were visible in the sharp angles of her face, along with scars that spoke of unpleasant fights. But what she lacked in the normal standard of beauty, Sabal made up for with intensity.
Alystin normally considered herself a good judge of character, but this one made it difficult. A person who should have passed beneath her notice as a commoner instead stood out like a beacon. She did not belong here, alongside the privileged. And yet, the amber eyes and the confidence in that barely readable expression dared anyone to make her leave. Somehow, this girl in armor seemed effortlessly in control of not only herself, but possibly those around her.
The mage didn't have to look to know Sinjss was bristling, sensing a challenge to her authority. "Arach-Tinilith is not a place for a sword-swinger to wander freely," the older female said, meeting the amber eyes.
"I am studying here. If that is a problem, perhaps you should take it up with the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith," Sabal said, not flinching from the stare that had been so effective on Alystin herself.
There was a moment of silence, and then ever so slowly, her face contorting into a snarl as she did it, Sinjss looked away. "A warrior should learn their place," she said darkly, to save herself face.
The amber eyes narrowed slightly and the temperature seemed to drop a few more degrees. "I know my purpose. Can you say the same?"
Nedylene's laugh broke the tension, her dark eyes turned to shining slits of humor. "You just make friends everywhere you go, Sabal. And as for you, Sinjss, why don't you go find that male of yours? You could use some venting, I think."
Sinjss grunted and muttered something about doing something more important before she stalked off, leaving Alystin with two new faces in Nedylene and Sabal. The mage fidgeted slightly, reassured somewhat by Nedylene's snickering. "She's such a bitch," the priestess said, clearly pleased with Sabal's tiny victory there. "I can't wait to see you knock her off that goddamn pedestal in combat training."
Sabal raised an eyebrow slightly. "And do your dirty work for you? Perish at the thought."
"And here I thought we were making progress...ah, well," Nedylene said with a sigh. She turned to Alystin, examining her critically. "I heard there was a female wizard in Kenafin's noble ranks. Terrible disappointment, I'm sure. But if you can sling a spell half as well as your sister can pick fights, you'll do marvelously. I am Nedylene Druu'giir."
"Alystin," the mage said cautiously, hearing the name of a rival house. It was hardly surprising, of course, but she had lived a somewhat sheltered existence so far, and never actually looked upon an opposing noble. For someone she was supposed to hate, so far Nedylene seemed more agreeable than her siblings—not that Alystin would ever admit it. She glanced over at the amber-eyed girl. "And you?"
"Sabal A'Daragon."
It was Xullae's surname. Sabal had discussed it with Elerra, well aware of the fact that she couldn't pretend to be from a house to avoid trouble. There was no difficulty in reading the shock that flashed across the surface of Alystin's mind. Commoners did not attend the Academy.
"I...see," Alystin said, barely catching herself to avoid blurting out something equal parts obvious and idiotic.
"She's a little baby mage," Nedylene crowed, looking far too pleased with Alystin's awkwardness. "This is perfect! Nothing will piss Sinjss off more than her getting a helping hand."
The expression on Sabal's face, lips pursed and expression mildly skeptical, suggested that this kind of scheme was not uncommon. Alystin made a small gesture of helplessness and appeal towards the amber-eyed girl, who did—mercifully—step in. "Nedylene, be still. Do you wish to worsen Sinjss's temper? Rest assured that it will fall back upon you."
"Oh, you had to go and be sensible," the priestess-in-training muttered, crossing her arms. "Fine. I'll stay with my more mundane ways of tripping her up. Come on, Kenafin. I'll show you where you are expected to stay."
Sabal watched them go, amber eyes reflecting slightly in the light. It had been a very new experience, being around those of her own age. She had become accustomed to the sharp rebukes and criticisms of experienced drow on all sides, the subtle shifting of politics among the Yath'Abban, the harsh punishments that followed even a single step out of line. For most other students, this was the first time they were forced to prove they deserved something. For Sabal, the measures of her instructors here were so much easier to meet than the impossibly high ones set by Xullae. Suddenly, she was surrounded by people who were softer than she was, less experienced, less trained.
It was not easy, but the value of everything she had learned only increased with each passing day. Here, surrounded by priestesses, Sabal found herself meeting the world on equal ground. The small, almost completely hidden flashes of respect that her teachers sometimes gave her were worth every exhausting week she had spent drilling with Xullae.
Melee-Magthere might have been a more obvious choice, but the duty of an inquisitor went beyond simple blades and tactics. She was expected to know the doctrine of the Church by heart and to be able to root anything that was not approved by the Demon Queen. A healthy dose of indoctrination didn't hurt either, granted. Xullae, however, had beaten them to it.
The amber-eyed drowess padded off through the halls to one of the empty training rooms and unbuckled her sword belt, laying the blade down on the mat. Then the girl carefully picked up a candle stub in its holder nearby and set it down, lighting it with the glowing taper that rested in the silver dish next to it. She had been careful not to abandon the practice of her mind, always conscious that it was her greatest strength. Sabal placed the candle right in front of her, then pressed her palms flat against her thighs and gathered her will.
It was a delicate, precise endeavor to shape and curl the flame. Her eyes focused on the flame at the same time her mind did.
The orange flame, impossibly brilliant to her darkness-accustomed eyes, flared and leaped abruptly, spinning and whirling like the body of a dancer. Beads of wax rolled down the side of the tallow cylinder, gleaming in the candlelight. Limbs appeared in the fire, a tiny and shadowy figure flickering almost like a moving creature tethered to the black wick. The heat felt like it was everywhere around her, never quite enough to scorch. Fire died almost completely out, then bloomed up again into a golden rose of warmth.
In moments like this, beauty so gently stirred to life, Sabal imagined that the rest of the world just suddenly ceased to be. Her storming mind came to a gentle lull and all the uncertainty that dogged her every step vanished. Time passed without an acknowledgment from the young drowess enraptured by the flame.
It was the soft creak of the mats behind her that snapped her out of her thoughts. As quickly as it had been lit, she extinguished it with a thought and stared into the curls of smoke that trailed off the wick. Unfortunately, she could not will her eyes to adjust any faster than they wished to.
"So you know your purpose, commoner. Let us see if you can be taught your place," a voice said, softly and dangerously.
Sinjss, Sabal knew without having to think. "I have no quarrel with you, Sinjss of House Kenafin. Walk, and you will have no regrets."
"Oh, but I have quarrel with you," the older female said. There was the soft hiss of a snake whip being uncurled.
The amber-eyed drowess's nature warred with itself. Her training screamed for her to submit to the punishment of a priestess, but her pride and will told her just as powerfully to turn and fight. She barely felt the sting of the lash when it hit her shoulder, the teeth unable to pierce her armor.
"Are you afraid of a priestess now, that you will not rise?" Sinjss demanded.
Without a sound, Sabal rose to her feet and left her blade behind. "You are no priestess yet. When the Spider Queen bestows Her attention upon you, then perhaps I will be concerned with you. I offer only one more chance for you to turn and leave," the wilder said, her expression cold.
The only answer she received was a sneer and the crack of the whip across her face. One ear exploded in pain as the snake whip's fangs pierced it and tore the soft lobe of that ear. Sabal's reaction came without a thought, programmed into her by instinct. A strike was not suffered if it did not come from a true priestess.
There was a sound like tearing silk and the sudden sharp pain in Sabal's temples dropped back to a barely perceptible ache. Sinjss had dropped to her knees like a puppet with its strings cut, her hand clamped over her face. Blood was streaming from her nose and the corner of her mouth, eyes almost rolled back in her head. Her thoughts were fleeing every which way in panic around the honed, mirror-like surface of Sabal's own. Just as Xullae had once done to her, Sabal drove in mercilessly and pulled agony to the surface. But to be powerless was the true blow to a priestess who had always been in control. Sinjss was unable to lift a finger unless it pleased Sabal.
Do you see? You are never safe from my wrath, never free from my will. Even in your thoughts, I may find you. Here, Sabal did not yield. She had been trained to always push harder when someone had dared resist. Punish disobedience and rebellion with force. That was what the Church instilled.
Sinjss gave a barely audible whimper, her form twitching slightly even as it jerked back up to its feet. Sabal closed the distance between them in an instant, cradling her own torn ear.
Abandon this pursuit...or do not. Whether you live or die concerns me very little. I can rend the fabric of your being until there is not a Sinjss of House Kenafin to return.
The priestess-in-training coughed and choked, her body crumpling as it came back under her power. When she looked up at Sabal, it was with wide eyes that were fearful and exposed. There was no armor that protected one from the eyes of an inquisitor. Instead, everything was stripped bare. She had never in her life felt so naked as she did now, looking up into those feral amber eyes. "Do not...please...never again."
"Keep to your affairs, and I will mine," Sabal said harshly, her nose full of the smell of hot copper. She could feel the blood trickling into her cupped hand, but pushed the pain aside for now.
Without a word, Sinjss turned and fled, leaving even the snake whip. The amber-eyed girl crouched down and picked up the weapon, the three hissing heads curling back to strike at her again. She met their gaze fiercely, overpowering that will with her own. This would be hers, as a sign to the others who studied here. Every drow kept tokens of their victories, after all.
This was what power felt like.