The throne room was in chaos. Lesser priestesses of House Do'Urden were rushing from storage closets and side hallways to the private chapel rooms, to tomes of spells and rituals, carrying items no less grotesque than esoteric. The nobles of the house were rushing in and out, the males to do the bidding of the females, as well as to consult with the spies and the captains of the warrior squadrons, and the females to organize the lesser priestesses of the house and to generally terrorize everyone. Zaknafein paused outside the entrance, winked at Drizzt, and then grabbed him swiftly by the scruff of his neck, dragging the younger drow over to the foot of Malice's throne.
Zaknafein roughly dropped Drizzt down in front of the matron mother, and the adolescent attempted to turn his fall into a bow, succeeding, though clumsily, in his attempt. Zaknafein himself executed a smooth, though shallow bow, before looking Malice in the eye. "I have brought the child, as requested," the Weapon Master growled.
"No longer a child, Zaknafein, but a drow warrior," Malice replied, her voice husky and seductive, but backed with power and malicious intent. Zaknafein sneered slightly, almost unnoticeably, but remained silent. Drizzt likewise remained silent, eyes still on the ground, rigid in his bow. Drizzt had no desire to be noticed by his powerful and somewhat unbalanced mother, and certainly not before she wanted to notice him. Malice spoke again, her voice hard now, firm and with clipped syllables. "You're late. Explain yourselves."
Drizzt swallowed, and lifted out of his bow to look at the matron mother. Even at her small size, Matron Malice exuded power and threat. He made eye contact with her, and forced himself to hold it, even though he would much rather have been looking anywhere else. Malice held his eye and smirked, aware of the young warrior's discomfort. Malice exuded power and cruelty, sending chills down the spines of both males facing her, though Zaknafein as usual covered his instinctive flinch with a show of bravado. "Well," he began, breaking into an exaggerated yawn, "given that I have been away on business for you, and have not slept in more than two cycles of Narbondel," and here he broke into another exaggerated yawn, "I decided that I would get the child to carry me to this meeting whilst I regained some sleep. However, due to his frail stature and tender years, he dropped me down a flight of stairs, and I rolled all the way into the center of Menzoberranzan before I woke up." Zaknafein's mouth opened to continue with his utterly false story, but Malice spoke a quick word, the trigger phrase for a silencing dweomer, and while Zaknafein's mouth continued to open and close vigorously, no sound came out.
Malice turned her predatory gaze to her youngest child, and spoke. "Welcome back to the throne room of House Do'Urden, young Drizzt," the matron mother purred, soft tones belying the harsh reality of the drow priestess' personality. "It has been too long since we have received your presence." The matron mother raised her voice, infusing it with power as she projected to all sides of the room. "Those not in the ruling family of the house must leave now. I will speak with the nobles of House Do'Urden alone." Drizzt watched in amusement as powerful warriors and priestesses scurried to the exits, tripping over each other in their haste to avoid the wrath of the powerful high priestess. Within moments Drizzt, Zaknafein and Rizzen stood alone in the center of the room, with only Matron Malice and her other five children anywhere within the cavernous throne room.
Faster than the eye could blink, Malice's gaze connected with Briza's, and the eldest daughter advanced on the Do'Urden patron, snake-headed whip already detached from her belt and in her hand. "Out!" she screamed, lashing the hapless male with the sentient heads of her whip. "Out! You are a mere breeder, not a true noble of this house. Matron Malice's plans are not for you to hear and repeat like the idiot male that you are! Out!" Drizzt flinched at the sight of the snake heads biting over and over into the patron, releasing blood in great sprays from the elder male's back, but quailed even more at the look of pure delight on his sister's face from the cruelty she was inflicting. But Drizzt held his tongue, and tried to remain dispassionate. In the throne room of House Do'Urden, passion was always punished. And Drizzt held no true sympathy for Rizzen. The handsome male had little by way of talent to match his looks, but a cruel and vicious streak wide enough to make up for his other shortcomings. In his time as a page prince, Drizzt had received nothing but cruelty from Rizzen. Even Matron Malice had been kinder.
In moments, Rizzen had been driven from the room, and a flick of the hand and an uttered syllable from Vierna had slammed the door shut. Drizzt observed the room and noticed that in the commotion, Maya had drifted silently into the shadows behind the throne, out of view of almost all of the room's occupants, and Dinin had stepped forward into the central area, putting himself just closer to Matron Malice than his rival, the elderboy Nalfein, who leaned against a supporting pillar just off to the side. Vierna and Briza flanked his mother, just in front of the position where Zaknafein and himself had remained, standing impassively as Rizzen was driven from the room.
All of the room's occupants waited, tense, as Matron Malice drew in a breath to speak. The powerful leader of the city's ninth house smirked as she exhaled and inhaled again, ratcheting up the tension. Eventually the lithe female straightened up in her throne and began to speak. "Tonight," she began, "House Hun'ett will fall."
Hours later, Drizzt Do'Urden sat cross-legged and leaning against a wall in the Do'Urden compound, nearly invisible in his new armor and piwafwi. If anyone could have seen the thirdboy, they would certainly have admired the fine craftsmanship of his equipment, especially the adamantine scimitars on his hips, but few in all the realms could see a drow noble who was trying to remain hidden. Drizzt Do'Urden was bored. When Matron Malice had dramatically announced the impending fall of House Hun'ett, revealing the reason for all the secret preparations in the Do'Urden compound, Drizzt had been thrilled. Adrenaline had coursed through his body at the idea of finally putting his training to use, at being involved in events that would change the history of the city of Menzoberranzan, at going into battle at the side of his brother Nalfein and his mentor Zaknafein, the only two drow he trusted completely, or, indeed, at all. Moments later Drizzt had been struck with horror at the realization that he would be expected to kill drow elves, other living, sentient beings just like himself. He had listened distractedly as Matron Malice had detailed the plan to destroy House Hun'ett and take their place on the ruling council of Menzoberranzan, and had only really paid any attention at all when she informed him of his role in the plan. Which had sounded very exciting when described as the last line of defense, protecting the high priestesses of House Do'Urden from punitive assault by the wicked Hun'etts. And sounded a lot less exciting when described as sitting in a hallway outside the door to the Do'Urden private chapel, where his mother, sisters, and four other priestesses delivered unceasing prayers to the Spider Queen.
An hour earlier the signal had arrived at the Do'Urden compound. Narbondel had almost reached its nadir, the very middle of the Menzoberranzan night, when a massive subterranean lizard had skidded into the entranceway of the cave which housed the Do'Urden compound. A rider had leaped from the lizard's back and announced loudly, "House Teken'duis is under attack!" Within moments, runners had emerged from the guardhouse on the Do'Urden side of the gate, rushing into the main compound. Drizzt had watched from an upper window in the main building as seemingly newly awakened drow elves filed out into the courtyard in various states of disarray, still pulling on robes or pieces of armor. Drizzt had only remained for a few minutes to watch Zaknafein and Rizzen move to the head of the motley assemblage of drow elves before the accumulation of warriors, wizards, and clerics marched out of the compound in something almost resembling order. Drizzt had watched until Zaknafein was out of sight, and then moved to his position in the hallway outside the Do'Urden private chapel, where Matron Malice and the other priestesses were already making preparations.
At the same time, across Menzoberranzan, Dinin had arrived at the gates of the Academy, purportedly to visit his brother. Nalfein was still a master in the school of wizardry, Sorcere, and as he also had duties as a noble of his house, the elderboy was allowed visits from his family. No matter how important the matter, commoners were never allowed to visit the academy. Upon their graduation, they only came back for two reasons, to teach, or to be turned into driders. Immediately upon being granted entry, Dinin spotted his objective. Walking out across the courtyard of the Academy, Alton DeVir, in the guise of the Faceless One, and Masoj Hun'ett, the younger brother of the Faceless One, and a noble of House Hun'ett, closed in rapidly on Dinin's position. He flattened himself against the wall and drew his piwafwi tight around his body, rapidly disappearing from view. To his relief, neither wizard appeared to notice him.
Dinin's heart rate rose. Finally he would get to avenge himself on the DeVir and Masoj Hun'ett. It had been his task many years ago to ensure the demise of Alton DeVir, and he had executed a masterful plot, bribing a master of Sorcere to quickly and untraceably remove the young drow from existence. Only later had they discovered that the Faceless One had been thwarted, and that with assistance from Masoj Hun'ett, Alton DeVir had lived. Matron Malice had been furious, and Dinin could still feel the scars from the damage inflicted by Briza's snake-headed whip.
A sound from behind him made Dinin whirl, but he relaxed as he came face to face with his brother, the elderboy, Nalfein. Once, having his back to the elderboy would have been the opposite of relaxing for Dinin, but after the birth of House Do'Urden's thirdboy, and especially after the thirdboy's talent had become clear, the male children of House Do'Urden had settled into an uneasy truce. If either of the elder brothers died, then Drizzt would go from the most vaunted position for any male, thirdboy, the chosen of Lloth, to secondboy, the lowest noble position. Then the only way for the talented thirdboy to advance would be to remove the remaining brother. So neither brother could act against the other, for fear of the self-interest of their younger, more talented brother.
A mixture of unintelligible syllables, hand motions, and expensive, irretrievable magical components caused a bright light to burst forth briefly from the palms of Nalfein Do'Urden, expanding and shimmering as it wrapped around Dinin's body. Moments later, the secondboy was charging down the hill from the Academy towards the Hun'ett wizards, none the wiser that an enraged and lethal drow warrior was now tracking them, sword and dagger drawn, ready to exact retribution on those who had foiled him once before. As he neared, Alton DeVir, clumsy and lucky survivor of many foolish encounters with death, noticed him. But a split second's warning was not enough, and Alton DeVir had managed barely any evasive movement before he felt the piercing heat of a dagger penetrating his kidney, and a sword rammed spitefully upwards through his internal organs.
Masoj Hun'ett had merely a moment to react, and to his credit managed to teleport a few feet away, behind a large stalagmite, moments before Dinin's sword would have bisected him. The wizard wasted no time in emptying out his bag of components, casting a number of spells in rapid succession to help him defeat even the most powerful swordsman. Masoj even managed to fire off a quick lightning bolt, slicing it through the attacking swordsman, before seeming to disappear. But Dinin was not the only attacker, as Masoj had thought, and none of his spells were designed to protect him from the unerring impact of fifteen magical missiles released by Nalfein, invisibly watching the battle from where he levitated, high within the stalactites hanging from the ceiling of the massive cavern of Menzoberranzan. Masoj did not live to see Dinin's figure shimmer, almost as an afterimage, as the lightning bolt sliced through it, and for the swordsman's true body to reappear a short distance away.
Dinin smirked as he looked at the two dead bodies, then looked up at the ceiling of the cavern. Mission Accomplished, he signed, in the intricate hand and facial code of the drow. The only response was a stalactite falling to crash to the ground nearby. Dinin sighed. Oh well, he thought to himself, at least he didn't hit me. If this had been thirty years ago, I would be very dead right now too.
Just as Dinin and Nalfein were finishing with the two Hun'ett wizards, Zaknafein and Rizzen were cutting swathes through a variety of lower races, kobolds, troglodytes, orcs, and the like. As well as using their slaves as a vanguard in the attack, it appeared House Freth had left a rear guard of vicious but poorly trained and unintelligent beings. Unlike Rizzen, Zaknafein took no pleasure in cutting the pathetic creatures down, but it was necessary to the plan for Zaknafein to make a believable appearance at the Teken'duis compound, to make the Hun'ett forces believe that House Do'Urden was fully committed to the defense of their allies.
Zaknafein barely needed to focus to continue his onslaught, and so he had plenty of time to consider striking down Rizzen. Zaknafein had no qualms about killing other drow, especially ones as evil and cruel as the Do'Urden patron, and he strongly disliked the younger drow. The only problem was that Malice would take it as a direct affront against her authority, which would cause her to punish Zaknafein. His sister had always been wrathful, as well as obsessed with dominating others. He considered a moment longer. The lack of a consort would also mean that Malice would require someone to warm her bed until she could find a new patron for the house. Which would mean Zaknafein.
Much as he was disgusted by her advances, Zaknafein was both powerless politically and physically to resist. Matron Malice held complete control over whatever aspects of her subjects' lives she chose, and if she ordered him to bed, he could not refuse. And once there, his traitorous body could also not refuse. For all her failings of personality, for all her wickedness and cruelty, Malice was a beautiful drow female, and Zaknafein was too damaged by his past to resist. This had been proven many times in the past, and was evidenced by his two children, Vierna and Drizzt. Drizzt would be leaving to the Academy in a year, and then Zaknafein would be leaving with his only friend, Jarlaxle, to visit the surface. A year of punishment by Malice was a worthy price, he decided, for the removal of a stain such as Rizzen from the city of Menzoberranzan. Moments later, Zaknafein's whip caught Rizzen around the ankles, and the patron flailed as he fell to the ground, only to receive the sharp tip of Zaknafein's sword through his throat, before being trampled under the boots of the advancing warriors of House Do'Urden. A worthy end for Rizzen, Zaknafein decided.
The moment word arrived at the Hun'ett compound, buried in the heart of a huge stalagmite, that the Do'Urdens had committed their forces to help House Teken'duis, the Hun'ett army marched forth, wave after wave of goblins and kobolds preceding hundreds of drow on the most direct route to the Do'Urden compound. But barely had they turned out of sight of the Hun'ett stalagmite and onto one of Mezoberranzan's major thoroughfares when a much larger group materialized seemingly out of thin air around them. A single drow stepped forward from the surrounding group, dipping into a low bow, and sweeping a broad-brimmed hat, replete with a diatryma feather, from his bald head. "Greetings," said Jarlaxle. "I suggest you surrender."
In the Hun'ett private chapel, scrying from afar, Matron SiNafay cursed. She had seen an opportunity to dispatch a rival, and to show the other houses of Menzoberranzan that House Hun'ett was not to be trifled with. But it appeared she had been set up, and her master plan had been only a step in the deeper plan of Matron Malice Do'Urden. She had been a fool, she realized, to trust Bregan D'Aerthe as her only source of information on the movements of her enemies. SiNafay briefly wondered what Matron Malice could possibly have promised Jarlaxle to convince the master of Bregan D'Aerthe to show his hand so blatantly in such an undertaking, but she pushed the thought to one side and focused on what she could do. She didn't think that her troops would surrender outright to Bregan D'Aerthe, but they would almost certainly be delayed. But no matter. To eliminate a house in Menzoberranzan, all that was necessary was for no nobles to survive. Masoj and Alton were running late, but as soon as the foolish males arrived, she would send them to find and eliminate the eldest two Do'Urden males. Her weapons master and his two proteges were already on their way to eliminate the Do'Urden thirdboy, and after that to break into the private chapel and slaughter the noble females of the house. As long as SiNafay and her priestesses could do their part and disrupt the prayers of the Do'Urdens, the assassins would complete the elimination of House Do'Urden, ninth house, and no-one would again dare to challenge House Hun'ett.
SiNafay smiled as she let herself slip through her mental bond with the Hun'ett weapons master, and watched through his eyes, sensed through his senses as he and his two proteges, invisible, ghosted through the abandoned Do'Urden compound, homing in on the private chapel. She grinned with his elation as he spotted the door to the private chapel, guarded only by a single, seated, bored adolescent. She smirked as she felt her weapons master slide his dual adamantine dirks from their jeweled lizard-leather sheaths, and creep forward to attack the unsuspecting boy.
Drizzt had become alert the moment he heard the first tiny scuffle of leather on stone drift to his ears. In the utter silence to which he had become accustomed over the last hours, even his own shallow breathing sounded like booming. Drizzt remained seated against the wall, feigning boredom, even as he extended his senses to gain any indication of the presence of intruders. Soon, the combinations of minute sounds, slightly altered air draughts, and a hint of tingling smells let Drizzt understand that he was facing three opponents. A whisper of weapons being withdrawn from sheaths gave the young drow confirmation of his belief. He let his eyes drift closed, feigning sleep, then rapidly clenched his hand around the small ceramic ball it held, breaking the delicate shell, before opening his hand just as rapidly. The howls of two of his assailants, blinded by the bright light, so uncommon in the Underdark, emanating from the globe that Briza had given him, allowed Drizzt to rapidly pinpoint the locations of the two, and, snapping his keen scimitars from their sheaths, quickly dispatched the two attackers with precise slices across their throats. The young drow quickly turned to face the last known position of the final attacker.
Fighting blind was difficult, but Drizzt had learned from the greatest weapons master in Menzoberranzan, and he was full of confidence as he turned to face his last opponent. That confidence quickly drained away as he barely dodged a slice to his throat, before being forced to drop prone to evade a blade stabbing towards his stomach. He began a roll to the side, but experience and finely honed senses stopped him just in time, and two metal blades clanged into the stone surface that he had been rolling towards, sending up sparks that singed the young drow's face. He rolled the other way and leapt quickly to his feet, sending his scimitars out in a wild defensive routine to intercept the blades of his opponent. Drizzt was being slowly pushed backwards, and he knew that soon he would be backed into the corner by his opponent, trapped against the wall, without any room to maneuver.
Meanwhile, Zaknafein was on a mad dash across the city, followed by a host of warriors, wizards, and clerics of House Do'Urden. The moment that the Do'Urden force had penetrated the rear guard of the Freth forces and fallen on the unprotected back side of the attacking force, the Teken'duis soldiers had come out from behind their defenses and begun to engage in earnest. At this pre-arranged moment, the Do'Urden troops had executed an about-face and were now engaged in a headlong dash to the Hun'ett compound, now undefended as the Hun'ett forces sallied out to strike at the Do'Urden compound. Zaknafein would strike at the Hun'ett hierarchy, secluded in the Hun'ett private chapel, while the rest of the Do'Urden force would ransack the rest of the compound, adding both to their own personal wealth and to the Do'Urden coffers. If all went smoothly, there would be nothing for the Hun'ett soldiers to come back to, and, having been delayed by Jarlaxle, they would surrender to the Do'Urdens, becoming an auxiliary wing of the Do'Urden military force. But first, everything would have to go to plan.
As he ran, Zaknafein spared a thought for his son, protege, and most precious person. Drizzt was the sole warrior left in the Do'Urden compound, protecting the priestesses as they prayed to Lloth to grant them the power to bring victory. Zaknafein had taught his son to be the same strong fighter as he himself was, but the boy often seemed even kinder, even more good than Zaknafein himself. Sometimes Zaknafein wanted to run away with the boy, away from Menzoberranzan, but he knew that Malice would never let them get away. Because of this, he was glad that Nalfein had taken an interest in Drizzt, teaching the child the harsh realities of Menzoberranzan that Zaknafein could not bear to teach the child himself. And Drizzt was learning, sometimes so well that it saddened Zaknafein, though the boy was still pure enough to bring a lightness to Zaknafein's heart every time he saw him. Zaknafein hoped that Drizzt would survive the night. Sending the house's strongest warriors to eliminate an opponent's high priestesses was the oldest trick in the book. Hopefully Drizzt would have the ability to defeat an older, more guileful, more cruel opponent. Hopefully Zaknafein would see him again.
Zaknafein shook himself from his reverie as he reached the Hun'ett stalagmite and began to scale an almost impossible route along its outside. Zaknafein had spent days discovering this route and then learning every crack and crevice by heart. Speed was key, and practice gave him that speed as he crashed through a window steps from the private chapel. Whip in his left hand, sword in his right, Zaknafein kicked in the door, and snapped the whip out to catch one priestess around the neck as his sword impaled the twisted heart of another. He continued forward, efficiently ending the lives of the priestesses as he advanced on Matron SiNafay Hun'ett, who seemed not to have even noticed his entrance.
SiNafay watched through the eyes of her weapons master and sometime lover as he drove the talented youngster back into the corner of the hallway. The young drow had impressed her with the trick with the light and his rapid movement to cut short the lives of the younger assassins, but his eyes remained closed even after the third assassin, the Hun'ett weapon master, had dropped a globe of darkness on the light source, and opened his own eyes, infravision allowing him to see the other drow's heat signature. SiNafay smiled at the guile of her weapons master. The old drow showed his worth to her once again. She continued to watch, anticipating gleefully the moment when the young drow's defense would fail and he would fall to the twin dirks, leaving House Do'Urden's high priestesses utterly undefended. Victory would be hers.
Drizzt continued to fight, and slowly he began to become more controlled in his movements, more balanced, more supple in his parries. He also began to analyze his opponent. Within a few short defensive routines, Drizzt had determined that his opponent fought with dual dirks, and was probably significantly older than even Zaknafein. Moments later, Drizzt deduced that his opponent could also see.
Drizzt's eyes snapped open. The bright light had been extinguished, and as he ducked and deflected Drizzt noticed a globe of darkness covering where he had dropped the ceramic. On level terms now that he could see his opponent, Drizzt tucked his limbs to his chest and rolled to the side, sweeping out a leg as he passed his opponent. The elder drow, unprepared for such a move and with slowing reflexes, clattered to the ground, and barely managed to regain his feet as Drizzt drove towards him, scimitars flashing furiously. Moments later, a dirk went flying as a scimitar knocked it out of the Hun'ett's hand, and the elder drow lunged desperately at Drizzt's left side with his remaining dirk. The young drow calmly sidestepped and raised his left-hand scimitar directly into line with the momentum of the Hun'ett weapon master's throat. The old drow had no time to scream.
Watching through the weapon master's eyes, SiNafay screamed as the scimitar lanced towards their throat. She remained in his body until the split second at which she could feel the touch of the cold adamantine but not the pain of the sharp blade splitting skin, then pulled out of his body along the mental connection to her own body. Her mental shoulders sagged. She had failed.
Back in her own body, SiNafay's eyes snapped open just in time to witness an adamantine sword blade lance towards her neck. In the tiny part of a moment before she died, Matron SiNafay Hun'ett experienced a strong sense of deja vu.
Withdrawing his sword from the lifeless body of one of Lloth's most devoted followers, Zaknafein smiled.