Chapter 4: Zegorath's
Narbondel's descent found Drizzt Do'Urden levitating alone above the Do'Urden compound, looking outwards at the city of Menzoberranzan, shimmering in the infrared spectrum of drow eyesight, faerie fire limning the silhouettes of the compounds of Menzoberranzan's noble houses, the beauty of the pale light flickering on the grand architecture of the City of the Drow belying the viciousness of its inhabitants. Drizzt's own emotions split between wonder at the beauty of the city and sadness at the destruction and violence that controlled the city's population. Even now, in the calm of Menzoberranzan's night, the denizens of House Do'Urden and more than three-score other houses of the city had to keep constant watch around their holdings, even vigilant against the constant threat posed by their neighbours. Drizzt exhaled, and slowly sank to the ground, as if deflating, lavender eyes and pure conscience hardening to the same substance as the stone he approached. Loosening his piwafwi, he unfolded from his lotus-like meditative position in time for his bootheels to touch the ground, and strode towards the main building, cloak rippling behind him as he moved through the still air of the underdark.
It had been months now since the return of Nalfein and Zaknafein, bringing with them the new arrival, his human bodyguard, Artemis, and the attack of Faen Tlabbar, now No House Worth Mentioning, on the Do'Urden compound, and the failed coup that followed. Drizzt had been working tirelessly all this time, splitting his time between two tasks, training Artemis in swordsmanship and securing the defense of the Do'Urden holdings. While Zaknafein and the warriors he led were responsible for the defense of the Do'Urden compound and the main house, House Do'Urden could not continue to thrive, or indeed survive, without the income derived from its holdings outside of the city. Any enemy would be wise to begin their attacks on House Do'Urden with attacks on these holdings, a lesson that had not been learned by arrogant Hun'ett or zealous Faen Tlabbar. But House Do'Urden now had many enemies, and enemies of great cunning.
This was what made it so strange that despite the passing of months, not a single movement had been made against House Do'Urden, overt or covert. And so, tasked with the defense of his house's holdings, Drizzt desperately needed information. Reaching his destination, the War Room of House Do'Urden, Drizzt looked around at the small gathering sat waiting for him. "Thank you for coming," he spoke to the assembled group. "It's time I explain why you're here." Directly opposite him, a gangly human adolescent with red eyes smirked at him. Artemis had shot up in size recently, and his formerly athletic body had become toned and muscular as a result of the training Drizzt had put him through. Artemis was still able to move with the grace he had developed as a child thief, however, and, when he put up the hood on his ever-present piwafwi, he could become just as invisible as any drow warrior. All the other eyes in the room looked on curiously. They had not been briefed on anything, merely received a note stating in no uncertain terms that they must attend the thirdboy in the War Room on this evening. And that was not a summons any drow male of House Do'Urden was likely to disobey. Lazing in a chair next to Artemis was Khazra, one of House Do'Urden's small complement of wizards. He was the one Drizzt had observed for longest before deciding to add to the team. Wizards could be arrogant and unpredictable, their mastery of the arcane arts conferring an occasionally valid, yet far too often invalid, sense of superiority. Had the need for the divining arts and warding dweomers of a wizard been any less pressing, Drizzt would have done without one entirely, but as it was, he hoped he had picked the best one available. Next to Khazra, thumbing a long scar below the socket where his left eye had once been, was an old yet wily warrior named Yalael. Yalael had been old when Zaknafein and Malice were born, yet had once been a bright prospect among House Do'Urden's warriors, even being sent to Melee-Magthere, unusually for a commoner of what had been at the time a small and poor house. The battle that had cost him his eye had taken place shortly after his graduation, however, and only his skills as a trainer had kept him from being turned out as a houseless rogue. The drow were not sentimental, and a missing eye was quite enough of a disability to be turned out without other skills to rely on. This had led to Yalael building a repertoire of useful skills to ensure his continued place in the Do'Urden garrison, and Drizzt planned to take full advantage of the elderly elf's life experience as well as his arsenal of tricks.
The final occupant of the room, though not the final member of Drizzt's taskforce, was small even for a drow male. Barely topping five feet, Ghazryn seemed barely more than a child despite his two centuries of age, but he had incredibly quick hands and feet, despite his lack of strength to back up his speed. Drizzt imagined that when his small group inevitably encountered violence he would have to do most of the fighting himself, but the trade-off was worth it for the experience and stealth that his companions would provide.
Drizzt slid the door closed behind him, activating the privacy wards that covered the War Room, then settled himself into the remaining chair. Unrolling a map on the table around which they had gathered, he weighed down the corners with carved ebony paperweights, and then placed small carvings on certain places of interest on the map; stone rothe for the numerous rothe farms that House Do'Urden operated outside the city, competition for the rothe farms of House Hunzrin in the Donigarten. The Fifteenth House, Drizzt doubted that Hunzrin would attack Do'Urden directly, but they would not pass up an opportunity to disrupt another House's agriculture should the opportunity arise. Stone kobolds wielding pickaxes marked Do'Urden mines, and stone lizards, great bundles strapped to their backs, marked the approximate locations of trading caravans operated by House Do'Urden. Drizzt had carved the icons himself, the task allowing him to keep his dexterous hands busy while he was deep in thought, or on sleepless nights. "These are the locations of House Do'Urden's financial assets," he told his companions, as he placed a few more carvings, various images adorning them for Do'Urden's various business ventures. "Matron Malice has tasked us with defending these locations from our enemies, who would strike at our assets to weaken our house before striking at us directly. So far, we have had no reports of any enemy action, and that worries me. It is a given that many houses are plotting against us, whether actively or merely ready to seize any opportunity, yet nothing has happened since the attack of Faen Tlabbar. I think it is time that we take the initiative."
Yalael cleared his throat and then spoke, reedy voice crackling like aged parchment. "So you decided to get a wizard, a cripple, and a midget to help you? Wouldn't a company of Do'Urden guards be better?"
"If we were going to war," Drizzt replied levelly, "Perhaps. But we are not, and House Do'Urden cannot afford to lose a company of warriors from the garrison. Already we have fewer troops than we would need to be assured of victory in any conflict. No, Yalael, what we need is drow who have more skills than just the blade. But if it makes you feel any better, we have a priestess with us as well. She's already tracking down a lead, but we will catch up to her later, I'm sure." Yalael sat back in his seat, thumbing his scar again. Drizzt resumed speaking. "I have compiled a list of all the houses that have the might or the interest to do us harm, and cross-referenced with the targets that they would be most likely to choose. In addition, I have referenced that to their relations with other houses, and compiled a list of which houses could stand to benefit by blaming an attack of their own on another house." With that, Drizzt handed out a sheath of parchments to each drow, as well as one to Artemis. "Memorize this when you can, but it is not to leave this room." He looked around sternly. "If any of this information makes its way out of this room, I will find whichever of you is responsible and disembowel you." Hard eyes stared out, and hard eyes stared back. Threats of violence, however substantiated, were not uncommon in Menzoberranzan.
Drizzt fleshed out a few more of the details, but before too long he began to usher his companions out of the war room, and towards the exit of the Do'Urden compound. One by one, they slipped over the wall and out into the Menzoberranzan night. When only Drizzt and Artemis remained, he tugged the adolescent's cloak to get his attention. "Wrap yourself in your piwafwi tight," he whispered, "a human in Menzoberranzan is easily recognizable as belonging to House Do'Urden. And be careful, drow are even less kind to other races than they are to other drow." In response, Artemis pulled his hood tighter and slipped over the wall. Drizzt sighed. His young bodyguard was talented, but Artemis didn't seem to realize that the drow were true masters of stealth and deceit, far beyond even the master thieves of human cities such as Calimport. He hoped the young human wouldn't have to learn that lesson the hard way. Slipping a figurine out of his pouch, he placed it on the ground. "Come, Guenhwyvar," he whispered, and smoke swirled as the astral panther appeared. Drizzt reached out to gently stroke her soft fur as he knelt beside her. "Khazra, Yalael, and Ghazryn have begun their task," he whispered in the ear of the supernaturally intelligent cat. "Follow them as we discussed. Artemis should be within reach if you need him." Guenhwyvar allowed one last pet from Drizzt, then sprang over the wall, becoming one with the darkness before she even passed the border of the compound. Last of his companions dispatched, Drizzt returned to the main building, scimitars swinging at his hips, taking no steps to conceal his movements or the bright violet of his eyes. Minutes later, concealed beyond the ability of all but the sharpest of drow eyes to see, a shape slipped out a side exit of the same building, piwafwi hood pulled low over the eyes, two dirks hanging at its belt the only visible weapons. No House markings were visible on any of the sneaking being's clothing, as it followed the same covert route out of the compound.
Zayana had left the Do'Urden compound in the middle of the day, travelling with a group of Do'Urden priestesses through the West Wall district and into the Duthcloim district, browsing the permanent stores of the wealthy mercantile district on their way into the center of Menzoberranzan's commerce, the Bazaar. Here, Zayana had, as planned, unobtrusively detached herself from the Do'Urden group, purportedly to find a dealer of certain illicit substances of which Matron Malice wished to keep the purchase secret, but this was merely a layer of the intrigue, a story told to her companion priestesses on the off-chance that any of them would provide information on her activities to outside parties. In fact, she was there on behalf of Drizzt. Once she slipped away from the group, she had found an unobtrusive spot within the bazaar, and, with the power of a prayer to Lloth, cast Meld into Stone, sinking into the floor of the cavern. From within, to the best of her ability, she attempted to eavesdrop on the outside world, to varying degrees of success.
Hours within the stone gave Zayana time for introspection, when the conversation above was either uninteresting or inaudible. Formerly a commoner priestess of House Hun'ett, she had jumped ship to House Do'Urden after their defeat of her former house, and jumped quickly in bed with their thirdboy, Drizzt Do'Urden, the prodigy who had killed her father, the renowned Blademaster Kas'im, while barely more than a child. One house was much the same as another to Zayana, and one lover likewise much the same as another, and she knew that Drizzt did not exclusively share her bed, much as she did not exclusively share his. And yet, she mused, there was something about the lavender-eyed thirdboy that made her want Do'Urden to be successful, and made her want him more than any of her other lovers. And it wasn't just his skill with his 'sword'. So now, though by rights a drow female should rank above a male, Zayana was happy to be working for Drizzt on this project. He had brought her in almost immediately, introducing her to Artemis, his strange 'human' bodyguard, of a race that apparently dominated much of the surface. One of Drizzt's many quirks was his demand that she treat Artemis with the respect she would give any warrior, and his strange insistence that the adolescent was not a 'slave', but a 'bodyguard'. Zayana had been pressed into service immediately to cast spells of clairvoyance and do more routine scouting, such as this, while also assisting Drizzt, Artemis and Guenhwyvar in their scouting for the three other members of their company. Many drow of House Do'Urden had been considered and debated, but she was pleased with the three that had been selected in the end. Idly, she wondered if Drizzt had called them together yet, and how the meeting was going. He had changed, she mused, since she first met him, that night on the roof where they had had sex out in the open Menzoberranzan air. He had been emotional then, full of strange ideas about right and wrong, apologetic for the death of her father, regardless of the fact that Kas'im had been cruel, hated, and most importantly, weaker than him, and therefore deserving of his fate. Now that side of Drizzt, his strange softness and emotion, only came through in glimpses, when he thought no-one was looking, with Artemis, or Guenhwyvar, or Zaknafein, on the brief occasions that the Weapon Master could step away from training the garrison. Now Drizzt was hard and cool as the Underdark stone, forged in war as his adamantine blades were in the duegar furnaces. She liked the thrill of his new sense of danger, but she couldn't help but feel that something was missing now, even if the drow language didn't have the facility to describe what.
At long last, the Bazaar began to clear out, with the slow descent of Narbondel, the teams of older students from Tier-Breche sweeping through the streets to clear out stragglers part of Mezoberranzan's comprehensive facade of law and order covering the true chaos of the City of the Drow. Careful not to be seen, Zayana slipped out of the stone, drawing her unmarked piwafwi tight as she crept through the now empty marketplace, dodging patrols and lingering merchants, heading around the Clawrift and into the common district of Eastmyr. Again she took pains not to be seen, though most drow elves were now inside. Except in times of war, only one area of the city truly bustled at night, her destination, the Stenchstreets of the Braeryn district.
The transition was dramatic as she entered the Stenchstreets. No borderline was drawn or marked, at least to her knowledge, but within a few hundred paces the dark, empty calm of Eastmyr gave way to raucous shouting, awful smells, and a myriad of races, especially goblinoid. Zayana drew her piwafwi tighter still and used the extent of her willpower to keep from shuddering in disgust. Looking even a little out of place was a clarion-call of vulnerability to the inhabitants of Braeryn. Zayana passed gambling dens, seedy restaurants, and sellers of the less productive varieties of illicit goods alongside crowded residences packed with hundreds of filthy, ragged bodies. Taking turns in quick succession, she attempted to shake off any pursuit, though she doubted anyone of import had managed to track her. Finally, she arrived at her destination, an unassuming shack at the end of a dirty alleyway.
Stepping inside, the gloom and stench of the outside streets faded away, replaced by clear, though dim, purple lighting and clean, fresh air. An armored hobgoblin stepped forward, spear in hand and a look of suspicion on its face. "Ticket?" the hobgoblin croaked.
"I don't have one," she replied. "I'll be paying cash."
The hobgoblin frowned, and brandished the spear threateningly. "Cash is no good tonight, special guests. Gotta have a ticket."
Zayana shook her head at the brutish attempt at intimidation. She supposed the hobgoblin could be telling the truth, but if this place truly lived up to its reputation, any guests worth being known as 'special' would be well-advised not to advertise their presence. Herself included. "Cash," she repeated, "and I'll take a discount for your wasting my time." With that, she stepped forward boldly, dropped a couple of coins in the hobgoblin's hand, and strode past the foul creature. It didn't even have time to protest before she stepped through the door at the end of the hall, and into the main part of the location.
Zergorath's was part-casino, part-marketplace, and part-brokerage. Built around an oval arena, hundreds of private booths were staggered up the side of a huge amphitheatrical pit. Zayana made her way past a variety of booths, some with drawn curtains and dweomers of privacy, others with curtains wide open, occupants of multitudinous races staring down into the arena, cursing one contestant or cheering another. Eventually, she reached her destination booth, and settled into a padded couch, gazing down disinterestedly at the arena where three goblins fought to death on the sand, crude wooden spears a mockery of the typical weapons of the goblin tribes, far removed from the enchanted forged weapons of the drow.
Seeing his target enter the alcove in which he waited, stuck to the ceiling by his innate drow powers of levitation, near invisible beneath his piwafwi, Drizzt unfolded himself and drifted down slowly, barely generating the slightest breeze as he touched down gently behind the unaware drow female. "You're here," he said curtly, noting with dissatisfaction Zayana's slight jump, confirming that she had been unaware of his presence. "Do try to be aware of your surroundings," he reprimanded, "as I rather prefer you alive." In a flash, he reached out and pulled the curtains closed, triggering the privacy dweomers to activate over the booth.
Zayana shook out her long white hair, allowing the hood on her piwafwi to drop for the first time in over twelve hours. "How did you get here before me?" she questioned angrily in reply. "You weren't even supposed to leave the compound until an hour ago."
"Sprinted," Drizzt replied with a shrug. "Still, it was close. I snuck past you while you were talking to that guard. Nice work, by the way," he grinned, "with you distracting him I didn't even have to pay. But enough of that. Artemis and Guen are following the new recruits. What did you learn in the Bazaar?" For the past few weeks Drizzt and Zayana had not even said a word to each other within the Do'Urden compound, hoping to distract unfriendly eyes from the nature of their work together. Each plot had layers among layers.
Zayana spoke quickly, giving a condensed rendition of the highlights of what she had heard, nothing concrete, but whispers upon whispers to add to the rumours they had been collecting for months. In return, Drizzt handed her a sheaf of parchment containing his own notes; financials stolen from merchants and other houses, troop movements and exercises observed by Do'Urden spies and Bregan D'Aerthe mercenaries, and purchasing records from the slave auctions, with sections highlighted especially for purchases of the more militaristic races. A random goblin attack on a Do'Urden holding would be plausibly deniable for any house ordering such a thing from their goblin slaves, with a promise of freedom for the survivors.
Before long, the transition of information was complete, and Drizzt pulled his hood low to cover his distinctive eyes, allowing Zayana time to pull up her own hood before opening the curtains and gazing down at the arena, waving over a kobold servant to place a bet on the next bout, as was to be expected of a drow elf at Zegorath's for no covert reason. There was an image to uphold after all. And of course, a master swordsman himself, Drizzt was preternaturally good at selecting winners. He always ended the night with a full coin-purse. Slumping down in the plush couch, Drizzt allowed Zayana to take on the role of a dominant drow female, and himself a subservient male, tasked only with pleasing his mistress. A convenient cover for their secrecy, and the previous need for privacy. Better any onlookers believed it was an uninteresting, if illicit, tryst, than what it truly was.
