Part 1
Beginnings
It
was a good thing that Masters of Melee-Magthere didn't have titles behind their
names, like Sorcere did, Zak decided. Sorcere's Masters all had a 'title' of the subject of magic they were in
charge of, like Master of Illusion. Melee-Magthere's Masters were all just Masters – as students were
encouraged to pick a weapon and learn it for their entire stay, while students
of Sorcere had to learn all the magic until the last five years where they
would pick a Master.
Drizzt
stayed outside the large doors to Melee-Magthere's hall, while Zak, Zaire and
Ti'vienr swept in. Ti'vienr meekly took
his seat, and Zak and Zaire padded over behind the lectern, the ArchMage
exchanging nods with the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith.
"A
new Master of Melee-Magthere has been selected," she began, when he stopped in
position next to her, "He has come in first every year for his class' Melee,
and has graduated with the highest honors in his year."
Zak's
mind went on autopilot as the Mistress droned on formally. His foot had already gone to sleep behind
the lectern as Zaire was curled up comfortably on it. As planned, his fingers did a small, unnoticeable by the
Mistress, dance under the lectern as he began to weave a subtle spell.
"He
has single-handedly destroyed an earth elemental..."
Zak
hadn't been exactly surprised at what the dagger had been capable of. Without the dagger, he was sure Drizzt would
have been a nasty smear on the ground of some Underdark cavern by then. With the patrol's wizard downed early by a
lucky svirfneblin warrior and the clerics busy countering svirfneblin ones, he
wouldn't have had any other types of help.
There
weren't any Lloth-curs...Lloth-blessed priestesses
in Melee-Magthere. Other than the
Mistress standing next to him, that is. Now, if those fools of Melee-Magthere had listened and not made any
ingenious last-minute improvisations, the plan should come into fruit...
He
blinked at the smattering of applause that signaled the end of the Mistress'
speech. A student fighter walked up
quickly to the lectern, head held low, and offered a set of the Master's
bracers up on a velvet cushions. Velvet
cushions seemed to be traditional.
Zak
picked up the bracers. It was his
turn. He extricated his foot from
underneath Zaire and padded down the lectern.
Drizzt,
on cue, entered, dwarfed by the immense doors, apparently unarmed and dressed
in a simple robe with no house sigils. Head held high; he strode in to stop before Zaknafein. He bowed once to Zak, once to the Mistress,
then one more to the surrounding Masters.
"By
what claim are you Master?" the Mistress asked formally.
Zak
nearly held his breath, but Drizzt drew the dagger with ease from inside his
clothing, thumb effectively hiding the purple gem.
"By
this." He said. The Mistress' eyes
began to widen by this new approach, and Zak sensed a sudden influx of raw
magic being dumped into the hall.
The
black dragon appeared abruptly behind Drizzt. It's serpentine neck only stretched half a meter higher than Drizzt, but
it radiated a tight, enclosed power that could and would, if necessary, expand
without bounds.
Its
immense, lavender eyes stared down the Mistress. She looked around and apparently seemed to notice for the first
time that she was the only female in the hall, and that the dragon was
obviously more powerful than she was.
"Your
claim is sufficient," she said haltingly and formally, her cry of outrage
somehow stifled by the distinctly different aura around each Master now.
Drizzt's
impassive face flinched for a brief second, as if the dragon had said
something.
Zak
stepped forward, and Drizzt held out his hands. For a moment the mage felt the intense, penetrating gaze on him,
but he resolutely did not waver. He
clasped the bracers onto Drizzt's wrists. As he did so, he tied off the spell, then rubbed away the traces with a
single thought. As he looked
accidentally up and met the dragon's eyes, he thought he saw a tint of respect.
"By
your claim you are Master," the Mistress said shakily.
"By
your claim you are Master," Zak also repeated, and time, for many in the hall,
turned in an instant into treacle. "Master of Melee-Magthere."
"Master
of Melee-Magthere," the Mistress echoed, the confusion-spell on her doing its
job. "Tier Breche welcomes you..." she
stiffened.
Zak
could nearly hear the sound of all the Melee-Magthere Masters holding their
breath.
The
Mistress looked around helplessly, but the dragon somehow caught her eye, and
held it hypnotically. It was a curious
look, the type of look one gave interesting bugs that could be squashed with a
flick of the finger, but interesting nonetheless.
"Master
of Melee-Magthere," she nearly whispered, her words seemingly dragged from her
mouth. Then she quickly looked away,
and with as much dignity as she could gather, fled from the hall.
One
of the Masters rose as if to go after her, but a firm stare from Zak caused him
to sit down again.
"Tier
Breche welcomes you, Drizzt," Zak smiled. Around the hall, Masters were breaking out into relieved laughter and
congratulatory pats. Drizzt grinned at
him, turning his hands this way and that to admire the bracers.
"The
Master of Sorcere has a chain of office," Zak observed, "Let the Dagger now be
the symbol of Melee-Magthere then – small, deadly and powerful – and let it be
called the Dagger of Magthere. Let all
further Masters of Melee-Magthere hold the dagger."
A
cheer was picked up, oddly from Ti'vienr, and spread, as such things do.
Zak
could feel the dragon watching him, but he looked up and took its stare
openly. To his mage eyes, the dragon's
orbs fairly blazed with the color of raw magic, and he slowly reached through
his filters until his did, too.
The
dragon cocked its head as if understanding something, and looked away. Zak took a breath and let the magic go, then
noticed Zaire growling at the dragon by his side.
He
didn't need to look at the cheetah to know what she was thinking, for her
thoughts blazed in their linked minds, fiery brands of primal fear, an animal's
hatred for Dark and the unknown, and the sinking feeling a creature gets when
it encounters something more powerful than it would ever hope to be.
Evil. Evil. Evil.
**
That elf is thy father?
Yes. Drizzt replied, as some Masters came forward to shake him by the hand.
He is born of raw magic, like the first
ones.
Drizzt noted some
approval in this. Er?
The first elves were of magic, and they controlled raw magic
– or it could be said that raw magic controlled them. Magic is not a resource to be used, but a sentient being that
gives, and also takes.
So magic is bad?
I am of magic. The dragon replied simply. Drizzt could not ascertain whether the
dragon meant it was 'bad' or not.
Oh. Drizzt replied, shaking Ti'vienr's
hand. The Master looked as pleased as
though he had pulled off the plan himself. Zak, who was watching everyone covertly, flicked his eyes up in a
gesture of contempt behind Ti'vienr's back and looked amused.
These female elves...they will make
trouble?
Probably.
Then I will kill them.
No!
Trouble should be stopped first before it starts. Or wish thee to make an example of them?
No. Er...Zaknafein
has a certain plan, I think.
He does not.
Then he'd think of one. Drizzt told the dragon decisively.
I obey. The tone of voice was mocking, now.
**
"They
have enlisted the help of a dragon of magic!" hissed the Mistress of
Arach-Tinilith, pacing around the great chapel of Arach-Tinilith. She felt more confident now that she was
surrounded by the trappings of her power.
"His
dagger?" Vierna asked in curiosity.
"Yes,"
the Mistress said, then abruptly spun on the priestess. "How did you know?"
"Zaknafein
and Jarlaxle have been overtly secretive about it," Vierna said quickly, "And
one of their flaws is an urge towards being melodramatic."
"I
have looked at it," the Mistress snarled, as the others looked warily at her,
"It is the Dagger of Menzoberra. The
warrior Drizzt failed to cover the purple gem completely enough."
"Why
does Lloth's tool not strike him down?" Viken of Mar'kara asked timidly.
"I
know not," the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith said fiercely, but had to admit it
was something she had been wondering about. "Lloth's ways are her own."
"Then
do we interfere?" Nyvae Freth ventured.
"The
males of Tier Breche have gone too far," the Mistress growled, "First Sorcere,
now Melee-Magthere! We must act quickly, and crush them, and place Mistresses
of our own as the heads again."
"They
may fight back," Valere Shobalar observed quietly.
"We
will take in the armies of our houses and surround them," the Mistress snarled,
"The power of Lloth herself will guide us. Do you doubt, Valere?"
"I
doubt not," Valere said hurriedly. The
Mistress need no longer be pushed. "But
many in our armies have been taught by both errant schools..."
"Errant?"
shrieked the Mistress; "They have shown disrespect! They have, by summoning
that wicked thing, thrown filth on the name of the Spider Queen! This must be
cleansed! Our armies will join us in
this crusade! The Spider Queen will smile on us!"
"Assuredly,"
Brentae Branche said soothingly. "We
may consider not taking the Academy-taught nobles of our Houses, for they may
betray us. Males are treacherous
creatures."
"They
fear pain," Valere growled.
"So
do we," Brentae said brazenly, "But we both wish for power. I say we tie the males at home with
errands."
"A
good plan, Brentae," the Mistress approved, "But not for me to decide. The Matrons of the Houses will – for they
will know their descendants better. Dismissed."
**
Vierna
burst into the chapel, startling Malice and the others. "War has been declared on Sorcere and
Melee-Magthere!" she blurted out in her excitement.
Malice
started from her throne in astonishment. "Why?"
Quickly,
Vierna related what had happened to Malice, and the Matron looked agitated.
"Scions
of Do'Urden are key points of this blasphemy," she nearly wailed, "House
Do'Urden will redeem itself in the eyes of Lloth."
"We'd
fight, then," Lanfaye said grimly.
"Of
course," Malice said, "Call Jarlaxle..." she paused.
"Jarlaxle
is very close to Zaknafein," Lanfaye observed.
"We
may need Bregan D'aerthe," Dantrena said.
Malice
nodded absently. "Bregan D'aerthe has
many soldiers. Jarlaxle will just have
to carry out his orders on pain of death."
Was
she imagining it, or did Lanfaye wince?
"Tell
Jarlaxle to prepare himself and his mercenary group for war," Malice said,
"Vierna, did the Mistress tell you when we will begin?"
"While
surprise is fresh," Vierna replied, then told them of the planned ruling
Matrons meeting in House Oblodra.
Malice
wrinkled her nose – she didn't like House Oblodra, every ostentatious, square meter
of it, but she had no choice.
"Did
the Mistress tell you what will happen to the prime offenders?" she asked
deceptively. Whatever was happening,
she was sure Zak was up to the neck in it.
"Sacrificed
to Lloth?" Vierna asked tentatively.
Malice's
eyes strayed to the floor for an instant, and then her head snapped up again,
glowing with wrath. No longer would she
be weak to a mere male. "When that
happens," she said with deadly calm, "I will hold the sacrificial knife."
There,
she'd said it, and will fulfill this service to her Goddess, and bring
prosperity back to her family. So why
did her heart ache so?
**
Jarlaxle
grinned when Lanfaye walked into his room. "You could have called me," he began suggestively.
Lanfaye
looked closely at the weapon master. "Do you know of the recent developments in Tier Breche?"
"Why
should I?" Jarlaxle asked, all innocent.
"Zaknafein
is your brother," Lanfaye pointed out.
"I
haven't met him for a while," Jarlaxle shrugged, "He doesn't come to Bregan
D'aerthe HQ very often, and never here." Partly truth, and partly lies. The weapon master felt Lanfaye's telepathic
presence invade his mind, and he merely sat back and forced to the front all
the memories of Lanfaye as a child in the House. Lanfaye hated it when he did that.
"Stop
it," she said irritably.
"Stop
what? You aren't looking inside my mind again, are you?" Jarlaxle's grin grew
even wider.
"You
are to assemble Bregan D'aerthe," Lanfaye said, "The armies will invade Tier
Breche."
"Many
soldiers are in other Houses," Jarlaxle replied, "Those I will not pull
out. The rest...well, we will be there,
but I will not be leading."
"Yes,"
Lanfaye said. It would not do to openly
air the fact that Bregan D'aerthe was of House Do'Urden. "You will be leading House Do'Urden's
soldiers."
A
hint of surprise as the sides of his mouth twitched, as if he had been
expecting some other order. "Very
well," he said.
"If
you fail," Lanfaye warned him, "The Matron has promised you death."
"If
I fail," Jarlaxle said honestly, though not in the way Lanfaye thought he
meant, "I'd probably be dead anyway."
Lanfaye
leaned closer. "I'm sure you're
involved in this somehow," she growled, "Zaknafein confides in you. Do you know anything?" Her hand closed over the handle of her whip.
Jarlaxle
didn't look cowed at all, but he wrinkled his forehead as if in thought. "Other than Drizzt was becoming a Master,
no." he said. Perfect truth.
Lanfaye
was looking harassed, and she missed the sentence, her psychic abilities only
ascertaining he was speaking correctly. "Good. House Do'Urden would not
like to lose you." Implicit in that
sentence was that she would not like
to, but Malice might not mind.
Jarlaxle
watched as she walked out of the door, counted to a hundred, then went out and
padded down into the bowels of the House until he reached the portal to Bregan
D'aerthe.
He
emerged in HQ, the two guards stationed at the portal already with swords
drawn, but they ripped off a smart salute when they recognized him. Jarlaxle nodded amiably to them.
"Call
the captains to the office," he told one of them and the drow soldier quickly
hurried out. He wandered in the
now-comfortably-renovated building until he ascended a set of stairs to a
corridor laid with an opulent, dwarf-stitched, rich carpet.
The main design was
the 'mascot' and symbol of Bregan D'aerthe – an Underdark fox, or a black
fox. Supposedly smaller than surface
ones, it was totally, inky black, even its eyes, which were 'tailored' to see
normal spectrum colors, infrared, and ultra-violet. Its ears were large and sensitive, and its long legs for quick
flight. More a scavenger than anything
else, but not much was known about it except that it seemed to live in small
colonies with a definite social structure, and had a complicated language of
barks and chirps.
Jarlaxle
liked the idea – Zak had suggested a cheetah at first, but that would have been
too obvious who were the heads of Bregan D'aerthe. He padded over the carpet and went into his office, noting with
satisfaction that there was not a single scrap of paperwork on it. Paperwork couldn't beat Zaknafein's
ultra-retentive mind for anything important.
A
tamed black fox, bought with a painful price from Laner, leapt up from the
basket near the table, ears twitching eagerly. It wore a delicate black leather collar, the mithril amulet of a fox
that every Bregan D'aerthe soldier wore hanging on it.
Jarlaxle
took down a tin from a shelf, and the fox began to frolic eagerly around
him. The weapon master grinned and took
out a few biscuits from the tin, tossing them into the basket, and the fox
dived in after them.
A
respectful knock sounded on the door. "Come in," he said, kneeling down to pat the fox gingerly behind its
ears. The fox had tried to bite Zak
once for patting it – and Zaire had had to be forcibly restrained.
The
captains filed in – there were six now, as Bregan D'aerthe had expanded in the
last few years.
He
straightened, and nodded at them. "It's
started," he said calmly, "They're attacking Tier Breche. Non-take forces to be split up into six for
each of you. Walk them through
roundabout five-oh to position."
The
captains nodded. They'd planned this
last week, but had traced out several routes as emergencies. "Take forces to follow their houses until
signal," Jarlaxle said with satisfaction. "Dismiss."
He
waited until they had left, then dragged out a cloudy scrying mirror from
behind a high cupboard set. Looking at
the runes around it, his sensitive fingers traced some – stopping now and then
to press lightly on some gems, and to shift some stones to the side.
The
mirror, seemingly made from burnished adamantite, wavered, and then abruptly
cleared as if he was standing at the site he was looking at.
Zak
was standing alone in his room in Sorcere. He raised an eyebrow at Jarlaxle.
"You're
going to be under attack," Jarlaxle informed him.
"I
know, Zak said dryly, "Arach-Tinilith announced it some time ago. We've set sentries and ward-shields around
and joining Melee-Magthere to Sorcere."
"Arach-Tinilith
is cut off from Menzoberranzan," Jarlaxle said in satisfaction.
"They
aren't daring to call Lloth until the rest of the party comes," Zak grinned wickedly. Zaire turned over on the neat bed.
"How's
Drizzt?" Jarlaxle asked.
"He
and his dragon are showing off," Zak shrugged, "Scorching some minor parts of
Arach-Tinilith. The dragon set most of
the wards, and it's holding them all."
"Single-handedly?"
Jarlaxle breathed.
Zak
nodded.
"Better
than you then, ArchMage," Jarlaxle smirked. Zak shrugged.
"Bregan
D'aerthe?" Zak inquired.
"Marching
on." Jarlaxle said.
"House
Do'Urden?" Zak hesitated a little.
"What
did you think?" Jarlaxle asked, "Lanfaye wasn't very thrilled. Now Malice, though..."
Zak's
face darkened, then cleared again. "Oh,
shut up. Everything's going correctly
for the time being, then."
"What
do you plan to do?" Jarlaxle asked quietly, "We can't fight off
Menzoberranzan."
"The
dragon can," Zak's smile was wan. "But
as we aren't sure what it's here for, we better not. And we don't know what hold Lloth has on it. Don't worry – I'd think of something."
"Comforting,"
Jarlaxle grumbled, "I don't want to leave Menzoberranzan in my old age,
Zak. I have a nice life. Don't ruin it."
"I'd
try to keep you out of it," Zak said sourly.
"I'm
serious," Jarlaxle said coolly, "If you die, I'd try being a houseless
rogue. There's not much in House
Do'Urden I really need now. If you are
exiled...well, we'd see."
Zak
grinned thinly at him. "Don't worry."
"Now
you've started me." Jarlaxle muttered.