Part 2
Battle
A
Bregan D'aerthe soldier, wearing a cloak over his mercenary uniform, slipped
unnoticed into the bazaar, and padded up to a large circle of caravans behind a
stall. The dwarf in charge of the stall
looked up, but the soldier gave no sign that he was disgusted at the sight of
the duergar.
A
small flash of his cloak, and the dwarf shrugged at him and stumped into the
shade of the wagons, the soldier following.
"Whut
does those two want now?" the dwarf demanded when they were out of the noise of
the bazaar.
The
soldier told him dutifully.
"So
whut dey're seyin'," the dwarf said slowly, "Iff'n ah heelp 'em fight against
all de priestesses heere, when dey win ah get free trade? Me beard!"
Whisper,
whisper, the soldier replied.
"Yeah
well, one smallish drag'n ain't worth me spit..."
Whisper,
whisper, the soldier said.
"Ah
hah. Yeah, ah know Zak is de ArchMage,
he keeps a-flauntin' dat fact in fronta everyone..."
Whisper,
the soldier continued.
"Yeah?
Bregan D'aerthe ain't exactly half de city..."
Whisper? The soldier sounded a little
exasperated. Jarlaxle had warned him
about the dwarf – Laner, who outmatched most drow in bargaining.
"Right,"
Laner said, more businesslike now, "Whut ye are seyin' is there'n a smallish
chance ye'd win, and if ye lose me and me kinfolk get sacreeficed to Lloth next
to yer Masters. If we win, ah get free
trade. What else I do want..."
After
the next few minutes, the soldier winced.
"Ye
agree? Ah have enough mercenaries dis time. Ah, ah see yer Masters know. Dey
always do. Well?"
"Free
trade," the soldier said coolly, not even whispering now.
"An'
me conditions," Laner replied, not missing a beat.
"No
doubt something can be negotiated later..."
"Ah'm
talkin' about now."
"I
am not at liberty to..."
"Yes
ye are. Ah've seen yer uniform. Yer a cap'n."
"The
Masters..."
"Gave
ye instruct'ns on de lines o' : Go get Laner. He has a lotta troops this year. He may want de trade, de bugger, an' all sorta of expensive cutthroat
deels. We need hees help, so git him
o'er here."
The
soldier looked surprised. Broadly
correct on all points.
"Well..."
the soldier deflated slightly.
"C'mon
now," Laner grinned wolfishly, "Only a-teasin' ye. Ah'd settle this with yer Masters later. Where's thisy here fight?"
The
soldier told him, then jogged out of the caravans, ostensibly with a
purchase. Laner watched him go, then
unstrapped his large two-handed axe from his belt and banged it against his
shield.
Dwarves
erupted from the caravans. Laner
counted the two hundred, all armed with mithril and adamantite weapons and
armor with satisfaction. He had
prospered in the last few years. Leaving some on guard, he nodded to the rest.
The
duergar slipped away in an alley, weapons at the ready. There they met another soldier, who nodded
at them and started to lead them through a quiet route towards Tier Breche.
**
Around
Menzoberranzan, the drow began to march.
Jarlaxle
looked at the Do'Urden troops with his usual cocky self-confidence then turned
to Malice. "Matron Mother..." he began.
"Speak,"
Malice said absently. Her fingers
stroked a precious sacrificial knife at her side.
"Tier
Breche is in a cavern," he said tentatively, "Not many soldiers will fit in
there..."
"I
see your point, Weapon Master," Malice said abruptly, "Trust in the Matrons."
Jarlaxle
nodded. He had made a Contribution, and
now just concentrated on walking. He
dared not think of the plans. He dared
not think of all the nasty surprises that Sorcere and Melee-Magthere were going
to do.
He
needn't have bothered. Lanfaye was too
agitated to pay much attention to his thoughts.
**
The
dragon watched the approaching hordes impassively.
Kill.
"Not yet," Drizzt
whispered.
Too many will come.
"Not time," Drizzt
disagreed.
I obey.
The dragon sounded
faintly disapproving, and Drizzt didn't wonder why. He was beginning to wonder where in the Nine Hells Zaknafein was.
"Go
and call the ArchMage out," he told a Sorcere student. The student looked rebellious until the
dragon shifted its intense stare to him, then the student darted off quickly.
They are not obeying. They must be punished.
"I'm not a Master of
Sorcere," Drizzt said.
"What?"
Tyrank'al asked.
Drizzt
looked at his former teacher, and saw an older drow, still serious, still
serene. "Nothing," he said quickly.
"And
what did I tell you about that?" Tyrank'al inquired.
"Don't
reply 'nothing' when asked what you had been saying," Drizzt repeated
dryly. "Yes, teacher. No, teacher."
Tyrank'al
chuckled. "Master or no Master, my boy,
I can still handle you. And you may
need a good trashing now."
"No
sir," Drizzt grinned. The smile died
when he abruptly felt the dragon's intense anger.
He has threatened you!
Drizzt quickly put a
calming hand on the dragon's side, and nearly withdrew it. It was white-hot, but quickly cooled to a
comfortable temperature at his touch.
A joke. Just a joke, he told it quickly.
Joke...
The dragon didn't seem
to understand this.
"Er."
Drizzt frowned.
"Now
what?" Tyrank'al asked.
"The
dragon wants to know what a joke is," Drizzt said in a resigned tone. "Later, perhaps."
Tyrank'al
looked dubiously at the dragon. "If you
say so."
**
Kyorl
Oblodra stepped forward, flanked by the Mistress of Melee-Magthere and
Malice. She looked carefully, at a safe
distance away, from the flickering shields and wards that had cordoned off
Sorcere and Melee-Magthere from Menzoberranzan, and the second layer that
effectively trapped Arach-Tinilith in its own enclosure.
The
shields were transparent. In the area
between Sorcere and Melee-Magthere were students and Masters from both
schools. Facing them was an unfamiliar
elf...Drizzt, she believed. For the
dragon that had been spoken of sat directly behind him. It looked at her, and she had to tear her
gaze away with effort.
She
felt slightly violated. She had been
touched with filth! Absently she began to rub her hand against the sleeve of
her robe.
No
ArchMage, though. Knowing Zaknafein, he
was going to put up a dramatic entrance.
She
looked back at the gathered masses of Melee-Magthere as if for support. The Weapon Master of Do'Urden, Jarlaxle, was
clutching that dice-shaped pendant of his tightly. Well, she thought, as she turned away with a small smile, perhaps
the best of us...them also have their weak spots.
Behind
the shielded area were the masses of Arach-Tinilith. The Mistress had escaped the shielding, but the rest had
not. Braziers stood ready to call up
Lloth's chosen to fight for her children.
Everyone
seemed to be waiting for her to say something.
Clearing
her throat, a bad habit she meant to take care of later, she stepped forward
into the focus of attention.
"Sorcere
and Melee-Magthere," she said formally, voice amplified by a magic user in her
army, "You have thirty seconds to surrender yourselves. You will not be hurt. Just hand over the Masters Drizzt and
Zaknafein, and may Lloth forgive you all."
It
was generous, but Kyorl had seen enough of fights to know that there were
casualties, and a cornered animal fought hardest. Now, if the animal could only see that there was a way out...
No
student or Master moved.
"There
will be no parley," Drizzt agreed pleasantly, "Er. All of you have thirty
seconds to surrender to us."
"What?"
Kyorl shouted, "Have you no eyes? We outnumber all of you several times to
one!"
Drizzt
placed his hand on the dragon's neck. "We can cut down on that," he suggested.
Malice
was fuming at Kyorl's side, then she paled as brilliant light suddenly streaked
dead center in the space between the two rogue schools. The students cleared a space, and Zaknafein
the ArchMage abruptly appeared, his cheetah at his side.
Kyorl
knew it. House Do'Urden's patron had
always been one for dramatics.
**
Zaknafein
smiled coldly at the massed hordes, ignoring the priestesses behind. "Kyorl Oblodra," he said formally, "Twenty
seconds left."
Kyorl's
face was glowing red with humiliation and fury. He grinned at that, then made the mistake of turning to regard
her companions. Malice.
She
was very pale, but also very angry. He
could feel her emotions nearly radiating from her, and mixed in them was
sorrow.
Forcing
himself to look away, he patted Zaire. "Ten seconds," he said coldly.
"We
outnumber you," Kyorl snarled.
Zak
tickled Zaire's ears. "Five seconds."
**
What
was he doing? Kyorl gaped as the mage
negligently began to count down, then noticed that the students and Masters
were edging away from him.
What was he going to do?
What were they going to do?
What in the Nine Hells was
happening?
**
"Zero."
Zak smirked. He looked at the gathered
masses. "Today there will be a profound
change in Menzoberranzan," he said quietly, "Join our cause, brothers. We will unseat the females."
Not waiting for any
response, he turned around.
The
priestesses hadn't been idle. The last
of them chanted out loud, and the flames flickered and then stilled into the
candlewax figures of yochlols. Tentacles reached hungrily for them.
"Drizzt?"
Zak asked quietly. "Take care of them."
Drizzt
patted the dragon. It turned gracefully
and arched its neck, taking a deep breath.
Intensely
hot fire lanced out, passing right through the shield, melting the
yochlols. One priestess screamed out a
rune, and a balor stepped through, and immense demon.
Baleful
eyes turned to see that of the dragon's. Though the balor nearly stooped at the high ceiling, the purple gaze
held it.
Then
the dragon snarled, a horrible sound that accelerated in volume and menace.
The
balor's eyes flickered with fear, then it disappeared.
A
yochlol tried to reach through the shields. The dragon burned it.
As
if on cue, the priestesses began to retreat, calling on Lloth to aid them. That was what Zak had been waiting for.
Planting
his staff in front of him, he reached deeply into raw magic, deeper than he had
ever gone, and pulled.
Lloth
was listening. Something was opening, a
purple-black hole that would not normally be seen by any eyes, but clear and
sharp in eyes helped by magic. Zak felt
the magic fill him, and he forced it out through the staff.
Then
he knew he had reached too far, but it was too late, too late...
**
Kyorl
watched in horror as a five-meter radius around Zaknafein abruptly burst into a
kaleidoscope of swirling fire and color. The dragon had already dragged Drizzt away, and was apparently shielding
the students and Masters. The cheetah
Zaire and the staff had been hurled out, nearly impacting Melee-Magthere's
gates.
There
were blanks in the fire, as if another color was present but not there, not
exactly.
Then
her second surprise came. The dragon
disappeared, to some astonished sounds from the enemy. She held her head up.
"Charge!"
she cried, pointing her whip at the students and Masters.
Her
hand tingled, and she looked at it in amazement. Tendrils of the blank color seemed to be creeping up it, tinged
now and again by blue. Looking up at
Arach-Tinilith, she saw that the same thing was happening, as well as on any
other priestess whip.
There
was a "whoomph", and Kyorl screamed as her whip exploded violently in her hand.
**
Jarlaxle
blew his silent whistle when he heard Kyorl's order. The Do'Urden troops, already D'aerthe converts secretly placed in
Do'Urden, turned on the closest House.
In
the ranks, Bregan D'aerthe troops also turned on the closest non-mercenary
soldier, causing confusion in the ranks.
More
confusion arose when it was ascertained that something was attacking the back
grimly in wedge formation. A hundred
duergar.
Jarlaxle
ran his weapon smoothly through the soldier, and turned around quickly at
movement sensed behind him.
Lanfaye
stared at him with horrified eyes. Her
side was bleeding from the whip explosion, and Jarlaxle could see it was
serious.
"Damn,"
he whispered. He looked at the
fight. Then he looked at her. Then at the fiery holocaust of flame where
his brother was.
He
grabbed the nearest Bregan D'aerthe magic user. "Portal to HQ now," he snarled. The drow had the sense to comply quickly, as Jarlaxle picked up the
feebly protesting Lanfaye easily in one movement. He'd go back later.
**
"What's
happening?" Drizzt demanded, fighting off several soldiers beside Tyrank'al,
who was carefully setting off fireballs in the midst of enemy troops and small
fans of flame for closer ones.
"To
Zak?" Tyrank'al replied, "He's using pure raw magic...reached in too far!"
"In
where?" Drizzt asked desperately.
"Magic,"
Tyrank'al replied, viciously booting a soldier that got too close, then
cracking his head with the heavy staff. "All mages have a filter against raw magic. He's used too much, and his filter's melted off..."
"So?"
Drizzt asked.
"I
don't know," Tyrank'al said quietly.
**
Nothing
he'd ever done would compare to this. Pure magic surged through him, strengthening his senses, leaking out in
the form of brilliant green-gold, forming wild dances of flame around him.
Mine.
The voice was
like the dragon's, yet it didn't speak – it gave a general feeling of what it
was going to say. It was the voice of
raw magic, which had created the world.
It
burned in his soul, heavy and ancient and crackling and full. The first mages had realized its danger and
kept it in with filters, but he'd melted his...
He
stretched out his hand like a claw, then clenched it.
Arach-Tinilith
abruptly folded on itself, then also burst into wild, roaring flame that
consumed it into ashes in a few seconds.
There
was another "whoomph" sound, louder, this time.
And
a cheetah – Zak dimly remembered its name was Zaire – was leaping at him, the
flames and colors of magic streaming off its fur, his staff in its mouth. Forcing him down as the shockwave knocked
down everyone standing.
Zak
remembered a vision.
**
Zaire
didn't know why she did that...instinct, perhaps. And perhaps also the fact that the weird fire had streamed off
the staff like water over fish.
They
rolled to the side a little at the impact, and Zaire flinched when a large
pointed rock – a stala-something – rammed into the place where Zak had just
been standing.
Though
the cheetah couldn't sense it, a Presence older than the world withdrew from
her mind. Raw magic had looked for an
opening into the world for centuries, and now it had found one, it wasn't going
to let it die that easily.
**
"Oh
Lloth," Kyorl whispered. Arach-Tinilith
was just gone.
Drizzt
had stood up, as had many other soldiers.
"You
have seen what we can do," he said, a little shakily, "Will you join us,
brothers of Menzoberranzan?"
"A
little too dramatic," Tyrank'al muttered.
Drizzt
wasn't listening – he was wondering what had happened to the dragon. Too little blood offering, perhaps, but he
hadn't the strength to call it again.
There
was some hesitation on the soldiers' behalf.
Kyorl
stood up, swaying slightly. "We will
never give in!" she shouted, "Lloth will protect..."
"Lloth
is nothing." Zaknafein rose to his feet. His voice was unearthly and echoing. "Compared to pure magic, what powers does your puny goddess have?"
There
was a shrieking and a black, pervasive influence suddenly, but Zak tilted his
head slightly and it was gone.
"Do
you give in?" Zaknafein asked the soldiers, "No more sacrifices for us. The females have downtrodden us for
centuries on centuries, and it will stop now. They will no longer order us to our deaths. They will no longer speak to us like an inferior species, or have
ranks higher than the highest of us. We
will no longer be treated like tolerable refuse. What say you?"
Bregan
D'aerthe soldiers had rearranged themselves in the conflict such that different
soldiers had exchanged uniforms of different houses, so as not to identify the
soldier as 'that one who just stuck a sword in someone in the same house,
traitor'.
Looking
like any ordinary soldier, a thousand odd Bregan D'aerthe soldiers raised their
weapons in salute. Slowly, the other
normal soldiers, seeing that others had done it first, also complied, not
knowing that Bregan D'aerthe's Zak and Jarlaxle had already agreed on this
several hours ago.
There
was a cry of outrage from Kyorl. The
closest soldier, Bregan D'aerthe, stepped forward and ended the cry as quickly
as it had been voiced.
After
that, the females were very cooperative.
Zak
looked tiredly at Drizzt, who was standing nearly back to back with Tyrank'al
in a circle of bodies.
"A
mage and a fighter fight well," Drizzt grinned.
"Where's
the dragon?" Zak asked, "We may need him to hold the fort for a while against
Lloth."
"How
are you feeling?" Tyrank'al asked Zak, "You were using pure magic!"
"I
know," Zak said, cautiously feeling around. Nothing – the presence had withdrawn. "I know. I'm all right – once I
get some sleep."
Zaire
rubbed against him, leaving a long smear of soot. The cheetah was unscathed, but her golden fur covered liberally
in soot. Her gold-flecked eyes now had
some sort of blanked color around them. Tyrank'al shivered.
"Think
you can organize them a little?" Zak asked, "Jarlaxle's at HQ. I'm going to get some rest."
"Sure,"
Drizzt said. Zak winked at Tyrank'al,
who grinned back behind Drizzt's back. It was important to lead the young Master around for a while, but not
destroy his confidence.
Laner
had somehow pushed his way through the crowd to Zak's side.
"Oh. Hello, Laner," Zak said, leaning heavily on
his staff.
"Don't
yer hello me," Laner growled, "Keep yer promise."
Zak
looked offended. "Of course."
"I'd
see yer in HQ about yit when yer rested," the duergar said shortly, then hefted
his axe. "Good fight. A lil' short, though."
Drizzt
couldn't help it. He leaned back
against the closest wall, and laughed, and laughed. It was slightly hysterical, as relief flooded into him. They had won.