Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Skirmishes

"What do you mean, empty?" Dantrag roared, or rather what would have seemed as a roar in finger-language, jerky and abrupt.

The scout cowered back in fright. The Weapon Master of House Baenre was known for his cruel punishments. "It's...it's true, Master Dantrag...on my life it is!" His fingers trembled.

"Stop frightening the soldiers, brother," an elf stepped out of the silent ranks behind them and walked to Dantrag. He was tall for an elf, and held a long staff. However, it was his ornately stitched robe that proclaimed him as Gromph, the Arch Mage, eldest of House Baenre.

Dantrag snarled, but remembered himself enough to continue speaking in the drow code. "I did not ask for your opinion, Gromph. Leave the tactics to me, and I will leave the magics to you."

"Undoubtedly." Gromph 'said' serenely. Gromph had his own reasons for coming – as Arch Mage of the city, he had various other duties, and was not exactly subject to House business. No one was exactly sure, even to this date, of the exact rank of Arch Mage, though it was surely lower than the lowest high priestess.

Dantrag was very sure why – Gromph didn't bother to keep it a secret – and half the city knew in any way, especially the mages. Zaknafein Do'Urden, a powerful mage and easily Gromph's equal if not his superior, due to his already legendary memory. The problem with spells was that to draw on magical energy, the wizard had first to shape specific mental patterns in his mind. He would have to use spells in a spell book to force his mind through mental exercises, preparing it to hold the final twisted pattern.

This was called memorization. Once a wizard memorized a spell, it sort of remained as potential energy until he triggered it with all sorts of 'junk and gibberish', as warriors called it. Once it was released, the spell would be wiped clean from the memory of the wizard's mind. Oh, a spell could be memorized more than once, of course, but each time it would only count as one time it could be used. For example, if a wizard memorized a spell seven times, assuming he was of a high enough level, he would only be able to cast the spell seven times.

Gromph's own mind could easily hold more spells than Dantrag could comfortably want to know, but Zaknafein was different. It had been apparent in the wizard school of Sorcere very early that Zaknafein never forgot everything. It seemed as though once his mind got hold of something, it held on grimly and never let go – not even a spell. He could memorize a lightning spell once and use it as many times as he wanted, for his mind very firmly remembered the pattern of the spell, instantly recalling it if needed.

It was said that Zaknafein hardly bothered with studying, and Dantrag believed it.

It was also known that Zaknafein and his brother Jarlaxle were adopted ones, found by a lucky (for House Do'Urden, at least) in a bazaar when they had created trouble, and when Zaknafein had first realized he had magical talent. Immediately they had been bundled off to House Do'Urden by the current Do'Urden Matron's predecessor and forced to swear allegiance to House Do'Urden before they could blink.

It was something that seriously irked Matron Baenre. Had she only been there instead of House Do'Urden's Matron, those two would have been a good addition to the house...aesthetically.

In truth, Dantrag hated Jarlaxle almost as much as Gromph hated Zaknafein for never needing to study. Jarlaxle was said to be the most skilled Weapon Master in Menzoberranzan, and Dantrag meant to test it out this night – even as Gromph obviously wanted to test out Zaknafein. Jarlaxle had Lloth's own luck...a gambler that always won. Dantrag meant to prove to him that it would not be so tonight.

Both ends served – both brothers had unanimously agreed to go on the same group together, as they understood each other. They understood what this battle would hold for them.

But now? The courtyard was empty, the scouts had said – and Do'Urden's formidable gate wide open.

Every nerve of Dantrag screamed out that it was a trap, and even his sisters, linked to the leaders of the groups and so to him, did not understand it. Matron Baenre wanted to move on, however, so they did.

Now they were quietly gathered outside the large cavern of House Do'Urden. Unseen, but there – and probably many in the city knew it. Except House Do'Urden...or was it not? Dantrag pushed that thought out of his head...perhaps House Do'Urden had some sort of business tonight...

We advance. Quenthel 'said' suddenly in his mind.

Startled, a mental torrent of words that mostly screamed out that it was foolishness poured out before he stopped himself, but he noted that Quenthel didn't reply. Meaning she probably agreed.

They moved cautiously – and at some point stopped – the hundreds of drow soldiers surrounding the cavern entrance like a killing, crushing force.

They were close enough to see the intricate Do'Urden balustrade clearly.

On some signal from Baenre's daughters, the slaves were forced towards the entrance, but when the first kobold unwillingly tried to step through, something happened.

A brilliant flash of stabbing light burst out, and Dantrag shut his eyes tightly, though red spots still blossomed out. Screams from the slaves were giving them away, but the light seemed to be shooting out at them. The agonized screams suddenly stopped, and Dantrag's eyes cleared quickly enough for him to know Quenthel had helped him a little.

Nothing. The Do'Urden courtyard was still empty. He had half expected all the soldiers to come charging out at them.

A sickly stench of burning flesh reached his nose, and he looked to the entrance.

In a grotesque semi-circle were the nearest fifty-odd slaves – eyes rolled up, mouth set in hideous smiles.

Sunburst. Quenthel's voice sounded shocked, and she should – sunburst was a legendary spell. A legendary, surface dweller spell, used and then forgotten in the wars that had driven them down to the Underdark.

Gromph was already muttering to himself. How had Zaknafein learnt about it? How had he managed enough energy to cast it? Sunburst required, it was said, raw energy equivalent to lighting all the faerie fires in the city and keeping them steady for days.

Already the slaves were shriveling smaller and smaller – then they abruptly collapsed into dust. The remaining slaves gibbered in fear.

There was a roar of fire from the balcony facing the entrance, and a throne appeared, with Matron Do'Urden sitting serenely on it. Her four daughters flanked her – two on each side, all high priestesses that looked as calm as she was.

Another burst of fire, and under the balcony appeared Zaknafein Do'Urden, his hands folded over his dark robe, with Jarlaxle imitating his gesture by his side, swords not even drawn. Both also looked calm, though Zaknafein's mouth was turned up slightly at a corner that could be interpreted as a smirk.

Dantrag's eyes were firmly fixed on Jarlaxle. The drow looked as much as he had in Melee-Magthere – lithe, shorter than Zaknafein, but not less muscled. The rather boyish look on his face had faded somewhat, but was still there. The strange chain's pendant of a dice was held rather firmly in one hand.

For a moment, both groups stared at each other – the sunburst had wiped off any remnant of globe of darkness shielding, and probably woken up half the city.

Then Zaknafein spoke up. "With your permission, Matron?"

"Certainly," Matron Malice said calmly. What Dantrag thought was a blob on the rail in front of her glowed clearly enough to show it as a carved spider not unlike Baenre's.

One of Zaknafein's hands unfolded, showing two beads that were being ground together. Dantrag signaled immediately, and the slaves were – unwillingly – pressed forward, spilling towards the gate.

The Do'Urden family never even blinked, but when the closest came within a foot of the gate, Zaknafein suddenly snarled something, and the slaves abruptly tried to turn back, probably expecting another sunburst, scrambling over each other in their haste.

Dantrag roared at them, but stopped when he saw portals. Hundreds of them, opening up all before Zaknafein – then the things stepped out.

His eyes nearly popped from his head. Giant spiders whose heads reached over the waist of tall Zaknafein, facing them, mandibles clicking together.

"The Children of Lloth defend us," Matron Malice said, "The Chosen of Lloth aid us. We call upon the spiders of Lloth. Swell in size and in strength, Children of Lloth. Aid us. Aid us."

The spiders immediately swarmed towards the gate and through, pouring over the shrieking slaves.

How...? Dantrag could not help but admire whatever mage work Zaknafein had done. It was forbidden to kill a spider. Already the soldiers were backing off silently, watching the slaves uneasily as the spiders finished them off quickly and advanced menacingly, chittering. Behind them now flowed the soldiers of Do'Urden.

Do not kill the spiders! Quenthel's voice abruptly sounded in his mind, To do so is to bring down the fury of Lloth on us!

Helplessly, he signaled for them to run, but circled away and waited and watched as the spiders all chased after the fleeing soldiers. Then he walked carefully to the gates, hugging the sides, not surprised to find that Gromph had done the same thing.

"Come out, Dantrag," Jarlaxle said abruptly from inside the cavern. "We know you're there."

"Would you like to fight, Archmage?" Zaknafein asked tauntingly, also from inside, "Or would you run away with your tail between your legs?"

Dantrag glanced uneasily at Gromph, but they stepped out to the entrance, facing the two of them. On the balcony, the Matron and her daughters had vanished – probably a projected illusion – they were probably in the chapel, more or less safe, matching wits with Baenre.

Dantrag's hand was already in his pocket, and a bolt shot out towards Jarlaxle, who was already moving, but the bolt caught fire and burnt to ashes two feet away from him.

"You're spoiling the fun." Jarlaxle complained.

"How did you manage the spiders?" Gromph demanded.

Zaknafein raised an eyebrow. "Luck. Lloth's own luck, Jarlaxle?" He smiled at his brother, who grinned back. "Monster summoning, of course – with the aid of some devices. Do you remember a dealer thirty years ago in the bazaar who came from the surface?"

Gromph grunted. "Laner." He named a merchant that dealed with magical items.

"Precisely," Zaknafein said coolly. "The devices enhance abilities – including telepathic animal control. I doubt those spiders would stop until all or most of your soldiers are killed."

"The sunburst?" Gromph growled.

"Luck again," Zaknafein smiled, "It so happened that Laner had a book which we both bid for, remember?"

Gromph hissed in rage, knuckles growing white over his staff.

"I'm sure this is very interesting, Zaknafein," Jarlaxle interrupted, "But Dantrag and I have a bit of business to discuss."

Zaknafein didn't even blink. Suddenly he was on the balcony, and Jarlaxle was gone.

Dantrag immediately drew his swords, and turned in time when Jarlaxle appeared at his back and attacked. Gromph ignored the both of them and strode forward, then his staff flashed and he too appeared on the balcony, ten feet from Zaknafein.

"It begins," Gromph whispered, then lightning stabbed forward from his staff, dispersing off Zaknafein's shield, then a bolt of energy hissed against his own shield.

He stood a chance, Gromph knew – Zaknafein's face was slightly drawn. The sunburst had taken a bit more effort than Zaknafein must have expected.

Zaknafein also knew this. The beads, unnoticed by Gromph, were already smoldering smears of ash on his palm. They had taken most of the drain, but he had taken the rest.

But he would face Gromph without artificial aid. And he swore to beat him...or die.