Chapter 5
Dreamscape
He
slept and dreamed. He always remembered
his dreams – the first would always seem to be some sort of paradise of the
springy turf of the surface world under the starry sky. He'd always had a morbid fascination of the
surface world...no doubt the sun was horrific, but he did like the night there.
The
moving air – wind, that is – took hold of his hair and whipped it around
gently, and he brushed the strands off his face. Zaire's burnished gold eyes stared at him from the depths of the
undergrowth, and he grinned at the cheetah. For some reason it looked rather relieved.
Dreamscape
jerked.
He
grimaced. Jarl stood by his side as
they walked with shamefaced look up the dim-lit building of the brothel towards
Sherl's office. They'd broken something
again, though accidentally.
It
wasn't exactly their fault, after all. Balls were meant to be played with, and the outside was full of bad
people who'd jump at a chance to spoil a game.
They
reached the forbidding door, and Jarl muttered something about an old buzzard
before Sherl told them to come in.
Dreamscape
jerked.
"...And
are you going to do it again?" Nina demanded.
Zak
and Jarl sighed. They'd already been
through this with Sherl...it wasn't fair. "No, Nina."
"And
will I hear of this again?" Nina continued.
"No,
Nina," Zak and Jarl groaned. Tedium,
tedium, but they knew very well what was going to happen next.
"Right,"
Nina said, taking out a stick she used whenever they did something bad. "Down, the both of you. This is going to hurt me more than it'd hurt
the two of you."
Jarl
snorted loud enough for Nina to hear, and quickly tried to cover it with a
cough.
"Would
you like some medicine tonight, Jarl?" Nina asked sweetly, "For that cough of
yours?"
"No,
Nina," Jarl said hastily.
"And
don't smile like that, Zak," Nina said, her voice suddenly stern, "I might
decide to dose you with something so you won't catch the cough. Just in case."
Dreamscape
jerked.
"You
had better be careful," Marena said firmly, "It's market day, and there will be
a lot of Matrons going around. They'd
mostly be around the place where they sell soldiers, Tirach, I think, but be
careful. And don't go near Tirach."
"Yes,
Marena," Zak and Jarl mentally rolled their eyes. Yes this, no this, sometimes they really felt like running
away. But they couldn't.
"And
what would you be?" Marena asked expectantly.
"Careful,
Marena," Zak and Jarl chorused.
"And
where won't you go?" Marena asked.
"Tirach,
Marena," Zak and Jarl sighed.
"Good. We don't want you to come back in pieces,"
Marena snorted, then her face softened. "The sisters pooled some money together," she said, handing them some
coins each, "From the night's earnings. Make sure you don't spend it all at once."
Dreamscape
jerked.
Zak
watched in a sort of stunned amazement as Malice ran away from him and turned a
corner.
"What
did you do now?" Jarl asked quietly, walking out from somewhere to his
shoulder.
"I
didn't do anything," Zak protested, "That is, Malice's leaving tomorrow for
Tier Breche, so I just wished her good luck. With all due respect."
"And
what did she do?" Jarl asked, then grinned impishly as Zak's face reddened in
the infrared spectrum with what looked like embarrassment.
"I'd
never understand females," Zak murmured as Zaire purred and rubbed against him.
"What
did she do?" Jarl grinned, but his face turned solemn when Zak shot him a
murderous glare. "Well, sorry, if it
hurts your pride or something. I only
saw her running away. And crying,
too. What will the Matron think?"
"I
really don't understand," Zak said, "It's been years since we've been in House
Do'Urden, and she's always seemed to make it clear she hates the both of us,
and me especially. And she stares at me
most of the time and looks away when I turn my head. And now?"
"Kisses
and tears and running away," Jarl mused, then hastily added when Zak's face
darkened further, "Stands to reason, Zak. You haven't seen the looks she's thrown your way when she thinks no
one's looking. Lloth, Zak, when that
one becomes Matron you'd better start running."
Another
shadow loomed up out of the passageway where Jarl had come from. "I am sure your conversation is just
fascinating. Both of you." They looked
up to see the figure of Raenral, current patron of House Do'Urden. Of average height and dapper in shape,
Raenral was patron because of his overly handsome face. He was a mage of dubious power, but had been
chosen to teach Zak until he became of age enough to enter Sorcere.
"Master
Raenral?" Zak said uncertainly.
"Zaknafein
Do'Urden, you will come with me," Raenral said severely, "I will tolerate no
gossip in this House. Jarlaxle
Do'Urden, you will go back to Weapon Master Maerlan and tell him that you have
committed a grievous indiscretion. I
trust he will teach you a lesson."
Zak
looked back at Jarl when he was being led – no, towed away, and exchanged a
private smile. They'd gotten into
trouble before, and the 'justice' of the house was such that the both of them
would be punished, but they'd take it. Together.
Dreamscape
jerked.
Zak
looked around the cavern, gripping his staff more tightly. Students had a choice of magical weapons
offered by Sorcere, and some chose the wands for their charges of spells, some
the staff for enhancing. Zak knew he
could...would remember all the spells he had ever studied, and he'd gone
through the books more than twice the night before.
Each
had a sort of medallion on their chest that generated a small shield around the
wearer. The idea of it was that any
spell hitting the small shield, if offensive and deadly, would be dispelled,
and the medallion would let out a loud sound to call the Masters above to the
drow. The drow would be counted as
'out', and ranked accordingly.
Not
unlike the 'Melee' at the warrior school. There had been hundreds of rules in the first few, but as they
progressed, there became less and less rules.
This
was his final 'Skirmish', as Sorcere called it. They only had one every three or so years, and for as long as he
could remember he'd been of the top rank. Gromph Baenre hadn't liked it, but he could not do anything. For the last seven 'Skirmishes' he'd beaten
Gromph fairly.
Seeing
the bond Zaire had with him and knowing it could not be broken, Zaire was
allowed into Sorcere, but the cat was under the strictest rules. Now, it was on a chain and tied at the
entrance of the caverns, watched over carefully. The Masters took no chances.
The
last one had no boundaries on the spells. Zaknafein kept an iron hold on himself and his spells as the first flash
somewhere to the northwest told him the battle had started.
Dreamscape
jerked.
He'd
spent the last six months in Arach-Tinilith, bowing and scraping to the
priestesses, submitted to speeches even longer than Sherl's had ever been.
Zaknafein
had a neat trick he'd learnt somewhere, though. He could act as though he was listening with his heart and soul,
while his mind fell asleep, or partly asleep. He'd never been caught, and he'd never actually remembered anything
enough to think about it. Oh, he could
recall it if he wished under questioning, but for the time being, he simply
couldn't care less about the silly priestesses and their silly speeches.
He
was rather thankful that Malice had already graduated before this year. So that he wouldn't be able to meet her in
the passageways. He still wasn't
exactly sure about her.
Zaknafein
had gone back to House Do'Urden every Festival of the Founding, but for every
one Malice had avoided him. Jarlaxle
never seemed to change on the outside, but Zak sensed he had become more
sardonic and serious. At least he
hadn't become like Maerlan, a totally cold and ruthless warrior who would have
killed Jarlaxle if he had the chance, the same as Raenral would have killed
him.
The
ways of the drow gave him a headache and a boiling anger he never could
suppress until one day he lost his temper in his room. Jarlaxle had come over to see what was
wrong, and they had a long, painful talk, then the both of them decided to try
and deal with it together as much as possible. They could not justify some of the ways, but they could forget, or let
out the anger somehow.
Maerlan
was showing his age, and Jarlaxle was obviously the candidate for his
successor. Maerlan had taken to glaring
at Jarlaxle with a deep and profound hatred.
Dreamscape
jerked.
"One
over there," Jarlaxle commented casually. Zaknafein nodded, and concentrated – the water troll burst into flames.
Maybe
coincidence, or maybe not, but Jarlaxle was inside the same patrol. Probably as not the Matron had pulled a few
strings. Jarlaxle had point position,
with Zaire, though the cat had protested mightily when Zaknafein told it to
stay with his brother. Zaire did not
like Jarlaxle very much.
The
patrol leader motioned them on, and they continued, with Zaknafein as their
wizard staying in the middle, and Jarlaxle running on ahead with Zaire at his
heels.
In
Zaknafein's mind, the cheetah continued its angry grumbling.
Dreamscape
jerked.
"Wipe
that look off your face, Zak," Jarlaxle said when they were out of earshot of
the chapel, "You look rather ridiculous."
Zaknafein
scowled at him. "Ha, yes."
"You
know very well that she was going to do that. Didn't you?" Jarlaxle asked.
"No,"
Zaknafein said, "She's been avoiding me so long I'm not sure of what she thinks
anymore. And I don't care."
"Yes
you do," Jarlaxle said firmly, "And you know it."
Zaknafein
sighed, but refused to admit his brother was right. "It's a bit fast. The
Matron...that is, the ex-Matron suddenly dead, and the other sisters leave to
create their own houses. Eighteenth
house we may be, but I think that Malice should have kept a few allies. And thought about it before...before doing
this. I mean, naming a patron isn't as
important as if the house would fall."
Jarlaxle
let out an evil chuckle. "Watch your
back, Zaknafein," he said, "Malice's been waiting to do that for a long
time. Why should she wait? And you'd better watch your words, too."
Zaknafein's
eyebrow shot up. "I don't find any
fault with it. You do it too – more
than myself. Your room's not exactly
far from mine, and the walls not that thick."
"Females
see it another way." Jarlaxle said airily, "And I'm not tied to anyone
now. Patron you may be, but you'd
better stop, or she might just decide to whip you."
"I
do have some common sense, Jarlaxle," Zaknafein said, "Thank you so much for
telling me what I already know. What
about you? Isn't being named Weapon Master a little quick as well?"
"And
tiring," Jarlaxle sighed, "I hate waking up early in the morning. Yes, it does impress the females, what with
duty and such, but really, I like my sleep."
"So
do I," Zak said automatically, and instantly regretted it when Jarlaxle let out
an amused laugh.
"You'd
not be having much of it now that..." Jarlaxle yelped as Zaknafein stepped
firmly on his foot.
Dreamscape
rippled like a pond where someone had dropped a pebble, and he could hear
voices. His consciousness rose.