Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Jarlaxle

Zaire sprang to her feet when the door opened, her snarl changing to a disgruntled sound when Jarlaxle wandered in as if he had been meaning to do it all along. The weapon master had a limp where there hadn't been in the last visit.

Zaknafein looked up from where he had been scouring a thick book borrowed from Sorcere. The patron had recovered enough to be able to prop himself up by his elbows against the pillows, but still could not walk. "Busy?" he asked.

"Well, yes," Jarlaxle said, sitting down on the side of the bed automatically. "Matron Malice said you had something you wanted to tell me."

"We'd have half of what we can buy from Baenre's soldiers," Zaknafein smiled, "The roots of Bregan D'aerthe."

Jarlaxle's eyes widened. "She agreed to everything?"

"I did not tell her 'everything'," Zaknafein said dryly, "Except that we'd give the House the profits, and any information."

Jarlaxle grunted. "Good. The soldiers have been...purchased and sworn in."

"How many?" Zak demanded.

"One hundred," Jarlaxle said, fingering the dice, "And I sprained my ankle walking down a flat corridor."

Zak grinned, glancing at the number of the page then shutting it and dumping it from the bed.

Jarlaxle looked at the cover and frowned. "A Sorcere book? This is so unlike you."

"I mean to be ArchMage, brother," Zak said bleakly.

"Hold, Zak," Jarlaxle raised his hands, "You will be. Eventually."

Zaknafein sighed. "Once I reach the goal, I'd find that running after it for so long was worthless, after all."

Jarlaxle raised an eyebrow. "If you acknowledge that, then why?"

Zaknafein smiled again, though this time tightly. "Because I am so close."

His brother snorted. "Ha, yes. All in the council want to be ArchMage, and yet all the ArchMages are discontented with their seats."

"Because from that high perch they can see the higher ones that are out of their reach," Zaknafein said dully, "Also why female wizards are treated with barely concealed contempt. The thought that the highest positions are held by females is bad enough. What would happen if the ArchMage was also female?"

"Sorcere would rebel," Jarlaxle predicted easily, "And in the force of so much magic, the city would be devastated."

"That much is true enough," Zak shrugged. ArchMage had actually only meant the best mage in the city, and the one to light Narbondel. Sorcere had merged the Master of the Academy with the position, however, in an effort to make it higher. Master of the Academy had been 'Mistress' for a long time, as one of the Houses had females who were mages. Once the last Mistress died under strange circumstances, the position had been swiftly merged with ArchMage.

A desperate effort, perhaps. Mages were often more stubborn than fighters. It took a stronger will for magic, and stronger discipline, whatever the fighters should think. Magic, where one single mis-step could mean a very painful death. Oh, the fighters usually said that magic was good when far away and useless when up close, but Zaknafein would like to see what would happen when a warrior tried to cut him down. He'd hit him with something worse than an energy bolt.

Mages had high positions because magic was important in many essential aspects of life in Menzoberranzan other than battle. And also despised and secretly feared by the priestesses because their powers had nothing whatsoever to do with Lloth at all. Magery came from some unknown source, open to some and closed to many others. And seemingly, for all those after the surface wars, it was through a filter in which they could only pass using spells.

The best mages had filters with larger holes, but for those who can reach in at will, reaching for the raw magic had serious drawbacks. No one alive now was strong enough to take the immense strain. Even using a little of it as bolts was landing him in bed for several days.

The world of Toril had been created with raw magic. Too much raw magic had fractured the reality of the world, such that from afar it looked like any other planet, and yet it consisted of many 'planes' around and on top of each other. There were a lot of illogical things about Toril that were because of raw magic, after all.

"What are you thinking about?" Jarlaxle demanded, "You're smiling."

Zaknafein looked up at him, then shrugged. "Just about magic in particular."

Jarlaxle grumbled, but did not press him further. "Do you want me to speak to the soldiers?"

"Might as well," Zaknafein said, "Pick out the better half."

"Would I do any less?" Jarlaxle grinned.

"I doubt so," Zak said drily, "Then you can train them in the months that they're supposed to stay here, and when they're good enough we move them to the...headquarters."

"As you command," Jarlaxle grinned outrageously. "Do you want me to name them all after you as well?"

Zak glared at him, and Zaire hissed under the table. "I don't think that is necessary," Zak said calmly.

Zaire padded out from under the table again, shoulders rolling in the cheetah's peculiar gait that made it look as if all the skin and bones were hanging loosely down from the flexible backbone. Her paws were dog-like for better running, but the curved claws were just as sharp as any large cat. She padded over to the door, where Zak had, being bored, merged the 'cat-flap' into part of the door, then made it so that only Zaire could pass through in the same manner as a ghost passed through walls.

Then she sat down and looked at them expectantly.

"You know you can go through yourself," Zak told it.

Zaire yawned, and patted the door.

"I would if I could," Zak said, "But I can't, so go by yourself."

"What did she say?" Jarlaxle asked.

Zak shrugged. "She wants to go for a walk or something."

Zaire glared at Jarlaxle, then padded past to Zak and nudged his arm.

"I said I can't," Zak sighed, "Ask Jarlaxle."

Zaire growled her opinion of Jarlaxle, combined with a rude sound.

"Hey!" Jarlaxle protested. "If she's going to come with me, she's going to come on a leash."

"That wouldn't stop her if she wanted a piece of you," Zak grinned. Zaire sniffed and went back under the table, clawing the rumpled sheets and pillows into a comfortable nest.

"Exactly why you wanted to bond with a...cheetah is what I don't understand," Jarlaxle commented, "Surely a...tiger is better. Or a panther. They're more powerful, for one. And a cheetah...well, it's quite well known that it'd rather run than fight, though it can run very well. And it looks very fragile. In the patrols, Zaire was good for spotting trails, but other than that she can't kill with those teeth and claws unlike a bigger cat."

Zaire growled, implying that her teeth and claws would be more than enough to damage the weapon master seriously.

"I don't think she likes your opinion," Zak said dryly, "Besides, I like her. If you like panthers, go and play with the Faceless One."

"What's wrong with him?" Jarlaxle asked.

"He has one of those binding things in the shape of an onyx panther," Zak shrugged, "I've seen him try and show off before Zaire by summoning the creature. It's a large panther."

"Take it from him, then," Jarlaxle suggested, "And if Zaire's jealous you can always give it to me."

"Short of killing him, I don't think I can pry his fingers from it," Zak said dryly. "But some day his experiments will kill him. And jealousy is only the tip of the 'iceberg', as surface dwellers say, for Zaire."

Zaire sniffed.

"Let me guess," Jarlaxle said, "She said she's not jealous."

Zak grinned at him. "Sometimes I wonder what she sees me as. She's not a magical creature like the panther. Female cheetahs do not seem to have 'friends', unlike male ones, but they only 'team up' with brothers for hunting and...other activities," he grinned. "It can't be a son because once the son grows up, that's the end of the story as far as a female's concerned. It can't be a father because of the same reason, only vice versa."

"A son that never grows up?" Jarlaxle suggested with a grin. Zak looked startled.

"Somehow I did not think of that," he said slowly, "Well, Zaire?"

Zaire made a sound like a chirp. Cheetahs couldn't roar, but they had a weird ability to chirp, a little bird-like.

Zak sighed. "Wonderful."

"I take it that she said yes," Jarlaxle smiled viciously.

"Oh, shut up," Zak said irritably.

Zaire purred.

**

Jarlaxle ran his eyes critically over the new soldiers. Zak had quickly lowered himself thankfully into a nearby chair – Jarlaxle had had to support him most of the way to the common soldier areas, complaining all the way that Malice was going to kill him if she found out.

Twenty were magic-users, but Malice had maintained that since Zak had all but destroyed the mage abilities of the House's magic-users, those bought would have to stay with the house. Under rigorous training, courtesy of Yours Truly.

Then Jarlaxle walked back to Zak. "What do you think?" he asked.

"There doesn't seem to be much difference," Zak shrugged, "You choose."

"There's all the difference in the world," Jarlaxle muttered, "The tenth one from the left, he has shifty eyes that..."

"You choose," Zak said dryly, patting Zaire.

Jarlaxle nodded, and carefully picked out fifty slowly, giving them no answers, as they gave no questions. Then he told the rest to leave to their rooms.

"Right," Jarlaxle said easily, when the fifty assembled again in front of the both of them. "The fifty of you have been chosen for a special...band supported by House Do'Urden, though that is more or less supposed to be secret. If the both of us catch any of you giving out that secret, that elf would regret the day he was born."

"It is a mercenary band that would be headed by the both of us," Zaknafein said, "Of course, you will get pay and further training like the other groups. Some of you will be promoted later, but right now all of you are soldiers no matter what you were in House Baenre."

"There are several rules," Jarlaxle said, "One is that no one is allowed to 'run away'. Anyone doing so will be hunted down and hung by his feet inside Narbondel."

"Secondly, you are all expected to obey us," Zaknafein stressed the last word with a smile at Jarlaxle. "To your deaths if necessary. House Do'Urden will sponsor us until we get a...fixed practice."

"Profits will be handed out through our system," Jarlaxle said. "And...oh. Greetings, Matron Mother."

Zaknafein blinked at the figure that strode in, and tried to rise, grimacing. The fifty soldiers fell to their knees. "Greetings, Matron Mother," he said.

"You may speak with the soldiers later, Weapon Master," Malice said, her voice quivering with tightly controlled fury. She moved her gaze to the soldiers. "Return to your rooms," she said. Hastily, they rose and fled.

"What is the meaning of this, Zaknafein?" Malice asked.

Zaknafein blinked again. "Meaning, Matron Mother? You approved...that is..."

"I'm not talking about the bloody Bregan D'aerthe," Malice said angrily, "What are you doing out of your room when you are supposed to be resting? Resting, Zaknafein! The House cannot afford a crippled mage!" The last seemed to be added for the sake of any eavesdroppers.

Zaknafein could nearly feel the relief radiating off Jarlaxle. "Many apologies, Matron Mother," Zaknafein began.

"Apologies, my foot," Malice took a deep breath, but Zaknafein stepped forward and enfolded her in a deep kiss before she could continue her tirade. Jarlaxle grinned at the both of them and at Malice's indignant noises, bowed deeply, and left quietly out of the door.