Chapter 12
Laner
"Where's
Zaire?" Drizzt asked tentatively, looking around.
"Stretching
her paws by going back on her own," Zak shrugged, "She said she needed a run
after being cooped up for so many days. She even made it sound like my fault."
::It
is,:: Lanfaye informed him.
"Don't
you start, Lanfaye," Zaknafein said, "I've had enough harrowing experiences
today, thank you very much."
"Is
this the drow that faced down two hook-horrors that broke through the patrol
ranks to him?" Jarlaxle grinned.
"Hook-horrors?"
Drizzt breathed, his mind whirling with images of the giant monsters of the
Underdark.
"I
always know where I stand with monsters," Zaknafein commented, "Either they die
or I do. However, with Sorcere's
Masters, I'm never sure of any of them except possibly Taranlal Freth, Nalrann
Armgo, Pael'ran Oblodra and Larama'ln Branche."
"How
did you kill the monsters?" Drizzt asked.
Zaknafein
smiled. "No good mage is ever caught
without a trick up his sleeve," he said mysteriously.
"He
means, he hit the first one with a blast of raw magic, ducked under the second
one, a long magical blade flicks out of his staff, then cut off a leg at the
side, ducked out when it collapsed, and smashed in his head." Jarlaxle said
dryly, "Then finished the first one off with lightning bolts."
Zaknafein
caught himself on the edge of preening. "A metal staff is sometimes better than swords, Jarlaxle," he commented,
"Especially if it has blades in it."
::Admirable.::
Lanfaye said, sounding disinterested. ::I believe Malice will start looking for you soon, ArchMage. Ah yes. Have you gone through Gromph's rooms?::
"After
I speak with Malice, I suppose," Zaknafein sighed, "It's not far from Bregan
D'aerthe HQ."
::Matron
Malice.:: Lanfaye corrected automatically, then added, ::HQ? And at
Narbondellyn? Is that not expensive?::
"Head
Quarters is a mouthful, and it's at the outskirts of Narbondellyn, not inside."
Jarlaxle said, then seemed to notice Drizzt for the first time. "Why, what are you still doing here for, page
prince? Go and find Taralyn."
Drizzt
bobbed his head, quelling his resentment at being treated like a child. Well, he was a child, but sometimes he
really wanted to scream. He quickly
walked away.
"Where
is Mal – that is, Matron Malice now?" Zaknafein asked.
::Chapel.::
Lanfaye said curtly, then paused, and her voice turned honey-sweet again. ::Jarlaxle, if you would care to pay me a
visit now?::
Jarlaxle
looked to Zaknafein with imploring eyes.
"Have
fun, Lanfaye," Zaknafein grinned.
::Thank
you. Jarlaxle, I expect you up here in
a few minutes, or I'd make you come up here.:: Lanfaye said.
"Zaknafein,
I'm shocked at you," Jarlaxle protested.
"It's
a small revenge for the centuries of teasing you've subjected me to," Zaknafein
told him calmly, "Well then, Jarlaxle, if I remember correctly, Lanfaye's room
is upstairs."
The
mage walked off with the Weapon master cursing fluently in dwarfish at his
back, and smiled a secret smile. Perhaps Lanfaye would be good for Jarlaxle.
**
Zaire
padded through the shadows of the Narbondellyn district stealthily, ignoring
the Darkspires and everything else, until she reached, at a safe distance, the
abandoned stalactite of the mansion of the late Gromph. There were signs that someone had tried to
loot it, for small piles of ash surrounded the entrance and the gates.
The
cheetah looked at the stalactite consideringly, then turned around and padded
back serenely, this time ignoring the shadowy alleys and walking straight
through the bazaar, the new mithril-silver collar encrusted with gems
proclaiming her the 'pet' of some rich House. Common drow, slaves, and merchants of other races who got in her way
hastily got out of it.
A
stall amongst the slightly disheveled mess caught her attention, and she padded
towards it, sitting down on her haunches several feet away and yawning.
One
of the duergar mercenaries raised his two-handed axe, but another put a strong
arm on his hand, and called out in the language of the gray dwarves.
There
was a scuffle in one of the wagons parked behind the large stall, and a duergar
walked out, wearing fine mithril armor instead of the plain iron of the other
mercenaries, one-eyed, with a grizzly, quivering beard.
The
fierce, calculating gaze fell on the cheetah, and the one eye widened. "That be Zaire, or me marther's aye stinkin'
Redbeard!" he roared, "Whut are ye doin' here without yer marster?"
Zaire
flicked her ears irritably at the dwarf merchant-warrior.
"None
o' me business, eh?" the dwarf asked, wagging a finger. Zaire nodded.
"None
o' me business, den," the dwarf shrugged. "Yer marster's seekretive even fer drow. Ye tell heem that hees books are heer, and tell heem that they're
aye hefty price." The dwarf looked at
Zaire's collar, noticing the flat, expensive coin of emerald with her name
written with silver on it, and then he roared with boisterous laughter, causing
some drow heads to turn in irritation.
"So
hees ArchMage now, eh?" the dwarf gasped, "He told me heed give ye dat collar
when he became ArchMage. So ah've lost
me bet, ah see."
Zaire
sniffed.
"Right,
ye," the dwarf grinned, "Ah'm paying as sure as me name's Laner Axeblade." He paused. "Why don't ye tell yer marster t' come an' get it himself? Ah've been
missin' hees face, heem and hees brother. Dis way, Ah'd mek sure he pays fer hees books, or dat journey up
t' the surface cities won't be worth me spit."
Zaire
made a sound suspiciously like a sigh, and padded away, turning her back on the
trader and moving into an alley, then to a number of others until she reached a
quiet road. Pausing to collect herself,
she crouched, then ran forward, her great strides eating up the ground.
She was close enough
to the House to use her speed, and she did love running.
The
ground was eaten up by the cheetah's prodigious speed, and her spine flexed up
and down with her movements. Once a
week Zaknafein would portal her and himself to a herd of wild rothe somewhere
inside the Underdark, and let her pull down one.
Long
tail streaming out behind her for balance, Zaire flew on towards the gates of
House Do'Urden.
**
"How
did it go?" Zaknafein asked Jarlaxle with a grin, many hours later as they
strolled into Narbondellyn, Zaire padding sedately by their side.
Jarlaxle
glared at him. "I don't want to talk about
it," he said flatly, then paused. "Have
you been giving her ideas?"
"Me?"
Zaknafein grinned.
"How
did yours go?" Jarlaxle sighed, "Lloth, we are all being manipulated by
females."
"If
you call that manipulation, I like it," Zak remarked. "Fine. I didn't give her
the chance to scold me by apologizing first, then showing her the chain."
"That
took you so long?" Jarlaxle asked, with some of his normal outrageousness.
"How
did you know?" Zak challenged.
"Lanfaye
was telling me," Jarlaxle said, "Among...other things."
"Ah,"
Zak said with delicacy.
"Why
are we walking the rest of the way?" Jarlaxle asked sourly, "Wouldn't it have
been better if you just teleported us there instead of making us walk through
Narbondellyn?"
He is showing off. Zaire commented.
Zaknafein
wore his House medallion and the chain of office openly, and he fingered it
before grinning at the cheetah. "So I
am." He admitted.
"Diatryma,"
Jarlaxle muttered under his breath. Diatryma males had the tendency of 'showing off' their feathers,
strength etc during their mating season.
"Perhaps
so," Zak said dryly. He wrinkled his
nose at the nearly stunning smell of perfume wafting from one of the stalls,
where several females were gathered.
They
finally wandered over to where Laner's stall was. The merchant's normal small train of wagons was in a tight circle
behind him, probably stocked with mithril weapons and oddities collected from
both the Underdark and from the surface world, which made the trader a popular
figure amongst all three drow classes. It was enough to almost overwhelm the fact that Laner was a duergar.
Zaknafein
and Jarlaxle towered over all the members of Laner's train. All of them were duergar mercenaries, with
only one female duergar, hard-faced even for a dwarf, apparently Laner's
sister. She too wore mithril armor.
Zak
ran his eyes over the spell books, wands, swords, sabers, scythes and other
enchanted weapons arrayed neatly on the ground and on the tables. The real merchandise that made Laner return
year after year to Menzoberranzan were hidden in a wagon – those that had been
ordered by the richer members of the drow city, always providing him with
several full purses when he did leave.
"Me
beard, 'tis Zaknafein an' Jarlaxle," Laner's loud voice could be heard as he
stamped out from behind one of the tables, a wide grin on his craggy face. His eyes fell on the chain of office, and
his grin grew wider, if possible. "Ah see
ah've lost me bet."
"So
you have," Jarlaxle smiled, "Never bet with drow, duergar."
"Ah'd
remember," Laner promised. "Now, about
yer bet..."
"My
books, you mean," Zaknafein said dryly.
"Yer
bet," Laner corrected, "'Tis more important t' me den a lot of paper. Whut if ah didn't charge ye fer one book?"
"I'd
state what I'd pay for the books, thank you," Zaknafein said dryly, "Or you'd
lay off your bet by charging me higher for the rest."
"Yer
aye worthy opponent," Laner grunted, as he waved for one of the mercenaries to
fetch the books."
"My
swords?" Jarlaxle asked.
"Dem
too," Laner said, nodding to the mercenary. "Next yeer, does yer cheetah want aye...gazelle from th' surface?"
"Gazelle?"
Zaknafein asked blankly.
"Dat's
whut cheetahs eat up there," Laner stabbed a sausage-thick finger towards the
ceiling, "An' so ah thought, maybe Zaire'd like one t' chase."
Zaknafein
raised an eyebrow at his cat. Zaire
yawned, showing white, sharp teeth.
"How
much?" he asked cautiously.
"Five
hundred o' yer adamantite coins," Laner said comfortably, "Aye good deal on
accounta yer me friend."
"Five
hundred coins?" Jarlaxle choked, "How are we going to get that much out of the
treasury?"
"No
thanks, Laner," Zaknafein said, "Malice will skin me alive."
"Yer
still patron?" Laner touched the side of his nose.
Zaknafein
grinned at him, and the dwarf too, smiled. "Ah met yer Matron before," he said, "Fine feegure of aye female, but
with a bad temper."
"I've
noticed," Zak said dryly.
"Ah'd
think ye have, unless yer blind." Laner said, then rubbed his hands together
when two mercenaries came forward holding some packages reverently wrapped in
thick, insulating material. He gestured
for them to step back, then unwrapped the packages quickly.
Zaknafein
looked at the first appreciatively, kneeling down to sift through the books,
selecting some and discarding some, flipping through some critically, sometimes
running through books on the discard pile again.
Jarlaxle fell upon the
second package's contents – two scabbards and two swords. He picked up the swords, hefting them, then
ran through a few simple movements, before raising them to his eyes to scan for
defects.
Finally Zak stood up,
and nodded at the selects. Laner picked
up the discards carefully and arrayed them on the table for general sale,
wrapping up the selects again in the material. Jarlaxle picked up the sheaths and buckled them at his side, removing
his usual pair, then slipped the swords in easily. He too, nodded at Laner.
"Two hundred for all
except one, that one five hundred," Zak said calmly.
"An' ah'd be a-betting
dat last one's th' book ah managed to smuggle out of Candlekeep," Laner
grinned. "It's worth a thousand five
hundred at least."
"Five hundred," Zak
said firmly.
"One o' those ye took
were from th' libraries of th' Water Queen temple at Baldur's Gate," Lane continued
just as firmly, "Worth five hundred as well. An' another's from..."
"We go through this
every year, Laner," Zak said wearily, "Give up on it, won't you?"
"Where's th' fun,
den?" Laner challenged.