Chapter 18
First Day in Sorcere
"The
students come to Sorcere today," Tyrank'al commented, closing the heavily
warded door behind him.
Zaknafein
looked up from where he had been studying a book. Zaire yawned, leaping lightly off the bed to pad to the other
elf. Tyrank'al smiled at her and tossed
her a tidbit, which the cheetah deftly caught and retired under the cluttered
table at the other end of the room.
"I
know," he said calmly. "The class has
dwindled in number."
Tyrank'al
smiled as he unearthed a chair and sat down. "That is only to be expected, ArchMage. Drizzt is the best candidate now, that Ver'ginran is dead, and Faen'lar
Tlabbar's accident." Faen Tlabbar had a
disagreement with a lesser House, unfortunately a House with Bregan D'aerthe's
help. This had been a year or so before
Zak had left his room in House Do'Urden.
"Does
Matron Kyorl know?" Zak inquired curiously, though his voice still sounded
dead.
"Of
course not," Tyrank'al said, already feeling slightly uncomfortable. He felt as though he were talking to a
zombie. Zaknafein had recovered
slightly from his...incident; as Kyorl had put it, as in he stopped swinging
between calm and destructive rage, but had settled on calm. If anything, his magic was better than ever,
but he rarely ventured out of Sorcere now except to disappear somewhere near
Narbondellyn. And to light Narbondel,
of course.
"Very
good," Zak said.
"Some
of Melee-Magthere's masters feel that they would be better for the job, of
course," Tyrank'al said wryly, "But ever since Oblodra lost her representative,
the others haven't been listening much." The others – other Masters of Sorcere, more influential than
Melee-Magthere. The fighters didn't
like it, but without mages, that city would have no one to light Narbondel
except females, and that was worse.
"Ah,"
Zak commented. Tyrank'al felt as though
a void of emptiness was opening beneath his voice, and he tried to fill it.
"Placing
a new fighter on the seat would be surprising," he said, "We will have to hope
that he survives."
"Who
is to teach Drizzt?" Zak asked.
"I
am." Tyrank'al smiled, and felt pleasure as Zak stared at him in astonishment.
"What?
Oh. Oh yes. Good." The ArchMage said distractedly. A new law, passed carefully a year or so ago, had instructed that
though lesser fighter students, or non-noble fighter students, would be thought
by student mages, the noble ones would be taught by Masters. Another careful step towards their goal, and
Arach-Tinilith had even approved!
"Teach
him well," Zak commented, "Drizzt has talent."
"All
rounder, is he?" Tyrank'al grinned, "Fighter and mage together..."
Zak
smiled. "Not possible."
"Still,
it was a thought," Tyrank'al said. "Well, if Master Larama'ln is finished lecturing them about rules, I
would have to go."
"There's
one more noble in the class, isn't there?" Zak asked dryly. "Mar'kara."
"Taranlal
for that one," Tyrank'al said, "Both boys are candidates."
"Good
luck to you," Zak said shortly, "And do try to change the boy a little – he's
not exactly what you'd call attached to reality."
"With
my whip if I have to," Tyrank'al promised, bowed, and backed out in relief.
Zaknafein
watched the door close, then looked at Zaire. The cheetah lay down, raising her head such that there seemed to be two cheetahs,
one looking over the shoulder of the other. Her tail twitched.
"I
don't have time to play now," he said.
Yes you do. Zaire informed him. You have lots of time until tomorrow
morning. You should go to your mate...
"Malice is not
my mate!" Zak shouted, then calmed himself when Zaire returned his glare with
cool equamity.
And I have no spots. Zaire told him. Zak searched her features for any sign of
amusement, but didn't find any. He
contented himself with an annoyed grumble, and leant back down to read. He wished Drizzt luck – Tyrank'al was not
exactly a hard taskmaster, but he had seen the Master's students come out
sobbing before after one of his 'talks'. Perhaps it'd be good for him.
"Zaire?"
Zak asked. The cheetah looked at
him. "Go and take another look around
Sorcere. Thank you."
Zaire
rolled up and stretched luxuriously, then padded through the magical door,
curling and uncurling her tail.
**
Drizzt
and quite a few others in his class breathed a sigh of relief when Larama'ln
ordered them out to meet their teachers for the next six months. Really, that elf was even more long-winded
than Hatch'net, and incredibly more boring.
He
missed his weapons – they weren't allowed in Sorcere, but the sights to be had
in the School of Mages nearly made up for that. Sorcere was stately and graceful and beautiful at the same time –
not the insidious majesty of Arach-Tinilith, but something magical and not of
any gods. Compared to dour
Melee-Magthere, its mage-lit corridors were exquisite.
Their
teachers were waiting outside, but Drizzt quickly noted that there seemed to be
more students than teachers. One by
one, his year mates were led away, until there were only two left – himself and
V'asheren Mar'kara.
"Nobles
both," he whispered. V'asheren looked
at him.
"Quite
so," he said. V'asheren's House was
still weaker than Do'Urden, and so the elf respected Drizzt, admired him,
even. V'asheren was as much a friend as
he had in Melee-Magthere, also a loner. Drizzt didn't trust him, of course, but he did like him.
"Why?"
Drizzt asked. They both bowed as
Larama'ln strode out of the lecture hall and glared at them.
"Still
wasting time here?" he roared, "Shirking your lessons?" He snapped the whip from his waist, and the
both of them braced themselves.
"It
is not any fault of theirs," a new voice called, and Larama'ln lowered his
whip. Two mages hurried down from the
stairs, wearing more ornate robes than students, and also Master's bracers.
"Huh,"
Larama'ln snorted, and swept off angrily. Both Drizzt and V'asheren began to breathe again.
"Just
in time," the older elf said, grinning infectiously. "I am Master Taranlal Freth, Master of Summoning."
The
other elf had a serene expression on his face, though his eyes sparkled with
sharp intelligence and some wit. Drizzt
warmed to him. "I am Master Tyrank'al
Oblodra, Master of Invoking. Welcome to
Sorcere."
Drizzt
looked at V'asheren. V'asheren shrugged
minutely. "I am Drizzt Do'Urden..."
Drizzt began.
"The
ArchMage's son," Tyrank'al nodded, "We have heard of you. Do not expect any special treatment, Drizzt,
for you shall have none, and worse the beating if you do."
"I
do not," Drizzt said quickly.
"Very
good," Tyrank'al said. "Come with
me. Your lessons will start soon." He turned and swept back up the stairs. Drizzt signaled see you later, to V'asheren.
"To
the contrary, Drizzt," Taranlal said, "You may not for several months, if you
have been paying attention to Larama'ln. You have, haven't you?"
Drizzt
nodded vigorously.
"Liar,"
Taranlal said. "Unless you're insane or
infinitely patient, of which your father is neither, you wouldn't have."
Drizzt
and V'asheren grinned tentatively. Taranlal nodded to V'asheren, seemingly forgetting Drizzt and then led
V'asheren away. Drizzt ran up the
stairs after Tyrank'al.
He
caught up with the Master when they came onto the levels of the Master rooms,
and blinked when he saw Zaire padding towards them.
"Zaire!"
he exclaimed in happy recognition.
Immediately,
Tyrank'al turned, his whip already out, giving Drizzt a stinging blow with the
heavy handle across the face, hard enough to snap his head to the side. "Do not speak loudly here without
permission!" he said sharply.
Drizzt
bowed his head, but gave the cheetah a covert glance. Was it just him, or did he see the gold flecked eyes flicker in
acknowledgement?
Zaire
padded past him then, ignoring him. Feeling the first taste of disappointment in the day, Drizzt meekly
followed Tyrank'al into his room.
"Close
the door behind you," Tyrank'al said, and he did so automatically.
"Very
good," the Master said, taking a seat. "Now, I shall recap part of what Larama'ln had been lecturing you
about. You are to serve me for six
months, in which I will teach you to master what little magical talent you may
have. Be assured that these six months
will be a paradise compared to the next six in Arach-Tinilith...ah, I see you
shudder. The wise ones all do."
Drizzt
didn't know what to say or wonder if it was a compliment before Tyrank'al continued.
"You
are to obey me as much as you can, and I can punish you, kill you even, if I
see fit," Tyrank'al said. "Do not force
me to do so."
Drizzt
shook his head.
"Very
good," Tyrank'al said seriously. "Now,
what do you think of the past nine years in Tier Breche?"
Drizzt
blinked. What kind of a question was
that? "Well..." he began falteringly.
"The
truth, mind," Tyrank'al said impatiently, absently slapping the hilt of his
whip against his other palm, "Not some contrived, Lloth-satisfying excuse of an
answer."
Drizzt
nearly grinned at that. "Master
Hatch'net's talks were disturbing, but Mast...Weapon Master," he corrected,
"Jarlaxle of House Do'Urden advised me not to pay too much attention to them."
Tyrank'al
nodded.
"Er. It is tiring and sometimes frustrating, but
I have learnt much about being drow," Drizzt said truthfully.
"Very
good," Tyrank'al said again. "And what
have you learnt about being drow?"
"We
are capricious and treacherous and not to be trusted?" Drizzt suggested. He was getting tired of Tyrank'al's weird
questions.
Tyrank'al
smiled. "Also materialistic and
exceedingly evil? That is a stereotype, Drizzt. What we are, is a race that is very fixed on our world and our
survival."
"Such
that we will pull down all in front of us?" Drizzt demanded.
"Given
a chance, all creatures would," Tyrank'al said. "Remember that."
"I
will," Drizzt said. "Sir."
"Better
and better," Tyrank'al said, "I was counting how long more you had before I had
to beat you for disrespect."
Drizzt
grinned, then hastily stopped when Tyrank'al raised his whip.
"Now,
can you light that candle?" Tyrank'al pointed to a candle on his table.
"No,"
Drizzt said truthfully. "I am a
fighter."
"No
fighter but a student!" Tyrank'al corrected sharply. "Do it!" The whip was raised into an offensive position.
Drizzt
quickly turned to the candle and willed a flame. There was something inside him, but he couldn't get it out...then
he understood. Tyrank'al had told him
to light the thing, not to burn it...
A
small bit of faerie fire appeared on the tip of the candle, and Drizzt turned
back to Tyrank'al, and was gratified when the Master nodded in approval.
"You
are quick," he said grudgingly.
"May
I ask a question, sir?" Drizzt asked.
"You're
asking one already, but go on."
"What
if I had lighted it? I mean, with real fire?" Drizzt asked impetuously.
"You
can, boy?" Tyrank'al asked.
"No."
Drizzt said.
"If
you had lighted it with fire," Tyrank'al said slowly, "I would have killed
you."
Drizzt
blinked.
"A
fighter crossed with an untrained, talented mage is too powerful for this
world," Tyrank'al said. "Mages have to
learn several weeks to cast the small fire-spell."
"Oh."
Drizzt said.
"Now
for your second task," Tyrank'al said. "Perhaps a simple cantrip."