Chapter 19
Dagger
Drizzt
sat on his bunk, dangling his legs down to the lower one. He was studying his Melee-Magthere plain
issue chain mail carefully.
There
was a grunt from the bunk below him and V'asheren's voice floated up in a
sleepy whisper. "Go to sleep. Big day tomorrow."
"I
realize that," Drizzt said dryly. Tomorrow he would graduate, and he was already feeling incredibly
nervous, with a tight excitement that was preventing him from taking a
much-needed rest.
His
answer was a light snore from below, and he took some time to listen to it as
it deepened. V'asheren's snore had a
character of its own. First he started
with a preliminary 'hnuff...blort...hnuff' for a few minutes, which then continued to
'hrnoul...shwee...hrnoul' in a soulful, gruff voice, then an abrupt 'fnurt' in
which there would be heavenly silence in which anyone else unlucky enough to be
awake would bask in, that would be broken again after a short while.
He
looked tentatively around the room. His
class had dwindled dramatically to a mere sixteen; most of the 'accidents'
taking place in Arach-Tinilith. Of the
sixteen, only about six were actually sleeping in the plain student dormitory –
the rest were running...errands. Drizzt
grinned to himself – apparently the female students did feel lonely in their long
years of study, and this only came once a year, after all.
Not
only students, he remembered. Mistresses too. Some had given
him and V'asheren inviting nods or smiles when they passed in corridors. Especially him...and Vierna had even seemed
to approve. That vaguely shocked
Drizzt, but not as much as he thought he would be. Six months with the frankly spoken Tyrank'al had been a vast
eye-opener.
Jarlaxle
had warned him about this. "Don't get
involved" had been his advice. It was
all very well if the student was from a lower house, but Jarlaxle had said that
Do'Urden was of the ruling rank, and needed no bonding ties that would not be
to their advantage.
He
wondered how Jarlaxle or Zaknafein were doing.
A
soft blue light abruptly appeared, and Drizzt stared, hand reaching down for
the weapon that was not there. Zaire
padded out first, making an amused chirp at Drizzt's stunned expression then
Zaknafein. Drizzt blinked again then
rubbed his eyes.
Zaknafein smiled, amused, and then muttered a few words. The breathing of all the students became the regular one of sleep. Then the mage turned to the door and waved his staff vaguely. A ward of silence appeared, blue-silver notching that floated several feet above the ground.
"What are you doing here?" Drizzt demanded.
"Doing here, sir." Zak corrected calmly, leaning against a bedpost. "Thinking of me was useful for locating your position. Show some respect to an elder and a better."
"I don't think it's allowed for anyone to come in here without permission..." Drizzt started, ignoring the last bit about a 'better'. Zak waited patiently until Drizzt added a grudging "sir".
"I can find lots of excuses here," Zak smiled again, his terrible, sardonic, cold smile, "At this time of year, students and mistresses are very...active." He looked suggestively at the empty bunks. Drizzt's face began to glow slightly from embarrassment.
"Tomorrow you will graduate," Zak said. "Do you know what will happen?"
"No." Drizzt said, "Vierna just said that I'd see the glory of Lloth. Sir."
"Hah," Zak said, "That's what they told me when I was graduating. And Jarlaxle too."
"What actually happens, sir?" Drizzt asked morbidly.
"Something that may seem horrifying," Zak said dryly, "Don't worry, the terrible bits only happens to females. The males have the tamer stuff."
"What happens?" Drizzt asked impatiently.
"Demons appear in their true forms to females," Zak shrugged, "And then...well, you'd see for yourself. For males, demons appear in assumed forms, I think. It's called a vision. Most fighters have the same ones. Some fighters will have different ones that may mean they would become a Master, but half of the time they don't." The Masters of Sorcere and Melee-Magthere were holding their breath for tomorrow.
"What did you see?" Drizzt asked impetuously. Zak waited again. "Sir."
"Good," Zak said. "I saw a huge cheetah," he grinned, patting Zaire, "In brief, its eyes glowed in the color of magic, and it held a staff in its teeth." Zaire sniffed. "Ah yes. Zaire here nearly went mad with rage at the entrance. It was lucky hardly anyone noticed."
"Oh." Drizzt said, brightening up.
"Now, what is important is that you do not disgrace your House, Jarlaxle, or myself tomorrow by doing something foolish," Zak said seriously. "Do not run out of the ceremony at any cost. If it is of any comfort to you, your seeing through the ceremony properly may prevent any such ceremonies in the near future."
"How?" Drizzt asked.
"That is not for me to divulge," Zak said calmly. "Goodnight, and sleep well."
"I can't," Drizzt admitted.
"Lie down," Zak commanded. Hesitatingly, Drizzt did so, in time to see Zak start muttering again. He sat up, and opened his mouth to protest, but sleep came abruptly and whirled him away.
Zak grinned, and then Zaire padded through the portal. The ArchMage stayed to sweep away any vestige of magic before retiring through the portal and collapsing it behind him.
**
Zaknafein reappeared outside cool Narbondel, Zaire rubbing against him. He looked dubiously at the uniformly gray structure, then closed his eyes and probed again. Zaire sat down to keep watch in the darkness.
He touched the source of raw magic, and opened his eyes. First he tested it by looking at his staff – it was wreathed in green-gold, the color of raw magic. Faerie fire in the distance had an impure mix of blue and purple inside, and Zaire...the both of them had an odd aura of light moon-silver mixed it. He assumed that it was the link.
Only then did he turn his gaze to Narbondel. The tower was nearly pure dull green-gold, mixed with red-orange that was the residue of yesterday's fire spell. There was a faint, ancient trace of weaved sky-cyan, the signature of a male magic caster. Something male versed in raw magic had created Narbondel, but he had always kept that to himself. The females would have an apoplectic fit if they found out, anyway.
There it was again. In the middle of tall Narbondel was a fiery speck of brilliant green-gold, though with the odd wreath of faint, jet black.
Curious, Zak made a portal to it, and looked carefully through.
It was a cocoon, suspended with thread. At the end was a broken stairway. The brilliant green-gold came from inside the cocoon.
The view was giving him a headache. He switched back painfully to normal vision, and then willed the portal closer to the cocoon.
Mages are nothing but curious. Zak thumbed something on his staff, and the thin, magically sharpened blade slid out, carefully slitting the cocoon open, and got a nasty shock when he saw a skull grinning back at him. He took a deep breath, and looked on.
The skull still had several rags of once-rich robes clinging on to it, and through the general structure Zak concluded it had once been female. The gold and silver jewelry he ignored, but he reached through the portal and took hold of the brilliant green-gold, which was in the form of a silver dagger, a large lavender purple gem on the hilt.
The jet-black tarnish hit him. In a moment of pure nausea he saw two immense lavender eyes, oddly like Drizzt's but baleful ones, cruel ones. For a second they took on the same expression as his eyes seemed to have when he looked into a mirror. Pure dark, the black of all black colors of magic, seemed to writhe up his arm, a slimy maggoty feeling.
He spent the next five minutes retching violently down Narbondel, the dagger dropped with a clatter on the ground, though with enough presence that it was on the right side and not spiraling down into the depths of the time-tower.
When Zak recovered his composure, he located a tattered dagger sheath in the bones and took it out, then through some dint of prodding managed to sheath the dagger.
Ah...the sheath helped, though Zak felt like clawing it off immediately when he dumped it inside one of his pockets.
On impulse, he removed one of the armbands and looked at the spidery script. It was in an older version of the drow tongue, and he traced it out slowly.
"Menzo...Berra. Menzoberra!" Zak whistled a low whistle. Then the dagger would be Menzoberra's famous dagger. Come to think of it, the legends never said what it did exactly, though it was a 'Lloth-blessed relic of great power'. And the legends had never said how Menzoberra had died either. Zak looked slowly back at the yellowed bones, and noted faint scorch marks, and blotches of what looked like disease, that still glowed faintly in the black of black.
Because Zak was still curious about the dagger, he kept it in his robe for further use later. Because he was also conscientious about Lloth, he put the band back in with the skeleton and closed up the cocoon carefully before closing his portal. He didn't like Lloth, but he did know she existed, and he didn't want her wrath.
He took out the sheath again, and Zaire growled a soft warning at him. The sheath did not have a design of spiders as he thought it would, but a design of a dragon. A black one.
Did the dagger summon dark dragons? Perhaps so – Zak smiled at the interest this would bring. It would also explain how Menzoberra had managed to carve out a city in the Underdark with relatively few followers.
The purple gem caught his attention. From a certain angle...it did look like an eye. Watching him. Zak shook his head and put it in his robe.
"Do you know what it is?" he inquired of Zaire.
Bad. The cheetah replied with some agitation. Evil throw away now throw away dagger burn dagger!
"Anything more helpful?" he asked wearily, "No?"
The
cheetah looked at him steadily. Very bad throw away now!
"Thanks anyway," Zak said. Zaire chirruped irritably at him.
"I'd like to see what it does," Zak said defensively, sitting down. It was nearly midnight. He had dismissed the procession that accompanied Gromph every day here – it was boring, cumbersome, and not many saw it anyway. He preferred it this way, coming early, and in the darkness and silence meditating or just thinking.
Zaire purred then, and he stood up. He trusted the cheetah's internal clock better than the 'formal' way of telling the time.
Besides, if he said it was midnight, it'd be midnight. He laid his hands on Narbondel, and said the words for fire.
**
"And how did his graduation go?" Jarlaxle asked, sitting down.
Zak looked around the office of Bregan D'aerthe. It was carpeted richly, and had many wardings around it as well as other offensive and defensive spells, enough to ward an entire House.
"The boy didn't run out," he said, "But he's upset about it."
"Really." Jarlaxle grinned, "Did he accept any invitations?"
Zak chuckled hollowly. "Maybe he did. He wouldn't tell me." Absently, he turned the sheath around in his hands, his skin crawling.
"What does that do?" Jarlaxle asked. Zak gave him the dagger, and watched in fascination as his brother turned it around and around without any indication of feeling anything. Then Jarlaxle drew the dagger, admiring the jewel.
"You don't feel anything?" Zak asked.
Jarlaxle looked up. "Should I?" he asked suspiciously.
"I don't think it works on fighters, then," Zak sighed, then flinched when Jarlaxle made as to give it back to him. "Sheath it first. Thank you."
Zaire
made an angry muttering next to Zak. Evil thing must kill must kill evil thing.
"What's into her?" Jarlaxle jerked his head at the cheetah.
"She doesn't like the dagger," Zak shrugged, "Very unlike her to like or dislike inanimate things, even if they're very obviously...bad, as she calls it. She didn't even flinch when Malice summoned a yochlol ten years ago."
"Be careful then," Jarlaxle said. "Humph. Drizzt's in the House now?"
"In my knowledge, yes," Zak said flatly, "But you should know better." Zak hadn't bothered to go back to the House to meet Drizzt. He looked at the dagger again. Attempting to summon whatever the dagger held was like trying to breathe through muck, and he vomited quite a bit of blood after trying. Zaire had nearly gone mad with rage and fear – kept wailing about a warning, a bad warning, until he'd given up about it. And he did have a feeling about those lavender eyes.
Zak tossed the dagger to Jarlaxle. "Give it to Drizzt, would you?" It wouldn't do the boy much harm, if the eyes meant what he thought they did.
Jarlaxle nodded solemnly. Catching the dagger, he made it disappear neatly into one of the folds of his clothing.