Part 5
Malice
Translator's Note: The game Seo'ur, as described by Jarlaxle of Bregan D'aerthe, mostly closely resembles the human game 'contract Bridge' – to draw an analogy - though somewhat more complex, involving a requirement for a good blend of guesswork, luck and quick deduction.
If there were one word to describe, for the most part, my state during my stay in Melee-Magthere, it would have been 'boredom'.
Once the novelty of a new routine wore off – and it did after a week or so – one could more or less tell how each day would run – with unceasing monotony. The only spot of amusement we had was at the start of each Narbondel cycle in the lectures about our Duty to Lloth. That was due to the lecturer then – a singular character called Master Tal'nag.
Tal'nag was considered a good lecturer by the Academy because no student ever seemed to be sleeping, or otherwise distracted, during his lectures. It took the Academy decades to realize that was not because they were really listening to him – after which his life was short and full of incident.
The reason why all students seemed to listen so breathlessly to his spittle-filled admonishments and declarations about the evil of Lloth's enemies was because of his face. Tal'nag unconsciously twitched whenever he was speaking to a group. His right eye would suddenly squint in a move like a poorly-executed, exaggerated wink, at uneven intervals. It was hypnotic. No one in the room took their eyes off his face for the entirety of his three-hour lectures. Combine that with his dramatic, free-wheeling hands as they attempted to emphasize, somewhat comically, whatever he was going on about, and his slight stammer, and you have entertainment.
Despite Tal'nag – or perhaps, thanks to him – not one word of his lectures still reside in my mind, so I cannot provide this journal with an example. The memory of it, however, is one of those priceless impressions that will last as long as I live. The mad 'teacher' and the sinking, tensing feeling of rising laughter that had to be repeatedly stifled until one managed to reach one's bed and pretend to cough into the pillow…
After the lectures would be exercises, after which we would be allowed to eat the first meal of the day – giving thanks to Lloth, of course. Then would come long hours of training. In the first year students were seen as generally pathetic and able to hurt themselves with mere cutlery, so we practiced with blunted weapons or poles, depending on the Master's mood. The Master in charge of my class all the way up to the last day of our stay in Melee-Magthere was Bae'lan, and he proved to be hard and strict, supervising our routines with a sharp, piercing eye.
The routines were boring. We did not fight each other, but just practiced hitting our poles against our partner's poles, learning basic parry and block, thrust and slash. Still, it did strengthen muscles and improve the amount of force we could put into a move…
I made no good friends – it was easier that way. However, I did learn how to play cards – one of the students, Sol'ranr, had somehow managed to sneak a pack in, and since he was in the bunk below mine in the dormitory, we always ended up playing Seo'ur with the bunks to our right. I got better at the game rather quickly, since Sol'ranr was a good teacher and a good partner. I would think it was because of the cards that I did not die of boredom in Melee-Magthere, though playing was a tricky business – it was not allowed, so we had to keep a watch out for roaming Masters. Bae'lan never did suspect why the four of us always seemed slightly more tired than the other students.
I remember the first time I spoke to Sol'ranr. He was slender and thin, rather unassuming, and I could feel his somewhat calculating gaze staring at my back as I climbed onto the top bunk that I had been given.
"Your name?" he asked finally, when I had inspected the bunk to my satisfaction. No little bugs or stains – the bed was not as soft as what I had been used to in House Do'Urden, but it would do.
"Zaknafein Do'Urden. Yours?"
"Sol'ranr Ill'dana," his eyes flickered quickly to the door, and out of habit, I followed his glance before looking at him again, somewhat warily. His entire attitude spoke of something illegal, and I did not want to get into trouble with the Academy.
"Have a good night," I said, with a tone of dismissal, and pulled my legs up to the bunk.
"Wait," Sol'ranr said quickly, glancing at the door again, and then lowering his voice slightly. "You play cards?"
"What?"
"Cards. Seo'ur, to be precise."
My surprise at the question must have shown in my face, because he smiled fleetingly. "Do you think I am going to spend ten years of my life without finding anything fun to do?"
"I do not… know how to play," I admitted, feeling a horrified fascination beginning to build. Sol'ranr's expression had a certain manic quality to it that I now recognize as a common component of an obsessive.
"You want to learn?" His speech was clipped, skipping over words that his mind seemed to deem unnecessary, whenever talking about cards. It was a peculiarity of Sol'ranr that gave me the occasional headache whenever he tried to teach me something. Having to pay attention both to the content of his words and link together the words themselves was trying.
"I do not mind."
"Yeah, I could see the boredom written all over your face," Sol'ranr smirked. While he was explaining the business of cards to me – and not easily, since I stuck on several points, such as bidding – the bunk to our right ascertained through our whispered conversation that we were talking about cards, and introduced themselves, to So'ranr's pleasure, as card players. Raein't and Inofein, I believe their names were.
Seo'ur is a very interesting game, and its popularity, in my opinion, is somewhat unusual, as it requires quite a lot of teamwork. Sol'ranr was a very good player, and I wondered for a while why this was so – did not his House have anything for him to do? I asked him this once.
"My Matron likes Seo'ur," Sol'ranr had replied, with a grin as he took in my disbelief. "No, I am not joking. She plays it with me and my sisters whenever she gets bored. Which is often."
"And does she win?"
"Of course she does," Sol'ranr shrugged. "She's good. And even if she was not good enough to win, we would probably let her."
"Ah… why does she like Seo'ur?"
"Ask her," Sol'ranr shrugged again. "I never do understand Matrons. Now, you bid for swords if you have a lot of swords, understand?"
**
The coming of the Festival of the Founding during my first year in Melee-Magthere was eagerly anticipated. After all, we would get a holiday – even if it meant having to return to our Houses – but anything that broke the monotony that our lives had become was extremely welcome. Through the Seo'ur games I learnt about what my companions were going to do – apparently their Matrons had given them the entire day off, so they were going to visit some of the drinking pits and… play Seo'ur. How exciting.
Matron Daermone in my case, however, was somewhat less free with the idea of her weapon master-to-be wandering around getting drunk (as she put it in her letter to me that arrived a cycle before the Festival), and wanted me back at the House, immediately. My Seo'ur companions sympathized, especially Sol'ranr, who would therefore lose his partner for a day, but I was secretly relieved. Malice was apparently going to show up in the House, as she would also be let off from her studies, and it would be my first real glimpse of her. I was curious. And getting sick of Seo'ur.
On the day itself, we were let off in the early morning, and we went quickly down the large stairway after listening to the Masters issue dire threats about what would happen if we did not return on time. The Priestesses had been let off the day before – quite unfairly – but the Mages came out at the same time. I bid farewell to Sol'ranr and the others in Manyfolk and walked briskly to House Do'Urden, the Festival of the Founding celebrations gearing to a start around me. Brightly coloured decorations were displayed near candlelight or magelight to bring out their hues, and doors were flung open to invite any visitor in.
I have always found the Festival to be an extremely amusing time of the year. It is said that centuries ago Lloth, out of amusement, decided to appear as a male to a House, got treated like a male, and when in the process of being thrown out turned back to her true form and razed said House and all its inhabitants to the ground. One could then, each Festival, now see all the noble-born females smiling – rather forcedly – at anything in the street, or any beggar or such that cared to enter their homes.
Soelisk was waiting at the gates, trying to seem as though he hadn't been waiting for quite a while.
"Is something wrong?" I asked curiously, when I was in range.
"What? Oh. Nothing's wrong." Soelisk said, seemingly distracted.
"Something is wrong," I concluded. Soelisk shot me an irritated glance, so I added, "Or why would you be here?"
Soelisk sighed. "Matron Daermone makes it quite clear what would happen to any male who disturbs any of the decorations in the House, so it's much simpler just to stay out of the way. Even the mages have hidden themselves somewhere. I was just waiting for company."
"Ah."
"And Saole is always extremely playful during the Festival, " Soelisk reminded me sourly as we walked slowly towards the Weapons Hall area of the House, far away from all the busy last-minute preparations to receive another House's Matron. Apparently House Do'Urden and House Ul'trena, four ranks lower, took turns each year to visit each other. It was a comfortable arrangement, since neither House had any intention to attack each other (the reasons were complex and hard to explain), and so, under the eyes of Menzoberranzan, they were considered 'friendly'. Visiting each other year after year would prevent any Houses which did want to attack and could use the visit to gather layout information from coming over.
That was true. Something about the Festival made Saole rather strange, and she would play rather elaborate and cruel tricks on Soelisk. It was quite obvious to me after the first Festival I had in this House that Saole did know of Soelisk's feelings for her, and found them a source of entertainment. Whether or not Soelisk knew of this, I could not tell, and did not really wish to enlighten him.
"Why does Matron Daermone want me back here?" I asked curiously once we reached the Hall.
Soelisk snorted. "She doesn't want her prospective weapon master 'accidentally' getting killed in the streets. Reports of your progress in Melee-Magthere have been common knowledge."
"Really?" I blinked, as I sat on one of the couches opposite Soelisk, watching him bring out glasses and a bottle of mushroom wine.
"You did defeat a Master," Soelisk said mildly.
"He was careless," I said dismissively, though I was secretly pleased.
"Careless. Right," Soelisk handed me a glass, then proceeded to pour the wine for himself first.
Infrared suddenly picked up a flare of heat behind Soelisk, and I inhaled sharply in surprise, half-standing from the couch. Soelisk glanced up quickly at me at the sound, and then yelped in shock when something snatched the bottle from him, upsetting the wine over his boots.
Saole laughed as she removed the hood of her masking-cloak to reveal the rest of her face. It had a wicked, mischievous tone to it that made me check involuntarily for the nearest escape route. Soelisk had warily backed away from her towards me, and we both started at her as she inspected the bottle, apparently with consuming interest.
I looked at Soelisk through the corner of my eye – his expression was a curious one of resignation, indignation and a nearly unnoticeable tenderness. I sighed inwardly.
"Drinking already, weapon master?" she inquired.
"Only a glass, malla Yathrin," Soelisk said defensively, "In celebration."
"Only a glass?" she repeated. Her eyes were dancing with mischief.
"Yes…"
"Mmm. Six years ago…"
"I haven't drunk anything like that year after you…" Soelisk cut in, then hissed and flung his arms up to cover his face as a whip cracked through the air. Blood began to seep from a shallow wound in his left arm.
"Do not interrupt me," Saole said coldly, her mood turning from nearly kittenish playfulness into lethal venom in a second. "Male."
The exit looked really inviting now.
She dropped the bottle, levitating it neatly onto the ground, and then approached us with dangerous grace. I felt like running, but knew that it would definitely be a bad idea. I also felt like reminding her about the rules during the Festival, namely that regarding killing others, but decided that idea was even worse. Curling the leather whip back to her, she pulled the length into a tight loop from the handle, and then used the tip to push up Soelisk's chin, exposing his neck.
From the strained tension evident in the muscles of his face and neck when she did this, it was quite obvious that Soelisk was expecting the worst.
"Hmmm." Saole traced the few fine scars that extended from his face to the neck with her free hand, slowly, her outrage apparently gone. At least she was ignoring me.
She tapped his arms sharply, and he lowered them back to his sides reluctantly. From the confusion on his face I gathered that this situation, at least, was new. "Should you be punished, Soelisk?" she said then, idly, walking behind him.
"For what?" he asked, before he could stop himself, and I winced as she kicked the leg joint, causing him to buckle rather painfully into a kneeling position. Soelisk bit his lip, no doubt cursing his mouth.
She completed the circle around him, now back in front. Soelisk looked up once then averted his eyes. I watched with increasing amazement as she gently pushed a stray lock of his hair behind his ear, then stroked the scars on his face, her attitude something like how one would treat a favoured pet, smiling as he involuntarily leaned a little into her touch, lips parting slightly.
That, however, was rather minor in comparison to what she did next. Applying pressure at certain points on his shoulder and legs with the whip, she indicated that he move into a cross-legged, sitting down position, and then she straddled his lap. Another wicked smile at the shock on his face, then she reached behind him with the whip, pushed his head nearer with the handle and kissed him roughly on the mouth.
Now I acutely felt the awkwardness of my presence, and debated whether or not to leave and risk offending her (leaving without permission), or stay and risk offending her (insolence from staying). Priestesses, even those considered non-noble like Saole, were irritating that way…
The situation would have been very amusing if it was not so dangerous. From the growing flush – betrayed by deepening spots of red in infravision - developing on Soelisk's cheeks, she had probably expanded the action by invading his mouth. Not that he was resisting, though his hands, passively at his sides, clenched.
I decided to risk clearing my throat loudly. The kiss continued for a beat longer, and then Saole broke it, inducing a stifled moan of protest from Soelisk, though she still stayed exactly where she was. Without taking her eyes off the slightly comical expression of bewilderment that had taken up residence on Soelisk's face, she said, "Matron Daermone is expecting you in the chapel, now."
A definite tone of dismissal, and I left gratefully and hurriedly. I rather doubted Matron Daermone had demanded my immediate presence, or Saole would have told me once she had seen me, so I was rather at a loss as to exactly why she made me stay there that long. Perhaps to embarrass Soelisk further? And why would she be interested in him, if there were better looking commoner-soldiers at her disposal?
Better not to think about it – though I vaguely wondered if she was going to do anything else to him while I was gone. The House visit would still be in a few hours, and if she was this free to walk around, it meant the preparations had finished early.
The chapel was empty except for the Matron, who sat on her throne reading the inevitable tome. She seemed to have plenty of them, and they were a good way of making the one seeking her audience nervous until she chose to 'notice' their presence. I stopped a respectful distance away and fell to one knee. Obsequiousness tended to call her attention more quickly.
"Malla Ilharess?"
She looked up slowly from the tome. "Ah, Zaknafein. How did you find the Academy?"
"It has been an experience, malla Ilharess," I said diplomatically. Saying that it was boring would probably just invite punishment, unless she was in a really good mood.
"I heard you defeated a Master?"
"Yes, malla Ilharess."
"You had better come out first rank in the Melee at the end of the year, Zaknafein. Do not let that victory make you overconfident."
"I understand, malla Ilharess. I will not fail you."
"You would not fail me, or the House, Zaknafein?"
"Malla Ilharess?" What kind of question was that?
She snorted. "Surely you notice my daughters' ambitions?"
"Yes, malla Ilharess."
"They will be more apparent once you graduate and finish with the patrols," Matron Daermone predicted. "And they will soon turn their attention towards you, if they have not already." She paused for a while, as if looking at something that I could not see. "Ah, I see Reprise, at least, already has."
My expression must have been suitably blank, because she added irritably, "She has instructed her daughter to become more… friendly with our current weapon master. You, I believe, are rather good… friends with Soelisk… are you not?"
I blinked. Friends? I guessed we were, at that – to the best definition of the word by dark elves. Matron Daermone saw my uncertainty and nodded. "There is no wrong in this – yet. But I am sure you can see all the implications that an increased acquaintance of Saole with Soelisk intimates. Malice would also make her move soon."
"But why?" I blurted out, then hastily added, "Forgive my ignorance, malla Ilharess."
"Because you would make a very good ally," Daermone said slowly, as if speaking to a very stupid child. "I warn you, Zaknafein – do not take sides in this."
"Yes, malla Ilharess," I said, and strangely enough, I found that I meant it.
**
This resolve of mine was somewhat weakened later, when I saw Malice close up for the first time. She was instructing commoner-priestesses in something when I arrived behind Matron Daermone, and her beauty was incredible in the magelight. Malice was easily the most striking female I had ever seen – hers was an imperious, commanding beauty that encompassed not just her physical features, but her bearing and poise, her elegance and dignity. Her thick mane of hair had a silky sheen to it that spoke of expensive soaps, and as she moved closer to greet Matron Daermone formally, I could smell the alluring hint of her perfume. Other than that, however, she wore no cosmetics, perhaps knowing that this would lend a natural quality to her features that would enhance her beauty that no artificial aids could.
I had to look away quickly before she caught me staring at her, and in that moment, for a brief instant, I met Matron Daermone's eyes, and I saw that she knew what had happened, and had known it would happen, and there was a fleeting look of ageless grief and frustration, from the knowledge that her downfall was inevitable and inexorable, as it was the ancient, unspoken way of the city, and then she turned away, a mask of condescending politeness as she complemented her daughter graciously on her work.
I dared not look at Malice again until everything was over and I was leaving for Melee-Magthere. She was in profile then against a magelight, her hair a silver corona around her features and shoulders, her body outlined by the dim illumination as though she glowed with some inner fire that burned from her soul.
I swallowed, and forced myself to keep walking.
--
Notes and Translations:
Malla Yathrin: Most honoured Priestess (of Lloth)