Part 6
Saole
The second Festival of my stay in Melee-Magthere was mainly spent, I am afraid to confess, looking out rather guiltily for Malice's face. As like the first year, Soelisk was waiting for me at the gate, though he seemed somewhat different already – and in just a year at that. There was something haunted in his expression now, as if something in his life had soured quickly and painfully, though nothing of it showed in his voice when he greeted me.
"Is something wrong?" I asked him, when we walked to the Weapons Hall. The sense of déjà vu in the situation struck me immediately, and I had to keep my expression straight.
"You plan on asking me each year?" His street-speech was slipping out, a definite sign of his agitation. Definitely something wrong…
"Unless I am much mistaken, it has something to do with Saole," I mused aloud, with a sidelong glance to see if I was correct. Yes – his mouth twitched, and the haunted look seemed to deepen. "What is it?"
I knew rather well what it was, though – Saole had probably 'convinced' him to try and persuade me to join Reprise's endeavour against Malice and Daermone. Reprise had no doubt realized early that Malice would not settle for anything short than Matron of Do'Urden.
Soelisk was silent, and I was content to let him be so, at least until we reached the Weapons Hall. This time, he didn't bring out a wine bottle, but simply sat on one of the benches. I took my seat opposite him, and then just quietly stared at him as he fidgeted.
"You know Reprise and Malice are both… against Daermone and each other?" he asked quietly.
"Yes…"
"Which side do you support, Zaknafein?" Soelisk asked painfully then, after a pause, as if he had been told to work around to this question subtly, but decided finally and recently that he could not.
"I do not know," I replied honestly. "I do not have enough time to get involved."
"You planning to live longer than after Patrols?" Soelisk grinned then, a flash of his former humour returning.
"I have more than ten years to decide," I returned the grin. "It is a long time."
"No, it is not," Soelisk sighed then, haunted again, "And I'm afraid you have already chosen."
I had to lower my head, shaking it as if to move my hair from my eyes, to conceal the fleeting twist to my mouth which I would be sure that Soelisk would find telling. "I do not know what you are talking about."
"I saw how you looked at Malice last year, Zaknafein," Soelisk said quietly, "And for all the worlds, I cannot fault you."
"Did she…?" I let the sentence trail off.
"Yeah, she knew you were looking at her, too," Soelisk ran an impatient hand through his hair, "She's a 'reader, remember?"
I had totally forgotten about that fact, and flinched. "What do you have to benefit from Reprise then, Soelisk?" I challenged bluntly, "Whether or not Reprise becomes Matron, or Malice becomes Matron, you will die." Soelisk was not young, and he was not that good a fighter. At best, he would only be regulated to a commoner soldier, and he would die, naturally, or in a House raid, or abandoned in the Braeryn. At worst, he might be the sacrifice either side might make to the glory of Lloth in thanks for their ascension. Most likely the latter – both Malice and Reprise probably believed him relatively useless, and possessing too much House information, with his networks, to just be a commoner soldier again.
"I know," Soelisk said simply, and a little sadly, as if he had thought about this for a long time, and no longer felt much grief.
"Then why? Is it not easier to go? You could hide in Manyfolk, or Eastmyr, they will never find you if you are careful. If you require money, I could find some for you," I offered quickly. I had come to see Soelisk as a friend, probably my closest one, at present.
Soelisk looked away for a moment, then back at me, and I knew what he was going to say. "Saole. If Malice wins, she dies."
"Does it matter that much?" I asked, again blunt, "Does she care for you?"
Soelisk's reply was drawn out, and filled with so much underlying grief that for a moment I could not look into his eyes. "Yes, it matters… even though I know she does not care for me. I…" he rubbed a finger over one of the scars on his face self-consciously, "disgust her. I can see it. She hides it well." This last was said somewhat neutrally, as if it was some objective contemplation.
"If you are trying to get me to help Reprise, you are not doing a very good job of it," I said dryly.
"I know," Soelisk admitted, "But I was a little tired of the entire thing. I am, however, asking you now, as a friend, to help Reprise."
"I cannot promise you that," I said, biting my lip as a vision of Malice and her near-unearthly beauty surfaced in my mind.
"Or at least promise me not to help Malice. It will not matter either way – neither side will hurt you or try to alienate you, because they need you as a weapon master. Please, Zaknafein," Soelisk said, the note of pleading evident in his voice and his eyes, "I know I do not have any right to ask you this, but please."
"Will you be content if I simply said I would try?" I said finally.
"I would," Soelisk said, looking relieved. "Thank you."
As I stood up to leave – Matron Daermone would, of course, like to see me in the Chapel – Soelisk clasped my hand in thanks once again.
I decided to say something, to try and dissuade him. "Is self-sacrifice really worth it, Soelisk? In death, does not everything lose its meaning?"
"Does it?" Soelisk returned, a little sadly. "I am afraid, Zaknafein, that there is something, some state, after death, where you retain your consciousness and your regrets. Then, if I died for Saole, then I may be at peace."
"How much like an Ilythiiri do you sound like?"
Soelisk's eyes seemed to flash fire for a moment, and I saw I had finally touched a nerve. "Living your life the way someone else thinks you should always struck me as extremely…" he paused here, breathing heavily, as if groping for the correct word, then snarled, "vithin' stupid. You will never be alive if you live that way. Whenever someone says I should act some way because of what I am, I… but you have no time for a useless Dark Elf's ramblings," he concluded, misinterpreting my pursed lip as impatience.
"No, no… I…"
"Just… never… or try not to, do something because of what others think you are, but because you want to," Soelisk smiled then, suddenly, "Occasionally more fun."
I snorted. "Is that not dangerous?"
"Is this life…" Soelisk pointed at his face, and then flicked his wrist to indicate the bare, empty Weapons Hall, "really worth living?"
And I saw, at last, the problem – the terrible emptiness that seemed to have yawned open between the space of this year and the last, the painful, aching chasm of hopelessness behind his eyes. He had lied, I knew – what he was trying to do was not for himself, as he had intimated, but for another, and he really, truly did not fully understand why he wished to act this way. That was my first true experience with the most popularised side of the unnamed emotion, and at that time, there was nothing I could say.
"You will die, you know," I warned him again, when I reached the door, trying to impress the seriousness of this potential occurrence on him.
Soelisk nodded, as if unable to speak, then bowed and left for his room.
I closed the door, and then gasped when I saw Saole right outside it. Hurriedly, I bowed and greeted her, extending apologies for not noticing her earlier. Had she heard everything?
"Greetings, Zaknafein," Saole said. She seemed to have changed a little as well – she seemed a little distracted and troubled, though it could have been just the Festival that was worrying her. "Is Soelisk in there?"
"Yes, malla Yathrin," I said, cautiously.
Saole nodded, said something polite and forgettable, and then entered the Weapons Hall. Shaking my head, I decided to go and find Matron Daermone. It would probably be somewhat more enlightening.
**
Malice never said anything to me in all the Festivals while I was still in Melee-Magthere – partly because I was always too… nervous about going too close to her, such that I attempted, as much as possible, to keep my distance. Matron Daermone seemed to approve of this as much as how she seemed to smirk each time I evaded conversations with Reprise. As far as she was concerned, I was following her wishes.
That was partly true – I avoided Reprise because of Soelisk, though I was careful not to show any sort of hostility, and I was at best polite to Saole, trying to give the impression of respect but disinterest at the same time. I did not want her to transfer her attentions to me, at least – though I suspected what she was doing to Soelisk was nothing to do with softly gaining his trust and cooperation. What she was likely to be doing to him was breaking him, with words, which can cut deeper and harder than weapons, and which Priestesses are generally adept at wielding. You could see him dying inside, year after year – it is hard to describe how exactly I knew it. Perhaps that was why he was content to try and aid Reprise to the throne – it would be a personal accomplishment, possibly the last he would ever do before his spirit passed away.
I still felt then that what he was doing was infinitely foolish, going along with Saole, but my attempts to dissuade him, over the years, just eventually brought a shut down to his face whenever I broached the subject. After the fifth year, what we did talk about whenever we met were neutral subjects like the living conditions in Melee-Magthere.
Now, when I think of it, he would have had no choice either way, even if unaffected by the unnamed emotion – a Priestess' word is law to a male, theoretically, and he would have had to follow her if she ordered it. I was in the near-unique position of being able to choose because of the well-matched Malice and Reprise – allowed to be the unknown factor that could tip the scales to either side.
I avoided Malice also because of Soelisk, but it was not a result of my agreement with him. It was because I saw his state of mind and circumstances as a warning – a warning of what might happen if I got as involved with Malice as he was with Saole, and believed love to indeed be as much a terrible weakness as I had been taught – a weakness that, like but worse than a wasting disease, welled up within you and burned your mind and soul, and that could place you so utterly and pathetically under the control of another that you could die, your heart stabbed slowly by a twisting, unseen dagger forged of cruel words.
**
I suppose I should comment on the yearly Melees (also known as grand melees), since they are the most famous aspect of a stay in Melee-Magthere. There is actually a trick to surviving them – basically, you do not advertise your presence such that the others believe the only way to defeat you is to group up on you, you pace yourself, and you pick your fights carefully. Do not try and fight every single person in your class – make yourself scarce and try and space out your fights, as even the best fighter, if very tired, will make very serious mistakes. Sleep well beforehand and take the hour's break before the Melee to do some judicious exercise that will loosen your muscles and warm you up for the fight. And do not work with anyone. Remember, only one can win.
The first Melee is easy – it is new, the students have never been pitted against each other all at one time before, and therefore have no real plan as to what to do. If you can, take out the hardest by himself, then face the others slowly – let them fight themselves. I nearly lost the first Melee, as what I was doing was fighting as many people as I could find, lost in the heat and fierce joy of battle, such that when facing the last student I was almost spent. It was only by good fortune that he was as tired as I was, and made a slip when he fell for a feint that, if he were fresh, he would have noticed.
After that, especially if you won the first Melee, the rest get more and more difficult to win. The students become progressively better through practice in the Academy – especially in terms of stamina and strength, and the smart ones also take the time to refine their technique as well as observe that of others. The very smart ones notice the favourite moves of their classmates, and think of counters that they can try out on said classmates in the mock battles throughout the year before the Melee. You can afford to lose a mock battle, after all – I certainly did lose a few when some of my 'counters' turned out to be flawed - it is only the Melees that are truly difficult.
After my second year, however, I did not get to try out any more 'counters' on my classmates – though with some modification they could be make generic for certain moves, as the Masters, realizing that my level of training was somewhat above that of my classmates, decided to put me in senior-class Melees. I won those too – they were actually a little simpler. Fighting against students whom you have fought against for years makes you a little less on your guard when you enter the grand melee – after all, you have counters and knowledge of them. Fighting against students years my senior – though they were in general somewhat better in the Dance, they were still not my match, especially since older students tended to underestimate younger ones, despite what they may have been told about said younger one. More importantly, fighting against the unknown made me warier and more alert than I would have been against my own class.
Sol'ranr taught me other variants of Seo'ur, including one which did not involve partners, but individual skill. Needless to say, in just about all of such games, he won. I realized to some personal amusement that he usually announced that we would play such a game if we had at sometime in the day fought and he had lost.
With some bemusement – though I noticed Bae'lan did not seem too surprised – the Masters made it such that during each Melee, I was to join the ninth-year Melee students. It was considerably more fun than fighting my classmates. After all, I had the rest of every year to clash against them. Significantly, once a year I could get my hands on adamantite weapons.
The ninth year actually managed to stay consistently interesting. Firstly, we were allowed to use adamantite weapons all the way through it as we practiced in the Academy as well as in the Underdark. The 'practice patrols', my group headed by Bae'lan, and the other by the Master V'akar, would best be described as periods of boredom and walking followed by short bursts of excitement whenever we actually found a monster unlucky enough to fall into our path. As I held the first rank in my class, I usually got first go at the monster, since I was at point position and was only really required to signal to them that there was a monster, and I was going to kill it.
The second highlight of the ninth year was that I finally beat Sol'ranr and the others fairly at individual Seo'ur. Sol'ranr promised to treat me to some wine at a drinking pit come the Festival, knowing full well that Matron Daermone would not allow me to go.
**
The only practice patrol I could really remember (other than the embarrassing one involving a cave fisher, myself, and Inofein, who had attempted to cut the strings I had gotten stuck in) was the one the Academy pulls yearly on ninth-years, which involves monsters and a child, supposedly of a high-ranking noble House. Generally this brutal stunt is pulled after a few hours into a patrol, such that the mind is already so focussed on the surroundings that it fails to figure out what a child of a Noble House would be doing by itself all alone away from the City.
The monsters are generally hook horrors – which are difficult but not too difficult, and not sentient, which is even better. They also have a tendency to take a few hours before killing their prey, unlike some other monsters – after all, the Academy would not think it as 'entertaining' if the child had been eaten before the patrol could get there – no incentive. Hook horrors are also willing to work in groups, which solved another problem – previous attempts at grouping monsters together had more often than not just caused the monsters to try and shred each other into pieces.
I did not know all this then – I was at point, and like all those at point position before and after me, I caught the 'student' who, under Bae'lan's eye, gasped out the location and situation of the child.
My class reacted smoothly – we speeded up, and I moved deeper into point, worried, but not very much so – children were just units to me then, like most other Dark Elves, and I was not, then, willing to risk personal danger, the patrol and disgrace to my House by rushing blindly ahead.
We were lucky – extremely lucky – to have this patrol before the Academy found the best place for it, where the ledge above the monsters was not so high, and where there was enough gravel on the run before the area such that they would know that the patrol was coming, and therefore be prepared when we were upon them – making the fight harder.
I heard the monsters before I could see them, of course, and gripped my swords more tightly, then made a decision and levitated. It takes effort to levitate, and I tried not to use too much of my energy, keeping closely to the roof and moving as fast as I could without abandoning the group.
On hindsight, the child was lucky – the monsters were not hungry, or their playing would have been rougher and she would have been disabled. She was picked older – a child of eleven or so – than what is normal now, and had, with surprising resourcefulness, freed herself from her confinement in a blanket. Once I was near enough to see the hook horrors, I could see her – a small speck on the infrared, bleeding from a cut on her back and from some minor ones on her arms – bright lines in the infrared - and dodging as fast as she could.
The sobs and wordless screams struck a deep chord in me - and I was nearly overcome by a surge of rage more intense than I had ever felt. Discipline managed to take over quickly enough for me to form a relatively simple – if reckless – strategy – I levitated down into their midst – past the first two sentries - and snarled a challenge, trying to draw their attention to me. It worked partially – the three chasing the child paused a moment, and the sentries started towards me, but were immediately engaged by the rest of the patrol. The child, with cry of relief, started to run towards me.
Instinct took over – I sheathed my left sword, and in a dead run, scooped her up with the free arm. By then, the first horror was upon me, skittering, huge blades scouring gouges in the ground where it missed me. One blade – three horrors – the odds were definitely not on my side…
I managed to parry a slice, and then had to duck another, backing quickly towards the sentries and their battles. It was a space of a few hundred metres, and I knew I could not levitate the entire distance – too tired – stupid, had pushed myself too much, trying to get past the sentries… my blade glanced off the hard carapace of one, and recovered in time to block the slice of the second, but the third opened a small gash on the arm carrying the whimpering child, barely missing her by inches. Backing off quickly, I found myself against the first, and nearly lost my eyes, feeling with a shiver the hiss of air when I dodged.
I ran towards it towards the third, seeing it brace itself, claws slicing the air before it to form a whirlwind of protective blades, but then I changed course suddenly for the second, its claws widening slightly in surprise – stupid creature – a bound mixed with minor levitation and my blade accurately found its eye, impaling its head just deep enough to reach its brain, hissed in pain as a claw stabbed into my leg, then I pushed off it in another levitation-aided jump through sheer force of will, wishing the girl would stop screaming, flicking the blood from the blade at the third. It flinched reflexively, even though none of the drops hit it, enough for three of the patrol, who had been creeping along the ledge, to drop down on it. A crash and a thud behind me informed me that the second was either dead or deeply wounded enough to be out of the fight, and a glance showed the first was also involved with my classmates. So I set off on a limping run towards the sentries, forcing myself to ignore the pain and the bleeding, managing somehow to dodge stabbing claws and flashing blades as my classmates made an opening for me. I ran to a safe distance, put down the child as gently as I could, told her gruffly to stay put, and then went back to the fight.
It was instinct, if stupid instinct – I was injured, and would have been better off staying with the child. I drew my second sword, ignoring the numb feeling in my left arm from the gash, and got into the fight in time to aid Bae'lan and two others against one of the sentries. The sentry went for me – logically, I was the most injured, and therefore the most vulnerable – and made a heavy swing at me with a claw that knocked me down when I tried to block – my leg gave in and collapsed underneath me. The second stab would have killed me if Bae'lan had not used the opening and the change of attention to stab between a gap in its carapace. It screeched in pain, turning on Bae'lan, wildly swinging its claws, but Bae'lan smoothly recovered, watched the claws intently, then stabbed again, impaling it in the joint between head and thorax, and it stumbled back, pulling itself off from the weapon, and collapsed, nearly on top of the other sentry.
Gasping, still on the ground and definitely out of it for the moment, I watched the students run off to take care of the other sentry. Bae'lan walked up to me and nodded curtly. "Well done. Stupid, but well done."
I glared at him. "I saw no other way of approaching it at that moment."
Bae'lan shook his head sadly, as if he understood something that eluded me, and then shouted instructions at the students fighting the remaining hook horrors. I took the moment to try and catch my breath, and then painfully sat up to inspect the leg wound. There was no priestess in the group, and practice patrols did not have potions, so I ripped off some of my sleeve for some rudimentary first aid. The numbness of my left arm made this somewhat inexpert, but Bae'lan paused from his shouting long enough to make a disapproving noise and help.
When it was done, the patrol went quickly to the child, who, though frightened, had been safe for the rest of the fight. She squeaked as one student checked her clothing.
"Not a noble!" his words were incredulous.
As one, we looked to Bae'lan. He shrugged. "Misinformation," he dismissed curtly. "We will bring her back to Menzoberranzan."
The walk back was painful. I was, like the rest of the badly injured, supported by the few who were less so, and it seemed like somewhat of a dead march. We had lost one student out of what Bae'lan called 'further stupidity', and had to endure the aura of his irritation all the way back.
Once we were safely in Menzoberranzan, Bae'lan turned to the child. "Leave now," he snapped, gesturing with his weapon. She gasped.
"Should we not try and find her some medical aid?" I asked, astonished at his attitude. "Some of those cuts look deep."
"She is not even noble-born," Bae'lan retorted coldly. "No insignia – not even with a House!"
"I too, am not noble-born!"
Bae'lan looked me up and down coolly. "She is not you. And she is only a waif, a useless one. If she does not die from the wounds, she would no doubt die in a few years, caught stealing at a booth or used for entertainment by roving soldiers. She should count herself lucky for having survived this, and not suffering punishment for being out in the Underdark by herself."
The child looked pleadingly at me, and those frightened, pain-filled eyes hurt me more than the gash in my leg, but at another "Leave!" from Bae'lan, she ran, stumbling and sobbing, into the streets, disappearing into an alley.
I was about to start after her, but Sol'ranr probably saved my life then, without knowing it – he was the one supporting my weight. His tightened grip on my shoulders prevented me from moving after her – an act of disobedience that would definitely have spurred Bae'lan's irritation to newer and possibly murderous heights – as he thought my step in the child's direction to be a stagger due to my injury. I had to content myself at shooting a glance of hatred at Bae'lan, but fortunately, he had turned away, and did not see it.
Sometimes I still wake, sweating in the Black Death of Narbondel, at the memory of those eyes.