Part 10
Vierna
Jarlaxle graduated without honours, having come in third or lower in every single Melee, and without showing exceptional skill. His time in patrols was also not memorable – by all accounts, he was just another faceless soldier that Masters are hard put to remember. Carefully, quietly, he dropped out of sight once he finished his stint, unconsidered for Master rank or any honour of the same level.
It was several decades until I saw him again. Life was good – Briza was now fully occupied in the Academy, and only came home once a year. I had made friends with Nalfein, who was a relatively decent individual if one did not touch any of his precious books and if one forgave his occasional tendency to talk as though he were several people at once. Even Soelisk seemed to become more cheerful, nearing his former self – apparently Saole was doing well.
I was now considered a full Master, and chose my schedule by the instruction of Malice so as to allow for long breaks of free time and the remaining work bunched tightly together at the beginning of each week. The House had just risen in rank due to a raid between Houses above us, and she was in such a good mood that she had allowed me to do whatever I wanted, so I decided to go for a walk in the bazaar.
I liked the noise and bustle of the area, of a thousand creatures shouting their business and rubbing shoulders with each other, the dim mage lamps that lit stalls at uneven, messy intervals, showing brightly hued goods and rough canvas roofs barely covering the vast array of different items, the heady, intense smell and sound of mercantile life. More importantly, I liked the 'open-air', somewhat improvised taverns that sprouted up at certain areas, where the wine was cheap, occasionally imported, and surprisingly good. Rather guiltily, I was sidling towards one when I felt a quick tap on my shoulder.
Turning quickly, one hand on the hilt of a sword, I found myself staring at Jarlaxle's unmistakable face - the irritating grin was the same, but there was something sharper and older about his eyes and poise that suggested a sudden maturity. Signalling in code so as to avoid having to shout above the noise of the crowd, he suggested that he buy me a drink.
As he signalled to the waiter, I studied his appearance – other than his features, his dress had changed as well. His cloak was a deep crimson, and he wore rather unhelpful-looking, tight leather armour cut high to expose his flat stomach. A few pieces of tasteless jewellery decorated his chest, and wrists. A stupid-looking, plain, purple wide-brimmed hat, knives at his belt, a few wands, tight black leather pants and shiny leather boots completed the look of a flamboyant mercenary-for-hire, one of many in the bazaar.
It took me a few seconds to notice the problem my mind was having with his new look – where was his hair?
As if to emphasize its lack, Jarlaxle raised his hat briefly in greeting, as we sat down at a table. Under it, his head was as bare and smooth as an onyx ball.
"What the vith happened to your hair?" I asked bluntly, once we had ordered our drinks.
Jarlaxle smiled. "No 'how are you's, sir?"
"And there is no need to call me 'sir' any longer, Jarlaxle," I pointed out blandly. "Besides, you always make it sound like an implied insult."
"I would never dream of insulting you, my friend," Jarlaxle said archly. "But as to my hair, I cut it."
"For what? You look like a houseless rogue."
"Precisely my intention," Jarlaxle said, rather gleefully. I could feel him getting on my nerves already, a few minutes into normal conversation.
"How have you been, then?" I asked grudgingly. After all, he was buying the drinks. "I have not seen you since you entered Sorcere for the last part of your training."
"I have been doing exceptionally well, considering," Jarlaxle said, tapping the table idly.
"In your 'third way'?"
"Oh yes," Jarlaxle said mysteriously. He gave the waiter coins as drinks were put on our table. "Everything has been quite satisfactory in general."
"So what is it? I have not heard anything of you since you dropped out of sight after patrols."
"You would see, in time," Jarlaxle said irritatingly as he took a sip of his wine, and refused to talk about himself for the rest of our meeting.
**
We met in the bazaar once every week at the same time and at around the same place – the 'open-air' taverns tended to be mobile. I did not inform Matron Malice of this – and besides, she rather approved of my acquiring what she called 'connections'. It was not too difficult. People are inclined to be friendly with a famous – or notorious – drow male individual of known power, and, with some judicious visits to certain drinking pits, I was able to make some friends. What Matron Malice did not know, was that they were mainly non-drow, and that I was not actually in drinking pits to drink, but to play Seo'ur or chess. Gossip gleaned over such games, however, I dutifully passed back to her to keep her happy and to keep these visits from coming out of my own pocket other than funds.
It was during one of these games where I first heard of Bregan D'aerthe – though I did not know, at that time, that it was headed by Jarlaxle himself.
"A new mercenary band?" I asked my partner, a nearly painfully-thin human mage called Ertar, curiously. Humans who were brave (or foolish) enough to try and live in the Underdark on the highly profitable trade routes were also generally smart enough to stay ahead of gossip, in case it had anything to do with them.
"Yeah, apparently they've got quite a few joiners," Ertar said, as he squinted at his deck. "The pay's good, or so I hear, and they don't take just anyone."
"Ye talking about Bregan D'aerthe?" the duergar Risalk asked in heavily accented Undercommon.
"Any other new mercenary bands around, you think?" the other human, a heavily-built fighter whose name I could never remember, asked, with just a hint of gentle sarcasm.
"They pop up all over the place, like rats," Risalk snorted dismissively. "How's an honest 'un to keep track of 'em?"
"This one's said to have been behind the successful raid on House Isiltre by House Vashek," the fighter said mildly.
"Lots of Houses use merc bands," Risalk pointed out, "I just find this one funny because ain't no one knows who the leader is."
"Really?" Ertar blinked. "Oh, that's true. I haven't heard who he is, either. And generally mercenary leaders like exposure."
"Expose yerself too much and an axe'd take off yer head, is what me dad told me," Risalk said, thick eyebrows beetling as he considered this. "Maybe that's why merc bands come and go so quickly."
"It's said that Bregan D'aerthe will be different," the fighter said, a little diffidently – so this wasn't a very strong rumour, then.
"How so?" I asked, dropping a card on the table. "Your turn."
The fighter shrugged. "Apparently the leader's smart for once, and it's got secret funding, maybe. No one's really sure. You want some more wine?"
"You're just trying to make him drunk so that we'd lose," Ertar said, with mock annoyance.
"Make a Dark Elf drunk?" the fighter – I think his name started with 'L' – laughed boisterously. "No thanks, Ertar. I think that'd take more money than what I have in my pocket."
**
After a few more decades as a full Master, I was allowed to do the job part-time, and so, seeing the larger blocks of free time that I had, Matron Malice decided to make me the House weapon master as well as the patron – a position that I had already held for quite a while. True to her word, Soelisk was allowed to go, and he did so without fuss and a quick bow. There was no point in a long farewell, for all the things that we did have to say to each other, we had already given word to in all the years we had been friends. How could we compress years of friendship into a few words and make them ring true?
Under my teaching, Matron Malice noticed to her satisfaction, the House soldiers began to improve very quickly. I had little patience with explanatory teaching, and as far as I was concerned, anyone who did not listen deserved to be roundly thrashed in a fair fight. I also had little patience with those who did not follow commands or learn from instruction, and so, after a few 'accidents' (after which I had to endure long lectures from Malice), the soldiers became quick and eager to learn and train by themselves.
That suited Matron Malice very well – she was ambitious, and had her eyes set – like all other Matrons – on a place in the ruling council. Due to the parallel ambitions of those above us, we were slowly rising in rank, and therefore, slowly getting into even greater danger of a raid. Strengthening defences was an ongoing project between Nalfein and I whenever he managed to pry himself off his books – it was essential that normal and magical defences be carefully integrated.
It was around this point in time when weapon masters from other Houses – not very high-up ones, admittedly – began challenging me to one-on-one battles. I can not even remember their faces now, except that I defeated them relatively easily. I was still developing and training whenever the Matron, the House, the Academy or other business did not require my attention, using the soldiers as sparring partners.
Nalfein also attempted a new spell, one that created a doppelganger with basic mental functions and memories, who melted into something that had better be water after five hours. He first tried out the spell on me – before giving me a full brief of what he was going to do – but the doppelganger actually turned out to be good training material. Since the soldiers were not my match, and neither were the weapon masters, fighting myself seemed to be a better alternative.
Although there were a few false starts, Nalfein eventually perfected the doppelganger to just have all my fighting experience, without the messy little memories that were unrelated to it. He created the creature whenever I felt as though I had learnt something new about the Dance. However, after a few times where I was nearly killed by it – either counters had failed in practice, or new moves turned out to be flawed – Matron Malice nearly outlawed it.
"What if you die?" she demanded furiously, after a particularly close shave when I had only been saved after Nalfein had hurriedly blasted the thing across the room. Thankfully, the doppelganger had little of the magic resistance of a real Drow. As if to cover up her anxiety and relief, she added, "It takes a lot of healing magic each time to get you back on your feet."
"Find another weapon master?" I suggested playfully, trying to ignore the residual pain that lingered even after a healing. "Several soldiers are showing promise, malla Ilharess."
Malice nearly growled. "None are as good as you are, and you know it. My stupid son does not seem to recognize this fact."
"Actually, Nalfein agrees with me that this is the only way to test myself adequately, malla Ilharess," I said as diffidently as possible.
"You'd test yourself to death if you continue with this… this foolishness!" Matron Malice snarled, her voice suddenly rising again. I winced. "Fight with your soldiers!"
"But they cannot see flaws as quickly in counters…"
"Can't you see those in theory?" Malice cut in irritably, "Must you kill yourself to find out?"
"Flaws stand out more obviously in a real fight than…"
Malice's lip trembled, signalling that she was changing tack to a more underhanded version of getting her way. "Did you even consider how I feel each time you turn up bloody and dying?"
"Er…"
"Did you know how much I worry every time you and Nalfein sneak off somewhere to conduct your foolish experiments?" her voice wavered and broke with magnificent dramatic aptitude at the end of the sentence. Helplessly, I got off the bed and knelt at her feet.
"Malla Ilharess…"
"Am I so unimportant in your eyes that perfecting your skill comes above what I think about this?"
"Please listen to me…"
There was, unfortunately, no stopping her once she got into stride. I never really understood where she learnt this skill from, where her rhetoric got worse and worse in steady progression until I gave in. I always gave in, then – because I had no defences against her, and she knew it.
In the end, we compromised – the weapons of the doppelganger were insubstantial. This would inevitably lower my guard against it, but at least Malice did not have to worry about the loss of her weapon master.
**
Vierna was born shortly after Bregan D'aerthe did something – I cannot really remember what – to make it into a high-profile mercenary group. By that time, Jarlaxle revealed himself as the master of the band, and enough time had passed such that no one remembered that he had been the mediocre student at the Academy. As far as they were concerned, he had turned up out of nowhere.
The both of us were celebrating with a drink in one of the better drinking pits, a few days after the birth, when Matron Malice had firmly established that I was not to hover around the child at all times, because I had duties to do, and besides, she found it mildly embarrassing that Vierna seemed to find my presence inexplicably amusing and burbled happily every time I leant over the cradle.
As this drinking pit held more dark elves than non-drow, we spoke in a mixture of duergar and Undercommon. Jarlaxle's appearance had the added, even stupider-looking frill of three diatryma feathers that kept dropping over his line of vision. I wondered vaguely if his sense of taste had been surgically removed.
"So, what does your daughter look like?" Jarlaxle asked, after we were into our second bottle.
I grinned. "I fell in love with her once I was allowed to see her."
"Does Malice know?"
"Probably," I shrugged.
"Best not to let it show too much," Jarlaxle warned me good-naturedly. "Females tend to get possessive."
"Even if I love them equally?" I protested.
"Especially so," Jarlaxle said, a little patronisingly, as if speaking to a retarded individual.
"But Vierna is her daughter too…"
"And therefore, in her eyes, a potential successor, probably due to violent means," Jarlaxle pointed out. "Malice was also a second daughter, remember. And it is obvious that after so many years of living with one, you still have not learnt anything about females."
"She's beautiful," I said mildly. After a few glasses, my train of conversation tends to slip up a little.
"Malice, or your daughter?" Jarlaxle grinned.
"Both. Malice has always been beautiful, and Vierna looks like a little angel. Has her mother's eyes."
"Ah? Introduce her to me in about eighteen years, then," Jarlaxle said, and laughed at my sudden glare. "Only joking."
"You had better be," I growled, refilling my glass and deciding to change the subject. "Is Bregan D'aerthe still funded by Baenre?"
"No, we're independent now – at least financially," Jarlaxle smiled. "Still, our connection to Baenre is not general knowledge."
"Keep it that way," I suggested, rather unnecessarily. Jarlaxle probably knew all that was best for Bregan D'aerthe. "And you are nearing your vision."
"Well, I try to make good use of my second chance at life, since I'm officially dead in the previous one," Jarlaxle grinned. "At least my Matron is happy. You had better watch yours carefully."
**
As Jarlaxle intimated, Malice's mood improved considerably once I started ostensibly paying much more attention to her than to Vierna. As it was, I could only rather secretly play with the child when the Matron was not around and when I had bribed the spies. I was also careful to time these visits whenever Malice was deeply caught up in House or religious matters, so I could explain that when I could not be with her, then at least our daughter was a physical reminder of her.
Other than a distressing tendency to pull my hair and grin impishly whenever I was with her, Vierna was a delightful child, and stayed that way even when she was growing up. To Malice's consternation, the first word she could pronounce was the abbreviation of my name – 'Zak' – though with some cautious and patient coaching I made sure that the next words she did say were 'malla Ilharess'. It still took a lot of effort to smooth down her ruffled feathers. I did not really understand Malice's apparent insecurity about my feelings for her. As far as I was concerned, my love for her was unaffected by the birth of Vierna – if anything, it grew stronger.
**
Being quick and intelligent, Vierna mastered the language quickly, and learnt how to read and write without much fuss – once she got over her tendency to throw her pen across the room in frustration whenever she could not understand something or did not want to read whatever was put in front of her. Even a beating from the wean mother did not reduce her mulish will. Nonplussed, Malice accused me of giving her my impatience and my stubborn dislike of reading unless absolutely necessary, and decided to make it my problem, since just about the only person Vierna seemed to listen attentively to other than Malice herself was me, and Malice was too busy at that point in time to play wean mother. If I recall, the instruction ran something like: Get Vierna to like reading religious books, Or Else.
As in most matters regarding something I personally do not approve of, I decided to delegate.
"Where are we going?" Vierna asked, with the curious, neat pronunciation of someone who is as yet relatively new to words. She tailed behind me, dressed in small robes, embroidered around the hems. Female children are treated like little princesses. It had taken some persuasion to get her to stop using the word Ilharn to call me, at least when we were probably not alone.
"To meet your brother," I said. The solution had come to me only after some thought. Books were Nalfein's territory, swords were mine. This was something to do with books, therefore, Nalfein's problem by default.
"Who?"
"You have not seen him before?" I asked in some surprise, and then remembered that Nalfein rather lazily, in my opinion, used portals to get anywhere – generally, between the House Library, Sorcere's Library, and his room – and sometimes, the bazaar, but that was about it. Considering how much effort it took to make and maintain permanent key-portals to anything, I wondered why he did not just choose to walk.
"No, if not I would not ask." Vierna glared at me as ferociously as a small girl with a floppy fringe could. Unlike her mother, however, her stare had the piercing quality of a fluffy pillow.
"Forgive me for my inability to keep up with you, princess," I said dryly. Vierna stuck out her tongue. "And that is a childish way of making a statement."
"Don't care," Vierna muttered. "I am a child, so I'm entitled."
"Oh? And do I recall you telling me yesterday to treat you like a 'grown up'?"
Vierna, at a loss for words, then attempted, without success, to intensify her glare. "You're making fun of me again," she said accusingly.
"And would I do that, princess?"
"You always do that," she complained. "Ilharess said you weren't allowed. So there. But you never listen to her, so why do you always tell me to listen to her if you don't listen to her and you know that she knows?" Vierna had not fully grasped the idea of using simple sentences to prevent the other side from having to pause to unravel her words.
"I can make it up to her later," I smirked.
"How?" Vierna asked curiously, despite her bristling indignation at my apparent privileges.
"I always have something she wants." Myself, generally.
"Wow," Vierna decided, after a pause. Awe was not something I was expecting as a reaction, so I nearly passed the library in my confusion.
Nalfein looked at Vierna in surprise when we entered. He was seated at a desk, reading the inevitable book, and with some hesitation, rose and bowed. "Greetings, sister."
"Greetings, er…" Vierna looked up helplessly at me, and then whispered furiously, "Do I say 'brother' or call him by name?"
Nalfein chuckled, and Vierna blushed deeply in the infrared when she realized that he had heard her. "Either is fine, little sister."
"I'm not little," Vierna said immediately, planting her small hands on her hips.
Nalfein raised an eyebrow and glanced at me questioningly. I shrugged. "Matron Malice wishes Vierna to learn how to like reading." I did not say that Malice had given me the task. The mage sighed, not noticing the phrasing. "Any particular books?"
"The religious ones."
Vierna grimaced. "I don't see why I have to learn how like reading religious books."
"They are quite interesting really," Nalfein said, apparently surprised, as if Vierna had just asked why it was necessary to breathe. "I will get you one of the better ones…"
Without uttering a spell, and without any particular effort on his part, a book floated out from the shelves and drifted in front of Vierna, whose eyes had widened into small, astonished circles. Gingerly, she took the book, as if concerned that it would not budge from its midair position, then immediately turned her attention to Nalfein, demanding, "How did you do that?"
"Magic," Nalfein said, then seemed to think of something. "If you read something, I can check if you have the ability."
"Really?"
Nalfein and I exchanged winks when Vierna climbed onto a chair and opened the book. Before I exited the room, my last glance at Vierna held her in a cross-legged slouch against the chair, in part profile against the light, little fingers turning the pages of a book nearly half her size, her jaw set in determination as if fighting a physical war. At that moment, it seemed, she replaced the other child in my thoughts – the despairing, wounded one that I had failed, as if somehow the guilt had been absolved and I had been given, like Jarlaxle, a second chance.