Chapter One
Dawn peered into the wagon in brilliant sheets of golden light. A burning red sun was just beginning to rise outside, but neither of the two people inside the wagon noticed or cared.
"She's beautiful," Dessaven cooed softly, tears rimming her deep brown eyes. Her fingers moved to gently brush the newborn's arm and the child stirred lightly in her sleep. Dessaven smiled, too happy to do anything else. As a tear of joy slipped down her cheek, she glanced up at the man kneeling beside her. Sapek, her husband, reached down and very delicately touched the baby's face. Love came in that soft touch and Dessaven felt complete. She had her family.
Many years had gone by since she had lost her entire family to the goblins' attack. Her mother and father had been killed on that fateful day and she had been taken in by a traveling merchant's band, to which she still belonged. There she had met Sapek, and they had fallen in love. For many years now, they had tried to have a child, but they weren't blessed. Now, after they had given up hope, there was a baby in Dessaven's arms, one so beautiful it was if she were from the gods themselves.
"Did you see her eyes before?" Dessaven asked excitedly.
Sapek smiled and nodded. "I did," he replied.
"They're the same color as mine," she told him proudly. "The color of an oak tree's bark."
"The bark of the most beautiful oak tree in the entire land," he added, pulling a strand of Dessaven's hair playfully. The couple's eyes locked and they shared their pride and happiness wholly, each understanding the other's immense joy.
The curtain of the wagon opened and the eyes of the new parents shifted to see who was interrupting their special moment. They said nothing when they saw Aniyia, the wise-woman and Seer, stick her head in and smile at them broadly.
"A great year," she commented, "for babies and crops alike!" Dessaven laughed. For the merchant band, it had indeed been a good year. . . .
"Have you named the child yet?" Aniyia asked eagerly, the old woman's eyes full of excitement.
Sapek glanced down at the infant and then at his wife. "We need a name for her," he told her in a hushed whisper. Aniyia waited patiently for the couple to decide.
Dessaven's tan skin clashed against the babe's milky white. Her dark black hair fell against the tufts of red of the child. The features of the babe fit no one alive that Dessaven knew and they matched only one in the past. Memories she had thought were long forgotten flooded back to Dessaven as she looked at the sleeping baby.
"Nevina," the new mother responded, a smile on her face. She glanced up at her husband, her eyes sparkling in her bursting happiness. "We'll call her Nevina after--"
"After your grandmother," he finished. Dessaven nodded, remembering the epic tales of her grandmother, Nevina Le'virest. A brave warrior and merciful fighter, the hero of the mountains. The little baby in her arms would grow up to be a fine namesake, Dessaven knew, more than worthy to carry on her grandmother's name.
*** *** ***
"The first house is organizing a raiding party that will be sent to the surface," Matron Malice informed those gathered before her. Zaknafein, weapons-master of the House Do'Urden, was impassive, knowing full well where this discussion would be leading. He took in the news without another thought and remained in his deep muses as he stared past Malice to the stone wall behind her, admiring the carvings. A very skilled hand had done them. . . . What had ever happened to the sculptor? Was he alive? If not, how had he died? Had he been killed? And what had happened to his children? Or did he have children? Had he been a fighter as well? Or a..
Malice glanced at the skilled drow fighter at her side and noticed that his thoughts were elsewhere. Although her first instinct was to grab for the whip at her side, she held her hand. Zak was a curious one. Despite all of her years knowing Zaknafein, both as a warrior and a patron, he continued to surprise her. Malice made a note in her mind to remember the weapons- master's reaction.
"The twelfth house of Menzoberranzan will be represented," she continued with a strong tone in her already threatening voice. Her eyes gave another quick glance Zaknafein's way, but he was still staring at the wall intently. Deciding to bring him into the conversation, the matron mother added, "Our prize weapons-master will go to the surface on this raid and please Lloth on our behalf."
Zak shifted his stance, but did not divert his stare from the wall. Zak knew that she had noticed his lack of interest in the topic at hand. Hiding a smile, he waited for her to speak.
Malice exhaled heavily, annoyed by Zak's reaction--or lack thereof. Her look turned sour. "Well?" she asked him impatiently. "Don't you have an opinion?"
Zak finally turned to face her. "Always," Zaknafein smirked, adding a chuckle to the end of his comment. Malice glowered at him and Zak wisely ended his amusement. "I will go to the surface," he assured her.
"And?" she prodded. The corners of Zak's mouth twitched. He knew what Malice wanted him to say.
"I will go to the surface and. . . ."
"And you will please Lloth," Malice finished for him sternly. To this Zak did not reply and Malice didn't press.
"Are you sure this is wise?" a priestess asked. Zak glanced her way. He turned and saw Pontia, a tall drow priestess, her hair cut so that it fell at her shoulders in pure white ringlets. Years ago when House Do'Urden had been the thirteenth house and had attacked the fourth, they had gained many priestesses. Pontia had been one of them, a strong-willed, assertive drow who Zak considered deeply ignorant of how treacherous her people could be. Zaknafein watched Malice's expression closely, surprised that even Pontia would speak out against Malice.
"Are you questioning my decision?" Malice asked.
"No, Matron Malice," Pontia was quick to reply although it was obvious she was not even attempting to be sincere. "I simply thought. . . Zaknafein is only a male. . . are you certain he will please Lloth as well as a female might?"
"Zaknafein will go to the surface," Malice told her flatly. "I have chosen him."
Even Pontia knew better than to tread any further into the argument. "When does the raiding party leave?" she asked, trying to divert Malice's growing anger.
"In two weeks' time," Malice replied shortly. Zak and Malice glanced at each other, both knowing full well that Pontia was wearing their nerves thin.
"Leave me now," Malice commanded, tiring of the group surrounding her. Those present shuffled out quickly almost nervously--all knew that Pontia was pushing Malice to her tolerance's limits.
"Zaknafein," Malice called when Zak had neared the door. Zak stopped instantly, trained well enough to know not to ignore the beckon of a matron mother. Malice waited until the last of the drow had left the room and the door had been closed before continuing.
"I have not forgotten the fact that you do not fully praise our goddess."
"Why my dearest Malice," Zak snidely remarked, dipping low in a mocking bow, "what ever would make you think that? Am I not a loyal patron? Have I not aided this house in battle? I would attend the ceremonies honoring Lloth, you know, but--as you can see--I am but a male."
Malice's eyes burned with fury and her hand shot up with her whip. "You're correct in your words, Zaknafein," Malice spat. "You are but a male. Might I remind you what that means?"
Zak's eyes glowed in his anger, but he didn't reply.
"Leave me," she spat at him. "Even your sight annoys me now." Zak turned to leave, but again Malice's words stopped him. "Zak, you will please Lloth on the surface raid. If you don't, know full well what will await your return."
Before Zak could turn to face her, the bite of the whip met his back. He winced and nearly doubled over from the pain. Malice drew back her whip and returned it to its place at her side.
"Go," she ordered Zak; the weapons-master of House Do'Urden didn't linger.
Dawn peered into the wagon in brilliant sheets of golden light. A burning red sun was just beginning to rise outside, but neither of the two people inside the wagon noticed or cared.
"She's beautiful," Dessaven cooed softly, tears rimming her deep brown eyes. Her fingers moved to gently brush the newborn's arm and the child stirred lightly in her sleep. Dessaven smiled, too happy to do anything else. As a tear of joy slipped down her cheek, she glanced up at the man kneeling beside her. Sapek, her husband, reached down and very delicately touched the baby's face. Love came in that soft touch and Dessaven felt complete. She had her family.
Many years had gone by since she had lost her entire family to the goblins' attack. Her mother and father had been killed on that fateful day and she had been taken in by a traveling merchant's band, to which she still belonged. There she had met Sapek, and they had fallen in love. For many years now, they had tried to have a child, but they weren't blessed. Now, after they had given up hope, there was a baby in Dessaven's arms, one so beautiful it was if she were from the gods themselves.
"Did you see her eyes before?" Dessaven asked excitedly.
Sapek smiled and nodded. "I did," he replied.
"They're the same color as mine," she told him proudly. "The color of an oak tree's bark."
"The bark of the most beautiful oak tree in the entire land," he added, pulling a strand of Dessaven's hair playfully. The couple's eyes locked and they shared their pride and happiness wholly, each understanding the other's immense joy.
The curtain of the wagon opened and the eyes of the new parents shifted to see who was interrupting their special moment. They said nothing when they saw Aniyia, the wise-woman and Seer, stick her head in and smile at them broadly.
"A great year," she commented, "for babies and crops alike!" Dessaven laughed. For the merchant band, it had indeed been a good year. . . .
"Have you named the child yet?" Aniyia asked eagerly, the old woman's eyes full of excitement.
Sapek glanced down at the infant and then at his wife. "We need a name for her," he told her in a hushed whisper. Aniyia waited patiently for the couple to decide.
Dessaven's tan skin clashed against the babe's milky white. Her dark black hair fell against the tufts of red of the child. The features of the babe fit no one alive that Dessaven knew and they matched only one in the past. Memories she had thought were long forgotten flooded back to Dessaven as she looked at the sleeping baby.
"Nevina," the new mother responded, a smile on her face. She glanced up at her husband, her eyes sparkling in her bursting happiness. "We'll call her Nevina after--"
"After your grandmother," he finished. Dessaven nodded, remembering the epic tales of her grandmother, Nevina Le'virest. A brave warrior and merciful fighter, the hero of the mountains. The little baby in her arms would grow up to be a fine namesake, Dessaven knew, more than worthy to carry on her grandmother's name.
*** *** ***
"The first house is organizing a raiding party that will be sent to the surface," Matron Malice informed those gathered before her. Zaknafein, weapons-master of the House Do'Urden, was impassive, knowing full well where this discussion would be leading. He took in the news without another thought and remained in his deep muses as he stared past Malice to the stone wall behind her, admiring the carvings. A very skilled hand had done them. . . . What had ever happened to the sculptor? Was he alive? If not, how had he died? Had he been killed? And what had happened to his children? Or did he have children? Had he been a fighter as well? Or a..
Malice glanced at the skilled drow fighter at her side and noticed that his thoughts were elsewhere. Although her first instinct was to grab for the whip at her side, she held her hand. Zak was a curious one. Despite all of her years knowing Zaknafein, both as a warrior and a patron, he continued to surprise her. Malice made a note in her mind to remember the weapons- master's reaction.
"The twelfth house of Menzoberranzan will be represented," she continued with a strong tone in her already threatening voice. Her eyes gave another quick glance Zaknafein's way, but he was still staring at the wall intently. Deciding to bring him into the conversation, the matron mother added, "Our prize weapons-master will go to the surface on this raid and please Lloth on our behalf."
Zak shifted his stance, but did not divert his stare from the wall. Zak knew that she had noticed his lack of interest in the topic at hand. Hiding a smile, he waited for her to speak.
Malice exhaled heavily, annoyed by Zak's reaction--or lack thereof. Her look turned sour. "Well?" she asked him impatiently. "Don't you have an opinion?"
Zak finally turned to face her. "Always," Zaknafein smirked, adding a chuckle to the end of his comment. Malice glowered at him and Zak wisely ended his amusement. "I will go to the surface," he assured her.
"And?" she prodded. The corners of Zak's mouth twitched. He knew what Malice wanted him to say.
"I will go to the surface and. . . ."
"And you will please Lloth," Malice finished for him sternly. To this Zak did not reply and Malice didn't press.
"Are you sure this is wise?" a priestess asked. Zak glanced her way. He turned and saw Pontia, a tall drow priestess, her hair cut so that it fell at her shoulders in pure white ringlets. Years ago when House Do'Urden had been the thirteenth house and had attacked the fourth, they had gained many priestesses. Pontia had been one of them, a strong-willed, assertive drow who Zak considered deeply ignorant of how treacherous her people could be. Zaknafein watched Malice's expression closely, surprised that even Pontia would speak out against Malice.
"Are you questioning my decision?" Malice asked.
"No, Matron Malice," Pontia was quick to reply although it was obvious she was not even attempting to be sincere. "I simply thought. . . Zaknafein is only a male. . . are you certain he will please Lloth as well as a female might?"
"Zaknafein will go to the surface," Malice told her flatly. "I have chosen him."
Even Pontia knew better than to tread any further into the argument. "When does the raiding party leave?" she asked, trying to divert Malice's growing anger.
"In two weeks' time," Malice replied shortly. Zak and Malice glanced at each other, both knowing full well that Pontia was wearing their nerves thin.
"Leave me now," Malice commanded, tiring of the group surrounding her. Those present shuffled out quickly almost nervously--all knew that Pontia was pushing Malice to her tolerance's limits.
"Zaknafein," Malice called when Zak had neared the door. Zak stopped instantly, trained well enough to know not to ignore the beckon of a matron mother. Malice waited until the last of the drow had left the room and the door had been closed before continuing.
"I have not forgotten the fact that you do not fully praise our goddess."
"Why my dearest Malice," Zak snidely remarked, dipping low in a mocking bow, "what ever would make you think that? Am I not a loyal patron? Have I not aided this house in battle? I would attend the ceremonies honoring Lloth, you know, but--as you can see--I am but a male."
Malice's eyes burned with fury and her hand shot up with her whip. "You're correct in your words, Zaknafein," Malice spat. "You are but a male. Might I remind you what that means?"
Zak's eyes glowed in his anger, but he didn't reply.
"Leave me," she spat at him. "Even your sight annoys me now." Zak turned to leave, but again Malice's words stopped him. "Zak, you will please Lloth on the surface raid. If you don't, know full well what will await your return."
Before Zak could turn to face her, the bite of the whip met his back. He winced and nearly doubled over from the pain. Malice drew back her whip and returned it to its place at her side.
"Go," she ordered Zak; the weapons-master of House Do'Urden didn't linger.
