Chapter Two

Melyac and Osadd gave each other a quick glance as they watched the group of three drow make their way through the alleys of the dark Menzoberranzan. They were amazingly stealthy for so large a group (albeit three) and Melyac, a lieutenant in the Bregan D'aerthe, was sincerely impressed. Of course, for all intelligent purposes, he carefully hid that small amount of respect for the group. Until their identity and purpose were placed, they had the possibility of being an enemy-and Melyac didn't particularly like enemies.

"I don't like it," Osadd said to Melyac in the drow hand-code. Melyac could perfectly hear in his head the omniscient tone Osadd would have had saying the words aloud. Melyac shook his head and breathed in heavily, annoyed by the young drow's brash attitude. Osadd was new to the Bregan D'aerthe and this was one of his first night patrols of the city.

Melyac looked down at the three drow, not even bothering to respond to Osadd's comment. Melyac grimly locked his eyes on the one leading the group. Despite the uselessness of Osadd's statement, it held some truth. There was something Melyac definitely didn't like about the group.

"Let's go," Melyac signed. Osadd's eyes lit up in excitement and Melyac shook his head. Osadd was entirely too young for this sort of thing, he thought regrettably.

Melyac stood up easily, hardly afraid that he was standing on the very edge of a building's roof, perfectly balanced so that he would not fall. Even for his people, the lieutenant was extremely lithe.

The two drow dropped down to the stone ground, each landing without a single sound. A gentle roll of vibration ran through the stone, no more than a ripple in an ocean.

Sometimes a ripple is enough.

One of the three drow turned instantly, eyes glowing and searching. Melyac said a curse aloud as the drow pointed at them. The other two turned around. Through angry eyes, Melyac saw one of the three give him a slight smirk followed quickly with a mocking bow.

"What do we do now?" Osadd asked under his breath. Melyac could easily tell he was nervous. Definitely not in the mood to be comforting his companion and quelling fears, Melyac ignored him again.

"Our greetings to the Bregan D'aerthe! It is a nice night" the drow who had bowed shouted to Melyac. Melyac didn't respond, knowing full well that the drow speaking didn't expect him to.

Smiling broadly, the drow went on. "Tell your leader, the one called Jarlaxle, to remain away from our business if he knows what is good for his band. Leave the streets until we are finished with our work-you will know when."

Melyac's mouth dropped at the sound of the audacious words. Was this drow truly giving Jarlaxle orders?!

"I will pass the message on," Melyac responded sarcastically, "although, I do not think Jarlaxle the mercenary will appreciate the threat."

"No threats," the drow answered quickly, dismissing the notion with a wave of his ebony hand.

"Oh?" Melyac called back, raising an eyebrow suspiciously.

"A warning and nothing more," came the reply. And then, with a billow of gray and red smoke, the three drow vanished and disappeared into nothing.

*** *** ***

Malice sank back in her chair, a depressive sorrow glazing her eyes. She only wanted to better her house. . . . Was that so much to ask?

Depends on whether you mean killing your weapons-master or not, a smug voice responded coyly. Malice shot the empty air a damning glare.

She hadn't intended on hitting him as hard as she had in all actuality. She had only meant to scare him a bit so that he wouldn't shame them on the surface raid. But when the whip was in her hand and she felt the power and command of wielding it, a new feeling took over and Malice lost control.

Zak had paid for that loss of mind too. Her Zak. . . . He had done nothing wrong. Maybe-just maybe-she should apologize.

Malice's eyes went wide in shock of the thought. Was someone putting spells on her mind?! What was she thinking? Malice shook her head vigorously. She would never apologize-never to anyone and never-oh never!- to a male.

"Oh, Malice," the matron mother sighed, "you are going soft."

She sighed deeply and closed her eyes. She had done right in hitting Zaknafein as hard as she had. She had done so for Lloth.

Lloth! All praise! Malice's mouth stretched into a broad smile as she thought of the glory she would one day receive. The glory and the respect and the power would be hers, given to her by Lloth. I will help rule Menzoberranzan one day, Malice vowed solemnly, in the honor of my goddess.

Even if it means killing those dear in the process? asked a condescending voice from the very back of her mind, its tone near mocking. Malice scowled in the dark.

Yes, she growled back in her mind. Any who oppose the work of our goddess. Let them feel the sting of the whip if they get in the way!

Ah, the voice sneered in reply, but what if they already have? Malice's face fell into a grim set, but she offered no reply to the voice of her mind, some bodiless being in the back of her thoughts. She rarely gave the voice any thought, but today she had made an exception.

Malice's eyes squinted as she made a new discovery. Hadn't it been called something before? Some place, some time, didn't she hear a name for the voice?

Malice thought back, deep into her long memory. Ah yes, she recalled, a conscience.

*** *** ***

"Sir, we bring news." Jarlaxle looked up from his papers lazily, seeming to eye Melyac and Osadd before him with no more than the slightest bit of passing interest. Melyac however knew his leader well. Jarlaxle was intrigued now, as much as he was trying to hide it.

"News from who?" Jarlaxle asked, setting down his quill. Melyac paused for a moment-almost hesitating for some unknown reason. It was Osadd, the brazen newcomer to the band, who answered in his place.

"From strangers in the city's streets," he responded. Melyac nodded dumbly. Jarlaxle glanced at his lieutenant.

"People we know?" the mercenary asked, his tone suddenly serious. Jarlaxle eyes were alert now, watching the slightest gesture of his two men.

"No sir," Melyac answered. "No one that we could place and no one from any of the houses that I could tell."

"Curious then," Jarlaxle sighed, clearly speaking more to himself than to the two standing before his desk. Louder, he asked, "Their message?"

"They want you to stay away from the streets until their business is done," Osadd told the mercenary.

Jarlaxle snorted. "Well, that's a stupid thing to ask." Melyac offered a shaky smile at Jarlaxle's nonchalant attitude. "Melyac, where did they go after their message had been delivered?"

"I don't know, sir," Melyac admitted. "They disappeared in mist. One of them must have conjured something. The three vanished in gray and red smoke."

"Magic," Jarlaxle hummed, a smile on his face. If anything, he was amused by this encounter. Puzzled and certainly on guard, but still amused. Someone had the boldness-the stupidity-to order him to stay away from the streets? Jarlaxle was more than a little amused by the foolishness of the frank request.

Of course, he had no intent of obliging it. If anything, he would send his men out to learn more about this mysterious group.

"Sir?" Jarlaxle shook his head, freeing himself of his thoughts.

"Yes, Melyac?" he asked, blinking a few times.

"Is there anything else?"

Jarlaxle shook his head. "You two are dismissed." Melyac and Osadd shuffled out quickly, not wanting to disturb the dangerous drow in his deep muses.

"Well," Jarlaxle muttered to himself quietly. He clicked his tongue once to emphasize the importance of his new course of action. "It's time to pay a visit to an old friend."