Chapter 5
Sab'vrae sighed, blowing his long pale bangs out of his eyes. He slouched back in his seat, losing interest in the priestess' lecture quickly. A fairly unreligious elf, Sab'vrae found his daily lessons in Lloth's dogma quite sleep-inducing. Wise enough to know better, he prevented himself from actually drifting off into sleep during classes. The consequences would be dire. He kept enough of a convincing farce to show faint interest in his teachings and to pass any future tests inflicted upon him, but barely retained any of the information outside of class. Lloth's chaotic and evil edicts didn't arouse his feeling much one way or the other, merely brought about indifference, much like most drow life gave him.
Much more appealing to him, however, were his lessons on his people's history, and languages. Barra Velve taught all its pupils about The Descent, when the evil Ilythiiri elves were banished from the surface, along with their goddess, Lloth, becoming drow. After their descent into the Underdark, the drow fought among themselves for survival. Only the most ambitious, resourceful individuals lived through it. During the drow wars, the great dwarven city Bhaerynden collapsed under the dark elves' powerful magical attacks. The Underdark cavern there, open now to the surface skies, became known as the Great Rift.
After the Great Rift's formation, the surviving drow fled deeper into the Underdark's depths, forming their own cities. Ched Nasad herself was founded by House Nasandra thousands of years past -- -3843 DR-- after a disagreement with ancient Menzoberranzan, though at present, relationships between the two cities remained relatively friendly.
Though the straight facts remained true to history, the drow teachers tainted much of its perception. They preached to their pupils of the "evil" surface cousins, the elves, of their treachery and blaming them for their downfall. By what they taught of the battle, Sab'vrae figured the fault was truly Lloth's, though he took care to quickly wash the thought from his mind. After all, Dilaere did warn him that one would never know if and when they matrons spied on activities.
Barra Velve itself didn't teach foreign languages; however, Sab'vrae's house hired private tutors to teach him Elven, Orcish and Common. Knowing the enemy's language always proved a useful tactic and private tutors in extra courses wasn't an uncommon occurrence at the fighter's academy.
Much to his tutors' delight (and perhaps even slight envy), the young Aleanani noble had a knack for languages as he did for fighting. He tackled the three foreign languages with little difficulties, and after a few years of lessons, became quite fluent.
"If his fighting record keeps up, he will be a most beneficial asset in a surface raid," Bhin'ree commented often during Dilaere's reports on her son's progress. Once, she even mused, "Perhaps Nath'olin's loins were indeed worthy of siring more nobles." Dilaere's alarmed reaction merely amused her.
Sab'vrae concentrated most of his waking hours to combat, fine-tuning his already developed skills in and out of battle training. At the end of each year, he managed to keep himself in the top ten winners, beginning to hold a spot in the top five in later school years.
Alton'rak did attempt his revenge their second year at the academy. Once more, he quickly found himself face down in the dirt, humiliated by the lower noble. And the next year, and the years following that. Even in training, the Aleanani noble managed to defeat him in sparring, always with ease. Rather than acknowledge his own lack of skills, the Noquar thirdboy seemed convinced Sab'vrae resorted to tricks. In drow society, any path to victory was the correct one -- all drow children were encouraged to take advantage of others when the opportunity presented itself -- yet, this meant little to Alton'rak when the tricks played against him, even nonexistent ones.
What stirred Alton'rak's hatred more than anything was Sab'vrae's indifference to the entire ordeal. He never taunted or reveled in his victories over the thirdboy, merely made blunt statements at the Noquar's glaring flaws. His nonchalance about the dogma offended the religious Alton'rak, who often pondered why the Spider Queen allowed the blasphemous youth to live and succeed.
The higher noble plotted long at nights in his bunk, shared with his hated rival. Over and over in his mind he thought out techniques and tricks to befuddle his opponent, but always the younger drow outsmarted him. Arrogance and pride, common and revered drow traits, ran thick in Alton'rak. Sab'vrae's constant, apathetic stabs to his egoism enraged the self-absorbed dark elf to a near breaking point. When their ninth year in Barra Velve passed, Alton'rak once against lost his annual melee battle with Sab'vrae.
Even more aggravating to the festering wound in his pride, Sab'vrae pulled off second in their class that year for the third year in a row. Only Dindorl, a bulky giant of a drow, managed to defeat the Aleanani noble each year, and often more by luck than skill.
Fingering his keen dagger one night, Alton'rak slowly smiled. Why hadn't it occurred to him before? When dealing with dangerous enemies, oftentimes, a dagger in the dark proved much more effective than hand-to-hand combat. Already, in their tenth year alone, five students befell horrible "accidents" in their sleep after long term rivalries. Why wait until tomorrow's final melee test to remove Sab'vrae from his worries, or, more likely, risk more humiliation?
Slowing his breathing down in an attempt to calm his excitement, Alton'rak slowly peered about the room. All fifty of the barracks' occupants breathed softly in the depths of reverie, an elven trance state of reviewing memories. Very few drow truly slept. Of course, the Noquar noble doubted every single one rested, but as long as Sab'vrae drifted, the rest didn't matter. He slipped silently from his bed, creeping up through the room, towards his hated enemy.
Much to his surprise, Alton'rak noted by Sab'vrae's breathing and movements that the drow slept like the lesser races did. He snorted lowly in disgust. Unsheathing his blade, Alton'rak raised his hand high over Sab'vrae's body, searching for the perfect spot. He smirked slightly, spotting the dark red heat of the beating heart. His hand flew downwards, aimed directly at the vital muscle.
His own heart nearly stopped when he felt a strong hand grip his wrist, stopping him in mid-thrust. Sab'vrae's eyes snapped open, light blue eyes aglow with the red heat of infrared vision. Leaving Alton'rak no time to react, Sab'vrae twisted the would-be assassin's arm back, forcing him to drop the dagger. He kicked his attacker away, sending Alton'rak flipping over with a muffled, "Oof!"
Snatching the dagger from the air in his still glove-clad hand and leaping from his bed in one fluid, near silent motion, Sab'vrae descended upon his long term rival. He drove the weapon deep into the thirdboy's throat. Alton'rak clawed helplessly at the blade, gurgling at the sudden rush of blood and lack of air. Sab'vrae placed his foot on Alton'rak's chest, using his weight to push down the blade further, finally impaling the dagger through the black flesh entirely.
"Obviously you learned nothing about judging your adversary in our many battles, Noquar's thirdboy," Sab'vrae hissed lowly to avoid alerting the other students, "I was perfectly fine with your petty hatred if you so insisted keeping a grudge, but that doesn't mean I went about unprepared. If you'd simply accepted your rank in the school, you could have lived to see graduation." He yanked the bloody dagger free with amazingly little noise.
Alton'rak let out one last bubbling gasp before his vision blurred, fading into black.
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"Alton'rak Noquar is dead." Dilaere began his daily discussions with his mistress using the important tidbit of recent news.
"What? The third house's thirdboy?" Bhin'ree asked in somewhat mild surprise, "How?"
"By the looks of it, he botched an assassination attempt of a fellow student and it completely backfired on him." Her patron explained. Bhin'ree sighed, knowing well of Alton'rak's long-term hatred for her son.
"By Sab'vrae's blade, I surmise?"
"The students and teachers are baffled. All of the roommates claim none of them heard a peep during the night. Alton'rak was found in his bed, his own dagger impaled through his throat." Dilaere answered with a wide grin. Bhin'ree sat back in her throne, a slow smile creeping up her face.
"Did House Noquar's Matron have any comments about this… mysterious… death?"
"My sources indicate little sympathy for her dead son," the weapon master replied, "Matron Null'driira does have two older sons and three daughters, remember, my mistress. She often balked at her youngest son's incompetence for his lessons and fighting training. I doubt he would have lasted long in his house after graduation."
"Then it seems my son has saved Noquar some trouble." Bhin'ree smiled, pleased.
"Indeed. On an even brighter note, Sab'vrae finally defeated Dindorl in the last melee battle. He's graduating first in his class this year." Dilaere informed with well-contained excitement. Bhin'ree cackled with glee.
"Excellent! With Masantar's already excellent record at Orbb Magthere, and Sab'vrae's outstanding record at Barra Velve, I envision fruitful times in House Aleanani's future, and, hopefully, Lloth's full support." Enrollment at Orbb Magthere lasted much longer than Barra Velve -- most students spent at least five decades in the priestess' training academy -- but the daughters often visited their houses every decade or during times of dire need.
"Yes, I am sure the Spider Queen will reward her diligent servants well." Dilaere agreed.
"When are the graduation ceremonies?" inquired the matron.
"Tomorrow evening. Sab'vrae will return to us afterwards."
"Ensure that our new captain of the guard is welcomed home appropriately."
Dilaere's stomach twisted slightly, both in delight and fear, "Of course, dread mistress."