The Lesser Evil

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of R.A. Salvatore/Wizards of the Coast ©. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities.

Warning: This chapter contains a graphic scene of torture meant to further the plot and demonstrate character psychology and is in no way meant to be gratuitous or misogynistic.

Chapter 11: Sweet Blasphemy

The sounds of the village grew among the chirp of crickets and the swish of leaves blown against the wind. Drizzt's senses started to clear slightly, though the effects of the alcohol were making his step slightly clumsy as his mind wandered on so many other matters.

"I have always found that dead men make the best company," Entreri said earlier, words that played in his mind over and over again, yet he did not need to find their logic. They were some of the truest words ever spoken, a fact that Drizzt accepted, though with a hollow stomach.

He tried to focus his attention back on walking through the thick brush back to the village, putting these troubling thoughts aside and trying to concentrate on what he would do the rest of the evening. Maybe he would re-join the game of bones he had abandoned earlier. When he sobered, he wanted to bring out his unused scimitars and see if Entreri was up for sparring. Maybe his new friend would actually be interested in a swordfight that did not involve them trying to kill each other, though Drizzt could only hope.

As he walked, the swish of leaves was mingled with a steadily rising applause coming from another direction. The growing cheers and chants were dotted with the occasional shout of a male voice. As he grew closer, he clearly heard Xalryln giving some kind of speech to his warriors as they marched back to the Auzcovyn village. Maybe this was the gathering of soldiers returning from the raid on the colony of Eilistraee worshippers. Drizzt drew closer and clearly saw eight warriors entering the village with their own fanfare, carrying the severed heads of various drow while raising their respective swords to a welcome of cheers and shouts of praise.

Drizzt gradually emerged from the brush and entered the perimeter of the village. As he walked closer, a few of the soldiers glanced in his direction and froze; their red eyes wide. Xalryln noticed this sudden reaction from his soldiers and turned around to see Drizzt standing before him fully clothed and alert with his scimitars belted around his waist. His lined face turned into a wicked grin.

"Vhaeraun is great!" the war leader shouted to every ear present.

By this time, all the soldiers and most of the villagers were staring at Drizzt, some bearing looks of awe while others wore grins and gave triumphant laughs. Gradually, a cheer rose through the group as many raised their swords. Drizzt drew Icingdeath with a smile, gave a salute, and sheathed the blade. He saw Jarlaxle standing at the back of the crowd giving a polite clap with his face bearing a look of mock amusement. Entreri stood beside him, arms folded around his chest, glancing at Drizzt and then their partner looking like he was holding a dirty laugh behind his mildly annoyed expression.

"Vhaeraun is great indeed," Drizzt replied calmly with a small smile. "And I am happy to say I come before you in full health thanks to your hospitality and the great ability of Mazn'reysla, who is truly an able cleric."

He looked amid the crowd and saw Mazn'reysla come beside Xalryln, his masked face bearing a calm expression with a hint of a smirk, an expression that Drizzt found somewhat unnerving.

"Your recovery is a blessing upon us all, Malla Qu'ess," Xalryln continued. "It is an honor to have such a heroic warrior in our village."

"Your people have been most accommodating and I bear nothing but respect for all."

Xalryln gave a triumphant laugh and clasped his forearm

"This is a night of happiness. I will give our cleric his time to assess your condition," the war leader said. "After all our matters are attended, we shall join in celebration of our many victories."

"Vhaeraun has shown us his blessings," Mazn'reysla said, his expression unchanging. "And we are truly in his favor."

The crowd cheered.

"Fall out!" Xalryln cried to his soldiers, who scattered with their trophies in hand, many passing by Drizzt and bowing, while others gave him bloody pats on the shoulder.

Mazn'reysla came before him and kept his gaze on his ward in silence.

"I owe you my unending gratitude," Drizzt said with a small bow. "I am alive because of your skill."

The cleric's thin mouth came up in a sneering grin as he turned around.

"Walk with me," he said before walking away.

Drizzt followed close behind as the cleric walked towards the woods. He caught Jarlaxle's eye again and saw the mercenary giving an exaggerated bow with the words "Malla Qu'ess" across his lips. Drizzt gave him a polite smile while flashing an obscene gesture. Jarlaxle blew him a kiss as Entreri finally lost the laugh he was trying to hold. Drizzt chuckled and turned his attention turned back to the cleric, who continued walking with a casual, yet determined stride.

A short distance into the woods, Mazn'reysla stopped and turned around. His small hand then gently clasped the bottom of Drizzt's tunic and lifted it to expose his abdomen, a few fingers feeling the skin and muscles around the former wound before tracing the tiny scar and producing a slight, reactionary twitch. With a nod, he lowered the tunic and gently put the back of his hand to Drizzt's forehead, cheeks, and neck while leaning in slightly and looking into his eyes as his nose slightly crinkled. Drizzt looked to the hand and noticed a large, bright green tattoo of a serpent that stuck out against his ebony skin. He also noticed several small, deep scars around the lengths of his fingers and around his wrist that was most likely some kind of spell focus.

Mazn'reysla then removed his hand and took a step back with a satisfied nod.

"Your wound is fully healed," Mazn'reysla said calmly. "Not only the external blow, but the damage to your stomach as well. I can tell you have had a full meal of meat and have not regurgitated it; in fact your stomach accepts it and contracts normally and is even tolerating a good amount of ale. Your flesh is warm and your pupils respond normally, and despite the mild intoxication, you are completely alert with your natural reflexes intact. Overall you are healthy and fully awakened from the Reverie, though in your physical abilities. Would you place faerie fire on that tree over there?"

Mazn'reysla motioned towards a young fir shrub in the distance. Drizzt stepped forward, waved his fingers, and the tree was soon ablaze in the harmless, purple flames.

"Good, you have your natural abilities," the cleric said.

"Maybe I should have prepared my one, minor spell to complete this examination," Drizzt said with a small hint of sarcasm.

"Yes, your ability as a ranger to find certain plants and animals," Mazn'reysla replied softly. "If only you had given yourself some time to attune with the Lady of the Forest this evening, open yourself to her wisdom. I doubt she will allow you that spell ever again, so it is of no concern."

Drizzt's eyes narrowed in protest, but he knew the cleric likely spoke true.

"Permit me to state the obvious," Mazn'reysla continued, "but Mielikki doesn't know you anymore. You are full well aware of that fact."

"I recall you saying the same thing to me but three days ago," Drizzt said. "Only then she was merely sad."

"I will say the circumstances were different then. Three days ago you were dying, now you are dead. It is time to shed your final tears for Drizzt Do'Urden the goodly hero and allow the true Drizzt Do'Urden to reclaim his own flesh."

Drizzt rolled his eyes and started gave a pained laugh.

"Here it comes," he groaned. "With all due respect, I am in the mood for a conversation that doesn't involve you proselytizing? No actually, I will listen to you. Just get me another bottle of ale and I will listen to every praise you give to the Masked God."

"I don't proselytize," the cleric said calmly with a small hint of annoyance, "though I can understand your dislike of clerics. It has been the same with your two companions, who have given me nothing but glares for the past three days, though I blame none of you. I'm sure your human fondly remembers being a child violated by his father, a goodly priest of Tyr. How about your kinsman whose heart was ripped out when he was five by his mother, the Matron of the First House, who only resurrected him to keep as an annoyance to her other children."

Drizzt froze, remembering a snide comment Entreri made about a month ago.

"Some priests cater to their flock, but save their real efforts for their children," the assassin mumbled as they passed the Church of Tyr in Baldur's Gate.

Then there was Jarlaxle's occasional: "The Nine Hells are so lovely this time of year," a phrase he would say before getting involved in some perilous situation.

"I doubt you heard this from them?" Drizzt asked, though he doubted the priest's words were lies.

"I have my sources, though I'm sure having your own mother rip out your father's heart makes you at least understand my point. I speak on authority as the son of a Matron who flayed my father before my eyes when I was twelve. I just hope you are not planning to cut me apart like those servants of Ilmater or stick a sword through my throat like you did to two priests of Mielikki running among the wild elves."

Drizzt swallowed hard as his skin grew cold. Mielikki had truly abandoned him.

"If you want to carry your mobile flesh back to the camp and brine it more, be my guest," the priest said with a slight laugh. "If you are actually interested in finding a way to save your soul, I suggest you give me half a chance to speak."

"Fine," Drizzt said with a defeated sigh. "I'm willing to listen."

The cleric smiled then turned and walked around the immediate area, picking plants from the ground that Drizzt recognized as sprigs of wild peppermint and lavender. When he had a handful, the cleric almost merrily walked further into the woods, Drizzt following close behind and waiting to see what he would do next.

A minute later, Mazn'reysla came to a small outcropping of rocks, crouched down, and traced a complicated symbol. The flat granite then became a watery portal he crawled into, a hand beckoning for Drizzt to follow. With a deep breath, Drizzt came down on his knees and crept through the cold opening before finding himself on the floor of a small, dark cavern, looking back to see the watery doorway fade back into the stones of the cave. He let his eyes shift into infrared vision and saw a long expanse of high cavern.

The cleric waved his hand and faerie fire lit the cave, the source of the blaze being various dead trees rooted in the rock, the fire looking like moving leaves. The light fully illuminated a round room whose walls were mostly bare save for some patches of glowing fungus whose bluish light seemed to crawl over the walls. The cleric knelt down to a round, smoothly carved pit, placed the herbs over a small pile of pine branches, waved a hand, and caused the brush to self combust in a gentle fire that produced an aromatic smoke. Drizzt breathed in beautiful scent and rapidly felt his head clearing as the lingering remains of his inebriation faded.

"Mint to clear the senses," Drizzt said with a smile, "lavender and pine for relaxation. All of these herbs are used for cleansing. I should have known this was your purpose; you would rather have me clear headed."

Mazn'reysla said nothing, only stoked the tiny blaze with a thin branch.

"My incense of mind control ran out yesterday," the cleric said, "so this will have to do."

"I apologize for my rudeness," Drizzt said in a humble, yet irritated tone.

"No need," Mazn'reysla said, looking up. "I expected nothing less."

"After all," Drizzt continued, "you endured three days of the human's dirty gazes and probably a few shouting fits from our kinsman and still healed me."

"They both wept over you," the cleric said calmly, "in their own fashion, of course, but the tears were still shed. I would just come in occasionally, say my spells, and allow them to bring you back, though much of it was your own doing."

Mazn'reysla turned his gaze back to the fire.

"Do you know why we go into Reverie?" he asked, stoking the flame's dying embers.

Drizzt was briefly caught off guard by this question, but soon realized he had stepped into a philosophical conversation.

"We need a moment to replenish our spent resources," Drizzt said, "while allowing us to pause and reflect on matters that may not be in our conscious thought at the time, but they come into our dreams."

"The humans waste several hours a day on hollow rest," the cleric continued, "while all of elven-kind spends but a few in silent contemplation and wake refreshed. Then sometimes, the physical form is taxed beyond its breaking as the mind is plagued by too many hurts to resolve in a few moments. Our forms can only take so much before it gives out. Those who die do so, while others need a deeper Reverie."

"That was my state," Drizzt said nodding.

"I know. My lord whispered in my ear that you would not walk from that battlefield, so it was no surprise when you ran out to face the horde of foes alone. Your soul screamed for rest, a rest you were granted."

"So Vhaeraun willed for me to be hit with that arrow?"

"No, you willed it. Vhaeraun saw it in your heart."

Drizzt sighed as he remembered something else Entreri said earlier:

"We cannot control what happens around us, but we can certainly control how we react to it."

Mazn'reysla then rose, and abruptly walked down the corridor, a finger motioning for Drizzt to follow. Drizzt raised his eyebrows and followed, keeping his senses open for anything this cleric planned. The two walked into a small hallway to another stone wall, where Mazn'reysla traced another symbol then walked through the stone. Drizzt followed, coming through the wall and into another room much different from the serenity of the foyer.

The room was also illuminated by plants infused with faerie fire, which made the white granite walls and splashes of dried blood glow with iridescence. Shackles were anchored alongside blood-painted skeletons that were imbedded in the stone like three dimensional frescoes, bony arms folded over their chest bearing carvings of mystical glyphs.

"Is this complex your private workshop?" Drizzt asked.

"In its former life, this cave was an encampment of Spider Kissers; Lolth worshippers," the cleric said. "They formed a little temple here where they stayed when they weren't launching attacks on us and our allies. Then our friends among the wood elves found this place. It became ours after an hour, though it took us a month to purify it."

The two walked to the end of the long, rectangular room to a rounded alcove covered by a plain, black tapestry. Mazn'reysla moved the cloth aside to reveal a female drow in the robes of a priestess of Lolth. Her and legs were gone and metal rods were planted in place, anchoring her to the wall. Her black skin bore an array of cuts that almost resembled tattoos. Her head was slumped to her chest as a long string of foaming saliva poured from her mouth.

"A chamomile tea with tiny sprigs of hemlock is just enough to bring her Reverie," the priest said.

"She also cannot cast spells when she is unconscious," Drizzt added, savoring the sight of a priestess of Lolth ; a woman who was probably feared and admired for her beauty, mangled and locked in this state of complete helplessness. He only imagined her former arms removing the heart of her suitor or wielding a snake-head whip against her children. He took a closer look at her gray, gaunt face and swore he knew her from somewhere.

Mazn'reysla produced a small bottle from his belt pocket, removed the cork, tilted her head back, and poured a small amount of the potion down her throat. Her eyes shot open as the back of her head slammed against the stone and a mass of curses coming from her mouth.

"There, there, dear," Mazn'reysla said, patting her head and dodging her biting teeth. "I'd like you to meet tonight's guest. Saeth Armgo, this is Drizzt Do'Urden."

The priestess spat at Drizzt.

"Traitor!" she screamed. "Lolth will bend you over and rape you both with her barbed legs when you reach the Demonweb Pits."

Drizzt let out a loud guffaw in response to this tirade as Mazn'reysla flashed him an amused smirk.

"You laugh now, you son of a rotting corpse…" the priestess' oaths continued on.

"Saeth Armgo," Drizzt said, "I remember you. Low lady of House Barrison del'Armgo, cousin to Matron Mez'Barris if I recall."

"Mistress at Arach-Tinilith," Mazn'reysla continued, running a hand through her thick white hair. "You remember that tiny flail she carried so she could score the flesh of any male who recited his lessons wrong?"

"Unfortunately yes," Drizzt said, leaning into the face of his former teacher.

Mazn'reysla then bent to the ground and rose with a large spider in his hand. The priestess' eyes shot wide as she shouted more curses. The cleric of Vhaeraun slowly brought the spider before her face.

"Friend, would you mind opening her mouth?" Mazn'reysla said to Drizzt.

"Not at all," Drizzt replied, coming beside the priestess, grabbing her forehead in one hand and the bottom of her jaw with another. The priestess thrashed, but Drizzt's grip tightened until he heard a loud crack and the priestess howled. Her jaw now hung limp and she screamed as Mazn'reysla guided the spider into her mouth one leg at a time, then the whole body walked into the small space. The priest of Vhaeraun then motioned for Drizzt to hold her broken jaw closed as he put a thin needle threaded with a gold strand through her lips until her mouth was firmly sown shut. The priestess tried to gag, but she could only let out a few whimpers combined with small chokes.

"Our lovely former instructor came up with her minions four days ago to cause a little trouble," Mazn'reysla said calmly, putting a hand around her cheeks, feeling the spider fill the expanse of her mouth, and massaging his hand over her jaw to guide the creature down her throat. "She slew four of my fellows with one fire spell, and then turned her attentions towards her kobold slave as if she had just completed a minor task. When she was captured, I told her I would make her remember those two brothers and two sisters of mine she burned alive, one for each day until she would know the comfort of death. This is her fourth day. A pity, I was actually starting to enjoy her company."

"Enjoy her company?" Drizzt said in a disgusted tone.

"Not in that manner," Mazn'reysla said gravely, squeezing down her neck and feeling her gag reflex attempt to force the spider out. "Our phallus is a sacred part of our being. It should be used for pleasure and to spread our seed, never as a weapon. We know what it is to be victimized for our sex. To perform the same makes us no better than our former captors, though unfortunately many of my fellows hold other ideas. I normally avoid spilling the blood of women on purpose, but this is my only exception."

The priestess' complexion steadily turned blue as her eyes watered. Her whimpers now turning into chortling gasps.

"She will be gone in a few minutes," the priest said, drawing his hand away. "Would you like to give her a few final, memorable moments with her former student before she meets Lolth?"

Drizzt paused in contemplation as if coming up with a strategy. He looked at a small, cedar table next to Mazn'reysla and noticed a small utility knife that he picked up. He then slowly brought it to her face and slowly cut through the cartilage of her nose, separating the tissue from the bone and listening to her choking whimpers as he slowly severed her once slender nose and brought it before her eyes. He tossed the tissue aside before grabbing one of her pointed ears and slowly hacking through it, savoring her look of horror while glancing at Mazn'reysla, who watched the scene in amusement. When one ear was severed, Drizzt turned his attention to the other ear, taking extra care to slice through every part of skin, knowing he hit a nerve when her chortled scream became louder and her face contorted more.

"Now our beautiful mistress dies a mangled wretch," Drizzt said with a laugh, savoring her horrified, blue face. "Do you mind if I finish her?"

"Be my guest."

Drizzt traced a line down the center of her chest, drawing a thin line of blood, and gave one, deep slice that cut through the cartilage around her sternum and opened her chest cavity. Drizzt pried her ribcage open and reached his hand inside her chest, slowly clutching her rapidly beating heart.

"I would like to give you a taste of what one of your peers did to my father," he whispered softly into the bloody hole where her ear used to be.

He yanked hard, pulling the organ free of its stringy veins and arteries. The priestess gave one last muted gurgle before going limp. Drizzt looked down at the priestess' heart, which felt soft in his hand. He paused and savored the last twitch and spurt of blood as if savoring a fine wine or a beautiful sunrise.

"Sweet, sweet blasphemy," Mazn'reysla said, flashing Drizzt a satisfied look.

"Indeed," Drizzt replied with a rising smile.

It was a moment of vindication and validation. The Hunter was alive and well, but it was no longer just a part of him that was only unleashed as a weapon. Drizzt laughed with the final satisfaction as he fully appreciated his true nature.

Mazn'reysla gave him a wide grin. The priest knew what Drizzt felt in his soul.

"Would you be so kind as to set the heart down on that table beside you?"

Drizzt obliged, setting the organ down on a blood-soaked, cedar table before looking to Mazn'reysla, who was staring at the blue corpse.

"Doesn't it just satisfy you to every core of your being to make a priestess of the Spider Bitch taste what she has probably done to so many?" the priest asked, drawing a black dagger and slowly cutting each thread in her lip one at a time. "I remember her passing me in the street when I was ten and hitting me with that damn snake whip just for sport. And I had to take it, I had to avert my eyes and walk away. I remember the lashing my sister gave me later, for I must have done something to offend such a high lady of Lolth to earn such a lash."

He cut the last thread and the priestess' deformed jaw flopped open.

"Such was the story of my life," he continued. "Every hour of every day I was told I was no better than a piece of trash along the road. I actually believed it too. I so feared Lady Lolth, tried to do all I could to earn at least a scrap of her favor. That was the boy you saw at Sorcere, the miserable creature who believed the only way he could be worth more than a future corpse was to contribute to my family and break himself learning the magical arts."

Mazn'reysla reached inside the priestess' mouth and gently clasped her tongue.

"Then I started to actually hear the words pouring from their mouths and for some reason I started to doubt. I don't know why, I just knew in my heart they had to be lies."

The priest slowly cut through the tiny muscle with his dagger, gradually severing the tissue and pulling it out with a trickle of blood as he gazed at it.

"The guilt was too great. The more I tried to push my doubts aside, the more the doubts grew. I started cutting into my flesh, rubbing in salt, scouring away my internal blasphemy."

Drizzt leaned against the table, taking in a story that had been too common. Mazn'reysla smoothed out the tongue and handed it to Drizzt, who placed it on the table beside the heart.

"I remember the night my thoughts of blasphemy became so strong, I nearly peeled all the skin from my hand."

The priest raised his right hand, displaying the scars Drizzt saw earlier.

"I was about to cut off my hand in self-punishment, until he came, my friend in shadow. He helped me put the skin back and heal my cuts. All the while, he told me to follow my heart; know that the words of my mother any my sisters, my entire city, was lies. Remember, oaths are only lies if you do not believe them, and I most certainly did not. He said there were so many like me, so many all over Faerûn. Many lived; clutching the shadows in fear, while many found a way to cut through their bonds and live truly free, a complete, blissful freedom I could only know if I knew myself and knew their lies."

"Who was your friend?" Drizzt asked in a low tone.

Mazn'reysla smiled.

"Most who see him for the first time cannot see his face," the priest said, "but I did. I always saw the spirits a little better than everyone else, it was the only other thing that made me worth anything. They made me build up my Sight, but they built up a weapon against themselves. My new friend stayed with me until Narbondel's last light, and then he faded and told me he would return. He did indeed, staying with me through many horrible nights. We would talk about the day, not just about our hatred for Lolth, but about simple things. This continued for three years, even after graduation when I took my place as a house wizard. Then I found the strength to leave. I stopped listening to their lies and I heard my own voice, as well as legends about others, including the hated Drizzt Do'Urden, my peer, my classmate, who had escaped his house two weeks earlier."

Mazn'reysla gave Drizzt a beaming smile. Drizzt bit his lip as he regarded the look of an individual who seemed truly thankful; a huge smile that made him feel guilty about insulting his peer earlier.

"When I had my strength," the cleric continued, "my friend gave me the spells to get past the house wards, though I will admit putting the garrote across my mother's throat and laying her head on our family altar was my idea, though my friend didn't seem to mind. He led me to safety outside the city and showed me to the portal that took me to the surface. I'm sure you can imagine the wonders I saw there."

"The sea of stars every night," Drizzt said, the back of his throat tightening with those first memories. "The glowing orange sunrise every morning."

"That was the one stinging pain I truly felt was actually worthwhile. After that, I wandered. I was spat at, attacked, but I never cared. I had been through so much worse. Through it all I had my friend in shadow and I made a vow to help others like me and help my friend against those who wronged us and would bring us to our knees."

"Your friend is Vhaeraun?" Drizzt asked. "He speaks to you?"

Mazn'reysla nodded, his huge, almost innocent smile still in tact.

"The Masked Lord watches out for his own. We are his brothers, not his slaves."

Drizzt came to his feet and faced the cleric, remembering his evening with the Auzcovyn and how all seemed to share a sense of unity. Mazn'reysla's story rang through his mind, a story so similar to his own.

"Drizzt Do'Urden gave me the strength to escape," Mazn'reysla said. "It is I who owed you my life and it is a debt I happily repaid. Though I see my inspiration has had a more difficult time finding his place in the universe: first the Underdark marauder, then the saintly warrior, and now the broken soul who stands before me now at the brink of his own resurrection. If only I could give Drizzt Do'Urden the strength to know himself."

Drizzt paused and looked at the severed body parts on the bench, his hands trembling.

"Would you like to speak with him?" the priest asked. "I see in your eyes you wish for answers yet are too scared to ask. I can only answer so much. It is better if you had the conversation together."

Drizzt let the words sink in.

"You can call him?" he asked.

"He sends no ugly piles of wax to do what he can do himself."

Drizzt took a breath and nodded.

"Call him," he said, putting all reason and doubt aside.

Author's Note: Once again thanks to WitchWolf for the info on Vhaeraun. Herb references appear courtesy of Cunningham's Encyclopedia of Magical Herbs.