Don't go to Sleep
by Iliana Maura
Chapter Sixteen : Zha'linth
She slipped silently through the stone corridors, as only a drow could. If she still had favor with Lloth she would be able to accomplish her mission must faster, but as a houseless rogue the Spider Queen did not grant her any blessings. Today would change that, she was sure.
For a House under attack, its security was pathetically lax. Already deep into the complex, only four guards had spotted her, and she had disposed of them quietly. Her business here would be finished before their bodies were found. Then, she could move on to Jarlaxle.
She sneered at the sight of House Nuvin's throne room doors. They were paltry compared to those of her House. In fact, she found everything about House Nuvin weak and worthless when compared to the former might of her own House.
There were guards on either side of the door, elite female warriors. She loosed the tiny, hand-held crossbow from her belt and aimed at the one on the right. As she released the bolt, she dropped a globe of darkness on the other guard.
Startled, the hit one opened her mouth to cry out, but her attacker was on her, with her mace drawn. She swung swiftly at the guards side, was parried, then simply slammed against the guard with her shield, knocking the other female to the ground. Stunned, and feeling the poison's affect, the guard stayed down.
Leaping back to her feet, the attacker rushed the globe of darkness, knowing the second guard wouldn't be in it but her wanting her to think she did. Sure enough, the guard fired with her own hand crossbow. The attacker blocker with her shield, waded in, and crouched low to swing at the guards feet. The guard skipped back and brought her morning star down in an overhead arc. The attacker raised her shield as she straightened, blocking the blow and bringing herself level with the guard. She lashed out with her mace, but the attack was nothing more than a distraction as she hooked her foot around the guard's ankle. The guard was thrown off-balance, and before she could recover, the attacker shattered her attacking arm. The attacker struck again, to the side of the head, and the guard dropped to the ground with a wet thud, blood pooling around her.
With a cold smile, she stepped to the doors, and flung them open.
Matron Yraeth sat on her throne at the other end of the chamber. Her daughters stood around her, but there was no one else in the room. She smiled as she heard their conversation, quickly cut off as she entered the room: they were talking about her attacks.
She met Yraeth's eyes, and was pleased to see the blood drain out of the other female's face.
"No," the matron stammered, standing in shock. "No, you're dead!"
She flung her head back and laughed. Not in her wildest dreams had she imagined revenge would be so sweet! The sound echoes throughout the room.
"Oh, but I'm not," she purred, stalking toward the cluster of females. "I'm not dead. You thought you'd won, Yraeth, but you should have known you could never really defeat us. You should have known you could not destroy House Kor'tath."
The oldest daughter began to chant. The attacker laughed again, and in one smooth motion freed a dagger from its sheath and threw it the length of the room. The priestess' spell ended in a gurgle.
"I am Minet Kor'tath," she cried. "Oldest daughter of Hurra'ge Kor'tath. And you--" her voice dropped to a hiss, "--are dead."
She broke into a sprint, bolting the length of the room. Yraeth still had two daughters, and one joined the matron in a spell while the other produced an enchanted throwing spider. She flung it at Minet, who caught the weapon with her shield, but the spider began boring through it and she was forced to throw the piece of armor aside. The daughter scrabbled for another spider, but Minet got to her first and caved in her skill with a single blow.
The other two had almost finished their chanting. Minet slammed against Yraeth, using her whole body as a tool to break the matron's concentration, and attacked her daughter. The female managed to get and arm up to shield her face, but the mace splintered the limb. The daughter dropped to the floor, crying out in pain. Minet kicked her in the head, stunning her, and then struck her once, twice, and then a third time in the chest, drawing a scream each time. Leaving the female writhing in a growing pool of her own blood, Minet turned to the matron.
Yraeth was just climbing to her feet, dazed, when Minet hit her again, knocking her back down. Before the matron could recover, Minet bound and gagged her, then sat back and waited for the other female to recover her wits.
When Minet was sure Yraeth was full conscious, the Kor'tath daughter produced another dagger, this one with a cruel, jagged edge. She ran it along Yraeth's jaw, drawing a line of blood that burned in the infrared spectrum.
"I've spent so many years," Minet purred, "fantasizing over what I would do to you." She leaned close, their faces only inches apart. "Now it's time to make those fantasies real."
Yraeth tried to scream something around the gag, thrashing in a futile attempt to escape. Minet only laughed and brought the dagger down again.
Drizzt had discovered that the pain was worst when he first woke. At that time, the pain was so bad that the slightest of movements, even the drawing of a breath, caused his muscles to cramp. But the motion of cramping caused more muscles to do the same, and soon his entire body would be taught with pain.
After a while, he was able to do small things, like sitting up very slowly, or feeding himself, or staggering over to use the chamber pot. But every day, the pain became worse, and he was afraid of how long it would be before he could not do even those simplest of tasks.
Dark red blotches spread across his body, almost invisible against the ebony of his skin. They itched terribly, but it hurt to scratch them. Drizzt sometimes slipped into a fevered daze for hours, and would come out to see Catti-brie or Bruenor or Regis beside him, worry on their faces. He was delusional, they told him, and nothing they did could wake or calm him.
He woke from one of these fits to see Lady Alustrial beside him. Her silver hair flowed over her shoulders like water, and her eyes were filled with kindness and compassion. She wore a gown of fine silk and a band of silver circled her head.
Drizzt blinked several times, to make sure he wasn't hallucinating, then struggled to sit up. He grimaced with pain and slumped back, then tried again. Alustrial held out her hand to stop him.
"Peace," she said in a voice like flowing water. "You need rest."
The drow struggled to form a smile. "That's what everyone keeps telling me," he whispered. He was shocked at how weak his voice was.
What he didn't add was the fear that he would end his life resting, end his life lying in a bed. He had always imagined himself dying in battle, but now he would meet his end by an enemy he was unable to fight, an enemy that left him a weak invalid.
"I have been doing some research and experiments," Lady Alustrial told him. "I think I will be able to create a cure, but from what we know, you have only two weeks left. It's not enough time for me to find the cure."
"Ah, but that's where I come in."
Alustrial actually jumped, but she quickly recovered herself and rose to face the speaker. Drizzt tried once again to sit up, but failed.
Jarlaxle, holding his plumed hat in both hands, emerged seemingly from nowhere. Drizzt had always found that Jarlaxle's eyepatch made it more difficult to read the mercenary's face, and he might have been imaging it, but it seemed to the ranger that Jarlaxle was a little tired, a little stressed.
"My dear lady," Jarlaxle spouted to Alustrial, bowing deeply. "You beauty astounds me! Surely your name is equally lovely!"
Uncertain, Alustrial glanced to Drizzt to see what he made of the strange drow.
"His name is Jarlaxle," Drizzt explained. "He is a mercenary in Menzoberranzan, and our. . . ally." To Jarlaxle, he said, "this is Lady Alustrial, ruler of Silverymoon, one of the greatest cities in the north."
Jarlaxle bowed again. "It my great pleasure to meet you," he said with a smile, "and I'm sure that it will be your pleasure to hear that I have the time you need."
"Unless you carry time in a bottle," Alustrial remarked, with just the faintest hint of acid in her voice, "I don't see how you can help."
Jarlaxle's smile widened into a grin, and he produced a tiny crystalline vial, which he presented to Alustrial.
"This," he explained, "is time in a bottle." As Alustrial took the bottle, disbelief on her face, the mercenary went on. "It is a potion that will slow the progress of orbb's elghinn. Drizzt may have two weeks now, but a tablespoon from that bottle will give him four. Hopefully, that will be enough time for you."
Lady Alustrial studied the bottle more closely now, and her features shifted to hope. "Yes," she murmured. "Yes it will." Her expression hardened and she looked back at Jarlaxle. "What do you want for it?"
"The cure," Jarlaxle said simply. "When you have discovered it, you will give me the formula so I can take it to Menzoberranzan."
"Some might consider the world a better place without drow."
"And some might consider allowing an entire city of dark elves to die murder."
"Not the dark elves," Alustrial snorted.
"No," Jarlaxle agreed amiably. "But someone like you? I would think so."
This caused Alustrial to smile softly, but Drizzt could not tell what she was thinking as she nodded.
"I'll give you the cure," she consented.
"Then you'll have to excuse me," Jarlaxle begged with a bow. "I have other very important business to attend to."
"You seem in a hurry," Drizzt called after him. The mercenary paused.
"There's been fighting," he explained shortly, "between Bregan D'aerthe and another band. Orbb's elghinn is not helping the matter."
Puzzled, Drizzt commented, "I never heard of such a thing happening. It must not be common."
"No," Jarlaxle said, a trouble look on his face. "No, it's not."