Part Five: Berg'inyon Baenre
"What are you doing up here?" Berginyon asked. "And how did you appropriate the mount without my permission?"
Dantrag scoffed at the question. "Appropriate?" he replied. "I am the weapon master of House Baenre. I took the lizard, and needed no permission from Berginyon."
The younger Baenre stared with red-glowing eyes, but said nothing more.
"You forget who trained you, my brother," Dantrag remarked quietly.
The statement was true; Berginyon would never forget, could never forget, that Dantrag had been his mentor. - Starless Night
Berg'inyon was deeply worried - and for a good reason. Students at the Academy, even the nobles, almost never returned to their House during the years of their instruction: it was considered unnecessary by the matrons and disapproved of by the teachers. Therefore the young fighter had been almost frightened when a messenger had come to him this evening after his training and told him to go to House Baenre immediately - and not to his mother's throne room, but to the cellar.
Two days after the beginning of the new year, after his defeat at the hands of Drizzt Do'Urden and his loss of the first place in the class ranking, this couldn't be a coincidence. Berginyon knew that House Baenre was not amused - Dantrag's hateful glares during the past two days had shown this clearly. It couldn't be Dantrag who had ordered him here, though, the Weapon Master would have taken care of him at Melee Magthere. But the young fighter hadn't expected his mother and the other priestesses to react immediately.
It took Berg'inyon all of his courage and self-discipline to keep going - would he get a second chance, or would his family get rid of him to erase his failure? But why would they make him come here? Dantrag could have punished or killed him just as well.
The minotaur guards in House Baenre's basement let him pass and mentioned for one of the doors. One of them grunted, "Mistress Bladen'Kerst is waiting."
Berg'inyon swallowed - Bladen'Kerst had been his wean mother, and she was the most sadistic of his sisters, with the exception of Vendes, of course. He would even have preferred to face his mother herself than Bladen'Kerst. He took a deep breath before he opened the door and stepped into the room, closing it quickly - whatever his sister had in store for him shouldn't be witnessed by servants.
The young drow took a quick look-around - he was in one of the cleaner cells, used for valuable prisoners, and for the punishment of males. Bladen'Kerst stood in the centre of the room, a vicious-looking bullwhip in her hand - the snake whip hang on her belt. A drow male was kneeling close to the wall, his wrists chained above his head, his back wounded by countless lashes. His muscular body clearly identified him as a fighter, but his long hair hid his face, so Berg'inyon couldn't recognise him. He presumed that his sister had just enjoyed herself with some unfortunate soldier while she had been waiting.
But when Berg'inyon bowed deeply, he caught a glimpse at the fighter's gear, which was lying in a corner of the cell: finest chain mail, mithril bracers, two swords, on of them with a demon head hilt ... Berg'inyon gasped for breath - the trembling male was no less than Dantrag himself! He had never, ever seen his proud brother beaten, except for an occasional slap at Triel's or Quenthel's hand - the other priestesses respected and feared him too much to lay hand on him. And why wasn't Dantrag at the Academy, anyway?
"Strip and get down on your knees." Bladen'Kerst's hissing voice broke his confused contemplation. Knowing that his sister made up with cruelty what she lacked in intelligence and self-discipline Berg'inyon complied almost hastily. Stripped to his waist he kneeled beside his brother, lifting his arms when Bladen'Kerst stepped to him to chain him to the wall. Dantrag looked up, his eyes gleaming with hatred - for Berg'inyon, not for their sister.
"Useless filth!" the priestess snarled suddenly once she had securely chained her youngest brother. "How is it possible that this pathetic brat of the Ninth House beat you? Have you learnt nothing, you weakling? You are unworthy of the name Baenre!"
Berg'inyon bit on his bottom lip, but he still cried out when the whip came down on his exposed back. He tried to count the lashes - he had always found that this exercise of concentration made the beatings more bearable - but he lost count quickly, unable to shut out the endless stream of curses and insults his sister spat at him. Berg'inyon wondered for a moment if he had ever realised how many words their language knew for inferior creatures - like males.
He sighed in relief when Bladen'Kerst suddenly stopped to hit him and turned her attention back to Dantrag - he doubted that he would have survived even one more lash. Still, he saw through a veil of pain how Bladen'Kerst delivered another few furious strokes on Dantrag's already battered shoulders and back before she suddenly released him.
She scowled in disgust when Dantrag almost slumped to the ground, too weak to keep his balance without the chains that had held him up so far. However, he managed to scramble on his feet in an almost supernatural effort, each movement accompanied by a pained groan. A faint, cold smile appeared on Bladen'Kerst lips.
"Maybe you're not completely useless, after all," she snarled. She laid a soft hand on Dantrag's shoulder and whispered a prayer, healing the grievous wounds completely. "You may proceed with this scum however you like, but let him live. I will send a priestess in the morning to heal him before you return both to the Academy."
After a short moment of hesitation she healed part of Berg'inyon's wounds as well.
"I wouldn't want him to die as soon as you touch him," she chuckled, but when Dantrag answered with a grin just as vicious, she struck out at him, slapping him in the face before she rammed her knee in his groin. She watched with malicious glee how the Weapon Master bent over, almost toppling down, before she left without another word.
Dantrag needed a few moments to get a hold on himself, but then he picked up the bullwhip his sister had left. Berg'inyon couldn't see him, but he knew his brother and tutor well enough to imagine the cruel gleam in the older male's eyes. Dantrag, especially when he was angry, was at least as violent as most priestesses. Berg'inyon had been trained by Dantrag, and he had spent these years in almost constant pain.
The Weapon Master didn't proceed immediately, probably because he was still quite sore himself. He took his time to put on his boots before he finally turned towards his brother. He grabbed Berg'inyon's chin and forced it upwards, staring his brother in the eyes.
"I am sure even you can understand why our Matron ordered me here as well," he said in a dangerously low voice. He weighed the heavy whip in his free hand, obviously eager to strike out. "They think that I have failed to train you properly if that little Do'Urden bastard can defeat you. They say if he is better than you, then Zaknafein must be better than I am. They mock me, at the Academy - not openly, of course, but I can see the doubt in their eyes. They really believe that this filthy commoner, this son of a whore who isn't worth the dust on my boots, could beat me. And you know, little brother, that I do not take insults lightly."
The last word was emphasised by a vicious lash on Berg'inyon's already injured back. He groaned - his brother wielded the whip almost as skilfully as Bladen'Kerst. He didn't use it as a weapon, like his rival Zaknafein, but every single student of his had already tasted its bite.
Yet Dantrag had obviously other plans this time. He put the whip almost tenderly around his brother's neck, slowly starting to suffocate him, stopping every now and then to let him gasp for breath before he resumed his strangling. Soon enough Berg'inyon was trembling and gagging, his eyes wide in pain and fear. But however delicate and entertaining this torture was, it wasn't enough for Dantrag to live out his burning anger.
With an almost bestial snarl - it reminded Berg'inyon of a wounded animal - the Weapon Master let the whip fall and undid the heavy chains, sneering when Berg'inyon fell on the floor. Dantrag had obviously forgotten about the fact that he had been in the same humiliating position only minutes ago.
He didn't give him enough time to stand up but kicked him in the side before he grabbed a handful of sweaty hair to jerk him on his feet. Not holding himself even slightly back he smashed him against the next wall. Dantrag hit him again and again, revelling in his brother's groans and whimpers, in the sight and the smell of blood and pain. It made him forgot his own pain, his own humiliation, the all too vivid memory of Bladen'Kerst's never ending lashes on his back.
It was Berg'inyon's fault, after all, if he was weak - a Baenre was always better than some misfit from a lower House, and if he failed, he didn't deserve anything better than this. Berg'inyon's failure had caused Dantrag's punishment, so it was only fair that he should pay for it.
Dantrag hardly thought about any of this while his fists collided again and again with Berg'inyon's face and body. It was normal. It was the way of the drow.
When Berg'inyon was finally released he sank onto the floor, too broken to be relieved that his brother had stopped and left now. His whole world was composed of nothing but pain and anger and hatred - for Do'Urden, for Bladen'Kerst, for Dantrag. He hated his brother, and yet he knew that he would have done the same thing.
Even in his current state Berg'inyon found a small consolation in the prospect of letting his anger out on one of his classmates at the Academy. Writhing on the floor in his own blood, he tried to imagine that it was someone else who lay here in his place - someone he had brought there.