Darksong

by MsMarvelDuckie

A young dark elf, growing up in the violent, decadent, and treacherous world of his people, hears a different call- one of moonlight, music, and a special gift that turns his skill with dance and blades into a thing of terrible beauty that sets him on a path of discovery and love.

3. Chapter 3: Wicked Game

A/N: Okay, it's been a while since I updated this, but I haven't had any response yet, so it hasn't really been a priority. I'm hoping someone will read and review this, because I've spent a LOT of time and effort on this story. You might even say it's one of my babies!

wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww

Wicked Game

19,517 A.S.

Life continued for the young drow as it had before, save that his lessons became more difficult as time went by. He spent long hours bent over musty tomes of mathematics, alchemy, and history. He read about the terrible wars with the cruel races of their surface cousins in which his people had been changed and driven from their ancestral homes to huddle in dark caves. He learned of how Lothrenya and other gods had whispered to them of how to survive and flourish deep beneath the earth, until they had felt strong enough to take back their lands- only to be nearly exterminated by the light-dwellers and their evil dwarven and human allies. They were finally driven to cross the sea in search of a safe haven.

He knew the truth of it, of course. He had read enough of the books from Silverwood, Tanglewood, and even far-off Kitaka in his father's private library to understand that it was the "Dhaeraow" themselves who had begun those ancient wars. Ages past, they had belonged to those same races- the Cala, Mith, and Taur Quessiri. However, they had turned on their brethren out of greed, jealousy, and spite. Entire clans had been torn asunder, and others had simply been slaughtered in the brutal wars that followed the initial acts of treachery.

Though neither side remembered what had started it, the conflict had spread from one kingdom to all the rest, and had resulted in forests being razed, entire cities lost, and untold destruction. It was only after the clans responsible had been denounced and the First Banishing had been cast over them that the new race of Mori Quessiri had been born.

Lothir sometimes wondered why Aldan, himself a recipient of the Banishing Curse, chose to live in a world that was so completely based on lies and perversions of history. It never occurred to him that Aldan had made it his goal to forge the quarrelsome drow into a force that he might lead to return to the lands of light and destroy those who had judged him.

The former Mith Quessir had once been a son of a well-respected ancient line. When a younger brother was chosen as his family's Speaker over himself, Aldan had been consumed by a fury that led him to commit a series of murders and pacts with dark powers. Once discovered, this had led to the disgrace of his clan and his own transformation.

Where many others so Cursed fled in shame and died as ostracized, hated outsiders in hostile lands, or were killed for attempting to return, Aldan had grown stronger, sailed to Argonia on a stolen ship with a crew of murderous human and half-orc pirates, and quickly allied himself with one of the most powerful of noble drow Houses. From there it had taken only a few short decades to build his own base of power, hiring Houseless mercenaries and dissatisfied sons of other Houses into his growing force of thieves and warriors.

Lothir knew very little of the truth of his father, of course. Aldan never spoke of his former life or clan, and had altered his family name to reflect his defection. Even if Lothir had ever dared to ask about that past, he knew his cold and distant sire would never give him he answers he sought. Thus, he continued to delve deeper into the old stories and legends, searching for the truth, but finding only more questions. His questing mind was growing, leading him ever further in his desire for truth. Moreover, little by little, a change was coming over him, almost unnoticed, but impossible to deny.

As days turned into weeks, the boy found himself haunted by a peculiar restlessness. He had a feeling, at the edge of his consciousness, which he could not quite name. More and more, he began to notice things that he never had before. He felt a vague stirring of- something.

He began to find himself gazing at Mistress Shiallin- at the way her hips moved when she walked, or the way her chest- that he sometimes thought would spill out of her corset at any moment- would rise and fall with each breath the haughty woman took. He sometimes felt uncomfortably warm when she leaned over him to check his progress on some subject or other. He tried his hardest not to stare, but he was becoming more and more distracted as time went by, without quite knowing why.

And then there was Ravyn. He had always felt a closeness to her that he never felt with anyone else- even his own mother. He had always found comfort in her gentle, warm embrace. Yet now he sometimes felt a sort of urgent longing to see her when he was supposed to be concentrating. And now, whenever she held him, he would press close, his arms around her waist, his head resting on her bosom, filled with a need to be as close as he could. Her touch, once soothing, now left him feeling vaguely empty whenever she left him. At night he would wake up burning, reaching out for something he could not name.

Then came a morning that changed his entire world. He awoke from a night of restless sleep and fitful dreams, that were both disturbing and oddly tantalizing to his young mind. He had dreamed that he was fencing in the training room with Nalvir, except that they were both naked, with Shiallin watching from a cushioned bench against the wall, also unclothed, waiting to reward the victor with spiced wine and sweetmeats, and to punish the loser with her scourge.

In his dream he had defeated his Master, only to have Mistress Shiallin suddenly shoving him down onto the mat on the floor, sitting atop him in a way that excited and frightened him at once. She had bent low over him until her breath tickled his neck, and then….

It was then that he woke up. His skin was hot, and covered in a sheen of sweat that drenched the thin cover of his narrow bed. He felt as though he had indeed spent several hours practicing in the training room; he was no more rested than he had been before going to sleep.

Even more disconcerting was the throbbing ache in his loins. When he sat up and tossed aside the covers, he found to his dismay that a peculiar change had taken place during the night. A bulge beneath his thin sleeping gown poked up, and he tugged it off quickly to see what was causing it. What he found was confusing and a little worrying, to say the least. It stood straight up, twice as long and wide as it had been before, and stiff as one of Nalvir's practice sticks.

Stranger still was the peculiar sensation that went with it. His face went ashen, fearing some new spell from Morganna, or a terrible illness, or even some sort of poison. Had he spent any amount of time around the rough warriors and sailors who crewed Aldan's fleet, he might have realized it was nothing more than a natural reaction to the provocative dream. As it was, his first thought was that it looked as though ready to burst like a boil. Worse still, the overwhelming sensations would not seem to go away, any more than the disturbing condition that was causing them.

He did not know what to do; he was worried, yet too embarrassed to tell anyone of his problem. He sat for a few minutes, simply staring down, completely unnerved by the sudden change, the sense of discomfort making him more and more upset. He was not sure which frightened him more- the condition itself, or the thought that he might have to reveal it to someone to seek relief. He did not dare let Morganna find out- no doubt she would find some way to ridicule him for it. Not knowing what else to do, Lothir decided to hide it as best he could, and hope it would go away on its own. Besides, he could not wait for long, lest he arrive late for his lessons.

At last he sighed in frustration and annoyance, and dressed quickly in his loosest pair of breeches and tunic, with a heavy doublet belted over it, hoping no one would notice the odd bulge beneath. He did not even bother taking the stairs, but simply stepped off the balcony of his room, and levitated all the way down to the dining hall. He did not want to chance anyone noticing his unfortunate condition. He certainly had no wish to run into one of his parents on the way down, and Morganna least of all.

Lothir cautiously snuck into the hall. Fortunately, only a few of the House slaves were about, busily setting out food for the morning meal. He slipped a few pieces of rothe meat, sliced lizard eggs, and cheese into a hunk of mushroom bread, gulped down a cup of sweetened milk, and a few boiled scallops freshly dug from the cove, which had always been a favorite delicacy. None of the slaves noticed him. Indeed, it was forbidden for a slave to look directly at a master unless ordered, and so they all purposely turned their gazes away when he approached. He was glad he was alone for a change- usually he had to endure his mother's constant harping on his manners or some other imagined infraction, or even the simple fact that he was male.

He ate quickly, then dashed to the training and lesson room to begin his morning studies with Jezdin. It was all the young drow could do to concentrate during those lessons, for he was distracted by the unnerving sensations that had assailed him. Each time he thought it might be subsiding, his mind would be drawn back to the titillating dream, and it would suddenly return in full force, leaving him as uncomfortable as when he'd first discovered it. Worse still, he felt uncomfortably hot, in spite of the fact that the temperature in his home never wavered. If not for the candles in the room that Jezdin kept lit for reading purposes, the old sorcerer's darkvision would surely have revealed him glowing like a torch from the odd fever that had taken him.

He was relieved when it was time for the afternoon meal. He didn't even bother to go into the dining room to eat, but instead rushed from the training room, out of the Hall, and down to the cove as fast as his feet would carry him. He felt he could stand it no more; he threw off his clothes and dove into the cool water, swimming out into the deepest part of the dark sea-cave, letting the water cool his heated skin.

He swam for several minutes, enjoying the feel of the waves caressing his bare skin, even diving down to the bottom to search for sunken items of interest. Occasionally on such dives in the past, he had found beautiful shells, strange bones, polished stones, and even debris from wrecked ships. Once he had found the empty shell of a sea turtle, and another time there had been the peculiar jaw of a saw-fish. He had hidden them in his secret cache in the mushroom grove, and often spent hours using them as a toy shield and sword, pretending to slay monsters.

At last he climbed back out of the surf, tired but relieved. He glanced down, and saw that the strange swelling had receded, at least for the most part. He wondered again what had caused it. Perhaps it really was a spell? He silently cursed his malicious sibling, suspecting she had been behind the annoying dilemma. He pulled his clothes back on, and grudgingly went back to the training room for his afternoon lessons with Shiallin.

He regretted it all too soon. He had only been back at his lessons a short time, when Shiallin leaned close to oversee his work. He glanced up, only to bury his face in her ample bosom. Somehow, her nearness made the ache he felt grow stronger. He jerked away, afraid she would chastise him for his transgression. She scowled, and rapped his hand with her rod.

"Pay attention, boy. I said you were doing it all wrong- do you understand nothing?!" She growled in annoyance.

"I'm sorry, Mistress. I haven't been feeling well." Lothir said hesitantly. He felt guilty, not knowing quite why it should be so, though he understood that it was forbidden to touch a noble female- especially a priestess- without her permission.

"Are you in need of a healer, then? Why did you not say so? What is wrong?" She asked, at last growing concerned. Shiallin had little patience for teaching a male, but Aldan had made it explicitly clear that she was responsible for the boy's well being while he was in her charge.

He sat in silence, uncertain how to explain. He stared down at the open book before him, and picked up a quill to idly fidget with it. "I don't know," he said quietly, almost whispering. "I just feel- strange."

She frowned, impatient. "That is not an answer. Explain."

He shrugged, and saw that she was bending over to examine him, her red eyes narrowed. She placed a hand over his forehead, and raised one thin white brow.

"You are feverish. Have you any other symptoms?" She asked. He only nodded. "Well," she said impatiently, "what are they?"

"Well, it's- I can't say. It's rather personal." He answered finally. He looked away, flushed with heat. "It's- swollen. And it feels peculiar."

She gazed at the boy thoughtfully for a moment, then made a little smirk. "So," she murmured softly, "the boy becomes a man." She lifted his chin, looking him over carefully. At last she stepped back, and smiled oddly at him. "Come, young one. I think it is time to begin your real education."

She strode toward the doors, and he followed, though he did not understand what she had meant. She lead him up the stairs for several floors, then out through a narrow door and across one of the stone bridges that led to the spire that held the slaves' and House retainers' quarters. At last, she entered a room with a solid iron door. He followed always three steps behind, as he had been taught from birth- for Lady Ardra had insisted that he learn the proper place of a male in their mainly matriarchal world, as custom and holy edicts demanded. Aldan might be a de facto king, but even within his own House, his rule was not as absolute as he might wish. Lothrenya's clergy still had too much power to ignore.

He looked around the room curiously, and saw that it was spacious, comfortable, and above all, pleasing to the senses. A musky incense pervaded the air, and candles were scattered about to give a soft light. The large bed was piled with soft pillows and covered by sheets of fine spider-silk in shades of red and black. There was even a small crystal decanter of mushroom wine with a set of goblets on a tray on the table by the bed.

Shiallin moved over to the table and poured out two cups of the wine. She handed him one. "Drink," she said softly. "It will ease your nerves, young one." Her haughty gaze swept over him again, and suddenly the boy felt like a bug under her scrutiny.

He gulped it down quickly, almost choking on the strong, heady stuff, as he was not used to taking it straight. Always before, it had been diluted with water or milk. Now it seemed to go straight to his head, making him feel slightly giddy, for he had not eaten since morning, and had been swimming besides. The incense was having some strange effect as well, leaving him in a warm, half-dazed stupor. He shook his head, trying to clear away the strange bewilderment.

"Undress," she said, and he knew it was a command. He simply stared at her, uncomprehending.

"What?" He asked, puzzled.

"Well, surely you didn't think we would do this with our clothes on?" She answered impatiently.

"D- do what?" He asked, confused.

She stared at him in disbelief, as though wondering how anyone could be so dense. "Are you saying you do not know?!" She responded, scowling.

"Am I supposed to?" He asked simply, shrugging. She merely rolled her eyes in annoyance.

"Goddess forbid I should have to explain! Tell me that you at least know something of anatomy and life cycles." She stood with her hands on her hips, one foot tapping impatiently. He gulped, and nodded slowly.

"Uh, Master Jezdin taught me the names and uses of various organs of magical beasts for spell casting; and, um, I've been learning about vital points from Master Nalvir." He shrugged, and gazed up at her hopefully.

"Oh, by the Goddess! It seems I shall have to have words with Master Jezdin about his lack of attention to his duties. Why can those louts not teach you something useful…?" She said, shaking her head with an annoyed grimace. "And what else has that idiot mage taught you? Do you know of reproduction?"

Lothir thought for a moment. "You mean, like how the rothe breed and give birth?"

Shiallin held a hand up to her forehead as if in pain. "A Lothrenya's laelar daur! Stupid, useless males… Well, I suppose it is a place to start." She paused in her tirade for a moment, then turned to him again. "Well?" She said impatiently. "Did you not hear me, boy? I told you to disrobe!"

"Y- yes, Mistress," he replied, still uncertain why she wanted him to undress. He wanted to ask what rothe had to do with anything, but was wise enough to remain silent.

Hesitantly, he removed his doublet and tunic, and the soft, low-cut boots he always wore- not that he truly needed them in the Hall, but he wore them for his frequent explorations of the cavern. He had recently discovered a small crack in the south-eastern wall that led into a low, narrow side tunnel. He had even planned to take a lantern and see where it led after his lessons. Now he wondered if he would even get the chance.

He paused, suddenly more nervous than ever. She was watching him with a cool, impassive expression, that only served to increase the boy's uncertainty. He wore only his loose breeches, still belted. Trembling, he stared down at the floor. The young prince had never been naked around another before; now he was afraid to expose himself to her.

"All of it," she said after a moment, seeing his reluctance.

At last he did as asked, and stood before her silently with his head down in indignity, utterly unnerved by the situation. He knew nothing of what she wanted, only that it seemed to involve himself naked, and- rothe? She moved closer, slowly circling him, and he was reminded of the sharks that sometimes found their way into the cove. She had the same predatory, almost hungry look, and he tensed, even flinched away when he felt her lightly run her fingers down his back from behind.

"Well, now. Impressive for one so young. So perfect. How wonderful- I think I will enjoy this…" She purred softly, and came around to face him once more. Then something happened that almost made the boy faint. Shiallin unlaced her corset and tossed it aside, then slipped out of her long skirt and slippers. She raised one hand to her head, then let down her long silvery-white hair so that it fell past her bare shoulders. His breath caught in his throat, as he had a sense of deja' vu. She was just as she had been in his dream.

He felt himself shaking like a leaf in a wind, though whether from fear or some perverse sort of excitement, he could not tell. The incense had dulled his mind, and the strong wine made him feel fluttery inside. And then there was that odd, persistent throb from his nether parts, which seemed to have once again enlarged like a swollen tick. And felt just as ready to pop, as well. That thought, more than any other, terrified him.

At last she stepped close- so close he could feel the brush of her skin against his- and gently took his hands, leading him slowly back toward the bed. Her ruby-red eyes gleamed with a dark hunger, and he wondered what she meant to do. Lothir had seen corpses being taken from the temple after ceremonies on occasion, and they were always torn and bloody, mutilated as if some terrible creature had devoured them. He knew, also, that she often was a part of those dark rites, that no male was ever permitted to watch.

He swallowed. Did she and the other priestesses eat those hapless victims of the sacrifices? Was that what she meant to do to him? But she only pushed him down onto the edge of the bed, then sat close beside him.

"Now, boy, it is time for a new lesson. One that I think you will like." She smiled, and pressed her hand against his chest, pushing him backward until he was lying with only his knees hanging over the side. She moved over him, crouching low on her knees while one hand began to slowly trail downward.

Then her hand closed around him, and the boy let out a gasp of surprise. She stroked lightly with her fingers, even raking with her nails ever so slightly, until he could hardly stand the sweet ache that resulted. Shiallin took hold of his hands, and began to guide them over her bare curves with a satisfied smirk.

He lay as if frozen, utterly at a loss. He gazed up at her questioningly, but the older woman gave no hint of what she expected of him. She bent low, and suddenly he felt her lips where her hand had been, and he whimpered softly, his body shot through with a jolt not unlike the lightning from one Jezdin's wands.

"Shh, do not fight it, boy. Let go and enjoy the moment." She whispered against his stomach. He swallowed, and tried to relax, but every touch was like fire in his veins.

Shiallin placed his hands on her breasts; he was surprised by the way they felt beneath his fingers- soft, but firm and smooth, like ripe fruits. She leaned closer, her bare skin pressed against his, as she smothered his mouth with a deep kiss. Stunned into acquiescence, he froze up, eyes open wide.

After several long, tense moments, she moved lower, leaving a trail of deliciously hot kisses along his neck to one shoulder. He was reeling from the strange new emotions that raged within, his young mind drowning in- what, exactly? It was like nothing he had ever known, and no one had ever told him such things were possible.

"Mistress?" He asked hesitantly, brow furrowed in confusion and a sense of something important happening. "Why do I feel like this? What is it?" His hands fell to the bed, clenching in the smooth silk sheets.

Her only answer was to slide her hand down his belly again, taking hold of him once more. Then, in one swift move, she sat up, and lowered herself down onto his hips, until he cried out from the jolt of feeling something hot and moist closing around his most sensitive parts. Something that was not quite pain rocked through him, and he almost lost all thought, senses overwhelmed by what was taking place. He burned from the inside, but it felt good, so much so that he wondered if this was how it felt to die. If it was, then he wanted more of it...
Shiallin began to rock back and forth above him, each movement bringing a new rush of- whatever it was, that left him mindless with the aching need for more. With each passing moment, the heat inside grew, until he could no longer stand it, and his breath and heart quickened in the exquisitely sweet fire. His body tingled and writhed, every nerve singing out its electric thrill.

The young drow suddenly felt something explode inside, and let out a moan as all the tension and fire filled him in one white-hot moment of pure bliss, then slowly faded, leaving him breathless and trembling in its wake. He was panting; his pupils were dilated and sweat covered him from head to foot. He felt something warm and wet trickle down between his legs, and watched, fascinated, as his beautiful but distant teacher continued to move above him for several moments before she, too, seemed to convulse in some strange kind of energy, then collapsed atop his chest, her bosom heaving.

"Now," she whispered between breaths, "you are boy no more, but a man. You are now truly a Noble son of your father's House. Does this please you?"

Lothir looked at her in wonder, and nodded slowly. "Yes, very much, Mistress."

She smiled; she rolled to one side, propped up on her elbow, with one leg still stretched across his thighs. She kissed him once more, and this time he closed his eyes and tentatively tried to return it. He wondered why Ravyn had never kissed him that way, but instead only ever kissed his brow or cheek.

"Did you enjoy your lesson, young one? There is still much for you to learn. But I think we can save it for tomorrow. Come, let us get cleaned up, and we will speak more of what will be expected of you." She said, standing up suddenly. He opened his eyes again, and felt a vague disappointment that she did not continue the kiss. She pulled him to his feet, and he stood bewildered and uncertain. He glanced down, to see something white sliding down the inside of his leg. He looked at the bed, and found more of it soaking into the sheets.

"What…?" He asked, looking to Shiallin for an explanation. She simply shook her head, rolling her eyes with an annoyed frown, and let out a deep breath.

"I really must do something about that idiot mage," she muttered, and led the young boy into another room that he had not noticed before, half-hidden behind a curtain. Beyond it was a large bathing room, with a table holding several grooming implements and a small, cushioned chair along one wall, a shelf for various cloths, soaps, and perfumes, and a full-length mirror that covered nearly half of another wall. In the center of the room was a huge bathing pool sunk into the floor, which was filled with water that swirled and bubbled. Steam came off the surface, as the pool was heated by some unseen source.

She led him into the pool, and it was pleasantly hot, the water lapping gently against his skin. The young drow stared at her questioningly, still wondering what would come next. "Mistress? What was that?" He asked hesitantly.

"Your seed, silly male. Did he teach you nothing of these things?" She laughed, and he frowned slightly, trying to understand what she meant. Slowly, he shook his head, a look of stunned surprise on his face. After a moment, the meaning dawned on him, and he suddenly understood so much more than a moment before. The revelation was almost more than he could take, but he hesitantly asked the one question that was burning itself into his mind.

"No, he must not have covered that yet. Seed- does that mean we just- are you going to have a.…" He stopped, unable to complete the thought. Was that how it worked?

Shiallin laughed again. "No, of course not! For one thing, little man, I think you might be a bit young yet for that part of it. Besides, it is not the proper time for me, and if it was, there are ways to prevent such things. Now, hurry and wash up. You still have lessons to go back to, and there are things you must know about your new status."

He stared at her, uncomprehending. "What do you mean?" He still did not entirely understand everything she had said; it was all a little overwhelming, to say the least. So much had happened already, and it seemed there were still many things that he did not yet know.

"You will be leaving for Telamurin D' Thalack in a few months. Terrillis is a large city, and there will be much that is unfamiliar to you. But you must understand that when you leave this House, you will not have the privilege and protection you are used to. In Terrillis, you are subject to the traditions and laws of the Matrons, just as every other male is. Any Matron or priestess who desires it may seek your services in whatever manner she wishes- and you are bound to comply. There can be no refusal. To deny a noble woman's favors is punishable by death, or by any other means she deems fit- even the cha'kohk d' lu' dridera (curse of the drider). You would be wise to remember that."

"You mean- if one wants to- then I have to…. Even if I don't want to?" Suddenly, Lothir was beginning to have second thoughts about these new lessons. Somehow, going to the Academy did not seem to be something to look forward to. He was no longer even certain he wanted to grow up. The thought of being away from home had been frightening enough, but to be told that he would have to do what any noble lady wanted seemed wrong. Yet one look at Shiallin's indifferent expression was enough for the boy to realize how serious she was. He knew better than to question any command she gave. Not only would it invite her wrath, but that of both his parents, as well. That was something he had learned to avoid.

"Did you believe it to be otherwise? How foolish. You are only a male, after all. Even your father's rule is not absolute. But he was never fool enough to deny the ways of our kind. No, he is wise in allowing the old ways to continue unchanged, even if he seeks to rule over all. Ambitious as he is, he knows the Matrons would not stand for the abolishment of their edicts."

Without another word, she set about scrubbing herself, ignoring him. He watched for a while, his natural curiosity overcoming timidness for the moment. It had felt good to let her touch him, and he wondered if being ordered to perform such deeds could truly be so bad. He had to admit it had been frightening at first, but the sensations were- intriguing, to say the least. His thoughts turned back to his father, and what she had said about him. Did that mean that even he was subject to the will of the Matrons?

The boy thought about that for a long moment, while he sat in the bubbling water in silence. After a time, he picked up a sponge and some soap crystals from a small silver container beside the pool, and began to wash himself as she had ordered. When he finished, he stood up, and found a cloth to dry with. His feet padded softly over the thick rug of some strange creature's striped fur, as he retrieved his clothes and dressed. Shiallin had left the bath by then, and stood watching him.

"Tomorrow, you will come here after your morning studies," she said. He looked up, and saw that she was wearing a long robe open in the front, and nothing else. The sight of her curves sent an odd jolt through him, but he knew what it was now, and simply nodded. She didn't expect an answer, only compliance. That was something he had learned long ago.

The rest of the afternoon was uneventful. After he had gone back to his normal lessons- during which his thoughts kept turning to the strange turn her teaching had taken, and what other new things might be in store- it was time to practice weapon drills with Master Nalvir. The activity and all the excitement and exertions of the day soon wore him out, so Nalvir instructed him to continue until he dropped, as he felt the boy was too lax in his practice, and needed toughening. After so much hard physical exercise, combined with the swimming and Shiallin's own form of physical education, he was too exhausted at the end of the day to make the excursion into the tunnels as planned. It was with a heavy sigh and much relief that he finally crawled into his own bed that night, too tired even to think about what the next day might bring.

He woke early the next morning, with a strange feeling of anticipation, wondering what she might have planned. He felt content and excited to begin his daily schooling, though he wasn't quite certain why. He rushed through breakfast, pausing to give Ravyn a cheery greeting when he saw that she was among the slaves tending to the morning meal. She only nodded her response to him, with a quick look that reminded him their friendship was supposed to remain secret.

He made his way to the training room to begin the day, but Jezdin was nowhere to be found. He waited patiently for a time, flipping idly through a book of alchemic formulas, until it became clear that the irritable old mage was late. The boy began to pace the room, wondering if he should go look for his missing tutor. He even pulled one of the wooden practice swords from a rack, going through a few basic moves, simply to pass the time until the sorcerer should appear. When he heard the temple bell toll the hour for mid-day, he knew something was wrong.

He left the room, and wandered the corridors of his home, seeking some reason for his master's absence. At last, he approached his father's study, only to hear voices up ahead on the stairs. He paused to listen, for he recognized his mother's harsh tone, in deep discussion with both Shiallin and his father's deep, commanding voice, with its oddly accented speech- the remains of the old elven language he had once spoken as his native tongue.

"I tell you, Aldan- he is not ready! He barely even knows the difference between a kuo-toa and a sahuagin!" His mother's cold contempt was clear, that much was certain.

"Well, so long as he knows how to kill one or the other, it hardly matters, now does it?" Came the Patron's acid reply. Lothir heard his teacher's amused chuckle, and realized they were talking about him.

"Perhaps, but with such stupidity, how long do you think the little idiot will survive in the city? I blame you, my Lord, since it is your seed that spawned such a pathetic excuse for an heir. He's no better than that half-breed witch you whelped on that insipid little whore of yours!"

"I would watch your tongue, if I were you, My Lady. You can be replaced as my Consort." snarled the Patron. Lothir cautiously peeked around the corner of a doorway where he hid, to see his father's eyes blazing with blue fury at the insolent Lady of the House. Shiallin stood by, watching with a slight smirk as Ardra was berated by her infuriated mate. It was no secret that she felt Ardra was unsuited to rule as his Consort, and had even tried to convince him that she would make a better match than her elder half-cousin. Her lesser station among the house priestesses not withstanding, Shiallin was far less heavy-handed with the rest of the retainers and servants, a fact which had not gone unnoticed by the Lord.

"Replaced?! You pompous upstart, whom do you think you are dealing with?! If it were not for my House's rank and power, you never would have risen to your current position! I should call down the wrath of the Goddess on you for such temerity!"

"Go ahead and try, my dear. You know very well that I have the protection of one who is just as powerful as she- and not half so mad!" He roared, and suddenly struck out at her with his open hand. The blow landed on her jaw, and knocked her into the wall. She stumbled, but merely stared up at him with a look of hatred and fury. After a moment, she straightened, then stalked off without another word. Lothir flattened himself against the wall as she went by, praying she would not glance his direction. But his mother seemed oblivious, and kept going.

"I trust you have dealt with that imbecile Jezdin?" Aldan said casually after his Consort had left.

"Of course, My Lord Patron. It will be a long time before he forgets his duties again." She gave a slight bow, and he nodded his approval.

"Good. Make sure the boy is ready for Telamurin D' Thalack by the time I return from Deimos. Six months, Shiallin- you have six months to ensure the boy is prepared for the Academy. Do not disappoint me."

"Yes, as you wish, my Lord. I am ever at your service- in all ways." The young drow watched as she ran her fingers lightly down his sire's neck with a seductive smile, and Aldan returned her gaze with narrowed eyes, a half-smirk on his face.

"Naturally," was all he said before he turned and went into his study. The sultry priestess turned and went down the stairs, passing Lothir as he ducked into one of the guard rooms below. He watched her go by; his thoughts were racing to try to make sense of what he had seen and heard. Was his tutor making a play to take his mother's place as the Lady Consort? It appeared so.

Several minutes passed before he left the room. By that time, his stomach was reminding him quite audibly that he was hungry. He ran to the dining hall, where he saw that Ravyn was once again on serving duty. He nodded to her, careful not to let his mother see, for she had entered to take her afternoon meal. He ate in silence, staying as far from his eternally angry mother as possible to avoid arousing her ire. When he finished, he began to make his way to the servants' spire, where Shiallin waited. But he had hardly reached the bridge that spanned the way across, when Morganna stepped in his way, looking down at him with a sneer.

"Well, if it isn't the worm? Learn anything interesting lately, little we'ha (d*ck)? Ready for another private tutorial, perhaps?"

He stared at her, jaw gaping. How had she known about…? "And just what do you care about it?" He asked cautiously. She merely grinned wickedly.

"I don't. I just thought it was amusing. Looks like Master Jezdin isn't the only one who likes such games. Too bad he's getting disciplined, or I bet he would teach you a thing or two!"

"What- what do you mean?" He asked uncertainly. Morganna never missed a chance to annoy or degrade him, and this time was no different. She had become expert at finding just the right verbal jabs to torment him- and everyone else around her, for that matter.

"Oh, haven't you heard? He's being punished for neglecting his duties. Too much time summoning his little playmates, I suppose- that dirty old sakphul-vith'rell (literally, "halfling-f$&#er"). So Shiallin decided to teach him a lesson, by summoning an incubus to play with him!"

Lothir's eyes bulged at the news. He had often seen the old sorcerer call forth succubi and erinyes to do his bidding, but it was not until the day before that he had actually understood what that entailed. Now he found himself blushing at the thought of such lower planar beings being bound by his teacher to do- that.

"What do you know about that?" He asked pointedly, finally finding his voice again. Morganna only gave him a dark laugh.

"Oh, you'd be surprised what you can learn when no one knows you're there. Like what he keeps in those spell books of his. You should read them sometime, little brother- you might actually learn something useful!" She snorted, and turned away, leaving him to wonder what she meant.

He stared after her until she had left, then continued on his way, across the bridge that spanned the empty space between the huge stone towers. Argos Hall had five such towers. The two largest held the family living quarters and recreational spaces, as well as the temple, training room and armory, several storerooms, and the throne room and main entrance hall. The third largest housed the main barracks and various workrooms for the smiths, masons, craftsmen, and other skilled artisans of the House.

The two smallest spires were those of the servants and common soldiers, along with the mages' labs, and the private quarters of the House retainers. A small stronghold guarded the only tunnel entrance to the great cavern, with its own armory, training area, and barracks, while a second small fort was situated on a small rocky island at the entrance to the sea-tunnel that led out of the cove into the open ocean. Together, the towers and guard outposts held nearly six hundred dark elves and almost as many members of several other races- most of them slaves. The rest were craftsmen, low-born warriors, battle-mages, and the two score priestesses of the temple, along with the crews of Aldan's two main ships, the Executioner and its sister ship, the Iceheart.

Soon he had reached her door, but did not know whether he should knock or simply enter. After a moment's hesitation, he shrugged, and knocked on the heavy metal door. It opened after only a few seconds, to reveal Shiallin in nothing but a simple robe. A lump rose in his throat as she waved him in; he entered cautiously, wondering what sort of lessons she had in mind. If it was anything like the previous day, he suspected he was in for a very eye-opening experience. She closed the door behind him, and told him to undress once again. For the next two hours, neither of them spoke….

Five days passed, in which Jezdin did not show up for the young prince's morning studies. Instead, Shiallin took over teaching entirely, saying only that the missing tutor was recovering from an injury. Lothir didn't care to speculate what that might mean; the possibilities were both too numerous, and too disturbing. He found that he actually enjoyed her manner of teaching more than the old mage, for she was not as quick to strike him for making mistakes as Jezdin had been, and was more patient with his questions, besides.

Meanwhile, his other lessons were quickly becoming more stimulating by the day. By the fifth day, he had begun to think that the surly old sorcerer was gone for good, and he was glad to be rid of his heavy-handed tutor. He even risked going to Jezdin's private lab and study to peruse his spell books as Morganna had suggested- something he never would have done had the short-tempered Qu'el'faeruk (House Wizard) been about.

What he found both surprised and intrigued him, and he spent several hours each day studying the new spells he found. Some of them seemed made for pulling pranks on his mean-spirited half-sister. He had always wanted to find some way to get back at her for all the wicked tricks she had played on him, like turning his hair purple or making his seat at the table slick so that he slipped off and fell.

Others were obviously meant for use against enemies, such as the ones that created bolts of lightning or fireballs, or which blinded and even blasted the minds of foes. And then, there was one book which seemed to contain only spells intended for the mage's more personal pursuits- spells that bound, chained, or enthralled a being, or which rendered the subject enamored of the caster, or were somehow otherwise connected to the arts of pleasure and pain. The book referred to such spells as blue magic, but after only a few minutes of reading, he began to think that vith magic might have been a more appropriate term. Some were intriguing- especially in light of the things Shiallin had begun to teach him- while others were simply disturbing or even frightening in their applications.

The spells that interested him the most were the ones that created or altered sounds or voices. The young drow was fascinated by the thought of being able to mimic another's voice, or to have his own voice spouting from a statue or some other place. There were words of power, of course, but he found he had no taste for them, since most of them were intended to harm, and were difficult to pronounce correctly in any case.

The day after he had spoken to Morganna, he took his turtle shell shield and a kukri from the soldiers' armory- after practicing his magic by unlocking the door, of course- and snuck off to the mushroom grove to slip through the fissure into the hidden tunnels beyond. He had never been beyond the walls of Argos Hall's cavern, so the young dark elf was both excited and a little afraid of what he might find. He knew well enough that those who wandered alone in the deeper passages often did not return, so he was cautious in his exploration.

Lothir had taken with him only one other item on his excursion, a beautiful silver flute that he had found among the glittering treasures of the family vault during one of his secret forays into the depths of the Hall's lowest levels, where the torture chambers, vaults, and prisons were. He had discovered a hidden entrance into the treasure room, and had found all sorts of strange and fascinating objects there. He knew the flute contained magic, but had no idea what kind, so he wanted to study it far from prying eyes- and ears. So as he shimmied his way through the tiny, narrow crevice that led from the mushroom grove into a long tunnel beyond, he kept the flute tucked into his belt, anxious to try it and see what it might do.

After what seemed a long time the small tunnel finally opened out into a larger passage that ran for over a thousand yards, twisting and turning, with a low ceiling. He cautiously crept along, knowing that the tunnels he was exploring were likely unknown to any but himself. If something happened out here, his family would never know of it. And most likely wouldn't waste much time or effort searching, either, he thought bitterly. It was becoming more and more plain that they cared little for him, save only for what he could contribute to the power and future of the House itself.

Some time later, he came to a small cavern, with many thin and jagged stalagmites and stalactites, a high roof, and a small pool fed from water dripping down through the rocks above. He gazed around, his normally blue eyes glowing slightly with a faint red light as he used his dark-vision to see. He had long since passed the point of seeing normally in these black depths, for no light penetrated so far from his home. All he could see was dark, cool stone, and the even cooler spot where the pool was. Even his dark-vision was nearly useless in such a place, for there was little heat for his eyes to find.

Then his keen ears detected a noise from above. A faint clicking sound, so soft that he was barely sure he heard it at all. He looked up, and his heat-seeking eyes found a terrifying sight. A huge, chaotic, tent-like web stretched across nearly half the ceiling. He saw movement within, and then an enormous spider with a body nearly six feet long skittered out of the web. He stepped back closer to the nearest wall, slowly pulling his borrowed kukri from his belt. The spider's back was slightly humped, and its long, spindly legs were covered in short, course hairs. But its most disturbing trait was the pair of humanoid arms just below the mandibles that were making the clicking sound he had heard.

The monstrous creature leaped down to the ground, landing between Lothir and the passage he had just left. He backed away, holding his knife and turtle-shield in front of him. The spider chattered for a moment, its six eyes fixed on him. It scuttled toward him, and he backed away further, putting one of the slender stalagmites between him and it. It paused, the "arms" in front waving in a gesture to come closer.

Then something truly strange happened. The huge arachnid reared up on its hind two pairs of legs, and as it did, it began to change. The body became smaller and slimmer, as the two hind leg pairs shortened and thickened, until they fused into one pair of rather shapely humanoid legs, while the two front pairs disappeared altogether, leaving only the clawed arms. Even its head changed, becoming that of an attractive female, with drow-like ears and features, and the normal number of eyes. At last he found himself staring at a naked- and very comely- woman, who tossed a satisfied smirk his way, chuckling softly.

"Well," she said, using the Undercommon speech that was a mix of the languages of drow, deep dwarf, and the grey-skinned Underdark gnomes called the svirfneblin. "What have we here? A lonely little dark elf come to visit? How marvelous! It's been ages since I had a real visitor!" She smiled, and stepped closer. Lothir gaped, and stood holding his kukri in a hand suddenly gone limp.

"Hmm, such a tempting little morsel you are, too. What's wrong, little drow? Can't speak? Let's get a better look at you, my little sweetmeat." Then she spoke a few arcane words, and suddenly a half-dozen floating spheres of light filled the air around her.

Lothir was dazzled by the sudden light in his eyes, though none was brighter than a candle by itself. He squinted in the pale white glow, as she slowly approached. When his eyes had adjusted, she was standing before him, close enough to reach out and touch him. She let the little dancing lights- for he recognized the spell as one that nearly every dark elf knew- float about the chamber, and he could now see that the web was festooned with many corpses, the cocooned remains of her past meals. He recognized large cave rats, the huge Underdark bats known as deepbats, and a four-foot, brownish insect-like creature with a tail like a lobster and long feelers on its head, with a dozen legs beneath its pill-bug shaped body. He belatedly realized it was a rust monster, a creature that ate only metal.

There were even the bodies of two goblins, and he suddenly realized that the tunnels he had found must have some connection to the main tunnel from his home, for the remnants of their garb bore the marks of his House. Down below the web, in a corner of the cavern, lay a pile of old bones and bits of debris, all still covered in shreds of webbing.

He glanced back to the strange shape-shifting woman, and gulped. "Who- what are you?" He asked in a small, frightened voice.

"Ah, so it speaks! I am Shelatchka, little drow. Have you never heard of the aranea? That is what I am. Children of the Spider. Of course, some might call chitines that, but only we can take the form of her true children. And who might you be, hmm? It's dangerous for little boys to wander alone in the Underdark, silly child."

He frowned, tightening his grip on the knife, and straightened to his full height of nearly four feet, chin held high. "I'm not a boy," he said petulantly. "Not anymore. My mistress even said so. Besides, I know how to fight."

"Oh, did she, now?" The woman laughed. "Well, then, my delicious little man, who might you be? Such a brave young warrior, to be out here all alone. Are you not afraid?" She smiled indulgently, leaning quite close, so that her bosom brushed against him, and her hand closed over his and pushed his blade aside.

He could not take his eyes off the strange female, especially when she stood so close, with her shiny black skin and long jet hair gleaming in the soft glow. Her stomach was marked by a large red spot vaguely shaped like an hourglass. He was a little fearful of that, for he had seen such marks on certain venomous spiders in his home. He hated the crawly things, but was forbidden to kill them because they were considered sacred to the Goddess.

"N- no, I'm not a- afraid... I'm L- Lothir E- E'Terrin'dar." He sputtered, and began to edge away from her, his knees shaking beneath him in spite of his false bravado. "Ustdalharn of the F- First House, heir to the King of Argonia. You'd better let me go- if anything happens to me, they'll come looking," he said, though even as he spoke the words, he wondered if it was really true. Somehow, he doubted it. His own family barely ever even noticed his presence unless it was to yell at him or give him orders, so he wondered if they would ever even bother to search for him if he went missing. They would probably just make a half-hearted search, and then assume he'd drowned in the cove, or something. Then his bones would end up moldering in Shelatchka's web for some other hapless soul to find, before they joined him in turn.

The aranea seemed to see right through his bluff, for she simply tossed her head back and laughed. "I somehow doubt that, little prince. You aren't supposed to be here, are you? They don't even know you are gone, I'd wager. Oh, but you are an amusing one. Perhaps I'll play with you a bit, before…"

He swallowed, and suddenly made a dash for the other tunnel. Quick as lightning, she leaped in front of him. "Ah, come now! Where do you think you're going, hmm? You wouldn't be so rude as to leave so soon, would you?"

He skidded to a stop, and began to back away again. Suddenly, the aranea began to shift again, this time into a strange, hybrid form. The long, hairy appendages sprouted from her sides, and her legs changed back into those of a spider, splitting into four. Her body grew, becoming longer, bloated and round toward the bottom. Four eyes appeared on her suddenly over-sized head, and she sprouted long, sharp fangs like those of her spider-form. The young drow froze, horrified; he suddenly lost all semblance of courage, and shrieked.

"Now, really, is that any way for a guest to act toward one's hostess? Shameful. Stay awhile, and perhaps we can have some fun, little one!" She laughed again, and then the shape-changing spider began to move her hands in the unmistakable gestures of a spell, as she called out words of power. A moment later, four bluish bolts of magical force streaked toward him.

Lothir paled, realizing instantly that he could neither run nor hide, for the magic missiles were unerring. Instead, he ducked down into a crouch, his eyes squeezed shut, with the turtle shell held up in front of him. It was a feeble defense, to be sure, but it was all he had. Then the bolts struck, and his pitiful shield exploded in a shower of eldritch sparks and fragments of shell.

He opened his eyes again, squinting from the flash of light that had dazzled his sensitive eyes once more, and saw the smoking remnants of his shield, which had been reduced to a few shards on the cavern floor. His gaze whipped about to the aranea, who was already casting another spell. He picked up one large shard and threw it at her; the jagged piece of shell struck her cheek, spoiling the spell. She cursed, all pretense of friendliness gone. He didn't wait for her to start another spell, he simply turned and ran for the tunnel he had entered from.

"Get back here, you brat! I'm not finished with you yet!" She snarled, and he looked back just in time to see a mass of thick, silvery strands shooting toward him form the creature's abdomen. He dived to the side, ducking behind two narrow stalagmites, just before the web reached him. It hit the ground with a wet noise, leaving a large patch of stone covered in sticky filaments.

"Leave me alone!" He yelled, his voice echoing eerily in the cavern, and peeked around the side of the larger spire. But Shelatchka was no longer there. He was puzzled for a moment, then heard the faint clicking of her skittering on the ceiling. He looked up, only to see her suddenly dropping down at him from above. He yelped again, slashing wildly with his kukri as he fell backwards to avoid being pinned. He felt his blade hit something soft, and she landed with a screech in the spot where he'd stood. A long gash had opened up across her middle; somehow, he had managed to wound her.

She stared down with an expression of shock, as thick greenish ichor oozed from the fresh wound. His knife and hand were covered in the sticky gore, and he wrinkled his nose at the foul stench. She glared back at him again, her cold black eyes gleaming with murderous rage in the glow of the floating lights.

"You're going to pay for that, you spineless worm!" She roared, and raised two long, hook-taloned legs to skewer him. Lothir scrambled backward, the hairy legs coming down just inches below his groin. He slashed again, and this time severed one of the legs. She shrieked again. He scuttled back again, then clambered to his feet, and ran for the tunnel. And this time, he didn't look back.

He heard her scream of fury, and then the sound of something hitting the tunnel entrance. Only when he was far down the tunnel did he dare to turn his head. The aranea had spewed her web at him again, but had missed, and hit the portal instead. A large, glistening mass of webs now hung across the entrance, blocking her from pursuing him further. Then he realized that even if it had remained clear, the tunnel was too low and narrow for her to follow. Never-the-less, he kept running, and didn't stop until he had reached the crack that led back through the wall into the cavern of Argos Hall.

When he finally crawled back through the long fissure, he was panting from fear and fatigue, and his clothes were dirty from crawling through damp tunnels. He scrambled out into the open cavern, still clutching the kukri tightly. He was in the farthest corner of the grove, near a spot where a large chunk of rock had broken loose from the ceiling after a long-ago earthquake. Tyrant's Isle, as his island home was often called by surface dwellers, was frequently wracked by tremors both large and small, though none had ever caused any severe damage here in the sea-cave.

He got up, brushing dirt and bits of crushed mushrooms from his tunic, then belatedly remembered the flute. It was still tucked in his belt, but there was little chance of trying it out now that his exploration had been put to an end. He pulled it out, then sighed heavily, and went to his secret cache of curious finds hidden beneath a stone beside the stalk of a fallen giant mushroom. The stone was part of a stalactite that had broken, leaving chunks of itself scattered over the floor of the grove. He pulled the stone up, placing the flute back into the small bag he had placed under it. He put the knife in as well, thinking it would come in handy if he ever went back into the tunnel.

After making sure the stone was back in place, he slowly made his way back toward the towering spires of his home, wishing he had been able to explore more of the passage. He snuck back toward the House silently; he knew that if anyone saw the state of his clothes, he would likely be punished. So he levitated straight up to his own room, avoiding the stairs so he would not be spotted. He was just stepping down onto the balcony when he heard the door open. He froze, glancing over toward the door in apprehension.

"Oh! My prince, I did not know you were in here, or I would have knocked, and- by the gods, what happened to you? Little one, your clothes are a mess!" He was surprised to see Ravyn, a cleaning rag and broom in one hand, staring at him in shock. "What were you doing, rolling in the refuse pit?" She said with a twinkle in her eyes.

He took the chiding in stride, relieved that it was only her, and not one of his parents. "Please don't say anything about this- I was out in the grove, and I fell…." It was a lie, of course, but he was afraid to tell her what he had really been doing. She would only worry.

Ravyn knew the young prince well enough to tell that he was lying. She gave him a skeptical look, and set down the broom, folding her arms across her chest. "Really, now? I hope you can come up with a better excuse before your mother sees this. She would throw one of her fits." She chuckled softly, and came over to examine him more closely. "Sorden's bolts, lad- your hair is singed! And what is that horrid splatter on your sleeve?"

Lothir looked down at the floor, noticing the bits of web stuck to his boots. He blushed, ashamed at having been caught in the lie. "I- um, I found a new passage into the wilds, and decided to see where it went. I ran into some, uh, trouble." He hedged around the question, not wanting to tell her that he had almost been eaten by a huge shape-shifting female spider looking for a meal. Or a mate- he still wasn't sure about that part.

Ravyn pursed her lips in disapproval. "Trouble, my prince? Just what sort of trouble? Why don't you change while you tell me about it- I've laundry still to do, anyway, so I might as well add those to the rest." She sighed, and went about cleaning the room while she waited for her young friend to come clean as well.

He let out a long breath before he tugged off the tunic, then kicked off his boots. "It was an aranea- at least that's what she called herself. She tried to have me for dinner."

Ravyn stopped in the middle of wiping down the wardrobe, and whirled on him. "Dinner?! Oh, little warrior, you should not have gone out alone, it's too dangerous! You could have died!"

The drow sat down heavily, and scowled. "I wasn't afraid.," he said quietly, though in truth he had been terrified. He looked up at her, and suddenly grinned impishly. "I don't think she likes me very much, though; I gashed her belly, and cut off one of her legs!"

Ravyn gaped at him, then shook her head and laughed. "Well, now- that's my brave warrior! But promise you won't try anything so foolish again, I don't want to lose you, my darling prince. Now, you should go take a bath, and change into something that doesn't reek of spider gore and death." She smiled, leaned over him, then brushed his cheek with one hand and kissed his brow.

He nodded, and pulled some clean clothes out of the wardrobe. He wandered down to the family's bathing chamber, which contained a large pool dug right out of the stone, with a small hearth that was used to heat stones to keep the water warm. He stripped, then tossed several hot rocks into the water, waiting until it was well-heated before stepping in. It took several changes of stones, and nearly a half hour, but at last it was ready.

As he sank into the warm water, he thought of what Ravyn had said, and how narrowly he had escaped death. Some warrior I am, he thought sourly. He had been too frightened to do much more than run away, and even that had been only after cowering on his knees like a whipped slave. He hated himself for being so weak.

And yet… He wondered what would have happened had he been more courageous. Could he kill the aranea? And if he did, what sort of monster would that make him? He had never witnessed death before, beyond watching the servants slaughter one of the rothe on occasion. But those were simple, dumb beasts- animals that served no greater purpose than as food. Was it different to kill an intelligent being, even one as wicked as the aranea? He didn't know, and was a little afraid to find out.

Thinking about that made him remember the words his father had said. In six months, he would leave for the city to learn how to kill. He didn't know if he was ready for that. He barely noticed that he was shaking, in spite of the warm water. When he finally remembered to wash himself, he realized he had been in the pool far too long, and had missed the dinner gong. He grimaced, hurrying to get clean as fast as he could, for he knew his mother would yell at him again for being late. She was always yelling. He hated it. He finally dried off with a sigh, slipped into the fresh clothes, and ran to the dining hall as fast as his small feet would carry him.

Lady Ardra was angry, of course, and as punishment for disrupting the meal he had been sent down to the armory to polish every last piece of armor and weapon. By the time he was finished, it was late into the night, and his arms ached from rubbing and buffing so much metal. His hands were raw from the polish, as well. He fell into bed wearily, too tired even to dream.

Lothir spent the remainder of the next few days in his normal routine, though he had determined that he would go back to Shelatchka's lair and find a way to pass beyond it. He knew going back would be dangerous, but he was eager to explore more of the unknown tunnels. So each day, besides his clandestine studies of Jezdin's spells, he also made an effort to learn all that he could about the aranea, and as many other creatures of the Wilds as possible. He was going back, but this time, he would be prepared.

He had begun practicing his magic more fervently, as well. He had already learned the hard way that a good magical defense could prove crucial to survival, and though he still had difficulty with even the simplest of combat spells, he supposed that any magic was better than none at all. So he worked harder than ever, and soon learned that the spells that came most easily were those that relied more on words of power and simple gestures than on exotic materials or complex sigils to cast. Little did he know that such a seemingly small distinction would one day lead him to discover his true path.

So it was that he first learned the power of sounds and words, and how they could be woven into spells that influenced the mind or created illusions, or could even deafen, shatter stone, or kill. He found he had no real interest in the most potent ones, for he had noticed that the more powerful spells seemed almost entirely suited to causing death and destruction, and little else. In any case, they were beyond his abilities, and seemed likely to remain so, at least until he had more experience.

Instead, he discovered that he had a gift for brief rhyming spells, or those that could be sung. The ones he enjoyed the most were those that created illusions of sight or sound, and so he began attempting to draw colorful images in the air with them, of the many creatures or people he had read about with Ravyn. His first attempts were feeble little things, barely visible, misshapen, that faded almost as quickly as he made them. Yet after only a few tries, he found that all he really had to do was visualize what he wanted, and it would appear almost at will. He drew from his memory of the pictures in his father's books, and soon found entire scenes materializing before his delighted eyes.

He practiced such spells out in the mushroom grove, well away from where anyone could see or hear, for he did not wish anyone to learn the reason for his interest. The young drow wished to keep the unknown tunnels as his own secret, something to be shared only with Ravyn. He yearned to see things none of his people ever had, and to discover new places and creatures never seen. Thus, he resolved to learn as much as he could, and become stronger, so that he might one day be like the brave heroes from Ravyn's tales.

Those tales and songs had been far more than mere stories to the boy. They resonated with a truth and purpose that seemed at odds with everything around him. His world was dark and cold; he wanted to see the colors of the world above, of which he had always heard, but never known. In the Underdark, the only colors to see were shades of black, grey, and brown- the unfeeling colors of earth and stone. Yet for Lothir, it was not enough. He wanted more.

After five days, he had begun to think Jezdin would not come back. The sixth day, he went down to begin his daily lessons, expecting to find Shiallin; instead, the dour old mage was in his usual place, standing at the door waiting for him. He stood awkwardly, leaning on a gnarled staff, with bandages around his neck, right foot, and left arm. He had a large, half-healed gash that ran from the left temple to his chin, and was missing half his ear on that side.

"Master Jezdin? I didn't know you were back. Vendui, Jabbuk." he said, bowing slightly. The old mage simply glowered at him, while he went over to the small table in the corner of the room that served as a desk for his studies. Lothir pulled the book of anatomical studies Shiallin had been having him examine, set it down on the table, and opened it to the pages he had been examining over the past days. But just as he was about to slide out his seat to begin reading, Jezdin marched over and yanked it out from under him. The boy teetered backward, nearly falling before he regained his balance. He turned to look at his tutor questioningly.

"Master?!" he asked, startled. The aging sorcerer scowled darkly at him, his marred face set in a glare of hate and malice. Finally, the older drow spoke.

"Mistress Shiallin tells me I have neglected my duties in certain areas of your education. I see she has been attempting to remedy the situation. However, there are certain aspects of the subject in question that she simply cannot teach you. Therefore, I shall do so now."

His gaze fell to the open book, with its drawings and descriptions of the relevant organs and their functions. He smiled slightly, a strange look in his cold red eyes. Lothir looked at his tutor, a sudden feeling of dread coming over him that he could not explain. Jezdin's expression was so similar to the one Shiallin had worn during his "lessons" in her chamber, yet darker, somehow- more menacing.

Then he raised one hand, in which he held a small iron nail, and clenched it into a fist. "Doera duib izil vholk," he muttered, and suddenly Lothir felt a strange tingling sensation, a feeling of paralysis that crept over him. He tried to move, but his limbs would no longer obey him. He wanted to ask why Jezdin had placed a spell over him, but it seemed he was unable even to speak. He simply stood there, frozen.

He tried to break through the spell by sheer will, but Jezdin was far more skilled in magic; the powerful enchantment held, in spite of the innate resistance to such magic that all his kind had. No doubt the sorcerer had crafted it specifically to counter that resistance. The young drow could only stare straight ahead, only his eyes moving, while his leering master moved around him.

An instant later, he felt a gnarled hand between his shoulders, shoving him down over the table roughly. He heard a sound of the mage's robe ruffling, and then Jezdin bent low over him, his breath hot on the boy's face.

"Shiallin didn't tell you this could be used as a weapon, did she? Well, remember this lesson well, boy- and if you ever breathe one word of this to anyone, I will see to it that you have a fatal 'accident' during your next alchemy lesson!" Jezdin spat the words at him, his lips curled back in a cruel snarl.

Lothir tried to struggle against the hold of the spell, but his arms only hung limp at his sides, and when he tried to plead with his tutor to let him go, all that came out was a soft whimper. Then he felt that same hand at his waist, unbuckling the belt of his jerkin, and then on the lacings of his leggings. His eyes went wide, as the trousers slid down to his knees, and he suddenly realized what was happening.

He never really knew how much time passed. After the initial shock of pain and fear, it simply seemed to go on for an eternity. The only sounds were the sickening slap of flesh-on flesh, his own quiet sobs, and the mage's grunts. He could feel the cold, hard edge of the table digging into his hips, but beyond that, his mind would not register anything.

At last, he felt the old drow grab his hair, holding his head up as he spoke harshly. "Now you know your place in our world. You are nothing more than a tool and a plaything for those above you, with no more rights than those common slaves who do all the hard labor here. Only the strong survive in our society, and you clearly are not. A spineless worm like you could never rule this House, or any other. Your father believes you will follow him into greatness, but I know better. Perhaps you thought yourself immune to the intrigues and plots of this House? Well, this is the reality. If they only knew what a weak-willed little coward you are, they would drag you to the temple as meat for the Goddess. What a pity. Now, I have more important business to attend, so I think I shall leave you to think on what I have taught you today. And remember what I said- not one word, or else!"

He slammed the boy's head back down on the table, laughing coldly, and turned away, striding off with his long robe ruffling around him. Lothir heard the doors slam closed behind him, as he was left alone, shaking from fear and betrayal, in the echoing silence of the room. He felt weak, his knees buckling under him, and he slid off the table to fall painfully to the floor on his already hurting backside. The spell had finally begun to fade, at least a little; he pulled his knees up to his chest, and simply sat there for a long time, his arms wrapped around them, rocking as he cried softly. It was a long time before he finally got up, stumbling and shaking, and pulled his soft lizard-hide trousers back up.

Afterward, he was never quite sure how he ended up in the family's bathing room; he had wandered aimlessly, half in a stunned daze, for a time, flinching away whenever any of the House retainers or slaves passed him by- which only made them send odd looks in his direction. All he really remembered was the feeling of disgust and the sense of having lost something important. He had felt a chill that had nothing at all to do with the air, and had heated the water as much as he could stand, then sank in until only his head was above the steaming water, while he tried vainly to wash away the filthy, crawling feeling that assailed him.

An hour passed- or maybe two, he wasn't sure- then the door opened and he was no longer alone. His head whipped around to gaze guardedly at the individual that entered. Once again, it was Ravyn who came upon the young boy, having entered the bathing chamber to prepare the pool for Lady Ardra's mid-morning bath; his mother was normally a late-riser, so he was frequently able to avoid her at breakfast unless she had important matters to attend. On seeing the young drow already in the pool, Ravyn paused, a bucket and mop in one hand, and a brush and sponge in the other.

"Oh, I didn't realize anyone was in here- forgive the intrusion, young master. You really should lock the door when you're in here. I'll return when you're finished." She turned to leave, but something made her hesitate. She glanced back at him, and her brow furrowed, as she noticed the dull, half-dazed stare he gave her, which was so unlike his usual bright smile and cheerful greeting.

Ravyn set everything aside, and took a few tentative steps toward him, wondering why he seemed so distant and quiet. He was trembling in spite of the warm water, as if in a state of near shock. He gazed up at her with a lost, apprehensive expression, and she knew something was wrong. He watched her warily, a haunted look of betrayal and fear in his eyes.

"Little warrior? Is something wrong?" She came closer, and noticed that he kept his glacier-blue gaze riveted to her, shrinking back slightly as she approached. She moved slowly closer to the pool, picking up a cloth as she came to the edge of the pool. "Do you need something, my prince? Perhaps I could help you?"

She soaked the cloth in the warm water, and leaned close to wash the youth's face. He let out a whimper, and scooted further away, but slipped in the water. His head smacked hard on the edge, and he went under for a moment. Ravyn dropped the cloth, knelt down beside the pool, and reached in to grasp him by the shoulders and pull him back up. He felt her hands as he came back up again, and let out a shriek that almost caused her to let go. He was fighting like a wounded animal now, clawing, squirming, and trying to scramble away, while she leaned further over the water to try to drag him out before he hurt himself again. What was wrong with the boy? He acted as if she was trying to kill him!

Then the elf woman finally managed to pull him out of the pool, and held the screaming, struggling, slippery young drow close, wrapping her arms around him even as he tried frantically to escape her. She whispered soothingly, stroking his tousled white hair, her simple tunic plastered to her skin from all the splashing he had done in his frightened struggles. After a few long seconds, he seemed to calm a little, and the caterwauls turned into sobs. He gradually quieted, his arms wrapping around her waist in a fierce hold that surprised her with its strength. She rocked with the boy in her arms, worried that somehow he had come to harm.

Yet what could have hurt him here? He had seemed fine earlier, before…. Then it struck her. Before his morning studies with the House Mage. She had never liked the old lecher, for she had heard the rumors from the soldiers, other slaves, and even occasionally from the family themselves of his peculiar habits and interests. He had gone through more than a few of the female slaves over the last few years, leaving them broken in mind, spirit, and often in body as well. He had never gone so far as to touch her, but then again, he knew better than to touch Aldan's personal property. She was fortunate, for Aldan had long ago forbidden any other to touch her, even his own family. She belonged to him alone, and he made certain everyone knew and understood that fact.

But now it seemed the wicked older male had set his eyes on the boy, using him for his own personal pleasures, in spite of the fact that his offence could easily land him on the Venom Queen's sacrificial table. No one was allowed to harm a member of the family unless by the orders of the Patron or his Consort. Ravyn's face darkened in a scowl of anger at the thought of such callous treatment of a young child by the brutal and twisted sorcerer.

It was then that Lady Ardra entered the room. She took one look at the slave woman holding her son, and was instantly enraged. "What in the name of the Abyss is going on here?! Get your hands off my son, you stupid wench!" She screeched, sounding to Ravyn like a harpy.

"Forgive me, Mistress, I meant no harm. He has been acting most strangely, my Lady. I believe he has come to harm." She frowned, as the drow woman yanked the boy back by the hair. That seemed to set him off again, and he shrieked and turned to bite Ardra's hand, a wild, frightened look in his eyes.

"Silence! Stop that blubbering and get hold of yourself, you pathetic little worm!" Ardra snarled. She slapped him across his right cheek; it did not have the desired effect. Instead, he raised his tear-streaked face to look at her in disbelief, then pulled away from her.

"M- mother!" He stuttered, and to the astonishment of both females, he scrambled back over to hide behind Ravyn, clinging to her like a sleek, slender monkey. He peeked around her warily, glaring at his Matron as if she was some horrid monster.

Ravyn gaped. Had he meant her? Never before had he referred to her in such a way. As family. Then Ardra screeched again, and grasped the serpent-headed whip coiled at her side. She flicked it out at the elven woman, the four heads striking out at her with their fangs bared. Ravyn flinched back, raising her arms to defend herself, and cried out in pain as the heads bit into her arms. She felt the whip's poison racing through her- not strong enough to kill, for Ardra had meant it only to weaken and punish her, rather than kill outright.

The young drow suddenly launched himself at Ardra, pounding at her with his small fists, screaming bloody murder. "What is this?!" She hissed, furious. "What have you done to my son?!"

"N- Nothing, I swear! He was like this when I came in!" Ravyn protested, cringing. Then she looked up at the incensed Lady Consort, and made a gesture toward the boy. "I told you, Lady- I believe someone has hurt him. Perhaps his mind has been damaged. He was supposed to be in the training room with Master Jezdin, but I saw the House Mage going to his quarters some time ago. Perhaps you should ask him what is wrong with the boy."

She gave the stern drow female a meaningful look, meeting her eyes squarely. At any other time, such insolence would have brought another lash from the whip, but Ardra paused in her tirade, realizing what the slave meant. If the elf woman's words were true, then her self-important and insolent House Mage would have much to explain. To lay hands on a member of a noble family without the leave of its ruler was cause for dire punishment.

Ardra stared down at her worthless offspring, thoroughly disgusted by his apparent weakness. Clearly, he had been unable to prevent the sorcerer from assaulting him, a sign that perhaps the child was unfit to live. Any drow child should have been able to defend himself well enough to kill his enemies even at such a young age, yet her own offspring was either incapable, or unwilling to fight. Weakness of that kind was unacceptable in a race born and bred to survive in the dangerous and treacherous Lands Below. Only the strongest, most cunning, and most brutal dark elves could live in their world of intrigue, deception, and murder. No child of the First House- and more importantly, no child of hers- could be allowed to display such obvious lack of competence and will.

She scowled down in anger, for the larger problem, a least for the moment, was the sorcerer's grave offence in causing harm to a higher-ranking Noble without permission from his Patron or the Consort. He would have to be dealt with- again. She was furious that he could be so brazen to strike out against the heir, especially so soon after his last punishment. She took two long steps toward he slave, and grasped her son's arm. She yanked him along as she strode toward the door, pausing only a moment, to turn to Ravyn.

"Slave- grab that robe on the shelf and bring it here. I will not have my son roaming the House naked like some brainless Moondancer worshiper!" She snapped, and Ravyn hastened to comply, rushing over to wrap Lothir in the over-sized robe. He stood sullenly, hardly offering any resistance, though she could see that he was still very much in shock from whatever had happened.

When she was finished, the Lady Consort nodded curtly, then turned to drag him along as she left. "Now clean up the mess in here- I am going to deal with my foolish House Mage, and I want my bath ready when I return!" Then the door slammed behind them, and Ravyn was left alone in the room. She sighed, wondering whether her sweet little songbird would ever smile again after this day.

They were halfway to his father's throne room when Lothir finally began to come to his senses. He looked around in a daze, not quite knowing where he was, or why his mother was pulling him along with a furious look on her coldly beautiful face. Her grip on his arm was painfully tight, and his eyes stung from tears.

"Where are we going?" He asked softly, his voice weak and hoarse from crying and from his earlier fit of screaming.

Ardra stopped, letting go of his arm, and turned to snap at him angrily. "What, now you decide to speak?! Idiot. We are going to have a talk with your tutor. Now, silence! You will follow me, and do exactly as I say, and you will not speak unless I tell you! Is that clear?!" She struck him with the back of her hand, hard enough that he staggered from the blow, and his head cracked against the wall.

He nodded mutely, his vision slightly blurred from the force of the blow to his head. He stared down at his bare feet as they continued along the corridor. Already he could feel a lump beginning to form where he'd struck the wall. He followed in silence, and wondered what was going to happen to him now. Jezdin had promised to kill him if he mentioned what had happened earlier, and he had fully believed the old mage. But now his mother knew- or at least suspected- what the wicked male had done, and she intended to punish him severely. The young drow wondered what she would do to his teacher, and why she wanted him to follow her. He had been only vaguely aware of what was going on in the bathing room, as if he had been watching everything from somewhere far away, seeing it all happen to someone else.

They wound their way up the stairs to the huge throne room at the top of the central spire, its domed ceiling shaped into a gigantic spider with its legs forming the arches of the dome, a lattice of white fairie-fire webs covering the stone spaces between. Once there, Ardra approached the large, ornate obsidian chair atop the low central dais, and sat down. The seat was padded with purple spider-silk cushions, and depicted various venomous creatures in an orgy of feasting on their preferred prey. She snapped her fingers, and a goblin slave came scurrying out of the shadows with a tray with a bottle of spiderblood wine and a gleaming onyx goblet with a golden serpent coiled to make the base and stem. The slave poured the wine, and handed her the goblet, though clearly not fast enough for her liking. She kicked at him as he stepped back, causing the goblin to yelp and scramble to avoid dropping the tray and its contents.

Then she held up her House insignia, the magical seal carried by all nobles of the House, and spoke a word. She communed silently for a moment, the adamantine seal's magic allowing her thoughts to carry directly to anyone who held another of the devices. Lothir himself wore one on a small silver band around his left wrist, though he never used it. The purpose of such devices was for House members to speak to each other mind-to-mind during battle, to locate those who became lost in the tunnels, and to increase the power of their in-born magical gifts. Once his mother had spoken through the insignia, she sat back- in his father's seat, the boy noted, knowing she would never have the nerve to do so had he been home- and waited. But Aldan had left the day after his argument with her on the stairs, and so she reclined in her Patron's place with ease.

Several minutes passed, during which the young drow stood uneasily in his harsh mother's presence, staring down at the floor silently. The stone was inlayed with a giant mosaic of glittering onyx, jade, and red agates, in the shape of the House symbol of a red dagger with two serpents entwined about the blade, their mouths open to reveal their threatening fangs. At last, he heard footsteps coming from the passage beyond the huge adamantine doors, and Jezdin strode into the room with an air of aloof disinterest and mild annoyance.

The sorcerer paused, half-way into the room, the moment he saw Ardra on the throne, with her son standing near-by at the foot of the dais, wearing only an oversized bathing robe. He gazed at the boy suspiciously, as though he somehow knew this summons had something to do with his earlier indiscretion.

"You summoned me, Mistress?" He asked calmly. He gave her a low bow, and was careful not to meet her gaze directly. He was not so foolish as to appear insolent before the Lady Consort.

"Yes. I did. Tell me, Jezdin- do you like your position here?" She asked after a moment, forcing him to wait in uncomfortable silence for her reply.

"Yes, Lady, I do. I am honored to have been worthy of adoption into this most esteemed House," he answered carefully. He bowed again, not quite so low this time, and gave her an ingratiating smile.

"Then why is it that you have dishonored it?!" She suddenly snarled, sitting upright and leaning toward him with undisguised menace in her hard red eyes. The House Mage stepped backward in surprise, a look of fear suddenly coming over him. At that moment, Shiallin and four other priestesses came into the room behind him.

"My Lady! I do not know what you mean! How have I displeased you?" He asked, suddenly falling to his knees with his head bent low. A sheen of sweat covered his brow now, as he tried vainly to turn aside his Mistress's anger. She knew. He did not understand how, but she knew. Had the boy told her, after all? From the look of fearful confusion on the child's face, it did not seem so. Yet…

Ardra stared at him for a long time, relishing making him suffer. At last she spoke. "No, I believe you do know. You dared to lay a hand on my son, and then proclaim you do not know how you have dishonored this House?! How dare you claim ignorance!" She shouted, her voice echoing coldly throughout the huge room. Jezdin flinched, and the arc of priestesses closed in behind him.

"Mistress, I only did as I was bid- to teach the boy what you wished. Forgive my not discussing my methods with you, but I thought perhaps it required a more 'hands-on' approach, just as Lady Shiallin has done. I meant no disrespect to this House, my Lady." He bent his head again in deference, as Ardra stared down at him angrily.

Another interminable silence followed, before she finally responded. "I see. Well, Jezdin, while I applaud your ingenuity and 'thoroughness' in your methods of teaching, I cannot overlook the fact that you have harmed a ranking member of this House- a member of my family- without my leave or that of our Lord Patron. For that, you must be punished. The Venom Queen demands it." Her voice held a note of finality.

The aging sorcerer looked up, and saw his doom there. He paled, and rose, backing away from the dais- right into the grasp of the waiting priestesses. "No! You cannot do this! Please, my Lady, let me redeem myself!" He squealed, his voice now sounding much as Lothir's had when his voice cracked.

"Shiallin, please silence him," she said, then turned back to Jezdin. "I have decided on your punishment, Jezdin. You are sentenced to the drider pit."

"You're feeding me to those abominations?!" He screeched, frantic.

"No, fool. You are going to join them." She said, and waved her hand absently, as Shiallin cast a quick spell to silence him, and the other four grabbed his arms and bound them behind him. Jezdin tried to scream, and struggled vainly against the larger and stronger females, but no sound came out, and he was easily overpowered.

Then she looked down at the boy, and rose from the chair, beckoning him to follow. "Come. I wish for you to see what becomes of those who dare to defy the laws of the Goddess." She said nothing more; he nodded slowly, knowing she would urn her ire on him if he did anything but what she had commanded.

So he followed her back down to the temple, with Shiallin and the others right behind them. He entered fearfully, gazing around at the massive statue in the center. He had always hated that statue, with its hideous body of a spider, scorpion tail and pincers, and serpent-countenanced drow. It had always frightened him to see it during the family's services on holy days, and now it reminded him of Shelatchka.

The priestesses dragged the silently shrieking Jezdin to the stone altar, its black marble surface stained with large splotches of dark reddish-brown, a testament to past victims, and released his arms only to tie them to the spider-shaped face of the table. The stone was held up by two large bronze scorpions, while enchanted manacles formed from living vipers coiled restlessly at each of the four pairs of 'legs' that made the altar's ends. The priestesses placed his hands and feet within the writhing coils, which snapped tight the moment he was inside them; the heads sank their fangs into his flesh, to inject a venom which made him weak and lethargic.

Then Ardra, Shiallin, and the other priestesses circled around the altar, leaving Lothir to watch from a spot just outside the giant circle on the temple floor. He watched as they shed their clothes; then one of them lit a brazier on each side of the statue, and they all began chanting in a language he did not know, but the sound of which made his blood run cold. He saw his mother step forth to stand at the sorcerer's head, while he moaned pitifully in silence, his eyes wide in terror. She spoke a word that resonated with power, and an ear-splitting shriek rent the air as the silence was lifted from the mage.

She drew out a long, serpent-shaped dagger, shimmering with a strange green radiance, and made a long, shallow cut down Jezdin's chest. He shrieked again, consumed by pain and fear, and began struggling even more fiercely against his living restraints. She placed her hands against the sides of his head, chanting in that same dark speech, and suddenly the temple echoed with his cries of terror and agony, while his body began to convulse as the powerful curse took hold.

The young drow watched in growing horror, knees shaking, eyes huge with fear at what was happening before him. The old mage continued to scream, his body growing, shifting into something monstrous. From the waist down, it became bulbous and rounded, turning glossy and hard, his legs lengthening and splitting into eight slender, segmented spikes with hook-taloned ends, with short, bristly hairs covering them. His upper half changed as well, his arms growing longer and thinner, his hands tipped with long sharp claws. His eyes darkened, splitting into four large, shiny black orbs like those of an insect, that gleamed with malevolent hatred. A pair of huge fangs sprouted from his jaws, glistening with venom.

It was only after the horrendous transformation was complete that he was released from his bonds; he leaped up to stand on the table, his cold black gaze falling on the priestesses, filled with hate. He bared his dripping fangs, and reared back on the two hind pairs of legs, slashing out with the front-most pair at one of the junior clerics. She started to shout a spell of protection, but was skewered by the sharp talons of his spindly legs, and fell to the floor in a heap, blood running across the holy circle toward Lothir's feet. He yelped, and backed away in terror of the thing his tutor had become.

"Idiots! Hold him!" Snarled Ardra, as Jezdin made a leap that cleared their heads and sent him to the floor in the boy's direction, murder in his countenance. Lothir screamed, thinking he was about to meet the same end as the priestess, but his mother and Shiallin shouted out in unison, and the hideous thing suddenly screeched to a halt just a few feet away from him. He looked up, to see the mage frozen in the thrall of a spell- the very same spell of holding he had used himself.

Then the three remaining priestesses regained their composure, and grabbed Jezdin, dragging him off into a doorway that led down into the dungeons and deepest recesses of the House. Lothir had been down there only once, and the dank, cold pits had chilled his spine, smelling of death and stale air. The helpless sorcerer could not even scream or plead for mercy as he was carried down into the deepest bowels of the Hall. Then Ardra turned on her son, her face a mask of fury.

She strode toward him, brandishing the dagger, and stopped just inches from him. He looked down at his feet, knowing it was forbidden to look a ranking female in the eyes without permission. She cupped his chin in her hand, and forced him to look up- a sign of dominance meant to humiliate- then slowly drew the dagger up.

"Listen well, my son," she began harshly. "What you have just seen, no other male in this House but our Lord Patron has ever witnessed. This is the penalty for disobeying or dishonoring our laws and traditions. You have disappointed me. If ever you do so again, I will bring you down here to suffer the same fate as our former House Mage just did. Do you understand?"

He nodded slowly, swallowing hard. His knees shook, and he was on the verge of tears, but didn't dare cry. He knew she would see it as weakness. Then she reached up, grasping a wispy lock of his hair, and cut it off with a quick pass of her blade. She held it out for him to see.

"This will remind you of what I have said. With this, I can change you at any time, no matter where you are. Remember that." She said, then clenched it in her hand, and stormed from the temple, her heeled slippers clicking like the claws of a spider as she went.

Lothir stared after his mother for a moment, then felt a tug on his ear as Shiallin came up behind him and began to pull him along. He yelped from the pain, which only made her yank harder. "Come, I believe we still have your studies to attend to. There has been enough dawdling for one day."

He pulled away, and quickly followed, knowing better than to protest. Something sank inside his gut, as if he'd just had them pulled out. He looked up at her, but she was already at the doors, striding confidently, yet as silent as a shadow. He remembered to walk behind her, as he wondered, for what seemed the thousandth time, if anyone ever even cared how he felt, or what he thought. It certainly didn't seem that way. No one but Ravyn. If not for her, he thought he might die of loneliness. No one else ever spoke to him except to issue a command. What good is being a Noble, he wondered, if everyone just orders me around like one of the slaves?

Several hours later, Shiallin looked up from where she lounged in the training room, calmly watching him sparring with Master Nalvir with a pair of long wooden practice swords. They were heavy in his hands, being too large for his still-small frame to wield properly, but Nalvir was of the opinion that using full-sized weapons would strengthen him far more than using a smaller one ever could. Unfortunately, it slowed him down so much that he could not block many of the Weapon-Master's attacks, a fault for which he was repeatedly reprimanded, and even punished. She gloated while he tried yet again to parry one of Nalvir's blades, and failed- again.

"You obviously are not trying hard enough, boy," growled the Weapon-Master, as his own stick took the lad's feet from under him. He smiled with grim satisfaction as the young prince fell to his backside with a hard thump, grunting. But the boy was smart enough to avoid remaining in so vulnerable a position, and Nalvir's next swing met only air as he dived aside, and came back to his feet. He brought his own pair up to parry a thrust to his middle, but it only left him open to a second strike from Nalvir's other hand. He was struck on the left arm, hard enough to numb it, and he dropped the stick from tingling fingers with a yelp.

"Stupid! Never leave yourself open like that- it's a good way to get yourself killed!" Nalvir snarled. Lothir looked up at the long scar that ran from his forehead, across his nose, down to his jaw, and flinched.

"These are too big!" He complained, though he was sure the excuse would only earn him another round of practice. Nalvir had already sentenced him to five extra rounds for his earlier mistakes. He was tired, panting, and could barely even hold them up any more, but didn't dare say so.

"Perhaps you should let him use something else. Brute strength is not always the answer, Nalvir." Shiallin's bored statement gave the other pause for a moment. He scowled, then stepped back, turning to her.

"And what good is speed or agility if one tires too quickly? I already know he can use the smaller blades with ease- the boy must be strong enough to handle a real weapon, and to use something heavier than a simple dagger. The instructors in Terrillis will not be as tolerant as I am."

"Ah, but we cannot all be paragons of strength. Perhaps magic is more his forte?" She replied, with a disinterested wave of her hand.

Nalvir sneered. "Hardly. From what I heard from our House Mage, the boy is unsuited for the Art. He seems of little use as anything other than a warrior."

The young prince listened to their discussion, angry that they were speaking of him with no more concern than they might discuss what the servants had made for breakfast. And no one seemed to mention that the sorcerer was now a hideous monster lurking deep in the lowest levels of the House. He wanted to tell them that he could use magic, but that would mean giving up his secret. For some reason, he was unwilling to do so, for he knew that doing so would cost him his only sanctuary.

It seemed the day had only gone from bad to worse, for a short time later, Shiallin called a halt to the practice, and commanded both males to follow her. Nalvir did so without a single word or glance at her, and she led them both back to her quarters in the servant's spire. The young lad fought off a growing sense of unease, for he had a notion that she had something in mind for them both that he would not like. Not one bit.

As it happened, he was right. She slipped off her priestly robes, revealing that she was bare beneath; he glanced up at the Weapon-Master to see him gazing at her hungrily. She motioned for them both to join her, but this time he balked. No amount of coaxing or even threats would convince him to do what she was suggesting. Not now, after what he had endured at the hands of his other tutor. He backed away, even as the larger, stronger male loomed over him, coming closer with a look of absolute fury.

"Obey her, worm, or you will be sorry!" The scar-faced drow snapped. Lothir shook his head, trembling.

"Oh, by the Queen's eighth leg!" Shiallin exclaimed, and reached out to pull him toward them both. "That idiot has done more damage than even he knew. Now it is left to me to fix it." She muttered, more to herself than anyone. Nalvir had already removed his own attire, and was waiting on the bed with an expression of eager anticipation. She stared down at her charge thoughtfully, as if trying to decide what to do.

"Perhaps the fool's influence can be- cut out?" Suggested the Weapon-Master. She turned to him, regarding his idea, then smiled.

"Yes," she replied. "That seems a good solution. The Goddess will be pleased."

Nalvir grinned wickedly, and grabbed the boy to hold him down. The young prince struggled, yelling and thrashing, while the Weapon-Master kept a tight grip on his arms, and pinned him down. "Heh, he's a feisty little bugger," he noted, as he got a kick in the face for his trouble. His fingers dug into the boy's arms, leaving deep bruises, but Lothir didn't seem to notice the pain; it only made him struggle all the more fiercely.

"Just hold him a moment, will you?" Snapped the priestess impatiently. Then she reached down to lay her hands against his head, and she began a chant. He fought harder, not knowing what she meant to do, but somehow understanding that she was attacking him- in the most subtle and cruel of ways. He felt something probe into his mind, and realized she was doing something to his head, to the very essence of his being.

Several minutes passed, while Shiallin dove deep into the youth's mind, searching for just a few threads of memory. She sent her thoughts down, moving along the strands of his own thoughts, until she found what she wanted. All it would take was a simple tug here, a tweak there, to rearrange his memory of the morning's events into what she wanted. She frowned briefly when she passed over the incident in the bath, but left it mostly alone. She knew that her work would be less intrusive if she altered only the necessary threads. She plucked and moved them expertly, like a spider rearranging its web, until she was satisfied. Then she drew back, looking down into his confused gaze, and smiled.

"I believe that will do. Let him go," she said. The young drow shook his head as the other male released him, and sat up with a puzzled look. He seemed to recall that he had been afraid of something, but now he didn't know what it was. He stared from one teacher to the other, noticing that they were both undressed, and suddenly remembered where he was. The priestess was watching him, as if waiting for something. He shook his head again, trying to clear it, wondering what had happened.

"Well?" She said, and gave him a pointed stare. "Are you going to do as I asked, or must I use the whip?" She said. He swallowed, and slowly removed the robe he wore- he vaguely remembered his mother saying something about putting something on before the ritual- then sat down to see what she wanted him to do.

The next two hours were eye-opening, to say the least.

He staggered out of the room later, weak-kneed and more exhausted and sore than he had ever thought he could be. Certainly the "lesson" had not been what he was used to. Part of him knew that she had simply been preparing him for what to expect from some of the more jaded Matrons, but he still thought it was distasteful. Jezdin might have hurt a bit more- only to be expected for the first time, the old mage had assured him- but at least he had been affectionate. He felt sad that his other tutor had been punished, though he still didn't understand what for. He dimly recalled that he had done something wrong, but his mother had not said exactly what it was. But the sorcerer had always treated him fondly, and now Lothir felt sorry for his fate.

He was only too grateful to be left on his own, after everything that he had seen this day. He even skipped dinner, feeling more than a little depressed. Why did they have to turn everything he enjoyed into something cold and- he searched for a word to give a name to the emotion- wrong? It wasn't fair. He wandered the halls for a long time, feeling lonely, and couldn't even rouse enough enthusiasm to smile at Ravyn as she passed him near the library. He finally wandered down into the lower levels of the main tower, deciding to amuse himself by examining more of the treasures within the vaults, by way of the secret passage he had discovered.

He had not been there long, poking among the glittering array of strange and wondrous items that comprised the wealth of his House, when he noticed something shining brightly from a small chest in one corner. He went cautiously over to it, thinking one of the objects within might be magically trapped, but all he saw was a soft, silvery-white glow coming from something half-buried among the gems and jewelry and other small baubles in the chest. The first thing he discovered was that the glow came from not one, but two items. He picked up a small silver dagger, set with a moonstone in the hilt; it felt strangely warm, and almost seemed to hum happily when he touched it. He held it for a long moment, and finally decided to take it with him, for it sounded almost mournful when he put it down, as if it wanted to remain with him.

Then he saw a flash from something else in the chest, and poked through the contents until he found a large silver pendant on a slender mithril chain. It was shaped like a sword set point-down over a large circle with many tiny swirls around the disk. It glowed with the same silver light, and he felt a sense of peace and joy when he held it. Almost as if it meant something. The symbol was not at all familiar, yet he had a strange feeling that he knew it, or at least that he should.

So he took it too, then started back toward the hidden door that led out. He paused once more in the middle of the room, and eyed a large golden box set on a pedestal there. He had seen it many times before, and had always wondered what was inside. It had a large symbol in the lid, of a dragon coiled around a sword, and two words written above it. Telu'kirra, read the first, a word he did not know, for it was in elvish, and he was only vaguely familiar with the language. The other word, though, he did know. He had heard it spoken several times before- when he questioned Ravyn about his father's past. Elterrinos. The true name of Aldan's original House.

He eyed it for a long moment, and finally could resist the temptation no longer. He reached out cautiously to touch the box, hoping there were no spell-traps on it. It had no obvious lock, only a small needle-shaped protrusion where the latch should be. He studied it, as he had every time before, wondering how to open the box. He tried simply lifting the lid, but it would not budge, for it was sealed tighter than if it had been melted shut. He picked it up and shook it, and felt something move inside, but all he got for his troubles was a small jolt. It was enspelled to deter thieves, then.

He tried turning the lid, pressing the symbol, and even pushing and pulling on the tiny needle, but still nothing happened. Frustrated, he tried speaking the words, first in drow, then in auld elvish. He tried them backwards, but even that did nothing. He stared at the box again, knowing it was important somehow, and grimaced. Finally, he decided to try twisting the needle, hoping it might be some sort of latch. His fingers slipped on the smooth golden surface, and he pricked his thumb on the needle. He stuck it in his mouth to ease the pain, then suddenly froze in surprise as he saw the thing slowly slide into the side of the box. Then the lid slid open, and he stared down in amazement at what was inside.

The box was padded inside with a soft lining of midnight blue velvet, and lying nestled within was a large, blood-red gem. It was perfectly round, flat on the bottom, with a raised star pattern carved into it. The gem was nearly two inches in diameter, and glowed softly with a deep red light. He reached out hesitantly to touch it; the glow brightened slightly, the star flashing briefly as if winking at him. He picked it up, and it felt warm in his hand. He held it for a long time, turning it over in his hand and letting his fingers run over the smooth surface and expertly carved angles of the star. Finally, he set it back into its velvet nest, and closed the lid, making sure to lay the box precisely where it had been. It was a mystery that would have to wait for another day.

Some time later, he wandered back up to his own room, and soon realized how tired he was. So he got ready for bed, and was just slipping under the thin blanket when the door opened. Ravyn entered cautiously, giving him a long look. "I thought you might be hungry, little one," she said, holding up a tray of left-over food from dinner. He sat up, nodding as she set it down on the small table by his bed.

"Thank you," he said, before he picked up the plate with the roasted deep bat dripping with rothe cheese and sautéed mushrooms, and began to eat. She sat beside him in silence until he had finished, then rose to take everything away. "Wait," he said softly, and she turned back. "Could you stay with me, please?"

The slender elf woman moved back over, and set the tray back down. "Are you alright, my prince? I heard what happened this morning. Your mother was snarling all through her bath today, about traitors to the House and useless males. I might have laughed at her, if I did not fear her so much."

He shrugged, as if it meant little to him. "What did he do? I don't understand why she punished him, or why she made me watch. He was always a good tutor, and he seemed to like me. Do you know?" He asked, and she found herself puzzled. Had he truly blocked everything out so quickly?

"Don't you remember? How he- hurt you? What he did was wrong, little one. I was truly afraid for you this morning. You were so afraid. I hate them for what they did."

"What do you mean? He didn't-" He began, uncomprehending. He seemed not to know anything of the sorcerer's cruel misdeed. Ravyn wondered how he could forget so easily. Had his mind been damaged after all, then? The thought of such harm being done to such a fragile child angered her; how dare they? Even the Lady Consort had hardly seemed to care what happened to the boy, so long as he could still be of use to her. It was beyond all comprehension to her that anyone could so blatantly ignore their own child, and all for the sake of their own desires.

"Tell me, what do you remember?" She asked finally; she had begun to suspect something was amiss. His lack of reaction worried her.

The young drow shrugged. "He showed me how to- you know," he said, feeling embarrassed, though he could not quite say why. "It was different than with a girl, but that's not bad, is it?" He looked up at her, wondering why she seemed so concerned.

She frowned, and sighed. This was not the boy she had held and comforted this morning. Something was wrong, she was certain of it. "How did you feel?" She asked, hoping to coax him out of his strange denial.

He thought for a moment, then frowned. "I didn't really like it, I guess. Not like before," he said. "Will you sing to me and keep me company?" He asked hopefully.

"Alright, little one. Just for a little while," she said, and sang a soft lullaby while he curled up beside her. Soon he had fallen asleep, and she sat for a long time, simply watching over her young charge. She stayed, unwilling to leave him alone. Which was just as well, for it wasn't long before he had begun to dream, and those dreams did not appear to be pleasant ones. He was whimpering softly in his sleep, and tossing about, becoming tangled in the blanket, as he fought something she could not see.

The drider was chasing him; he tried to run, but it came after him with fangs dripping, hissing its hunger, black eyes filled with a malignant, murderous rage. No matter how fast he ran, he could not escape. The thing caught him, and was trying to devour him, wrapping him up in its webs, and he fought, but could not break free. He felt a sharp pain that tore through his nether region, as the thing shoved something into him from behind; it erupted out of his throat, cutting off the scream even before he could make it. Then he heard his mother's voice, spitting out a dark, vile curse, and he felt himself changing. He tore free, but could only shriek in terror as he saw his body distorted, corrupted into something unholy.

And still he was trapped in a huge web, with a creature out of his worst fears crawling toward him- the wicked goddess herself, come to tear him apart. It bit down, and he felt its venom coursing through him, burning like fire. He thrashed, but it would not release him. The drider laughed, but it had his mother's voice. He was choking on the huge, sharp spike that the thing had skewered him with, and the web held him helpless. Just as he thought the demon's venom would eat through him from within, something shook him. He finally woke, still thrashing wildly, eyes wide and streaming with tears. He looked around, only to find himself wrapped up in the blanket, with Ravyn holding him and rocking gently.

"Shh, it's alright. It was just a dream. It can't hurt you, little one," she whispered soothingly. He kicked away the cover, and curled up against her, clinging desperately. She held him tight, while he let out all the pain in a torrent of tears.

"He- it-" He sobbed, but could not finish. He had seen a flash of something half-remembered- a feeling of being helpless, with the mage's cold voice against his face, and pain, and…. He shuddered, as he realized the image had been real; it was not merely part of the nightmare. But how could that be?

"I know," she said, pressing a tender kiss to his cheek. She did not know what to do. How did one ease such pain? How did one chase away demons that could not be seen? She wanted to tear out the cold-hearted Consort's eyes, to lash her with her own whip for such heartless disregard of her own flesh and blood. Better that he had never been born into so cruel a world, than to face the anguish of a life without love or compassion. She cursed them all silently, wishing the gods would smite them for their sins. But she knew her prayers would go unanswered- they always had. The only gods in this hellish place were dark and uncaring.

At last he fell asleep again; she stayed, still holding the boy gently, humming softly to him while he slept, hoping to keep his fears at bay. Eventually, she too, became weary, and fell into her reverie with her arms still wrapped around the young drow.

She was still there when he woke the next morning. He stirred, rousing her from her meditative trance; she looked down, and saw him gazing up at her with a sad expression. "Ravyn, why did he-" He began, but still his mind refused to accept what he had seen in the brief memory. He could not make himself think of what had happened, no matter how he tried to remember.

"I wish I knew, dearest. No one should ever have to endure such things." She kissed him again, and rose. It was early still, but she had duties to attend, and she feared she would be punished harshly if anyone discovered that she had been with him all night, rather than in the slave quarters, where she belonged.

"Is that what Father does to you?" He asked, and she whirled, startled by the unexpected question. She turned to meet his worried gaze, and found she could not answer. She looked away; he slipped off the bed, and came over to wrap his arms around her waist in consolation.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, gazing up at her sadly. "I wish I could make him stop hurting you. I hate them all," he said fiercely, and she felt him suddenly tighten his hold on her.

"Perhaps someday," she said, though she feared that she would be dead long before that ever happened. She had seen many other slaves come and go since the long ago night when her village had been burned, her family slaughtered by the vicious attack of Aldan's raiders. Most had not lived long, being brutally used, whipped, beaten, even tortured for sport or sent to the altar as sacrifices to the loathsome goddess the Lady Consort and her kin worshipped.

Only the simple fact that the Lord Patron claimed her as his own personal property and had forbidden anyone else to touch her without his leave had kept her from meeting the same fate. He was a harsh master, it was true, yet she knew he kept her as a reminder of what he had once been- a living testament to all that he had lost. She was the focus of his hatred and desire for revenge against his former race, something he could vent his anger on whenever the mood struck him- which was often.

She sighed at last, then gently pulled away from the boy, before picking up the tray from the night before. "I wish I could stay longer, little one, but I must return to my duties, lest someone come looking for me. It would be bad for us both." She said, and quickly left. He plopped back down on the bed heavily, a flood of emotions warring in his thoughts.

He was left alone, then, sitting on the edge of the bed, staring down at the floor in silence. Eventually, he got up, dressed, and prepared for another day. But today would be different; for he had decided he would never let himself be weak again. Lothir was angry at them all, and ashamed of his own inability to stand up to the evils he saw all around him. He wanted it to stop, but knowing that Ravyn was even more a victim of those evils than he himself had been made him realize that it would never end unless he did something to make it. He didn't know what that something might be yet, but he did know one thing- he would have to become much stronger if he ever hoped to help his friend.

By the time he had finished breakfast, he had finally come up with a plan. He knew that his family wanted him to be prepared for the Academy when the time came to go there; he also knew that if he wanted to be stronger, he would have to study and practice all the harder, and learn how to use the magic he had begun experimenting with more adeptly. To that end, he decided the best way would be to go out into the tunnels he had found, and practice in secret.

So, after breakfast, he raced to the training room, a new sense of determination spurring him to delve into the day's lessons with gusto. When Nalvir entered to give him his daily weapon drills, he found himself paying closer attention to the older male's instructions than he had in the past. Each move was scrutinized, each parry and thrust studied and memorized. He still felt reluctant to attack when told to, preferring instead to remain defensive and let his opponent wear himself down, but he could see the need to strike if it meant winning. And he was determined not to lose ever again.

He was all too happy when the practice and other, more disturbing lessons ended, and practically ran from the room to sneak into the former House Mage's private lab and quarters to search for anything that might help him get past the aranea's lair. He knew that she would not let him go in peace, so he wanted any edge he could get against her. Not that he was particularly eager to kill the shape-shifter, but he didn't know how else to win past her.

He spent the next hour rummaging through the many spell-books and minor magical items for something useful. He found several that looked promising. The first was a simple ring of adamantine that would make him invisible for a short time when worn. There was also a small onyx wand that held a tentacle spell, which he had seen his former Master use on occasion against unruly creatures he had summoned. He even managed to find a few books that discussed various methods of spell-casting that did not rely on sigils or strange arcane materials.

He was intrigued by the mention of ancient arts that used sound and words as the source of magical power, for it sounded very close to what he had discovered himself. There was even one that told of an old elven magical art called bladesong, which it seemed was a form of combat that fused magic, song, and melee into one. The thought of such an art intrigued him, as did the treatise on something called "the Song of Creation", which he discovered was supposed to be the music heard at the beginning of time with which the gods had created the multiverse. For those who found even a few chords of this powerful melody, it was said that incredible abilities could be discovered. The song could either create or destroy, could heal, kill, or cause almost any sort of effect the user could imagine.

He took the books when he left the room, deciding to keep them. There were four in all, and all were concerned with the magic of sound and words of power, or with music as a form of arcane magic. He had even found a few spells that seemed more in keeping with what he now knew of his tutor's own personal tastes, some of which made him snicker at their purpose. A spell to increase the size of one's "assets"? It was almost enough to send the young drow into gales of laughter at the thought. More amusing still was the one that could cause a person's clothes to fall off, which he had immediately found a use for as a future prank to pull on Morganna, as a sort of revenge for all the wicked tricks she had played on him over the years.

So he spent the rest of that day, and his spare time during the next, out in the mushroom grove practicing. He understood that only by defeating the aranea would he be able to explore beyond her lair. He didn't know what he might find there, but anything had to be better than simply remaining trapped within the confining walls of his home. Or worse yet, to be sent to some strange place where he was alone and forced to obey the orders of others he did not even know.

By late evening the second day, he felt confident enough to tell Ravyn of his plan. Of course, finding a chance to speak to her alone was the difficult part, since she spent much of her time performing various duties around the House whenever her master was not in residence. She had told him once that she preferred it when Aldan was out to sea, for it meant that she was free of his attentions. The young prince had scowled at the thought of what those attentions must be like. In the end, he was forced to wait until after dinner, when his mother went to the temple for her evening rituals, and only a few other slaves were about in the dining hall cleaning up the remains of the meal.

He waited until she was away from the others, then slipped out of a shadowed corner, giving a tug at her sleeve, and quickly gestured in the silent hand language of his race for her to follow him. Her brow furrowed for a moment, as she glanced toward the others in the room. He put a finger to his lips, and winked at her with an impish grin. Curious, she set down the large, nearly empty plate of smoked pyrimo she had been about to take away; with a final glance to be certain no one noticed her departure, she followed him out the doors into the corridor beyond.

"Alright, little scamp," she whispered with a smile once they were far enough away. "What is this about?"

"I'm going back," he said, with a gleam in his sky-blue eyes. "I'm going out into those new tunnels again, and this time, I'll get past that aranea. I want to see what's out there."

"Oh, please, don't do this. You will only get yourself killed if you try. My darling one, I beg you to forget about it!" She pleaded, taking his small hands in hers. She pulled him close, for once not even caring if anyone saw. If something should happen to him, what would she do? She could never forgive herself if he came to harm, for she had grown far more fond of the boy then she had ever thought possible. It was true that she hoped he might one day set her free, but what good was freedom if she was alone?

"I have to! I can't stay cooped up here anymore- I want to see things no one else has, I want to do something for myself for once! I hate it here!" He replied fiercely. He knew that it sounded selfish and foolish, but he had tasted adventure in the dark winding passages, and now he could not shake the desire for more.

"But what will happen to me if you are not here, dearest one? I would be alone, with no one to look after. Who would free me if something happens to you out there alone? No one would ever even know what happened, and who would save me from your father then?" Ravyn said, tears beginning to fill her eyes.

"Don't worry- I'll be all right. I've been practicing, and I think I know how to beat her. Just promise you will keep this a secret!" Lothir did not quite grasp what she had meant, for it never occurred to him that she might have had any other reason for worrying than concern for his own safety. He looked up at her, and frowned to see her so upset. She was afraid; he understood that, but he also knew that unless he did something on his own now, while he still had the chance, he might never be able to break free from the demands and expectations of his family. And though he didn't know why, that was important somehow.

Ravyn shook her head sadly. "You are all that matters to me, and I cannot bear the thought of losing you, sweet prince." She asked, as she stroked his feather-soft hair. She held him, kneeling down to meet his gaze. "I fear I have done you harm, little one. I- I thought to try to influence you so that I might be free some day. But now I realize that was selfish, and I love you as if you were my own. Please, I beg you- do not go back out there."

He took a step back, surprised by her confession. He felt a stab of something in his heart, and it was not so very different from the pain he had felt that day in the training room with Jezdin, or when he had finally realized what Shiallin had done to make him forget. Anger, grief, loss- had even Ravyn turned against him now?

"You- you used me!" He accused, and slapped her hand away when she tried to touch his arm. He stared at her in shock, his innocent eyes glistening with angry tears. She suddenly found she could not meet that gaze, and so she looked down at the floor. She did not deny it.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "Please forgive me. I never meant to hurt you."

The boy stared at her, angry tears welling up. He let out a soft sob, and pulled away when she tried to console him. He glared at her, and she suddenly felt guilty for having been so selfish, when he was as much a captive of their dark, empty life as she. She opened her mouth to say something- anything to make him understand, but could find no words.

He turned, then, and ran up the long stairway to the library, where he sat for a long time, contemplating what she had said. Why, he wondered, did it seem that everyone only wanted to use him for their own purposes? He already knew his father intended for him to join him in his raids on the ships and villages of the coast. His mother, it appeared, wanted only to find some way to be rid of him. Even Shiallin seemed to have designs of her own, though what they were, he could not be certain. All he knew was that she had set her eyes on taking his mother's place as Lady Consort of the house. He was quite certain that she would do so through treachery if need be.

He was still there much later, after everyone else had retired for the night. Eventually, he heard the soft creak of the door opening, and turned to see Ravyn entering with a candle. He glared at her angrily.

"Go away," he said sullenly. "I don't want to talk to you anymore. You lied to me." She paused just inside the door, a hurt expression on her face.

"Please, I know that you're angry, but let me explain-" She began, but he merely turned his back on her, scowling. His silent rejection said more than any words ever could. "I never lied," she said after a long time, moving quietly to sit beside him on the large cushion. "I do care for you, little one. I always have. I only wanted you to be happy. But I needed you, too. You are my only hope in this evil place. I only wish Morganna could be more like you, my dearest."

"You just want to be free so you can go home. Why should I believe you?" He said, his voice bitter and angry. She had always been so kind, and now he knew why. She wanted him to set her free. Then she would go far away, and leave him alone. It hurt, knowing that her kindness had meant nothing. But it did not matter, anyway. He could not have granted her wish, even if he wanted to. Only Aldan had power over her, for she belonged to him, and he would never have given her the freedom she desired.

"I am a prisoner here, little one. It has been so long since I saw the sun, and I miss it so much. And every day I am afraid that he will hurt me again. Don't you remember what you said two days ago? That you wished you could make him stop hurting me? I have endured such things for so very long, all I want is for it to end. Can you understand that?" She asked, gently squeezing his right hand, with tears in her eyes. He glanced over at her, and finally nodded.

"I suppose so. But if you went away, what would I do? I don't want to be alone. No one else talks to me, or…" He began to cry, feeling as if she had abandoned him. Why did it hurt so much?

"I would never leave you behind, my darling. I love you too much. We could go away together, and both be free. We would never have to be afraid of them again. Isn't that what you want, too?"

Finally he nodded, tears still stinging his eyes. "But we can't," he said, sniffing. "Father won't let you go, and I can't free you. And even if I could, I'm not strong enough to protect us. Where would we go? How would we live?" He shook his head, shrugging, as he wiped away the tears. "We'll never be able to leave- they would never let us."

Ravyn brushed his cheek with her fingertips, knowing he was right, but still she could not lose hope. It was all she had ever had. "We must find a way, then. No matter how long it takes. Surely there must be some way. Your father is not immortal. What if something were to happen to him? He is gone so often, and so long, might he fail to return some day, perhaps? Or- perhaps you could even ascend to take his place…."

She did not know why she had suggested such a thing, but it was their way, after all, and she knew that in spite of his need to secure his own dynasty, Aldan feared that very thing more than he would ever dare admit.

The boy jerked away at her words, staring at her fearfully. "No! I- I couldn't. I can't… He's my father," he said quietly, a look of horror on his face. He knew what she was suggesting, and the very thought of it frightened him. He knew as well as she did that such was the way of things among his people, but he could not imagine ever daring to strike against his own father, no matter how much he might hate him. It simply was not in his nature to harm another, least of all his own kin.

"Forgive me. I should not even think of anything so terrible. What if we just- hid away on a ship, and escaped?" She asked. She shuddered. Had the evil in this place begun to affect her, too? What hope, then, did the young prince have of remaining untainted by it? None, surely, unless they could both escape, and soon.

He shook his head, frowning. "Someone would find us, and bring us back." He knew that his family hardly ever paid any attention to him, but they would surely notice if he went missing, and a slave along with him. As much as they ignored him, he was still important to the House, as the only heir to the Patron, not to mention for whatever skills he might one day contribute to its power.

"Then we shall have to think of some other way, my dearest heart. But for now, promise me that you will not go out into those tunnels. It is too dangerous. I don't want to lose you, little one. You are far too precious, my prince."

He scowled. "I have to. It's the only way I'll ever be strong enough to face them. And they're sending me away soon- this is the only chance I'll ever get to learn what's out there. I want to make my own choices, but they won't let me. Please, just let me do this, and don't tell anyone. I promise I'll be careful."

She finally sighed, and nodded. "I can't stop you, though I wish you would do as I ask. I've never asked for anything from you, but just this once, I beg you to think of what you are considering. No one would ever even find you if something happened. I could not bear to know you were out there somewhere, hurt, or…."

He nodded, but she could see from the serious look in his eyes that his mind was made up. "I know, but I know what I'm doing. I promise I'll come back."

She just shook her head ruefully, and gave him a sad little smile. "With such determination, I could almost believe you," she said, and reached out to hug him gently. "But if you truly must do this, please be careful, and don't be gone long. I do worry, you know. Now, it's late, so off to bed with you, my brave young knight."

He finally smiled, and hugged her back. "Thank you. I will. I love you," he said, and suddenly reached up to embrace her tightly. They held each other for several minutes, before she finally pulled away, and sent him off to his room. He ran all the way, anxious for the new day to begin, so that he could continue preparing for the next trip into the mysterious depths. Neither of them knew that a pair of violet eyes watched them invisibly from the shadows just outside the slightly open door.