by Mark Anthony
Despite the magical fires that were cast upon it, each day Narbondel fell black again. Darkness always won in the end. Zak shook his head. Perhaps he was a fool to think he was different from the rest of his cruel and capricious kindred. He killed only creatures of evil, but it was the killing itself he craved, was it not? Maybe he was no different at all. That was, perhaps, his deepest fear.
A faint humming sound broke his grim reverie. Something twitched against his throat. He reached into his neck-purse and pulled out the insignia of House Do'Urden. The adamantite disk was engraved with a spider that wielded a different weapon in each of its eight appendages. The coin glowed with silver light and was warm against his hand. It was a summons. Matron Mother Malice, leader of House Do'Urden, required the presence of her weapons master.
For a moment, Zaknafein gazed into the darkness behind him. He half considered plunging back into the Dark Dominion and leaving the city forever. The chance that a lone drow could survive in the Underdark was slim. But there was a chance. And he could be free.
The metallic disk twitched again on his palm, the heat growing uncomfortable. Zak sighed. Thoughts of fleeing evaporated. He belonged in the Underdark even less than he did here. Like it or not, this was his home. He nudged his lizard mount into a swift, swaying walk, heading through an arched gate into the city of the drow.
One did not keep one's matron mother waiting.
Chapter Two: Matron Mother
"Where is he?" Matron Mother Malice of House Do'Urden demanded in a voice sharp with impatience.
She paced with perilous grace before the adamantite railing that separated the compound's private upper chambers from the common levels below, her dark gown flowing behind her like shadows. The other nobles of the house-her five living children, along with her current patron, Rizzen-watched from a prudent distance. None dared cross the path of her ire.
Malice muttered a curse under her breath. There was no doubt Zaknafein was the finest weapons master in the city, but that gave her little advantage if she could not control him. A servant-especially a male servant-did not make his matron wait. Several years ago, she had revoked Zak's position as patron and had taken Rizzen in his stead, thinking that would show him the consequences of displeasing her. In the time since, though, he had become only more willful and unmanageable. Malice was growing weary of being embarrassed by Zaknafein. Useful as he was to her, she would not tolerate it much longer.
"Let me deal with Zaknafein when he returns, Matron Malice," offered Briza, Malice's eldest daughter. Unlike her lithe mother, Briza was a big-boned and round-shouldered elf. Recently anointed a high priestess of Lloth, she enjoyed wielding her new authority. "Males are not as intelligent as the rest of us. There is only one sort of instruction they understand." With fond fingers, she touched the writhing, snake-headed whip at her belt. The half-dozen snake heads hissed in anticipation.
"If I have wronged Matron Mother Malice, then punishment is hers to mete out, not yours, Briza Do'Urden."
All turned to see a feral form step out of midair and float over the adamantite railing. Zaknafein drifted to the floor before Malice, waving a hand to end the levitation spell of which all highborn drow are capable-a fact that accounted for the lack of stairs leading to the upper level of the house. Briza glared daggers at the weapons master but held her tongue. All knew that his rebuke had been correct, and that she had overstepped her bounds in her eagerness to punish him.
Malice folded her arms over her breasts, her expression cold. "I do not like waiting, Zaknafein. Tell me quickly why I should not give you to Briza and her whip."
"There is no reason, Matron Mother," Zaknafein replied, bowing his head and assuming a submissive posture before her. "But allow me to present you with these before you do what you will."
He laid a grisly bundle at her feet-a dozen hairy kobold ears bound together with twine. Malice raised a single eyebrow, impressed despite her anger. Kobolds were wretched creatures, but they were vicious when cornered, and slaying a dozen alone was no mean feat. Such an act could only please Lloth.
She felt her anger receding. The gift was a good one, and Zaknafein was now acting suitably repentant. Perhaps his punishment should be to come to her bedchamber and serve her there. She knew she should resist the temptation. Zak needed to know how he had displeased her. And yet… She glanced at Rizzen. Her current patron was handsome, yes, but so docile, so pliant, so utterly dull. Maybe it was her lack of control over Zak that made him desirable. Danger could be ever so alluring.
Whatever her decision would be, Malice decided to save it for later. Zaknafein's offering had mollified her for the moment. Besides, there were more important matters to attend.
Malice rested her pointed chin on the back of her hand, her dark eyes glinting. "You and I will consider the matter of your punishment later, Zaknafein. Alone."
At that last word, an expression of surprise crossed Briza's broad face. Rizzen shot Zaknafein an open look of hatred, then remembered himself and averted his gaze, lest he attract his matron mother's wrath. Zaknafein only gave an emotionless nod.
Satisfied the matter was resolved, Malice decided it was time to tell the others why she had gathered them together. "I have concocted a plan," she announced in a bold voice. "A plan that, if it succeeds, will bring the favor of Lloth upon House Do'Urden.
Vierna and Maya, Briza's younger sisters, exchanged puzzled looks.
"But do we not already enjoy the favor of the Spider Queen?" Vierna asked in a tentative voice.
Maya's tone was more confident. "After all, we are Ninth House of Menzoberranzan now."
Malice's eyes narrowed as she regarded her two youngest daughters. Though both were nearly high priestesses, they were not such yet, and should not have spoken without her leave. Yet their words served her, and she chose to let the affront pass without comment.
"Yes, we are the Ninth House," Malice replied. "But is it not better to be eighth than ninth?"
A hot light ignited in the eyes of her daughters, and Malice knew she had chosen well. Being Eighth House meant gaining a seat on the ruling council-a seat that one of her daughters would one day inherit. A smile coiled about the corners of Malice's dark red lips. Desire was a stronger motivator than punishment. Now Vierna and Maya gazed at her with eager expressions.
Malice raised a hand to her throat. "I am thirsty. I require wine."
Throughout the discussion, her two sons had stood in silence to one side. It was not a male's position to speak concerning house affairs unless directly asked. At eleven years, and by far the younger of the two, Drizzt had only recently become page prince, and was not yet a true noble. Thus, serving the matron mother was his duty. However, the boy seemed not to have heard her words, he continued to gaze at his feet, as a page prince was taught to do in the presence of nobles. After an uncomfortable moment, Dinin, who was elderboy of House Do'Urden, boxed Drizzt on the ear, jerking the boy out of his stupor.
"You heard the matron mother," Dinin hissed. "She requires wine."
The boy Drizzt blinked and gave a jerky nod. He hurried to a gilded table upon which rested crystal glasses and a decanter of dark mushroom wine.
Malice did not wait, but went on. "The Festival of the Founding approaches, the day on which we recall the founding of Menzoberranzan over five thousand years ago. Do any of you know what is to happen on that day?"
"I know."
All stared in shock at the boy Drizzt. He stood before Malice, holding out the cup of wine. For Dinin, a full-grown elf, to speak without leave would have been a grave offense. For a page prince, it was unthinkable. However, before Malice could react, the boy continued.
"On the Festival of the Founding, the Spider Queen is supposed to appear somewhere in the city." Drizzt frowned as he thought out the details. "Only she appears in disguise. I suppose that's so she can see what the drow really think about her."
Briza was the first to recover. She lunged forward, gripping her snake-headed whip. "You id
iot!" she snarled. "That's only an old story." She raised the whip. Drizzt stared at her in fear but did not flinch.
A hand shot out, halting the whip's descent.
"It happens to be a true story, you fool," Malice hissed, her rage now directed at her daughter.
Briza stared in dull astonishment.
Malice made a sound of disgust. "Perhaps you were given the mantle of high priestess too soon, Briza, if a child — and a boy child at that — knows more than you."
Briza started to stammer an apology, but Malice turned away. She bent over the boy, gripping his chin tightly in her hand, lifting his head with cruel force. The cup fell from his fingers, and wine spilled across the floor like dark blood. She gazed into the boy's eyes, holding them by force of will, so they could not look elsewhere. His eyes were an unusual color. Lavender. As always, Malice wondered at this. What did they see that other eyes did not?
"Tell me what else you know about the Festival," she commanded.
The boy stared at her in mute terror. She tightened her grip, her fingers digging into his flesh.
"Tell me!"
Despite his fear, Drizzt managed to speak. "I don't really know anything else," he breathed. "Except that on the festival day, you have to be nice to everybody, even goblins and bugbears, because there's no telling what shape Lloth might put on. That's all."
She searched his strange purple eyes a moment more, then nodded, satisfied he spoke truth. He was peculiar, this youngest son of hers, and difficult to train in the most basic matters of behavior and respect. However, there was a power in him. She sensed it. Right now it was unshaped. But if she could forge it with her will and temper it with the proper experiences, he would be a powerful weapon in her hands one day.
Malice released the boy. Drizzt stared in confusion until Dinin, face angry, motioned for him to return to his side. No doubt Dinin would punish the boy later for embarrassing him with disobedience, as it was his role to instruct the boy in the proper manners of a page prince. Malice would not intervene. That was Dinin's right. And it would only strengthen the boy.
Malice addressed her family then. "Child though he is, Drizzt is correct. The tale is not simply a legend, though many believe it to be. On the Festival of the Founding, the Spider Queen will indeed appear somewhere in the city. And if she were to appear within a noble house that house would know great honor and would surely prosper in the coming year." Her voice dropped to a self-pleased purr. "And my plan will make certain it is House Do'Urden where Lloth chooses to appear." Zaknafein laughed at this. "With all due respect, you are very sure of yourself, Matron Mother." "As well I should be," Malice snapped. What had she done to be cursed with such precocious males? At least Dinin knew his place. "How do you intend to bring Lloth here?" Briza asked in meek tones, clearly attempting to regain her mother's favor.
Malice let Briza believe she had succeeded. "With this," she answered. From her gown, she drew out a small, dark stone carved in the shape of a spider. A single red ruby glistened on its abdomen. "This spiderjewel will lead whoever bears it to the resting place of an ancient and holy relic-a dagger once wielded by Menzoberra, she who founded our city in the name of Lloth so long ago. I have been assured by the one who gave me this spiderjewel that, were we to regain the Dagger of Menzoberra, Lloth would certainly grace us with her presence as a reward."
The others absorbed this information and nodded- except for Zaknafein, who again asked a skeptical question. "And how did you come by this information and this jewel?"
Malice gave him a flat glare. "I summoned a yochlol."
The others stared at her in horror and amazement- including, to her satisfaction, Zaknafein.
"Yes, I did it myself," she went on. "A great risk, but then Lloth favors those who take risks."
Despite her pleasure, Malice shuddered at the memory of the dark, secret ceremony. One did not summon one of the Handmaidens of Lloth on a whim. Though Malice was five centuries old and matron of the Ninth House, even she had trembled at the sight of the bubbling, amorphous being that had appeared in the midst of the magical flames she had conjured. Had it been displeased with her call, the yochlol might have turned her into a spider and squashed her with a shapeless hand. But the time had seemed propitious to risk the summons, and Malice had been right. The yochlol had been pleased with her obeisance, and had given her the spiderjewel and the answer to her question-how to increase her stature in the eyes of Lloth.
She approached the weapons master. "Zaknafein, I charge you with the spiderjewel, and with finding the Dagger of Menzoberra, in the name of House Do'Urden." She held out the dark gem.
Zak stared at the jewel but did not reach for it.
Rage warmed Malice's cheeks for all to see. "Do not defy me in this, Zaknafein," she warned in a dangerous voice. "I have been indulgent in the past, but I will suffer your embarrassments no longer. If you fail me in this task, it will be for the final time."
The others held their breath as matron mother and weapons master locked gazes. For a moment Malice was not certain she would win. At last Zak lowered his gaze and took the spiderjewel. "I will find the Dagger, Matron Mother, or die trying," he uttered through clenched teeth.
Malice bit her tongue to keep from sighing in audible relief. She did not always enjoy being so harsh with her children and servants, but she was matron mother, and the well-being of the house took precedence over all else, even her own feelings. "A wise choice, Zaknafein," was all she said. After a moment, she spoke in a brisk voice. "Now, I wish to be alone with my daughters."
At this, the three males bowed and retreated toward the adamantite railing. As one, they rose over the railing, then levitated to the ground below.
"Finding the Dagger cannot be so easy a feat," Briza said when the males were gone. "What if Zaknafein indeed dies in the attempt?"
Vierna and Maya looked at the elder women in concern, wanting to speak their own worries, but remembering their places this time.
Malice tapped her cheek, musing this over. "If Zaknafein dies in an attempt to gain the glory of Lloth, the Spider Queen will certainly consider it a sacrifice in her honor." Malice allowed herself a throaty laugh. "Either way," she crooned, "Lloth is bound to be pleased with House Do'Urden." Malice's daughters joined in her laughter.
Chapter Three: Page Prince
Never lift your gaze from the floor.
That was Drizzt Do'Urden's first lesson as page prince, and it had been one hard learned. He couldn't count the times he had felt the stinging bite of his sister Briza's snake-headed whip as punishment for breaking that all-important rule. It wasn't that it was so hard a thing to remember. Drizzt knew that he wasn't supposed to look up without permission. But knowing something wasn't as easy as doing it. No matter how hard he tried to stare at his boots, it seemed that something peculiar, or interesting, or wonderful always caught his attention, lifting his gaze before he even knew it was happening.
Unfortunately, more often than not, Briza would be lurking behind him, waiting for just such a transgression to occur. With an evil grin, she would uncoil her hissing whip and rake the fanged serpents across his back. Drizzt never cried out or tried to dodge the blows. To do so would only win him more lashes. He was page prince, and as far as he could tell, that meant he was the lowest form of life in all House Do'Urden.
"Page Prince, come here!" a voice called out across the house's main enclosure. "I have a task for you."
This time Drizzt remembered to keep his head down. He could not see the speaker, but he knew the voice well. It belonged to his sister, Vierna.
For the first ten years of his life, before he had become page prince, Vierna's had been the only voice he had known, save for his own. Vierna had been his word-wean mother. She had been given Drizzt as an infant, and as he grew she had taught him the language of the drow-both the spoken tongue and the complex system of hand signs that the dark elves used to communicate in silence. She had also taught him how to use and control his innate magica
l abilities: the power to levitate by force of will, and to conjure glowing faerie fire from thin air. More than anything else, however, she had taught him his place as a male in drow society. Females were his superiors, and he was always to defer to them. She had made him repeat this doctrine so often that sometimes he still woke at night to find he had been speaking it in his sleep.
Though Vierna's teachings had been anything but gentle, she had seldom used her whip on him, and when she did it was without the open relish Briza always displayed. However, in the year since he had become page prince, Vierna had resumed her studies at Arach-Tinilith, and would soon be anointed as a high priestess. As that time approached, Drizzt knew he could expect less and less kindness from his sister. High priestesses of Lloth were not known for their mercy.
Keeping his eyes on the floor, Drizzt hurried in the direction of the voice, relying on his keen senses of hearing and touch to avoid objects he could not see. In moments, he stood before a pair of supple leather slippers he knew belonged to his sister.
"Listen well, Page Prince, for I do not have time to instruct you twice," Vierna said in curt tones. "The Festival of the Founding is but two days hence, and the matron mother has ordered that the house be made ready for the Spider Queen's imminent visit."
"If she bothers to come at all," Drizzt mumbled under his breath before he could think to stifle the words. To his good fortune, Vierna either did not hear the statement or chose to ignore it.
"A green fungus has grown on the walls in the feast hall since the last revel was held," the young drow woman went on. "Briza wants you to clean all the stones. With this."
Into his hand she thrust a bent copper spoon. He gaped in astonishment at the small spoon. Clearly it was utterly inadequate for so large a task.
"I'm supposed to scrape all the walls in the feast hall with this?" he groaned, forgetting himself.
"Do not question me, Page Prince!" Vierna warned in an overloud voice. "Expect a lash of the whip for every speck of fungus you leave on the walls!"
