by Mark Anthony
Coins, he realized after a stunned moment. It was a pile of adamantite coins. He glanced up at the opening a dozen feet above his head. It would be no problem to levitate out of here. But first…
He pulled himself to his feet, shaking off a handful of coins, and gazed around. A gasp escaped his lips. His lavender eyes made out cool shapes wrought from silver, ruby, and pearl. He let his fingers run over ivory cups and jeweled scepters. Excitement rose in his chest. This was the house's secret treasure chamber! If his mother or sisters found him here, they would beat him within a hairbreadth of his life. Had he any sense at all, he would leave at once. But life as a page prince was dull, and everything his eyes found was so fascinating. Besides, he wouldn't stay long.
Drizzt donned an emerald crown and lifted a pale sword, pretending he was a great king of some deep, dark realm. He spun, waving the sword, imagining the terrible creatures of the Underdark he would slay.
A glint caught his eye. Sitting on a marble pedestal was a bowl of beaten gold. The sword slipped from Drizzt's fingers as he approached. The vessel was unadorned, but something told him this was no ordinary bowl. He reached out and touched the golden rim. As he did, clear water-springing from no visible source-filled the vessel. He bent over the bowl. At first all he saw was his own reflection, but then the water went dark, blacker than the deepest crevices of the Underdark. A sound of fear escaped Drizzt's throat, but he could not look away.
Images began to appear. They floated across the still surface of the water, quick and fleeting. He glimpsed his mother talking to his sisters, their heads bent together as they schemed some wickedness. The image changed and became his brother Dinin practicing with his swords. Then, in quick succession, came a dozen scenes scattered around the city: faces and places Drizzt did not know.
At last he understood. This was a scrying bowl. He had heard Matron Malice mention such a thing to Briza once, when she had not realized he was within earshot. This was one of the greatest treasures of House Do'Urden.
You should leave this place now, Drizzt, warned a voice in his head. The advice, however, was drowned out by exhilaration. The scrying bowl could show him anything he wanted! But what should he ask to see? Maybe he should let the bowl decide for him.
He gripped the rim. "Show me something important," he commanded. The metal seemed to hum beneath his hands.
For a moment he thought his request had confused the magical vessel, for the water went dark again, so black that it hurt to gaze upon. Then darkness turned into fire. The flames receded, revealing in their wake a dagger. It was beautiful. The dagger rested on what appeared to be a stone step. A purple gem winked in its hilt, and its blade still glowed with the heat of the fire. Drizzt bit his lip. The dagger seemed so real-so real that, before he even knew what he was doing, he reached into the bowl, his hand slipping beneath the cool surface of the water.
His fingers closed around hot metal.
With a yelp of surprise and pain, Drizzt snatched his hand back. The water bubbled, and there was a great hissing of steam. At last the vapor cleared. Drizzt stared in fear and wonder.
"What have I done?" he whispered.
In his hand he gripped the dagger, its metal now cool, quenched by the water in the scrying bowl.
Chapter Nine: Spiderjewel
Reality melted, flowed, then condensed again around Zaknafein. Once more he stood high atop the center of the tangled web that was Menzoberranzan. Narbondel. The stone was cool beneath his feet, but already the purple magelights bobbed through the streets of the city-the approach of the archmage. A new day was about to begin. The Festival of the Founding. Zak did not have much time.
The weapons master searched along the craggy top of the pillar until he found the small crevice. He snaked a hand inside, depressing the switch. As before, a dark hole opened in the stone. Without hesitation, Zak lowered himself into the stairwell below. His elven eyes adjusted to their new surroundings.
In minutes, he knew the Dagger of Menzoberra was gone. It could not have fallen far down the stairway, and the bright jewel in its hilt would have stood out against the dull stone steps, making it easy to detect. Zak swore as he padded up and down the staircase one more time, just to be certain. But he knew he would not find the relic, and he was right. He climbed out of the opening, back to the top of the pillar, then slammed the portal shut in disgust.
"Where is it?" he rasped to the darkness.
The Spider Mage had said the Dagger was not destroyed, and Zak did not doubt the wizard's words.
"Jalynfein would not lie to me. We are kindred spirits, he and I."
Yet if the relic had not been destroyed, that left only one possibility. Someone else had retrieved it. But who? And where had it been taken? The Festival of the Founding was about to commence. He did not have time to search even a fraction of the city, let alone all of it. It seemed his quest for redemption had come to a premature and bitter end.
All at once, low laughter escaped Zak's throat. What a fool he was! Of course-he had possessed the power to find the relic all along. Reaching into his neck-purse, he pulled out the spiderjewel. He set the gem on his outstretched palm. The ruby embedded in its abdomen winked to life. The arachnid spun a moment, then stopped. Zak followed the spider's orientation with his gaze. West.
There was no time to waste. Zak stepped off the pillar and into an updraft, wrapping himself in his piwafwi and letting the warm air conceal his body heat from prying eyes. He sank to the ground, vanishing into the city's streets, just as the regal procession reached the base of Narbondel.
The archmage laid his hands upon the ancient pillar. Fire welled forth. Stone glowed crimson. The Festival had begun.
Chapter Ten: A Goblin at the Gate
Matron Malice gazed around herself, eyes glittering with satisfaction. Everything was in place for the Festival. On her orders, the servants had brought House Do'Urden's most opulent treasures into the feast hall: chairs fashioned of dwarf bones, onyx tables resting on dragon claws, crystal goblets colored crimson with a tincture of faerie blood-taken from the hated light elves in a raid on the surface world. Malice's was not the richest house in Menzoberranzan, but it could muster a remarkable display all the same. Matron Baenre could not help but be impressed.
Malice smiled, but the expression felt hollow. Despite her imminent victory, her satisfaction was marred. Something was missing. In chagrin, she realized who it was. Yet she was better off without the unruly weapons master, she told herself. She would find others to replace him, in her bed and in her heart. It was foolish to waste her thought on Zaknafein. This was to be her day of glory.
Dinin hurried into the feast hall and bowed low before her. "Forgive the intrusion, Matron Mother, but you asked me to inform you if anyone-anyone at all-came to the house's gate. A lone goblin has shown up, and it begs hospitality."
Briza let out a snort of outrage. "The brazen little worm." She gripped her snake-headed whip. "I'll take care of it, Mother."
Malice glared at her daughter. "And earn us the further disfavor of Lloth?" she sneered. "I think not. Put away your whip, Briza. You like the feel of its grip far too much. Perhaps it would do you good to remember what the other end of it feels like."
Briza stared in slack-jawed shock, then hastily coiled her whip, lest she feel its bite herself.
Malice stroked her jaw in thought. "The Spider Queen will appear somewhere in the city today, and there is no telling what form she'll take. We cannot take the risk of turning any stranger away." She turned to her son. "Dinin, bring the goblin here. Whatever it wants, it shall get."
Dinin stared in surprise, but had the sense not to question his matron mother. He returned minutes later with the goblin: a small, sniveling creature with green skin and a warty face. Malice resisted the urge to stick her dagger into the loathsome thing's throat. There were too many stories of families who had turned away some wretched creature only to learn it had been Lloth in disguise, even as they died from food turned into pois
on. Malice forced herself to smile.
"Welcome to House Do'Urden," she spoke. "Would you like some wine?"
The goblin nodded, rubbing gnarled hands together and baring yellow fangs in a grin. "Garn, but I love the Festival of the Founding!" it croaked.
Malice herself was bathing the goblin's crusty feet in a silver basin when the feast hall doors opened and Matron Baenre entered.
"Don't forget to wash between the toes," the ancient elf said in her rasping voice. "Goblins are not known for thoroughness in hygiene."
Malice leapt to her feet, wiping her hands against her gown. "Matron Baenre! I was only… that is, I was just trying…" Her cheeks glowed with warm embarrassment.
Baenre cackled, leaning on her staff. "Fear not, Matron Malice. I appreciate a matron mother who knows the value of tradition. But I think you have shown this goblin as much hospitality as tradition warrants this day."
The goblin looked up, eyes bulging as it realized its fun was at an end. Malice nodded to Dinin, and her son grabbed the goblin, dragging it kicking and screaming from the hall. Malice breathed a sigh of relief. Things had gotten off to an awkward start, but it seemed no harm had been done. Perhaps this was going to turn out well after all. Recovering her sense of protocol, she lowered her head in formal greeting.
"We are honored by your presence on this day of celebration, Matron Baenre."
With an impatient hand, the ancient dark elf waved the words away. "Well, of course you are. Now, where is the mushroom wine? I'm thirsty."
"This way," Malice spoke, leading Matron Baenre toward a table. "I'm sure you'll find everything to your satisfaction."
"Oh, I'll be the judge of that." Matron Baenre cackled again, and this time the sound of her laughter was not quite so congenial.
Malice clenched her teeth. Maybe this wasn't going to be so easy after all.
Chapter Eleven: Intruder
Zak pushed back the hood of the ragged robe he had donned over his piwafwi. He glanced in either direction down the corridor, but there was no one in sight. It had been easy enough to gain entrance to House Do'Urden by posing as a beggar. No one was turned away on the Festival of the Founding. Once inside, Zak had used his intimate knowledge of the compound to slip away. He had gone first to his old chamber, to retrieve his swords. Then he had begun his search.
Opening his hand, Zak glanced at the glowing spiderjewel. At first he had been shocked when the arachnid had led him here, to House Do'Urden. Someone here had retrieved the Dagger of Menzoberra. Zak did not know how this could be, yet it was. He could only hope the relic was not yet in Malice's hands, or he would have no chance of regaining her favor. With silent speed, he moved down the corridor.
Soon the sounds of revelry reached his ears. The feast hall was near. And by the gleaming of the spiderjewel's ruby, so was the Dagger. Zak moved through an archway and pressed himself into the concealment of a heat shadow. A figure came into view, walking down the corridor, face hidden by a tray heaped with dishes. The enchanted arachnid spun in agitation.
This is the one, Zak realized. This is the one who has taken the Dagger. He thrust the spiderjewel into his pocket and gripped the hilts of his two swords.
He waited until his quarry was near, then leapt out, tripping. With a loud crash of breaking crockery, the tray struck the floor. Zak thrust his swords down in a crossed position, thinking to trap his quarry against the floor by the neck, but the blades bit only stone, not flesh. His foe was more wily than he had guessed. In the chaos, the other had rolled to the side and was even now trying to crawl past Zak's legs. Fast as his quarry was, Zak was still a weapons master. Before his prey could wriggle away again, Zak lashed out a boot, pinning his enemy in a prone position. He lowered his sword until the tip bit into the skin of the other's neck. At this, all wriggling stopped.
"Turn over," Zak ordered. "Let me see your face. But do it slowly, or you'll lose your head in the process."
The other rolled over. Zak raised an eyebrow in surprise. This was hardly the foe he had expected.
"Hello, Master Zaknafein," Drizzt Do'Urden said in a polite voice.
Despite himself, a chuckle rose in Zak's throat. The boy was a good fighter, and even though he had been defeated, there was no fear in his eyes. The young drow had spirit. More's the pity, Zak thought, for it would only be ground out of him in the years ahead. But right now, Zak had other matters with which to concern himself. He hauled Drizzt to his feet and flipped back the boy's piwafwi. Tucked into Drizzt's belt was an ornate knife, a large purple gem winking in its hilt. The spiderjewel had not erred.
Zak gave the boy a sharp stare. "Tell me how you came by this. Now."
Drizzt nodded in quick compliance. In even tones, he told of stumbling on the treasure room and the scrying bowl, and how he had reached into the water to grasp the relic. Zak listened in growing amazement. He did not doubt the boy's words. It was clear he was no liar- another trait that would cause him trouble in the dark world of the drow.
"Are you angry with me, Master Zaknafein?" Drizzt asked when he had finished.
Zak did not know how to answer that one. For some reason, he wished to reassure the boy. Impossible as it seemed-this was one of Rizzen's scions, after all- Drizzt reminded Zak of himself. He knelt and started to tell the boy that everything was going to work out now.
That was when he heard the chittering. Zak jerked his head up. A cold edge of dread sliced into his gut. He had forgotten about the jade spiders.
Two massive forms scuttled toward them, green and glistening, smooth stone made animate. The function of the house's jade spiders was to protect the compound against intruders. By attacking a scion of the house, Zak had made himself an intruder, and he had seen what jade spiders did to intruders. Usually there wasn't enough remaining to even identify the victim's race.
Smooth legs clicking against the stone floor, the jade spiders approached.
"What's happening?" Drizzt asked, glancing in confusion at the magical monsters. "Why are the jade spiders attacking us?"
"They're not attacking us," Zak growled. "It's me they're after. Now get back." He drew his swords, one in each hand.
A grim light flashed in the boy's strange purple eyes. "No, I'm going to help you."
Zak stared in astonishment, then shook his head. He started to tell the young drow to get back, but it was too late. The chitinous clicking sound crescendoed as the jade spiders attacked.
The weapons master was ready for them. His two blades formed a whirling barrier before him. The spiders reached out only to have their barbed legs beaten back. However, the swords did nothing more than keep the spiders at bay. Even the adamantite blades could not bite through enchanted stone. Zak continued to swing his swords in a dizzying pattern, fending off the spiders, but step by step, he lost ground, inching back toward the open archway.
He heard the chittering behind him almost too late. A third jade spider approached from the rear. He glanced over his shoulder to see it lumber through the archway, right toward Drizzt. In its attempt to get at Zak it would kill the boy. "Drizzt, run!" he shouted.
But the boy held his ground. He gripped the Dagger of Menzoberra in one hand, and with the other scooped up a carving knife from among the broken crockery on the floor. With an intent look, he waved the blades at the spider. His motions were wild and ineffectual, and the spider batted the knives aside, opening its pincers, ready to sink them into the boy's flesh. Zak tried to break away from the other spiders but could not disengage. The third spider lunged toward Drizzt for the killing blow.
It happened with such speed Zak almost didn't believe his eyes. Face grim with determination, Drizzt thrust out both knives in a distinctive position: one high, one low, both slightly offset. The higher knife descended even as the lower knife rose, catching one of the spider's hooked mandibles between them. As the two contacted, the Dagger of Menzoberra flashed with violet radiance. The stone mandible shattered to dust. The jade spider reared back, emitting a piercing wai
l of pain.
So amazed was Zak that he nearly let down his guard. A leg swiped at him, and he renewed his onslaught even as he glanced again at Drizzt. The motion had been crude and clumsy, but there could be no doubt. It was the torque vise. Zak had performed the move a thousand times himself on his enemies. But it was his signature trick. He had never taught it to another. How was it that this young boy seemed to have known by instinct just how to perform it?
Then the truth hit Zak. Of course. Why had he not seen it before? Drizzt's spirit, his instinctive skill with weapons, the light of defiance in his strange lavender eyes… Malice had lied to him eleven years ago. This was no child of Rizzen's.
"My son…" Zak breathed in wonder.
The third jade spider was recovering. Even a blow from the Dagger of Menzoberra had not been enough to keep it at bay for long. Drizzt had the instinct of a fighter, but he lacked the experience. That first blow had been lucky. The second might not be.
Zak launched a furious attack at the jade spiders, driving them back for a moment. He jerked open the door of a side chamber and pushed a surprised Drizzt inside.
"Lock the door, Drizzt!" he shouted. "And don't open it until I tell you!"
Drizzt shook his head in protest. "But I want to help you fight!"
This was no time to be soft with the boy. "That's an order!" Zak snarled. "Do it!"
Drizzt hung his head, his expression wounded, then nodded, shutting the door to the side chamber. Zak waited to hear the heavy lock slide into place. Satisfied, he turned to engage his foes. The three jade spiders had recovered and scuttled toward him as one. A fierce grin spread across Zak's dusky visage as he raised his swords. He had something to fight for now.
"Come on, you magical vermin," he growled, and the jade spiders did.
Chapter Twelve: Dagger Bearer
