Drizzt finished off his troll and turned to admire the panther’s work. He extended his hand, and the great cat nuzzled it. How well the two fighters had come to know each other! thought Drizzt.
Another blast of lightning thundered in, this one close enough to steal Drizzt’s sight.
“Guenhwyvar!” Masoj Hun’ett, the bolt’s caster, cried. “To my side!”
The panther managed to brush against Drizzt’s leg as it moved to obey. When his vision returned, Drizzt walked off in the other direction, not wanting to view the scolding that Guenhwyvar always seemed to receive when he and the cat worked together.
Masoj watched Drizzt’s back as he went, wanting to put a third bolt right between the young Do’Urden’s shoulder blades. The wizard of House Hun’ett did not miss the specter of Dinin Do’Urden, off to the side, watching with more than casual glances.
“Learn your loyalties!” Masoj snarled at Guenhwyvar. Too often, the panther left the wizard’s side to join in combat with Drizzt. Masoj knew that the cat was better complemented by the moves of a fighter, but he knew, too, the vulnerability of a wizard involved in spellcasting. Masoj wanted Guenhwyvar at his side, protecting him from enemies—he shot another glance at Dinin—and “friends” alike.
He threw the statuette to the ground at his feet. “Begone!” he commanded.
In the distance, Drizzt had engaged another scrag and made short work of it as well. Masoj shook his head as he watched the display of swordsmanship. Every day, Drizzt grew stronger.
“Give the order to kill him soon, Matron SiNafay,” Masoj whispered. The young wizard did not know how much longer he would be able to carry out the task. Masoj wondered whether he could win the fight even now.
Drizzt shielded his eyes as he struck a torch to seal a dead troll’s wounds. Only fire ensured that trolls would not recuperate, even from the grave.
The other battles had died away as well, Drizzt noted, and he saw the flames of torches springing up all across the bank of the lake. He wondered if all of his twelve drow companions had survived, though he also wondered if he truly cared. Others were more than ready to take their places.
Drizzt knew that the only companion who really mattered— Guenhwyvar—was safely back in its home on the Astral Plane.
“Form a guard!” came Dinin’s echoing command as the slaves, goblins, and orcs moved in to search for troll treasure, and to salvage whatever they might of the scrags.
When the fires had consumed the scrag he’d set ablaze, Drizzt dipped his torch in the black water, then paused for a moment to let his eyes readjust to the darkness. “Another day,” he said softly, “another enemy defeated.”
He liked the excitement of patrolling, the thrill of the edge of danger, and the knowledge that he was now putting his weapons to use against vile monsters.
Even here, though, Drizzt could not escape the lethargy that had come to pervade his life, the general resignation that marked his every step. For, though his battles these days were fought against the horrors of the Underdark, monsters killed of necessity, Drizzt had not forgotten the meeting in the chapel of House Do’Urden.
He knew that his scimitars soon would be put to use against the flesh of drow elves.
Zaknafein looked out over Menzoberranzan, as he so often did when Drizzt’s patrol group was out of the city. Zak was torn between wanting to sneak out of the house to fight at Drizzt’s side, and hoping that the patrol would return with the news that Drizzt had been slain.
Would Zak ever find the answer to the dilemma of the youngest Do’Urden? he wondered. Zak knew that he could not leave the house; Matron Malice was keeping a very close eye on him. She sensed his anguish over Drizzt, Zak knew, and she most definitely did not approve. Zak was often her lover, but they shared little other than that.
Zak thought back to the battles he and Malice had fought over Vierna, another child of common concern, centuries before. Vierna was a female, her fate sealed from the moment of her birth, and Zak could do nothing to halt the assault of the Spider Queen’s overwhelming religion.
Did Malice fear that he might have better luck influencing the actions of a male child? Apparently the matron did, but even Zak was not so certain if her fears were justified; even he couldn’t measure his influence over Drizzt.
He peered out over the city now, silently watching for the patrol group’s return—waiting, as always, for Drizzt’s safe return, but secretly hoping, that his dilemma would be ended by the claws and fangs of a lurking monster.
y greetings, Faceless One,” the high priestess said, pushing past Alton into his private chambers in Sorcere.
“And mine to you, Mistress Vierna,” Alton replied, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. Vierna Do’Urden coming to see him at this time had to be more than coincidence. “What act has brought me the honor of a visit from a mistress of Arach-Tinilith?”
“No longer a mistress,” said Vierna. “I have returned to my home.”
Alton paused to consider the news. He knew that Dinin Do’Urden had also resigned his position at the Academy.
“Matron Malice has brought her family back together,” Vierna continued. “There are stirrings of war. You have heard them, no doubt?”
“Just rumors,” Alton stuttered, now beginning to understand why Vierna had come to call on him. House Do’Urden had used the Faceless One before in its plotting—in its attempt to assassinate Alton! Now, with rumors of war whispered throughout Menzoberranzan, Matron Malice was reestablishing her network of spies and assassins.
“You know of them?” Vierna asked sharply.
“I have heard little,” Alton breathed, careful now not to anger the powerful female. “Not enough to report to your house. I did not even suspect that House Do’Urden was involved until now, when you informed me.” Alton could only hope that Vierna had no detection spell aimed at his words.
Vierna relaxed, apparently appeased by the explanation. “Listen more carefully to the rumors, Faceless One,” she said. “My brother and I have left the Academy; you are to be the eyes and ears of House Do’Urden in this place.”
“But …” Alton stuttered.
Vierna held up a hand to stop him. “We know of our failure in our last transaction,” she said. She bowed low, something a high priestess rarely did to a male. “Matron Malice sends her deepest apologies that the unguent you received for the assassination of Alton DeVir did not restore the features to your face.”
Alton nearly choked on the words, now understanding why an unknown messenger had delivered the jar of healing salve some thirty years before. The cloaked figure was an agent of House Do’Urden, come to repay the Faceless One for his assassination of Alton! Of course, Alton had never even tried the unguent. With his luck, it would have worked, and would have restored the features of Alton DeVir.
“This time, your payment cannot fail,” Vierna went on, though Alton, too caught up in the irony of it all, hardly listened. “House Do’Urden possesses a wizard’s staff but no wizard worthy to wield it. It belonged to Nalfein, my brother, who died in the victory over DeVir.”
Alton wanted to strike out at her. Even he wasn’t that stupid, though.
“If you can discern which house plots against House Do’Urden,”
Vierna promised, “the staff will be yours! A treasure indeed for such a small act.”
“I will do what I can,” Alton replied, having no other response to the incredible offer.
“That is all Matron Malice asks of you,” said Vierna, and she left the wizard, quite certain that House Do’Urden had secured a capable agent within the Academy.
“Dinin and Vierna Do’Urden have resigned their positions,” said Alton excitedly as the diminutive matron mother came to him later that same evening.
“This is already known to me,” replied SiNafay Hun’ett.
She looked around disdainfully at the littered and scorched room, then took a seat at the small table.
“There is more,” Alton said quickl
y, not wanting SiNafay to get upset about being disturbed over old news. “I have had a visitor this day, Mistress Vierna Do’Urden!”
“She suspects?” Matron SiNafay growled.
“No, no!” Alton replied. “Quite the opposite. House Do’Urden wishes to employ me as a spy, as it once employed the Faceless One to assassinate me!”
SiNafay paused for a moment, stunned, then issued a laugh straight from her belly. “Ah, the ironies of our lives!” she roared.
“I had heard that Dinin and Vierna were sent to the Academy only to oversee the education of their younger brother,” remarked Alton.
“An excellent cover,” SiNafay replied. “Vierna and Dinin were sent as spies for the ambitious Matron Malice. My compliments to her.”
“Now they suspect trouble,” Alton stated, sitting opposite his matron mother.
“They do,” agreed SiNafay. “Masoj patrols with Drizzt, but House Do’Urden has also managed to plant Dinin in the group.”
“Then Masoj is in danger,” reasoned Alton.
“No,” said SiNafay. “House Do’Urden does not know that House Hun’ett perpetrates the threat against it, else it would not have come to you for information. Matron Malice knows your identity.”
A look of terror crossed Alton’s face.
“Not your true identity,” SiNafay laughed at him. “She knows the Faceless One as Gelroos Hun’ett, and she would not have come to a Hun’ett if she suspected our house.”
“Then we have an excellent opportunity to throw House Do’Urden into chaos!” Alton cried. “If I implicate another house, even Baenre, perhaps, our position will be strengthened.” He chuckled at the possibilities. “Malice will reward me with a staff of great power—a weapon I will turn against her at the proper moment!”
“Matron Malice!” SiNafay corrected sternly. Even though she and Malice were soon to be open enemies, SiNafay would not permit a male to show such disrespect to a matron mother. “Do you really believe that you could carry out such a deception?”
“When Mistress Vierna returns …”
“You will not deal with a lesser priestess with such valued information, foolish DeVir. You will face Matron Malice herself, a formidable foe. If she sees through your lies, do you know what she will do to your body?”
Alton gulped audibly. “I am willing to take the risk,” he said, crossing his arms resolutely on the table.
“What of House Hun’ett when the biggest lie is revealed?” SiNafay asked. “What advantage will we enjoy when Matron Malice knows the Faceless One’s true identity?”
“I understand,” Alton answered, crestfallen but unable to refute SiNafay’s logic. “Then what are we to do? What am I to do?”
Matron SiNafay was already considering their next moves.
“You will resign your tenure,” she said at length. “Return to House Hun’ett, within my protection.”
“Such an act might also implicate House Hun’ett to Matron Malice,” Alton reasoned.
“It may,” replied SiNafay, “but it is the safest route. I will go to Matron Malice in feigned anger, telling her to leave House Hun’ett out of her troubles. If she wishes to make an informant of a member of my family, then she should come to me for permission—though I’ll not grant it this time!”
SiNafay smiled at the possibilities of such an encounter. “My anger, my fear, alone could implicate a greater house against House Do’Urden, even a conspiracy between more than one house,” she said, obviously enjoying the added benefits. “Matron Malice will certainly have much to think about, and much to worry about!”
Alton hadn’t even heard SiNafay’s last comments. The words about granting her permission “this time” had brought a disturbing notion into his mind. “And did she?” he dared to ask, though his words were barely audible.
“What do you mean?” asked SiNafay, not following his thoughts.
“Did Matron Malice come to you?” Alton continued, frightened but needing an answer. “Thirty years ago. Did Matron SiNafay grant her permission for Gelroos Hun’ett to become an agent, an assassin to complete House DeVir’s elimination?”
A wide smile spread across SiNafay’s face, but it vanished in the blink of an eye as she threw the table across the room, grabbed Alton by the front of his robes, and pulled him roughly to within an inch of her scowling visage.
“Never confuse personal feelings with politics!” the tiny but obviously strong matron growled, her tone carrying the unmistakable weight of an open threat. “And never ask me such a question again!”
She threw Alton to the floor but didn’t release him from her penetrating glare.
Alton had known all along that he was merely a pawn in the intrigue between House Hun’ett and House Do’Urden, a necessary link for Matron SiNafay to carry out her treacherous plans. Every now and, though, Alton’s personal grudge against House Do’Urden caused him to forget his lowly place in this conflict. Looking up now at SiNafay’s bared power, he realized that he had overstepped the bounds of his position.
At the back end of the mushroom grove, the southern wall of the cavern that housed Menzoberranzan, was a small, heavily guarded cave. Beyond the ironbound doors stood a single room, used only for gatherings of the city’s eight ruling matron mothers.
The smoke of a hundred sweet-smelling candles permeated the air; the matron mothers liked it that way. After almost half a century of studying scrolls in the candlelight of Sorcere, Alton did not mind the light, but he was indeed uncomfortable in the chamber. He sat at the back end of a spider-shaped table, in a small, unadorned chair reserved for guests of the council. Between the table’s eight hairy legs were the ruling matron mothers’ thrones, all jeweled and dazzling in the candlelight.
The matrons filed in, pompous and wicked, casting belittling glares at the male. SiNafay, at Alton’s side, put a hand on his knee and gave him a reassuring wink. She would not have dared to request a gathering of the ruling council if she was not certain of the worthiness of her news. The ruling matron mothers viewed their seats as honorary in nature and did not appreciate being brought together except in times of crisis.
At the head of the spider table sat Matron Baenre, the most powerful figure in all of Menzoberranzan, an ancient and withered female with malicious eyes and a mouth unaccustomed to smiles.
“We are gathered, SiNafay,” Baenre said when all eight members had found their appointed chairs. “For what reason have you summoned the council?”
“To discuss a punishment,” SiNafay replied.
“Punishment?” Matron Baenre echoed, confused. The recent years had been unusually quiet in the drow city, without an incident since the Teken’duis Freth conflict. To the First Matron’s knowledge, no acts had been committed that might require a punishment, certainly none so blatant as to force the ruling council to action. “What individual deserves this?”
“Not an individual,” explained Matron SiNafay. She glanced around at her peers, measuring their interest. “A house,” she said bluntly. “Daermon N’a’shezbaernon, House Do’Urden.” Several gasps of disbelief came in reply, as SiNafay had expected.
“House Do’Urden?” Matron Baenre questioned, surprised that any would implicate Matron Malice. By all of Baenre’s knowledge, Malice remained in high regard with the Spider Queen, and House Do’Urden had recently placed two instructors in the Academy.
“For what crime do you dare to charge House Do’Urden?” asked one of the other matrons.
“Are these words of fear, SiNafay?” Matron Baenre had to ask. Several of the ruling matrons had expressed concern about House Do’Urden. It was well known that Matron Malice desired a seat on the ruling council, and, by all measures of the power of her house, she seemed destined to get it.
“I have appropriate cause,” SiNafay insisted.
“The others seem to doubt you,” replied Matron Baenre. “You should explain your accusation—quickly, if you value your reputation.”
SiNafay knew that more than her reputat
ion was at stake; in Menzoberranzan, a false accusation was a crime on par with murder. “We all remember the fall of House DeVir,” SiNafay began. “Seven of us now gathered sat upon the ruling council beside Matron Ginafae DeVir.”
“House DeVir is no more,” Matron Baenre reminded her.
“Because of House Do’Urden,” SiNafay said bluntly.
This time the gasps came out as open anger.
“How dare you speak such words?” came one reply.
“Thirty years!” came another. “The issue has been forgotten!”
Matron Baenre quieted them all before the clamor rose into violent action—a not uncommon occurrence in the council chamber. “SiNafay,” she said through the dry sneer on her lips. “One cannot make such an accusation; one cannot discuss such beliefs openly so long after the event! You know our ways. If House Do’Urden did indeed commit this act, as you insist, it deserves our compliments, not our punishment, for it carried it through to perfection. House DeVir is no more, I say. It does not exist!”
Alton shifted uneasily, caught somewhere between rage and despair. SiNafay was far from dismayed, though; this was going exactly as she had envisioned and hoped.
“Oh, but it does!” she responded, rising to her feet. She pulled the hood from Alton’s head. “In this person!”
“Gelroos?” asked Matron Baenre, not understanding.
“Not Gelroos,” SiNafay replied. “Gelroos Hun’ett died the night House DeVir died. This male, Alton DeVir, assumed Gelroos’s identity and position, hiding from further attacks by House Do’Urden!”
Baenre whispered some instructions to the matron at her right side, then waited as she went through the semantics of a spell. Baenre motioned for SiNafay to return to her seat then faced Alton.
“Speak your name,” Baenre commanded.
“I am Alton DeVir,” Alton said, gaining strength from the identity he had waited so very long to proclaim, “son of Matron Ginafae and a student of Sorcere on the night House Do’Urden attacked.”
Forgotten Realms: Homeland - The Legend of Drizzt Book I Page 20