"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 then, 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 spidershaped 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 Thken’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. "Daerrnon 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 reputation 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 s
o 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."
Baenre looked to the matron at her side.
"He speaks the truth." the matron assured her. Whispers sprang up all around the spider table, of amusement more than anything else.
"That is why I summoned the ruling council." SiNafay quickly explained.
"Very well, SiNafay." said Matron Baenre. "My compliments to you, Alton DeVir, on your resourcefulness and ability to survive. For a male, you have shown great courage and wisdom. Surely you both know that the council cannot exact punishment upon a house for a deed committed so long ago. Why would we so desire? Matron Malice Do’Urden sits in the favor of the Spider Queen, her house shows great promise. You must reveal to us greater need if you wish any punishment against House Do’Urden."
"I do not wish such a thing." SiNafay quickly replied. "This matter, thirty years removed, is no longer in the realm of the ruling council. House Do’Urden does indeed show promise, my peers, with four high priestesses and a host of other weapons, not the least of which being their second boy, Drizzt, first graduate of his class." She had purposely mentioned Drizzt, knowing that the name would strike wound in Matron Baenre. Baenre’s own prized son, Berg’inyon, had spent the last nine years ranked behind the wonderful young Do’Urden.
"Then why have you bothered us?" Matron Baenre demanded, an unmistakable edge in her voice.
"To ask you to close your eyes." SiNafay purred. "Alton is Hun’ett now, under my protection. He demands vengeance for the act committed against his family, and, as a surviving member of the attacked family, he has the right of accusation."
"House Hun’ett will stand beside him?" Matron Baenre asked, turning curious and amused.
"Indeed." replied SiNafay. "Thus is House Hun’ett bound!"
"Vengeance?" another matron quipped, also now more amused than angered. "Or fear? It would seem to my ears that the matron of House Hun’ett uses this pitiful DeVir creature for her own gain. House Do’Urden aspires to higher ranking, and Matron Malice desires to sit upon the ruling council, a threat to House Hun’ett, perhaps?"
"Be it vengeance or prudence, my claim―Alton DeVir’s claim―must be deemed as legitimate," replied SiNafay, "to our mutual gain." She smiled wickedly and looked straight to the First Matron. "to the gain of our sons, perhaps, in their quest for recognition."
"Indeed." replied Matron Baenre in a chuckle that sounded more like a cough. A war between Hun’ett and Do’Urden might be to everyone’s gain, but not, Baenre suspected, as SiNafay believed. Malice was a powerful matron, and her family truly deserved a ranking higher than ninth. If the fight did come, Malice probably would get her seat on the council, replacing SiNafay.
Matron Baenre looked around at the other matrons, and guessed from their hopeful expressions that they shared her thoughts. Let Hun’ett and Do’Urden fight it out whatever the outcome, the threat of Matron Malice would be ended. Perhaps, Baenre hoped, a certain young Do’Urden male would fall in battle, propelling her own son into the position he deserved.
Then the First Matron spoke the words SiNafay had come to hear, the silent permission of Menzoberranzan’s ruling council.
"This matter is settled, my sisters." Matron Baenre declared, to the accepting nods of all at the table. "It is good that we never met this day."
Chapter 19
Promises of Glory
"Have you found the trail?" Drizzt whispered, moving up beside the great panther. He gave Guenhwyvar a pat on the side and knew from the slackness of the cat’s muscles that no danger was nearby.
"Gone, then." Drizzt said, staring off into the emptiness of the corridor in front of them. " Wicked gnomes, my brother called them when we found the tracks by the pool. Wicked and stupid." He sheathed his scimitar and knelt beside the panther, his arm comfortable draped across Guenhwyvar’s back. "They’re smart enough to elude our patrol."
The cat looked up as if it had understood his every word, and Drizzt rubbed a hand roughly over Guenhwyvar’s, his finest friend’s, head. Drizzt remembered clearly his elation on the day, a week before, when Dinin had announced―to Masoj Hun’ett’s outrage―that Guenhwyvar would be deployed at the patrol’s point position beside Drizzt.
"The cat is mine!" Masoj had reminded Dinin.
"You are mine!" Dinin, the patrol leader, had replied, ending any further debate. Whenever the figurine’s magic would permit, Masoj summoned Guenhwyvar from the Astral Plane and bid the cat to run up in front, bringing Drizzt an added degree of safety and a valued companion.
Drizzt knew from the unfamiliar heat patterns on the wall that they had gone the limit of their patrol route. He had purposely put a lot of ground, more than was advised, between himself and the rest of the patrol. Drizzt had confidence that he and Guenhwyvar could take care of themselves, and with the others far behind, he could relax and enjoy the wait. The minutes Drizzt spent in solitude gave him the time he needed in his endless effort to sort through his confused emotions. Guenhwyvar, seemingly non-judgmental and always approving, offered Drizzt a perfect audience for his audible contemplations.
"I begin to wonder the worth of it all." Drizzt whispered to the cat. "I do not doubt the value of these Patrols―this week, alone, we have defeated a dozen monsters that might have brought great harm to the city―but to what end?"
He looked deeply into the panther’s saucer eyes and found sympathy there, and Drizzt knew that Guenhwyvar somehow understood his dilemma.
"Perhaps I still do not know who I am." Drizzt mused, "or who my people are. Every time I find a clue to the truth, it leads me down a path that I dare not continue upon, to conclusions I cannot accept."
"You are drow." came a reply behind them. Drizzt turned abruptly to see Dinin a few feet away, a look of grave concern on his face.
"The gnomes have fled beyond our reach." Drizzt said, trying to deflect his brother’s concerns.
"Have you not learned what it means to be a drow?" Dinin asked. "Have you not come to understand the course of our history and the promise of our future?"
"I know of our history as it was taught at the Academy." Drizzt replied. "They were the very first lessons we received. Of our future, and more so of the place we now reside, though, I do not understand."
"You know of our enemies." Dinin prompted.
"Countless enemies." replied Drizzt with a heavy sigh. "They fill the holes of the Underdark, always waiting for us to let down our guard. We will not, and our enemies will fall to our power."
"Ah, but our true enemies do not reside in the lightless caverns of our world." said Dinin with a sly smile. "Theirs is a world strange and evil." Drizzt knew who Dinin was referring to, but he suspected that his brother was hiding something.
"The faeries." Drizzt whispered, and the word prompted a jumble of emotions within him. All of his life, he had been told of his evil cousin
s, of how they had forced the drow into the bowels of the world. Busily engaged in the duties of his everyday life, Drizzt did not think of them often, but whenever they came to mind, he used their name as a litany against everything he hated in his life. If Drizzt could somehow blame the surface elves―as every other drow seemed to blame them―for the injustices of drow society, he could find hope for the future of his people. Rationally, Drizzt had to dismiss the stirring legends of the elven war as another of the endless stream of lies, but in his heart and hopes, Drizzt clung desperately to those words.
He looked back to Dinin. "The faeries." he said again, "whatever they may be."
Dinin chuckled at his brother’s relentless sarcasm it had become so commonplace. "They are as you have learned." he assured Drizzt. "Without worth and vile beyond your imagination, the tormentors of our people, who banished us in eons past who forced…"
"I know the tales." Drizzt interrupted, alarmed at the increasing volume of his excited brother’s voice. Drizzt glanced over his shoulder. "If the patrol is ended, let us meet the others closer to the city. This place is too dangerous for such discussions." He rose to his feet and started back, Guenhwyvar at his side.
"Not as dangerous as the place I soon will lead you." Dinin replied with that same sly smile.
Drizzt stopped and looked at him curiously.
"I suppose you should know." Dinin teased. "We were selected because we are the finest of the patrol groups, and you have certainly played an important role in our attaining that honor."
"Chosen for what?"
"In a fortnight, we will leave Menzoberranzan." explained Dinin. "Our trail will take us many days and many miles from the city."
"How long?" Drizzt asked, suddenly very curious.
"Two weeks, maybe three." replied Dinin, "but well worth the time. We shall be the ones, my young brother, who enact a measure of revenge upon our most hated foes, who strike a glorious blow for the Spider Queen!"
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