Robert Salvatore: Exile

Belwar cocked his head curiously. “What are you thinking, dark elf?”

Drizzt, too caught up in his emotional turbulence, did not return Belwar’s gaze. “My homeland boasts a school of wizardry,” Drizzt replied with steadfast determination.

At first the burrow-warden didn’t understand what Drizzt hinted at, but then, when Drizzt glanced over to Clacker, Belwar realized the implications of Drizzt’s simple statement.

“Menzoberranzan?” the svirfneblin cried. “You would return there, hoping that some dark elf wizard would show mercy upon our pech friend?”

“I would return there because Clacker has no other chance,” Drizzt retorted angrily.

“Then no chance at all has Clacker,” Belwar roared. “Magga cammara, dark elf. Menzoberranzan will not be so quick to welcome you!”

“Perhaps your pessimism will prove valid,” said Drizzt. “Dark elves are not moved by mercy, I agree, but there may be other options.”

“You are hunted,” Belwar said. His tone showed that he hoped his simple words would shake some sense into his drow companion.

“By Matron Malice,” Drizzt retorted. “Menzoberranzan is a large place, my little friend, and loyalties to my mother will play no part in any encounter we find beyond those with my own family. I assure you that I have no plans to meet anyone from my own family!”

“And what, dark elf, might we offer in exchange for dispelling Clacker’s curse?” Belwar replied sarcastically. “What have we to offer that any dark elf wizard of Menzoberranzan would value?”

Drizzt’s reply started with a blurring cut of a scimitar, was heightened by a familiar simmering fire in the drow’s lavender eyes, and ended with a simple statement that even stubborn Belwar could not find the words to refute.

“The wizard’s life!”

Matron Baenre took a long and careful scan of Malice Do’Urden, measuring how greatly the trials of Zin-carla had weighed on the matron mother. Deep lines of worry creased Malice’s once smooth face, and her stark white hair, which had been the envy of her generation, was, for one of the very few times in five centuries, frazzled and unkempt. Most striking, though, were Malice’s eyes, once radiant and alert but now dark with weariness and sunken in the sockets of her dark skin.

“Zaknafein almost had him.” Malice explained, her voice an uncharacteristic whine. “Drizzt was in his grasp, and yet somehow, my son managed to escape!”

“But the spirit-wraith is close on his trail again,” Malice quickly added, seeing Matron Baenre’s disapproving frown. In addition to being the most powerful figure in all of Menzoberranzan, the withered matron mother of House Baenre was considered Lloth’s personal representative in the city. Matron Baenre’s approval was Lloth’s approval, and, by the same logic, Matron Baenre’s disapproval most often spelled disaster for a house.

“Zin-carla requires patience, Matron Malice.” Matron Baenre said calmly. “It has not been so long.”

Malice relaxed a bit, until she looked again at her surroundings. She hated the chapel of House Baenre, so huge and demeaning. The entire Do’Urden complex could fit within this single chamber, and if Malice’s family and soldiers were multiplied ten times over, they still would not fill the rows of benches. Directly above the central altar, directly above Matron Malice, loomed the illusionary image of the gigantic spider, shifting into the form of a beautiful drow female, then back again into an arachnid. Sitting here alone with Matron Baenre under that overpowering image made Malice feel even more insignificant.

Matron Baenre sensed her guest’s uneasiness and moved to comfort her. “You have been given a great gift,” she said sincerely. “The Spider Queen would not bestow Zin-carla, and would not have accepted the sacrifice of SiNafay Hun’ett, a matron mother, if she did not approve of your methods and your intent.”

“It is a trial,” Malice replied offhandedly.

“A trial you will not fail!” Matron Baenre retorted. “And then the glories you will know, Malice Do’Urden! When the spirit-wraith of he who was Zaknafein has completed his task and your renegade son is dead, you will sit in honor on the ruling council. Many years, I promise you, will pass before any house will dare to threaten House Do’Urden. The Spider Queen will shine her favor upon you for the proper completion of Zin-carla. She will hold your house in the highest regard and will defend you against rivals.”

“What if Zin-carla fails?” Malice dared to ask. “Let us suppose…” Her voice trailed away as Matron Baenre’s eyes widened in shock.

“Speak not the words!” Baenre scolded. “And think not of such impossibilities! You grow distracted by fear, and that alone will spell your doom. Zin-carla is an exercise of willpower and a test of your devotion to the Spider Queen. The spirit-wraith is an extension of your faith and your strength. If you falter in your trust, then the spirit-wraith of Zaknafein will falter in his quest!”

“I will not falter!” Malice roared, her hands clenched around the armrests of her chair. “I accept the responsibility of my son’s sacrilege, and with Lloth’s help and blessings, I will enact the appropriate punishment upon Drizzt.”

Matron Baenre relaxed back in her seat and nodded her approval. She had to support Malice in this endeavor, by the command of Lloth, and she knew enough of Zin-carla to understand that confidence and determination were two of the primary ingredients for success. A matron mother involved in Zin-carla had to proclaim her trust in Lloth and her desire to please Lloth often and sincerely.

Now, though, Malice had another problem, a distraction she could ill afford. She had come to House Baenre of her own volition, seeking aid.

“Then of this other matter,” Matron Baenre prompted, fast growing tired of the meeting.

“I am vulnerable,” Malice explained. “Zin-carla steals my energy and attention. I fear that another house may seize the opportunity.”

“No house has ever attacked a matron mother in the thralls of Zin-carla,” Matron Baenre pointed out, and Malice realized that the withered old drow spoke from experience.

“Zin-carla is a rare gift,” Malice replied, “given to powerful matrons with powerful houses, almost assuredly in the highest favor of the Spider Queen. Who would attack under such circumstances? But House Do’Urden is far different. We have just suffered the consequences of war. Even with the addition of some of House Hun’ett’s soldiers, we are crippled. It is well known that I have not yet regained Lloth’s favor but that my house is eighth in the city, putting me on the ruling council, an enviable position.”

“Your fears are misplaced,” Matron Baenre assured her, but Malice slumped back in frustration in spite of the words. Matron Baenre shook her head helplessly. “I see that my words alone cannot soothe. Your attention must be on Zin-carla. Understand that, Malice Do’Urden. You have no time for such petty worries.”

“They remain,” said Malice.

“Then I will end them,” offered Matron Baenre. “Return to your house now, in the company of two hundred Baenre soldiers. The numbers will secure your battlements, and my soldiers shall wear the house emblem of Baenre. None in the city will dare to strike with such allies.”

A wide smile rolled across Malice’s face, a grin that diminished a few of those worry lines. She accepted Matron Baenre’s generous gift as a signal that perhaps Lloth still did favor House Do’Urden.

“Go back to your home and concentrate on the task at hand,” Matron Baenre continued. “Zaknafein must find Drizzt again and kill him. That is the deal you offered to the Spider Queen. But fear not for the spirit-wraith’s last failure or the time lost. A few days, or weeks, is not very long in Lloth’s eyes. The proper conclusion of Zin-carla is all that matters.”