R.A. Salvatore - Maestro

“What do you know of it? Of anything?”

“I know what you ruined, and in pursuit of futility!” Malice answered. “And to what end, my idiot child? What have you gained that puts you here in this place, in this time, in utter despair? Do you claim victory between your tears?”

“No!” His cry was one of denial, a rejection of her and of this place, of his life, of his unavoidable fate. In truth, though, and Drizzt knew it, that denial was also a correct answer to her last question.

There was no victory here, just a cruel joke, the deception of a demon.

“You’ll not shatter my heart,” he said to her. “I accept the death of my friends. I will find instead the Hunter. I deny you and deny your pain!”

He pointed a scimitar at her, his face a mask of outrage, summoning the courage to charge at this demon figure and put an end to her.

“My friend will be silence,” he said, striding at her. “I will be left with nothing, but that will be enough!”

“Only because you are too stupid to see the opportunity presented before you,” Malice replied, and Drizzt stopped his approach and looked at her warily.

“To what end?” Malice asked.

Drizzt blinked, not quite catching on. It was his own private question, reflected back at him.

“Knowing now that perception and reality are so intimately twined, so I ask you again, to what end?” Malice asked, only slightly altering the question that had been burning in Drizzt’s own thoughts-as if she had read his mind.

“You ruined me,” Malice went on. “Your brother was twisted to abomination, your sister murdered by your own hand, your House thrown to ruin. All that I built-”

“It was you!” Drizzt accused, pointing at her with his blade.

“You can unwind it,” said Malice. “The river flows backward. This is your moment and your choice.”

“I made my choice! To the Abyss with …”

“Zaknafein?” Malice asked, and the word nearly knocked Drizzt from his feet. “That is the moment before you, my idiot son. Come and witness my dagger sliding into his chest …”

Drizzt cried out, an indecipherable roar of outrage, and leaped forward, Icingdeath coming across viciously to cut Matron Mother Malice apart. But the blade went right through her less than corporeal form, and Drizzt nearly fell, overbalanced by the swing that caught only empty air.

Malice’s laughter echoed down the hall, mocking his worthless passion. He saw her image departing then, sliding through the right-hand wall farther along.

“You have broken him,” K’yorl Odran said with a giggle, watching Drizzt dancing about, swinging wildly and screaming at himself in the corridor in front of her.

“He is sick with the Abyssal emanations of the Faerzress,” Yvonnel answered, seeming quite intrigued by it all. “He has lost the firmament of truth, of reality. He walks in dreams and nightmares.”

Yvonnel’s expression turned curious then, partly amused and partly pitying this lost heretic.

“Lost,” she whispered.

“And so open to suggestion?” K’yorl asked.

“The chapel,” Yvonnel whispered, and K’yorl reflected that thought in the mind of the distant Drizzt Do’Urden.

“Now, follow,” Yvonnel instructed her slave. “We must be quick.”

“Drizzt has entered the city and is coming for her,” Kiriy said, pointing frantically at Dahlia, who lay unconscious on the bed.

“And so you threw driders into our midst?” Ravel questioned with a disbelieving, even derisive, snort.

“I needed to keep you away.”

“So that you could kill her and claim the throne of House Do’Urden,” Saribel said accusingly.

“Yes!” Kiriy retorted. “Yes, as Matron Mother Zeerith determined. By word of Matron Mother Baenre,” she added quickly, seeing Tiago’s sudden scowl.

“This abominable darthiir you mean to murder is the matron mother’s creation,” Tiago said.

“And she has outlived her usefulness to House Baenre,” Kiriy replied, too smoothly for the others to determine whether or not she was improvising. “House Xorlarrin returns, and we are many times more valuable to the matron mother than this … this creature. Or this mock House that invites the scorn of all other Houses in Menzoberranzan.”

“And so you mean to correct that,” Ravel asked skeptically, “in the midst of a war?”

“It will settle the war!” Kiriy insisted. “When Dahlia … Darthiir, is dead, the Melarni will no longer ally with House Hunzrin. They care not for Hunzrin trade. The abomination sitting upon the Ruling Council is their only reason for waging war on House Do’Urden, as they view Matron Mother Darthiir as an insult to Lady Lolth herself. When she is no more, the Melarni will be appeased, and without them, the stone heads will flee. They alone are no match for the garrison of this House. The House will be ours, as will the seat on the Ruling Council.”

“Those things are ours now,” a doubtful Ravel reminded her. “They will be yours , you mean.”

“Do’Urden, not Xorlarrin! And they have come for her!” Kiriy said. “She must die, either way.”

Tiago drew Vidrinath.

“No!” Saribel insisted. “If Darthiir is slain, Kiriy becomes matron mother!”

“Kiriy, who just attacked us,” Ravel added.

“Matron Mother Baenre demands it,” Kiriy declared, aiming her words at Tiago, relying on his allegiance to Baenre. “Darthiir must not be taken by the heretic Drizzt.”

Tiago glanced back and forth from Kiriy to the others, his hand wringing the pommel of Vidrinath, the glassteel blade’s tiny stars sparkling in the low candlelight of the room.

“Your story is babble!” Saribel accused.

“How dare you speak to me in that manner?” Kiriy retorted.

“Because your tale is nonsense,” Ravel shot back. “If Matron Mother Baenre so desired what you claim, she would have sent the Baenre legions and chased off the Hunzrin and Melarni.”

“She does not wish to expose herself. There is no need. We know not the disposition of House Barrison Del’Armgo in this matter.”

“None of us wish to see this abomination remain alive,” Tiago put in, and he moved for Dahlia.

“She is your bait for Drizzt,” Jaemas remarked, freezing the young Baenre in his tracks. “If what First Priestess Kiriy says is truth.”

“It is not!” Ravel insisted.

“Not all, perhaps,” Jaemas agreed. “But a lie is all the stronger with truth embedded, is it not?”

“You dare call me a liar?” Kiriy said, and her wizard cousin bowed and respectfully shrank back. But he added, “If you kill her, the heretic Drizzt will leave.” He knew who traveled with Drizzt, of course, and understood Jarlaxle’s intent. “And the head of Drizzt Do’Urden is a prize that will announce the glory of the rebirth of House Xorlarrin like no other, while the head of Darthiir Do’Urden is nothing more than another iblith trophy, whose name will be forgotten before the turn of the approaching century.”

Close enough to strike Dahlia dead, Tiago locked stares with Jaemas.

“Kill her,” Kiriy insisted. “Or we will all be dead before Drizzt Do’Urden even arrives.”

“Do not,” said a newcomer, striding in confidently through the door. The others all turned to regard the young drow woman.

“How dare you?” Kiriy retorted, eyes wide with outrage and snake-headed scourge in hand.

“Melarni?” Saribel added with a snarl.

“I should kill you for even suggesting such a thing,” the woman answered.

Kiriy started to scold again, but the newcomer cut her short.

“I am Baenre,” Yvonnel said. “New to the First House, and yet I have lived there all my life.”

“A commoner servant newly inducted …?” Saribel started to ask, but Kiriy’s gasp cut her short, and indeed, was so desperate that all turned to regard her.