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Homeland (part 2 chapter 3)

2006-08-28 22:23

  CHAPTER 3

  Snakes And Swords

  “How many weeks has it been?” Dinin signaled to Briza in the silent hand code of the drow. “How many weeks have we hunted through these tunnels for our renegade brother?”

  Dinin's expression revealed his sarcasm as he motioned the thoughts. Briza scowled at him and did not reply. She cared for this tedious duty even less than he. She was a high priestess of Lloth and had been the eldest daughter, accorded a high place of honor within the family structure. Never before would Briza have been sent off on such a hunt. But now, for some unexplained reason, SiNafay Hun'ett had joined the family, relegating Briza to a lesser position.

  “Five?” Dinin continued, his anger growing with each darting movement of his slender fingers. “Six? How long has it been, sister?” he pressed. “How long has SiNaf-Shi'nayne. . . been sitting at Matron Malice's side?”

  Briza's snake-headed whip came off her belt, and she spun angrily on her brother. Dinin, realizing that he had gone too far with his sarcastic prodding, defensively drew his sword, and tried to duck away. Briza's strike came faster, easily defeating Dinin's pitiful attempt at a parry, and three of the six heads connected squarely on the elderboy Do'Urden's chest and shoulder. Cold pain spread through Dinin's body, leaving only a helpless numbness in its wake. His sword arm drooped and he started to topple forward.

  Briza's powerful hand shot out and caught him by the throat as he swooned, easily lifting him onto his toes. Then, looking around at the other five members of the hunting party to ensure that none were moving in Dinin's favor, Briza slammed her stunned brother roughly into the stone wall. The high priestess leaned heavily on Dinin, one hand tight against his throat.

  “A wise male would measure his gestures more carefully,' Briza snarled aloud, though she and the others had been explicitly instructed by Matron Malice not to communicate in any method other than the silent code once they were beyond Menzoberranzan's borders.

  It took Dinin a long while to fully appreciate his predicament. As the numbness wore away, he realized that he could not draw breath, and though his hand still held his sword, Briza, outweighing him by a score of pounds, had it pinned close to his side. Even more distressing, his sister's free hand held the dreaded snake-whip aloft. Unlike ordinary whips, that evil instrument needed little room to work its snap. The animated snake heads could coil and strike from close range simply as an extension of their wielder's will.

  “Matron Malice would not question your death,' Briza whispered harshly. ”Her sons have ever been trouble to her!“

  Dinin looked past his hulking captor to the common soldiers of the patrol.

  “Witnesses?” Briza laughed, guessing his thoughts. “Do you really believe they will speak against a high priestess for the sake of a mere male?” Briza's eyes

  narrowed and she moved her face right up to Dinin's. “A mere male corpse?” She cackled once again and released Dinin suddenly, and he dropped to his knees, struggling to regain a normal rhythm to his breathing.

  “Come,' Briza signaled in the silent code to the rest of the patrol. ”I sense that my youngest brother is not in this area. We shall return to the city and restock our packs:'

  Dinin watched his sister's back as she made the preparations for their departure. He wanted nothing more than to put his sword between her shoulder blades. Dinin was smarter than to try such a move, though. Briza had been a high priestess of the Spider Queen for more than three centuries and was now in the favor of Lloth, even if Matron Malice and the rest of House Do'Urden was not. Even if her evil goddess had not been looking over her, Briza was a formidable foe, skilled in spells and with that cruel whip always ready at her side.

  “My sister,' Dinin called after her as she started away. Briza spun on him, surprised that he would dare to speak aloud to her.

  “Accept my apologies,' Dinin said. He motioned for the other soldiers to keep moving, then returned to using the hand code, so that the commoners would not know his further conversation with Briza.

  “I am not pleased by the addition of SiNafay Hun'ett to the family,' Dinin explained.

  Briza's lips curled up in one of her typically ambiguous smiles, Dinin couldn't be sure if she was agreeing with him or mocking him. “You think yourself wise enough to question the decisions of Matron Malice?” her fingers asked.

  “No!” Dinin signaled back emphatically. “Matron Malice does as she must, and always for the welfare of House Do'Urden. But I do not trust the displaced Hun'ett. SiNafay watched her house smashed into bits of heated rock by the judgment of the ruling council. All of her treasured children were slain, and most of her commoners as well. Can she truly be loyal to House Do'Urden after such a loss?”

  “Foolish male,' Briza signaled in reply. ”Priestesses understand that loyalty is owed only to Lloth. SiNafay's house is no more, thus SiNafay is no more. She is Shi'nayne Do'Urden now, and by the order of the Spider Queen, she will fully accept all of the responsibilities that accompany the name:'

  “I do not trust her,' Dinin reiterated. ”Nor am I pleased to see my sisters, the true Do'Urdens, moved down the hierarchy to make room for her. Shi'nayne should have been placed beneath Maya, or housed among the commoners:'

  Briza snarled at him, though she wholeheartedly agreed.

  “Shi'nayne's rank in the family is of no concern to you. House Do'Urden is stronger for the addition of another high priestess. That is all a male need care about!”

  Dinin nodded his acceptance of her logic and wisely sheathed his sword before beginning to rise from his knees. Briza likewise replaced the snake-whip on her belt but continued to watch her volatile brother out of the corner of her eye.

  Dinin would be more careful around Briza now. He knew that his survival depended on his ability to walk beside his sister, for Malice would continue to send Briza out on these hunting patrols beside him. Briza was the strongest of the Do'Urden daughters, with the best chance of finding and capturing Drizzt. And Dinin, having been a patrol leader for the city for more than a decade, was the most familiar of anyone in the house with the tunnels beyond Menzoberranzan.

  Dinin shrugged at his rotten luck and followed his sister back down the tunnels to the city. A short respite, no more than a day, and they would be back on the march again, back on the prowl for their elusive and dangerous brother, whom Dinin truly had no desire to find.

  Guenhwyvar's head turned abruptly and the great panther froze perfectly still, one paw cocked and ready to move.

  “You heard it, too,' Drizzt whispered, moving tightly to the panther's side. ”Come, my friend. Let us see what new enemy has entered our domain:'

  They sped off together, equally silent, down corridors they knew so very well. Drizzt stopped suddenly, and Guenhwyvar did likewise, at the echo of a scuffle. It was made by a boot, Drizzt knew, and not by some natural monster of the Underdark. Drizzt pointed up to a broken pile of rubble overlooking a wide and many-tiered cavern on its other side. Guenhwyvar led him there, where they could find a better vantage point. The drow patrol came into view only a few moments later, a group of seven, though they were too far away for Drizzt to make out any particulars. Drizzt was amazed that he had heard them so easily, for he remembered those days when he had taken the point position on such patrols. How alone he had felt then, up at the lead of more than a dozen dark elves, for they made not a whisper with their practiced movements and they kept to the shadows so well that even Drizzt's keen eyes could not begin to locate them.

  And yet, this hunter that Drizzt had become, this primal, instinctive self, had found this group easily.

  Briza stopped suddenly and closed her eyes, concentrating on the emanations of her spell of location.

  “What is it?” Dinin's fingers asked her when she looked back to him. Her startled and obviously excited expression revealed much.

  “Drizzt?” Dinin breathed aloud, hardly able to believe.

  “Silence!” Briza's hands cried out at him. She glanced around to survey her surroundings, then signaled to the patrol to follow her to the shadows of the wall in the immense, and exposed, cavern.

  Briza nodded her confirmation to Dinin then, confident that their mission would at last be completed.

  “Can you be sure it is Drizzt?” Dinin's fingers asked. In his excitement, he could barely keep the movements precise enough to convey his thoughts. “Perhaps some scavenger-”

  “We know that our brother lives,' Briza motioned quickly.

  “Matron Malice would no longer be out of Lloth's favor if it were otherwise. And if Drizzt lives, then we can assume that he possesses the item'”

  The sudden evasive movement of the patrol caught Drizzt by surprise. The group could not possibly have seen him under the cover of the jutting rocks, and he held faith in the silence of his footfalls, and of Guenhwyvar's. Yet Drizzt felt certain that it was he the patrol was hiding from. Something felt out of place in this whole encounter. Dark elves were rare this far from Menzoberranzan. Perhaps it was no more than the paranoia necessary to survive in the wilds of the Underdark, Drizzt told himself. Still, he suspected that more than chance had brought this group to his domain.

  “Go, Guenhwyvar,' he whispered to the cat. ”View our guests and return to me:' The panther sped away through the shadows circumventing the large cavern. Drizzt sank low into the rubble, listened, and waited.

  Guenhwyvar returned to him only a minute later, though it seemed an eternity to Drizzt.

  “Did you know them?” Drizzt asked. The cat scratched a paw across the stone.

  “Of our old patrol?” Drizzt wondered aloud. “The fighters you and I walked beside?”

  Guenhwyvar seemed uncertain and made no definite movements.

  “A Hun'ett then,' Drizzt said, thinking he had solved the riddle. House Hun'ett had at last come looking for him to repay him for the deaths of Alton and Masoj, the two Hun'ett wizards who had died trying to kill Drizzt. Or perhaps the Hun'etts had come in search of Guenhwyvar, the magical item that Masoj once had possessed.

  When Drizzt took a moment from his pondering to study Guenhwyvar's reaction, he realized that his assumptions were wrong. The panther had backed away from him a step and seemed agitated by his stream of suppositions.

  “Then who?” Drizzt asked. Guenhwyvar reared up on its hind legs and straddled Drizzt's shoulders, one great paw patting Drizzt's neck-purse. Not understanding, Drizzt slipped the item off his neck and emptied its contents into a palm, revealing a few gold coins, a small gemstone, and the emblem of his house, a silvery token engraved with the initials of Daermon N'a'shezbaernon, House Do'Urden. Drizzt realized at once what Guenhwyvar was hinting at. “My family,' he whispered harshly. Guenhwyvar backed away from him and again scratched a paw excitedly across the stone.

  A thousand memories flooded through Drizzt at that moment, but all of them, good and bad, led him inescapably to one possibility: Matron Malice had neither forgiven nor forgotten his actions on that fated day. Drizzt had abandoned her and the ways of the Spider Queen, and he knew well enough the ways of Lloth to realize that his actions had not left his mother in good standing.

  Drizzt looked back into the gloom of the wide cavern.

  “Come,' he panted to Guenhwyvar, and he ran off down the tunnels. His decision to leave Menzoberranzan had been painful and uncertain, and now Drizzt had no desire to encounter his kin and rekindle all of the doubts and fears.

  He and Guenhwyvar ran on for more than an hour, turning down secret passageways and crossing into the most confusing sections of the area's tunnels. Drizzt knew the region intimately and felt certain that he could leave the patrol group far behind with little effort.

  But when at last he paused to catch his breath, Drizzt sensed-and he only had to look at Guenhwyvar to confirm his suspicions-that the patrol was still on his trail, perhaps even closer than before.

  Drizzt knew then that he was being magically tracked, there could be no other explanation. “But how?” he asked the panther. “I am hardly the drow they knew as a brother, in appearance or in thought. What could they be sensing that would be familiar enough for their magical spells to hold on to?” Drizzt surveyed himself quickly, his eyes first falling upon his crafted weapons.

  The scimitars were indeed wondrous, but so were the majority of the drow weapons in Menzoberranzan. And these particular blades had not even been crafted in House Do'Urden and were not of any design favored by Drizzt's family. His cloak then, he wondered? The piwafwi was a signpost of a house, bearing the stitch patterns and designs of a single family. But Drizzt's piwafwi had been tattered and torn beyond recognition and he could hardly believe that a location spell would recognize it as belonging to House Do'Urden.

  “Belonging to House Do'Urden,' Drizzt whispered aloud. He looked at Guenhwyvar and nodded suddenly-he had his answer. He again removed his neck pouch and took out the token, the emblem of Daermon N'a'shezbaernon. Created by magic, it possessed its own magic, a dweomer distinct to that one house. Only a noble of House Do'Urden would carry one.

  Drizzt thought for a moment, then replaced the token and slipped the neck-purse over Guenhwyvar's head. “Time for the hunted to become the hunter,' he purred to the great cat.

  “He knows he is being followed,' Dinin's hands flashed to Briza. Briza didn't justify the statement with a reply. Of course Drizzt knew of the pursuit, it was obvious that he was trying to evade them. Briza remained unconcerned. Drizzt's house emblem burned as a distinct directional beacon in her magically enhanced thoughts.

  Briza stopped, though, when the party came to a fork in the passage. The signal came from beyond the fork, but not in any definitive way to either side. “Left,' Briza signaled to three of the commoner soldiers, then, ”Right,' to the remaining two. She held her brother back, signaling that she and Dinin would hold their position at the fork to serve as a reserve for both groups.

  High above the scattering patrol, hovering in the shadows of the stalactite-covered ceiling, Drizzt smiled at his cunning. The patrol might have kept pace with him, but it would have no chance at all of catching Guenhwyvar.

  The plan had been executed and completed to perfection, for Drizzt had only meant to lead the patrol on until it was far from his domain and weary of the hopeless search. But as Drizzt floated there, looking down upon his brother and eldest sister, he found himself longing for something more.

  A few moments passed, and Drizzt was certain that the dispatched soldiers were a good distance away. He drew out his scimitars, thinking then that a meeting with his siblings might not be so bad after all.

  “He moves farther away,' Briza spoke to Dinin, not fearing the sound of her own voice, since she felt certain of her renegade brother's distant position. ”At great speed:'

  “Drizzt was always adept in the Underdark,' Dinin replied, nodding. ”He will prove a difficult catch:'

  Briza snickered. “He will tire long before my spells expire. We will find him breathless in a dark hole:' But Briza's cockiness turned to blank amazement a second later when a dark form dropped right between her and Dinin.

  Dinin, too, hardly even registered the shock of it all. He saw Drizzt for just a split second, then his eyes crisscrossed, following the descending arc of a scimitar's rushing hilt. Dinin went down heavily, with the smooth stone of the floor pressing against his cheek, a sensation to which Dinin was oblivious.

  Even as one hand did its work on Dinin, Drizzt's other hand shot a scimitar tip close to Briza's throat, meaning to force her surrender. Briza was not as surprised as Dinin, though, and she always kept a hand close to her whip. She danced back from Drizzt's attack, and six snake heads shot up into the air, coiled and searching for an opening. Drizzt turned full to face her, weaving his scimitars into defensive patterns to keep the stinging vipers at bay. He remembered the bite of those dreaded whips, like every drow male, he had been taught it many times during his childhood.

  “Brother Drizzt,' Briza said loudly, hoping the patrol would hear her and understand the call back to her side. ”Lower your weapons. It does not have to be like this:'

  The sound of familiar words, of drow words, overwhelmed Drizzt. How good it was to hear them again, to remember that he was more than a single-minded hunter, that his life was more than mere survival.

  “Lower your weapons,' Briza said again, more pointedly.

  “Wh-why are you here?” Drizzt stammered at her.

  “For you, of course, my brother,' Briza replied, too kindly.

  “The war with House Hun'ett is, at long last, ended. It is time for you to come home:'

  A part of Drizzt wanted to believe her, wanted to forget those facts of drow life that had forced him out of the city of his birth. A part of Drizzt wanted to drop the scimitars to the stone and return to the shelter-and the companionship-of his former life. Briza's smile was so inviting.

  Briza recognized his weakening resolve. “Come home, dear Drizzt,' she purred, her words holding the bindings of a minor magical spell. ”You are needed. You are the weapon master of House Do'Urden now:'

  The sudden change in Drizzt's expression told Briza that she had erred. Zaknafein, Drizzt's mentor and dearest friend, had been the weapon master of House Do'Urden, and Zaknafein had been sacrificed to the Spider Queen. Drizzt would never forget that fact.

  Indeed, Drizzt remembered much more than the comforts of home at that moment. He remembered even more clearly the wrongs of his past life, the wickedness that his principles simply could not tolerate.

  “You should not have come,' Drizzt said, his voice sounding like a growl. ”You must never come this way again!“

  “Dear brother,' Briza replied, more to buy time than to correct her obvious error. She stood still, her face frozen in that double-edged smile of hers.

  Drizzt looked behind Briza's lips, which were thick and full by drow standards. The priestess spoke no words, but Drizzt could clearly see that her mouth was moving behind that frozen smile.

  A spell!

  Briza had always been skilled at such deceptions……“Go home!” Drizzt cried at her, and he launched an attack.

  Briza ducked away from the blow easily enough, for it was not meant to strike, only to disrupt her spellcasting.

  “Damn you, Drizzt the rogue,' she spat, all pretense of friendship gone. ”Lower your weapons at once, on pain of death!“ Her snake-whip came up in open threat.

  Drizzt set his feet wide apart. Fires burned in his lavender eyes as the hunter within him rose to meet the challenge.

  Briza hesitated, taken aback by the sudden ferocity brewing in her brother. This was no ordinary drow warrior standing before her, she knew beyond doubt. Drizzt had become something more than that, something more formidable.

  But Briza was a high priestess of Lloth, near the top of the drow hierarchy. She would not be frightened away by a mere male.

  “Surrender!” she demanded. Drizzt couldn't even decipher her words, for the hunter standing against Briza was no longer Drizzt Do'Urden. The savage, primal warrior that memories of dead Zaknafein had invoked was impervious to words and lies.

  Briza's arm pumped, and the whip's six viper heads whirled in, twisting and weaving of their own volition to gain the best angles of attack.

  The hunter's scimitars responded in an indistinguishable blur. Briza couldn't begin to follow their lightning-quick motions, and when her attack routine was ended, she knew only that none of the snake-heads had found a mark, but that only five of the heads remained attached to the whip.

  Now in rage that nearly matched her opponent's, Briza charged in, flailing away with her damaged weapon. Snakes and scimitars and slender drow limbs intertwined in a deadly ballet.

  A head bit into the hunter's leg, sending a burst of cold pain coursing through his veins. A scimitar defeated another deceptive attack, splitting a head down the middle, right between the fangs.

  Another head bit into the hunter. Another head fell free to the stone.

  The opponents separated, taking measure of each other. Briza's breath came hard after the few furious minutes, but the hunter's chest moved easily and rhythmically. Briza had not been struck, but Drizzt had taken two hits.

  The hunter had learned long ago to ignore pain, though. He stood ready to continue, and Briza, her whip now sporting only three heads, stubbornly came in on him. She hesitated for a split-second when she noticed Dinin still prone on the floor but with his senses apparently returning. Might her brother rise to her aid?

  Dinin squirmed and tried to stand but found no strength in his legs to lift him.

  “Damn you,' Briza growled, her venom aimed at Dinin, or at Drizzt-it didn't matter. Calling on the power of her Spider Queen deity, the high priestess of Lloth lashed out with all of her strength.

  Three snake heads dropped to the floor after a single cross of the hunter's blades.

  “Damn you!” Briza screamed again, this time pointedly at Drizzt. She grasped the mace from her belt and swung a vicious overhand chop at her defiant brother's head.

  Crossed scimitars caught the clumsy blow long before it found its mark, and the hunter's foot came up and kicked once, twice, and then a third time into Briza's face before it went back to the floor.

  Briza staggered backward, blood in her eyes and running freely from her nose. She made out the lines of her brother's form beyond the blurring heat of her own blood, and she launched a desperate, wide-arcing hook.

  The hunter set one scimitar to parry the mace, turning its blade so that Briza's hand ran down its cruel edge even as the mace swept wide of its mark. Briza screamed in agony and dropped her weapon.

  The mace fell to the floor beside two of her fingers. Dinin was up then, behind Drizzt, with his sword in his hand. Using all of her discipline, Briza kept her eyes locked on Drizzt, holding his attention. If she could distract him long enough. . .

  The hunter sensed the danger and spun on Dinin.

  All that Dinin saw in his brother's lavender eyes was his own death. He threw his sword to the ground and crossed his arms over his chest in surrender.

  The hunter issued a growling command, hardly intelligible, but Dinin fathomed its meaning well enough, and he ran away as fast as his legs could carry him.

  Briza started to slip around, meaning to follow Dinin, but a scimitar blade cut her off, locking under her chin and forcing her head so far back that all she could see was the dark stone of the ceiling.

  Pain burned in the hunter's limbs, pain inflicted by this one and her evil whip. Now the hunter meant to end the pain and the threat. This was his domain!

  Briza uttered a final prayer to Lloth as she felt the razor-sharp edge begin its cut. But then, in the instant of a black blur, she was free. She looked down to see Drizzt pinned to the floor by a huge black panther. Not taking the time to ask questions, Briza sped off down the tunnel after Dinin.

  The hunter squirmed away from Guenhwyvar and leaped to his feet. “Guenhwyvar!” he cried, pushing the panther away. “Get her! Kill . . . !”

  Guenhwyvar replied by falling into a sitting position and issuing a wide and drawn out yawn. With one lazy movement, the panther brought a paw under the string of the neck-purse and snapped it off to the ground.

  The hunter burned with rage. “What are you doing?” he screamed, snatching up the purse. Had Guenhwyvar sided against him? Drizzt backed away a step,

  hesitantly bringing his scimitars up between him and the panther. Guenhwyvar made no move, but just sat there staring at Drizzt.

  A moment later, the click of a crossbow told Drizzt of the absolute absurdity of his line of thinking. The dart would have found him, no doubt, but Guenhwyvar sprang up suddenly and intercepted its flight. Drow poison had no effect on the likes of a magical cat.

  Three drow fighters appeared on one side of the fork, two more on the other. All thoughts of revenge on Briza flew from Drizzt then, and he followed Guenhwyvar in full flight down the twisting passageways. Without the guidance of the high priestess and her magic, the commoner fighters did not even attempt to follow.

  A long while later, Drizzt and Guenhwyvar turned into a side passage and paused in their flight, listening for any sounds of pursuit.

  “Come:' Drizzt instructed, and he started slowly away, certain that the threat of Dinin and Briza had been successfully repelled.

  Again Guenhwyvar dropped to a sitting position.

  Drizzt looked curiously at the panther. “I told you to come:' he growled. Guenhwyvar fixed a stare upon him, a look that filled the renegade drow with guilt. Then the cat rose and walked slowly toward its master.

  Drizzt nodded his accord, thinking that Guenhwyvar meant to obey him. He turned and started again to walk off, but the panther circled around him, stopping his progress. Guenhwyvar continued the circular pacing and slowly the telltale mist began to appear.

  “What are you doing?” Drizzt demanded.

  Guenhwyvar did not slow.

  “I did not dismiss you!” Drizzt shouted as the panther's corporeal form melted away. Drizzt spun about frantically, trying to catch hold of something.

  “I did not dismiss you!” he cried again, helplessly.

  Guenhwyvar had gone.

  It was a long walk back to Drizzt's sheltered cave. That last image of Guenhwyvar followed his every step, the cat's saucer eyes boring into his back. Guenhwyvar had judged him, he realized beyond any doubt. In his blind rage, Drizzt had almost killed his sister, he surely would have slain Briza if Guenhwyvar

  had not pounced upon him. At last, Drizzt crawled into the little stone cubby that served as his bedroom.

  His contemplations crawled in with him. A decade before, Drizzt had killed Masoj Hun'ett, and on that occasion had vowed never to kill a drow again. For Drizzt, his word was the core of his principles, those very same principles that had forced him to give up so very much.

  Drizzt surely would have forsaken his word this day had it not been for Guenhwyvar's actions. How much better, then, was he from those dark elves he had left behind?

  Drizzt clearly had won the encounter against his siblings and was confident that he could continue to hide from Briza-and from all the other enemies that Matron Malice sent against him. But alone in that tiny cave, Drizzt realized something that distressed him greatly.

  He couldn't hide from himself.

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