Exile (The Dark Elf Trilogy #2)(12)

But the hunter, the being who had survived a decade in the savage wilds of the Underdark, could not move from the ledge. The hunter, the being who had defeated a basilisk and countless other of this dangerous world’s monsters, could not give himself over in the hopes of civilized mercy. The hunter did not understand such concepts.

The massive stone doors closed-and the moment of flickering light in Drizzt’s darkening heart died-with a resounding crash.

After a long and tormented moment, Drizzt Do’Urden rolled off the ledge and dropped to the landing at the top of the stairs. His vision blurred suddenly as he made his way down, the path away from the teeming life beyond the doors, and it was only the primal instincts of the hunter that sensed the presence of still more svirfneblin guards. The hunter leaped wildly over the startled deep gnomes and rushed out again into the freedom offered by the wild Underdark’s open passageways.

When he had put the svirfneblin city far behind, Drizzt reached into his pocket and took out the statuette, the summons to his only companion. A moment later, though, Drizzt dropped the figurine back, refusing to call the cat, punishing himself for his weakness on the ledge. If he had been stronger on the ledge beside the immense doors, he could have put an end to his torment, one way or another.

The instincts of hunter battled Drizzt for control as he made his way along the passages that would take him back to the moss-filled cavern. As the Underdark and the press of undeniable danger continued to close in around him, those primal, alert instincts took command, denying any further distracting thoughts of the svirfnebli and their city.

Those primal instincts were the salvation and the damnation of Drizzt Do’Urden.





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.