Homeland (The Legend of Drizzt #1)(28)

“The cross-down defeats the attack, but to what gain?” Drizzt continued. “When the move is completed, my sword tips remain down too low for any effective attack routine, and you are able to slip back and free.”

“But you have defeated my attack.”

“Only to face another,” Drizzt argued. “The best position I can hope to obtain from the cross-down is an even stance.”

“Yes...” Zak prompted, not understanding his student’s problem with that scenario.

“Remember your own lesson!” Drizzt shouted. “’Every move should bring an advantage: you preach to me, but I see no advantage in using the cross-down.”

“You recite only one part of that lesson for your own purpose,” Zak scolded, now growing equally angry. “Complete the phrase, or use it not at all! ‘Every move should bring an advantage or take away a disadvantage: The cross-down defeats the double thrust low, and your opponent obviously has gained the advantage if he even attempts such a daring offensive maneuver! Returning to an even stance is far preferable at that moment.”

“The parry is wrong!” Drizzt said stubbornly.

“Pick up your blades,” Zak growled at him, taking a threatening step forward. Drizzt hesitated and Zak charged, his swords leading.

Drizzt dropped to a crouch, snatched up the scimitars, and rose to meet the assault while wondering if it was another lesson or a true attack.

The weapon master pressed furiously, snapping off cut after cut and backing Drizzt around in circles. Drizzt defended well enough and began to notice an all-too-familiar pattern as Zak’s attacks came consistently lower, again forcing the hilts of Drizzt’s weapons up and out over the scimitars’ blades.

Drizzt understood that Zak meant to prove his point with actions, not words. Seeing the fury on Zak’s face, though, Drizzt wasn’t certain how far the weapon master would carry his point. If Zak proved correct in his observations, would he strike again to Drizzt’s thigh? Or to his heart? Zak came up and under and Drizzt stiffened and straightened.

“Double thrust low,” the weapon master growled, and his swords dove in. Drizzt was ready for him. He executed the cross-down, smiling smugly at the ring of metal as his scimitars crossed over the thrusting swords. Drizzt then followed through with only one of his blades, thinking he could deflect both of Zak’s swords well enough in that manner. Now with one blade free of the parry, Drizzt spun it over in a devious counter.

As soon as Drizzt reversed the one hand, Zak saw the ploy-a ruse he had suspected Drizzt would try. Zak dropped one of his own sword tips-the one nearest to the hilt of Drizzt’s single parrying blade to the ground, and Drizzt, trying to maintain an even resistance and balance along the length of the blocking scimitar, lost his balance. Drizzt was quick enough to catch himself before he had stumbled too far, though his knuckles pinched into the stone of the floor. He still believed that he had Zak caught in his trap, and that he could finish his brilliant counter. He took a short step forward to regain his full balance.

The weapon master dropped straight down to the floor, under the arc of Drizzt’s swinging scimitar, and spun a single circuit, driving his booted heel into the back of Drizzt’s exposed knee. Before Drizzt had even realized the attack, he found himself lying flat on his back.

Zak abruptly broke his own momentum and threw his feet back under him. Before Drizzt could begin to understand the dizzying counter-counter, he found the weapon master standing over him with the tip of Zak’s sword painfully and pointedly drawing a tiny drop of blood from his throat.

“Have you anything more to say?” Zak growled.

“The parry is wrong,” Drizzt answered.

Zak’s laughter erupted from his belly. He threw his sword to the ground, reached down, and pulled the stubborn young student to his feet. He calmed quickly, his gaze finding that of Drizzt’s lavender orbs as he pushed the student out to arm’s length. Zak marveled at the ease of Drizzt’s stance, the way he held the twin scimitars almost as if they were a natural extension of his arms. Drizzt had been in training only a few months, but already he had mastered the use of nearly every weapon in the vast armory of House Do’Urden.

Those scimitars! Drizzt’s chosen weapons, with curving blades that enhanced the dizzying flow of the young fighter’s sweeping battle style. With those scimitars in hand, this young drow, barely more than a child, could outfight half the members of the Academy, and a shiver tingled through Zak’s spine when he pondered just how magnificent Drizzt would become after years of training.

It was not just the physical abilities and potential of Drizzt Do’Urden that made Zaknafein pause and take note, however. Zak had come to realize that Drizzt’s temperament was indeed different from that of the average drow; Drizzt possessed a spirit of innocence and lacked any maliciousness. Zak couldn’t help but feel proud when he looked upon Drizzt. In all manners, the young drow held to the same principles-morals so unusual in Menzoberranzan-as Zak.

Drizzt had recognized the connection as well, though he had no idea of how unique his and Zak’s shared perceptions were in the evil drow world. He realized that “Uncle Zak,” was different from any of the other dark elves he had come to know, though that included only his own amily and a few dozen of the house soldiers. Certainly Zak was much different from Briza, Drizzt’s oldest sister, with her zealous, almost blind, ambitions in the mysterious religion of Lloth. Certainly Zak was different from Matron Malice, Drizzt’s mother, who seemed never to say anything at all to Drizzt unless it was a command for service.