Homeland (The Legend of Drizzt #1)(34)

Her casual explanation put Masoj at ease, but Matron SiNafay, so knowledgeable in the ways of drow society, had understood the risk she was taking from the moment she had accepted Alton DeVir into her house. Her plan seemed foolproof, and the possible gain-the elimination of this growing House Do’Urden was a tempting piece of bait.

But the dangers, too, were very real. While it was perfectly acceptable for one house to covertly destroy another, the consequences of failure could not be ignored. Earlier that very night, a lesser house had struck out against a rival and, if the rumors held true, had failed. The illuminations of the next day would probably force the ruling council to enact a pretense of justice, to make an example of the unsuccessful attackers. In her long life, Matron SiNafay had witnessed this “justice,” several times.

Not a single member of any of the aggressor houses-she was not even allowed to remember their names-had ever survived.

Zak awakened Drizzt early the next morning. “Come,” he said. “We are bid to go out of the house this day.”

All thoughts of sleep washed away from Drizzt at the news. “Outside the house?” he echoed. In all of his nineteen years, Drizzt had never once walked beyond the adamantite fence of the Do’Urden complex. He had only watched that outside world of Menzoberranzan from the balcony.

While Zak waited, Drizzt quickly collected his soft boots and his piwafwi. “Will there be no lesson this day?” Drizzt asked.

“We shall see,” was all that Zak replied, but in his thoughts, the weapon master figured that Drizzt might be in for one of the most startling revelations of his life. A house had failed in a raid, and the ruling council had requested the presence of all the nobles of the city, to bear witness to the weight of justice.

Briza appeared in the corridor outside the practice room’s door. “Hurry,” she scolded. “Matron Malice does not wish our house to be among the last groups joining the gathering!”

The matron mother herself, floating atop a blue-glowing disk-for matron mothers rarely walked through the city, led the procession out of House Do’Urden’s grand gate. Briza walked at her mother’s side, with Maya and Rizzen in the second rank and Drizzt and Zak taking up the rear. Vierna and Dinin, attending to the duties of their positions in the Academy, had gone to the ruling council’s summons with a different group.

All the city was astir this morning, rumbling in the rumors of the failed raid. Drizzt walked through the bustle wide-eyed, staring in wonderment at the close-up view of the decorated drow houses. Slaves of every inferior race, goblins, orcs, even giants-scrambled out of the way, recognizing Malice, riding her enchanted carriage, as a matron mother.

Drow commoners halted conversations and remained respectfully silent as the noble family passed.

As they made their way toward the northwestern section, the location of the guilty house, they came into a lane blocked by a squabbling caravan of duergar, gray dwarves. A dozen carts had been overturned or locked together, apparently, two groups of duergar had come into the narrow lane together, neither relinquishing the right-of-way.

Briza pulled the snake-headed whip from her belt and chased off a few of the creatures, clearing the way for Malice to float up to the apparent leaders of the two groups. The dwarves turned on her angrily-until they realized her station.

“Beggin’ yer pardon, Madam,” one of them stammered. “Unfortunate accident is all,” Malice eyed the contents of one of the nearest carts, crates of giant crab legs and other delicacies.

“You have slowed my journey,” Malice said calmly. “We have come to your city in hopes of trade,” the other duergar explained. He cast an angry glare at his counterpart, and Malice understood that the two were rivals, probably bartering the same goods to the same drow house.

“I will forgive your insolence...” she offered graciously, still eyeing the crates.

The two duergar suspected what was forthcoming. So did Zak. “We eat well tonight,” he whispered to Drizzt with a sly ink. “Matron Malice would not let such an opportunity slip by without gain.”

“... if you can see your way to deliver half of these carts to the gate of House Do’Urden this night,” Malice finished. The duergar started to protest but quickly dismissed the foolish notion. How they hated dealing with drow elves!

“You will be compensated appropriately,” Malice continued. “House Do’Urden is not a poor house. Between both of your caravans, you will still have enough goods to satisfy the house you came to see.”

Neither of the duergar could refute the simple logic, but under these trading circumstances, where they had offended a matron mother, they knew the compensation for their valuable foods would hardly be appropriate. Still, the gray dwarves could only accept it ll as a risk of doing business in Menzoberranzan. They bowed politely and set their troops to clearing the way for the drow procession.

House Teken’duis , the unsuccessful raiders of the previous night, had barricaded themselves within their two-stalagmite structure, fully expecting what was to come. Outside their gates, all of the nobles of Menzoberranzan, more than a thousand drow, had gathered, with Matron Baenre and the other seven matron mothers of the ruling council at their head. More disastrous for he guilty house, the entirety of the three schools of the Academy, students and instructors, had surrounded the Teken’duis compound. Matron Malice led her group to the front line behind the ruling matrons. As she was matron of the ninth house, only one step from the council, other drow nobles readily stepped out of her way.