Homeland (The Legend of Drizzt #1)(46)

Chapter 13

The Price of Winning


“You deceived me,” Drizzt said to Kelnozz that night in he barracks.

The room was black around them and no other Students stirred in their cots, exhausted from the day’s fighting and from their endless duties serving the older students.

Kelnozz fully expected this encounter. He had guessed Drizzt’s naivete early on, when Drizzt had actually queried him about the rules of engagement. An experienced drow warrior, particularly a noble, should have known better, should have understood that the only rule of his existence was the pursuit of victory. Now, Kelnozz knew this foolish young Do’Urden would not strike at him for his earlier actions--vengeance fueled by anger was not one of Drizzt’s traits.

“Why?” Drizzt pressed, finding no answer forthcoming from the smug commoner of House Kenafin.

The volume of Drizzt’s voice caused Kelnozz to glance around nervously. They were supposed to be sleeping; if a master heard them arguing...

“What is the mystery?” Kelnozz signaled back in the hand code, the warmth of his fingers glowing clearly to Drizzt’s heat sensing eyes. “I acted as I had to act, though I now believe I should have held off a bit longer. Perhaps, if you had defeated a few more, I might have finished higher than third in the class.”

“If we had worked together, as we had agreed, you might have won, or finished second at the least,” Drizzt signaled back, the sharp movements of his hands reflecting his anger.

“Most assuredly second,” Kelnozz replied. “I knew from the beginning that I would be no match for you. You are the finest swordsman I have ever seen.”

“Not by the masters’ standing,” Drizzt grumbled aloud.

“Eighth is not so low,” Kelnozz whispered back. “Berg’inyon is only ranked tenth, and he is from the ruling house of Menzoberranzan. You should be glad that your standing is not to be envied by your classmates.” A shuffle outside the room’s door sent Kelnozz back into the silent mode. “Holding a higher rank means only that I have more fighters eyeing my back as a convenient place to rest their daggers.”

Drizzt let the implications of Kelnozz’s statement slip by; he refused to consider such treachery in the Academy. “Berg’inyon was the finest fighter I saw in the grand melee,” he signaled. “He had you beaten until I interceded on your behalf.”

Kelnozz smiled the thought away. “Let Berg’inyon serve as cook in some lowly house for all I care,” he whispered even more quietly than before-for the son of House Baenre’s bunk was only a few yards away. “He is tenth, yet I, Kelnozz of Kenafin, am third!”

“I am eighth,” said Drizzt, an uncharacteristic edge on his voice, more anger than jealousy, “but I could defeat you with any weapon.”

Kelnozz shrugged, a strangely blurring movement to onlookers seeing in the infrared spectrum. “You did not,” he signaled. “I won our encounter.”

“Encounter?” Drizzt gasped. “You deceived me, that is all!”

“Who was left standing?” Kelnozz pointedly reminded him. “Who wore the blue light of a master’s wand?”

“Honor demands that there be rules of engagement,” growled Drizzt.

“There is a rule,” Kelnozz snapped back at him. “You may do whatever you can get a way with. I won our encounter, Drizzt Do’Urden, and I hold the higher rank! That is all that matters!”

In the heat of the argument, their voices had grown too loud. The door to the room swung wide, and a master stepped onto the threshold, his form vividly outlined by the hallway’s blue lights. Both students promptly rolled over and closed their eyes-and their mouths.

The finality of Kelnozz’s last statement rocked Drizzt to some prudent observations. He realized then that his friendship with Kelnozz had come to an end-and, perhaps, that he and Kelnozz had never been friends at all.

“You have seen him?” Alton asked, his fingers tapping anxiously on the small table in the highest chamber of his private quarters. Alton had set the younger students of Sorcere to work repairing the blasted place, but the scorch marks on the stone walls remained, a legacy of Alton’s fireball.

“I have,” replied Masoj. “I have heard of his skill with weapons.”

“Eighth in his class after the grand melee,” said Alton, “a fine achievement.”

“By all accounts, he has the prowess to be first,” said Masoj. “One day he will claim that title. 1 shall be careful around that one.”

“He will never live to claim it!” Alton promised. “House Do’Urden puts great pride in this purple-eyed youth, and thus I have decided upon Drizzt as my first target for revenge. His death will bring pain to that treacherous Matron Malice!”

Masoj saw a problem here and decided to put it to rest once and for all. “You will not harm him,” he warned Alton. “You will not even go near him.”

Alton’s tone became no less grim. “I have waited two decades-,” he began.

“You can wait a few more,” Masoj snapped back. “I remind you that you accepted Matron SiNafay’s invitation into House Hun’ett. Such an alliance requires obedience. Matron SiNafay -our matron mother- has placed upon my shoulders the task of handling Drizzt Do’Urden, and I will execute her will.”