Homeland (The Legend of Drizzt #1)(47)
Alton rested back in his seat across the table and put what was left of his acid-torn chin into a slender palm, carefully weighing the words of his secret partner.
“Matron SiNafay has plans that will bring you all the revenge you could possibly desire,” Masoj continued. “I warn you now, Alton DeVir,” he snarled, emphasizing the surname that was not Hun’ett, “that if you begin a war with House Do’Urden, or even put them on the defensive with any act of violence unsanctioned by Matron SiNafay, you will incur the wrath of House Hun’ett. Matron SiNafay will expose you as a murderous imposter and will exact every punishment allowable by the ruling council upon your pitiful bones!”
Alton had no way to refute the threat. He was a rogue, without family beyond the adopted Hun’etts. If SiNafay turned against him, he would find no allies. “What plan does SiNafay ... Matron SiNafay ... have for House Do’Urden?” he asked calmly. “Tell me of my revenge so that I may survive these torturous years of waiting.”
Masoj knew that he had to act carefully at this point. His mother had not forbidden him to tell Alton of the future course of action, but if she had wanted the volatile DeVir to know, Masoj realized, she would have told him herself.
“Let us just say that House Do’Urden’s power has grown, and continues to grow, to the point where it has become a very real threat to all the great houses,” Masoj purred, l oving the intrigue of positioning before a war. “Witness the fall of House DeVir, perfectly executed with no obvious trail. Many of Menzoberranzan’s nobles would rest easier if ...”
He let it go at that, deciding that he probably had said too much already.
By the hot glimmer in Alton’s eyes, Masoj could tell that the lure had been strong enough to buy Alton’s patience.
The Academy held many disappointments for young Drizzt, particularly in that first year, when so many of the dark realities of drow society, realities that Zaknafein had barely hinted at, remained on the edges of Drizzt’s cognizance with stubborn resilience. He weighed the masters’ lectures of hatred and mistrust in both hands, one side holding the masters’ views in the context of the lectures, the other bending those same words into the very different logic assumed by his old mentor. The truth seemed so ambiguous, so hard to define. Through all of the examination, Drizzt found that he could not escape one pervading fact: In his entire young life, the only treachery he had ever witnessed-and so often!-was at the hands of drow elves. The physical training of the Academy, hours on end of dueling exercises and stealth techniques, was more to Drizzt’s liking. Here, with his weapons so readily in his hands, he freed himself of the disturbing questions of truth and perceived truth.
Here he excelled. If Drizzt had come into the Academy with a higher level of training and expertise than that of his classmates, the gap grew only wider as the grueling m onths passed. He learned to look beyond the accepted defense and attack routines put forth by the masters and create his own methods, innovations that almost always at least equaled -and usually outdid- the standard techniques.
At first, Dinin listened with increasing pride as his peers exalted in his younger brother’s fighting prowess. So glowing came the compliments that the eldest son of Matron Malice soon took on a nervous wariness. Dinin was the elderboy of House Do’Urden, a title he had gained by eliminating Nalfein.
Drizzt, showing the potential to become one of the finest swordsmen in all of Menzoberranzan, was now the secondboy of the house, eyeing, perhaps, Dinin’s title. Similarly, Drizzt’s fellow students did not miss the growing brilliance of his fighting dance. Often they viewed it too close for their liking! They looked upon Drizzt with seething jealousy, wondering if they could ever measure up against his whirling scimitars. Pragmatism was ever a strong trait in drow elves. These young students had spent the bulk of their years observing the elders of their families twisting every situation into a favorable light. Everyone of them recognized the value of Drizzt Do’Urden as an ally, and thus, when the grand melee came around the next year,
Drizzt was inundated with offers of partnership. The most surprising query came from Kelnozz of House Kenafin, who had downed Drizzt through deceit the previous year. “Do we join again, this time to the very top of the class?” the haughty young fighter asked s he moved beside Drizzt down the tunnel to the prepared cavern. He moved around and stood before Drizzt easily, as if they were the best of friends, his forearms resting across the hilts of his belted weapons and an overly friendly smile spread across his face.
Drizzt could not even answer. He turned and walked away, pointedly keeping his eye over one shoulder as he left.
“Why are you so amazed?” Kelnozz pressed, stepping quickly to keep up.
Drizzt spun on him. “How could I join again with one who so deceived me?” he snarled. “I have not forgotten your trick!”
“That is the point,” Kelnozz argued. “You are more wary this year; certainly I would be a fool to attempt such a move again!”
“How else could you win?” said Drizzt. “You cannot defeat me in open battle.” His words were not a boast, just a fact that Kelnozz accepted as readily as Drizzt.
“Second rank is highly honored,” Kelnozz reasoned. Drizzt glared at him. He knew that Kelnozz would not settle for anything less than ultimate victory. “If we meet in the melee,” he said with cold finality, “it will be as opponents,” He walked off again, and this time Kelnozz did not follow.