Homeland (The Legend of Drizzt #1)(55)

“Have you learned your lesson this day?” Masoj asked Drizzt, though Alton realized that the question was also directed his way.

Drizzt shook his head. “I am not certain of the point of all this,” he answered honestly.

“A display of the weakness of magic,” Masoj explained, trying to disguise the truth of the encounter, “to show you the disadvantage caused by the necessary intensity of a casting wizard; to show you the vulnerability of a mage obsessed-,” he eyed Alton directly at this point-“with spellcasting. The complete vulnerability when a wizard’s intended prey becomes his overriding concern.”

Drizzt recognized the lie for what it was, but he could not understand the motives behind this day’s events. Why would a master of Sorcere attack him so? Why would Masoj, still just a student, risk so much to come to his defense?

“Let us bother the master no more,” Masoj said, hoping to deflect Drizzt’s curiosity further. “Come with me now to our practice hall. I will show you more of Guenhwyvar, my magical pet.”

Drizzt looked to Alton, wondering what the unpredictable master would do next. “Do go,” Alton said calmly, knowing the facade Masoj had begun would be his only way around the wrath of his adopted matron mother. “I am confident that this day’s lesson was learned,” he said, his eyes on Masoj.

Drizzt glanced back to Masoj, then back to Alton again. He let it go at that. He wanted to learn more of Guenhwyvar.

When Masoj had Drizzt back in the privacy of the tutor’s own room, he took out the polished onyx figurine in the form of a anther and called Guenhwyvar back to his side. The mage breathed easier after he had introduced Drizzt to the cat, for Drizzt spoke no more about the incident with Alton.

Never before had Drizzt encountered such a wonderful magical item. He sensed a strength in Guenhwyvar, a dignity, that belied the beast’s enchanted nature. Truly, the cat’s sleek muscles and graceful moves epitomized the hunting qualities drow elves so dearly desired. Just by watching Guenhwyvar’s movements, Drizzt believed, he could improve his own techniques. Masoj let them play together and spar together for hours, grateful that Guenhwyvar could help him smooth over any damage that foolish Alton had done.

Drizzt had already put his meeting with the faceless mother far behind him. “Matron SiNafay would not understand,” Masoj warned Alton when they were alone later that day.

“You will tell her,” Alton reasoned matter-of-factly. So frustrated was he with his failure to kill Drizzt that he hardly cared.

Masoj shook his head. “She need not know.”

A suspicious smile found its way across Alton’s disfigured face. “What do you want?” he asked coyly. “Your tenure here is almost at its end. What more might a master do for Masoj?”

“Nothing,” Masoj replied. “I want nothing from you.”

“Then why?” Alton demanded. “I desire no debts following my paths. This incident is to be done with here and now!”

“It is done,” Masoj replied. Alton didn’t seem convinced. “What could I gain from telling Matron SiNafay of your foolish actions?” Masoj reasoned. “Likely, she would kill you, and then the coming war with House Do’Urden would have no basis. You are the link we need to justify the attack. I desire this battle; I’ll not risk it for the little pleasure I might find in your tortured demise.”

“I was foolish,” Alton admitted, more somberly. “I had not planned to kill Drizzt when I summoned him here, just to watch him and learn of him, so that I might savor more when the time to kill him finally arrived. Seeing him before me, though, seeing a cursed Do’Urden standing unprotected before me ... !”

“I understand,” said Masoj sincerely. “I have had those same feelings when looking upon that one.”

“You have no grudge against House Do’Urden.”

“Not the house,” Masoj explained, “that one! I have watched him for nearly a decade, studied his movements and his attitudes.”

“You like not what you see?” Alton asked, a hopeful tone in his voice.

“He does not belong,” Masoj replied grimly. “After six months by his side, I feel I know him less now than I ever did. He displays no ambition, yet has emerged victorious from his class’s grand melee nine years in a row. It’s unprecedented! His grasp of magic is strong; he could have been a wizard, a very powerful wizard, if he had chosen that course of study.”

Masoj clenched his fist, searching for the words to convey his true emotions about Drizzt. “It is all too easy for him,” he snarled. “There is no sacrifice in Drizzt’s actions, no scars for the great gains he makes in his chosen profession.”

“He is gifted,” Alton remarked, “but he trains as hard as a any I have ever seen, by all accounts.”

“That is not the problem,” Masoj groaned in frustration. There was something less tangible about Drizzt Do’Urden’s character that truly irked the young Hun’ett. He couldn’t recognize it now, because he had never witnessed it in any dark elf before, and because it was so very foreign to his own makeup. What bothered Masoj-and many other students and masters- was the fact that Drizzt excelled in all the fighting skills the drow elves most treasured but hadn’t given up his passion in return. Drizzt had not paid the price that the rest of the drow children were made to sacrifice long before they had even entered the Academy.