Homeland (The Legend of Drizzt #1)(63)

Just as the monster behind him was about to latch its claws onto him, Drizzt fell to his knees and cried, “Now!”

The concealed panther, crouched in the shadows at the peninsula’s base, did not hesitate. One great stride brought Guenhwyvar into position, and it sprang, crashing heavily onto the unsuspecting scrag, tearing the life from the thing before it could respond to the attack.

Drizzt finished off his troll and turned to admire the panther’s work. He extended his hand, and the great cat nuzzled it. How well the two fighters had come to know each other! thought Drizzt.

Another blast of lightning thundered in, this one close enough to steal Drizzt’s sight.

“Guenhwyvar!” Masoj Hun’ett, the bolt’s caster, cried. ”To my side!” The panther managed to brush against Drizzt’s leg as it moved to obey.

When his vision returned, Drizzt walked off in the other direction, not wanting to view the scolding that Guenhwyvar always seemed to receive when he and the cat worked together.

Masoj watched Drizzt’s back as he went, wanting to put a third bolt right between the young Do’Urden’s shoulder blades. The wizard of House Hun’ett did not miss the specter of Dinin Do’Urden, off to the side, watching with more than casual glances.

“Learn your loyalties!” Masoj snarled at Guenhwyvar. Too often, the panther left the wizard’s side to join in combat with Drizzt. Masoj knew that the cat was better complemented by the moves of a fighter, but he knew, too, the vulnerability of a wizard involved in spellcasting. Masoj wanted Guenhwyvar at his side, protecting him from enemies-he shot another glance at Dinin-and “friends,” alike.

He threw the statuette to the ground at his feet.

“Begone!” he commanded.

In the distance, Drizzt had engaged another scrag and made short work of it as well. Masoj shook his head as he watched the display of swordsmanship. Every day, Drizzt grew stronger.

“Give the order to kill him soon, Matron SiNafay,” Masoj whispered. The young wizard did not know how much longer he would be able to carry out the task. Masoj wondered whether he could win the fight even now. Drizzt shielded his eyes as he struck a torch to seal dead troll’s wounds. Only fire ensured that trolls would not recuperate, even from the grave.

The other battles had died away as well, Drizzt noted, and he saw the flames of torches springing up all across the bank of the lake. He wondered if all of his t welve drow companions had survived, though he also wondered if he truly cared. Others were more than ready to take their places.

Drizzt knew that the only companion who really mattered-Guenhwyvar-was safely back in its home on the Astral Plane.

“Form a guard!” came Dinin’s echoing command as the slaves, goblins, and orcs moved in to search for troll treasure, and to salvage whatever they might of the scrags.

When the fires had consumed the scrag he’d set ablaze, Drizzt dipped his torch in the black water, t hen paused for a ‘ moment to let his eyes readjust to the darkness. “Another day,” he said softly, “another enemy defeated.”

He liked the excitement of patrolling, the thrill of the edge of danger, and the knowledge that he was now putting his weapons to use against vile monsters.

Even here, though, Drizzt could not escape the lethargy that had come to pervade his life, the general resignation that marked his every step. For, though his battles these days were fought against the horrors of the Underdark, monsters killed of necessity, Drizzt had not forgotten the meeting in the chapel of House Do’Urden.

He knew that his scimitars soon would be put to use against the flesh of drow elves.

Zaknafein looked out over Menzoberranzan, as he so often did when Drizzt’spatrol group was out of the city. Zak was torn between wanting to sneak out of the house to fight at Drizzt’s side, and hoping that the patrol would return with the news that Drizzt had been slain.

Would Zak ever find the answer to the dilemma of the youngest Do’Urden? he wondered. Zak knew that he could not leave the house; Matron Malice was keeping a very close eye on him. She sensed his anguish over Drizzt, Zak knew, and she most definitely did not approve. Zak was often her lover, but they shared little other than that.

Zak thought back to the battles he and Malice had fought over Vierna, another child of common concern, centuries before. Vierna was a female, her fate sealed from the moment of her birth, and Zak could do nothing to halt the assault of the Spider Queen’s overwhelming religion.

Did Malice fear that he might have better luck influencing the actions of a male child? Apparently the matron did, but even Zak was not so certain if her fears were justified; even he couldn’t measure his influence o ver Drizzt. He peered out over the city now, silently watching for the patrol group’s return-waiting, as always, for Drizzt’s safe return, but secretly hoping, that his dilemma would be ended by the claws and fangs of a lurking monster.





Chapter 18

The Black Room


“My greetings, Faceless One,” the high priestess said, pushing past Alton into his private chambers in Sorcere.

“And mine to you, Mistress Vierna,” Alton replied, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. Vierna Do’Urden coming to see him at this time had to be more than coincidence. “What act has brought me the honor of a visit from a mistress of Arach-Tinilith?”

“No longer a mistress,” said Vierna. “I have returned to my home.”