Homeland (The Legend of Drizzt #1)(68)

“I suppose you should know,” Dinin t eased. “We were selected because we are the finest of the patrol groups, and you have certainly played an important role in our attaining that honor.”

“Chosen for what?”

“In a fortnight, we will leave Menzoberranzan,” explained Dinin. “Our trail will take us many days and many miles from the city.”

“How long?” Drizzt asked, suddenly very curious.

“Two weeks, maybe three,” replied Dinin, “but well worth the time. We shall be the ones, my young brother, who enact a measure of revenge upon our most hated foes, who strike a glorious blow for the Spider Queen!”

Drizzt thought that he understood, but the notion was too outrageous for him to be certain.

“The elves!” Dinin beamed. “We have been chosen for surface raid!” Drizzt was not as openly excited as his brother, unsure of the implications of such a mission. At last he would get to view the surface elves and face the truth of his heart and hopes. Something more real to

Drizzt, the disappointment he had known for so many years, tempered his elation, reminded him that while the truth of the elves might bring an excuse to the dark world of his kin, it might instead take away something more important. He was unsure how to feel.

“The surface,” Alton mused. “My sister went there once on a raid. A most marvelous experience, so she said,” He looked at Masoj, not knowing how to figure the forlorn expression on the young Hun’ett’s face. “Now your patrol makes the journey. I envy you.”

“I am not going,” Masoj declared.

“Why?” Alton gasped. “This is a rare opportunity indeed. Menzoberranzan-to the anger of Lloth, I am certain-has not staged a surface raid in two decades. It may be twenty more years before the next, and by then you will no longer be among the patrols.”

Masoj looked out from the small window of Alton’s room in House Hun’ett, surveying the compound.

“Besides,” Alton continued quietly, “up there, so far from prying eyes, you might find the chance to dispose of two Do’Urden’s. Why would you not go?”

“Have you forgotten a ruling that you played a part in?” Masoj asked, whirling on Alton accusingly. “Two decades ago, the masters of Sorcere decided that no wizards are to travel anywhere near the surface!”

“Of course,” Alton replied, remembering the meeting. Sorcere seemed so distant to him now though he had been within the Hun’ett house for only a few weeks. “We concluded that drow magic may work differently - unexpectedly- under the open sky,” he explained. “On that raid twenty years ago-”

“I know the story,” Masoj growled, and he finished the sentence for Alton. “A wizard’s fireball expanded beyond its normal dimensions, killing several drow. Dangerous side-effects, you masters called it, though I’ve a belief that the wizard conveniently disposed of some enemies under the guise of an accident!”

“Yes,” Alton agreed. “So said the rumors. In the absence of evidence...” He let the thought go, seeing that he was doing little to comfort Masoj. “That was so long ago,” he said, trying to offer some hope. “Have you no recourse?”

“None,” Masoj replied. “Things move so very slowly in Menzoberranzan; I doubt that the masters have even begun their investigation into the matter.”

“A pity,” Alton said. “It would have been the perfect opportunity.”

“No more of that!” Masoj scolded. “Matron SiNafay has not given me her command to eliminate Drizzt Do’Urden or his brother. You have already been warned to keep your personal desires to yourself. When the matron bids me to strike, I will not fail her. Opportunities can be created.”

“You speak as if you already know how Drizzt Do’Urden will die,” Alton said.

An smile spread over Masoj’s face as he reached into the pocket of his robe and produced the onyx figurine, his unthinking magical slave, which the foolish Drizzt had come to trust so dearly. “Oh, I do,” he replied, giving the statuette of Guenhwyvar an easy toss, then catching it and holding it out on display. “I do.”

The members of the chosen raiding party quickly came to realize that this would be no ordinary mission. They did not go out on patrol from Menzoberranzan at all during the next week. Rather, they remained, day and night, sequestered within a barrack of Melee-Magthere. Through nearly every waking hour, the raiders huddled around an oval table in a conference room, hearing the detailed plans of their pending adventure, and, over and over again, Master Hatch’net, the master of Lore, spinning his tales of the vile elves.

Drizzt listened intently to the stories, allowing himself, forcing himself, to fall within Hatch’net’s hypnotic web. The tales had to be true; Drizzt did not know what he would hold onto to preserve his principles if they were not. Dinin presided over the raid’s tactical preparations, displaying maps of the long tunnels the group would travel, grilling them over and over until they had memorized the route perfectly.

To this, as well, the eager raiders -except for Drizzt- listened intently, all the while fighting to keep their excitement from bursting out in a wild cheer. As the week of preparations neared its end, Drizzt took note that one member of the patrol group had not been attending. At first, Drizzt had reasoned that Masoj was learning his duties in the raid in Sorcere, with his old masters. With the departure time fast approaching and the battle plans clearly taking shape, though, Drizzt began to understand that Masoj would not be joining them.