Realm Of The Underdark Part 2

Performing his best imitation of the weapons master, Drizzt stalked around the rat. The creature hissed, raising its hackles and baring yellow teeth. Drizzt lunged forward with the magically sharpened spoon. Quick as he was, the rat was quicker. It scuttled past him, running from the feast hall. With a whoop, Drizzt ran after, careening down a corridor. He gained on his enemy, then sprang forward, landing in front of it. The creature backed into a corner, hissing and spitting, eyes glowing with hate. Drizzt closed in to finish off his foe. As he had seen Zaknafein do a hundred times, he raised his weapon, then spun around to bring it down in a swift killing blow.

He froze, halting the spoon a fraction of an inch from disaster. Sensing its opportunity, the rat dashed between Drizzt's legs and disappeared through a crack. Drizzt did not watch it go. Instead, his eyes remained riveted on the object before his face.

A web. The silvery strands stretched like gossamer across the corner of the corridor. In the center of the web, like a plump jewel, clung a small spider.

Had he not halted his swing at the last moment, his arm would have plunged right through the fragile strands. With great care, Drizzt lowered the spoon.

All spiders were sacred to the G.o.ddess Lloth. To disturb one's web would have earned him a long appointment with Briza's whip. But if he had accidentally killed the arachnid ...

Drizzt let out a low breath. The punishment for killing a spider was death: quick, painful, and with no chance of reprieve.

Despite the fatal nature of his near accident, Drizzt drew closer to the web in fascination, studying the spider in the center. "I don't understand this Lloth of yours," he murmured aloud. "Everybody seems to want her favor. My mother. My sisters. All the other n.o.ble houses. They'll do anything to get it.

But they're terrified of Lloth, too. Sometimes I even think they hate her. But that only makes them wors.h.i.+p her all the Harder. Why? Why is Lloth so important if she's so awful?" The spider only clung in silence to its web.

Drizzt frowned in annoyance. "Well, I don't care what everyone else thinks,"

he decided. "I'm not afraid of spiders. If Lloth appears to me on the Festival of the Founding, I'll say so to her ugly face."

Oddly heartened by this bold exclamation, he turned and strode down the hallway, back to the capricious world he knew as page prince, leaving the spider to spin its tangled webs alone in the darkness.

Chapter Four.

Into the Fire.

Zaknafein did not want this mission.

The weapons master stood on a parapet high above the wrought-adamant.i.te gates that guarded the entrance to House Do'Urden. Right now, the gates were only half raised, so that house n.o.bles might levitate over them easily while goblins, gnomes, and other rabble could not. But in times of crisis the gates could be raised to cover the entire opening in the cavern's wall, so that none could pa.s.s through. Sometimes Zak wondered at the true purpose of those impervious metal bars. Perhaps they had been forged not to keep drow out of the house, but to keep them in.

Zak glanced across the compound at the balcony, beyond which lay the private chambers of the house's n.o.bles. He glimpsed shadowy figures within. What dark plans were Matron Malice and her daughters concocting now, he wondered?

Just as Zak was about to turn away, a small form hopped over the balcony and half fell, half levitated to the ground below. A second later, Briza reached the railing and leaned over, shouting as she brandished her snake-headed whip at the object of her wrath. The smaller figure, however, had already vanished into the mouth of a corridor. Her face twisted with rage, Briza turned and stamped back into the interior of the upper level.

Despite his bleak mood, a faint smile touched Zak's lips. So the young Do'Urden page prince-what was the boy's name? Drizzt?-was causing his eldest sister consternation once again. Zak would not have expected such bold character in one of Rizzen's sons. Drizzt could grow up to be a strong and willful elf one day-if all that character were not crushed out of him first, as it was bound to be. Once Zak had held similar hopes for his own daughter, Vierna, but then the masters at Arach-Tinilith had sunk their pincers into her. Every day, she became more like Malice, more caught up in the matron mother's tangled plots to win Lloth's favor.

Ah, Malice. Zak thought back to the years when he had been patron of House Do'Urden. For a time, he had thought that he loved Malice, and she him, until the day she had stripped him of his rank, and he had realized that all she cared about was station and the position of House Do'Urden in Lloth's Ladder.

On occasion, Malice still beckoned Zak to her bedchamber, and he complied. A matron mother's orders were not to be refused. And it was not unpleasant.

Still, Zak knew now that whatever feeling there was between him and Malice, it was not, and never had been, love.

A gigantic spider hewn of dark green stone rested on the parapet behind Zak. A jade spider. Dozens of them scattered House Do'Urden to serve as a defense against any who might somehow pa.s.s the gates. Such was their enchantment that, in the presence of an intruder, a jade spider would animate and attack with swift and fatal force.

"Why do you not a.s.sail me now, spider?" Zak hissed in a voice filled with loathing. "I am an impostor here. Can you not sense that I am your enemy?"

But the spider remained cold stone.

Zak felt a p.r.i.c.kling against his neck. He did not need to glance back at the balcony to know that he was being watched. He could delay his mission no longer. A puff of warm air-heated by some deep and distant lava flow-sent his white hair streaming back from his brow. Zak stepped off the high parapet into the swirling zephyr, using his power of levitation to ride the gust of air over the gates and down to the ground below. Without looking back, he plunged into the labyrinth that was Menzoberranzan.

After a short distance he paused, drawing the spiderjewel out of his neck-purse. He laid the small onyx spider on his outstretched palm, then spoke the word of magic Malice had taught him, which the yochlol in turn had taught her. At once the ruby embedded in the spider's abdomen winked to scarlet life.

Now animate, the spider scuttled across the flesh of Zak's palm. Only by force of will did he resist the instinct to clench his hand and crush it. Legs wriggling, the spider spun in a circle, then came to a sudden halt, facing to Zak's right. That must be the way it wanted him to go. He turned and moved down a side street.

Where the spiderjewel would lead him, Zak could only wonder. According to theyochlol, the Dagger of Menzoberra was hidden somewhere within the city. This was difficult to believe. After all, there wasn't an inch of this cavern that had not been explored by drow eyes, shaped by drow hands, and dwelt within by drow families for centuries. The Dagger's hiding place had to be remarkable for the relic to have remained lost for over five thousand years. Still, Zak had to hope that the spiderjewel would indeed take him to it. Malice had made her position clear. Whatever she felt for him still, failure this time would not be forgiven.

At first Zak thought the ancient Dagger of Menzoberra must be hidden in Qu'ellarz'orl. The spider seemed to be leading him toward the plateau on which perched the city's most powerful houses, including that of Baenre, First House of Menzoberranzan. Zak's heart sank in his chest. If the Dagger was hidden within one of the ancient houses, he had no hope of recovering it. He could hardly knock on the gates of House Baenre and ask if he might take a look around. The only answer he was likely to get was a bolt of defensive magic hot enough to roast his heart inside his chest.

Just as Zak neared the edge of the mushroom forest that demarcated the exclusive plateau, the spider scuttled to the left side of his hand, leading him back toward the heart of the city. Zak allowed himself a low breath of relief before continuing on.

He had nearly reached his destination before he realized where the spiderjewel was leading him.

Zak had reached the very center of the great cavern that housed Menzoberranzan. Coming to a halt, he lifted his eyes from the spiderjewel. The enchanted arachnid had aligned itself with a ma.s.sive stone pillar that loomed before him in the eternal gloom. Narbondel.

Of course. It made perfect sense. Of all the rock formations in the cavern, only one remained in its rough, natural state as it had for millennia, untouched by drow hands or drow magic. It was a monument to the cavern, as it had been when Menzoberra first led her people here five thousand years ago: the pillar of Narbondel. Only here might something have lain hidden so long without discovery.

Zaknafein approached the pillar, creeping along surfaces closest in temperature to his own skin, a feat which rendered him all but invisible to heat-sensing drow eyes. It was not forbidden to draw near to Narbondel, but few ever did. The pillar was the purview of the city's archmage, whose ceremonial duty it was to ignite the magical fires that traveled up the column once per day. Zak doubted Gromph Baenre would take kindly to meddling, and the thought of being on the receiving end of an archmage's wrathful spells was not one Zak relished.

The weapons master clung to a concealing heat shadow at the base of a stalagmite and watched with crimson eyes. The spiderjewel wriggled on his hand, as if anxious to be nearer the relic that drew it onward.

"Patience," Zak hissed, though whether to himself or the enchanted spider he was not certain.

Even as he watched, the last remnants of magical heat faded from the ma.s.sive pillar. The stone grew cool and dark once more. This was the Black Death of Narbondel. Midnight approached. Now would be Zak's only chance. At this moment the archmage rested in his plush chambers in Sorcere, preparing himself to cast the spell of fire with which he would begin a new day. No gazes in the city would be turned toward the pillar while it was dark. He could move unseen. At least, so he hoped.

Leaving the safety of the heat shadow, Zak crept toward Narbondel. The surface of the pillar was irregular, crazed with cracks and crevices. A small knife could be stashed in any of them. Holding out the spiderjewel, he stalked around the gigantic column, trying to determine where the relic might be hidden. The enchanted arachnid whirled in circles on his hand but did not stop, as if unable to get its bearings. Zak frowned at the spiderjewel. Then a thought struck him. He craned his neck, gazing at the top of the pillar, which sc.r.a.ped the ceiling of the cavern high above. Of course. That was the onedirection the spider could not point. Upward.

Zak could have levitated to the top of the pillar in mere seconds. However, using any magic released heat, making him more visible. He couldn't risk that.

It would not do for any of the other n.o.ble houses to see him and grow curious concerning his actions. Gaining the Dagger would be hard enough without compet.i.tion. Zak would have to reach the top of the pillar the mundane way.

He did not pause to determine if anyone was watching him. Speed was his only hope. With swift, supple movements, Zak began scaling the surface of Narbondel. He shut his eyes, concentrating, letting touch alone guide his hands and feet to those cracks and protrusions he might use to force his body upward. Soon he was sweating with effort. He clenched his teeth and kept climbing. At last he heaved himself over a sharp edge of stone. For a moment he lay on his back, panting. Then he forced himself to his feet.

Zaknafein stood upon the summit of Narbondel.

A gasp escaped him. Menzoberranzan lay spread out below him like a vast web tangled beyond possibility. Pale faerie fire danced along the edges of the city's countless spires and stairways, emphasizing the darkness rather than driving it back. It was a glorious yet forbidding sight.

"What is this beautiful nightmare we have wrought?" Zak murmured in awe to the dusky air.

Distant specks of light caught the corner of his eye, breaking his trance. He turned to see several tiny blobs of purple magelight bobbing as they descended the long stairway from the academy of Tier Breche into the city. The archmage had left his chambers in Sorcere and was even now making his way toward Narbondel with his entourage. Zak did not have much time left.

Reaching back into his neck-purse, he pulled out the spiderjewel once more. To his surprise, the magical creature crawled to the edge of his hand and jumped to the rough stone at his feet. The little arachnid scuttled across the top of the pillar. Zak followed the winking light of the ruby in its abdomen. Without warning, the red spark vanished. Zak swore, thinking he had lost the spiderjewel. A second later he realized it had scurried into a small hole in the rock.

Kneeling beside the hole, he slipped a hand inside. His fingers brushed a smooth k.n.o.b of some sort, and it sank beneath his touch. At the same moment, a hiss of dry air rushed upward, along with the sound of stone grating on stone.

A circle of rock sank into the top of the pillar and vanished, leaving an opening large enough for an elf to crawl through.

A low laugh escaped Zak's lips. So the spiderjewel had done its work after all.

Ready for anything, the weapons master crouched beside the opening in the pillar. He peered within, but his preternatural eyes met only cool darkness: black, and black again. There was nothing to do but go down. Zak lowered himself into the opening, and his feet met stone steps. It was a staircase. At his feet, a spark of scarlet light glinted. The spiderjewel. He scooped up the gem and slipped it back into his neck-purse.

Alone, he descended the staircase, spiraling deeper and deeper into the heart of Narbondel. With every step, the air grew thicker, more stifling. Walls and steps alike radiated the same uniform coolness, so that all was a featureless blur to his drow eyes and he was forced to make his way by touch alone. Soon he was certain he had descended farther than the height he had climbed. He must have been below Narbondel now. Still, the staircase plunged downward, through solid rock, delving ever deeper into the bones of the world.

Without warning the staircase ended at a sheer drop. Zak barely caught himself in time, teetering on the last step. Beyond was only emptiness and a faint blue phosph.o.r.escence, floating on the air. Blinking, Zak forced his eyes to see in the realm of light. A low path escaped his lips.

He stood on the edge of a vast web. Thick, silky strands formed a gigantic net over a bottomless chasm. It was from the cords that the faint glow emanated.

He glimpsed something resting at the very center of the gigantic tangle. A bundle of some sort. No, not a bundle. A coc.o.o.n. Purple light pulsed within.Something was inside. Zak had a hunch, but there was only one way to find out for certain.

Concentrating, Zak attempted to levitate, but his body felt strangely leaden.

A ward against sorcery lay upon this place. Magic would not work here. He would have to reach the center of the web by other means. One of the web's strands pa.s.sed within several feet of the last step. Zak judged the distance, then sprang from the staircase. He landed on the thread-no more than two fingers thick-with the ease of an acrobat.

Displaying the eerie grace known only to elvenkind, the weapons master moved along the web strand. The silken material pitched and swayed beneath even his slight weight, but this caused him no difficulty. Without glancing down, he danced along the interconnecting threads. Soon he reached the center of the web.

The coc.o.o.n was large, an orb of matted threads longer than his arm. Mottled violet light continued to throb inside, as though from a living thing. Drawing the knife at his belt, Zak slashed at the coc.o.o.n. The threads were tough and resilient, and the knife bounced back. He hacked at the coc.o.o.n again. On the third try, the adamant.i.te knife snapped, but not before slicing a deep gouge in the coc.o.o.n. Zak tossed the broken haft into the chasm below, then reached into the slit in the coc.o.o.n. His fingers closed around something smooth and cool. He pulled back, staring in wonder at the ornate silver knife he gripped in his hand. The large jewel embedded in its hilt winked like a purple eye.

The Dagger of Menzoberra.

Zak let out a whoop of victory. He rose, balancing on the web and gripping his prize. The coc.o.o.n was dark now. Even as he watched, the slit he had made in it grew and the tangled threads began to snap and unwind. Yellowed bones fell out of the coc.o.o.n, dropping into the chasm. So this had been a tomb, the final resting place of Menzoberra.

A sudden sound, like the cracking of a whip, echoed off the stone walls. At the same moment the strand beneath Zak's feet shuddered, nearly sending him tumbling into the depths below. The web was unraveling. Nearby, another of the ropy strands parted. Like a giant's whip, one of the broken ends hissed past Zak, tracing a line of fire across his cheek. Blood trickled from the wound.

An inch nearer, and it would have struck his head from his shoulders. The entire web shuddered as more strands snapped and unraveled.

Thrusting the Dagger into his belt, Zak ran down an undulating thread, somehow managing to keep his balance. A high-pitched groan gave him a moment's warning. He leapt from the thread a heartbeat before it broke. Landing on another strand, he kept moving, toward the thread that pa.s.sed near the base of the stairway. Three more times he was forced to jump from a thread just as it parted beneath his feet. Clumps of web were dropping into the chasm now. But he was almost there.

Zak paused on the strand, tensing his legs, ready to jump to the stairs. He was too slow. Before he could move, the cord snapped beneath him. Zak tried to leap to another strand, but there were none left. The last remnants of the vast weaving unraveled. Together, web and weapons master plunged into the darkness below.

Instinct summoned his levitation ability, and this time, power flooded through him. Zak rose through the air as the falling web vanished below. He laughed at his own foolishness. Of course! The aura of unmagic had come from the web.

When the web had broken, so had the aura, and his magical powers had returned.

Zak landed on the bottom step of the stairs, then started climbing. He had ascended some distance before he heard, faintly but clearly in his sensitive ears, a voice.

"Midnight approaches. The moment has come. Let the fires be lit."

Zak froze. The voice could only belong to one: the archmage. Zak had climbed to the base of Narbondel. By some trick of cracks and crevices, the archmage's words had reached the interior of the column, and their meaning renewed Zak's dread.

Let the fires be lit... .Filtering through the stone, faint words of magic drifted on the air. A spell.

Zak did not wait to hear the end of it. With redoubled urgency, he hurled himself up the staircase. He had gone no more than three twists of the stairwell when he heard the roar of fire. Orange light burst up from below, along with a blast of scorching air. Midnight had come. The archmage had cast his spell. The fires of Narbondel were rising.

Zak kept climbing. The parched air burned his lungs and nostrils, and tears streamed down his face. The orange glow brightened beneath him. It would take hours for the magical heat to spread throughout the pillar's stones, but in the meantime the spiral stairwell in the center of the column acted like a chimney. Enchanted flames coursed upward with the terrible speed of dragon's breath.

Zak was faster still. Choking for air, he reached the top of the stairwell. A circle of cool darkness appeared above him. The trapdoorway. He reached for the edge of the opening. The mission was a success. Malice would have her precious Dagger. . . .

Zak halted. Searing light welled up the stairway. A roar filled his ears. The magical fire was mere seconds behind. Despite this, the weapons master hesitated. He pulled the Dagger of Menzoberra from his belt and stared at it, filled with sudden, overwhelming disgust. He had risked his life to gain this relic, and for what? So Malice could please Lloth and win at her wicked little games of intrigue and treachery? The purple jewel in the Dagger's hilt glinted like an evil eye. Zak's lip curled back in loathing. No, he would have no part in gaining Lloth's favor. There was only one thing he could do, and d.a.m.n the consequences.

"I will do nothing that pleases you, Lloth!" he shouted above the deafening roar. "If you want your precious Dagger, you can go look for it in the Abyss!"

With that, Zak hurled the Dagger down the stairwell, into the heart of the rising fire. The relic flashed, then was lost in the roiling crimson flames.

Zak's hair began to curl and crisp. Steam rose from his leather clothes. In another heartbeat he would be roasted alive. With a cry of rage and defiance, he heaved himself up through the opening and pulled the circle of stone shut behind him.

Fire and noise ceased. Zak sprawled atop the pillar, pressing his singed cheek to the cool stones. Only after a long moment did he realize he was still alive. With a groan, he pulled himself to his feet. Below, the procession of purple magelights was already winding its way back to Tier Breche. Only the base of Narbondel glowed with heat now, belying the fires that raged within.

Zak drew in a deep breath, steadying himself. He stepped off the edge of the pillar and levitated to the street below.

By the time he reached House Do'Urden, Matron Malice was waiting for him.

"I have returned."

Zak drifted over the adamant.i.te balcony and landed on the onyx floor. Malice whirled around, stalking toward him with dangerous grace.

"So I see." Her eyes were half-lidded, her expression unreadable. "Did you gain the Dagger?"

Zak could not hesitate if he was to have any chance of deceiving her. "I fear not, Matron Mother," he said, feigning regret. "The spiderjewel led me to a tomb beneath Narbondel. I have no doubt that it was once the resting place of the Dagger. But the relic was gone. Stolen by grave robbers long ago, I imagine."

Malice slipped her arms around him. Zak stared in amazement. Had she forgiven him so easily? Then she bent her lips to his ear, whispering a single word.

"Liar."

Zak stiffened in shock, stepping backward, fumbling for words. "It is no He, Matron Mother . . ."

"Silence!" she shrieked, her eyes alight with unholy fury. "I saw everything, you fool. Everything!" She reached a hand toward his shoulder. A small spider scurried up her arm to perch on her own shoulder, many-faceted eyes glistening.Zak swore a silent oath. So she had sent one of her little spies with him. He should have guessed. Dread was replaced by chill resignation. He bowed his head. "I do not regret what I have done." "You will, Zaknafein," Malice hissed. "You will." She made a sharp gesture. Three forms stepped out of the shadows. Her daughters. Vierna and Maya grasped his arms while Briza bound his hands together with cruel leather thongs. Zak glanced up, hoping to see sorrow in Vierna's eyes. Instead, he saw nothing at all.

"What are we going to do, Mother?" Briza asked, jerking on the bonds to tighten them further. "The Dagger was to bring us the favor of Lloth. Surely this blasphemous act will bring the Spider Queen's displeasure instead."

"We are doomed!" Maya wailed in despair. "Not yet," Malice snapped. "Not if the crime is atoned for properly. Then Lloth will be appeased. Zaknafein must be punished for this heinous act. And there can be but one punishment."

"Death?" Vierna asked, her voice emotionless. Malice shook her head. "Death would not be enough to satisfy Lloth's anger." Her lips curled in a wicked smile. "No," she crooned, "Zaknafein's punishment will be something far worse than mere death."

Zak stared at her in growing horror. What could she mean? But even his darkest fears were nothing compared to the reality of her words.

"For your crimes against Lloth and House Do'Urden, Zaknafein, I sentence you to be made into ... a drider!" Zak reeled at this p.r.o.nouncement. Even Malice's daughters gasped. There was no more terrible punishment known to the dark elves. To be made into a drider was to have one's body twisted into an accursed form that was half drow, half spider, a transformation that could never be reversed.

"Take him to the Cavern of the Lost," Malice commanded. "And let me look upon his face never again!"

Zak strained against his bonds, but it was no use. He was powerless as Malice's daughters dragged him off to meet his doom.