The Dark Elf Trilogy: Homeland

Chapter 11 Grim Preference

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Zak slid one of his swords from its scabbard and admired the weapon's wondrous detail. This sword, as with most of the drow weapons, had been forged by the gray dwarves, then traded to Menzoberranzan. The duergar workman-ship was exquisite, but it was the work done on the weapon after the dark elves had acquired it that made it so very spe-cial. None of the races of the surface or Underdark could outdo the dark elves in the art of enchanting weapons. Im-bued with the strange emanations of the Underdark, the magical power unique to the lightless world, and blessed by the unholy clerics of Lloth, no blade ever sat in a wielder's hand more ready to kill.

Other races, mostly dwarves and surface elves, also took pride in their crafted weapons. Fine swords and mighty hammers hung over mantles as showpieces, always with a bard nearby to spout the accompanying legend that most often began, "In the days of yore. . "

Drow weapons were different, never showpieces. They were locked in the necessities of the present, never in remi-niscences, and their purpose remained unchanged for as long as they held an edge fine enough for battle-fine enough to kill.

Zak brought the blade up before his eyes. In his hands, the sword had become more than an instrument of battle. It was an extension of his rage, his answer to an existence he could not accept.

It was his answer, too, perhaps, to another problem that seemed to have no resolution.

He walked into the training hall, wherePrizzt was hard at work spinning attack routines against a practice dummy.

Zak paused to watch the young drow at practice, wonder-ing if Drizzt would ever again consider the dance of weap-ons a form of play. How the scimitars flowed in Drizzt's hands! Interweaving with uncanny precision, each blade seemed to anticipate the other's moves and whirred about in perfect complement.

This young drow might soon be an unrivaled fighter, a master beyond Zaknafein himself.

"Can you survive?" Zak whispered. "Have you the heart of a drow warrior?" Zak hoped that the answer would be an emphatic "no" but either way, Drizzt was surely doomed.

Zak looked down at his sword again and knew what he must do. He slid its sister blade from its sheath and started a determined walk toward Drizzt.

Drizzt saw him coming and turned at the ready. "A final fight before I leave for the Academy?" He laughed. Zak paused to take note of Drizzt's smile. A facade? Or had the young drow really forgiven himself for his actions against Maya's champion. It did not matter, Zak reminded himself. Even if Drizzt had recovered from his mother's tor-ments, the Academy would destroy him. The weapon mas-ter said nothing; he just came on in a flurry of cuts and stabs that put Drizzt immediately on the defensive. Drizzt took it in stride, not yet realizing that this final encounter with his mentor was much more than their customary sparring.

"I will remember everything you taught me" Drizzt promised, dodging a cut and launching a fierce counter of his own. "I will carve my name in the halls of Melee-Magthere and make you proud"

The scowl on Zak's face surprised Drizzt, and the young drow grew even more confused when the weapon master's next attack sent a sword knifing straight at his heart. Drizzt leaped aside, slapping at the blade in sheer desperation, and narrowly avoided impalement.

"Are you so very sure of yourself?" Zak growled, stub-bornly pursuing Drizzt.

Drizzt set himself as their blades met in ringing fury. "I am a fighter" he declared. "A drow warrior!"

"You are a dancer!" Zak shot back in a derisive tone. He slammed his sword onto Drizzt's blocking scimitar so sav-agely that the young drow's arm tingled.

" An imposter!" Zak cried. " A pretender to a title you can. not begin to understand!"

Drizzt went on the offensive. Fires burned in his lavender eyes and new strength guided his scimitars' sure cuts. But Zak was relentless. He fended the attacks and contin-ued his lesson. "Do you know the emotions of murder?" he spat. "Have you reconciled yourself to the act you commit-ted?"

Drizzt's only answers were a frustrated growl and a re-newed attack.

"Ah, the pleasure of plunging your sword into the bosom of a high priestess" Zak taunted. "Th see the light of warmth leave her body while her lips utter silent curses in your face! Or have you ever heard the screams of dying chil. dren?"

Drizzt let up his attack, but Zak would not allow a break.

The weapon master came back on the offensive, each thrust aimed for a vital area.

"How loud, those screams" Zak continued. "They echo over the centuries in your mind; they chase you down the paths of your entire life"

Zak halted the action so that Drizzt might weigh his every word. "You have never heard them, have you, dancer?" The weapon master stretched his arms out wide, an invitation.

"Come, then, and claim your second kill" he said, tapping his stomach. "In the belly, where the pain is greatest, so that my screams may echo in your mind. Prove to me that you are the drow warrior you claim to be"

The tips of Drizzt's scimitars slowly made their way to the stone floor. He wore no smile now.

"You hesitate" Zak laughed at him. "This is your chance to make your name. A single thrust, and you will send a repu-tation into the Academy before you. Other students, even masters, will whisper your name as you pass. 'Drizzt Do'Ur-den; they will say. 'The boy who slew the most honored weapon master in all of Menzoberranzan!' Is this not what you desire?"

"Damn you" Drizzt spat back, but still he made no move to attack.

"Drow warrior?" Zak chided him. "Do not be so quick to claim a title you cannot begin to understand!"

Drizzt came on then, in a fury he had never before known. His purpose was not to kill, but to defeat his teacher, to steal the taunts from Zak's mouth with a fighting display too impressive to be derided.

Drizzt was brilliant. He followed every move with three others' and worked Zak low and high, inside and out wide.

Zak found his heels under him more often than the balls of his feet, too involved was he in staying away from his stu. dent's relentless thrusts to even think of taking the offen-sive. He allowed Drizzt to continue the initiative for many minutes, dreading its conclusion, the outcome he had al-ready decided to be the most preferable.

Zak then found that he could stand the delay no longer.

He sent one sword out in a lazy thrust and Drizzt promptly slapped the weapon out of his hand.

Even as the young drow came on in anticipation of vic-tory, Zak slipped his empty hand into a pouch and grabbed a magical little ceramic ball-one of those that so often had aided him in battle.

"Not this time, Zaknafein!" Drizzt proclaimed, keeping his attacks under control, remembering well the many occa-sions that Zak reversed feigned disadvantage into clear ad-vantage.

Zak fingered the ball, unable to come to terms with what he must do.

Drizzt walked him through an attack sequence, then an-other, measuring the advantage he had gained in stealing a weapon. Confident of his position, Drizzt came in low and hard with a single thrust.

Though Zak was distracted at the time, he still managed to block the attack with his remaining sword. Drizzt's other scimitar slashed down on top of the sword, pinning its tip to the floor. In the same lightning movement, Drizzt slipped his first blade free of Zak's parry and brought it up and around, stopping the thrust barely an inch from Zak's throat.