Episode 2. Zaknafein

Episode 2: Zaknafein.

I killed armed man attacking me to earn my living. In Menzoberranzan it is the only path for an honorable man.

Zaknafein Do’Urden (personal communication)

Malice stood on the 2nd floor balcony of House Do’Urden, watching her solders. They were engaged in mock combats, preparing for never-ending wars of Menzoberranzan. Malice gave a frustrated growl: she still had an army of average fighters. Her troops were growing, however, and so was her influence.

Phedra was well out of the way and she was spending her ferocity in raising Malice’s second child – a boy. Phedra killed Nalfein at least twice, but he was restored back to life and returned to her care. Malice had little interest in him, and spared her time and Lloth favor on the young male’s resurrection only to extend Phedra’s torture. She wanted so much to be a surrogate mother of Malice’s child did not she? Briza was growing powerful and strong, but Malice disliked too blunt ways of her elder daughter. With Briza completing her term in the Academy within next few decades, House Do’Urden would have a potential to have three High Priestesses. That, however, did not resolve the problem of Malice’s army. Moving by a sudden rage, Malice swing over the balcony’s railing, levitated down to the courtyard and punched her snake-headed whip into the closest solder’s face. Three of the snakeheads got a grip on male’s cheeks, and two others bit his neck. Half paralyzed by the poison and terrified by the fact that Matron Mother herself was attacking him, the male fall to the ground, and did not move. Malice gave the body few more angry wipes and rushed away, not satisfied by a simple kill.

Few hours latter, Malice walked out of a secret passage, which led from House Do’Urden to the outskirts of Menzoberranzan. The tunnel was originally planed to provide an escape route for house nobility in case of an attack. However, about half-century after establishing of Menzoberranzan, the feud between twin sisters broke the original family of N'a'shezbaernon in two rival clans. Gretten and Danor N'a'shezbaernon were locked in a bitter struggle for the right to succeed their mother, Matron Agilvi for almost a century, gradually weakening House Daermon N'a'shezbaernon. An inevitable attack of a lesser house followed, and while House Daermon N'a'shezbaernon proved too strong to be exterminated, Danor had been killed during the battle. Her daughter, Ad’delveig had publicly accused Gretten in murdering her mother, but no prove was found. Ad’delveig and the most devoted of Danor’s allies, expecting Gretten’s reprieve, left House Daermon N'a'shezbaernon using that very tunnel. With what magical power was left to them, Ad’delveig’s party collapsed the tunnel walls and heavily warded the pass behind them. The reminder of the clan kept the ancestral title of Daermon N'a'shezbaernon, but Do’Urden replaced it within a century. Ad’delveig’s and her troupe gave the beginning to what was presently known as House Gallant, the 32nd House of Menzoberranzan. While their ranking was nothing comparable to Do’Urden’s or former Daermon N'a'shezbaernon’s standing, House Gallant had committed the most dazzling ascent in the history of Mennzzoberranzan.

Malice spent months, researching the tunnel and its wards before she finally managed to path unharmed. She gradually came to realize that most of the wards were put in place against those of N'a'shezbaernon’s blood and those who served them. Malice had to concede that Tiy’Nuer was not lying about her origin because of the relative simplicity with which she overcame the guarding magic. Malice spend another year placing her own protection wards on the tunnel, and had secretly placed few driders on guard behind the secret door which opened up to a dark and dirty hall in the catacombs of Menzoberranzan. Despite all these measures, Malice knew that eventually she would have to destroy the dangerous tunnel. For now, it served her as a gateway to the world where otherwise the Matron Mother would not be able to penetrate. Malice was careful in going on her stealthy journeys to catacombs no more than once in few years. Habitants of catacombs could sell the information of her visits in a blink of an eye, if they ever got a slightest hint of whom she truly was.
-Eventually I’d stop doing this.- grinned Malice, pushing her way through narrow slit between two large plates and assorted debris. She finally ended up in the maze of galleries and caves on the northern edge of Menzoberranzan, the maze that was rumored to extend below the main cave, which hosted the Menzoberranzan proper.

The catacombs were extensive, but finite and useless for someone seeking to flee Menzoberranzan . The city patrols, though rare in the area were still perfectly able to search the area and find a rogue or a cult offensive to Lloth. As they did last time, when an Ellistrae’s sect was discovered there and all of its members were hunted down and handed to the ruling council of eight Matron Mothers for interrogations and punishment. It happened some decade ago but none had heard of the secants ever since and in the manner common to drow, they were presumed obliterated.

Malice walked briskly along narrow tunnel seeking an entrance to the cave, which attracted almost everyone who descended from the privileged part of Menzoberranzan to catacombs. Those were mostly soldiers of lower houses, ones that had enough slack in disciplinary system. The cave contained a fighting ring, a culmination of drow’s taste for viciousness and chaos. The owner of the ring held a host of gladiators, drow gladiators, not some slaves or monsters as did the taverns of Menzoberranzan. The looser of the fight died and the winner would accept a challenge from the audience. These challenges emptied columns of many a house, since gladiators were the most desperate and destitute outlaws or refugees drow society could produce. Lately, higher ranking drows started to show up recruiting among the gladiators to replace soldiers they had lost. Since that practice started, Malice felt safer in her disguise, hoping to pass by for one of those small nobles.

The fighting cave had changed since Malice’s last visit. It was extended and the walls were planted over with a sort of fluorescent moss, which served as a main source of light in the poor quartiles of Menzoberranzan. The moss’s gentle shine gave a mystic, half-realistic appearance to the gathering on the benches. Hair, which were not hidden under the cowls took metallic shine and seemed like veins of mithril on the black rock face. The arena itself was bordered with high magical fires, which Malice was more accustomed to see in the chapels of great Houses, not in the catacombs. The ring of multicolored flames danced and threw purple and yellow, green and red light on the scene arrangements and on the fighters preparing to do the battle. The light was bright enough to discourage infra-vision, but gentle enough not to hurt sensitive eyes of the Underdark elves. This lighting made poorer part of the audience feel away from their reality, and the fighting arena now seemed a setting for a sacred act.
The source of these spectacular changes, the new cavern owner, was a young drow with vivid, attentive eyes and a deceivingly relaxed manner. He bowed low to Malice in greeting. She had noticed that the drow was bold, a fact more accentuated than concealed by a small scull-tight cap adorned with many gems.

“Jarlaxle is the name, Mistress, - the new owner introduced himself, with yet another bow. “Please allow me to show you to a seat and brief you on our today’s fighters, - Jarlaxle was speaking in the most polite and humble tones, but his eyes run Malice all over few times in search for clues. Malice had noticed Jarlaxle’s subtle gesture to his aids, which told her that the drow has recognized her higher status, and was intent on serving to her needs for the evening. She did not like at all the special treatment she had apparently received; and even less the easiness with which Jarlaxle had singled her out. Malice understood that his servitude was nothing more than a cover and that his goal was to discover her identity. She congratulated herself on leaving every piece of powerful house relics back at Menzoberranzan, then looked straight onto Jarlaxle and with a superior smile ordered him to name the fighters so she can make her bet. Malice glance crossed the lit up arena floor as she listened to Jarlaxal’s revelations. Her looked at the favorite of the fight (by Jarlaxle’s words), Knazzein, first, and she saw the one of many who passed through this arena in years: taller than an average drow male and more heavily build. He wore a fair mail shirt and solid bracers. Knazzein made sure to gather some spiritual defenses as well and his neck was laden with a collar adorned by eight spiders – the talisman of a considerable power. He, no doubt, sensed a quick victory, pacing his corner, demonstrating his exceptional physic and unrelenting fury. Physic snickered Malice, which was spoiled only by scars visible on every opened part of his body.

“Zaknafein…”, Jarlaxle’s voice guided Malice to break her stare away from the champion and see the challenger. For a short moment she ignored Jarlaxle’s remarks, ignored the whole world except the drow on the arena floor. Then she tossed few coins to Jarlaxle” “On Zaknafein, and I wish to meet him privately after the battle.” Jarlaxle bowed low and asked:
“Would not my Mistress reconsider? You are the only one who bet on him against Knazzein to the best of my knowledge.“ “Have you not heard my words, ringkeep?”, Malice interrupted quietly but with a certain power in her tone.

“Oh, yes, indeed, Mistress”, Jarlaxle has not retreat, “but even if the novice survives (which as I said is highly unlikely) he would have to answer challenges from the audience and…”

Malice silently produced a small pouch and weighed it on her open palm. Jarlaxle’s eyes followed her move with definite longing.
“After this battle, ringkeep. Someone inventive would not find it too difficult to get another entertainment for the rest of the crowd would he not?, “ with that she extended the pouch towards Jarlaxle. The drow knew that Malice’s coins put on Zaknafein’s victory would bring her back at least twice, of what she had offered him. Jarlaxle cursed the shrewd female, but he believed that he just saw a first act of a greater intrigue and philosophically reasoned that he’d get his chance to return his money. “It all will be arranged to your pleasure, Mistress, “ – with that Jarlaxle took the pouch and left Malice’s side. He pondered for a moment on the coming conversation with Zaknafein, who was often unwilling to see benefits in many a thing. Jarlaxle suspected that being ordered to spend a night with a paying customer was one of them. The opportunist drow hoped that he had an idea on how to persuade his proud partner into obliging this female’s wish. Zaknafein would die very soon if he will not learn to bend to the will of powerful, at least in appearance, and play by their rules. Zaknafein shall stop clinging to his sword and his weird code as they could protect him from reality. Nobody could shelter him any longer, sighed Jarlaxle, nobody but himself. It seemed that Zaknafein was about to learn his first lesson.

Jarlaxle looked back to Malice again, summarizing his impressions. Yes, this female had wits and character, just enough wits and character, thought Jarlaxle to break Zaknafein. Moreover, she was beautiful, beautiful and groomed to nearly perfection. Jarlaxle saw females just like her – among nobles of high houses. He switched his attention to a group of children always eager to catch a glimpse of fighting or run a small agenda for a coin. Jarlaxle picked out a brighter looking girl and attracted her attention with a single quick gesture. Than his slender hands were a blur, giving instructions on the silent drow.

Malice, meanwhile, had been absorbed into watching Zaknafein and expectation of the fight. Having spent considerable time observing mock and real combats; being strenuously trained and having undertaken many a sensual exploration of a male warrior, Malice had been sure that Zaknafein would win. It was clear from Zaknafein’s calm posture, from his easy bearing and from absence of anything unnecessary, that she finally saw an exceptional fighter, a fighter like she had probably never seen before. Apart from short pans and boots, made out of cured roth’s leather, Zaknafein had only a pair of bracers, protecting his wrists. Zaknafein’s slender figure looked small and vulnerable in front of the older well-armed gladiator. Two long unsheathed swords lying by his feet were the only indication of his intention to fight in a few minutes. His stood resting his back against the arena wall with arms folded on his chest. Brightly colored band run across Zaknafein’s forehead holding the strands of the drow’s white hair, which would not stay in the loose braid on his back. Those dark eyes of his were alert and shiny, showing mounting excitement. They gave away intelligence and wisdom - qualities as rare in an average warrior as they are prerequisite in a great one.

The gong sounded, and the gladiators moved in on each other. Knazzein roared a battle cry. Zaknafein lifted a brow in surprise to hear something different from usual hush tones of the drow. He looked amused by the actions of his opponent as if he himself was sitting on a bench among the audience, worried only about his bet. Nevertheless, two swords came up in a flash, crossing and deflecting the blow of a heavy bastard sword of Knazzein. The force of the frontal blow pushed Zaknafein back, but he had expected it and retreated a step. His swords moved down, releasing the hold, than each moved separately, one arching up, and another sliding low. Knazzein was actually arrogant enough to go for the apparent opening. Zaknafein effectively parried the blow, while his second hand flew to dissect the opponent’s ear and came to a crushing stop at the spider necklace. Zaknafein felt magic strength in the ornament and twisted away from the furious Knazzein. The arena veteran smiled wickedly: Zaknafein was not the first fast and elegant swordsman he had faced. However, he, Knazzein could take hits longer than they can dance around the arena. His scars will heal, but he doubted that anyone would go into a trouble of restoring to life his former challengers. Zaknafein flew up few steps on a small stairs build in the middle of the arena, for a split moment towering over Knazzein. His sword, flashed in the magical lights, making an apparently harmless circle about Knazzein’s head. Knazzein ducked, then rushed upstairs, hitting Zaknafein’s bare knees with edge of his heavy shield.

“Smart move”, gasped Zaknafein, loosing his balance. He crouched and fell to the side of the stair. Knazzein jumped right after hoping to chop Zaknafein. Outstretched swords met him. Knazzein laughed as one of the Zaknafein’s badly crafted swords shuttered on his adamantine chain. The tip of the other one cut through his neck, just above the collarbone. Knazzein clutched to his throat with limp fingers, staring at Zaknafein with budged, senseless eyes. Knazzein could take many a wound, which could have stopped a less ridged-built drow. Unfortunately, he could not live with an open artery. He took another step forward, went down on his knees, then fell heavily forward and was dead. Knazzein had never noticed how Zaknafein had cut the necklace’s lock, neither how the necklace had slipped away living his throat exposed. Zaknafein pushed the necklace with a toe of his boot and shrugged: he could not understand how one would trust in a device enchanted by a power of Lloth.

He left the arena still hearing gasps and shouts of the audience. In a private chamber reserved for the gladiators, Zaknafein dipped his palms in a pool and threw a handful of icy liquid into his face. More water followed onto his chest, arms and hands… Finally, he straightened, hair wet and droplets glistening on his obsidian skin. The smell of Knazzein’s blood was still unbearable.

-What is it, Jarlaxle?- Zaknafein asked his silent partner.
-Someone is interested in meeting you, - came an answer. Hearing that, Zaknafein turned his head towards the second drow and squinted at him. Jarlaxle disliked when someone else hold an indefinite pause. However, he did not know if Malice’s patience was long enough to continue the duel.

-No, not guards. A female, - Zaknafein started saying something, but Jarlaxle forced his replica to the end:-a powerful female, may be a recruiter for a high house.- His tone downplayed cautious “may be”. That did not elude Zaknafein, who knew Jarlaxle all too well to get caught in what he was saying.

-In truth, you have no clue what she is, and still you are telling me what I want to hear. I should have killed you, Jarlaxle, - said Zaknafein, with a helpless smile and a shrug. –What a joke that you are a male! House Baenre would have had a new Matron, but for this small error of nature…-
-Oh, shut up!-Jarlaxle shot back and gave a worried look around. By some reason that made Zaknafein to burst into laughter. Jarlaxle set his chin comfortably on his palm and waited for Zaknafein to calm. -You are becoming hysterical, Zak. And ungrateful. I saved your neck, after all.-
Zak sobered: -You know, that you should not have. I would be better off dead, fighting with the Lloth marionettes…- he gave the side of the pool a light punch.

-Dead? Dearest Zak, you would still be alive today, and you would have the pleasure to demonstrate all stoicism you got while watching one of my lovely sisters cutting you to pieces, then healing you to start the fun all over…- Jarlaxle was definitely going to add up some more gruesome details, but checked himself, seeing gloom in Zak’s eyes. –Go, please this female and you might have your chance to get into the high houses, young fool. Mind you, you want to get in for all the wrong reasons, Zak. –
-What do you know of my reasons, Baenre?- Zak looked at Jarlaxle intently. He was quiet again, quiet and sad. – The world I had known was broken up by high houses, and you just told me of the fate all of my allies,- he paused, then corrected himself: “My friends.” “My friends…” he repeated enjoying the taste of the foreign, elvish word. “Jarlaxle, why did not you alert the whole sect instead of fooling just me into going to Chez Nazad?”

They had this conversation dozens of times before…

-And what would half-dozen of Ellistrae priests and a dozen of warriors, darn good warriors, mind you, but still just a dozen would do against the combined force of Menzoberranzan? They would not allow any whom they knew out of the city. A novice like you had a slim chance of escape, so I offered it to you. - came Jarlaxle’s customary reply.

- Now, you are running out of time. Go, catch on your vendetta, Zak, before the female boils over. Or, let’s forget it. Bregan D’Aerthe might be willing to accept even a queer fool like you…-

Bregan D’Aerthe consisted from Jarlaxle and a couple of other shadowy figures. Zaknafein suspected that Jarlaxle included him as a member long ago to boost up the head count. Zaknafein slowly shook his head and looked at his palms as if checking for blood again.

–Jarlaxle, that whole city can call you a rebel and you aim high with this Bregan D’Aerthe of yours. Nevertheless, you are your mother’s son, and all you are going to do,- something stopped Zaknafein from adding: “if you are successful”, -is to create yet another House: the Street House of Jarlaxle. You will rule it just like every other Matron does - with fear and murder. Nothing new. You had learned nothing from Ellistrae and you had turn to Ellistrae for all the wrong reasons. You had turned to her for power, not for a rebellion. Bregan D’Aerthe is your temple now, and that will bring you all you desire, not a half-dozen of obscure priests and a dozen of warriors. I am in a mood to destroy now, and I will destroy anything around me. Rather not you… – Zaknafein stopped, seeing Jarlaxle smiling.

-Zaknafein, if you get anywhere near any house, even the Street House of Jarlaxle, just keep your mouth shut: you might live couple days longer. Are you going or we are continuing our fruitful discussion about reasons?- it never failed to amaze Jarlaxle how easily Zaknafein could laugh. The gladiator walked out, still munching on the conversation. In truth, they liked each other, each sensing exceptional character of another male.
After Zaknafein left, Jarlaxle whispered: “He wants to kill me, he wants to kill me not – did he got this habit from my precious mother?”