The Legacy

fingers together in front of him and trying to discern what surprise the Do'Urden priestess had prepared for him this time.

'We will need an extra soldier to complement our party,' Vierna ordered.

'It can be arranged/ Jarlaxle replied, beginning to catch on. 'But why? Will Dinin not be accompanying us?'

Vierna's eyes flashed. 'He will,' she said, 'but my brother's role in the hunt has changed.'

Jarlaxle didn't flinch, just continued to sit back and tap his fingers.

'Dinin did not believe in Lloth's destiny,' Vierna explained, casually taking a seat on the edge of Jarlaxle's desk. 'He did not wish to accompany me in this critical mission. The Spider Queen has demanded this of us!' She hopped back to the floor, suddenly ferocious, and stepped back toward the opaque door.

Jarlaxle made no move, except to flex the fingers on his dagger-throwing hand, as Vierna's tirade continued. The priestess swept about the small room, praying to Lloth, cursing those who would not fall to their knees before the goddess, and cursing her brothers, Drizzt and Dinin.

Then Vierna calmed again suddenly, and smiled wickedly. 'Lloth demands fealty,' she said accusingly.

'Of course,' replied the unshakable mercenary.

'Justice is for a priestess to deal.'

'Of course.'

Vierna's eyes flashed-Jarlaxle quietly tensed, fearing that the unsteady female would lash out at him for some unknown reason. She instead went back to the door and called loudly for her brother.

Jarlaxle saw the unremarkable, veiled silhouette beyond the portal, saw the opaque material bend and stretch as Dinin started in from the other side.

A huge spider leg slipped into the room, then another, then a third. The mutated torso came through next, Dinin's unclothed and bloated body transmuted from the waist down into the lower torso of a giant black spider. His once fair face now seemed a dead thing, swollen and expressionless, his eyes showing no luster.

The mercenary fought hard to keep his breathing steady. He removed his great hat and ran a hand over his bald, sweating head.

The disfigured creature moved into the room fully and stood obediently behind Vierna, the priestess smiling at the mercenary's obvious discomfort.

'The quest is critical,' Vierna explained. 'Lloth will not tolerate dissent.'

If Jarlaxle had held any doubts about the Spider Queen's involvement with Vierna's quest, they were gone now.

Vierna had exacted the ultimate punishment of drow society on troublesome Dinin, something only a high priestess in the highest favor of Lloth could ever accomplish. She had replaced Dinin's graceful drow body with this grotesque and mutated arachnid form, had replaced Dinin's fierce independence with a malevolent demeanor that she could bend to her every whim.

Part 2 Perceptions

There is no word in the draw language for love. The closest word I can think of is ssinssrigg, but that is a term better equated with physical lust or selfish greed. The concept of love exists in the hearts of some draw, of course, but true love, a selfless desire often requiring personal sacrifice, has no place in a world of such bitter and dangerous rivalries.

The only sacrifices in draw culture are gifts to Lloth, and those are surely notselfless, since the giver hopes, prays, for something greater in return.

Still, the concept of love was not new to me when I left the Underdark. I loved Zaknafein. I loved both Belwar and Clacker. Indeed, it was the capacity, the need, for love that ultimately drove me from Menzoberranzan. Is there in all the wide world a concept more fleeting, more elusive? Many people of all the races seem simply not to understand love, burden its beauteous simplicity with preconceived notions and unrealistic expectations. How ironic that I, walking from the darkness of loveless Menzoberranzan, can better grasp the concept than many of those who have lived with it, or at least with the very real possibility of it, for all of their lives.

Some things a renegade draw will not take for granted.

My few journeys to Silverymoon in these past weeks have invited good-hearted jestsfrom my friends. 'Suren the elf has his eyes fixed on another wedding!' Bruenor has often crooned, regarding my relationship with Alustriel, the Lady of Silvery-moon. I accept the taunts in light of the sincere warmth and hopes behind them, and have not dashed those hopes by explaining to my dear friends that their notions are misguided.

I appreciate Alustriel and the goodness she has shown me. I appreciate that she, a ruler in a too-often unforgiving world, has taken such a chance as to allow a dark elf to walk freely down her city's wondrous avenues. Alustriel's acceptance of me as a friend has allowed me to draw my desires from my true wishes, not from expected limitations.

But do I love her?

No more than she loves me.

I will admit, though, I do love the notion that I could love Alustriel, and she could love me, and that, if the attraction were present, the color of my skin and the reputationof my heritage would not deter the noble Lady of Silverymoon.

I know now, though, that love has become the most prominent part of my existence,that my bond of friendship with Bruenor and Wulfgar and Regis is of utmost importanceto any happiness that this draw will ever know.

My bond with Catti-brie runs deeper still.

Honest love is a selfless concept, that I have already said, and my own selflessnesshas been put to a severe test this spring.

I fear now for the future, for Catti-brie and Wulfgar and the barriers they must,together, overcome. Wulfgar loves her, I do not doubt, but he burdens his love with apossessiveness that borders on disrespect.

He should understand the spirit that is Catti-brie, should see clearly the fuel that stokes the fires in her marvelous blue eyes. It is that very spirit that Wulfgar loves, and yet he will undoubtedly smother it under the notions of a woman's place as her husband's possession.

My barbarian friend has come far from his youthful days roaming the tundra. Farther still must he come to hold the heart of Bruenor's fiery daughter, to hold Catti-brie's love.

Is there in all the world a concept more fleeting, more elusive?

— Drizzt Do'Urden

Chapter 6 A Path, Straight and Smooth

'I'll not accept the group from Nesme.' Bruenor growled at the barbarian emissary from Settlestone. 'But, king dwarf…' the large, red-haired man stammered helplessly. 'No!' Bruenor's severe tone silenced him. 'The archers of Nesme played a role in reclaiming Mithril Hall,' Drizzt, who stood at Bruenor's side in the audience hall, promptly reminded the dwarf king. Bruenor shifted abruptly in his stone seat. 'Ye forgotten the treatment the Nesme dogs gave ye when first we passed through their land?' he asked the drow. Drizzt shook his head, the notion actually bringing a smile to his face. 'Never,' he replied, but his calm tones and expression revealed that, while he had not forgotten, he apparently had forgiven.

Looking at his ebon-skinned friend, so at peace and content, the huffy dwarf's rage was soon deflated. 'Ye