learned what one gains for openly defying the will of Lloth. Death or driderhood. No, if we are ever to defeat Lloth, it will be at her own game.'
Zak didn't understand.
'Consider myself,' the Spider Mage went on. 'By posing as a loyal disciple of Lloth, I avoid her close scrutiny. Yet even as I pretend to serve her, I work against the Spider Queen. I use the power she grants me and turn it against her. I must be subtle, yes. Cautious. Patient. It may take centuries. But slowly, surely, we can erode her hold upon the drow.'
Zak shook his head, his doubts rising. 'I don't know, Jalynfein. I am a fighter. I am not trained to befriend my enemies, but to defeat them head on.'
The wizard's voice was urgent. 'You must trust me, weapons master. Return to your house. Serve your matron mother and her high priestess daughters. Give them no reason to believe that you are anything but a loyal and devoted tool in their hands. But while you do, watch and wait. When the opportunity comes to do some good, to thwart Lloth in her evil plots, you will see it.' The Spider Mage reached out and gripped his shoulder. 'By serving Lloth we can master her, Zaknafein. It is the only way.'
'But even if you're right, I can never go back,' Zak protested. 'Yes you can.'
The Spider Mage passed his hand over a crystal globe. Within appeared the image of a great column, the last glow of heat fading from its stone surface. Narbondel.
'You thought that you destroyed the Dagger of Menzoberra when you cast it into the fires, but that is not so. Even the magical flames of the archmage are not enough to destroy a relic as powerful as the Dagger.'
A dangerous light ignited in Zak's eyes. If he were to regain the Dagger and present it to Matron Malice, she would have no choice but to grant him his place as weapons master once more. At that moment, he made a decision. Master her by serving her. Yes, it was the only way.
Zak stood in an abrupt motion. 'I have to go.' He shot the wizard a nasty grin. 'I have a dagger to fetch for my beloved matron mother.'
Perhaps it was only the shadows, but a smile seemed to touch the Spider Mage's gray mask. 'Farewell, Zaknafein. It would be too dangerous for us to ever speak again. So let me say that it has been an honor to meet you.'
At a loss for words, Zak could only nod.
'Use the disk,' Jalynfein finished. 'It will take you to Narbondel.'
Without further words, Zak stepped onto the pale circle, and once again the world blurred around him.
Chapter Seven: To Serve…
Jalynfein sat in the silence of his chamber, deep in the heart of Sorcere. He gazed into the crystal, at the glowing pillar, thinking of the peril of which he had not warned the weapons master.
To pretend to serve Lloth was the only hope of finding a chance to undermine her power. But there was a grave danger in it as well. In posing as a slave of the Spider Queen, an elf might one day wake to find he has actually become one. Time was their ally, but it was also their enemy. In time, all things-even a drow of good and true heart-could become corrupted.
'Each day we burn in the Fires of Narbondel, my friend,' Jalynfein whispered to the crystal. 'For each day brings a chance to do good, and a chance to become evil.'
Jalynfein sighed. It was beyond his power now. He waved a hand, and the crystal went dark. The Spider Mage stood. It was time to go serve Lloth.
Chapter Eight: Relics
Drizzt knew he shouldn't be here. Briza had charged him with the task of polishing every doorknob in the entire house. She hadn't said anything about opening any of them.
The door clicked shut behind him. It was too late.
'Well, since I've already earned a whipping, I might as well look around,' the young drow reasoned.
For a moment, Drizzt enjoyed the silence of the small antechamber. At present, all of House Do'Urden was astir with the final preparations for the Festival of the Founding, as well as for the imminent arrival of Matron Baenre and her entourage. Even by Briza's standards, the task she had assigned him was a tedious one. House Do'Urden was not the largest house in Menzoberranzan, but neither was it the smallest. After polishing a hundred knobs, Drizzt had lost count. Then he had come to the very last knob, set into a small door at the end of a seldom- trod hallway.
Drizzt wasn't certain what had first piqued his curiosity about the door. All of the other doors in the house were large and grand, graced by intricate carvings of webs and spiders and ancient drow heroes. This portal was so small and drab that he almost hadn't noticed it. Perhaps that was what had caught his interest. He hadn't even really meant to turn the knob, but as he buffed it one last time with the cloth, the knob had spun, and the door had swung open.
Now Drizzt gazed around the small chamber. After a moment he let out a sigh of disappointment. The room was empty, save for a few broken chairs and some rotting tapestries. Drizzt turned to leave. If he could slip out unnoticed, maybe he wouldn't get a beating after all. He reached for the knob.
That was when he noticed it. The walls of the chamber were all speckled with purple mold-except for a small circle in the center of the wall to his left. Drizzt frowned. That didn't make sense. Mold would grow on any surface that wasn't often disturbed…
In a second, he moved from door to wall, gazing at the circle of smooth stone. There was only one possible reason mold hadn't grown over that patch of wall. Testing his hunch, he lifted his hand and pressed against the circle.
I hadn't expected this, Drizzt thought as the floor dropped out beneath him. He tried to levitate but was too slow. With a soft, 'Oof!' he landed on a heap of something cold, hard, and clinking.
Coins, he realized after a stunned moment. It was a pile of adamantite coins. He glanced up at the opening a dozen feet above his head. It would be no problem to levitate out of here. But first…
He pulled himself to his feet, shaking off a handful of coins, and gazed around. A gasp escaped his lips. His lavender eyes made out cool shapes wrought from silver, ruby, and pearl. He let his fingers run over ivory cups and jeweled scepters. Excitement rose in his chest. This was the house's secret treasure chamber! If his mother or sisters found him here, they would beat him within a hairbreadth of his life. Had he any sense at all, he would leave at once. But life as a page prince was dull, and everything his eyes found was so fascinating. Besides, he wouldn't stay long.
Drizzt donned an emerald crown and lifted a pale sword, pretending he was a great king of some deep, dark realm. He spun, waving the sword, imagining the terrible creatures of the Underdark he would slay.
A glint caught his eye. Sitting on a marble pedestal was a bowl of beaten gold. The sword slipped from Drizzt's fingers as he approached. The vessel was unadorned, but something told him this was no ordinary bowl. He reached out and touched the golden rim. As he did, clear water-springing from no visible source-filled the vessel. He bent over the bowl. At first all he saw was his own reflection, but then the water went dark, blacker than the deepest crevices of the Underdark. A sound of fear escaped Drizzt's throat, but he could not look away.
Images began to appear. They floated across the still surface of the water, quick and fleeting. He glimpsed his mother talking to his sisters, their heads bent together as they schemed some wickedness. The image changed and became his brother Dinin practicing with his swords. Then, in quick succession, came a dozen scenes scattered around the city: faces and places Drizzt did not know.
At last he understood. This was a scrying bowl. He had heard Matron Malice mention such a thing to Briza once, when she had not realized he was within earshot. This was one of the greatest treasures of House Do'Urden.
You should leave this place now, Drizzt, warned a voice in his head. The advice, however, was drowned out
