face.' She waved a stunned Malice back, and returned her piercing gaze to Drizzt. 'Tell me, boy. What did this lady look like?'
A look of awe crossed Drizzt's face. 'She was beautiful, the most beautiful lady I've ever seen. Only her dress. It was… it was made of spiders.'
At this, a gasp of shock ran through the gathered drow. Matron Baenre nodded, as if this confirmed some suspicion.
Drizzt blinked, his expression of wonder gone, replaced by trepidation. 'Did I do something wrong, Matron Baenre?'
The crone cackled. 'No, child. Do not fear. You did very well.' She released him from her grip. 'Now leave us, boy. We have important matters to discuss. Matters too great for small ears.'
Drizzt gave a relieved nod, then scampered down the corridor, though not before flashing an impertinent grin back at Matron Baenre.
When he was gone, Malice shook her head, her anger replaced by confusion. 'I don't understand.'
'Nor do I,' echoed Zak, approaching.
'So I see,' Matron Baenre replied in a dry voice. 'Let me be more clear.' At this the wizened drow raised her bony arms, addressing the feasting party. 'Rejoice, dark elves!' she cried in a high voice. 'Let all in the city know that our mistress Lloth, Dark Queen of Spiders, Mother of the Drow, has appeared this day in House Do'Urden!'
'All hail Lloth!' the gathered dark elves echoed as they sank to their knees.
At last Malice understood. The lady in the dress of spiders… it could be none other. The last of Malice's rage vanished, replaced by sudden elation. Lloth had appeared in her house on the Festival! And Matron Baenre had been here to witness it. It was everything she had desired-everything she had schemed for. She turned toward Baenre, her eyes glowing.
The ancient drow woman nodded. 'Yes, Matron Malice, you have scored a great victory this day.' Her voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. 'But remember, the favor of Lloth is a two-edged sword. The Spider Queen will be watching you more closely now.'
In her joy, Malice paid little heed to the crone's admonition. 'House Do'Urden, Eighth House of Menzoberranzan,' she murmured the words to herself as her daughters gathered around her. Yes, she liked the sound of that.
Briza chewed her lip with a glum expression. 'It isn't fair,' she sulked. 'Drizzt is only a child, and a male child at that. Why didn't Lloth appear to me?'
'Shut up, you dolt,' Malice snapped, but her annoyance was only half-hearted. Even Briza could not dampen her satisfaction that day, or for many days to come.
Epilogue
'Thank you for responding to my summons in such a prompt manner, Zaknafein,' Malice said in a pleased tone.
Zak strode past Malice's children and knelt before her chair. 'Of course, Matron Malice.' The words came to him with ease now. He was already getting used to playing the role of obedient servant. Her deep red lips parted in a wicked smile. It was clear she liked him this way.
'I have had word from the council concerning your fate, Zaknafein,' Malice spoke then. 'Because you escaped becoming a drider, it is as if the sentence was never passed. You are absolved of your crimes.'
A wave of relief coursed through Zak. He had feared that his sentence of driderhood might still stand, but he should have known better. In Menzoberranzan, if one could get away with a crime without being caught, it was as if the infraction was never committed. Such was the nature of drow justice. He gave a curt nod. 'I am pleased I will be able to continue serving you, Matron. Will you be arranging any personal punishment for my lapse?' At this, Malice beckoned him nearer. He approached, and she whispered so that only he could hear. 'I do not know what game you are playing, Zaknafein. It does not matter. Even though you tried to defy me, you gained me exactly what I craved.' Her voice became a mocking croon. 'You speak of punishment. Let this be your punishment, then-know that whatever you try to do, whatever your will, you serve me. You serve me, Zaknafein.'
Even as she spoke this, Zak suppressed the urge to grin. Yes, he would pose as Malice's willing servant. He would play her-and Lloth's-dark and twisted game. And all the while he would wait for a chance to counter evil when Lloth's own tangled rules allowed it. Once again, the Spider Mage's words echoed in his mind. Master her by serving her. Zak would not forget.
Outwardly, the weapons master bowed his head. 'As you wish, Matron Malice,' was all he said. He took his position behind her chair, next to Rizzen, who shot him a scathing look, clearly unhappy Zak had regained the matron's favor. Zak ignored the patron.
Malice and her daughters began to concoct some new scheme to further House Do'Urden's rise in station. Zak did not listen. Instead, his eyes fell upon the boy Drizzt. My son, he thought in wonder for the hundredth time. The boy stood to one side of the chamber, eyes cast down at the floor as befit a page prince… and stifling a yawn. On Matron Baenre's recommendation, they had not told the boy the significance of his encounter or the true nature of the elf lady in the gown of spiders. The matron mothers had deemed Drizzt too young to understand. Zak knew they were wrong. But he was glad all the same. Better that the boy not yet realize that, like all drow, he was doomed to become tangled in Lloth's web. Zak sensed that the young drow was different, like himself. Lloth had not corrupted him-not yet. And if Zak had anything to do with it, she never would. Now Zaknafein did grin, and damn if anyone saw. Yes, he thought, perhaps there was some good he could do in this dark world after all.
A SLOW DAY IN SKULLPORT
Eyes blinked in the darkness, a prologue to a rare sound in Undermountain: a deep, grating chuckle. Xuzoun had not been this excited in a long, long time.
In the damp, chill depths of the vast subterranean labyrinth that is the infamous killing ground of Undermountain, in the winding ways not all that far north of Skullport, a certain passage has its birth at an archway surmounted by a smiling, reclining stone nymph. The carving lacks the unearthly and deadly beauty of the real creature it represents, but is still strikingly attractive, and word of it has spread over the years. Some folk even believe it represents a goddess-perhaps Sune, the firehaired lady of love-and bow to it or pray before it… and who is to say they're wrong?
There is certainly more to the statue than its lifelike beauty. Everyone who has attempted in earnest to dislodge it and carry it away has been found dead-in small, torn pieces-in the room before the arch. The bloodstained chisel one of them let fall has now been left behind as a mute warning to enthusiasts of portable sculpture who may happen upon the chamber of the arch in the future.
Who carved that arch, and why, are secrets still held by the mysterious builders of this stretch of Waterdeep. The careful-and lucky-adventurer can, however, learn what lies beyond the arch. A simple, smooth-walled passage, to be sure (so much can readily be seen by someone looking at the nymph). But for some reason, few walk far along this way.
Those who do will find that the passage soon narrows, descends sharply, and becomes a rough tunnel hewn through damp rock. In several places, the ceaseless murmur of echoes fill this route: fading but never silent remnants of distant cacophony that seems to involve loud speech… in tongues not understood or identified by even the most careful listener.
As the intrigued traveler moves on, the grinning bones of human adventurers and larger, snakelike things adorn the deepening way, and pits begin to occur. Above several of these deadly shafts, palely shrouded in cobwebbed bones, hang dark, ancient tree trunks that end in sharp points. Years have passed since they fell like
