He is alive, the soldier signaled to Jarlaxle as he inspected the downed ranger.
The mercenary leader motioned for the soldier to turn the fallen Drizzt so that his head was out of the water. Jarlaxle looked across the still lake, understanding that the sound of battle had echoed clearly across its waters. The mercenary saw the distinctive, pale blue glow of driftdisks, flying disks of energy typically used to carry matron mothers across the city, float ing out from the banks. They held House Baenre soldiers, Jarlaxle knew.
Leave him, the mercenary leader signaled to his soldier, and his equipment. Almost as an afterthought, Jarlaxle pulled his whistle out once more, put it to his lips, and faced Drizzt, then blew a high note. The whistle's dweomer showed him that the ranger wore magical armor, at least as fine as drow make, and Jarlaxle sighed when he saw the intensity of Twinkle's enchantment. He would have loved to add that scimitar to his armory, but it was well known in Menzo berranzan that Drizzt Do'Urden fought with two scimitars, and if one was missing, the mercenary would only be inviting trouble from Matron Baenre.
Drizzt carried little else that was enchanted, except for one item that caught and held the mercenary's attention. Its magic was strong indeed, shining in the hues common to charm enchantments, exactly the type of item that cagey Jarlaxle used to best effect.
His soldier, having shifted the unconscious ranger so that Drizzt's face was above the murky water, started toward Jarlaxle, but the mercenary leader stopped him. Take the pendant, Jarlaxle's fingers instructed.
The soldier turned about and seemed to notice the approaching driftdisks for the first time. "Baenre?" he asked quietly as he turned back to his leader.
They willfind their quarry, Jarlaxle signaled confidently. And Matron Baenre will know who delive red Drizzt Do'Urden to her.
Entreri wasn't about to ask what drow female he was killing this time. He was working in concert with Bregan D'aerthe, and this drow, like the one in the mushroom house, had interfered, and was a witness.
A timely glance showed him something that gave him pause, though, showed him a familiar jeweled dagger hanging on this drow's belt.
Entreri studied the female closely, kept his sword tip at her neck, drawing small droplets of blood. He shifted the weapon deftly, and a subtle ridge showed along the female's smooth skin.
"Why are you here?" Entreri asked breathlessly, honestly sur prised. He knew that this one had not come to Menzoberranzan beside Drizzt, Councilor Firble of Blingdenstone certainly would have mentioned her. Jarlaxle certainly would have known about her!
Yet, here she was, surprisingly resourceful.
Entreri shifted his sword again from her neck, then delicately tipped it up under the crease beneath her chin and used it to remove the magical mask.
Catti-brie fought hard to sublimate her mounting terror. This was too much like the first time she had been in Artemis Entreri's clutches; the assassin evoked an almost irrational horror in her, a deep fear that no other monster, neither a dragon nor a fiend of Tarterus, could bring.
Here he was again, amazingly alive, with his sword to her vul nerable throat.
"An unexpected bonus, " Entreri mused. He chuckled evilly, as though he was trying to sort out the best way to make his prisoner profitable.
Catti-brie thought of leaping over the ledge, if she had been near a cliff a thousand feet in the air, she would have considered it! She felt the hairs on the back of her neck tingle, felt sweat beading on her brow.
"No, " she uttered, and Entreri's features twisted with confu sion.
"No?" he echoed, not understanding that her remark had been aimed inward.
Catti-brie steeled her gaze at him. "So ye've survived, " she remarked matter of factly. "To go and live among those who're most akin to ye."
She saw by the assassin's slight grimace that Entreri did not like that description. He confirmed that fact by punching her with his sword hilt, raising a welt on the woman's cheek and bringing a trickle of blood from her nose.
Catti-brie fell back, but straightened immediately, and stared at the assassin with unblinking eyes. She would not give Entreri the satisfaction of terror, not this time.
"I should kill you, " Entreri whispered. "Slowly."
Catti-brie laughed at him. "Then do, " she replied. "Ye've no hold over me, not since I've seen the proof that Drizzt is yer better."
Entreri, in sudden rage, almost ran her through. "Was, " he cor rected, then he looked wickedly to the ledge.
"I've seen ye both fall more than once, " Catti-brie asserted with as much conviction as she could muster in that dark moment. "I'll not call either of ye dead until I've felt the cold body!"
"Drizzt is alive, " came a whisper from behind, spoken in perfect surface Common, as Jarlaxle and two Bregan D'aerthe soldiers moved to join the assassin. One of them stopped to finish off the squirming drow with the wounded side.
His rage taking control, Entreri instinctively swung again at Catti-brie, but this time the woman lifted a stiffened hand and turned her wrist, subtly diverting the blow.
Then Jarlaxle was between them, eyeing Catti-brie with more than a passing interest. "By the luck of a Lloth blessed spider, " the mercenary leader remarked, and he lifted a hand to stroke Catti brie's bruised cheek.
"Baenre approaches, " the soldier behind the mercenary leader reminded, using the Drow tongue.
"Indeed, " Jarlaxle replied absently, again in the surface language. He seemed wholly absorbed by this exotic woman standing before him. "We must be on our way.
Catti-brie straightened, as though she expected the killing blow to fall. Jarlaxle reached up instead and removed the circlet from her head, in effect, blinding her. She offered no resistance as Taulmaril and her quiver were taken from her, and knew that it was Entreri's rough grasp that snapped the jeweled dagger from her belt sheath.
A strong but surprisingly gentle hand hooked her upper arm and led her away, away from the fallen Drizzt.
Caught again, Drizzt thought, and this time he knew that the reception would not be as pleasant as his stay in Blingdenstone. He had walked into the spider's web, had delivered the prized catch to the dinner table.
He was shackled to a wall, standing on his tiptoes to keep from hanging by his sore wrists. He did not remember coming to this place, did not know how long he had hung here, in the dark and dirty room, but both his wrists ached and showed hot welts to his infravision, as though most of the skin had been worn away. Drizzt's left shoulder also hurt, and he felt an uncomfortable stretch along his upper chest and armpit, where Entreri's sword had hit him.
He realized, though, that one of the priestesses must have cleaned the gash and healed him, for the wound had been worse when he had gone off the ledge. That supposition did little to bolster Drizzt's spirits, though, for drow sacrifices were usually in the very best of health before they were given to the Spider Queen.
But, through it all, the pain and the helplessness, the ranger fought hard to find some measure of comfort. In his heart Drizzt had known all along that it would end this way, that he would be taken and killed so that his friends in Mithril Hall might live in peace. Drizzt had long ago accepted death, and had resigned himself to that probability when he had last ventured from Mithril Hall. But why, then, was he so uncomfortable?
The unremarkable room was just a cave with shackles built into the stone along three walls and a cage hanging from the ceiling. Drizzt's survey of the place was cut short as the iron bound door creaked open and two uniformed drow female soldiers rushed in, going to rigid attention at either side of the portal.
Drizzt firmed his jaw and set his gaze, determined to face his death with dignity.
An illithid walked through the door.
Drizzt's mouth dropped open, but he quickly regained his composure. A mind flayer? He balked, but when he took the moment to consider the creature, he came to realize that he must be in House Baenre's dungeon. That was not a comforting thought, for either him or his friends.
Two drow priestesses, one small and vicious looking, her face angular and her mouth tight in a perpetual pout, the other taller, more dignified, but no less imposing, came in behind the illithid. Then came the legendary, withered matron mother, sitting easily on a floating driftdisk, flanked by another female, a younger, more beautiful version of Matron Baenre. At the end of the train came two males, fighters, judging from their attire and weapons.
The glow from Matron Baenre's disk allowed Drizzt to shift his gaze to the normal spectrum, and he noticed a pile of bones under one of the other pairs of shackles.
Drizzt looked back to the entourage, to the drow males, his gaze settling on the younger of the two for a long moment. It was Berg'inyon, he believed, a classmate of his at the drow Academy, the second ranking fighter of Drizzt's class, second behind Drizzt.
The three younger females fanned out in a line behind Matron Baenre's driftdisk; the two males stood beside the female soldiers at the door. The illithid, to Drizzt's amazement, and supreme discomfort, paced about the captured drow, its tentacles waving near Drizzt's face, brushing his skin, teasing him. Drizzt had seen such tentacles suck the brains out of a dark elf, and it was all he could do to hold his nerve with the wretched creature so near.
"Drizzt Do'Urden, " Matron Baenre remarked.
She knew his name. Drizzt realized that to be a bad sign. That sickly, uncomfortable feeling welled within him again, and he was beginning to understand why.
"Noble fool!" Matron Baenre snapped suddenly. "To come to Menzoberranzan, knowing the price upon your pitiful head!" She came forward, off the driftdisk, in a sudden rush and slapped Drizzt across the face. "Noble, arrogant fool! Did you dare to believe that you could win? Did you think that five thousand years of what has been could be disrupted by pitiful you?"
The outburst surprised Drizzt, but he kept his visage solid, his eyes straight ahead.
Matron Baenre's scowl disappeared, replaced suddenly by a wry smile. Drizzt always hated that typical trait of his people. So volatile and unpredictable, dark elves kept enemies and friends alike off guard, never letting a prisoner or a guest know exactly where they stood.
"Let your pride be appeased, Drizzt Do'Urden, " Matron Baenre said with a chuckle. "I introduce my daughter Bladen'Kerst Baenre, second eldest to Triel." She indicated the female in the middle. "And Vendes Baenre, " she continued, indicating the smallest of the three. "And Quenthel. Behind stand my sons, Dantrag and Berg'inyon, who is known to you.~~
"Well met, " Drizzt said cheerily to Berg'inyon. He managed a smile with his salutation and received another vicious slap from the matron mother.
"Six Baenres have come to see you, Drizzt Do'Urden, " Matron Baenre went on, and Drizzt wished that she would quit repeating his name with every sentence! "You should feel honored, Drizzt Do'Urden."
"I would clasp wrists, " Drizzt replied, "but. . ." He looked helplessly up to his chained hands and barely flinched as another stinging slap predictably came against his face.
"You know that you will be given to Lloth, " Baenre said.
Drizzt looked her straight in the eye. "In body, but never in soul."
"Good, " purred the matron mother. "You will not die quickly, I promise. You will prove a wellspring of information, Drizzt Do'Urden."
For the first time in the conversation, a dark cloud crossed Drizzt's features.
"I will torture him, Mother, " Vendes offered eagerly.
"Duk Tak!" Matron Baenre scolded, turning sharply on her daughter.
"Duk Tak, " Drizzt mouthed under his breath, then he recognized the name. In the Drow tongue, duk tak meant, literally, unholy executioner. It was also the nickname of one of the Baenre daughters, this one apparently, whose handiwork, in the form of dark elves turned into ebony statues, was often on display at the drow Academy.
"Wonderful, " Drizzt muttered.
"You have heard of my precious daughter?" Matron Baenre asked, spinning back to the prisoner. "She will have her time with you, I promise, Drizzt Do'Urden, but not before you provide me with valuable information."
Drizzt cast a doubting look the withered drow's way.
"You can withstand any torture, " Matron Baenre remarked. "That I do not doubt, noble fool." She lifted a wrinkled hand to stroke the illithid who had moved to her side. "But can you withstand the intrusions of a mind flayer?"
Drizzt felt the blood drain from his face. He had once been a prisoner of the cruel illithids, a helpless, hapless fool, his mind nearly broken by their overpowering wills. Could he fend such intrusions?
"You thought this would end, 0 noble fool!" Matron Baenre screeched. "You delivered the prize, stupid, arrogant, noble fool!"
Drizzt felt that sick feeling return tenfold. He couldn't hide his cringe as the matron mother went on, her logic following an inescapable course that tore into Drizzt Do'Urden's heart.
"You are but one prize, " she said. "And you will aid us in the conquest of another. Mithril Hall will be ours more easily now that King Bruenor Battlehammer's strongest ally is out of the way. And that very ally will show us the dwarven weaknesses.
"Methil!" she commanded, and the illithid walked directly in front of Drizzt. The ranger closed his eyes, but felt the four octopus like tentacles of the creature's grotesque head squirm across his face, as if looking for specific spots.
Drizzt cried out in horror, snapped his head about wildly, and even managed to bite one of the tentacles.
The illithid fell back.
"Duk Tak!" Matron Baenre commanded, and eager Vendes rushed forward, slamming a brass covered fist into Drizzt's cheek. She hit him again, and a third time, gaining momentum, feeding off the torture.
"Must he be conscious?" she asked, her voice pleading.
"Enough!" Drizzt heard Matron Baenre reply, though her voice seemed far away. Vendes smacked him once more, then he felt the tentacles squirm over his face again. He tried to protest, to move his head about, but he hadn't the strength.
The tentacles found a hold; Drizzt felt little pulses of energy run through his face.
His screams over the next ten minutes were purely instinctive, primal, as the mind flayer probed his mind, sent horrid images careening through his thoughts and devoured every mental counter Drizzt had to offer. He felt naked, vulnerable, stripped of his very emotions.
Through it all, Drizzt, though he did not know it, fought valiantly, and when Methil moved back from him, the illithid turned to Matron Baenre and shrugged.
"What have you learned?" the matron mother demanded.
This one is strong, Methil replied telepathically. It will take more sessions.
"Continue!" snapped Baenre.
"He will die, " Methil somehow said in a gurgling, watery sounding voice. "Tomorrow."
Matron Baenre thought for a moment, then nodded her accord. She looked to Vendes, her vicious Duk Tak, and snapped her fingers, sending the wild drow into a fierce rush.
Drizzt's world fell away into blackness.