Exile

“This ca

“We had our chance!” Dinin yelled at her. “Zaknafein was our chance―” Dinin looked to his mother’s torn body “―and the wraith has failed, I would assume.”

Briza growled and lashed out with her whip. Dinin expected the strike, though―he knew Briza so very well―and he darted beyond the weapon’s range. Briza took a step toward him.

“Does your anger require more enemies?” Dinin asked, swords in hand. “Go out to the balcony, dear sister, where you will find a thousand awaiting you!”

Briza cried out in frustration but turned away from Dinin and rushed from the room, hoping to salvage something out of this terrible predicament.

Dinin did not follow. He stooped over Matron Malice and looked one final time into the eyes of the tyrant who had ruled his entire life. Malice had been a powerful figure, confident and wicked, but how fragile her rule had proved, broken by the antics of a renegade child.

Dinin heard a commotion out in the corridor, then the anteroom door swung open again. The elderboy did not have to look to know that enemies were in the room. He continued to stare at his dead mother, knowing that he soon would share the same fate.

The expected blow did not fall, however, and, several agonizing moments later, Dinin dared to glance back over his shoulder.

Jarlaxle sat comfortably on the stone throne.

“You are not surprised?” the mercenary asked, noting that Dinin’s expression did not change.

“Bregan D’aerthe was among the Baenre troops, perhaps all of the Baenre troops,” Dinin said casually. He covertly glanced around the room at the dozen or so soldiers who had followed Jarlaxle in. If only he could get to the mercenary leader before they killed him! Dinin thought. Watching the death of the treacherous Jarlaxle might bring some measure of satisfaction to this whole disaster.

“Observant,” Jarlaxle said to him. “I hold to my suspicions that you knew all along that your house was doomed.”

“If Zin-carla failed,” Dinin replied.

“And you knew it would?” the mercenary asked, almost rhetorically.

Dinin nodded. “Ten years ago,” he began, wondering why he was telling all this to Jarlaxle, “I watched as Zaknafein was sacrificed to the Spider Queen. Rarely has any house in all of Menzoberranzan seen a greater waste.”

“The weapon master of House Do’Urden had a mighty reputation,” the mercenary put in.

“Well earned, do not doubt,” replied Dinin. “Then Drizzt, my brother―”

“Another mighty warrior.”

Again Dinin nodded. “Drizzt deserted us, with war at our gates. Matron Malice’s miscalculation could not be ignored. I knew then that House Do’Urden was doomed.”

“Your house defeated House Hun’ett, no small feat,” reasoned Jarlaxle.

“Only with the help of Bregan D’aerthe,” Dinin corrected. “For most of my life, I have watched House Do’Urden, under Matron Malice’s steady guidance, ascend through the city hierarchy. Every year, our power and influence grew. For the last decade, though, I have seen us spiral down. I have watched the foundations of House Do’Urden crumble. The structure had to follow the descent.”

“As wise as you are skilled with the blade,” the mercenary remarked. “I have said that before of Dinin Do’Urden, and it seems that I am proved correct once again.”

“If I have pleased you, I ask one favor,” Dinin said, rising to his feet. “Grant it if you will.”

“Kill you quickly and without pain?” Jarlaxle asked through a widening smile.

Dinin nodded for the third time.

“No,” Jarlaxle said simply. Not understanding, Dinin brought his sword flashing up and ready.

“I’ll not kill you at all,” Jarlaxle explained. Dinin kept his sword up high and studied the mercenary’s face, looking for some hint as to his intent. “I am a noble of the house,” Dinin said. “A witness to the attack. No house elimination is complete if nobles remain alive.”

“A witness?” Jarlaxle laughed. “Against House Baenre? To what gain?”

Dinin’s sword dropped low.

“Then what is my fate?” he asked. “Will Matron Baenre take me in?” Dinin’s tone showed that he was not excited about that possibility.

“Matron Baenre has little use for males,” Jarlaxle replied.

“If any of your sisters survive―and I believe the one named Vierna has―they may find themselves in Matron Baenre’s chapel. But the withered old mother of House Baenre would never see the value of a male such as Dinin, I fear.”

“Then what?” Dinin demanded.

“I know your value,” Jarlaxle stated casually. He led Dinin’s gaze around to the concurring grins of his troops.

“Bregan D’aerthe?” Dinin balked. “Me, a noble, to become a rogue?”

Quicker than Dinin’s eye could follow, Jarlaxle whipped a dagger into the body at his feet. The blade buried itself up to the hilt in Malice’s back.

“A rogue or a corpse,” Jarlaxle casually explained.

It was not so difficult a choice.

A few days later, Jarlaxle and Dinin looked back on the ruined adamantite gate of House Do’Urden. Once it had stood so proud and strong, with its intricate carvings of spiders and the two formidable stalagmite pillars that served as guard towers.

“How fast it changed,” Dinin remarked. “I see all my former life before me, yet it is all gone.”

“Forget what has gone before,” Jarlaxle suggested. The mercenary’s sly wink told Dinin that he had something specific in mind as he completed the thought. “Except that which may aid in your future.”

Dinin did a quick visual inspection of himself and the ruins. “My battle gear?” he asked, fishing for Jarlaxle’s intent. “My training?”

“Your brother.”

“Drizzt?” Again the cursed name reared up to bring anguish to Dinin!

“It would seem that there is still the matter of Drizzt Do’Urden to be reconciled,” Jarlaxle explained. “He’s a high prize in the eyes of the Spider Queen.”

“Drizzt?” Dinin asked again, hardly believing Jarlaxle’s words.

“Why are you so surprised?” Jarlaxle asked. “Your brother is still alive, else why was Matron Malice brought down?”

“What house could be interested in him?” Dinin asked bluntly. “Another mission for Matron Baenre?” Jarlaxle’s laugh belittled him. “Bregan D’aerthe may act without the guidance―or the purse―of a recognized house.” he replied.

“You plan to go after my brother?”

“It may be the perfect opportunity for Dinin to show his value to my little family,” said Jarlaxle to no one in particular.

“Who better to catch the renegade that brought down House Do’Urden? Your brother’s value increased many times over with the failure of Zin-carla.”

“I have seen what Drizzt has become,” said Dinin. “The cost will be great.”

“My resources are limitless,” Jarlaxle answered smugly, “and no cost is too high if the gain is higher.” The eccentric mercenary went silent for a short while, allowing Dinin’s gaze to linger over the ruins of his once proud house.

“No,” Dinin said suddenly.

Jarlaxle turned a wary eye on him.

“I’ll not go after Drizzt,” Dinin explained.

“You serve Jarlaxle, the master of Bregan D’aerthe,” the mercenary calmly reminded him.

“As I once served Malice, the matron of House Do’Urden,” Dinin replied with equal calm. “I would not venture out again after Drizzt for my mother―” He looked at Jarlaxle squarely, unafraid of the consequences “―and I shall not do it again for you.”

Jarlaxle spent a long moment studying his companion. Normally the mercenary leader would not tolerate such brazen insubordination, but Dinin was sincere and adamant, beyond doubt. Jarlaxle had accepted Dinin into Bregan D’aerthe because he valued the elderboy’s experience and skill; he could not now readily dismiss Dinin’s judgment.

“I could have you put to a slow death,” Jarlaxle replied, more to see Dinin’s reaction than to make any promises. He had no intention of destroying one as valuable as Dinin.