Virginia McClain: Freelance Writer, Novelist

New Arrival! Virginia has recently finished her first novel (currently titled Consort's Revenge) and is in the process of editing it. As she brings pieces of it up to snuff they will appear here. The Prologue and Chapter 1 (more or less - chapter distinctions are hazy still) is now posted below. Stay tuned for more excerpts in the future!

Prologue

Matron Hunnett slowly removed the knife from the chest of the man lying beneath her. It had been a shame to lose such a talented consort, but the man had outlived his usefulness and the rites required a sacrifice. As she dismounted him, she nodded in approval that he was still erect even in death. That would soon pass as the blood drained from his body, but it was fitting that that be part of his final posture. He had, after all, died in climax. One of her priestesses proffered her a plate with the crushed cave mold that she was to consume for this part of the ceremony. She pressed it into her mouth and followed it with a sip of the wine that was placed into her hand. Instantly she began to convulse with the oncoming visions. Lolth was answering her prayers and her sacrifice.

A child, a baby, grey eyes and black hair. Not a child she knew but a child that looked somehow familiar. The baby was part drow. Power, the child controlled a power that she could use. She was a seer. Caution. The baby could be her destruction. She saw that too. The child could be her end or it could be her salvation. But, if she was careful… She saw an image of herself in the first seat of the 8 houses of Menzoberranzan, saw her armies pressing against others futilely trying to oppose her. She could have all of that. But she needed the child. Needed the seer.

She rose from her vision some time later; it was difficult to tell how long it had been. It did not matter; nothing mattered. She would have that child.

The trees were cast in a silvery light, and the shadows played off of the sticks and rocks beneath her feet. L’indratha ran. She had been here before, and while she did not know exactly where she was running, she knew she had a purpose. Branches came at her in the night, and she nimbly dodged them as she sped through the trees. She ran on. She heard the sound of swift movement to her side and looked down to see a familiar companion arrive beside her. A large grey wolf padded along beside her, matching her speed with a lazy lope. Eventually, the path she ran on widened, and the trees surrounding it began to thin. L’indratha slowed her pace and began to check her movement, so as not to make any unnecessary sound. Ahead, a large glade opened up, and she and her wolf friend slowed to a walk as they entered the ring of trees.

In the center of the glade she saw them--- three large pillars connected by garlands of spring flowers. Beneath these pillars stood a woman. L’indratha thought she looked familiar, but at the same time was certain she had never seen her before. The woman beckoned to her and softly began to chant. L’indratha started towards the woman; but just as she neared the three pillars, a blow to her head startled her awake.

“Get up, slave. You are needed.”

L’indratha looked up into the eyes of Kalruch, one of her many overseers. She had long since learned to keep the hatred from her face while looking at her overseers. The sting of snake headed whips had taught her to mask her emotions. But, if you looked carefully, you could sense the cold malice that she felt for her wards.  

L’indratha got up from her thin bed roll on the marble floor and began to dress herself.

“For what am I needed?”

L’indratha was careful to keep her tone neutral knowing that such questions, without reason, could be painful. But, as it was, she needed to know what to wear. As a multipurpose slave in one of the more powerful houses of Menzoberanzen, she had a number of garments from which to choose, depending on the task at hand. While the drow were loathe to give their slaves much comfort, they were more loathe to have guests served by a poorly dressed servant. Hence, slaves who served in any public portion of the house had presentable clothing that they were required to keep in good condition.

Kalruch eyed her with suspicion but then conceded:

“You are needed in the kitchens.”

L’indratha reached for her kitchen clothes, bare and stained with food, but was cut short.

“For serving.”

L’indratha retracted her hand and walked to the hook on the wall from which hung her serving outfit. It was a simple uniform that was mostly black, with bits of charcoal grey, but actually clean and in good repair. L’indratha had never been sure why her outfit contained marks of charcoal, the rest of the serving slaves had outfits entirely composed of black as the overseers insisted that servants go as unnoticed as possible. In L’indratha’s case they requested that she be invisible. Why then, would they add a lighter color to her uniform, thus making it easier for her to be seen? In all likelihood it was just to make her more miserable, at least, that was her best guess.

L’indratha had certainly mastered becoming invisible. As if being a half breed in a society that reviled anything that wasn’t pure drow wasn’t enough, she was continually ordered to take on her daily chores and other tasks while being completely silent, or completely unseen, or both. The punishment for failure was being severely beaten. Many were the times she had felt the horrible sting of venomous snake heads piercing her back. It had been that way ever since L’indratha could remember, ever since she had been a child.

So it was that L’indratha dressed silently, moved down the hall silently, and appeared as if out of nowhere in front of the head of the kitchen.

*****

“I was told I was needed.”

“Aye. Ye are.”

The head of the house of Ichtar’s kitchen was an old Druergar who had been captured so long ago it was said that he was older than the current Matron Mother of house Ichtar. That was surprising, considering most other drow houses killed their cooks off as often as they complained about the food. Isleverg, House Ichtar’s head of kitchen, may very well have survived simply by way of being too hard to kill. Apparently an incredibly fierce warrior in his prime, armed with the arsenal that was the kitchen Isleverg seemed well set to defend himself. And no one seemed to want to go through the bother of overthrowing him.

Isleverg eyed L’indratha as he spoke to her.

“Yer needed fer serving in the private study. ‘Twould appear we have an unexpected guest.”

L’indratha nodded and headed for her serving tray. As she reached for it, she saw that it was loaded with nothing but a small decanter of wine.

“Tis apparently of much importance that ye be completely unseen tonight.”

L’indratha eyed him quizzically before shrugging and taking her tray with her out of the kitchen.

As she glided silently down the halls she thought about her dream. Had it been a dream? She couldn’t be sure, and she had no one to ask. Drow did not dream, and even if they did, she was unlikely to tell them anything so personal. Did surface elves dream? She didn’t know. She was never told much about her heritage, except that it was evil. The drow abhorred half breeds in general, but that she was a mix of drow and surface elf made her even more deplorable to the rest of drow society. She wished nothing more than to be able to cover up her mixed heritage. It had caused her nothing but grief since she was born. But, there was little chance of that. The drow, dark as they were, with white hair, would never be able to miss her grey complexion; grey skin, black hair, and most distinctively, grey eyes. Compared to the red orbs that inhabited the skulls of most drow, her grey eyes were a startling contrast that no amount of clothing or coverings could mask. She had never seen eyes like her own before. Never, until tonight. The woman in the dream had had grey eyes as well, only, in that beautiful moonlight, they had looked silver. Why had that woman looked so familiar? How could she? She was a surface elf. L’indratha had never seen a surface elf. Even in that dream world, which was now so familiar, she had never seen a surface elf. For years now, she had entered that world when she slept, but she had only ever had the company of the grey wolf. Not that she ever minded. Together, she and the grey wolf had ventured far and wide through that open-skied, green-treed world, and L’indratha had learned things that she had no business knowing. The names of those trees, properties of plants, the names of the stars and the animals, all conveyed to her by the friendly grey wolf. L’indratha had been quite frightened when she first had a dream with the forest and the wolf. She’d had no idea where she was, and the dream world had been totally alien to her. After all, L’indratha had never set foot on the surface. And yet, there she had been, in the middle of a vast forest, with the moon on her shoulders and a wolf by her side. She had quickly gotten used to those surroundings, and had quickly learned to trust the wolf. Communication with the wolf had been difficult at first, but she had eventually broken the barrier between them and “conversation” had become easy. Sniffs, woofs and howls, combined with body posture and inflection translated to a world of language that she learned to understand easily. Somehow, before she even started to learn the language of the wolf, the wolf seemed to understand her spoken language. L’indratha had thought this an unfair advantage, but, she thought, it was a dream after all, and the mind did funny things when one was in reverie. Didn’t it?

L’indratha was forced to stop her musings as she neared the door to the private study. She wondered briefly who was inside as she listened at the door to make sure no one was in front of it before it opened. If she was expected to go completely unseen, she would have to be extremely cautious since there was an unknown guest in the room. Normally, when she was just serving the family, she knew the movement patterns of all the people involved and could usually predict where people would be when she entered the room. With an unknown person in the mix she would have to be particularly careful when entering and exiting.

L’indratha waited by the door, listening. After calculating the number and location of all the people in the room she entered, sure that she would find a path unhindered, where should could trod unseen. It takes great skill to open a door unseen and unheard. Granted, it helped that she was coming through the servant’s entrance, which was very well oiled as well as being covered in silencing spells in order to keep the servants and slaves from hearing and being heard. Nonetheless, any other slave would have made some noise, small though it was, or caused some change in light. It would have been easily ignored of course, and had any other slave made such a mistake it would have been. Bun L’indratha was ever on her guard for such things for, if anyone had any inkling of a clue that she was in the room, her punishment was always severe. L’indratha was, therefore, capable of moving through a room as unnoticed as if she were cloaked in spells of invisibility and silence. It had been 22 years since her first beating from not moving undetected, and only two years since her last.

*****

L’indratha entered the private study, melding instantly to the shadows. She took quick stock to assure that her outside calculations had been correct, and then moved on towards a small table at the far side of the wall. She moved with unrealistic speed for someone trying not to be seen and also balancing a tray. But, that was part of how she worked, she was never in one place long enough for you to think you had seen anything, merely a fluttering of shadows. At least, that was one way she worked. She was also capable of standing completely still, so as to go unsensed for hours at a time. This time though, she worked with speed. In a few moments she was across the large study and placed the small decanter of wine in its designated spot and turned around to leave. Just before she reached the door however, she heard something that made her hesitate.

“I have come for the half breed.”

It was not a voice that she recognized, it was a male voice and it was not directed at her.

“Why the half breed?”

This voice was the voice of Nesdivia the Matron Mother of House Ichtar. L’indratha froze. She knew that she was the only “half breed” in House Ichtar. She would normally have left the room without daring to listen to any conversation the inhabitants were engaged in (she had been beaten too many times for just that to even consider it), but the mention of herself in this particular discussion was too much to resist. She melded into the shadows by the door.

“She is mine. She was mine to begin with. She has been here on loan, and now I want her back.”

“She has been with us these last 22 years, and she is a useful servant. I have become accustomed to her. Let me give you one of my other slaves instead. Would you not prefer a pleasure slave?”

“My darling Nesdivia, what makes you think I won’t be gaining a pleasure slave when I take the half breed?”

This comment made hot anger rush to L’indratha’s cheeks as she shifted silently to get a better look at this stranger who was demanding her as property. From her current vantage point she could see his face over the shoulder of Matron Ichtar who faced away from her. He was tall for a male drow. Easily as tall as Matron Ichtar and even more broad. He had the usual fine features of the drow, but he kept his white mane in a loose braid and he wore an eye patch over his left eye. His remaining eye was currently focused on Nesdivia, who was now struggling to object.

“But, she’s not trained. She’s only ever been a house servant. Granted, she’s worked everywhere in the house and is quite adaptable, but she’d hardly be capable of working in the bedroom.”

“That, my dear woman, is for me to decide as, I repeat, she is my slave.”

That was twice now that this strange guest had neglected to refer to Nesdivia as Matron. As a male he was obligated by drow societal standards to address her as such, and yet, Nesdivia had done nothing to correct him.

“Well, Achtar, I suppose if you insist, she is yours. But I really don’t see why any of my other slaves wouldn’t do just as well.”

“Lady, your other slaves are yours. The half breed is mine. She always has been.”

“Very well, she is yours. I will have her ready for you first thing in the morning.”

L’indratha started to move towards the door so that she would be gone before either of the drow exited, but the next sentence caught her mid step before she could fully turn away.

“Actually, I would prefer that she be sent to my room tonight.”

Her eyes instantly flew to Achtar and, for the briefest of moments, despite all probability, she could have sworn that he looked at her, and that he winked.

L’indratha’s heart nearly stopped. If the Matron Mother knew that she had been seen, she would be severely beaten, in this particular case, possibly killed. She checked briefly to see if Nesdivia showed any signs of having seen her, but she had been looking away from Achtar when he winked and didn’t seem to notice anything. Without another thought, L’indratha slipped out the door and ran back to her room, a silent shadow sprinting through the halls. When she finally reached her portion of the slave quarters, she went immediately to her bed roll and grabbed her small dagger and throwing knives from underneath it. Next, she grabbed her traveling cloak and her water skein and prepared to run. She would be damned to the nine hells before she would become a drow pleasure slave.

*****

Despite L’indratha’s incredible stealth, escape from House Ichtar was nearly impossible. Half drow herself, she had received her inheritance of heat vision, natural stealth, and general dexterity. That, combined with the “incentive” program her drow overseers had kept her on through her last 22 years’ servitude, made her one of the most stealthy creatures in the Underdark (though she didn’t recognize it). Nonetheless, the guards and enchantments that protected House Ichtar were of such caliber that breaking the barriers, in either direction, would be quite a feat. An intricate knowledge of the servants’ entrances and exits to the compound, as well as a familiarity with all of the guards and slaves were her only hope of getting out.    

As she moved undetected through the hallways that led to one of the servants’ entrances with the fewest guards at this time of night, she played the conversation between Nesdivia and Achtar over and over again in her mind, particularly the last exchange that had led to Achtar winking at her. Had he really seen her? How could that be? No one had seen her when she didn’t want them to for the last two years. Granted she had been taken off guard by the conversation she was listening to at the time. But, she knew that she hadn’t made any sort of false move that would have given her away, at least, not to any normal Drow. Who was Achtar? Now that she thought of it, she had no idea who he was. He looked vaguely familiar, as if she might have seen him at some court function that she had been a servant to. But, she could not place him and had never heard his name before. How had he gotten away with addressing Matron Ichtar as Nesdivia? No male should be able to do such a thing without reprimand, yet Matron Ichtar had made no attempt to correct him. And why had he said that she was his? L’indratha had been a slave to the house of Ichtar for as long as she could remember. Had Achtar owned her before she became the property of House Ichtar? She could not remember a time before House Ichtar, and she had never been told anything about her beginnings. She had always assumed that she had been born into slavery, but she had never pondered whether she had been somewhere else before. She knew nothing of her parents. She had no idea how she had come to be half surface elf, but she had always assumed that it had been through some tryst between slaves. She assumed that she had been separated from her parents at birth and sold to another house as soon as she was old enough to do manual labor. When she was a small child, she had occasionally asked about her origins, but she was so severely beaten for it the few times she made that mistake (she had mistakenly thought that certain overseers had more sympathy for her plight than others and might be more forthcoming) that she did not repeat it after the first few attempts. Would this Achtar have answers for her? She paused in her tracks, hesitating for just a moment with the thought that Achtar might have some idea of where she had come from.

She resumed her course though, after a brief pause, knowing that the chances that he would tell her anything were extremely slim and hardly worth the prospect of her becoming a pleasure slave. She had heard enough from the drow that served in House Ichtar to not want to have anything to do with the position. In reality, she had never considered that it would be a possible fate for her as the drow so detested her half breed status that she could not imagine that any drow would deign to have her in his bed. Apparently Achtar was not any drow. And she was not about to wait to find out how perverse his tastes might be.

She passed hardly anyone as she navigated the narrow servants’ corridors that led to one of the first level exits. Those few slaves that she passed had no idea that she was there.  She was headed to one of the kitchen exits as it was one of the least heavily guarded and she was very familiar with the guards there, who would hopefully find nothing odd about her use of the exit. She checked again to make sure that her few weapons were well hidden. As a slave, she was not allowed to carry weapons, and she only had them through a strange twist of fate involving the only drow that had ever shown her any kindness.

*****

She had met Aldranar when she was ten. She had had a new duty assigned to her many others, and was now required to clean the martial practice room. She was to clean the entire room as well as all of the weapons inside of it. As the rather large practice room was almost entirely lined in blades, bows, and staves, this took quite a long time, which meant that inevitably someone would be using the room at some time during her duty. As usual, part of her instructions was to remain completely unseen while engaging in her chores. After seven years of practice she was fairly adept at this, but she still had many things to perfect, and it wasn’t long before she was spotted by one of the drow who utilized the room. She had been attempting to clean a pike,  longer than she was tall, that inhabited one of the higher points of the large wall rack that supported a variety of blades and staves. As she reached for it, she dropped the blade end of the pike and caused a large clanging sound as the blade hit the polished stone floor. She cringed, waiting for the beating she knew would come, sure that the man in the room with her would have heard the noise and would comply with the compulsory beating she received whenever she made noise. It never came. Instead, she found the pike replaced in her hands and looked up into the calm but stern face of an older drow warrior. She would learn later that Aldranar had been close to five hundred years old when she had met him, but while he appeared older and wiser than most of the drow she was familiar with, he did not seem aged at all. Later, she would recognize that the mere fact that a drow that old was still the battle master of a noble house in Menzoberanzen was quite a feat indeed. At that moment though, the only thing that had struck her was that she had not yet received a blow from this drow.  Instead, he smirked at her. To call it a smile would have been an exaggeration, and while his lips did curl slightly, the majority of the effect took place in his eyes. They glittered mildly and, despite their harsh red tone, did not seem menacing.

“You should learn to be more careful.”

L’indratha didn’t move at all. She was still flinching, expecting a blow to come at any moment.

“Do you speak, child?”

L’indratha had been told so many times to be silent, unseen and unheard, that it was a long while before she found her voice. Besides that, she thought it might be a trick to get her to give him an excuse to beat her.

“Go on, child. I won’t harm you.”

L’indratha found that almost impossible to believe, but she had essentially been given an order in that last sentence so in her mind she was left no choice but to respond or be beaten.

“Y-yes, lord. I speak. And, I will be more careful. My apologies for making a sound and forcing you to look upon me.”

L’indratha once more cringed expecting violence.

“I am an old soldier, young one, I have seen many things more vile than you. What is your name, child?”

“L-l- L’indratha, my lord.”

“L’indratha. An interesting name. And why is one so small assigned to cleaning weapons twice her size?”

“I don’t know, my lord. I do as I am told.”

“You need not address me as lord, L’indratha. I’ve seen enough in battle to know the true value of such titles, which is little. You may call me Aldranar.”

L’indratha was so startled by the idea of addressing a non-slave by a given name that she couldn’t find any words to respond.

“Ah, I see your conditioning will be difficult to overcome.”

He smiled again, and L’indratha actually began to release from the cringe she had maintained since the moment she had dropped the pike.

“Now, tell me L’indratha, do you know the name of that weapon you are cleaning?”

*****

L’indratha’s unofficial training in weapons and combat began that day and continued every few days until 11 years later when Aldranar died in an otherwise successful attack against one of the other houses. L’indratha thought of him now, the only drow that had ever treated her as anything other than chattel. She warmed at the memory of the old man’s smile on that first day, and how he had gone on to explain the name and use of the pike she had dropped and even the proper way to clean it so that it kept its razor-sharp edge. If L’indratha had not known drow society better, she might have wondered at the idea that she would be set to a task without being given the proper instructions on how to accomplish it. But, she knew the drow well enough to realize that she was most likely given the task in hopes that she would fail and thus give her overseers another opportunity to beat her. Thanks to Aldranar’s tutelage, she was never beaten for anything that had to do with the weapons training room as she quickly learned how to keep it and all of its contents in perfect condition. She later suspected that in the first few months, when she was still learning the intricacies of cleaning all of the weapons in the practice room, Aldranar was either not reporting any mistakes she made, or he was perhaps covering them up on his own. Either way, her assignments to clean the martial practice room became the only time she ever enjoyed. Not that she ever had a chance to relax or rest during these times, as ever she was hard at work. However, it was during these occasions that, when no other drow were present, Aldranar would teach her about the weapons she was cleaning, as well as basic information on how to use most of them. Then, on her thirteenth birthday, the nature of her time in the martial practice room changed.

*****

L’indratha had already begun cleaning the weapons that lined the walls in the practice room when Aldranar entered from the far side of the room.

“Put that down. We have other work to do today.”

Aldranar had the ability to notice L’indratha even when she was making every effort not to be seen. Despite the fact that most of the days that she cleaned the practice room there was no one scheduled to practice in it, she still continued her usual state of virtual invisibility, just in case someone other than Aldranar came in. Nonetheless, he was always able to spot her.

“What gave me away this time?”

She had gained much confidence in talking to Aldranar at this point. As he had yet to betray the trust he had offered her that first day, she was able to relax enough to address him the way he preferred: as a friend.

“A small amount of light reflected off the stone in the hilt of that dagger.”

Each time that Aldranar was able to spot L’indratha in the room, he informed her about what had revealed her, in an attempt to help her correct whatever errors she made. This had proven incredibly helpful in the rest of her tasks around the complex, and over the last three years she had severely reduced the number of times that she was beaten on a weekly basis.

“If you rotate the hilt and move your hand a quarter inch up you’ll still have the appropriate grip for proper cleaning, but you’ll cover both the stones and won’t allow any light to reflect off metal work or the stones.”

L’indratha practiced the rotation until she succeeded.

“Now, put that away. No weapons today.”

L’indratha put the dagger back in its holder and then turned to Aldranar, intrigued. Before she had even completed her turn, Aldranar was on her, grabbing her arms and twisting them behind her back and pressing her against the wall. L’indratha was scared witless and didn’t know what to do in response. Aldranar had never raised a hand to her and the betrayal was so startling that she was frozen. She wondered what could have changed in their relationship. She looked into Aldranar’s eyes expecting to see hatred, but saw only a blank mask of determination. Finally, she reacted and began to struggle against the much larger man’s weight. At first her movements were completely ineffectual, but as she started to calm down, she began to think things through more methodically, and decided to put to work some of the techniques she used to move quickly and avoid detection. With the number of times she’d been beaten in her short life, she was very used to being attacked, but she was never used to defending herself. Normally, fighting back would have only invited death. In this case though, she got the impression that not fighting back would invite death, and she was not yet so beaten down that she was willing to go down without a fight. She used one of her primary tactics for avoiding people whenever she walked the halls, and she quickly sidestepped away from Aldranar in order to try to break his grasp. It worked. He let her go, and then he smiled at her.

“Good. You fought back. I was worried you would let me kill you.”

“Would you have killed me?” L’indratha asked as she gasped for breath.

“It was not my intention to kill you, but I was worried that you would not stop me, and my goal was to make you stop me.”

“Why?”

“You must learn to fight back, L’indratha.”

“Why? If I were to fight back against anyone of House Ichtar I would be killed.”

“One day someone not of House Ichtar may attack, and then you would not be punished for fighting back. Quite the opposite.”

It was true. The houses of Menzoberanzen were at constant war with one another, albeit an underground one. The houses were not allowed to attack each other openly, and if a house did not successfully obliterate the house it attacked in its attempt to overthrow it, then the attacking house was severely punished. However, as long as no survivors were left to tell the tale, the other houses would turn a blind eye toward the victor. For that reason a slave that could defend itself from attackers and aid in the overturning of an attack would be considered useful, as long as the skill was only demonstrated in such circumstances.

“You already know much about how to avoid your enemies, it is part of your daily routine. I will now teach you how not to be there when an enemy attacks, and how to defend yourself when he does.”

*****

And so began L’indratha’s first lessons in hand-to-hand combat. By the time she was fifteen she had moved on to attacking, and by the time she was seventeen she began to learn to use a dagger and throwing knives. By the time she was twenty-one she was an expert in all of them, and Aldranar had even taught her the drow sign language, which she mastered with ease, so that they could communicate silently when necessary. It was then, on her 21^st birthday, that Aldranar gave her the two weapons she now carried through the halls of the drow compound.

*****

“I have a present for you L’indratha.”

“A present?” L’indratha had never received any sort of gift in her life. The mere thought of such a thing was ludicrous.

“Here.” Aldranar produced a thin package, about six inches in length, from a fold in his tunic and handed it to L’indratha.

“Why?”

“Do I need to have a reason to give you a present?”

“You’ve never given me a present in all the time we’ve known each other. Why should you start now?”

“Ah, I sometimes forget how perceptive you are. I am--- concerned--- about some upcoming events.”

“Concerned?”

“Open the package; perhaps that will help explain.”

L’indratha unwrapped the small cloth bundle to reveal a six-inch dagger and a set of three small throwing knives. All plain and simply made, but all well-balanced and hand-crafted. L’indratha, who had become very well-versed in the maintaining of weapons, was impressed with the craftsmanship despite the simple appearance of the blades.

“They’re beautiful.”

“I’m glad you like them. But, they’re not for show.”

“I mean they’re beautifully made. They’re quite plain looking really, but they are well made and incredibly well-balanced. And, they’re just the right size for me. But…”

“But, what L’indratha?”

“How can I take them? If they’re found, I’ll be killed.”

“L’indratha, if you don’t take them, you might be killed. And, I think you are now capable of assuring that they are not found.”

L’indratha admired the craftsmanship once more and then turned her inquisitive eyes to Aldranar once more.

“So, why is it that you think I’ll be needing these exactly?”

“Well, I can’t foresee exactly why you might be needing them. But, I can certainly fathom a number of scenarios in which they might come in handy.”

“Any number of which might have occurred at any point since you’ve known me, and yet this is the first time you have presented me with weapons despite the fact that they may prove as dangerous to me if they are found as  they would be to an enemy if I wield them myself. Why?”

“Simple gratitude would be too much to ask for, I suppose?”

“You know that I am grateful; these blades are worth more than anything I’ve ever owned, and I know their true worth in a fight as well. I cannot thank you enough for them. But that does not sate my curiosity about why they are being given to me.”

“Yes, you would see it that way.”

“As you would want me to see it. I have lived in drow society too long not to suspect your motives. And you have helped train me to be more aware of those motives than ever.”

“Alright, you win. I will tell you. But first, hide those. Should anyone come in while we talk, I do not want you killed for my lack of caution.”

L’indratha rewrapped the blades and stuck them into the waistband of her pants underneath her blouse. Upon close inspection they would show; however, as long as she moved with her usual stealth there would be no chance that anyone would see the weapons, or her. When she was finished, she looked Aldranar directly in the eye.

“Now, speak.”

“Very well, L’indratha. But listen well, as I have not much time and this is not something I care to repeat. Tonight we attack house An’Dranaeth, and I fear that something may befall me.”

“But, surely you do not doubt your own skills against those of their weapon’s master? You are a superior fighter by far.”

“That is true. I do not fear their weapon’s master. Nor do I fear anyone else in their house.”

“Then…”

“I believe Nesdivia’s eldest son grows impatient to succeed me. I think he no longer wishes to wait for me to pass on naturally.”

“But you know about that. He cannot take you by surprise, surely you can defend yourself?”

“Aye, I can. But who knows what treachery he has in store. And, if I am sufficiently outnumbered, there will be little I can do.”

“Let me go with you, I can defend you if you are outnumbered.”

“Oh, and what would you do if hundreds of my own men suddenly turned against me? Sneak up on all of them before they had a chance to kill me?”

“Well, then don’t go. Come up with an excuse to keep you here.”

“And lose face in front of the Matron Mother and subject myself to her wrath? Not to mention the various ploys that could be used against me here while the battle rages on at house An’Dranaeth? No, I must go.”

Tears began to pool in L’indratha’s eyes. In her whole life she had never experienced what it was to have a family, but over the last eleven years Aldranar had become family to her. The idea of losing him was too much for her to bear. She was drawn from her tears with a sharp slap across the face.

“Enough. You cannot mourn me before I am gone. And you should not mourn me at all. I am nothing but a crotchety old warrior who has too much time on his hands and so spends his days training up a young slave who he shouldn’t even be talking to.”

But, even as he spoke, L’indratha saw that Aldranar’s eyes were brighter than normal.

“Is there nothing you can do?” She asked as she dried her eyes and attempted to control her emotions.

“I will be prepared. That is the best I can do. If the attack against me is not incredibly well organized, I should have nothing to fear, but if it is… Well, I leave you with protection. Who knows, if I am killed before the battle plays out, perhaps House An’Dranaeth will win out and come to take revenge on our house. If not, perhaps someday another house will plot against us as we plot against An’Dranaeth. Whatever the case is, you should be protected.”

“But you know I don’t need weapons to protect myself.”

“True, but you can’t always fight your enemies up close. Sometimes you need the extra reach of a dagger, or the long distance of throwing knives. And you are incredibly proficient with all three. And, besides those aren’t ordinary blades.”

L’indratha felt the package at her waist and looked inquiringly at Aldranar.

“What do they do?”

“You’ll see. Whenever you have occasion to use them, you will see. In the meantime, keep them well hidden. Now, I must go. Take care, L’indratha. Don’t let my training go to waste.”

“I won’t.”

L’indratha almost cried out with grief as Aldranar put a hand on her shoulder in comfort.

“Be careful…”  She whispered as his back faded through the open doorway.

She never saw him again.

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