Drizzt hit Zaknafein several more times, but the spirit-wraith seemed not to notice, and as Drizzt stepped up the tempo, the spirit-wraith’s intensity grew to match his own. Drizzt could hardly believe that this was not Zaknafein Do’Urden fighting against him; he could recognize the moves of his father and former mentor so very clearly. No other soul could move that perfectly muscled drow body with such precision and skill.
Drizzt was backing away again, giving ground and waiting patiently for his opportunities. He reminded himself over and over that it was not Zaknafein that he faced, but some monster created by Matron Malice for the sole purpose of destroying him. Drizzt had to be ready; his only chance of surviving this encounter was to trip his opponent from the ledge. With the spirit-wraith fighting so brilliantly, though, that chance seemed remote indeed.
The walkway turned slightly around a short bend, and Drizzt felt it carefully with one foot, sliding it along. Then a rock right under Drizzt’s foot broke free from the side of the walkway.
Drizzt stumbled, and his leg, to the knee, slipped down beside the bridge. Zaknafein came upon him in a rush. The whirling swords soon had Drizzt down on his back across the narrow walkway, his head hanging precariously over the lake of acid.
“Drizzt!” Belwar screamed helplessly. The deep gnome rushed out, though he could not hope to arrive in time or defeat Drizzt’s killer. “Drizzt!”
Perhaps it was that call of Drizzt’s name, or maybe it was just the moment of the kill, but the former consciousness of Zaknafein flickered to life in that instant, and the sword arm, readied for a killing plunge that Drizzt could not have deflected, hesitated. Drizzt didn’t wait for any explanations. He punched out with a scimitar hilt, then the other, both connecting squarely on Zaknafein’s jaw and moving the spirit-wraith back. Drizzt was up again, panting and favoring a twisted ankle.
“Zaknafein!” Confused and frustrated by the hesitation, Drizzt screamed at his opponent.
“Driz―” the spirit-wraith’s mouth struggled to reply. Then Malice’s monster rushed back in, swords leading.
Drizzt defeated the attack and slipped away again. He could sense his father’s presence; he knew that the true Zaknafein lurked just below the surface of this creature, but how could he free that spirit? Clearly, he could not hope to continue this struggle much longer.
“It is you,” Drizzt whispered. “No one else could fight so. Zaknafein is there, and Zaknafein will not kill me.” Another thought came to Drizzt then, a notion he had to believe.
Once again, the truth of Drizzt’s convictions became the test.
Drizzt slipped his scimitars back into their sheaths. The spirit-wraith snarled; his swords danced about in the air and cut viciously, but Zaknafein did not come on.
“Kill him!” Malice squealed in glee, thinking her moment of victory at hand. The images of the combat, though, flitted away from her suddenly, and she was left with only darkness. She had given too much back to Zaknafein when Drizzt had stepped up the tempo of the combat. She had been forced to allow more of Zak’s consciousness back into her animation, needing all of Zaknafein’s fighting skills to defeat her warrior son.
Now Malice was left with blackness, and with the weight of impending doom hanging precariously over her head. She glanced back at her too-curious daughter, then sank back within her trance, fighting to regain control.
“Drizzt.” Zaknafein said, and the word felt so very good indeed to the animation. Zak’s swords went into their sheaths, though his hands had to struggle against the demands of Matron Malice every inch of the way.
Drizzt started toward him, wanting nothing more than to hug his father and dearest friend, but Zaknafein put out a hand to keep him back.
“No,” the spirit-wraith explained. “I do not know how long I can resist. The body is hers, I fear,” Zaknafein replied. Drizzt did not understand at first. “Then you are―?”
“I am dead.” Zaknafein stated bluntly. “At peace, be assured. Malice has repaired my body for her own vile purposes.”
“But you defeated her.” Drizzt said, daring to hope. “We are together again.”
“A temporary stay, and no more.” As if to accentuate the point, Zaknafein’s hand involuntarily shot to his sword hilt. He grimaced and snarled, and stubbornly fought back, gradually loosening his grip on the weapon. “She is coming back, my son. That one is always coming back!”
“I cannot bear to lose you again.” Drizzt said. “When I saw you in the illithid cavern―”
“It was not me that you saw.” Zaknafein tried to explain. “It was the zombie of Malice’s evil will. I am gone, my son. I have been gone for many years.”
“You are here.” Drizzt reasoned.
“By Malice’s will, not…my own.” Zaknafein growled, and his face contorted as he struggled to push Malice away for just a moment longer. Back in control, Zaknafein studied the warrior that his son had become. “You fight well.” he remarked. “Better than I had ever imagined. That is good, and it is good that you had the courage to run―” Zaknafein’s face contorted again suddenly, stealing the words. This time, both of his hands went to his swords, and this time, both weapons came flashing out.
“No!” Drizzt pleaded as a mist welled in his lavender eyes. “Fight her!”
“I… cannot,” the spirit-wraith replied. “Flee from this place, Drizzt. Flee to the very…ends of the world! Malice will never forgive. She…will never stop―”
The spirit-wraith leaped forward, and Drizzt had no choice but to draw his weapons. But Zaknafein jerked suddenly before he got within reach of Drizzt.
“For us!” Zak cried in startling clarity, a call that pealed like a trumpet of victory in the green-glowing chamber and echoed across the miles to Matron Malice’s heart like the final toll of a drum signaling the onset of doom. Zaknafein had wrested control again, for just a fleeting instant―one that allowed the charging spirit-wraith to veer off the walkway.
Chapter 25.
Consequences
Matron Malice could not even scream her denial. A thousand explosions pounded her brain when Zaknafein went into the acid lake, a thousand realizations of impending and unavoidable disaster. She leaped from her stone throne, her slender hands twisting and clenching in the air as though she were trying to find something tangible to grasp, something that wasn’t there.
Her breath rasped in labored gasps and wordless snarls issued from her gulping mouth. After a moment in which she could not calm herself, Malice heard one sound more clearly than the din of her own contortions. Behind her came the slight hiss of the small, wicked snake heads of a high priestess’s whip.
Malice spun about, and there stood Briza, her face grimly and determinedly set and her whip’s six living snake heads waving in the air.
“I had hoped that my time of ascension would be many years away,” the eldest daughter said calmly. “But you are weak, Malice, too weak to hold House Do’Urden together in the trials that will follow our―your―failure.”
Malice wanted to laugh in the face of her daughter’s foolishness; snake-headed whips were personal gifts from the Spider Queen and could not be used against matron mothers. For some reason, though, Malice could not find the courage or conviction to refute her daughter at that moment. She watched, mesmerized, as Briza’s arm slowly reared back and then shot forward.
The six snake heads uncoiled toward Malice. It was impossible! It went against all tenets of Lloth’s doctrine! The fanged heads came on eagerly and dived into Malice’s flesh with all the Spider Queen’s fury behind them. Searing agony coursed through Malice’s body, jolting and racking her and leaving an icy numbness in its wake.