"Bring it," said Matron Malice after several moments of adjusting. Briza moved the candle near Drizzt, and Malice gradually slid her hand away.

"He does not cry." Briza remarked, amazed that the babe could quietly accept such a stinging light.

"Purple again" whispered the matron, paying no heed to her daughter’s rambling. "In both worlds, the child’s eyes show as purple."

Vierna gasped audibly when she looked again upon her tiny brother and his striking lavender orbs.

"He is your brother." Matron Malice reminded her, viewing Vierna’s gasp as a hint of what might come. "When he grows older and those eyes pierce you so, remember, on your life, that he is your brother."

Vierna turned away, almost blurting a reply she would have regretted making. Matron Malice’s exploits with nearly every male soldier of the Do’Urden house―and many others that the seductive matron managed to sneak away from other houses―were almost legendary in Menzoberranzan. Who was she to be spouting reminders of prudent and proper behavior? Vierna bit her lip and hoped that neither Briza nor Malice had been reading her thoughts at that moment.

In Menzoberranzan, thinking such gossip about a high priestess, whether or not it was true, got you painfully executed.

Her mother’s eyes narrowed, and Vierna thought she had been discovered. "He is yours to prepare." Matron Malice said to her.

"Maya is younger." Vierna dared to protest. "I could attain the level of high priestess in but a few years if I may keep to my studies."

"Or never." the matron sternly reminded her. "Take the child to the chapel proper. Wean him to words and teach him all that he will need to know to properly serve as a page prince of House Do’Urden."

"I will see to him." Briza offered, one hand subconsciously slipping to her snake-headed whip. "I do so enjoy teaching males their place in our world."

Malice glared at her. "You are a high priestess. You have other duties more important than wordweaning a male child." Then to Vierna, she said, "The babe is yours, do not disappoint me in this! The lessons you teach Drizzt will reinforce your own understanding of our ways. This exercise at ‘mothering’ will aid you in your quest to become a high priestess." She let Vierna take a moment to view the task in a more positive light, then her tone became unmistakably threatening once again. "It may aid you, but it surely can destroy you!"

Vierna sighed but kept her thoughts silent. The chore that Matron Malice had dropped on her shoulders would consume the bulk of her time for at least ten years. Vierna didn’t like the prospects, she and this purple-eyed child together for ten long years. The alternative, however, the wrath of Matron Malice Do’Urden, seemed a worse thing by far.

Alton blew another web from his mouth. "You are just a boy, an apprentice." he stammered. "Why would you…?"

"Kill him?" Masoj finished the thought. "Not to save you, if that is your hope." He spat down at the Faceless One’s body.

"Look at me, a prince of the sixth house, a cleaning steward for that wretched…"

"Hun’ett" Alton cut in. "House Hun’ett is the sixth house."

The younger drow put a finger to pursed lips. "Wait." he remarked with a widening smile, an evil smile of sarcasm.

"We are the fifth house now, I suppose, with DeVir wiped out."

"Not yet!" Alton growled.

"Momentarily," Masoj assured him, fingering the crossbow quarrel.

Alton slumped even farther back in the web. To be killed by a master was bad enough, but the indignity of being shot down by a boy…

"I suppose I should thank you." Masoj said. "I had planned to kill that one for many weeks."

"Why?" Alton pressed his new assailant. "You would dare to kill a master of Sorcere simply because your family put you in servitude to him?"

"Because he would snub me!" Masoj yelled. "Four years I have slaved for him, that back end of a carrion crawler. Cleaned his boots. Prepared salve for his disgusting face! Was it ever enough? Not for that one." He spat at the corpse again and continued, talking more to himself than to the trapped student. "Nobles aspiring to wizardry have the advantage of being trained as apprentices before they reach the proper age for entry into Sorcere."

"Of course" Alton said. "I myself trained under…"

"He meant to keep me out of Sorcere!" Masoj rambled, ignoring Alton altogether. "He should have forced me into Melee-Magthere, the fighters school, instead. The fighters school! My twenty-fifth birthday is only two weeks away."

Masoj looked up, as though he suddenly remembered that he was not alone in the room.

"I knew I must kill him." he continued, now speaking directly to Alton. "Then you come along and make it all so convenient. A student and master killing each other in a fight? It has happened before. Who would question it? I suppose, then, that I should thank you, Alton DeVir of No House Worth Mentioning," Masoj chided with a low, sweeping bow. "Before I kill you, I mean."

"Wait!" cried Alton. "Kill me to what gain?"

"Alibi."

"But you have your alibi, and we can make it better!"

"Explain," said Masoj, who, admittedly, was in no particular hurry. The Faceless One was a highlevel wizard, the webs weren’t going anywhere anytime soon.

"Free me." Alton said earnestly.

"Can you be as stupid as the Faceless One proclaimed you?"

Alton took the insult stoically; the kid had the crossbow.

"Free me so that I may assume the Faceless One’s identity." he explained. "The death of a master arouses suspicion, but if no master is believed dead…"

"And what of this?" Masoj asked, kicking the corpse.

"Burn it." said Alton, his desperate plan coming fully into focus. "Let it be Alton DeVir. House DeVir is no more, so there will be no retaliation, no questions." Masoj seemed skeptical.

"The Faceless One was practically a hermit." Alton reasoned. "And I am near to graduation certainly I can handle the simple chores of basic teaching after thirty years of study."

"And what is my gain?"

Alton gawked, nearly burying himself in webbing, as if the answer were obvious. "A master in Sorcere to call mentor. One who can ease your way through your years of study."

"And one who can dispose of a witness at his earliest convenience." Masoj added slyly.

"And what then would be my gain?" Alton shot back. "To anger House Hun’ett, fifth in all the city, and I with no family at my back? No, young Master I am not as stupid as the Faceless One named me."

Masoj ticked a long and pointed fingernail against his teeth and considered the possibilities. An ally among the masters of Sorcere? This held possibilities.

Another thought popped into Masoj’s mind, and he pulled open the cabinet to Alton’s side and began rummaging through the contents. Alton flinched when he heard some ceramic and glass containers crashing together, thinking of the components, possibly even completed potions that might be lost by the apprentice’s carelessness. Perhaps Melee-Magthere would be a better choice for this one, he thought.

A moment later, though, the younger drow reappeared, and Alton remembered that he was in no position to make such judgments.

"This is mine." Masoj demanded, showing Alton a small black object: a remarkably detailed onyx figurine of a hunting panther. "A gift from a denizen of the lower planes for some help I gave to him."

"You aided such a creature?" Alton had to ask, finding it difficult to believe that a mere apprentice had the resources necessary to even survive an encounter with such an unpredictable and mighty foe.

"The Faceless One," Masoj kicked the corpse again "took the credit and the statue, but they are mine! Everything else in here will go to you, of course. I know the magical dweomers of most and will show you what is what."