Realms of the Underdark - J. Robert King [16]
"For your crimes against Lloth and House Do'Urden, Zaknafein, I sentence you to be made into… a drider!" Zak reeled at this pronouncement. Even Malice's daughters gasped. There was no more terrible punishment known to the dark elves. To be made into a drider was to have one's body twisted into an accursed form that was half drow, half spider, a transformation that could never be reversed.
"Take him to the Cavern of the Lost," Malice commanded. "And let me look upon his face never again!"
Zak strained against his bonds, but it was no use. He was powerless as Malice's daughters dragged him off to meet his doom.
Chapter Five
Invitation to Glory
With white-knuckled hands, Matron Malice gripped the adamantite railing and gazed at the slaves working like insects in the compound below.
"Whither now, Daermon N'a'shezbaernon?" she murmured, using the ancient name of House Do'Urden. "Has your march to glory come to an end already?"
Hands reached from behind, caressing her shoulders, running down the smooth flesh of her back. She felt warm breath against the nape of her neck. "Come to bed, Malice. I will help you forget your troubles."
With a sharp jerk, Malice shrugged off the hands and whirled around. "That's Matron Malice to you, Rizzen," she said in a venomous tone, glaring at her current patron. She had had more than enough that day of disrespectful males who did not know their places.
Rizzen's eyes bulged in alarm. He fumbled over a clumsy apology.
Malice sighed then, dismissing his words with an annoyed wave of her hand. There was no point in taking her anger out on Rizzen. He was weak and malleable, and he crumbled far too easily to give her any satisfaction. She shook her head. Had Zaknafein only been more like Rizzen, this disaster would never have occurred. But then, had Zak been like Rizzen, he never would have had the strength to gain the Dagger of Menzoberra in the first place. Zaknafein had always been her bane and her boon. But he would be neither ever again.
"Leave me, Rizzen," she commanded.
Rizzen gave a deep bow, backing from the room. Malice forgot him before he was even gone.
The matron of House Do'Urden turned her mind to the matter at hand. It was crucial to understand every possible implication, to foresee every possible consequence of what had occurred. She had to be certain her house had not been placed in a position of weakness by all this. If it were, some lower-ranked house could seize this opportunity to rise in station by launching a covert attack against House Do'Urden.
Again and again, Malice went over all the potential outcomes in her mind. At last she nodded, satisfied that House Do'Urden was safe, at least for the moment. Zaknafein had thrown Menzoberra's Dagger into the Fires of Narbondel. There was absolutely no hope now that Lloth would appear within the walls of House Do'Urden tomorrow, on the Festival of the Founding. However, for his blasphemous act, Zaknafein had been sentenced to the most dire punishment known to drow. Surely that would appease Lloth and tip the scales of favor back into balance. Malice had gained no ground for her efforts, but she had to believe that she had lost none, either.
A shudder passed through her then at the thought of the judgment she had passed upon her weapons master. It was not something she had done with relish. Even as she had uttered the terrible words, her heart had cried out for her to stop. To be transformed into a drider was a fate she would hesitate to wish upon even her worst enemy. By her order, Zak would become a monster: a tortured creature of hideous aspect, forced to live out his days in pain and madness and loathing, haunting the labyrinth of the Dark Dominion.
Yet what choice had Malice had? None. What she had done was done to protect House Do'Urden. She was matron mother. The prosperity of the house came before all else. She could not forget that. Still, the awful weight of her actions pressed