Chapter 3
The Eyes of the Child
Masoj, the young apprentice-which at this point in his magic-using career meant that he was no more than a cleaning attendant-leaned on his broom and watched as Alton DeVir moved through the door into the highest chamber of the spire. Masoj almost felt sympathy for the student, who had to go in and face the Faceless One.
Masoj felt excitement as well, though, knowing that the ensuing fireworks between Alton and the faceless master would be well worth the watching. He went back to his sweeping, using the broom as an excuse to get farther around the curve of the room’s floor, closer to the door.
“You requested my presence, Master Faceless One,” Alton DeVir said again, keeping one hand in front of his face and squinting to fight the brilliant glare of the room’s three lighted candles.
Alton shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other just inside the shadowy room’s door.
Hunched across the way, the Faceless One kept his back to the young DeVir. Better to be done with this cleanly, the master reminded himself. He knew, though, that the spell he was now preparing would kill Alton efore the student could learn his family’s fate, before the Faceless One could fully complete Dinin Do’Urden’s final instructions.
Too much was at stake.
Better to be done with this cleanly.
“You...” Alton began again, but he prudently held his words and tried to sort out the situation before him. How unusual to be summoned to the private chambers of a master of the Academy before the day’s lessons had even begun.
When he had first received the summons, Alton feared that he had somehow failed one of his lessons. That could be a fatal mistake in Sorcere. Alton was close to graduation, but the disdain of a single master could put an end to that.
He had done quite well in his lessons with the Faceless One, had even believed that this mysterious master favored him. Could this call be simply a courtesy of congratulations on his impending graduation? Unlikely, Alton realized against his hopes. Masters of the drow Academy did not often congratulate students.
Alton then heard quiet chanting and noticed that the master was in the midst of spellcasting. Something cried out as very wrong to him now; something about this whole situation did not fit the strict ways of the Academy. Alton set his feet firmly and tensed his muscles, following the advice of the motto that had been drilled into the thoughts of every student at the Academy, the precept that kept drow elves alive in a society so devoted to chaos: Be prepared.
The doors exploded before him, showering the room with stone splinters and throwing Masoj back against the wall. He felt the show well worth both the inconvenience and the new bruise on his shoulder when Alton DeVir scrambled out of the room. The student’s back and left arm trailed wisps of smoke, and the most exquisite expression of terror and pain that Masoj had ever seen was etched on the DeVir noble’s face.
Alton stumbled to the floor and kicked into a roll, desperate to put some ground between himself and the murderous master. He made it down and around the descending arc of the room’s floor and through the door that led into the next lower chamber just as the Faceless One made his appearance at the sundered door.
The master stopped to spit a curse at his misfire, and to consider the best way to replace his door. “Clean it up!” he snapped at Masoj, who was again leaning casually with his hands atop his broomstick and his chin atop his hands.
Masoj obediently dropped his head and started sweeping the stone splinters. He looked up as the Faceless One stalked past, however, and cautiously started after the master. Alton couldn’t possibly escape, and this show would be too good to miss.
The third room, the Faceless One’s private library, was the brightest of the four in the spire, with dozens of candles burning on each wall.
“Damn this light!” Alton spat, stumbling his way down through the dizzying blur to the door that led to the Faceless One’s entry hall, the lowest room of the master’s quarters. If he could get down from this spire and outside of the tower to the courtyard of the Academy, he might be able to turn the momentum against the master.
Alton’s world remained the darkness of Menzoberranzan, but the Faceless One, who had spent so many decades in the candlelight of Sorcere, had grown accustomed to using his eyes to see shades of light, not heat.
The entry hall was cluttered with chairs and chests, but only one candle burned there, and Alton could see clearly enough to dodge or leap any obstacles. He rushed to the door and grabbed the heavy latch. It turned easily enough, but when Alton tried to shoulder through, the door did not budge and a burst of sparkling blue energy threw him back to the floor.
“Curse this place,” Alton spat. The portal was magically held. He knew a spell to open such enchanted doors but doubted whether his magic would be strong enough to dispel the castings of a master. In his haste and fear, the words of the dweomer floated through
Alton’s thoughts in an undecipherable jumble.
“Do not run, DeVir,” came the Faceless One’s call from the previous chamber. “You only lengthen your torment!”
“A curse upon you, too,” Alton replied under his breath. Alton forgot about the stupid spell; it would never come to him in time. He glanced around the room for an option.
His eyes found something unusual halfway up the side wall, in an opening between two large cabinets. Alton scrambled back a few steps to get a better angle but found himself caught within the range of the candlelight, within the deceptive field where his eyes registered both heat and light.
He could only discern that this section of the wall showed a uniform glow in the heat spectrum and that its hue was subtly different from the stone of the walls. Another doorway? Alton could only hope his guess to be right. He rushed back to the center of the room, stood directly across from the object, and forced his eyes away from the infrared spectrum, fully back into the world of light.
As his eyes adjusted, what came into view both startled and confused the young DeVir. He saw no doorway, nor any opening with another chamber behind it. What he looked upon was a reflection of himself, and a portion of the room he now stood in. Alton had never, in his fifty-five years of life, witnessed such a spectacle, but he had heard the masters of Sorcere speak of these devices. It was a mirror.
A movement in the u pper doorway of the chamber reminded Alton that the Faceless One was almost upon him. He couldn’t hesitate to ponder his options. He put his head down and charged the mirror.
Perhaps it was a teleportation door to another section of the city, perhaps a simple door to a room beyond. Or perhaps, Alton dared to imagine in those few desperate seconds, this was some inter-planar gate that would bring him into a strange and unknown plane of existence!
He felt the tingling excitement of adventure pulling him on as he neared the wondrous thing-then he felt only the impact, the shattering glass, and the unyielding stone wall behind it.
Perhaps it was just a mirror.
“Look at his eyes,” Vierna whispered to Maya as they examined the newest member of House Do’Urden.
Truly the babe’s eyes were remarkable. Although the child had been out of the womb for less than an hour, the pupils of his orbs darted back and forth inquisitively. While they showed the expected radiating glow of eyes seeing into the infrared spectrum, the familiar redness was tinted by a shade of blue, giving them a violet hue.
“Blind?” wondered Maya. “Perhaps this one will be given to the Spider Queen still,” Briza looked back to them anxiously. Dark elves did not allow children showing any physical deficiency to live.
“Not blind,” replied Vierna, passing her hand over the child and casting an angry glare at both of her eager sisters. “He follows my fingers.”
Maya saw that Vierna spoke the truth. She leaned closer to the babe, studying his face and strange eyes. “What do you see, Drizzt Do’Urden?” she asked softly, not in an act of gentleness toward the babe, but so that she would not disturb her mother, resting in the chair at the head of the spider idol.
“What do you see that the rest of us cannot?” Glass crunched under
Alton, digging deeper wounds as he shifted his weight in an effort to rise to his feet. What would it matter? he thought. “My mirror!” he heard the Faceless One groan, and he looked up to see the outraged master towering over him.
How huge he seemed to Alton! How great and powerful, fully blocking the candlelight from this little alcove between the cabinets, his form enhanced tenfold to the eyes of the helpless victim by the mere implications of his presence.
Alton then felt a gooey substance floating down around him, detached webbing finding a sticky hold on the cabinets, on the wall, and on Alton.
The young DeVir tried to leap up and roll away, but the Faceless One’s spell already held him fast, trapped him as a dirgit fly would be trapped in the strands of a spider’s home.
“First my door,” the Faceless One growled at him, “and now this, my mirror! Do you know the pains I suffered to acquire such a rare device?”
Alton turned his head from side to side, not in answer, but to free at least his face from the binding substance.
“Why did you not just stand still and let the deed be finished cleanly?” the Faceless One roared, thoroughly disgusted..
“Why?” Alton lisped, spitting some of the webbing from his thin lips. “Why would you want to kill me?”
“Because you broke my mirror!” the Faceless One shot back. It didn’t make any sense, of course the mirror had only been shattered after the initial attack-but to the master, Alton supposed, it didn’t have to make sense. Alton knew his cause to be hopeless, but he continued on in his efforts to dissuade his opponent.
“You know of my house, of House DeVir,” he said, indignant, “fourth in the city. Matron Ginafae will not be pleased. A high priestess has ways to learn the truth of such situations!”
“House DeVir?”