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[Zilvaonar]

---

He’s worried about you, child.

Akor’nolu rolled over with a groan, her body aching with every moment. She knew the mask was right. Bae’drin often said she pushed herself too hard. “You told me I should take advantage of the knowledge of those around me. That if I hoped to fulfill my potential and honor my father, it would take work and dedication.”

I did say that, yes. I certainly did not tell you to train yourself back into sickness. You are only nine winters.

“Almost ten.” She protested. “And I can’t help it. There’s so much to learn.”

The mask vibrated against her face as it spoke, the comforting buzz that soothed her through nights of relentless nightmares and days of abuse under the watchful eye of the women of the house. Displeased with the slow advancement of their status, the Matrons had taken to pushing their dominance over her, and making her perform the most humiliating tasks they could come up with. To the Matrons' dismay having her safe haven to retreat to and the company and council of her father’s gift, Akor’nolu was able to deal with whatever hardships they heaped upon without losing her temper or showing any sign of concern. Her calm behavior infuriated both of her tormentors, which made the game even more enjoyable for Akor’nolu.

The disadvantage was between the demands of those above and her training below, Akor’nolu often fell into bed, drained and sore beyond caring. Some nights Bae’drin had to urge her to eat, because she was too tired to think about sustenance. Since she found the mask over a year ago she was driven to learn whatever she could, to fulfill the vow she made to her father’s memory, a vow to bring the house of Hun’afin crashing down.

She was still lucky. Within their tight nit community of below she had access to many teachers that were able and willing to share their knowledge and experience with her. Once she began to search for this knowledge Akor’nolu quickly learned the community of slaves were far more than they were given credit for being. Besides being a skilled cook, Micar’thrae also had great knowledge of anatomy, of where to strike, and how to disable or kill with the least effort. Though she had little skill with Dhaun’onim’s arcane gifts, Akor’nolu had been able to learn a great deal from him about certain combat magics that worked well with her natural focus. Where as to many her blindness would have been a liability in combat, her often told her that this gift allowed her an immunity to visual deception that threw off many of the greatest warriors. Vlon’zyr, the one who had been prescribed her teas during her past illness, also proved to be an accomplished swordsman. It was he who she most often trained with, honing her skill with a determination he often commented wishing he saw in his older students. Akor’nolu enjoyed her lessons, but she grew impatient, wanting to act now, not to have to wait to see the Matrons and the rest of their house suffer.

What is troubling you, child?

Akor’nolu was startled, she often forgot when she was alone and wearing the mask. It felt so natural. “I wish I could learn faster. I want to make them pay for what they did to my father. What if I wait too long? What if they decide to expose Priestess Irr'yl. I hear the Matrons all the time, complaining, wanting to rise above some of the other houses. They’re always plotting something.”

Steel is not the only way you can tear down the walls of this house. Listen, learn, not just from those below that will teach you, but listen to those above. They choose to see you as weak and without worth, than let them. The less they notice you the more they will reveal in your presence. You hear and feel far more than most will ever understand. That is your weapon as much as the sword.

She remembered the words of her father, the words that played over and over in her mind. “I am the hand of Vhaeraun, his sword of dark fire that will forge a path for the unity of our people.”

A warmth akin to pride washed over her, and when the mask spoke, its tone mirrored the feeling. You remember your lessons well. Yes, you are all of these things, but that does not mean you must rely on a physical sword. You are the sword. You are the dark fire. It is you that shall cleanse the path before us. You that shall blasé a trail alongside the chosen. Understanding settled in her mind and Akor’nolu nodded. It seemed, however, the masks revelations were not entirely at an end. Tell me, child. What do you know of your birth?

[Zilvaonar]

---

Akor’nolu listened to the mask’s accounting of the eve of her conception, chill clutching at her insides. Some of the story she did not quite understand. There was a lot of mystic talk about how the plan was crafted, and the rite leading up to the event, but the core of what she was being told she thought she grasped. The trouble was, she did not like what she was hearing. “So, are you saying my father…that he was not my father?”

Not at all. He is the seed that sparked the life, it is his blood that runs through your veins, even more so then the blood of your mother. It was not the Llothian tainted blood we needed from her, it was the tie to the House of Hun’afin. It was nothing more than her name.

Where understanding once clung, confusion had again taken hold. “So if Jar'ffyn was my father, then what about the mask he wore? That was you, right?”

The mask chuckled. Yes, child. The mask he wore was the one you yourself now wear. And yes, the mask is me. Like Jar'ffyn, I too am connected to you, though not by anything as mundane as blood.

She sighed. There it was, more magic speak. She did not understand it when Vlon’zyr or Dhaun’onim talked like that, and she did not understand it any more now. Before she could question the mask more on what ties beside blood there was, she heard someone come in. She quickly removed the mask, hiding it under her covers.

“There’s some sweet cake left over from breakfast. You hungry?” Bae’drin called out to her.

Akor’nolu nodded, feeling guilty for keeping this secret from her friend. “Yes, please.” She sat up and heard the sound of clinking glass and metal as a tray was placed on the low table next to her cot. She sat up and force a smile, even though she did not feel much like smiling at the moment.

“Are you mad at me, about what I said before?” He asked. “I didn’t mean to pester you. I’m just worried you’re going to make yourself ill again the way you train all the time. We all see how the Matrons work you. You can’t go on like this forever.”

“I know.” Akor’nolu dipped her spoon into the lukewarm cave crickets that had been caramelized with honey, and breathed deep the sweet fragrance. “You’re right. I’m rushing things. I just want to do what needs to be done. I don’t want to wait.”

“Do you want so badly to be free of this place? To leave us?”

Akor’nolu paused, her spoon midway to her mouth. “It that what you think? That I’m doing this because I want to leave all of you?” He didn’t answer. She put her spoon back on the plate. “I want to stop them from hurting people. I want to free you all, find a place you can live in safety. A place where you all will be valued as you should be.”

The cot creaked as Bae’drin sat. “There’s no place like that for us, don’t you understand that? We are slaves. It’s all we will ever be, it’s all some of us have ever known.”

She reached under the covers and touched the mask. It blazed hot, then warm, seeming to give her the urge to continue. “When I am done with what I am to do here I promise to take you all someplace safe. I know… I know someone who says he can lead us to a safe haven. All you have to do it trust me.” She paused, a bit fearful of his answer. “You do trust me, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Bae’drin sighed. “I wish you trusted me more.”

“What?” Again guilt mocked her, but she brushed it aside. “I trust you.”

She felt the plate moved from her lap and cloth lain there to take its place. “I got that for you to keep whatever it was that you found in the catacombs. It’s worn looking, so Matron Url’kacha tossed it away, but Dhaun’onim says its magic is still viable. It can hide anything from view. Someone can search the whole bag and will never see anything inside. Only the owner knows what’s there and can call upon it. I figured if whatever you have was important enough to keep from m… us, then it must be very special to you.”

“My father left this for me.” Akor’nolu hesitated, then with a long breath to calm her pounding heart, she pulled the mask from under the covers and lay it atop the bag. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, it just felt private, like something he meant for only me.”

“Put that away.” Bae’drin said through gritted teeth. Surprised she slid the mask into the bag. “Are you crazy? You get caught with something like that they’ll kill you for sure.”

“I thought you wanted me to trust you.” She said angrily. “You wanted to know my secret.”

“I didn’t know it was that. Don’t worry. I’ll help you get rid of that thing before someone sees it.” He took her by the hand but she yanked herself from his grasp.

“Destroy it? This is a gift from my father.” Akor’nolu carefully restrained the desire to shout at him. “As you said its special to me. You want to get rid of it so bad, then fine. Call the guards. Tell the Matrons. I’m sure they’ll be glad to be rid of it and me.” She yanked the hair away from behind her right ear, hoping he could see what she knew was waiting there. The gasp that escaped his lips told her he saw the mark, the mask, that the house priestesses had tried so hard to be rid of and failed.

“Who did that to you?”

She ignored the fear and revulsion in his voice, and lowered her hair to hide the mark again. “I was born with this mark, they say. The Llothian preistess cut it, burned it, tried every type of magical and non magical removal, but it kept coming back. The mask is a part of me. I’m still not sure I understand how. But if you think it so vile, so horrible, then fine. Turn me in. I don’t care.”

Akor’nolu turned her back on him and clutched the bag with the mask in her arms. She hurt beyond words, but she was not going to cry, she commanded herself. She would not give any of them the satisfaction. After a long pause she realized the extra weight had not moved from the bed. What was he waiting for, she thought crossly. “Go away.” She snarled.

“I’m sorry.” Bae’drin whispered. “I panicked and I’m sorry.” He reached out and touched her arm, but she pulled away from him and clutched the bag tighter. “The mask…it…it caught me off guard, that’s all. It looks like the mask of the Great Deceiver…the enemy of Lloth. I just thought—“

She sat up and turned to face him, her voice raising with her frustration. “Are all boys this stupid? Your father, my father, my uncle, all of these men have been handed over to Lloth like offerings on a holy day, and you still can’t see that She is the true enemy? It is not Vhaeraun that chains our brethren because they were borne men. It is not Vhaeraun who tells a mother that she should be disgraced for giving birth to a son who is smart, and cleaver, rather than a pair of back-biting bitches who kill their own mother to possess her title. Vhaeraun speaks of unification of the drow people, of equality between men and women, of how the surface should be ours to rule, not to become the garbage pit of humanity. It is She who commits crimes against our own people, She who pits sister against sister, mother against daughter. It is She who weakens our people for her own selfish desires and amusement. We are nothing but playthings to Lloth. You of all people should know the truth of that best of all.”

Akor’nolu trembled with rage unlike any she had allowed herself to feel in a long time. She had to make him understand the truth. She had to make him see where the hope of their people lay. If she could not make him understand then she’d lose one more person she cared about, and possibly have her hand revealed before she was ready. Perhaps she was a fool to trust him, but she hoped this was not true.

It was a long time before Bae’drin said anything, but when he did his voice was fearful, not raised above a whisper. “You really mean all of that, about Vhaeraun. I just figured all the gods were like Lloth, just toying with our lives because they can.”

“Not Vhaeraun.” Her anger deflated as she spoke. “My father always said that the Masked One expected the best from those loyal to him, but only because he wanted the drow people to be strong. Our brothers suffer so much under the Llothians. You know this is so. Vhaeraun offers those who want a better way shelter, a community, like we have here, but away from the ruling thumb of the drow empire. He would gladly accept all of the drow men in the below. You are all fine examples of what the drow as a people should be. You deserve to be valued and gain status, not to be locked away because the women fear your power and intelligence.”

“You really think Vhaeraun’s people would treat the slaves here any better than the women do?”

“Within the Brotherhood of Vhaeraun none of you would be slaves anymore.” Akor’nolu said proudly. “You’d have the chance to prove your worth and earn your place as all drow should be allowed to.”

She waited, while the silence stretched between them, her breathing and his breathing raising and falling in tandem. Finally, with an air of finality and decisiveness one might expect from one of noble birth, Bae’drin spoke. “Tell me everything you know about Vhaeraun. If you can convince me, then I will convince the others.”

[Zilvaonar]

---

The common room in the Below was quiet. The rest of the slaves had been sent on tasks, but Akor’nolu remained along with Bae’drin, and the three eldest slaves, Dhaun’onim, Micar’thrae, and Vlon’zyr. Akor’nolu fidgeted in the hard backed chair while the magi Dhaun’onim sat across from her, examining the mask. She had been resistant to allow the object to leave her grasp, but Bae’drin convinced her it was the only way to urge the three older drow men to consider listening to what she was telling them all about Vhaeraun. Knowing she was fighting generations of Llothian training, Akor’nolu relented.

“It’s certainly an artifact of some age.” Dhaun’onim explained. “A powerful spirit or demonic force is bound inside, but it doesn’t seem linked to beyond the walls of the house. Several strong spells are locked into the device. I suspect I am only able to discern anything at all about this artifact because the entity within wishes to allow me to.”

“So, what does that mean?” Vlon’zyr paused in mid pace. “Is it affected or not affected by the wards?”

“Wards?” Akor’nolu questioned.

“They run the diameter of the property, both over the above and the Below, so that no spirits or insubstantial magi can enter the house.” Micar’thrae whispered from next to her. “In fact there are some places in the house the wards are so strong magic doesn’t function there at all.

Akor’nolu remembered her shadow conpanions, and sudden realization hit her. All this time she’d believed they’d abandoned her, left her in the hands of her tormenters as punishment for her crime. What if the ward had been what kept them away? Were they still out there, somewhere, or without her had they simply faded back to wherever they belonged.

Dhaun’onim continued. “My guess is a portion of something is bound in here, waiting to join the main. An echo or mirror image perhaps. Whatever it is holds great power, but I do not believe has the ability to transfer knowledge outside the wall of this house, either that or for whatever reason chooses not to.”

“What make you so sure?” Bae’drin asked.

“Because, I regret to say, according to my sister who is a servant within the Council of Sisters complex, no one had challenged the Matrons’ claim on the child of Jar'ffyn of the house of Rilyn'mtor. She says this is because the Council was told that not long after your arrival you fell ill and died. The Matrons even provided a body that had been devoured by a wasting disease as proof of your fate.” Sadness tinged Dhaun’onim’s voice. “I’m sorry, little one, but I don’t believe your priestess is coming for you.”

“I’ve known for a long time that she wasn’t.” Akor’nolu sighed. It was what she feared, but had tried to avoid thinking about. Now it had been verified. None of the Brotherhood knew she still lived, which meant that if she was ever to leave this place it would have to be on her own two feet. “It’s not her fault. I know she wanted to come, but the Matrons will never allow me to leave. Not by choice.”

“So.” Micar’thrae said slowly. “They really hated your father so much, that they lied to the Council, risking eternal torture so they could punish his child?”

“No.” She replied. “They hated me that much. I’m a puzzle to them. On the one hand they see me as weak and worthless, a stain upon this house. On the other hand they fear me, fear what my very existence means. They refuse to give up control of my fate for fear someone else can use me against them.”

“Fear a child?” Vlon’zyr sounded doubtful. “I admit your skill with a blade is impressive for your age, but why should the Matrons fear you?”

Akor’nolu felt Bae’drin walk behind her, felt the hair moved from her neck and pulled away to reveal the mark. “Because she is not just any child. She has been chosen by Vhaeraun. She wears his mark, the same as the mask left for her by Jar'ffyn himself. You all have said you respected Jar'ffyn for his skill and his noble bearing. You all have known Akor’nolu, known what kind of girl she is, what sort of woman she is likely to grow to be if given the chance. The question becomes who do you trust; the word of the Llothians who have cast you into the Below when you became a suspected threat to their power, or a girl who has been one of us since not long after she came to this house?”

“How do you know so much about Vhaeraun, and his cult?” Vlon’zyr demanded.

“The Brotherhood.” She corrected. “My father taught me much about them growing up but…” Akor’nolu touched the mark she could feel them all staring at, the twin of the mask Dhaun’onim held in his hands. “He speaks to me. Teaches me. It was the mask who told me to seek the wisdom of the elders of the Below, to learn what I could from you all. He values you, your skill and intelligence. When was the last time, swordmaster, anyone outside of the Below treated you with the respect you deserve?” Vlon’zyr grew silent, which told Akor’nolu she had hit a weak spot in his logic. Perhaps it would grow into something more. She had great respect for the swordmaster. He could be stubborn, and relayed heavily on written facts and equations, but he was a good person to have on your side.

“You say this object talked to you.” Dhaun’onim asked. “How?”

“I wear it.” Came her reply. There was a pause, and then a yell of pain. “What happened?”

“It’s alright.” Micar’thrae said. “Dhaun’onim put the mask on and it didn’t like him. Doesn’t look like it did too much damage.”

“I want to ask it questions.” Dhaun’onim said, mild irritation in his tone. Akor’nolu felt the mask touch her hands as it was returned to her. “Put it on.”

Akor’nolu did as she was bade and for the next several hours she relayed the responses she received to the men gathered. The whole situation amused the mask, who often gave sarcastic answers to questions it found irritating, which Akor’nolu translated in to far more courteous replies. By the time the men were satisfied she was exhausted and Bae’drin insisted they let her rest.

She returned to her bed, not sure she was comfortable with the way the event played out that evening. Akor’nolu liked it better when the mask was hers alone, a secret companion who answered her questions, guided her path, and comforted her when she needed. Now the others knew, and she felt less unique somehow, less special. Out of habit she set the mask in place and the familiar warmth flowed over her face.

How could you think you were less special? You have led others to me, not allowed your situation to sway your devotion. I have heard your words, your faith, and I am pleased. Rest now. Soon you will understand how unique you are. Soon it will all make sense.

Akor’nolu settled into the rough blanket, and closed her eyes. More magical mumbo jumbo. Sometimes she wondered if anything would ever really make sense to her. Just when she thought she had a grasp on where her path was taking her, something would happen and she would find herself lost again. How could she hope to blaze a path for Vhaeraun when she was still stumbling around herself. A soft hum soothed her off to sleep and tonight her dreams were free of terror and despair.

He could give her tonight. She’d need all the strength she could muster for what was to come.

[Zilvaonar]

---

Over the next couple years Akor’nolu listened and learned about the various drow houses, and the general political goings on within the empire. She knew what Matrons were “far too lenient” for the sisters’ taste, and which held desirable status or worth. For a time things eased up for her within the household. The Matrons either got bored of tormenting her, or distracted with other things.

Near the eve of her thirteenth winter all of that changed. For some reason Matron Url’kacha took great issue with Akor’nolu, and was constantly giving her extra work to do, then having her beaten for doing it wrong. Url’kacha constantly commented on Akor’nolu’s appearance, her legs were too long, her body muscular like a mans’, her face was ugly as a pasty cave frog. Normally Akor’nolu ignored such comments, but lately she had become more self conscious of her body and others opinions of her looks. It was silly, she knew that, but some nights the younger matron’s critiques sent Akor’nolu to bed in tears.

Akor’nolu knew she might have been imagining it, but it seemed recently that the other slaves were avoiding her, their conversation less casual, more guarded. After a particularly rough day she cornered Micar’thrae, and demanded to know what she had done to make everyone dislike her.

“Nothing, child.” Micar’thrae insisted. “It’s not anything you have done. It’s who you are becoming. I’m not really the one who should be having this conversation with you. A girl needs a woman around at this tim--.”

“What I am becoming?” She grit her teeth, holding back her frustration.

Micar’thrae sighed. “A woman. There’s nothing anyone can do about it. I’m not saying it’s fair, but women make the men down here nervous. Before you were our Akor, safe, wide-eyed and inquisitive. Now, you’re are changing…your body, your manner. We’ll get used to it, some of us will just take longer than others.”

Akor’nolu slumped back against the tunnel wall and crossed her arms over her blossoming chest self-consciously. “I’m not ashamed of becoming a woman. That doesn’t mean I’ll be like them.”

“I know.” He said softly. “Just be patient. Give us time to adjust.”

With a huff of aggravation Akor’nolu turned her back on the cook and walked down the tunnel toward the common area. It was all well and good to say she needed a woman to talk to, but she did not have a spare one laying around someplace, not one that would give her advice or guidance. Right now she missed having Priestess Irr'yl to confide in, but then like most of the Brotherhood her surrogate aunt thought Akor’nolu was dead.

Lost in her own thoughts Akor’nolu did not notice the tall figure standing between her and the makeshift dressing area Vlon’zyr had insisted on setting up for her last spring, until she’s collided with him. Always quick to react, Bae’drin grabbed onto her as she tripped, and thrown suddenly off balance, ended up tumbling to the stone floor himself.

“I…Ummm…” Bae’drin stuttered uncharacteristically as they found themselves face to face in a heap on the ground. “Sorry. My fault.”

Akor’nolu scowled and pulled herself off of him, sitting back on the floor. “Why are you apologizing? I walked into you.”

“I should have been paying attention. You’re not hurt are you?”

“No.” she said grumpily. “I can’t believe you’re doing it, too.”

Bae’drin moved to set next to her. “Doing what?”

“Being all odd, acting differently around me. I don’t like it.”

“Is there a way you want us to act?” Bae’drin asked.

“See,” Akor’nolu said. “That’s what I mean. You all are always asking me what I want, what I need, am I hurt…am I hungry…you’ve even started letting me win all our arguments.” She punched him on the arm and he cried out in surprise. “Stop it!”

Bae’drin laughed. “You know men. You get us around a pretty face and we get dumb.”

Akor’nolu stood up, anger raging through her, and fists clenched, ready to lash out. “Now you’re just being mean!”

“What did I say?” Bae’drin stood, sounding sincerely caught by surprise.

“I’m not pretty. Don’t you think I know that? I may be blind, I’m not stupid.” She turned he back to walk away, but he grabbed her arm. “Let me go. If you all don’t like having me around anymore, I’ll leave. There are plenty of places in the tunnels--.”

Her words were cut short but a muscular hand pressed to her lips to silence them. “Were you a few years older I would take you in my arms and show you how lovely I think you are, Akor.” His hand shifted, cupping her cheek. “I don’t care what lies you’ve been told. Your exotic ideas and strength of will shine through your beauty. I wish you could see it, could see yourself through my eyes.”

Akor’nolu stood frozen to the spot, her heart pounding and her breaths short and fast. It felt like fear, but she sensed it was something else, something in her experiences she could not possibly understand. Time stilled around them, until the sound of Dhaun’onim sharply clearing his throat shattered the stolen moment. Akor’nolu turned to walk toward her cot, hearing Bae’drin and the magi’s footsteps go off in the opposite direction.

Her mind was full of questions, and without Priestess Irr'yl here to confide in, she had to hope the Mask would hold the answer to these mysteries, too.

[Zilvaonar]

---

A flash of heat against her skin yanked Akor’nolu from her dreams For a few moments she was disoriented, struggling to assess the scents and sounds beyond her chamber. It was silent.

Silent. There was no sound of breathing, no rustling of movement, no signs of anyone near her, awake or asleep. The silence made her uneasy. She reached for the mask hidden under her pillow and found it hot to the touch. A warning then. She placed the heated leather against her face and heard the voice instantly.

The time has come. Those from below have been taken to the matrons to be questioned and be punished.

“Punished? For what?”

For their loyalty to you. The matrons will ask them about you, what you've said and what you've done. They will ask about any signs of your connection to me. The men will tell the matrons nothing. For this… they will be punished. Most will be sold to other houses, the older men and Bae’drin will be put to death. I have seen it. There is no more time for training, no more time for preparation. You must ready now.

Akor’nolu didn't feel ready, but the Mask was right. If her friends were in danger she had to act now. She couldn't face her enemy all at once. She had to use her advantage and do with them one at a time. This time, she didn't hide her mask. She gathered the thick, heavy robes from under Bae’drin’s cot, and used them to hide her slender frame. She could smell her friend within the cloth, steeling her will to do what needed to be done.

She found Vlon’zyr’s runed blade in its hiding place within the cavern wall, proof that he and the rest had not had time to defend themselves. Would they she wondered, had been prepared to fight the matrons guards even to spare their own lives? No. As much as she hated the truth of it, Akor’nolu knew their training went too deep, the reminders of their place beneath the women too long-standing. It was up to her to show the Matrons she valued these men above all.

She followed back ways from the Far Below toward the chambers above. She followed this path many times, over and over memorizing the layouts of the tunnels, knowing the house better than all but the oldest slaves. She listened carefully for voices, keeping to the cool places where she knew darkness could hide her. A few patrol guards fell to the flashing blade, none given time to cry out.

Lesser priestesses never returned from their tasks of gathering tools and herbs, Akor’nolu saw to that. No executions happened in this house without ritual, without a priestess there could be no offerings made to the Spider Queen. Akor’nolu waited outside the temple, hidden in the shadows that led to the sacred chambers. As expected, it was not long before Priestess Quar’ree came to discover who was taking her assistants so long. Akor’nolu
followed her to the first storeroom, and then cornered the priestess, a blade to her throat. When Akor’nolu spoke, her voice was combined with the low rumble of her companion.

“Where have how the slaves from Below been taken?”

“They’re being prepared to be sent to the temples to serve there.” Priestess Quar’ree quavered.

“All of them?”

Priestess Quar’ree swallowed loudly. “All but the oldest, those too old to have any value--.”

“The elders of the below hold more value the you and all of your pathetic priestesses combined.” Akor’nolu snarled.

There. Third shelf from the left, in the middle. It's a bottle made of crystal, cold to the touch. Make her get it for you. Don't touch it. Make her do that. If she lies to you, her soul will be trapped.

With a sword held to the priestess’ neck, Akor’nolu commanded the bottle’s retrieval. Priestess Quar’ree drew close to the shelf, but soon was begging not to touch it.

“So you admit you’re lying then?”

“Yes. Yes.” Priestess Quar’ree said. “He is there too, the brother, along with the old men. They are to be offered tonight.

“Touch it.” Akor’nolu commanded, making a shallow cut in Priestess Quar’ree’s skin to remind her how serious the situation was. Akor’nolu felt cold draw near as the bottle was removed. The priestess was telling the truth this time.

It is time.

The priestess's death was quick and painless, Akor’nolu made sure of that. She knew her skill could get her into the main temple, then she would have to face the matrons. It was the only way.

Remember. You do not always have to rely on power of the blade. You are the sword. Use their fear. Use their pride. Use their hate. Use their ignorance.

A glimmer of an idea grew in that moments, and Akor’nolu smiled. She would have her revenge, and her offering

[Zilvaonar]

---

I see them. Near the back to your left is a cage holding several men. The elders are there.

“Are they alive?”

It appears so. Vlon’zyr is on the ground, his right arm at an odd angle. Dhaun’onim’s tunic is soaked with blood but he’s standing.

“What about Bae’drin?”

I don't see... There. On the altar. He's not moving, and his breathing is shallow. Both matrons are nearby on the platform, sitting.

“Can I get to them without being seen?”

Most of the light is near the altar. If you keep to the edges of the room you should be fine.

Akor’nolu kept close to the walls and made her way on hands and knees past the large doorway and around the east side of the temple. The floor was cool and moist, soothing her body temperature from the heat of the mask. Whether it was the god’s anger or the power of the artifact itself that made the leather stay uncommonly hot for this long, Akor’nolu didn't know, but the cool stone was a welcome relief.

She heard the older men's breathing as she neared the cage and resisted the urge to call out to them. They would know soon enough. Either tonight would mark the moment of their freedom, or the deaths of them all. Either way, their servitude would be at an end.

The sisters voices murmured from their seats on the platform as Akor’nolu crept behind. The youngest was impatient, hungry for the blood and suffering she been promised. Akor’nolu swore she'd be certain Matron Url’kacha got exactly what she wished for. She waited, listening as Matron Aun’stra’s impatience grew with the complaints of her sister. Finally, the elder matron’s patience was at an end.

“If you wish for your entertainment so badly, then do it your self.” Matron Aun’stra snapped. “Just as I, you were trained by mother as a priestess. If you don't want to wait for the others, then start the purification of pain. By then the high priestess and her sisters should have returned.”

Priestesses. Akor’nolu her hand to her mouth to contain her gasp of horror. It never occurred to her the sisters had been trained in this way. They always depended on the priestesses that worked for them to do these rites. There was a flutter of robes as Url’kacha stood and walked down the steps of the platform.

She listened to the older matron’s breathing, slow and steady. Akor’nolu kept her belly low to the ground as she moved to within arms reach of Matron Aun’stra’s throne. She drew the icy bottle from her bag slowly stood, careful to keep her self hidden behind the wide back of the chair. Through the ornate carvings Akor’nolu slid the tip of the sword until it touched the spot between the matrons’ shoulder blades, at the same time with her other hand holding the icy crystal to the back of Aun’stra’s neck.

“Tell me, sister, are you afraid to die.”

Surprise was echoed in the breathy gasp that escaped Aun’stra’s lips, before a tone of loathing and spite replaced it. “I'm not afraid of you.”

That was the last words Matron Aun’stra ever said, for as the lie was born, the crystal bottle grew warmer and Aun’stra became still. One left.

Bae’drin moaned with pain, and Akor’nolu stood, walking between the two thrones to the front of the platform. “Step away from him.”

Url’kacha gasped in shock, and dispatch hatefully as she realized who stood was the mask. “So finally wearing your truth face, traitor. Just like your father.”

“Step away from him.” Akor’nolu said again.

“Why? Afraid of being alone?” Url’kacha laughed. “Didn't I tell you sister? She acts so bold, as if nothing we can do will hurt her. We know your weakness. You care. You feel. The fate of these men, it actually matters to you. Pathetic. Is that right, sister?” Her words were met with silence, and her confident tone wavered. “Sister?”

“She can’t answer you. She is no more than an empty shell, as cold and lifeless as her heart has always been.”

“I'll kill you!”

Akor’nolu sidestepped the charge, the matron’s noisy attack easy to avoid. She'd always thought of her sisters as stronger, more powerful than she, but now Akor’nolu understood what the mask was trying to tell her. There was more to the blind drow girl in the matrons ever could have guessed. Now, she understood why her sisters feared her, why the women all feared her. She was change.

Url’kacha stumbled back into her own throne and sprawled on her back upon the floor. “You'll pay for that, slave!”

“Perhaps.” Akor’nolu smiled from behind the mask. “We your due will come before mine.” She tossed the crystal bottle toward Url’kacha who reflectively caught it. “Are you afraid of me, sister?”

“Never!”

Akor’nolu plucked the warm bottle from between now cold hands slipped it into her bag. She turned away from the lifeless woman and rushed down the stairs to the altar.

“Bae’drin.” She cried out. “Can you hear me?” Akor’nolu’s fingers found his face and slid along the tracks of blood. He moaned weakly and said her name, but didn't move.

He’s in bad shape. Best to get others to help you. You need to get everyone out quickly.

Akor’nolu nodded. She had killed a few guards, but no telling when more would show up. She searched the matrons’ bodies and found a set of keys on Aun’stra. “I should have made them suffer more.”

They will. Keep the bottle close. It will make a very useful gift in the future. Their bodies may be left behind to rot, but their souls… their suffering is just begun.

She wasn't sure she understood, but she was getting used to the mask speaking in ways beyond her limited comprehension. Akor’nolu hurried to unlock the cage and soon the group was gathered by the altar.

“We need to get him out of here.” She said. “And find out where they took the rest of us.”

“I know were the others are being held.” Micar’thrae said. “We should be able to get past the guards to get them out, but then what? Where can we go?”

“The rest the House will just come after us.” Vlon’zyr agreed. “We can't fight them all.”

Akor’nolu knew this was true, before she could answer the mask spoke to her. Tell them to get the boy off the altar and then you must place me there. Leave me behind. I will bring down the walls, destroyed everything and everyone in it, as soon as you all are clear.

“No.” Fear gripped Akor’nolu at the idea of leaving her companion behind. “You have to come with us. You said you’d lead us to the haven.”

Everything happened too soon. We have to end this now. Once you are passed the wards you will hear your childhood guides again. They will tell you the way to the haven. Your friends will be safe there. Young one, listen closely, there is one more thing you must know…