I Read What?!

So last time, Drizzt babbled in a journal entry about how much captivity sucked. I mock, but that's probably true. I would imagine that captivity does suck. Especially when your captors are gross lovecraftian horrors!



Interestingly, we're starting the chapter with Clacker. Clacker's kind of in a weird situation, because as much as being caught between his pech mind and his hook horror instincts is, it's actually providing him something of a resistance to the Illithid mind reading and control. They can see enough to realize that he's not a normal Underdark monster, but that's about it.

We do get an ominous bit here though: If he understood his dilemma, and if he had known the fate of his friends, he might have considered himself fortunate.

Yes, yes, we get it. Even when it comes to suffering, Drizzt must always win.

The mind flayers are a waste-not, want-not kind of folk, so they haven't gotten rid of Clacker, though they're smart enough to realize that trying to control "an armed and armored quarter-ton killing monster" is a bad idea. So they've basically got him doing menial work outside, managing the herds of rothe and blank-faced duergar that will be the illithid's next meal.

We get to see how the process works when a group of illithid, with a mind controlled ogre slave come by and use mind control to order Clacker to provide one dwarf and one rothe. Interestingly, the mind-flayers apparently eat their prey dead, because Clacker snaps the neck of one of the duergar and bashes in a rothe's skull.

A bridge gets extended out to Clacker's little island (surrounded by a chasm), and he's ordered to come to them. His weight causes the bridge to groan, so he's instead ordered to drop the kills on it and retreat.

Clacker considers fighting, but the ogre is there to block the way. He could try to fight his way over, but the bridge would be retracted before he could get past the ogre. So he stays put and eats a rothe when commanded. We're told that deep inside though a tiny pech voice is worried about his friends.

--

We rejoin Belwar now. Apparently, he's a very sought after slave. He's apparently perfectly suited for the two most desired duties for a slave: working the stone and being a gladiator.

...that seems dumb. You'd think they'd rather have those jobs separate, given that gladiators die sometimes. You don't want to use up your utility slaves for entertainment!

I mean, obviously this is a terrible system all around, but really, at least make sense, you fucking mind-flayers.

Anyway, Belwar got auctioned off to three mind flayers and indeed, he's off to the arena. God, mind-flayers are stupid.

An iron portcullis rose before Belwar, revealing a well-lighted circular room with high walls and rows of audience seats above them.

Do come out, one of the masters bade him, and the burrow-warden, fully desiring only to please his master, did not hesitate. When he exited the short passageway, he saw that several dozen mind flayers had gathered all about on stone benches. Those strange four-fingered illithid hands pointed down at him from every direction, all backed by the same expressionless octopus face. Following the telepathic link, though, Belwar had no trouble finding his master among the crowd, busily arguing odds and antes with a small group.

Across the way, a similar portcullis opened and a huge ogre stepped out. Immediately the creature’s eyes went up into the crowd as it sought its own master, the focal point of its existence.

Anyway, Belwar is sent a message telepathically: "This evil ogre beast has threatened me, my brave svirfneblin champion[.]" Creepy. And he's ordered to kill it.

An ogre vs. deep gnome fight seems like a one-sided match, and it is, but not in the way we'd expect. The ogre is young and stupid, Belwar is crafty and experienced. The fight s actually pretty entertainingly written, but I'm not sharing. Sorry. Belwar wins and is ordered to kill the ogre. He does...but messily. Three punches of the hammer hand to crush its skull, then the pickaxe hand for the killing blow. The ogre jerks and spasms, but Belwar feels no pity. He just keeps pulverizing until ordered to stop.

The ogre is now dinner.

--

So where is Drizzt?

igantic stalagmite hollowed and sculpted to house the most important members of the strange community. The inside of the giant stone structure was ringed by balconies and spiraling stairways, each level housing several of the mind flayers. But it was the bottom chamber, unadorned and circular, that held the most important being of all, the central brain.

Fully twenty feet in diameter, this boneless lump of pulsating flesh tied the mind flayer community together in telepathic symbiosis. The central brain was the composite of their knowledge, the mental eye that guarded their outside chambers and which had heard the warning cries of the illithid from the drow city many miles to the east. To the illithids of the community, the central brain was the coordinator of their entire existence and nothing short of their god. Thus, only a very few slaves were allowed within this special tower, captives with sensitive and delicate fingers that could massage the illithid god-thing and soothe it with tender brushes and warm fluids. Drizzt Do’Urden was among this group.

Okay, so this is objectively disgusting, sure. But I don't actually think it's worse than what Clacker and Belwar are being forced to do. He's not killing anything. He's just mind-whammied into thinking he's found his true purpose in life giving a scalp massage to a giant brain. Drizzt actually loses the suffering game here.

--

So back to the illithids who bought Belwar. They're pleased at their profitable acquisitions, but they're still fucking stupid. They realize he's tooled up to dig, but they want him to win more potions and gold in the arena before taking on "menial tasks".

They're also pleased about Clacker, as a herd-tender, and Drizzt as a masseuse. AND they've got Guen's statue. They know what it is and have decided to use their powers to observe her before summoning her. The Astral Plane does sound pretty swanky:

They floated together, leaving their corporeal bodies at rest on the chairs. They ascended beside the figurine’s link to the Astral Plane, visible to them in their astral state as a thin silvery cord. They were beyond their companions’ cavern now, beyond the stones and noises of the Material Plane, floating into the vast serenity of the astral world. Here, there were few sounds other than the continuous chanting of the astral wind. Here, too, there was no solid structure—none in terms of the material world— with matter being defined in gradations of light.

They are careful not to be noticed, because apparently illithids aren't well liked. Shocker. Then they find Guen:

Guenhwyvar romped through a forest of starlight in pursuit of the entity of the elk, continuing the endless cycle. The elk, no less magnificent than the panther, leaped and sprang in perfect balance and unmistakable grace. The elk and Guenhwyvar had played out this scenario a million times and would play it out a million, million more. This was the order and harmony that ruled the panther’s existence, that ultimately ruled the planes of all the universe.

Some creatures, though, like the denizens of the lower planes, and like the mind flayers that now observed the panther from afar, could not accept the simple perfection of this harmony and could not recognize the beauty of this eternal hunt. As they watched the wondrous panther in its life’s play, the illithids’ only thoughts centered on how they might use the cat to their best advantage.

Aw. Poor Guen. The chapter, by the way, ends here.

The next chapter's pretty short, so I'll tack it on here. It'll make this section go faster.

====

So here, we rejoin Belwar. He's been ordered to kill a hook horror and he's hesitating. Something's familiar about it, and he wonders if he's befriended one such before. Unfortunately, the illithid's mind control is too strong though, so he does end up fighting.

This fight is more difficult though. The hook horror isn't Clacker, thank goodness, and it's not hesitating. Belwar's shoulder ends up dislocated and they crash together, the hook horror on top. Interestingly, Belwar's master actually seems a little worried to lose his champion. Maybe you shouldn't waste them fighting to death, you fucker.

Anyway, Belwar ends up saved by his "warrior intuition" and manages to turn the tables on the hook horror. But only for so long, they look poised for mutual defeat (pickaxe to head vs. crushed to death) and declare a draw. And this bit is interesting:

Both masters sent messages down to their champions. It took several brutal moments to calm the fires of rage and end the contest, but eventually, the illithid suggestions overruled the gladiators’ savage instincts of survival. Suddenly, both the deep gnome and the hook horror felt an affinity for each other, and when the hook horror rose, it lent a claw to the svirfneblin to help him to his feet.

...so how sentient are normal hook horrors anyway?

Poor Belwar is back in his gladiatorial cell, upset because he won't be able to compete for many days. He needs to rest, but his master has other ideas: there's a cubby in its private quarters to complete.

We get a paths cross moment:

A kneeling drow caught Belwar’s attention as the mind flayer led him through the bottom level of the central tower. How fortunate the dark elf was to be able to touch and bring pleasure to the central brain of the community! Belwar then thought no more of it, though, as he made the ascent to the structure’s third level and to the suite of rooms that his three masters shared.

Okay, I guess the sexualized overtones DO make Drizzt's fate a little creepier than I initially acknowledged. But honestly, there were some creepy undertones with Belwar too. For a sexless race of brain eaters, the illithids do sexualize everything, don't they? Maybe it's the tentacles.

Anyway, once back at their place, the illithid decides to invade Belwar's mind some more. Apparently it takes tendays, even months, to fully dominate a slave. So this is part of that process, the illithid wants to know all about Belwar's hands this time.

And interestingly, it finds something:

The illithid’s thoughts probed and prodded, and sometime later fell into a deep corner of Belwar’s mind and learned a curious chant.

Bivrip? it questioned Belwar. Simply on reflex, the burrow-warden banged his hands together, then winced in pain from the shock of the blow.

There's another issue to consider. When there's a draw, they're entitled to a rematch, but Belwar probably wouldn't survive it. The illithid considers further.

--

Scene shift!

We're with Dinin in Menzoberranzan. He's incognito, and nearly ruins it for himself when some slaves are too casual, but he reins his temper in. Then he has an encounter:

“So you have found me,” came a familiar voice from behind and to the side. Surprised and afraid, Dinin stopped his mount and froze in his saddle. He knew that a dozen tiny crossbows—at least—were trained on him.

Slowly, Dinin turned his head to watch Jarlaxle’s approach. Out here in the shadows, the mercenary seemed much different from the overly polite and compliant drow Dinin had known in House Do’Urden. Or perhaps it was just the specter of the two sword-wielding drow guards standing by Jarlaxle’s sides and Dinin’s own realization that he didn’t have Matron Malice around to protect him.

“One should ask permission before entering another’s house,” Jarlaxle said calmly but with definite threatening undertones. “Common courtesy.”

“I am out in the open streets,” Dinin reminded him.

Jarlaxle’s smile denied the logic. “My house.”

Okay, I do rather enjoy Jarlaxle. Dinin retorts back, challenging Jarlaxle's claim of dominion over the streets by asking if Matron Baenre, who wouldn't enter the least of Menzoberranzan's houses without permission from the appropriate matron mother, should ask houseless Jarlaxle's permission? Dinin has a moment where he worries that his insult went too far, but his pride demanded it. Fortunately, Jarlaxle seems to enjoy the riposte.

Anyway, Dinin's here for a reason obviously. He wants to know more about Zin-carla - specifically if Zak's been loose for too long. Jarlaxle's a weird choice to ask about that, since he's not a cleric or wizard. But who else can Dinin ask?

Anyway, Jarlaxle clarifies that Malice didn't send Dinin: Dinin's taking his own initiative. He has a pretty good line here:

“Are you afraid, Elderboy?”

“Concerned,” Dinin replied sincerely, ignoring the mercenary’s taunting tone. “I never make the error of underestimating my enemies, or my allies.”

Dinin knows how powerful Drizzt is now, and he knew what Zaknafein once was.

“Your mother asked for Zin-carla,” Jarlaxle retorted, a bit sharply. “It is Lolth’s greatest gift, given only so that the Spider Queen is pleased in return. Matron Malice knew the risk when she requested Zin-carla. Surely you understand, Elderboy, that spirit-wraiths are given for the completion of a specific task.”

“And what are the consequences of failure?” Dinin asked bluntly, matching Jarlaxle’s perturbed attitude.

The mercenary’s incredulous stare was all the answer Dinin needed. “How long does Zaknafein have?” Dinin asked.

Jarlaxle shrugged noncommittally and answered with a question of his own. “Who can guess at Lolth’s plans?” he asked. “The Spider Queen can be a patient one—if the gain is great enough to justify the wait. Is Drizzt’s value such?” Again the mercenary shrugged. “That is for Lolth, and for Lolth alone, to decide.”

Hah, the failure question was a little stupid, Dinin. But it's good to get the terms on the table. Honestly, Dinin's been the biggest surprise in this reread. I don't remember having strong opinions about him when I read these books as a teenager/much younger adult. But I think he's interesting, in an understated way. I'd have read an evil-protagonist book about him.

There's a funny bit where Dinin is about to leave, but turns back for one final comment only to find Jarlaxle and his guards gone.

--

Back to Belwar. He's now able to use the Bivrip spell, much to his master's joy. He focuses Belwar onto the cabinet so he can see it in action. Yay for exploding stone.

That said, the Bivrip spell may have jostled a few things loose in Belwar's mind:

The enchanting spell-song of his mithral hands ran through his mind again, became a focus of his unconscious determination to sort through the blur of his captors’ insinuations. “Bivrip?” he muttered again, and the word triggered a more recent memory, an image of a drow elf, kneeling and massaging the god-thing of the illithid community.

“Drizzt?” Belwar muttered under his breath, but the name was forgotten in the next bang of his pick-hand, obliterated by the svirfneblin’s continuing desire to please his illithid master.

The cubby had to be perfect.

I admit, as pointless as this side adventure seems to be, I do appreciate the rather nice parallel between Belwar's state here and Zak's as the Zin-carla. Maybe Drizzt will get a similar moment?

--

Back with Drizzt, there's a moment of anxiety from the brain, which saddens Drizzt. Drizzt pours some warm water slowly over the flesh and keeps kneading it until the brain sends out a "teasing hint of gratitude"

Illithids watch in approval. Apparently drow elves are the best masseuses, and Drizzt is one of the finest so far. Of course he is.

But there's some appealing news: apparently another drow intruder's made it to the illithid territory. A single drow who'll be another new slave to massage and soothe. An easy capture.

The chapter ends with: So the mind flayers believed.

You know, maybe there are some perks to the Zin-carla thing, because I think we're about to see some fucking havoc. Next week.