Free Homeland by R. A. Salvatore Page A

high price of disobedience, though—even of hesitation—and he reached up, searching for his first handhold.
    “Not like that!” Vierna scolded.
    “How?” Drizzt dared to ask, for he had no idea of what his sister was hinting at.
    “Will yourself up to the gargoyle,” Vierna explained.
    Drizzt’s small face crinkled in confusion.
    “You are a noble of House Do’Urden!” Vierna shouted at him. “Or at least you will one day earn that distinction. In your neck-purse you possess the emblem of the house, an item of considerable magic.” Vierna still wasn’t certain if Drizzt was ready for such a task; levitation was a high manifestation of innate drow magic, certainly more difficult that limning objects in faerie fire or summoning globes of darkness. The Do’Urden emblem heightened these innate powers of drow elves, magic that usually emerged as a drow matured. Whereas most drow nobles could summon the magical energy to levitate once every day or so, the nobles of House Do’Urden, with their insignia tool, could do so repeatedly.
    Normally, Vierna would never have tried this on a male child younger than ten, but Drizzt had shown her so much potential in the last couple of years that she saw no harm in the attempt. “Just put yourself in line with the statue,” she explained, “and will yourself to rise.”
    Drizzt looked up at the female carving, then lined his feet just out in front of the thing’s angled and delicate face. He put a hand to his collar, trying to attune himself to the emblem. He had sensed before that the magic coin possessed some type of power, but it was only a raw sensation, a child’s intuition. Now that Drizzt had some focus and confirmation to his suspicions, he clearly felt the vibrations of magical energy.
    A series of deep breaths cleared distracting thoughts from the young drow’s mind. He blocked out the other sights of the room; all he saw was the statue, the destination. He felt himself grow lighter, his heels went up, and he was on one toe, though he felt no weight upon it. Drizzt looked over at Vierna, his smile wide in amazement … then he tumbled to a heap.
    “Foolish male!” Vierna scolded. “Try again! Try a thousand times if you must!” She reached for the snake-headed whip on her belt. “If you fail …” Drizzt looked away from her, cursing himself. His own elation had caused the spell to falter. He knew that he could do it now, though, and he was not afraid of being beaten. He concentrated again on the sculpture and let the magical energy gather within his body.
    Vierna, too, knew that Drizzt would eventually succeed. His mind was keen, as sharp as any Vierna had ever known, including those of the other females of House Do’Urden. The child was stubborn, too; Drizzt would not let the magic defeat him. She knew he would stand under the sculpture until he fainted from hunger if need be.
    Vierna watched him go through a series of small successes and failures, the last one dropping Drizzt from a height of nearly ten feet. Vierna flinched, wondering if he was seriously hurt. Drizzt, whatever his wounds, did not even cry out but moved back into position and started concentrating all over again.
    “He is young for that,” came a comment from behind Vierna. She turned in her seat to see Briza standing over her, a customary scowl on the older sister’s face.
    “Perhaps,” Vierna replied, “but I’ll not know until I let him try.”
    “Whip him when he fails,” Briza suggested, pulling her cruel six-headed instrument from her belt. She gave the whip a loving look—as if it were some sort of pet—and let a snake’s head writhe about her neck and face. “Inspiration.”
    “Put it away,” Vierna retorted. “Drizzt is mine to rear, and I need no help from you!”
    “You should watch how you speak to a high priestess,” Briza warned, and all of the snake heads, extensions of her thoughts, turned menacingly toward Vierna.
    “As Matron Malice will watch how