TRUSTING A MOST UNUSUAL DROW

DRIZZT AND CATTI-BRIE HURRIED ALONG THE HALLS OF UPPER

of King Connerad. The dwarf ?eyes??scouts in watchposts higher on the mountain?had brought word just a tenday before that the Surbrin was starting to clear of ice, so this sudden call was not unexpected.

The third month of Ches would turn to Tarsakh in just over a tenday, and winter was finally letting go its grip upon the land.

As they approached King Connerad?s war room, they heard Athrogate bellowing out some ribald song about beards and drapes and rugs, and then heard a responding laugh, dwarf and female, that rang familiar to Drizzt. He smiled and nodded at Catti-brie.

?Ambergris?? she asked, and he nodded again.

The dwarf guards moved aside as the couple approached, though one?Drizzt remembered him as Rollo, the young warrior beside Winko in their unfortunate encounter?shot a glare at Drizzt as he passed.

Inside the room, they spotted Bruenor sitting beside Connerad, with General Dagnabbet and Bungalow Thump huddled near. All four turned to regard them, and all four wore grim expressions. Not so grim were Amber and Athrogate, though, standing off to the side, laughing heartily and exchanging bawdy rhymes.

?We?re to go, elf,? Bruenor said.

?Tomorrow,? Bungalow Thump added. ?Soon as the second sunrise is in full west and low o? the darkening.?

Drizzt nodded, but it took him a moment to digest that strange explanation of the time of day. The brightest hours on the surface were midmorning and late afternoon, the spans when the sun was under one rim or the other of the blackened sky but not below the horizon. That second short period of relative light had come to be called the second sunrise, even though, by that point in the day, the sun was actually lowering.

?North door,? Connerad explained as the pair walked up, and the dwarf king shook his head skeptically.

?I would expect faces beaming with eagerness,? said Catti-brie, ?but what I find is dour and grim.?

Even as she finished, Athrogate erupted in side-splitting laughter, and Amber began to giggle so ridiculously that she could hardly finish her song of two couples, a dwarf and his firbolg bride, and his sister and her firbolg husband, brother of her sister-in-law.

?So the dwarf?s got a sister who?s smilin? so wide,? she chanted, catching her wits when she saw that the other six were now looking her way. ?And his own wife?s not knowin? when her husband?s inside.?

Athrogate howled and slapped his knee.

?Enough!? ordered Connerad, and he turned his glare fast to Bungalow Thump, who had also begun, to chuckle.

?And yerself?? he asked. Dagnabbet couldn?t resist a bit of a laugh.

?Funny to think on it,? Bruenor said dryly.

Connerad sighed. ?Pray be gone, the two o? ye,? he said to Athrogate and Amber. ?Go and play the night away. We?ll be fightin? tomorrow, eh??

The two started out of the room with Athrogate muttering, ?Probably not much fightin? for us coming out if I?m knowin? me old friend.?

?I cannot but agree with the wild dwarf,? Drizzt explained to the others when Athrogate and Amber exited the room. ?And true enough, from my own experience.?

?Orcs?ve built a powerful force up there after them elfs came in,? Connerad said. ?Sure but there?s a hunnerd big new tents north o? the gates.? He nodded to the side, where his engineers had constructed a scale model of the entire region in great detail. Connerad led the others over there and nodded to Bruenor, who stepped up.

?North door,? he said, pointing it out on the model. ?Lots o? orcs here, just outside it. And a huge force o? orcs and giants here,? he explained, moving his hand to the north of that position.

?The main force about Mithral Hall,? General Dagnabbet said.

?Aye, and there?s a good run for them to Keeper?s Dale, to the Surbrin Bridge, and shortest to the north gate, all downhill,? Bruenor added, pointing it out on the map, moving his hand along the model mountain passes to each location.

The orcs had grown wiser, Drizzt realized, nodding. Or more likely, the dark elves guiding them had shown them a better setup to support and hold the siege. Now they had nominal, though still sizable, forces at all three of Mithral Halls gates, but with a reserve ready to roll in for support in short order, and in shortest order of all, as Bruenor had pointed out, to the north gates.

?We?ll have most o? the orcs about Mithral Hall on us afore the last of our boys?ve cleared our gates,? Bruenor finished.

?Amber came in alone?? Drizzt asked.

?Hole opened in the north gates,? Bungalow Thump explained. ?Just a hole, and out fell the girl. And then, afore me boys could even get a look, poof, the hole?s gone, and the door?s thick and solid again.?

Drizzt nodded. He had seen such a portable hole put to use before, and by the same most unusual drow he was certain was now directing this escape.

?No change of plan?? Catti-brie asked. ?North gate, she said??

?Said them elfs?re ready, and with a trick or two planned for them orcs and giants,? said King Connerad.

Drizzt looked to Bruenor and shrugged. ?You have seen that one at play before,? he reminded the dwarf.

?Aye,? Bruenor agreed. ?But think on it, elf. Yer friend?s got himself in trouble many the times with them matrons in Menzoberranzan. Now?s his chance, eh??

Drizzt stared at him curiously, but Catti-brie caught on and looked at Drizzt with sudden alarm.

?What?? Connerad and Dagnabbet said in unison.

?Might be a good way for yer friend to get in the good graces o? them snake-whippin? witches,? Bruenor elaborated.

Drizzt pondered the possibility of Bruenor?s suspicions for just a moment. It made sense, he

had to admit. Surely any drow could be offering quite a prize to Matron Mother Quenthel and the others by tricking the dwarves into opening their doors?and perhaps a bigger prize still for delivering Drizzt Do?Urden to them.

?No,? he said, shaking his head and growing more confident with every movement. ?He would not betray me, would not betray us, and certainly would not betray Athrogate. Not like this.?

?He?s been known to play games within games,? Catti-brie said.

?But this would be no game,? Drizzt replied. ?If what you fear came to pass, then many dwarves would fall?indeed, Mithral Hall itself would fall. There would be no turning back. His stone would be cast forevermore, and that is something he is never wont to do.?

?Cast against yerself,? said Bruenor.

?Aye, and he would not do that. Not with such irredeemable finality. He would not do that to Zaknafein, who was once his friend.?

Catti-brie and Bruenor exchanged looks at the mention of Drizzt?s father. They shrugged in unison.

?Second sunrise, then,? Bruenor told Connerad and the other two, and none of them looked particularly confident.

?Ye?re sure it?s no trap, are ye?? Connerad asked. ?Because that?s what I?m hearin?, but sure not what I?m seein? in yer face.?

?Aye,? said Bruenor. ?No trap. A most unusual one?s this fellow. But he?s more than a bit o? honor about him, even though I?m not for understanding it all.?

?Nor would Lady Sinnafein betray us,? Drizzt said.

Connerad turned to Dagnabbet and Bungalow Thump in turn, then back to his three guests. ?Second sunrise,? he agreed, ?and may Clangeddin sit his hairy bum atop o? them orcs!?

A volley of arrows rained into the encampment, centered on the massive tents of the frost giants. The arrows were more of a nuisance than a danger to the behemoths, since there was no concentrated fire in those first volleys. Orcs ducked for cover, goblins ran around screaming and trying to form some sort of shield walls, but the giants came out strong, rocks in hand, ready to pay back the hated elves for the deaths of their kin across the river in the Cold Vale.

As predicted by Sinnafein, the giants had altered their tactics, and when they charged the tree line they believed held by the elf archers, they did so in close ranks, and with a leading barrage of hurled boulders.

But the elf archers were long gone, fleeing even as their third volley of arrows went up into the air. The two persons remaining in the stand of pines thought the boulders no more than a nuisance, less so than the arrows had been to the giants.

In charged the giants in tight groups, massive clubs lifted and ready to bat elves from the trees, or fall upon the lithe folk and crush them flat.

But as they neared, several of those trees bent outward suddenly, pushed to their breaking point, and from the two openings came gigantic, horned coppery heads.

The giants skidded across the snowy ground, falling all over each other to be away.

But not fast enough. Tazmikella and Ilnezhara spat forth their acidic breath, melting the closest behemoths, burning and biting at all behind.

There were more than two hundred giants in that vast encampment, and had they thrown the whole of their power at the dragons in coordinated fashion, they surely would have overwhelmed the wyrms in short order.

But not like this. Not caught by surprise. Not in the sudden reversal and shock of seeing the enemies with dragons of their own?and though only two had shown themselves, who knew how many more might be lurking nearby?

The giants, wisely, were more concerned with fleeing than fighting, and they turned as determinedly as they had charged, stumbling and staggering to get away.

Trees bent and snapped as the dragons came forth, bursting from the line in all their terrible splendor. They leaped up into the air and breathed again on the giants, this time enveloping the groups in clouds of thick gas. The dragon sisters quickly turned and swept back behind the pines, disappearing from sight, their role done.

Those giants they had hit with the second breath weapon were not burned. Their skin was not melting from biting acid. And they continued to run, but more slowly, much more slowly.

And now the elves returned, and the magically-slowed behemoths made wonderful targets. Group commanders selected targets methodically, and the arrow volleys that reached out came like a swarm of stinging bees.

One giant dropped, a second stumbled and fell bloody to the snow.

Far in the back among the tents, not many of the orcs and goblins had even seen the dragons, but they recognized the rout in front of them, and if two hundred giants could be so easily and completely turned around, fleeing in abject terror, then what chance did they have?

And so the rout was on in full, with the main encampment of Many-Arrows that besieged Mithral Hall splintering in confusion and terror.

At that moment, down the sloping ground to the south, the north gates of the dwarven citadel banged open, and out came Clan Battlehammer in all its glory, led by a furious drow ranger, a monstrous black panther, a Chosen of Mielikki, and the legendary King Bruenor Battlehammer himself.

Winko Battleblade and his cousin Rollo came out of the north gate side by side, banging their swords on their shields and hungry for battle. It had been a miserable winter in Mithral Hall, short on rations and constantly prodded by orcs and ogres, goblins and giants, and darker things still, and now it was past time to pay back the ugly dogs.

There was one other who might need a lesson, they both knew, as did their friends around them, and so they kept their eyes on the drow Do?Urden as they rushed along the snowy incline leading from the doors. Drizzt had helped pave the way for the filthy orcs of Many-Arrows to launch this war. Drizzt had forced the Treaty of Garumn?s Gorge upon Bruenor, as Winko?s telling went, in a clever ploy to allow the orcs to gain a foothold here in the Silver Marches, right on Mithral Hall?s doorstep.

After all, was it a coincidence that the dark elves leading the legions of Many-Arrows bore

the surname of Do?Urden?

One misstep by Drizzt here and Winko?s gang of twenty were going to fall over him and pummel him into a pile of mush.

So they watched Drizzt now as the battle was joined, orcs rushing from their encampment to meet the breakout. Curiously, Drizzt and his two companions, the dwarf and woman claiming to be Bruenor and Catti-brie, broke to the right, away from the main group. The drow led the splinter group, or rather, his bow did, with a stream of mightily-enchanted arrows swarming into the gathering of orcs and ogres at that flank.

Just the three of them?no, four, Winko and the others realized when the giant panther appeared, leaping upon an ogre and bearing it to the ground beneath raking claws? splintering from the main force of General Dagnabbet to engage an entire flank of monsters ? What game could this be?

?He?s to reveal himself as the traitor he be, or I?m a bearded gnome!? Winko cried to his fellows, pointedly using the same phrase that King Bruenor had made famous a century and more before. With the main fight right in front of them fast turning to a rout by Dagnabbet?s mighty force, the fiery Winko led his band off toward the right flank?not to reinforce Drizzt and the others, but to kill them when they turned back upon Mithral Hall and showed their true allegiance to the invaders.

Rollo followed that up with a call of ?Huzzah,? but his voice trailed away. At that moment, Drizzt hit the orc line in full stride, scimitars in hand.

Rollo?s mouth stayed open, as did the hanging jaws of all Winko?s band. Drizzt leaped and twirled, wide-held blades slicing orc faces. He dived to the ground and came up fast, and came up stabbing, and more orcs fell away.

Now the young dwarf who claimed to be Bruenor reincarnated joined the fray, his axe strokes launching orcs two at a time as they tried to press in. Drizzt flashed back in front of Bruenor, clearing a thin swath of ground in front of the dwarf, and as soon as the drow had passed, Bruenor charged in his wake, shield-shouldering one orc to the ground, splitting the head of a second with his axe.

In the span of a few heartbeats, it seemed, several orcs and an ogre lay dead.

The woman cried out, and Bruenor turned and retreated straight for her. The panther launched itself into a mighty leap that carried her over the ducking orcs. After dispatching yet another of the ugly brutes, Drizzt ran faster than Winko and the others could begin to believe. The speeding drow leaped just as Catti-brie?s tremendous fireball went off behind him, right in the midst of the pursuing monsters.

That moment, that image, became frozen into the minds of the onlooking dwarves: the drow high in the air, his dark form silhouetted by a brilliant explosion of roiling orange flames, his hands moving to sheath his scimitars even as he flew as if propelled by the blast. He landed on his feet, but threw himself forward and to the ground, tucking into a roll and turning as he went to come back to one knee facing the orcs, and somehow, impossibly, with his magical bow back in hand.

The fireball was still breaking apart when the first lightning arrow shot off into the diminishing conflagration, taking a smoking ogre right in the chest and sending it spinning to the ground.

Fires burned on tents, fires burned on orcs, fires burned on ogres, some still standing, many

on the ground in the half-melted snow.

And one greater, living fire remained, and it, too, took to the battle, striding into the midst of a trio of coughing, smoking ogres. Already badly wounded by the fireball, the brutes had no chance against the wizard?s fire elemental, and as the first fell under the weight of a heavy, flaming punch, the other two tried to stagger away.

But the panther came back in full charge, the dwarf howling his battle cries, and the drow letting fly an arrow with every step, close behind.

?Cousin,? a subdued Rollo whispered, ?you?re a bearded gnome.?

By the time Drizzt, Catti-brie, Bruenor, and Guenhwyvar rejoined the main dwarven battle group, the rout of the orc encampment was well in place, with few monsters still fighting.

?Ah, but here they come,? Bungalow Thump warned the companions when they roared in beside his Gutbusters. ?Get ye ready for we?re in it now!?

His words seemed perfectly on target. They had charged out well aware that this encampment was nothing more than a stop-gap force, set to slow down any attempted breakout until the main force could arrive. And now, it seemed, that main force was indeed on its way, for up ahead, the mountain slopes were dark with swarms of orcs and goblins, with charging ogres and giants, rolling down in fury, it seemed, to overrun the dwarves.

?Brace!? came King Connerad?s call, echoed up and down by the undercommanders. ?Shield wall!?

Drizzt looked to the dwarf king, who was not far away, and saw his doubts clearly on his face. ?He will call for a retreat into the hall,? the drow said to Bruenor.

?Nah!? Bungalow Thump protested, but Bruenor couldn?t help but nod. The force charging down at them seemed truly overwhelming.

Unseen by the dwarves and their allies holding position in front of the gate, one man outran all the others, easily outpacing even the lithe elves and the dragon sisters, who were now back in elf form, in the wet spring snow. Afafrenfere felt as if his body was but a shell, an image created to give shape to his life-force, which was without weight. With huge, swift strides, he bounded after the retreating monsters, and whenever he came upon a straggler, he was swift to the attack.

Out lashed his hand or his foot, always properly aimed, always with the strength of a giant behind it, and always singularly lethal. Afafrenfere wasn?t striking with a corporeal punch, kick, or knee, or even headbutt, but rather with his very life energy, concentrated like a deadly spear.

Again, his physical form merely gave shape to the blow, following the flow of his inner strength into the unenlightened target.

He knew that Grandmaster Kane was guiding him now, shaping his energy and throwing it forth. He welcomed the intrusion, basked in the lesson.

Carry no doubts, the voice in his head told him as he bore down on a giant?one that had

noticed him and was turning to meet the charge.

Afafrenfere felt as if he was flying when he launched into a running leap. Over the swinging club of the monster he flew, over the giant?s shoulder, and as he passed, he felt his hand shaking suddenly, tiny quivers moving in a blur. He slapped the giant across the face, not hard, but solidly, and Afafrenfere felt strangely weary, as if he?d just run the breadth of Faerûn.

He flew down past the behemoth, turning as he dived into a graceful roll that set him upright and on his way as if he had never missed a step, and by the second stride, he felt his strength returning anew.

Trust was all he heard when he instinctively and silently questioned what had justoccurred.

Afafrenfere had no more time to consider the incident, or even that the giant was now giving chase. A group of orcs had stopped in front of him, turning for a fight, weapons bared and ready.

And without a thought, Afafrenfere willingly leaped into their midst, scattering them with his unexpectedly bold assault. They were back soon, though, in a circle around him, a dozen enemies closing in methodically.

Closer, closer, close enough to prod at him with their weapons.

He leaped straight up into the air and spun. Around he went, lashing out with his foot, with his hand, and again, blocking each and every stab or slash with his hardened shin, or simply the delicate turn of a well-placed hand.

He turned a second circuit and a third, and the orcs fell away, one kicked in the face, a second swept over its own spear, a third taking a fast triple punch in the face as the monk finally touched down.

And up he went again, right away, just as high and spinning once more. Too fast for his enemies, too quick to the strike or the block.

When he landed that second time, only a handful remained. Out lashed Afafrenfere?s side kick, shattering an orc?s kneecap. Around went the monk with a full circle kick, driving that wounded orc into the next in line, and as those two tangled, a third tripped up and dived in at the monk.

Out went Afafrenfere?s open palm, square in the face of the bending, overbalanced orc, using its momentum against it and shattering its neck bone.

Without even thinking of the movement, Afafrenfere backflipped right over the trio of orcs coming in behind him with leveled spears. He landed behind them instead, squarely and ready, his stabbing fingers diving into one?s kidney, shattering a second?s spine, and as the third turned, so did the monk, his rising circle kick snapping the spear shaft and driving through and up under the creature?s chin.

It flew away, leaving Afafrenfere gaping in disbelief at the power that coursed through his body.

He could hardly register what had just occurred, and only the closing giant snapped him from his trance.

What do I do? he silently asked. He was no match for a frost giant.

But his answer came as the energy coalesced inside of him, gathering into a tangible ball. His body trembled, his eyes rolled up to show the whites, his arms reached forward, shaking.

And he felt this energy thrown from his corporeal form, thrown into the charging giant, and there, it lashed like lightning.

Afafrenfere staggered back a step and stared incredulously as the giant skidded to a halt, shaking and trembling, slightly at first, but gaining momentum with each passing heartbeat.

Soon spasms rocked its body, bouncing it around. The behemoth held its feet for a few more heartbeats, though its massive sword went flying away.

Then to the ground it went, to its back, where it jerked and thrashed violently, ending with a sudden scream, arms reaching to the sky, mouth wide, and as if that scream took with it the last of the giant?s energy, the behemoth simply fell limp.

Before he even went to it, Afafrenfere knew that it was dead. From a slap.

From a trembling hand, Grandmaster Kane?s quivering palm.

As King Connerad?s call echoed along the line, the dwarves formed a tight shield wall, ready for a tremendous impact. But the monsters weren?t charging?the horde was in full flight, a terrified frenzy. Those heading directly for Mithral Hall seemed suddenly to realize their error and veered left and right, scattering to the side trails?even the giants.

?What?? Bungalow Thump demanded, clearly dismayed. ?Catch ?em, boys, and kill ?em to death!?

Off went Thump and his brigade, hollering and giving chase?until General Dagnabbet ordered them back.

?Close ranks!? she called. ?They?re baiting us to split asunder!?

More than one Gutbuster grumbled in protest, but these were Battlehammer dwarves, loyal and obedient.

Despite the monstrous flight, the fighting surely wasn?t finished, and the sounds of battle erupted once more just north of the gates of Mithral Hall. Catti-brie threw more devastating fireballs and brought forth a second elemental. Drizzt sent lines of magical arrows burning into monstrous flesh. Bungalow Thump got his wish and launched his furious Gutbuster Brigade headlong into the midst of a swarm of orcs.

And Bruenor and Connerad fought side by side, two great kings of Mithral Hall joined in common cause.

Despite the fact that most of the supposed orc reinforcements had run away left and right, the battle wavered on the edge of disaster for a short while, until a barrage of arrows swarmed down from the hills, thinning the orc press. On came the elves of the Glimmerwood in tight ranks, three hundred strong, three hundred longbows working as one, sweeping aside the nearest monsters as they patiently made their way to the dwarves.

?Well met again, King Connerad,? Sinnafein said to him when the allies had united, the battle all but over with only a few pockets of resistance remaining.

?Aye, and all for yer hugs,? said another woman, and the group noted the approach of Ambergris and Athrogate, both with weapons covered in the blood of their enemies set on their shoulders. ?But be quick about it, eh??

Drizzt could hardly contain his smile when yet another walked up, a man who seemed to

be carrying no weapons at all, yet who, Drizzt was certain, had played a large role in the victory.

?Well met again,? Drizzt said to Afafrenfere, who bowed respectfully.

The monk started to reply, but Ambergris cut him short. ?Time for that later, eh?? she reminded him.

?Indeed,? said Sinnafein. ?Have you properly divided your forces?? she asked King Connerad.

?Bruenor?s leaving with yerself,? the young King of Mithral Hall answered. ?And them that?s going with him know their place.?

?Then we must be away at once, to the boats on the Surbrin?s banks and across the river into the cover of the Glimmerwood,? Sinnafein answered.

?Aye,? Connerad agreed. He looked to Bruenor. ?How I wish I might be going with ye, me king.?

?Yer place is in the hall,? Bruenor replied.

?Would Bruenor?ve said the same for himself when he?d been king?? ?No,? Drizzt answered before Bruenor could.

Connerad nodded and smiled. ?Aye, but Bruenor didn?t have Bruenor to go and lead his army,? he said. ?I?m knowin? me place in this, for the good o? Clan Battlehammer, and I?m knowin? Bruenor?s place is out there.? He nodded his chin to the east.

?And I?m knowing that we?ll be together again afore summer?s on in full,? Bruenor replied, and the two shared a solid handshake.

Then Bruenor and his companions, along with Bungalow Thump and the Gutbusters, and three hundred of General Dagnabbet?s finest soldiers, went off with Sinnafein and the elves. King Connerad and General Dagnabbet watched them go, while the remaining dwarves around them raided the orc encampment of all its worthwhile supplies, returning to Mithral Hall with arms full of much-needed food.

The orcs and their monstrous allies were back to the battlefield in short order, a huge force prepared now for the surprises that had befallen them that late afternoon. They chased the last of Connerad?s forces back into Mithral Hall, then argued and grumbled that the dwarves had found a way to resupply, and that the wretched elves had helped them.

And the angry forces of Many-Arrows had no idea that the elves had not been alone in their retreat back across the Surbrin.

CHAPTER 11

THE POSSESSED

GROMPH GAVE A LITTLE CHUCKLE, ONE THAT SURELY DID NOTHING TO

?The orcs are fracturing,? the archmage said.

?But that is not true,? Tiago protested, a bit too vehemently, he realized when Gromph scowled.

No one ever wanted to look into one of Gromph Baenre?s scowls. ?Hartusk is gathering his forces in Hartusk Keep ??

?In Sundabar, you mean,? Gromph quickly corrected, and in a tone that would brook no dissent. He had already made it quite clear to Tiago that he fully expected the powers of Luruar to retake the blasted city before the next winter.

?The warlord gathers his forces, all of them, and Arauthator and his son are soon to return, by your own account,? Tiago reiterated.

?The wizards of Silverymoon will fight them to the end,? Gromph replied. ?Arauthator has already said that he wants no part of that powerful city.?

?Then we will bypass it,? Tiago said, and he turned to Ravel for some support.

?Everlund?s defenses are surely more conventional and less rooted in the arcane arts,? the wizard son of Matron Mother Zeerith Xorlarrin agreed.

?Moving Hartusk farther from Dark Arrow Keep and from Sundabar,? said Gromph with a chortle.

?It will be a quick and brutal assault,? Tiago insisted. ?We will cripple Everlund, though not likely topple her, and then turn fast to strengthen our gains??

? ?Our???

?Hartusk?s,? Tiago quickly corrected. ?With Everlund wounded, Silverymoon will sue for peace.?

?You have forgotten three dwarven citadels and the forces of the Glimmerwood,? said Gromph.

He could not have been more wrong. The place that never left Tiago?s thoughts was one of those dwarven citadels, Mithral Hall, where Drizzt Do?Urden had taken refuge.

?Felbarr is fully sealed, Adbar in disarray by all accounts, and the folk of Mithral Hall have tried to break out?twice?and were put back in their filthy hole both times by the forces still arrayed about the three gates,? said Tiago. ?The elves are a nuisance and little more. I would take Arauthator and his son over their lands and send the elves in full flight?those few who survived!?

Gromph seemed to be mulling that proposal over, at least.

?Please, Archmage,? Tiago pleaded. ?We can inflict more pain and use that to secure the gains for Warlord Hartusk. He and his giant allies will keep the kingdoms of Luruar engaged for years to come. If we are taken from Hartusk?s side now, with Everlund and Silverymoon intact, the collapse will be swift for Hartusk and our enemies, I fear, will fast turn their eyes to Menzoberranzan and Q?Xorlarrin.?

The anxious tremor in his voice could not be missed, he realized, and so he was betraying

his true designs. But it could not be helped, and Tiago could not turn away, not with Drizzt

Do?Urden so near!

Gromph began to chuckle again, but this time it seemed more with true amusement. ?Tarsakh is upon us,? he said, referring to the fourth month of 1485, which had just dawned. ?You and your cohorts have until the dusk of Eleasis. Fifteen tendays, and then I will come for you and will hear no arguments.?

?Matron Mother Quenthel will agree to this?? Ravel dared to ask, for Gromph had made it clear that he had returned to them this day under orders to bring the drow home.

?The drow of Menzoberranzan, excluding the nobles of House Do?Urden, return to Menzoberranzan with me this day,? Gromph explained. ?The soldiers of Q?Xorlarrin are Matron Mother Zeerith?s to recall, should she so choose.?

Ravel nodded eagerly, Tiago noted, for his wizard friend had already told him that Matron Mother Zeerith did not agree with Matron Mother Quenthel?s desire to so abruptly end this war. There were gains to be made here, Zeerith believed, and so, likely, Ravel and his friends would have some dark elf support here, at least.

?Thank you, Archmage,? Tiago said with a deep and respectful bow.

Gromph looked at him one last time, chuckled again, and disappeared with a snap of his fingers.

?Are we truly alone?? Tiago asked Ravel, who was already casting a spell of divination. Ravel nodded.

?Fifteen tendays,? said Tiago. ?Mithral Hall will come forth within that time, surely, and Drizzt Do?Urden will be mine.?

?Your thoughts of the rogue possess you like a canker worm, my friend,? said Ravel. ?We were never here to hunt for Drizzt, as has been made clear to you repeatedly.?

?We are House Do?Urden! Deny not the connection.? ?To humiliate him,? Ravel argued. ?To foul his name.?

?You speak like a priestess,? said Tiago. ?Like your sniveling sister, my wife. When I enter Menzoberranzan with the head of Drizzt Do?Urden, none will deny the glory, and all will give praise to Lolth that her betrayer has fallen.?

?Praise to Tiago, you mean.?

?Well-earned,? Tiago replied, and he looked out the window of his makeshift palace in the ruins of Nesmé and smiled wickedly.

Doum?wielle sat on the edge of her bed in a candlelit room, staring across at Khazid?hea. The sword was in its sheath, leaning against the wall, but it was in her head as well, calling to her.

Their games are not beyond you, Little Doe, the sword whispered in her mind, for it knew thatshe was considering Tiago and Ravel and the others, and their constant maneuvers to gain advantage.

Or power. Tiago had taken her to gain power over her, and over her father, and she knew, too, that was hardly the farthest Tiago would go to get what he wanted. Perhaps he would think it advantageous to murder Tos?un, and if so, then surely her father was doomed. Or

perhaps he would enslave her, and use that to control Tos?un, a noble of a rival House, to his advantage.

She couldn?t deny the possibility.

We will kill him ? the sentient sword began to whisper, but she blocked it out. That swordwas as arrogant as any wizard or warrior Doum?wielle had ever known, other than perhaps Tiago himself, and it probably believed its ridiculous whispers.

Doum?wielle knew well enough that if she battled Tiago Baenre, he would cut her into little pieces with hardly an effort.

And that could well happen, and could well happen very soon, before they returned to Menzoberranzan.

Even if not, the young woman had to rub her face nervously, for what life awaited her in the dark corners of the drow city? She had only been there a short while, and that in a privileged position, treated as a noble of Barrison Del?Armgo, even.

But she had seen the sidelong glances, the hateful stares, the disgusted glances aimed her way. They called the matron mother of House Do?Urden, this elf named Dahlia, Matron Mother Darthiir. Darthiir?that was their word for the surface elves, and it was spoken with more contempt than iblith, the drow word for living offal. In the minds of the dark elves, Dahlia, a surface elf, was filthier than garbage.

Which was why Matron Mother Quenthel had elevated Dahlia to sit at the Ruling Council. By putting Matron Mother Darthiir in command of House Do?Urden, by giving Dahlia a seat at the spider-shaped table, Quenthel Baenre had thumbed her nose openly at Doum?wielle?s great-aunt Mez?Barris Armgo, and at all her other rivals. Matron Mother Quenthel had brazenly put forth the worst insult she could find to the sensibilities of the drow, daring them to defy her.

When they could not, when they could offer little protest against the worst insult possible? a surface elf, no less!?Matron Mother Quenthel?s hold on the city had grown much tighter.

Half of Doum?wielle?s blood was made up of that same surface elf heritage, that same worst insult, and Doum?wielle had been raised among the darthiir.

Khazid?hea called to her again, but Doum?wielle ignored it. The sword couldn?t really grab at her from this distance any longer. She had no thoughts of abandoning it, though, and figured it might be the only thing that kept her alive in the trials she was certain to face in short order.

How had it come to this?

How had she gone from being a princess of the Glimmerwood to being the plaything of a dark elf noble who served House Do?Urden beside her father and her?

And Tierflin, her brother?her murdered brother! Why ? how ?? Doum?wielle dropped her face into her hands and fought back sobs.

The door to her room banged open, and Tos?un rushed into the room. She turned to him, expecting him to leap upon her, but he veered suddenly and went to the sword instead, swiftly drawing it from its scabbard.

Then he came on, and the look on his face warned her that he was going to kill her.

She fell back, but Tos?un stopped short and flipped the sword to hand it forth to her, pommel down.

?Take it,? he told her.

She paused. ?Take it!?

Doum?wielle grabbed up Khazid?hea, and the sword flooded her with calming thoughts. ?Little Doe,? Tos?un said. ?Oh, my Little Doe. Fear not and regret not, I pray you. What is

done is behind us and cannot be undone. The road before us is one of danger, I agree, but also one of promise!?

Doum?wielle wanted to shout out the reminder of what the drow had done to her, but she bit it back, and indeed, before she could formulate any other retort, she was already beginning to understand her father?s reasoning.

?Your resolve is your only armor,? Tos?un explained. ?Any doubts will be seen as weakness, or worse, as regret. And if you regret the past, if our hosts get any hint at all that you might revert to the foul ways of darthiir, your end will not be pleasant. And understand, my daughter, that in such an instance, I will stand beside them.?

He stared at her with hard eyes, then turned on his heel and left the room, leaving a dumbfounded Doum?wielle staring at her deadly sword.

How had Tos?un known her doubts? She hadn?t spoken a word ?

The thread of thought dissipated in a vision of power and glory: her parade as a returning hero to Menzoberranzan; her private audience with the matron mother herself. Perhaps she would be the one to help mend the ties between the elven peoples, surface and drow.

She was half-drow, and so they would accept her, and those whispers of ?darthiir? would not land on her, but on the hopeless and helpless Dahlia.

No, she would be Little Doe, who used the cursed surface blood in her veins as a means to further aid her newfound family, as she had done in diverting the dwarves of Adbar into the Cold Vale to be slaughtered by Hartusk and the great Old White Death.

She stared at the sword and smiled.

She imagined Tierflin?s blood bubbling up around her hands, warm and sticky. It was not an unpleasant feeling.

He sat cross-legged, feet up tight beneath him, his hands on his bent knees, palms upward. His back was straight and tall, stretched to its limits, but it was a posture achieved with an effortless grace. Brother Afafrenfere was well-practiced in this art of meditation and so his consciousness was far, far away, floating free in the clarity of nothingness. He was at rest and he was at peace, absorbing mere existence, letting his life energy flow freely, letting the outside world in.

He didn?t guide the thoughts that began to come to him as he moved to deeper levels of universal consciousness. He didn?t fight the flittering images, memories, and notions, didn?t deny them. There was only truth here in this deep meditative trance.

He felt again the movements of his body, techniques and attack routines far beyond his experience. Grandmaster Kane had taken him to that easeful place, had controlled his twists and strikes and blocks with a fluidity and precision Afafrenfere had never imagined possible. He knew that the great monks of the Order of the Yellow Rose were tremendous warriors, able to defeat fully armed and armored heroes with their bare hands and no more armor than

a simple woolen robe, but never had he imagined the speed and grace and anticipation he had known in that brief and ferocious battle.

His life-force had seemed a tangible thing to him then, like a line of glowing energy within him, one he could clearly visualize, one that, in the end, he could actually grab.

As he had done under the tutelage of Grandmaster Kane, or rather, under the spell of the possessing spirit of the great man. Kane had borrowed from Afafrenfere?s life energy, had focused it and shaped it like a missile, and that simple slap, just a tap, had sent the energy into the enemy, vibrating, growing, fusing with the monster?s own life-force and corrupting it to Afafrenfere?s?to Kane?s?will.

He had killed a frost giant with a touch and a command.

The mere thought of the power nearly sent Afafrenfere careening from his meditation, but he held his place, his stillness, and his nothingness.

In this exercise, too, he was being aided by the spirit he had allowed to accompany him on this journey. In this meditation, perhaps the most personal of experiences, Afafrenfere knew that Kane was with him.

For a moment, that repulsed him. His physical form shuddered, and he nearly broke the trance in sudden revulsion, trying only to get away.

But he felt the calming influence of the ancient Grandmaster of Flowers, the greatest man of his order, a monk who had transcended the physical to become a being of the higher planes.

Even here, yes, he realized. Even in his meditative trance. He was deeper into it than he had ever achieved before because Kane was showing him how to receive, how to sink, how to let that which was in his heart be guided not at all by that which was in his muddled mind.

And so he was at peace again.

And he felt the movements and the quivering palm.

He was training without moving, mentally creating muscle memory through simple but profound insight.

The possibilities of the world, of this existence, seemed vaster and wider and more intriguing. Every day promised knowledge.

Brother Afafrenfere was truly at peace.

She spent most of her waking moments plotting, as was required of every matron mother, particularly the Matron Mother of Menzoberranzan. Every strand of her web had to be precise and carefully nurtured?and carefully watched. The insect uncaught would surely try to break those strands, and the fall of one strand could lead to catastrophe.

She had pushed them all very hard. She had strengthened her alliances, bought off potential rivals, and then pressed hard with her demands on the Ruling Council and particularly with the rejuvenation of House Do?Urden.

She had made enemies and cowed them; that was the drow way. But such actions required vigilance.

Quenthel sat in her private chambers, surrounded by beautiful slaves who would not move unless she told them to move. Her thoughts turned inward, exploring the memories of

Yvonnel the Eternal that had been imparted to her by the illithid Methil. From Yvonnel, Quenthel learned to better spin that web. From Yvonnel, Quenthel understood the length she could go to cow Mez?Barris Armgo, among others, and the diligence she would need to prevent that one and her cohorts from finding their way around her spidery designs.

She couldn?t suppress her smile?so rare a sight, that!?when she let Yvonnel?s memories take her back to the Time of Troubles, when House Oblodra had used the chaos among the gods to press their advantage. Their psionic powers had worked without interruption, while every other House in the city, most especially Baenre, had been crippled by the absence of the Spider Queen.

But Yvonnel had played that time out beautifully, and so House Oblodra was no more.

It would not be difficult for Quenthel to replicate Yvonnel?s successes. All she needed was care. All she needed to do was spin the web precisely and hold her guard over the precious strands of intrigue.

And now Quenthel could succeed where Yvonnel had failed?in fact, she had already done so. She had wreaked havoc on the Silver Marches with few drow soldiers lost. She had dishonored the rogue Do?Urden by inciting the wrath of the folk of Luruar against the mere mention of his name.

The war had gone as planned.

Was there now more that Matron Mother Quenthel might gain from this surface incursion? The air in front of her comfortable chair shimmered, signaling an arrival, and Quenthel sat

up straighter and neatly crossed her hands on her lap.

Gromph stepped out of his teleport spell to stand right in front of her. ?You granted Tiago his permission?? Matron Mother Quenthel asked. ?Fifteen tendays, as we agreed.?

Quenthel nodded.

?All of Menzoberranzan?s drow have been recalled, as you commanded,? Gromph said. ?Only Tiago and the other nobles of House Do?Urden remain, along with the two hundred that Matron Mother Zeerith Xorlarrin supplied for the effort. Whether they remain or not??

?They will,? Matron Mother Quenthel interrupted. Gromph looked at her curiously, and skeptically.

?Zeerith cannot resist,? Quenthel explained. ?She knows her place as a satellite of House Baenre?her city survives at our suffrage alone. But in this war, she has been granted a measure of independence, which she covets above all. She will not turn from the Silver Marches until she is sure there is no more to be gained.?

?There is no more to be gained now,? said Gromph. ?Not without risking the wrath of great surface nations. Will Cormyr come to the aid of Everlund if that city is pressed too greatly? Will Silverymoon lash back with magical fury to overwhelm the Many-Arrows legions? And how long will the stupid orcs keep the dwarves in their holes??

?That is not our concern, Archmage. Q?Xorlarrin is not Menzoberranzan, should the powers of the World Above seek vengeance beyond the borders of the Silver Marches.?

?But House Do?Urden is our concern, and her nobles remain.?

?Including two of Matron Mother Zeerith?s children, and descendants of House Barrison Del?Armgo.?

?And a Baenre??

?No!?

Gromph backed away a step, clearly taken aback, and the predictable reaction brought a wicked smile to the face of Matron Mother Quenthel. Tiago had been one of Quenthel?s favorites after all. Would she so readily disown him as a rogue?

?Every drow from Menzoberranzan who went to the Silver Marches marched under the banner of a single House,? Quenthel explained. ?A rogue House, plotting independently through a scheme that was put in place by the advance spy of House Do?Urden.?

?Drizzt,? Gromph said. Quenthel nodded.

?And if Tiago confronts Drizzt?? Gromph asked. ?You understand that is why he begged to remain.?

?Of course.?

?And if he gets his wish and finds Drizzt Do?Urden?? ?There are two possibilities.?

?Do tell.?

?If Tiago kills Drizzt, the peoples of the Silver Marches, the kingdoms of Luruar, will be indebted to House Baenre for ridding them of their scourge, will they not??

Gromph?s incredulous scowl showed Quenthel that he did not agree.

?If Drizzt is victorious,? Quenthel pressed on, her voice rising with her sudden certainty, ?then we will claim great losses at the hands of a common enemy.?

Gromph?s incredulity faded then, replaced by a smile that soon became a chuckle. ?Do not mock me, Archmage,? Quenthel warned.

?It will not work,? Gromph said bluntly.

Quenthel sucked in her breath, verily trembling with anger that she would be so boldly challenged as she spun one of the strands of her web.

?It was Tiago who flew about the Cold Vale on the great dragon, holding aloft the head of dwarf king Bromm,? Gromph reminded. ?It was Tiago who took the head of King Firehelm of Sundabar, and took that, too, on his dragon parade.?

Quenthel began to twitch, trying to reconcile these truths against her plans.

?Duke Tiago, he called himself,? Gromph went on. ?Duke Tiago of Nesmé, and hundreds died under his months of tyranny. He is no hero to the people of Luruar, Matron Mother. His name is more hated than that of Drizzt, I am sure.?

?His name,? Quenthel mused. ?Tiago Baenre,? said Gromph.

?Nay,? Quenthel corrected, and her sly grin returned. ?Tiago Do?Urden.? ?Perhaps I should have brought him back,? said Gromph.

?No,? Quenthel replied, her mind spinning as she tried to adjust her thinking to where this might all lead. ?What more can they do in the Silver Marches, in your estimation??

?Everlund is vulnerable,? Gromph admitted. ?Beyond that, I do not know. They have dragons, after all, and a host of frost giants.?

?Will they keep the dwarves in their holes??

Gromph shrugged. ?Without the forces of Menzoberranzan guarding the tunnels, and with the spring melt on in full, and the fighting on the surface soon to resume, it is likely that the dwarves will find their way out. Whether they come forth or not to the aid of the other

kingdoms of Luruar, I cannot say. There is bitter animosity now, from all I can glean.?

The matron mother nodded and became more at ease. ?Fifteen tendays,? she said, ?and we will have our answers. Let it play out.?

?There are many possible outcomes,? Gromph warned.

?There is chaos, you mean,? Quenthel corrected, speaking the word with reverence.

?Chaos is joy,? Gromph recited, one of the litanies of the Spider Queen. ?But should we not prepare to control the end of this chaotic time??

?As our dear dead mother would do?? Quenthel asked sarcastically, and she tapped her forehead to remind him of the gift Methil had given her.

Gromph conceded that with a nod.

?Watch closely, but from afar,? Quenthel ordered. ?To guide the chaos??

?Ultimately,? said Matron Mother Quenthel, who sounded very much like her mother in that decisive moment.

CHAPTER 12

Date: 2016-06-13; view: 117