He glanced back at the dwarven caravan then looked all around, ensuring that they were secure for the time being—no sign of any orc or giant had shown that day—then he scrambled forward along the trail, catching up to Catti-brie.
"A chill in the wind this morning," he said to her.
She nodded and kept looking straight ahead. Her thoughts were inward and not on the trail before her.
"Seems that the cold has affected your shoulder," Regis dared to remark.
Catti-brie nodded again, but then she stopped and turned deliberately to regard him. Her stern expression did not hold against the cherubic half-ling face, one full of innocence, even though it was obvious that Regis had just made a remark at her expense.
"I'm sorry," the woman said. "A lot on me mind is all."
"When we were on the river, on our way to Cadderly, and the goblin spear found my shoulder, I felt the same way." Regis replied, "helpless, and as if the end of my road was upon me."
"And more than a few have noted the change that has come over Regis since that day."
It was Regis's turn to shrug.
"Often in those moments when we think all is lost," he said, "many things… priorities … become clear to us. Sometimes, it just takes a while after the incident to sort things out."
Catti-brie's smile told him that he had hit the mark.
"It's a strange thing, this life we've chosen," Regis mused. "We know that the odds tell us without doubt that we'll one day be killed in the wilds, but we keep telling ourselves that it won't be this day at least, and so we walk farther along that same road.
"Why does Regis, no friend of any road, take that walk, then?" Catti-brie asked.
"Because I've chosen to walk with my friends," the halfling explained. "Because we are as one, and I would rather die out here beside you than learn of your death while sitting in a comfortable chair—especially when such news would come with my feelings that perhaps if I had been with you, you would not have been killed."
"It is guilt, then?"
"That, and a desire not to miss the excitement," Regis answered with a laugh. "How much grander the tales are than the experiences. I know that from listening to Bruenor and his kin exaggerating every thrown punch into a battering ram of a fist that could level a castle's walls, yet even knowing it, hearing those tales about incidents that did not include me, fill me with wonder and regret."
"So ye've come to admit yer adventurous side?"
"Perhaps."
"And ye're not thinking that ye might be needing more?"
Regis looked at her with an expression that conveyed that he was not sure what «more» might mean.
"Ye're not thinking that ye might want a life with others of yer own ilk? That ye might want a wife and some. ."
"Children?" the halfling finished when Catti-brie paused, as if she could not force the word from her lips.
"Aye."
"It has been so many years since I've even lived among other half-lings," Regis said, "and.. well, it did not end amicably."
"It's a tale ye've not told."
"And too long a tale for this road," Regis replied. "I don't know how to answer you. Honestly. For now, I've got my friends, and that has just seemed to be enough."
"For now?"
Regis shrugged and asked, "Is that what's troubling you? Did you find more regrets than you expected when the orcs had encircled you and you thought your life to be at its end?"
Catti-brie looked away, giving the halfling all the answer he needed. The perceptive Regis saw much more than the direct answer to his question. He understood the source of many of those regrets. He had been watching Catti-brie's relationship with Drizzt grow over the last months, and while the sight of them surely did his romantic heart good, he knew that such a union, if it ever came to pass, would not be without its troubles. He knew what Catti-brie had been thinking when the orcs hovered over her. She had been wondering about children, her children, and it was obvious to Regis that children were nothing Drizzt Do'Urden could ever give to her. Could a drow and human even bear offspring?
Perhaps, since elves and humans could, and had, but what fate might such a child find? Was it one that Catti-brie could accept?
"What will you do?" the halfling asked her, drawing a curious look.
Regis nodded ahead on the trail, to the figure of Drizzt walking toward them. Catti-brie looked at him and took a deep breath.
"I will walk the trails as scout for our group," the woman answered coolly. "I will draw Taumaril often and fire true, and when battle is joined I'll leap in with Cutter's gleaming edge slashing down our foes."
"You know what I mean."
"No, I do not," Catti-brie answered.
Regis started to argue, but Drizzt was upon them then, and so he bit back his retort.
"The trails are clear of orc-sign," the drow remarked, speaking haltingly and looking from Regis to Catti-brie, as if suspicious of the conversation he was so obviously interrupting.
"Then we will make the ravine before nightfall, ' Catti-brie replied.
"Long before, and make our turn to the north."
The woman nodded, and Regis gave a frustrated, "Hrmmph!" and walked away.
"What troubles our little friend?" Drizzt asked.
"The road ahead," the woman answered.
"Ah, perhaps there is a bit of the old Regis within him yet," Drizzt said with a smile, missing the true meaning of her words.
Catti-brie just smiled and kept walking.
They made the ravine soon after and saw the gleaming white tower that marked the town of Shallows — the tower of Withegroo Seian'Doo, a wizard of minor repute. Hardly pausing, the group moved along its western edge until long after the sun had set. They heard the howls of wolves that night, but they were far off, and if they were connected in any way to any orcs, the companions could not tell.
They rounded the ravine the next day, turning to the east and back toward the south and took heart, for still there was no sign of the orcs. It seemed as if the group that had hit Clicking Heels might be an isolated one, and those who had not fallen to the vengeful dwarves had likely retreated to dark mountain holes.
Again they marched long after sunset, and when they camped, they did so with the watch fires of Shallows's wall in sight, knowing full well that their own fires could be seen clearly from the town.
Drizzt was not surprised to find a pair of scouts moving their way under the cover of darkness. The drow was out for a final survey of the area when he heard the footfalls, soon coming in sight of the creeping men. They were trying to be quiet, obviously, and having little fortune, almost constantly tripping over roots and stones.
The drow moved to a position to the side of the pair behind a tree and called out, "Halt and be counted!"
It was a customary demand in these wild parts. The two humans stumbled again and fell to low crouches, glancing about nervously.
"Who is it who approaches the camp of King Bruenor Battlehammer without proper announcement?" Drizzt called.
"King Bruenor!" the pair yelled together, and at each other.
"Aye, the lord of Mithral Hall, returned home upon news of the death of Gandalug, who was king."
"He's a bit far to the north, I'm thinking," one man dared reply.
The pair kept hopping about, trying to discern the speaker.
"We're on the trail of orcs and giants who sacked a town to the south and west," Drizzt explained. "Journeying to Shallows, fair Shallows, to ensure that the folk arc well, and well protected, should any monsters move
against them."
One man snorted, and the other yelled back, "Bah! No orc'll e'er climb the wall of Shallows, and no giant'll ever knock it down!"
"Well spoken," Drizzt said, and the man assumed a defiant posture. standing straight and tall and crossing his arms over his chest. "I take it that you are scouts of Shallows, then?"
"We're wanting to know who it is setting camp in sight of our walls," the man calle
d back
"Well, it is as I told you, but please, continue on your way. You will be announced to King Bruenor. I am certain that he will gladly share his table this night."
The man eased from his defiant posture and looked to his friend, the two seeming unsure.
"Run along!" Drizzt called.
And he was gone, melting into the night, running easily along the rough ground and quickly outdistancing the men so that by the time they at last reached the encampment, Bruenor and the others were waiting for them, with two extra heaping plates set out.
"Me friend here telled me ye'd be in," Bruenor said to the pair.
He looked to the side, and so did the scouts, to where Drizzt was dropping the cowl of his cloak, revealing his dark heritage.
Both men widened their eyes at the sight, but then one unexpectedly cried out, "Drizzt Do'Urden! By the gods, but I wondered if I'd ever meet the likes of yerself!"
Drizzt smiled—he couldn't help it, so unused was he to hearing such warm greetings from surface dwellers. He glanced at Bruenor, and noted Catti-brie standing beside the dwarf and looking his way, her expression curious, a bit confused, and a bit charmed.
Drizzt could only guess at the swirl of emotions behind that look.
CHAPTER 20 SHARP TURN IN THE ROAD
They moved along the paths of the Moonwood easily, with Tarathiel, astride Sunset, leading the way. The bells of his saddle jingled merrily, and Innovindil walked with the dwarf brothers right behind. The sky was gray, and the air stifling and a bit too warm, but the elves seemed in a fine mood, as did Pikel, who was marveling at their winding trail. They kept coming upon seeming dead ends and Tarathiel, who knew the western stretch of the Moonwood better than anyone alive, would make a slight adjustment and a new path would open before him, clear and inviting. It almost seemed as if Tarathiel had just asked the trees for passage, and that they had complied.
Pikel so loved that kind of thing.
Among the four, only Ivan was in a surly mood. The dwarf hadn't slept well the previous night, awakened often by Elvish singing, and while Ivan would join in any good drinking song, any hymn to the dwarf gods (which was pretty much the same thing), or songs of heroes of old and treasures lost and treasures found, he found the Elvish styling little more than whining, pining at the moon and the stars.
In fact, over the past few days, Ivan had had about enough of the elves altogether and only wanted to be back on the road to Mithral Hall. The yellow-bearded dwarf, never known for his subtlety, had related those emotions to Tarathiel and Innovindil often and repeatedly.
The four were moving out to the west from the region where the elves of the Moonwood made their main enclave and just a bit to the north, where the ground was higher and they would likely spot the snaking River Surbrin. The dwarves could then use the river as a guide on their southerly turn to Mithral Hall, Tarathiel had explained that they had about a tenday of traveling ahead of them — less, if they managed to float some kind of raft on the river and glide through the night.
Pikel and Innovindil chatted almost constantly along the trail, sharing information and insights on the various plants and animals they passed. Once or twice, Pikel called a bird down from a tree and whispered something to it. The bird, apparently understanding, flew off and returned with many others, lining the branches around the foursome and filling the air with their chirping song. Innovindil clapped her hands and beamed an enchanted smile at Pikel. Even Tarathiel, the far more serious of the two elves, seemed quite pleased. Ivan missed it all, though, stomping along, grumbling to himself about "stupid fairies."
That, of course, only pleased the elves even more—especially when Pikel convinced the birds to make an amazingly accurate bombing run above his brother.
"Think ye might be lending me yer fine bow?" the disgruntled Ivan asked Tarathiel. The dwarf glared up at the branches as he spoke. "I can get us a bit of supper."
Tarathiel's answer was a bemused smile, which only widened when Pikel added, "Hee hee hee."
"We shan't be accompanying you two to Mithral Hall," Tarathiel explained.
"Who was askin' ye?" Ivan grumbled in reply, but when the two elves fixed him with surprised and a bit wounded looks, the dwarf seemed to retract a bit. "Bah, but why'd ye want to go and stay with a bunch of dwarfs anyway? Course ye could, if ye're wanting to, and me and me brother'd make sure that ye was treated as well as ye treated us two in yer stinkin. . in yer pretty forest."
"Your compliments roll as freely as a frozen river, Ivan Bouldershoulder," Innovindil said in a deceivingly complimentary tone.
She tossed a wink to Tarathiel and Pikel, who giggled.
"Aye," said Ivan, apparently not catching on.
He smirked and looked hard at the elf.
"We have much to discuss with King Bruenor, though," Tarathiel remarked then, bringing the conversation back to the issue at hand. "Perhaps you will bid him to send an emissary to the Moonwood. Drizzt Do'Urden would be welcomed."
"The dark elf?" Ivan balked. "Couple o' moon elves like yerselves asking me to ask a drow to walk into yer home? Ye best be careful, Tarathiel. Yer reputation for hospitality to dwarfs and dark elfs might not be sittin' well with yer kin!"
"Not to dark elves, I assure you," the elf corrected, "but to that one dark elf, yes. We would welcome Drizzt Do'Urden, though we have not named him as a friend. We have information regarding him—information that will be important to him and is important to us."
"Such as?"
"That is all that I am at liberty to say at this time," Tarathiel replied. "I'd not burden you with such a long and detailed story to bring to King Bruenor. Without knowledge of that which came before, you would not understand enough to properly convey the information."
"It is out of no mistrust of you two that we choose to wait for King Bruenor's official emissary," Innovindil was quick to add, for a scowl was growing over Ivan's face. "There is protocol that must be followed. This message we ask you to deliver is of great importance, and we let you go with complete confidence that you will not only deliver our words to King Bruenor, but deliver them with our sense of urgency in mind."
"Oo oi!" Pikel agreed, punching a fist into the air.
Tarathiel started to second that, but he stopped suddenly, his expression growing very serious. He glanced around, then at Innovindil, then slid down from his winged mount.
"What's he seein ?" Ivan demanded.
Innovindil locked stares with Tarathiel, her expression growing equally stern.
Tarathiel motioned for Ivan to be quiet then moved silently to the side of the trail, bending low to the ground, head tilted as if he was listening. Ivan started to say something again, but Tarathiel held up a hand, silencing him.
"Oooo," said Pikel, looking around with alarm.
Ivan hopped about, seeing nothing but his three concerned companions.
"What'd ye know?" he asked Tarathiel, but the elf was deep in thought and did not reply.
Ivan rushed across to Pikel and asked, "What'd ye know?"
Pikel crinkled his face and pinched his nose.
"Ores?" Ivan cried.
"Yup yup."
In a single movement, Ivan pulled the axe from his back and turned, feet set wide apart in solid balance, axe at the ready before him, eyes narrowed and scouring every shadow.
"Well, bring 'em on, then. I'm up for a bit o' chopping afore another long and boring road!"
"I sense them, too," Innovindil said a moment later.
"Dere," Pikel added, pointing to the north.
The two elves followed his finger, then looked back at him, nodding.
"Our borders have seen orc incursions of late," Innovindil explained. "This one, as the others, will be repelled. Trouble yourselves not with these creatures. Your road is to the west and the south, and there you should go and quickly. We will see to the beasts that dare stain the Moonwood."
"Uh-uh," Pikel disagreed, crossing his burly, hairy arms over his chest.
&nb
sp; "Bah!" Ivan snorted. "Ye're not for throwin' us out afore the fun begins! Ye call yerselfs proper hosts and ye're thinking o' chasin' us off with orcs needin' killing?"
The two elves looked to each other, honestly surprised.
"Yeah, I know, and no, I'm not liking ye," Ivan explained, "but I'm hatin' yer enemies, so that's a good thing. Now, are ye to make a friend of a dwarf and let him chop an orc or fifty? Or are ye to chase us off and hope we're remembering the words ye asked us to deliver to King Bruenor?"
Still the elves exchanged questioning glances, and Innovindil gave a slight shrug, leaving the decision to Tarathiel alone.
"Come along, then," the elf said to the brothers. "Let us see what we can learn before rousing my people against the threat. And do try to be quiet."
"Bah, if we're too quiet, might be that the orcs'll just wander away, and what good's that?"
They moved a short distance before Tarathiel motioned for them to stop and bade them to wait. He climbed onto the pegasus, found a run for Sunset, and lifted into the air, rising carefully in the close quarters, up and out to the north.
He returned almost immediately, setting down before the three, motioning for them to hold silent and to follow him. Up to the north a short distance, the elf led them to the top of a ridge. From that vantage point, Ivan saw that the mystical tree-attuned senses of his companions had not led them astray.
There, in a clearing of their own making, was a band of orcs. It was a dozen at least, perhaps as many as a score, weaving in and out of the shadows of the trees. They carried large axes, perfect for chopping the tall trees, and more importantly (and explaining why Tarathiel had been so quick to return with Sunset) and more atypically, they also each had a long, strong bow.
"I saw them from afar," Tarathiel explained quietly to the other three as they crouched at the ridge top. "I do not believe that they spotted me."
"We must get word to the clan," Innovindil said.
The Thousand Orcs th-1 Page 24
