The Legacy tlotd-1

by Robert Salvatore

  For Drizzt, his body racked with agony and all hope of survival long flown, it seemed less than a reprieve.

  "Aaargh!" Bruenor wailed. "Me kinfolk!"

  Thibbledorf Pwent's reaction to the gruesome scene of seven slaughtered dwarves was even more dramatic. The battlerager floundered to the side of the tunnel and began slamming his forehead against the stone wall. Undoubtedly he would have knocked himself cold had not Cobble quietly reminded him that his hammering could be heard a mile away.

  "Killed clean and fast," Catti-brie commented, trying to keep rational and make some sense of this newest clue.

  "Entreri," Bruenor growled.

  "By all our guesses, if he's truly wearing the face and body of Regis, these dwarves were missing afore he went into these tunnels," Catti-brie reasoned. "Seems the assassin might have bringed some helpers along." The image of the small crossbow bolt played in her mind and she hoped her suspicions would prove false.

  "Dead helpers when I get me hands around their murdering throats!" Bruenor promised. He fell to his knees then, hunched over a dead dwarf who had been a close friend.

  Catti-brie could not bear the sight. She looked away from her father, to Wulfgar, standing quietly and holding the torch.

  Wulfgar's scowl, aimed at her, caught her by surprise.

  She studied him for a few moments. "Well, say yer thoughts," she demanded, growing uncomfortable under his unrelenting glare.

  "You should not have come down here," the barbarian answered calmly.

  "Drizzt is not me friend, then?" she asked, and she was surprised again at how Wulfgar's face crinkled in barely explosive rage at her mention of the dark elf.

  "Oh, he is your friend, I do not doubt," Wulfgar replied, his tone dripping with venom. "But you are to be my wife. You should not be in this dangerous place."

  Catti-brie's eyes opened wide in disbelief, in absolute outrage, showing the reflections of the torchlight as though some inner fire burned within them. "'Tis not yer choice to be making!" she cried loudly-so loudly that Cobble and Bruenor exchanged

  concerned looks and the dwarf king rose from his dead friend and moved toward his daughter.

  "You are to be my bride!" Wulfgar reminded her, his volume equally disturbing.

  Catti-brie didn't flinch, didn't blink, her determined stare forcing Wulfgar back a step. The resolute young woman almost smiled in spite of her rage, with the knowledge that the barbarian was finally beginning to catch on.

  "You should not be here," Wulfgar said again, renewing his strength in his declaration.

  "Get yerself to Settlestone, then," Catti-brie retorted, poking a finger into Wulfgar's massive chest. "For if ye're thinking I should not be here to help in finding Drizzt, then ye cannot call yerself a friend of the ranger!"

  "Not as much as you can!" Wulfgar snarled back, his eyes glowing angrily, his face twisted and one fist clenched tightly at his side.

  "What're ye saying?" Catti-brie asked, sincerely confused by all of this, by Wulfgar's irrational words and erratic behavior.

  Bruenor had heard enough. He stepped between the two, pushing Catti-brie gently back and turning to squarely face the barbarian who had been like a son to him.

  "What are ye saying, boy?" the dwarf asked, trying to keep calm, though he wanted nothing more than to punch Wulfgar in the blabbering mouth.

  Wulfgar didn't look at Bruenor at all, just reached over the sturdy but short dwarf to point accusingly at Catti-brie. "How many kisses have you and the drow shared?" he bellowed.

  Catti-brie nearly fell over. "What?" she shrieked. "Ye've lost yer senses. I never-"

  "You lie!" Wulfgar roared.

  "Damn yer words!" howled Bruenor and out came his great axe. He whipped it across, forcing Wulfgar to leap back and slam hard against the corridor wall, then chopped with it, forcing the barbarian to dive aside. Wulfgar tried to block with the torch, but Bruenor slapped it from his hand. Wulfgar tried to get to Aegis-fang, which he had slipped under his backpack when they had found the dead dwarves, but Bruenor came at him relentlessly, never actually striking, but forcing him to dodge and dive, to scramble across the hard stone.

  "Let me kill him for ye, me king!" Pwent cried, rushing up and misunderstanding Bruenor's intentions.

  "Get ye back!" Bruenor roared at the battlerager, and all the others were amazed, Pwent most among them, at the sheer force of Bruenor's voice.

  "I been playing along with yer stupid actions for weeks now," Bruenor said to Wulfgar, "but I've no more time for ye. Ye speak out whatever's got yer hair up here and now, or shut yer stupid mouth and keep it shut until we find Drizzt and get us outta these stinking tunnels!"

  "I have tried to remain calm," Wulfgar retorted, and it seemed more a plea, since the barbarian was still on his knees from dodging Bruenor's dangerously close swings. "But I cannot ignore the insult to my honor!" As though realizing his subservient appearance, the proud barbarian leaped to his feet. "Drizzt met with Catti-brie before the drow returned to Mithril Hall."

  "Who telled ye that?" Catti-brie demanded.

  "Regis!" Wulfgar shouted back. "And he told me that your meeting was filled with more than words!"

  "It's a lie!" Catti-brie cried.

  Wulfgar started to respond in kind, but he saw Bruenor's wide smile and heard the dwarf's mocking laughter. The head of the dwarf's axe dropped to the floor, Bruenor placing both hands on his hips and shaking his head in obvious disbelief.

  "Ye stupid…," the dwarf muttered. "Why don't ye use whatever part o' yer body's not muscle and think o' what ye just said? We're here because we're guessing that Regis ain't Regis!"

  Wulfgar scrunched his face up in confusion, realizing only then that he had not reconsidered the halfling's volatile accusations in light of the recent revelations.

  "If ye're feeling as stupid as ye look, then ye're feeling the way ye ought to feel," Bruenor remarked dryly.

  The sudden revelations hit Wulfgar as surely as Bruenor's axe ever could. How many times had Regis spoken with him alone these last few days? And what, he considered carefully, had been the content of those many meetings? For the first time, perhaps, Wulfgar realized what he had done in his chamber against the drow, truly realized that he would have killed Drizzt if the drow had not won the battle. "The halfling… Artemis Entreri, tried to use me in his evil plans," Wulfgar reasoned. He remembered a swirling myriad of sparkling reflections, the facets of a gemstone, inviting him down into its depths. "He used his pendant on me-I cannot be sure, but I think I remember… I believe he used…"

  "Be sure," Bruenor said. "I knowed ye a long time, lad, and never have I knowed ye to act so damned stupid. And meself as well. To send the halfling along with Drizzt into this unknown region!"

  "Entreri tried to get me to kill Drizzt," Wulfgar went on, trying to fathom it all.

  "Tried to get Drizzt to kill yerself, ye mean," Bruenor corrected. Catti-brie snorted, unable to contain her pleasure and her gratitude that Bruenor had put the boastful barbarian in his place!

  Wulfgar scowled at her from over Bruenor's shoulder.

  "You did meet with the drow," he stated.

  "That's me own business," the young woman replied, not giving in an inch to Wulfgar's lingering jealousy.

  The tension began to mount again-Catti-brie could see that while the revelations about Regis had taken some of the bite from Wulfgar's growl, the protective man still did not wish her there, did not wish his bride-to-be in a dangerous situation. Stubborn and proud, Catti-brie remained more insulted than flattered.

  She didn't get the chance to vent her rage, though, not then, for Cobble came shuffling back to the group, begging them all to be silent. Only then did Bruenor and the others notice that Pwent was no longer present. "Noise," the cleric explained quietly, "somewhere farther along in the deeper tunnels. Let us pray to Moradin that whatever is down there did not hear the clamor of our own stupidity!"

  Catti-brie looked to the fallen dwarves, looked to see Wulfgar do lik
ewise, and knew that the barbarian, like her, was reminding himself that Drizzt was in serious danger. How petty their arguments seemed to her then, and she was ashamed.

  Bruenor sensed her despair, and he came over to her and draped his arm across her shoulders. "Had to be said," he offered comfortingly. "Had to be brought out and cleared afore the fighting begins."

  Catti-brie nodded her agreement and hoped that the fighting, if there was to be any, would begin soon.

  She hoped, too, with all her heart, that the next battle would not be fought as vengeance for the death of Drizzt Do'Urden.

  Chapter 13 Broken Vows

  A single torch was lit; Drizzt realized it was part of the deal. Entreri probably was not yet comfortable enough with his newly acquired infravision I to battle Drizzt without any light source at all. When his eyes shifted into the normal spectrum of light, Drizzt studied the medium-sized chamber. While its walls and ceiling were quite naturally formed, curving and with jutting angles and small stalactites hanging down, it had two wooden doors-recently constructed, Drizzt believed, most probably arranged by Vierna as part of the deal with Entreri. A drow soldier flanked the doors on each side and a third stood between them, right in front of each portal.

  Twelve dark elves were in the room now, including Vierna and Jarlaxle, but the drider was nowhere to be found. Entreri was talking with Vierna; Drizzt saw her give the assassin the belt holding Drizzt's two scimitars.

  There also was a curious alcove in the room, a single step in from the back wall of the main area and with a waist-high ledge, the top covered by a blanket and a soldier leaning on it, his sword and dagger drawn.

  A chute? Drizzt wondered.

  Entreri had said this was the place where he and the dark elves would part company, but Drizzt doubted that the assassin, his business finished, meant to go back the way they had come, anywhere near Mithril Hall. With only one other door apparent in the chamber, perhaps there did indeed loom a chute under that blanket, a way to the open and twisted corridors of the deeper Underdark.

  Vierna said something that Drizzt did not hear, and Entreri came over to him, bearing his weapons. A drow soldier moved behind Drizzt and released his bonds, and he slowly brought his hands back in front of him, his shoulders aching from their long stay in the awkward position and from the residual pain of Vierna's vicious beating.

  Entreri dropped the scimitar belt at Drizzt's feet and took a cautious step backward. Drizzt looked down to his weapons curiously, unsure of what he should do.

  "Pick them up," Entreri instructed.

  "Why?"

  The question seemed to slap the assassin across the face. A great scowl flashed for just an instant, then was replaced by Entreri's typically emotionless expression.

  "That we might learn the truth," he answered.

  "I know the truth," Drizzt replied calmly. "You wish to distort it, that you might keep hidden, even from yourself, the folly of your wretched existence."

  "Pick them up," the assassin snarled, "or I will kill you where you stand."

  Drizzt knew the threat was a hollow one. Entreri would not kill him, not until the assassin had tried to redeem himself in honest battle. Even if Entreri did strike to slay him, Drizzt figured Vierna would intervene. Drizzt was too important to Vierna; sacrifices to the Spider Queen were not readily accepted unless given by drow priestesses.

  Drizzt finally did bend and retrieve his weapons, feeling more secure as he belted them on. He knew that the odds in this room were impossible, whether he had the scimitars or not, but he was experienced enough to realize that opportunities were fleeting and often came when least expected.

  Entreri drew his slender sword and jeweled dagger, then crouched low, his thin lips widening into an eager smile.

  Drizzt stood easily, shoulders slumped, scimitars still in their sheaths.

  The assassin's sword cut across, nicking Drizzt on the tip of his nose, forcing his head to flinch to the side. He reached up casually with his thumb and index finger, pinching the flow of blood.

  "Coward," Entreri teased, feigning a straightforward lunge and still circling.

  Drizzt turned to keep him directly in front, not bothered at all by the ridiculous insult.

  "Come now, Drizzt Do'Urden," Jarlaxle intervened, drawing looks from both Drizzt and Entreri. "You know you are doomed, but will you not gain any pleasure in killing this human, this man who has done you and your friends so many wrongs?"

  "What have you to lose?" Entreri asked. "I cannot kill you, only defeat you-that is my deal with your sister. But you may kill me. Surely Vierna would not intervene, and might even be amused, at the loss of a simple human life."

  Drizzt remained impassive. He had nothing to lose, they claimed. What they apparently did not understand was that Drizzt Do'Urden did not fight when he had nothing to lose, only when he had something to gain, only when the situation necessitated that he fight.

  "Draw your weapons, I beg," Jarlaxle added. "Your reputation is considerable and I would dearly love to see you at play, to see if you are truly the better of Zaknafein."

  Drizzt, trying to play it calm, trying to hold fast to his principles, could not hide his grimace at the mention of his dead father, reputably the finest weapons master ever to draw swords in Menzoberranzan. In spite of himself, he drew his scimitars, Twinkle's angry blue glow sincerely reflecting the welling rage that Drizzt Do'Urden could not fully suppress.

  Entreri came on suddenly, fiercely, and Drizzt reacted with warrior instincts, scimitars ringing against sword and dagger, defeating every attack. Taking the offensive before he even realized what he was doing, acting solely on instinct, Drizzt began turning full circles, his blades flowing around him like the edging of a screw, every turn bringing them in at his opponent from different heights and different angles.

  Entreri, confused by the unconventional routine, missed as many parries as he hit, but his quick feet kept him out of reach. "Always a surprise," the assassin admitted grimly, and he winced jealously at the approving sighs and comments from the dark elves lining the room.

  Drizzt stopped his spin, ending perfectly squared to the assassin, blades low and ready.

  "Pretty, but to no avail," Entreri cried and rushed forward, sword flying low, dagger slicing high. Drizzt twisted diagonally, one blade knocking the sword aside, the other forming a barrier that the dagger could not get through as it cut harmlessly high. Entreri's dagger hand continued a complete circuit— Drizzt noticed that he flipped the blade over in his fingers-while his sword darted and thrust, this way and that, to keep Drizzt busy.

  Predictably, the assassin's dagger hand came about, dipping down to the side, and he whipped the dagger free.

  Ringing like a hammer on metal, Twinkle darted into the missile's path and batted it away, knocking it across the room.

  "Well done!" Jarlaxle congratulated, and Entreri, too, backed off and nodded his sincere approval. With just a sword now, the assassin came in more cautiously, loosing a measured strike.

  His surprise was absolute when Drizzt did not parry, when Drizzt missed not one deflection, but two and the thrusting weapon slipped past the scimitar defense. The sword quickly recoiled, never reaching its vulnerable mark. Entreri came in again, feigning another straightforward thrust, but snapping the weapon back and around instead.

  He had Drizzt beaten, could have ripped the drow's shoulder, or neck, apart with that simple feint! Drizzt's knowing smile stopped him, though. He turned his sword to its flat edge and smacked it against the drow's shoulder, doing no real damage.

  Drizzt had let him through, both times, was now mocking the assassin's precious fight with a pretense of inability!

  Entreri wanted to scream out his protests, let all the other dark elves in on Drizzt s private game. The assassin decided that this battle was too personal, though, something that should be settled between himself and Drizzt, and not through any intervention by Vierna or Jarlaxle.

  "I had you," he teased, using the rock
y Dwarvish language in the hopes that those drow around him, except, of course, for Drizzt, would not understand it.

  "You should have ended it, then," Drizzt replied calmly, in the Common surface language, though he spoke the Dwarvish tongue perfectly well. He wouldn't give Entreri the satisfaction of removing this to a personal level, would keep the fight public and ridicule it openly with his actions.

  "You should have fought better," Entreri retorted, reverting to the Common tongue. "For the sake of your halfling friend, if not for yourself. If you kill me, then Regis will be free, but if I walk from here…" He let the threat hang in the air, but it grew less ominous indeed when Drizzt laughed at it openly.

  "Regis is dead," the drow ranger reasoned. "Or will be, whatever the outcome of our battle."

  "No-" Entreri began.

  "Yes," Drizzt interrupted. "I know you better than to fall prey to your unending lies. You have been too blinded by your rage. You did not anticipate every possibility."

  Entreri came in again, easily, not making any blatant strikes that would make this continuing charade obvious to the gathered dark elves.

  "He is dead," Drizzt asked as much as stated.

  "What do you think?" Entreri snapped back, his snarling tone making the answer seem obvious.

  Drizzt realized the shift in tactics, understood that Entreri now was attempting to enrage him, to make him fight in anger.

  Drizzt remained impassive, let fly a few lazy attack routines that Entreri had little trouble defeating-and that the assassin could have countered to devastating effect if he had so desired.

  Vierna and Jarlaxle began to speak in whispers, and Drizzt, thinking they might grow tired of the charade, came on more forcefully, though still with measured and ineffective strikes. Entreri gave a slight but definite nod to show that he was beginning to understand. The game, the subtle and silent undercurrents and communications, were getting personal, and Drizzt, as much as Entreri, did not want Vierna intervening.