The Two Swords th-3

by Robert Salvatore

  "The drow is death," the orc said aloud, drawing curious stares from some nearby orcs.

  Not when I am in your hands, Khazid'hea promised. Iknow this one. I know his movements and his technique. I know how to defeat him.

  Even as the orc started away, heading northwest toward the last reported encounter with the drow and his elf companion, Khazid'hea began to wonder the wisdom of his course. For the ease with which the sentient sword had convinced the orc, had convinced every orc that had picked it up, was no small thing. Drizzt Do'Urden was not a weak-willed orc, Khazid'hea knew. The drow would battle against Khazid'hea's intrusions.

  Unless those intrusions only reinforced that which Drizzt already had in mind, and from everything Khazid'hea had learned, the drow was on a killing rampage.

  It seemed a perfect fit.

  * * * * *

  Drizzt rolled off the back of Sunrise as the pegasus set down in a fast trot. Landing nimbly, Drizzt ran along right behind the mount as Sunrise charged through the orc encampment, bowling monsters aside.

  In the center of the camp, Drizzt broke out from behind, rushing ahead suddenly to cut down one orc still staggering out of the pegasus's path. Two short strokes sent that orc flying to the ground, and the efficiency of the kill allowed Drizzt to reposition his feet immediately, spinning to meet the charge of a second creature. A right-handed, backhanded downward parry lopped the tip off that second orc's thrusting spear, and while he made the block, Drizzt brought his left arm across his chest. The orc overbalanced when it felt only minimal resistance to its thrust, and Drizzt slashed right to left with that cocked blade, tearing out the creature's throat.

  A thud behind the drow had him leaping about, but the threat from there was already ended, the creeping orc cut down by a well-placed elven arrow. With a quick salute to Innovindil and Sunset soaring over the camp, Drizzt moved on in search of his next kill.

  He spotted a form in the lower boughs of a thick pine and rushed to the trunk. Without slowing, he leaped against it, planting his foot, then pushed off to the side, climbing higher in the air and landing atop one of the lower branches. Three quick springs brought him near to the cowering orc, and a few quick slashes had the humanoid tumbling to the ground.

  Drizzt sprang down to the lowest branch again and did a quick survey. He picked a lone orc at the far end of the camp, then a trio closer and to his left. With a grin, he started for the trio, but stopped almost immediately, his gaze suddenly drawn back to the lone figure approaching from across the way.

  His heart went into his throat; he wanted to scream out in denial and rage.

  He knew the sword that orc carried.

  Drizzt came out of the tree in a wild rush. He held all respect for the devastating weapon set in the orc's grasp, but it didn't matter. He didn't slow and didn't try to measure his opponent. He just rushed in, his scimitars working in a blur of motion, spinning circles over his shoulder, slashing across and stabbing ahead. He cut, he leaped, and he thrust, over and over. Sometimes he heard the ring of metal as he struck the fine blade of Khazid'hea, other times the rush of air cracking over his blades, and other times the softer sound of a blade striking leather or flesh.

  He went into a spin around the orc, blades flying wide and level, turning their angle constantly to avoid any feeble parries, though the orc was already past any semblance of defense. The drow stopped in mid-turn and rushed back the other way, right near the orc, blades stabbing, smashing, and slashing. Technique no longer mattered. All that mattered was striking at the orc. All that mattered was cutting that creature who was holding Catti-brie's sword.

  Blood flew everywhere, but Drizzt didn't even notice. The orc dropped the blade from its torn arm, but Drizzt didn't even notice. The light went out of the creature's eyes, the strength left it legs, and the only thing holding it upright was the constant barrage of Drizzt's hits.

  But Drizzt didn't notice.

  The orc finally fell to the dirt and the drow moved over it, smashing away with his deadly blades.

  Sunset set down behind him, Innovindil leaping from her seat to rush to his side.

  Drizzt didn't even notice.

  He slashed and chopped. He hit the orc a dozen times, a score of times, a hundred times, until his sleeves were heavy with orc blood.

  "Drizzt!" he finally heard, and from the tone, it registered to him that Innovindil must have been calling him for some time.

  He fell to his knees and dropped his bloody blades to the dirt, then grabbed up Khazid'hea, holding it across his open, bloody palms.

  "Drizzt?" Innovindil said again, and she crouched beside him.

  The drow began to sob.

  "What is it?" Innovindil asked, and she gathered him close.

  Drizzt stared at Khazid'hea, tears running from his lavender eyes.

  * * * * *

  "There are other possible explanations," Innovindil said to Drizzt a short while later. They made camp down near the Surbrin, off to the side of a quiet pool that hadn't quite iced over yet so that Drizzt could clean the blood from his hands, his face, his whole body.

  Drizzt looked back at her, and at Khazid'hea, lying on a stone on the ground before the elf. Innovindil, too, stared at the sword.

  "It was not unexpected," Drizzt said.

  "But that didn't lessen the shock."

  The drow stared at her for a moment, then looked down. "No," he admitted.

  "The orc was paid back in full," Innovindil reminded him. "Catti-brie has been avenged."

  "It seems a small comfort."

  The elf's smile comforted him somewhat. She started to rise, but stopped and glanced to the side, her expression drawing Drizzt's eyes that way as well, to a small bird sitting on a stone, chattering at them. As they watched, the bird hopped from its perch and fluttered away.

  "Curious," said the elf.

  "What is it?"

  Innovindil looked at him, but did not reply. Her expression remained somewhat confused, though.

  Drizzt looked back to the stone, then scanned the sky for any sign of the bird, which was long gone. With a shrug, he went back to his cleaning.

  The mystery didn't take long to unfold, for within an hour, as Drizzt and Innovindil brushed Sunrise and Sunset, they heard a curious voice.

  "Drizzit Dudden, hee hee hee."

  The two turned to see Ivan and Pikel Bouldershoulder coming into view, and they both knew at once that the bird had been one of Pikel's spies.

  "Well, ain't yerself the fine sight for a tired dwarf's eyes," Ivan greeted, smiling wide as he moved into the camp.

  "Well met, yourself," Drizzt replied, stepping forward to clasp the dwarf's offered hand. "And curiously met!"

  "Are you not far from the dwarven lines?" Innovindil asked, coming over to similarly greet the brothers. "Or are you, like we two, trapped outside of Mithral Hall?"

  "Bah, just come from there," said Ivan. "Ain't no one trapped here—Bruenor busted out to the east and we're holding the ground to the Surbrin."

  "Bruenor?" Innovindil asked before Drizzt could.

  "Red-bearded dwarf, grumbles a lot?" said Ivan.

  "Bruenor fell at Shallows," Drizzt said. "I saw it myself."

  "Yeah, he fell, but he bounced," said Ivan. "Priests prayed over him for days and days, but it was Regis that finally woke him up."

  "Regis?" Drizzt gasped, and he found it hard to breathe.

  "Little one?" Ivan said. "Some call him Rumblebelly."

  "Hee hee hee," said Pikel.

  "What're ye gone daft, Drizzt?" asked Ivan. "I'm thinking ye're knowing Bruenor and Regis."

  Drizzt looked at Innovindil. "This cannot be."

  The elf wore a wide smile.

  "Ye thought 'em dead, didn't ye?" Ivan asked. "Bah, but where's yer faith then? Nothing dead about them two, I tell ye! Just left them a few days ago." Ivan's face grew suddenly more somber. "But I got some bad news for ye, elf." He looked to the sword and Drizzt's heart sank once more.

  "Wulfgar's
girl, she took that blade and come out on her own," Ivan explained. "Me and me brother—"

  "Me brudder!" Pike! proudly interrupted.

  "Me and me brother come out after her, but we found her too late."

  "Catti-brie—" Drizzt gasped.

  "Nah, not her. Wulfgar's girl. Delly. We found her dead a couple o' days back. Then we spotted yerself flying about on that durned winged horse and so we came to find ye. Bruenor and Regis, Catti-brie and Wulfgar been worrying about ye terribly, ye got to know."

  Drizzt stood there transfixed as the weight of the words washed over him.

  "Wulfgar and Catti-brie, too?" he asked in a whisper.

  Innovindil rushed up beside him and hugged him, and he truly needed the support.

  "Ye been out here thinking yer friends all dead?" Ivan asked.

  "Shallows was overrun," Drizzt said.

  "Well, course it was, but me brother—"

  "Me brudder!" Pikel cried on cue.

  Ivan snickered. "Me brother there built us a statue to fool them orcs, and with Thibbledorf Pwent beside us, we give them the what's-for! We got 'em all out o' Shallows and run back to Mithral Hall. Been killing orcs ever since. Hunnerds o' the dogs."

  "We saw the battlefield north of Keeper's Dale," Innovindil remarked. "And the blasted ridgeline."

  "Boom!" cried Pikel.

  Drizzt stood there shaking his head, overwhelmed by it all. Could it be true? Could his friends be alive? Bruenor, Wulfgar, and Regis? And Catti-brie? Could it be true? He looked to his partner, to find Innovindil smiling warmly back at him.

  "I know not what to say," he admitted.

  "Just be happy," she said. "For I am happy for you."

  Drizzt crushed her in a hug.

  "And they'll be happy to see ye, don't ye doubt," Ivan said to Drizzt. "But there's a few tears to be shed for poor Delly. I don't know what possessed the girl to run off like that."

  The words hit Drizzt hard, and he jumped back from Innovindil and turned an angry glower over the sentient sword.

  "I do," he said and he cursed Khazid'hea under his breath.

  "The sword can dominate its wielder?" Innovindil asked.

  Drizzt walked over and grabbed the blade, lifting it before his eyes. He sent his questions telepathically to Khazid'hea, feeling the life there and demanding answers.

  But then something else occurred to him.

  "Get yer flying horses tacked up then," said Ivan. "The sooner we get ye back to Mithral Hall, the better for everyone. Yer friends are missing ye sorely, Drizzt Do'Urden, and I'm thinking that ye're missing them just as much."

  The drow wasn't about to argue that, but as he stood there holding the magnificent sword, the sword that cut through just about anything, his thoughts began cascading down a different avenue.

  "I can defeat him," he said.

  "What's that?" asked Ivan.

  "What do you mean?" Innovindil asked.

  Drizzt turned to them and said, "I outfought Obould."

  "Ye fought him?" an incredulous Ivan spouted.

  "I fought him, not so long ago, on a hillock not so far from here," Drizzt explained. "I fought him and I scored hit after hit, but my blades could not penetrate his armor." He brought Khazid'hea up and sent it slashing across in a powerful stroke. "Do you know the well-earned nickname of this blade?" he asked.

  "Cutter," he answered when the other three just stared at him. "With this sword, I can defeat Obould."

  "It is a fight for another day," Innovindil said to him. "After you are reunited with those who love you and fear you are lost to them."

  Drizzt shook his head. "Obould is moving now, hilltop to hilltop. He is confident and so his entourage is small. I can get to him, and with this blade, I can defeat him."

  "Your friends deserve to see you, and your friendship demands you attend to that," said Innovindil.

  "My service to Bruenor is a service to all the land," Drizzt replied. "The folk of the North deserve to be free of the hold of Obould. I am given that chance now. To avenge Shallows and all the other towns, to avenge the dwarves who fell before the invaders. To avenge Tarathiel—we'll not get this chance again, perhaps."

  The mention of Tarathiel seemed to take all the argument out of the elf.

  "Ye're going after him now?" Ivan asked.

  "I cannot think of a better time."

  Ivan considered things for a bit, then began to nod.

  "Hee hee hee," Pikel agreed.

  "Ye hit the dog for meself, too," Ivan remarked, and his smile erupted with sudden inspiration. He pulled out his hand crossbow, of near-perfect drow design, and tossed it to Drizzt, then pulled the bandolier of explosive darts from over his shoulder and handed them to the drow.

  "Pop a couple o' these into the beast and watch him hop!" Ivan declared.

  "Hee hee hee."

  "Me and me brother …" Ivan started to say, then he paused and looked at Pikel, expecting an interruption. Pikel stared back at him in confusion.

  Ivan sighed. "Me and me brother—" he started again.

  "Me brudder!"

  "Yeah, us two'll get back to Mithral Hall and tell yer friends that ye're out here," Ivan offered. "We'll be expecting ye soon enough."

  Drizzt turned to his elf friend. "Go with them," he bade her. "Watch over them from above and make sure they arrive safely."

  "I am to allow you to go off alone after King Obould?"

  Drizzt held up the vicious sword, and the bandolier and crossbow.

  "I can defeat him," he promised.

  "If you can even get him alone," Innovindil argued. "I can aid in that."

  Drizzt shook his head. "I will find him and watch him from afar," he promised. "I will find an opportunity and I will seize it. Obould will fall to this sword in my hand."

  "Bah, it's not a job for yerself alone," Ivan argued.

  "With Sunrise, I can move swiftly. He'll not catch me unless I choose to be caught. In that event, King Obould will die."

  The drow's tone was perfectly even and balanced.

  "I will not stay at Mithral Hall," said Innovindil. "I will see the dwarves there, and I will come right back out for you."

  "And I will be waiting," Drizzt promised. "Obould's head in hand."

  It seemed as if there was nothing more to say, but of course Pikel added, "Hee hee hee."

  CHAPTER 29 A DEEP BREATH

  "I will grow weary of this travel soon enough," Tos'un Armgo said to his drow companion.

  They had been on the move for days and days, finally catching up to Obould many miles north of where they had expected to find him, the western door of Mithral Hall. There too, the fight had not gone well, apparently, and the orc king seemed in little mood for any discussion of it. It was fast becoming apparent that the travels had just begun for the two drow if they meant to remain with Obould. The orc king would not set stakes anywhere, it seemed, even in the increasingly inclement weather.

  One bright morning, Tos'un and Kaer'lic awaited his arrival on some flat stones outside of the foundation of a small keep atop a steep-sided hill, their first real chance to speak with Obould since their return. Obould would entertain guests only at the pleasure of Obould. All around the two drow, orcs were hard at work clear-cutting the few trees that grew among the gray stone and dirt of the hillsides, and clearing any boulder tumbles that could offer cover to an approaching enemy.

  "He is building his kingdom," Kaer'lic remarked. "He has been hinting at this for so long now, and none of us bothered to listen."

  "A few castles hardly make a kingdom," said Tos'un. "Particularly when we are speaking of orcs, who will soon turn their garrisons upon one another."

  "You would enjoy that, no doubt," a gruff voice responded.

  The two dark elves turned to see the approach of Obould, and that annoying shaman Tsinka. Kaer'lic noted that the female did not seem at all pleased.

  "A prediction based upon past behavior," Tos'un said, and he offered a bow. "No insult meant to you, of co
urse."

  Obould scowled at him. "Behavior before the coming of Obould-who-is-Gruumsh," he replied. "You continue to lack the vision of my kingdom, drow, to your own detriment."

  Kaer'lic found herself taking a slight step back from the imposing and unpredictable orc.

  "I had figured that you two had followed your two kin to the side of your Spider Queen," the orc said, and it took a moment for the words to register.

  "Donnia and Ad'non?" Kaer'lic asked.

  "Slain by yet another drow elf," Obould replied, and if he was bothered in the least by that news, he did not show it.

  Kaer'lic looked at Tos'un, and the two just accepted the loss with a shrug.

  "I believe that one of the shamans collected Ad'non's head as a trophy," Obould said callously. "I can retrieve it for you, if you would like."

  The insincerity of his offer stung Kaer'lic more than she would have expected, but she did well to keep her anger out of her face as she regarded the orc king.

  "You kept your army together through a defeat at Mithral Hall," she said, thinking it better to let the other line of conversation fall away. "That is a good sign."

  "Defeat?" Tsinka Shinriil shrieked. "What do you know of it?"

  "I know that you are not inside Mithral Hall."

  "The price was not worth the gain," Obould explained. "We fought them to a standstill in the outer halls. We could have pressed in, but it became apparent to us that our allies had not arrived." He narrowed his eyes, glared at Kaer'lic, and added, "As we had planned."

  "The unpredictability and unreliability of trolls. . " the drow priestess said with a shrug.

  Obould continued to glower, and Kaer'lic knew that he at least suspected that she and Tos'un had played a role in keeping Proffit's trolls from joining in the fight.

  "We warned Proffit that his delays could pose problems in the north," Tos'un added. "But he and his wretched trolls smelled human blood, the blood of Nesmians, their hated enemies for so many years. He would not be persuaded to march north to Mithral Hall."

  Obould hardly looked convinced.

  "And Silverymoon marched upon them," Kaer'lic said, needing to divert attention. "You can expect nothing more from Proffit and his band. Those few who survive."