The Lone Drow th-2

by Robert Salvatore

  He reached back and brought a blood-covered hand back in front. All strength left him then, and Kingred had to set himself firmly to hold the heavy dwarf up.

  "A hand!" he called, and another dwarf rushed to the opposite side of the wounded Brusco.

  "To the crawls," Brusco managed to remind them, coughing blood between each word.

  By the time they got out of the small tower, two carrying Bill and two supporting Brusco, they caught sight of other companions charging up from the south and heard the calls of those rushing back from the north as well.

  In the south, they shouted, "Trolls!"

  From the north came the cries of, "Orcs!"

  Kingred handed Brusco over fully to the other dwarf and sprinted ahead, drawing a hammer from his belt as he approached the huge iron doors of Mithral Hall. He went in hard, hammering away, once, twice … a pause, and a third time. He waited a few moments and banged out the coded signal again and again, and more emphatically when he thought he heard the locking bar being lifted behind the door.

  The last thing he wanted at that moment was for those impregnable doors to open!

  A grinding noise began off to the side of the main entrance and a small rock slid aside, revealing a dark crawl tunnel. In went the dwarves, one after another, with Kingred standing beside the tunnel, urging them on. Dwarves came from the north and from the south, each group barely outdistancing the advancing force—trolls in the south, orcs in the north. Kingred saw the truth of it; even though a second crawl tunnel had been opened, all the dwarves couldn't possibly get in ahead of the monsters. He almost called for his fellows to open the main doors then, but he held off the urge and bit back his fear. He and some others would have to stay out, would have to hold back the invaders to the bitter end.

  Kingred took up his sword and strapped on a shield, and he continued to order those rushing up into the crawls.

  "Go! Go! Go!" he called to them. "Keep yer butt down and keep yer butt moving!"

  The trolls were the first monsters to arrive, their horrid stench filling Kingred's nostrils as he rushed out to meet them. His strong arms worked tirelessly, slashing away at the beasts, driving them back. A claw raked his shoulder, drawing a deep line, but he shrugged it off and turned, swinging, at that attacker. One after another, Kingred drove them back. Fighting like a dwarf possessed, a dwarf who knew that all, for him, was lost, Kingred growled and pressed on.

  A great two-headed troll, as ugly as any creature Kingred had ever seen, as ugly a nightmare as Kingred had ever believed possible, shoved some of the other trolls out of the way and stepped up before him. Swallowing his fear, Kingred roared and charged headlong into the beast, but a huge spiked club whipped across to intercept and the dwarf was lifted from the ground and launched far, far away.

  At that moment, the orcs arrived on the scene, sweeping down from the north, howling and hooting and throwing stones as they charged in with abandon.

  * * *

  "We got a dozen left out there!" cried Bayle Rockhunter, one of the inner gate guards. "Open them durned doors!"

  The dwarf slapped a heavy pick across his hands and charged for the portal, and many others fell in behind him.

  "It ain't to be done!" the wounded Brusco cried. "Ye know yer place!"

  That reminder slowed the charge to the great doors—portals that were not to be opened in any event without express permission from the clan leaders back in the western reaches of the complex. The dwarves at the eastern gate were not an army by any means, but merely lookouts and sentries, holding the hall at all costs. Opening those doors would be engaging an apparently powerful force, one that could then flow into the hall.

  But not opening those doors meant listening to their kin caught outside die.

  "We can't be leaving them!" Bayle shouted back.

  "Then ye're stealing all meaning from their deaths," Brusco responded, much more quietly.

  That tone as much as the words themselves seemed to steal all the fire from the angry young dwarf.

  "Hold the crawl tunnels open as long as ye can," another dwarf remarked.

  Two score dwarves got into the safety of Mithral Hall that fateful evening, while some dozen stood with Kingred outside the crawl tunnels and the great, barred doors. Eventually, those inside reluctantly pulled the levers that dropped the counterweights that slid the stones back over the crawl entrances, sealing their kin outside, sealing their fate. Brusco and the others shut the crawl tunnels with heavy hearts and with promises that Kingred and the others wouldn't be forgotten, that songs would be written and sung, tavern to tavern.

  * * *

  King Obould, Gerti Orelsdottr, and Proffit the troll stood back from the tower and the doors, watching the work as giants, orcs, and trolls piled heavy stones before Mithral Hall's eastern entrance. All sound from inside the hall indicated that the dwarves were doing likewise, but Obould didn't want to take any chances. His goal had been to seal the eastern gates, and so he was doing just that.

  "The land is ours to the Surbrin," the orc announced to his fellow leaders. From the shadows, Kaer'lic and Tos'un listened carefully.

  He forgets that his son has not quite sealed in the dwarves, as yet, Kaer'lic flashed to her companion.

  Tos'un appreciated the sarcasm, though he was more impressed with Obould's progress. Given the pressure that Urlgen was placing on Clan Battle-hammer in the west, the victory had been all too easy. A few dead orcs, a few dead dwarves, and Obould controlled the western bank of the Surbrin, all the way from the Spine of the World to the end of the mountains south of Mithral Hall. With defensive positions already being constructed along the river north of their current position, that was no small thing.

  "The dwarves will find another way out," Gerti remarked, and Tos'un could tell that she, like Kaer'lic, simply wanted to deflate the glorious orc king a bit.

  Obould offered a quick scowl at the giantess but turned his attention to the two-headed troll, Proffit.

  "You have done well," he congratulated. "Your march was impressive."

  "Troll no.." said the left-side head.

  "… get tired," added the right.

  "And so you will go right back to the south when we are finished here," Obould said, and both heads nodded.

  "We stretch our line the length of the Surbrin," Obould explained to Gerti. "Hold our gains against any who would deny them. And our main force goes back to the west and north."

  "And Proffit goes back to the Trollmoors?" Gerti asked.

  Her disgust for the smelly troll was easy to see.

  "To the tunnels in the south," Obould corrected. "Tunnels that connect to Mithral Hall. Proffit and his people will begin the battle for the dwarven stronghold within. We will defeat the dwarves without and claim our new kingdom."

  He has a vision, Kaer'lic flashed.

  Tos'un hid his smile, for he could tell that his companion was growing very uneasy with Obould. The four clever drow had incited all of it, but never had they actually believed that Obould would orchestrate something definitive and winnable! What would happen, Tos'un wondered (and he knew that his drow companions were also wondering), if the orc king managed to secure all the North between the Trollmoors and the Spine of the World, from the Surbrin to the Fell Pass? What would happen if, with such a base to serve as a kingdom, Obould did finally rout the dwarves from Mithral Hall? What would Silverymoon do? Or Mirabar? Or Citadel Adbar or Citadel Felbarr?

  What could they do? More orcs were pouring forth from the mountains, by all reports. Had Tos'un and his companions inadvertently elevated Obould beyond their control?

  An orc kingdom nestled within the various strongholds—human, dwarf, and elf. Would other tribes flock in to join in Obould's glory? Would Obould seek treaties, perhaps, and trade with the other cities?

  It all seemed so preposterous to Tos'un, and also amusing. When he looked at Gerti, though, her expression grim even as she outwardly agreed with the orc king, the dark elf was reminded that there remaine
d many potential pitfalls.

  Only then did Tos'un realize that Kaer'lic was walking out to join the three leaders and that Obould was calling to him as well. He moved out beside the priestess of Lolth.

  "You go with Proffit," Obould instructed the warrior of Barrison Del' Armgo.

  "I?" Tos'un asked incredulously, and with more than a little revulsion at the less than appetizing thought.

  "Proffit will travel the upper Underdark to do battle with the dwarves," Obould explained. "Much as your city did."

  Tos'un looked at Kaer'lic with surprise, wondering how the orc king might have garnered that information.

  It is for the best, Kaer'lic secretly flashed to him, alleviating all his doubts concerning the source.

  "You know the tunnels leading to Mithral Hall," Obould reasoned to Tos'un. "You have been there."

  "I know little," the drow argued.

  "And that is more than anyone else," said Obould. "We must soon begin our attack within the hall, if the surface is to be secured. You will guide Proffit in this hunt."

  There was no debate in Obould's tone, and when Tos'un started to argue anyway, Kaer'lic flashed an emphatic, It is better!

  "I will go with him," Kaer'lic then announced. "I know some tunnels, and better for Proffit to have two dark elves directing his forces."

  Obould nodded and turned to other matters, mostly the continuing sealing of the great doors.

  Why have you done this? Tos'un's fingers asked Kaer'lic as the pair drifted back from the main conversation.

  We should be away, came the reply.

  What of Ad'non and Donnia?

  Kaer'lic shrugged and replied, They will fend for themselves. They always do. For now, it is best that we go to the south.

  Why?

  Because Drizzt Do'Urden is in the north.

  Tos'un stared curiously at his surprising companion. Kaer'lic had expressed great concern about Drizzt, but to go far away simply because the renegade drow was operating in the region? It made no sense.

  He couldn't know Kaer'lic's suspicions, though. Ever since Tos'un had joined the band of renegades with his tales of Menzoberranzan's Mithral Hall disaster, Kaer'lic Suun Wett had feared that Drizzt Do'Urden might be something more than any of the Menzoberranyr drow had ever appreciated.

  Beyond his fighting skills, there was something special about that particular renegade drow, something god-blessed. Kaer'lic had always been a clever one, but she almost hated her cunning, for in the grip of her suspicions, the drow priestess understood that she might be, in effect, condemning herself. Might that not be the price of enlightenment?

  Unknown to her companions, the priestess of Lolth was convinced of something both unnerving and perfectly wicked: Drizzt Do'Urden had the favor of Lolth.

  CHAPTER 14 ELVEN GNATS

  Weapons flying, feet flapping, the two orcs had no desire to continue any battle with the deadly elf warrior on his flying horse—seeing three of their kin already down and dead was more than enough for their cowardly sensibilities, so they threw their weapons and ran away, sprinting along the rocky trail and shouting for help.

  Behind and above them came the elf, astride his beautiful white charger, great wings driving them on. The orcs couldn't outrun him, certainly, nor could they hide unless they found a way underground.

  And they would not, the elf knew.

  He brought Sunrise out to the left, herding the pair back on the main, narrow trail.

  Oblivious to anything but the pegasus and the elf, the orcs willingly veered and ran on at full speed. They came around a bend, one behind the other, and charged up a slight incline around another boulder.

  At least, they tried to get around the boulder.

  The second elf appeared, as beautiful as she was deadly. She came out in a spin from the left, from behind the boulder. The lead orc gave a shriek and stopped cold, throwing its hands out before it, but the elf didn't even strike at it. She rolled right around it, using the orc as an optical barrier to its running partner. The second orc pulled up fast, seeing its companion unexpectedly stopped, and didn't even notice the lithe form coming around on its companion's right until it was too late.

  A sword skewered the orc through the chest.

  The first orc opened its eyes again, and thought it had survived the attack, that the female elf had somehow gone right past it. Apparently, not one to pause and consider such a fortunate turn, the orc started to run again.

  It got almost one full step before a sword bit it in the kidney. It got almost a second full step before the blade struck again. It got almost a third full step before the deadly sword came in yet again, across the back of its neck.

  "I'm beginning to understand why Drizzt Do'Urden enjoys this existence," Tarathiel remarked, walking his mount up beside Innovindil.

  "I do not think he enjoys it," Innovindil replied. She looked out across the rocks and gave a whistle. Sunset appeared, trotting her way. "He is driven by rage and is beyond all joy. We saw that when we came to his aid. He could not even accept our generosity."

  Tarathiel wiped his bloody sword on the ratty tunic of one felled orc. His partner was right, he knew. He had hoped to begin a relationship with the dark elf when he and Innovindil had come upon Drizzt at the river. Tarathiel had hoped to speak with him about Ellifain, to learn what he might about her or to warn Drizzt that she was beyond reason and hunting for him.

  But their discussion that day had never gotten even close to that point, and for exactly the reasons Innovindil had just espoused.

  "Somewhere deep inside him, he must take some pleasure at killing these foul creatures," Tarathiel did respond. "He must recognize that his actions are for the betterment of the world."

  "Let us hope," said Innovindil, in a less-than-convincing tone.

  She looked up and around as she spoke, as if scanning for some sign of Drizzt.

  The two moved along soon after, knowing that other orcs were converging on the area, rushing to investigate the screams of the five orcs the elves had killed. They kept the pegasi on the ground for the most part, trotting along, but used the flying mounts to cross ravines and small cliff faces to discourage any pursuit. They held high confidence that the grounded orcs could not possibly catch up.

  The elves didn't return directly to their cave that night, though, preferring to scout out even wider in search of more prey.

  Drizzt might be acting out of rage, but for Tarathiel and Innovindil, there was indeed a sense of accomplishment and even pleasure at the sport. And there was no shortage of orcs to hunt.

  * * *

  Donnia didn't even have to signal her pleasure to Ad'non when the glow of warmth led them to the pile of manure, for her evil smile summed it up perfectly.

  Ad'non's expression showed that he was no less pleased.

  The drow could see that most of the heat was gone from the pile, and they had a point of reference so that they could use that to determine the time the manure had been there. Dark elves were taught to judge heat dissipation from droppings from an early age, and the pile was similar in texture and size to that typical of the rothй cattle the dark elves farmed in their underground cities.

  The pair flashed coordinating messages, and they set off on a roundabout path up the mountainside. Moving from bluff to bluff, from stone to stone, and from tree to tree, the pair made leap-frogging progress. Another pile of manure brought grins.

  Then some more, down below them as they looked out from a flat stone.

  Cave, Ad'non signaled, falling to his belly off to Donnia's right.

  The two dark elves didn't know it, but they were atop the very same stone from which Drizzt had first glimpsed the cave of Tarathiel and Innovindil.

  Donnia flicked a series of signals back to Ad'non, then slid forward on her belly to the very lip of the flat stone. A glance around and at Ad'non to ensure that he had his hand crossbow at the ready, and Donnia rolled right over the stone, holding securely to its Up, then skipping down the ten feet t
o hit the ground running across from the cave. At the side of the dark entrance, she drew out sword and hand crossbow.

  Up above, Ad'non went over in a similar manner and quick-stepped his way to the wall opposite the entrance from Donnia.

  Warm ashes within, Donnia flashed, a sure sign that the place was being used as a campsite.

  Ad'non fell low and peered around, taking his time with the scan.

  Empty, he silently told his companion. But not deserted.

  Neither had to signal the other that they should set an ambush.

  The drow elves moved around outside the cave, looking for some promis-ing vantage points for an ambush. They didn't remain too close to the entrance, though, nor did they go in, showing proper respect for their dangerous adver-saries. Soon after, Donnia stumbled upon something even more promising: a second cave.

  This one is deeper, she signaled.

  Ad'non came up to the lip of the small tunnel. He studied the descent within and the general angle of the corridor, then measured both against the location of the cave the surface elves were obviously using as a base. He motioned Donnia back, then fell to his belly and turned his head away as he gingerly slid his hand into the cave, delicate and practiced fingers working around the rim in search of any cunning traps. Gradually, Ad'non's arm went in deeper, feeling every inch.

  With a glance at Donnia, the drow male slithered into the small hole, disappearing from view.

  Donnia moved to the lip and glanced in just in time to see Ad'non's feet slip around the first bend in the corridor. With a look all around, she gently put one ear to the stone. The tapping of a predetermined code sent her into motion, falling flat and slipping in. The going was tight and tighter still when she worked around that first bend, and she came to a hole in the floor that could be negotiated only by going in head first, and blindly. Few rational creatures would have continued through such an uncomfortable obstacle, but to the dark elves, who had spent so many decades working through countless similar corridors in the honeycombed Underdark, it was not so daunting.

  The corridor below the hole was a bit wider, though the ceiling was too low for Donnia to lift her head as she crawled along. It widened even more and opened into a higher chamber, and there she found her companion, sitting on a stone.