The Lone Drow th-2

by Robert Salvatore

  "Even after all these years?"

  Drizzt looked over at Innovindil, at the warmth of her elf features—seeming less angular in the soft, predawn light—and at the depth of her blue eyes. Dawn was a time befitting her beauty, he thought. The softness and the quiet. The opposite of the hardened warrior he had witnessed in battle. Only then, in that flavor, did Drizzt truly begin to appreciate her depth.

  "How old are you?" he asked before he could even consider the propriety of the question.

  "This time marks the end of my third century," she answered. 'Tarathiel was older than I, by many decades."

  "That seems inconsequential to us of elf heritage."

  Drizzt closed his eyes as he spoke, considering his own statement. What was waiting for him in his second century of life? he wondered. Was each existence among the shorter lived races a replay of the previous? A simple continuation?

  He glanced at the sunrise and wondered, hoped, that perhaps it was not, that perhaps each «existence» as measured by the life span of a human or even a dwarf, would instead place layers upon knowledge already gained. He looked down at Innovindil, hoping that perhaps there might be some clue to be found in the depths of her eyes, but he found her smiling widely at him, a look that seemed almost condescending.

  "You do not understand what it is to be an elf, do you?" she asked him.

  Drizzt just stared at her. He understood what she was hinting at and even believed that there was more than a little truth in her words.

  "You left the Underdark when you were but a child," Innovindil went on.

  "Not so young."

  "But never trained in the perspectives of elven culture," Innovindil said.

  Drizzt shrugged and had to agree, for in his time in Menzoberranzan, he had spent his hours training to fight and to kill.

  "And up here," she went on, "you have mostly been in the company of shorter-lived races."

  "Bruenor counts his age in centuries, as do you," Drizzt reminded.

  "Dwarves do not have an elf's perspective."

  "You speak as if it is a tangible thing."

  Drizzt paused then, as did Innovindil, for the eastern sky brightened with brilliant pinks and purples. The dawn came on gloriously, for there were just enough clouds, all drifting in distinct clusters and lines, to catch the morning rays and reflect them in myriad hues and textures.

  "Was the beauty of that sunrise a tangible thing?" Innovindil asked.

  Drizzt smiled and surrendered with a sigh.

  "You must come to understand what it is or what it will be to live for several centuries, Drizzt Do'Urden," she said. "For your own sake, should you be fortunate enough to dodge your enemies and see those long years. You have picked your friends among the lesser races, and you must understand the implications of those choices."

  "Lesser…" Drizzt started to ask, but Innovindil cut him short by explaining, "Lesser-lived races."

  Drizzt started to respond again, but he fell silent and let his gaze drift back to the east. He concentrated on the beauty of the continuing sunrise, trying to hide behind it and not show the pain that had come into his heart.

  "What is it?" Innovindil pressed him.

  He held silent. He felt Innovindil's hand softly touch his shoulder, and he couldn't deny that her warm touch was drawing him away from the wall of anger that was building again around his heart.

  "Drizzt?" she asked quietly.

  "Good friends," he said, his voice quavering.

  Innovindil's hand continued to hold him until he at last turned to regard her.

  "More than friends?" she asked.

  Drizzt's lips went very tight.

  "The daughter of Bruenor," Innovindil reasoned. "You love the human daughter of Bruenor Battlehammer, the one named Catti-brie."

  Drizzt swallowed hard.

  "Loved," he corrected.

  It was Innovindil's turn to put on a curious look.

  "She fell at Shallows, with Bruenor, Wulfgar, and Regis," Drizzt mustered the strength to say. "I picked my friends and could not have found better companionship, but..»

  His voice cracked apart, and he turned fast back to the dawn, locking himself into the spectacle of colors, even held his stare against the sting of the rising sun itself, as if its burn on his sensitive eyes could somehow block out the other, more profound pain.

  Innovindil squeezed his shoulder hard and asked, "Do you question your choice?"

  "No," Drizzt insisted without the slightest hesitation.

  "And your choice to love a human?"

  "Was I wrong for that?" Drizzt asked. His defiance melted suddenly, and he asked again, more quietly, as if searching for an honest answer, "Was I wrong for that?"

  Drizzt had to pause then and take a deep breath, and another, and he turned back to the rising sun, his eyes moist from more than the bright light's sting.

  "Do you think it unwise for an elf, who might live for seven or more centuries, to fall in love with a human who will not know the end of one?" Innovindil asked him. "Do you think it a terrible notion that if you had children with a human, they would age and die before you?"

  Drizzt winced at both questions.

  "I do not know," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper.

  "Because you do not know what it is to be an elf," Innovindil said with certainty.

  Drizzt looked back at her and asked, "You say that I was wrong?"

  But Innovindil's smile disarmed his ire.

  "Our curse is to outlive so many of those we will know and love," she said. "I have known two human lovers."

  Drizzt eyed her, not knowing what to make of the admission.

  "The first man I fell in love with was a human, and he was not a young man, by human counting," Innovindil went on, and it was her turn to look to the rising sun. "He was a good man, a wizard of great talent, if little ambition." She gave a wistful chuckle. "But how I loved him—as greatly as I have ever loved anyone. I buried him when I was still a child by an elf's counting—younger even than you are now. How that pained me….

  "Nearly a century passed before I was able to dare to love another human," the elf went on, still staring to the east, not blinking at all.

  "And he died as well," Drizzt reasoned.

  "But not before we had three wonderful decades together," Innovindil replied, her smile widening. She paused for a long while, then turned and looked directly at Drizzt once more. "You really do not understand what it is to be an elf, Drizzt Do'Urden, because no one has shown you."

  Her tone told Drizzt clearly that her words were an offer.

  But could he dare to take her up on that offer? Could he dare to leave his heart open wide once more, where it would possibly get seared yet again?

  "We have business to attend," the drow announced, his voice strong and determined. "Tarathiel's death will not go unavenged."

  "You will kill the orc who slew him?"

  "On my word," Drizzt declared through clenched teeth.

  It took him a while to realize that Innovindil was staring at him hard. He turned to her, his determination ebbing as he looked into her wide-eyed, angry glare.

  "That is our purpose then?" Innovindil asked. "To avenge Tarathiel?"

  "Is it not?"

  "It is not!" the elf growled at him, and she seemed to grow tall and terrible, seemed to rise up and tower over Drizzt. "Our purpose—my purpose—is not a journey of hatred and vengeance."

  Drizzt shrank back from her.

  "Not while Sunrise is held captive by such unmerciful and brutal masters, Innovindil explained. She settled back then and seemed herself once more. "1 will not let my anger get in the way of my purpose, Drizzt Do'Urden. I will not let anger cloud my vision or turn me one step to the side of the path I must take. Sunrise is my charge—I will not fail him to satiate my anger."

  She looked at Drizzt for a moment longer, then turned and walked back to the cave.

  Leaving Drizzt alone on the rock in the slanting rays of early morning.
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  * * *

  "He cut the elf in half," the giant, one of two who had come in to see their dame, told Gerti. "He wields that sword with the strength of Tierlaan Gau," he added, using the giants' name for members of their race.

  Gerti Orelsdottr tightened her jaw. Obould had won again, an impressive show in front of creatures who already thought him a god.

  "What of the drow and the other elf?"

  "Of Drizzt Do'Urden, we have heard nothing … perhaps," the giant replied, and he turned and looked to his partner, also recently returned from the incidents up north.

  "Perhaps?"

  "A body was found," the giant explained.

  "That of a drow," said the other.

  "Drizzt?"

  "Donnia Soldou," the first giant replied, and Gerti's eyes widened.

  "Dead among the rocks," the other giant added. "Murdered by fine blades."

  Gerti mulled over the words for a bit. Had Donnia met up with Drizzt? Or perhaps with the surface elves? Gerti couldn't help but chuckle as she considered that perhaps Donnia had angered her own three companions. That was the thing about drow, was it not? They were so often busy killing each other that they could never manage any real conquests.

  "I will miss her," Gerti admitted. "She was … amusing."

  The other two relaxed, obviously relieved that Gerti wasn't taking the death of Donnia very hard.

  "Obould slew one of the elves that has been terrorizing the region," the giantess stated.

  "And captured his winged horse," the scout reported.

  Again Gerti's eyes went wide.

  "A pegasus? Obould is in possession of a pegasus?"

  "We would have preferred to kill it," the scout explained. "That elf and his beast made up half the pair who assaulted us in the fight at Shallows."

  "A bit of horseflesh would taste good," said the other.

  Gerti thought it over for a moment, then said, "You should have slaughtered the creature. While Obould was battling the elf, you should have walked over and crushed its head!"

  The two looked startled, but Gerti pressed on, "They are creatures of beauty, yes, and I would favor one for myself. But I do not wish to see King Obould Many-Arrows flying about above the battlefields, calling out orders to his charges. I do not wish to see him up on high, riding about, godlike."

  "W-we did not know," the scout stammered.

  "We could not have killed the winged beast, in any case," said the other. "We would have been battling scores of orcs had we tried."

  Gerti dismissed them both with a wave and turned away, her mind whirling from the surprising news. Obould was the hero once more, which would be beneficial in bringing forth more of the orc and goblin tribes. His glory had bound them together.

  But where did that glory leave her? Beneath him on the field while he soared around on his winged steed?

  A horn brought the giantess from her contemplations, and she turned north to see the returning host of orcs, King Obould walking at their head.

  "Walking," she whispered, thinking that a good thing.

  She caught sight of the pegasus, moving along to the side, bound and hobbled by short ropes tied leg to leg. Indeed it was a beautiful creature, majestic and with a brilliant white coat and mane. Too wondrous for the likes of an orc, to Gerti's thinking. She decided right then that she would demand the pegasus in time—true, she could never ride it, but what a wonderful addition to Shining White such a magnificent beast would prove!

  As the column neared, Obould motioned for his charges to continue, then he veered toward Gerti, the miserable Arganth trotting along at his heels.

  "We found just one," he told her. "But that one will be enough to bring the orcs from the tunnels."

  "How can you know?" Gerti asked, and she wasn't looking at the orc king but rather at the pegasus as it was pulled past on her distant right.

  "Yes, a mount for a king," Obould remarked. "We have begun the breaking. I will fly the beast when that bitch Alustriel of Silverymoon comes pleading that we do not continue our march."

  Gerti glanced back as the pegasus moved past, and she could clearly see the signs of the brutal orc breaking. Whip marks marred the pegasus's white coat. Every time the steed tried to lift its head proudly, the orc tugging it along yanked down on the lead, and the horse bowed. Gerti could only imagine the bite of the nasty bit the orc must be using to so bend the powerful pegasus.

  "I have been informed of Donnia's demise," Gerti said, turning back to the orc king.

  "Dead and rotting on the mountainside," said Obould.

  "Then Drizzt Do'Urden is still around, and other elves, no doubt."

  Obould nodded and shrugged as if it didn't really matter.

  "We will stay in the region for a while," he explained, "to better coax out any tribes who choose to join us. Arganth will lead some back into the northern tunnels to better spread the word of my victory and to give hope to the orcs. Perhaps we will find Drizzt Do'Urden and the other elf or elves, and they too will fall to my blade. If they are wise, they will flee across the Surbrin and back into the Moonwood, though perhaps they will not be safe there, either."

  Behind Obould, Arganth snickered.

  Gerti studied the orc king carefully. Was his dimwit resurfacing? Would he begin to believe the accolades others were putting on his shoulders and change his mind about securing the borders of his planned kingdom? Gerti knew that crossing the Surbrin would prove a huge, and likely fatal, error.

  Despite herself, she hoped Obould would do it.

  "My king," Arganth Snarrl said from behind. "Methinks you should go south to your son and be done with the dwarves."

  "You question me?"

  "No, my king, no!" Arganth said, bowing repeatedly. "I fear. . Drizzt Do'Urden and the elf's companion are still about… there is …"

  Obould glanced back at Gerti, then turned back to Arganth, looking somewhat confused. He gave a sudden, great belly laugh.

  "You fear for my safety?"

  "Obould is Gruumsh!" Arganth said, and he fell flat to the ground. "Obould is Gruumsh!"

  "Get up!"

  Arganth jumped to his feet but continued to genuflect.

  "Were you afraid when I battled the elf?" Obould asked.

  "No, my king! He was nothing against you!"

  "But Drizzt Do'Urden…"

  "Is nothing to you, my king!" Arganth screeched. "Not in fair battle. But he is drow. He will cheat. He will come in when you are asleep, methinks. I fear—"

  "Silence!" growled Obould.

  Arganth gave a whine and seemed as if he would faint away.

  Obould turned back to Gerti, his face a mask of anger.

  Gerti couldn't hide her amusement, and didn't even try to.

  "Forgive me, my king," Arganth whispered, moving up behind Obould.

  A backhand slap sent the fool flying away.

  "I do not fear this rogue drow, nor a host of the elf's companions," the orc told Gerti. "If all the Moonwood came forth to avenge their dead, I would rush to that battle eagerly."

  And die horribly, Gerti thought and hoped.

  "We already have enough resources to put the dwarves in their hole and to defend the Surbrin," the giantess remarked.

  "Not yet," Obould replied. "I want them to pay in deep pools of blood for trying to hold ground against Urlgen. Let him continue the battle outside of Mithral Hall a while longer. Proffit will need time to being the press from the south."

  "You will find little hunting in this region beyond Drizzt and any other elves who might be around. The humans are all dead or have wisely fled."

  Obould stared at her for a short while, then just muttered under his breath, "I will consider our movements," and walked away.

  Gerti nearly slugged him as he passed, for merely presuming to count her and her giants into his considerations. How dare he act as if his decisions would so affect her? How dare he …

  Gerti let her bluster die away, a private admission that, just then at leas
t, she would be wise to perhaps play along with Obould. The sheer number of followers he had amassed could press her giants greatly should she make an enemy of him.

  The giantess glanced around at the hundreds of orcs and the handful of giants. It struck her then that she had unwisely spread out her forces, with so many working along the Surbrin and the score she had given to Urlgen.

  Hopefully that fool of an orc had used those giants as intended and had already driven the dwarves back into Mithral Hall.

  Gerti wanted the glory to begin to spread out, instead of simply falling onto Obould's broad shoulders at every point.

  She'd find out soon enough, she learned a short while later, when word reached her of Obould's decision to return to the south and Urlgen's battlefield.

  CHAPTER 24 PREYING ON FLEETING HOPES

  Regis ruffled the pile of papers—scouting reports—then pushed them all aside. Up on the cliff, Banak was holding strong. But how? Or the better question, why? The force of orcs and giants—to say nothing of the trolls! — that had closed the eastern gate of Mithral Hall had by all accounts been huge. Fortifications were being constructed all around the fords of the Surbrin and yet the bulk of the monstrous forces had departed, with the trolls marching south and the main force of orcs turning back to the north. If that main force linked up with the orcs opposing Banak, then the valiant dwarf and his charges would be pushed over the cliff to Keeper's Dale and all the way back into Mithral Hall. There could be no doubt.

  The question nagged at Regis's thoughts: Why hadn't the orcs already done that?

  The halfling looked up to Catti-brie, who sat across the way. He started to say something, but her expression caught him and held him in place. She seemed relaxed, physically at least, leaning back in the soft chair, her legs crossed at the knee, her head turned to the side and looking off into nowhere, one hand up, one finger absently playing about her chin and lips. Exhaustion was written across her face, a mask of weariness but also of resolve.

  Regis looked closer, noticed the bruises on her hand, the small cuts on her extended finger, rubbed raw from the draw of her powerful bow. He noted the dried blood in her auburn hair, the streaks and clumps. And most of all, he noted the look in her blue eyes, the quiet determination, but undercut by something darker, some sense that, for all their efforts, they could not prevail.