“The Moonwood, we called it then,” Bruenor remarked, and Drizzt nodded.
“Hralien and his people were sterner still with those they caught. But still …” Drizzt paused and shook his head.
“Didn’t feel much good, eh?”
“There is sometimes a strange moral cleanliness to ugly battles,” Drizzt admitted. “Have you ever known me to hesitate with the blade when the fighting has begun?”
“Aye, but when ye got yerself a prisoner,” Bruenor admitted. “Nothing’s clean about it. Ugly business. Ugly orcs.”
“But we do not torture them,” said Drizzt. “We cannot throw away our very hearts.”
Bruenor stared at him, seemingly caught somewhere in between, but had no answer.
“They’ve dragons,” King Connerad said to his elf guests, including the good Lady Sinnafein, whom Connerad knew well. “Had one waitin’ for us last time we breaked out.” He indicated Catti-brie, who sat at one end of the small table. “Weren’t for that one there, I’m doubting that many o’ me boys would’ve made it back into the halls.”
Sinnafein turned to the woman. “The whispers coming forth from Adbar spoke of your return, my old friend,” she said. “It is a magical world and a strange time, and so I allowed myself to believe the rumors of the meeting in Citadel Felbarr, with King Bruenor and Catti-brie returned to the Silver Marches, alive and young once more.”
“Aye, but now that ye’re seein’ her …” said Bungalow Thump, sitting to the left of King Connerad on the side of the table to Catti-brie’s right, with Sinnafein and Mickey across from them.
“It is beyond my sensibilities,” Sinnafein admitted. “Beyond my sensibilities, and that is something one would rarely hear spoken by the Lady of the Glimmerwood. To have at this dark time two of the great heroes of old of the Silver Marches returned to us … Surely the gods have blessed us that we might defeat this darkening.”
Beside her, the strange elf called Mickey chortled, mocking the somber and serious mood and the nods of the others seated around the table, and drawing all eyes to her.
“Heroes,” she said in explanation. “What are humans and dwarves in the face of a dragon? Arauthator, the Old White Death, mocks your pretentious god-talk.”
“Is it customary for yer minions to mock ye so?” asked General Dagnabbet, who was seated on Connerad’s right, giving voice to the thoughts on all of their minds.
“Minion?” Mickey said with a laugh.
“My companion is not of the Glimmerwood,” Sinnafein started to explain, but Mickey cut her short.
“I am here as a favor to a friend of your drow companion, Drizzt Do’Urden,” she explained.
“Do tell.”
“In time,” Mickey replied. “When Drizzt is here. And where is he?”
“He was in the lower tunnels,” King Connerad answered. “He’s there all the time, fightin’ orcs.”
“Aye, and probably mad at bein’ called away,” said Bungalow Thump. “So here’s hopin’ ye got something to say what’s worth hearin’.”
“Do you think listening to a plan to get out of your hole is worth hearing, good dwarf?” Mickey asked teasingly, and all three dwarves came forward in their seats anxiously.
Mickey grinned and chuckled, and just then the door banged open and in strode Bruenor Battlehammer, flanked by Drizzt Do’Urden and Athrogate. Drizzt went right to Sinnafein, who rose up to wrap him in a tight hug.
“My old friend, it is so good to see you in these dark times,” Sinnafein whispered.
“We’ll lift the darkness,” Drizzt promised.
Sinnafein pulled back and offered her hand to Bruenor. “Good king,” she said. “The Glimmerwood shares the elation of Mithral Hall at your return!”
“Aye, Lady, and know that I’m a bit gladder to be breathin’ than dead!” Bruenor said with a grin, and he took her hand in a hearty shake. “Work to do! Aye, and killin’ orcs—the best work to be found.”
Drizzt took the seat next to Catti-brie, with Bruenor and Athrogate pulling up chairs on the opposite side of the table from them.
“They come to tell us how to break out o’ here,” King Connerad explained.
“You need to come forth,” Sinnafein said as the newcomers turned her way. “The other citadels are in desperate times and need your help.”
“We tried, Lady,” King Connerad said.
“This time you will have help,” Sinnafein promised. “You come forth, through the north door.”
“Bad door for breaking out,” Bruenor remarked. “Narrow exit, uphill run.”
“Aye, and with a big camp sittin’ right there waitin’,” General Dagnabbet added.
“My people will hit that camp, and hard,” Sinnafein assured them.
“There’s a thousand orcs there, might be close to two,” said Bungalow Thump. “And a horde o’ giants beside ’em!”
“Aye, and with a dragon up on the hill, if like last time,” said Bruenor. “Not to doubt ye, Lady, and not to turn aside yer offer, but yer folks’re too thin to cut through that band …”
“You’ll get out,” Mickey interrupted with certainty. “And with little loss. The orcs will regroup and come back against you, but you will simply turn around and go back in. Some of you. One legion, with Bruenor, Drizzt, and you, Catti-brie, will break free with us and flee to the northeast, across the Surbrin and into the Glimmerwood.”
“You make it sound so easy,” Drizzt remarked. “We got out last time, and routed the immediate forces, but they were waiting. We could not have run far.”
“This time will be different,” Mickey promised. “The plan will work. Sinnafein’s people will get you across the river to safety.”
“And the dragon?”
“Let me worry about the dragon,” said Mickey, and that brought nothing more than doubting stares.
“We are confident that we can get you out,” Sinnafein said.
“Aye, that I see, but I’ll be needin’ more than yer good hopes, Lady,” said King Connerad. “As I telled ye, we almost didn’t get back into the hall last time!”
“Dismiss that one,” Mickey said to Connerad, and she indicated General Dagnabbet. “And that one,” she said, pointing to Bungalow Thump.
The dwarves huffed and puffed at that indignity, but Mickey casually turned to the strange dwarf who had come in with Bruenor and Drizzt. “And you are?”
“Name’s Athrogate,” he answered.
Mickey nodded and smiled knowingly. “You may stay.”
“Yerself’s settin’ the meeting, are ye?” King Connerad asked skeptically, and beside him, both Bungalow Thump and General Dagnabbet crossed their arms over their chests defiantly.
“If you would hear the next words I have to say, then they will leave,” Mickey calmly explained. “And all of your guards as well. And I will have your word—all of you who remain—that what I tell you will be held in the strictest confidence.”
King Connerad started to argue.
“There is no debate to be found here, good king,” Mickey interrupted. “You do as I ask, or I have nothing more to say.”
“And ye leave us in the halls?” Connerad asked.
“No,” Sinnafein and Mickey answered together.
“What I have to offer in private is assurance,” Mickey told him. “The plan remains intact whether you hear it or not, though I suspect that you will plan more accordingly, and come forth with more confidence, if you hear what I have to say.”
The surprised and confused onlookers all looked to Sinnafein then for an explanation, but she could only shake her head and shrug.
“Take the guards, all o’ them,” King Connerad told his two dear friends.
Bungalow Thump nearly choked on that order, but General Dagnabbet rose immediately and bade him to go with her. The disciplined soldier knew her duty, and would not allow pride to interfere.
As soon as they were gone, Mickey turned to Drizzt. “I am here on behalf of one who knows you well,” she said.
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“Bwahaha!” Athrogate howled, and that surely clued Drizzt in as to whom Mickey might be referring.
“What’s she sayin’, elf?” Bruenor demanded. “Who’s—” He stopped short when Drizzt put a hard glance over him, then guided Bruenor’s gaze to Athrogate.
“No,” Bruenor said with a groan. “Canno’ be.”
“Bwahaha!” Athrogate roared.
“Him again, and why’s meself not surprised?” Bruenor replied. “Always is his hand in the jar.”
“None can know that,” Mickey said. “Menzoberranzan is here in support of Many-Arrows, and our friend will not compromise his position, as you can well understand.”
Drizzt looked at her curiously when he noted the way she had said “our friend,” pointedly not speaking the name of the drow he suspected.
“Of course,” Drizzt replied. He looked to King Connerad. “It is an amazing risk he takes.”
“Jar—” Bruenor started to say, but Drizzt cut him short with an upraised hand and a sharp look.
“Pray speak yer words,” King Connerad declared.
“Nay, pray do not,” Mickey ordered.
“Bruenor?” asked Connerad.
“Bah, but ye got to be trustin’ us on this one, me friend.”
“They speak of one who would be sorely compromised,” Catti-brie explained.
“A drow from Menzoberranzan,” Sinnafein put in, casting a judgmental glare at Mickey.
“Sometimes of Menzoberranzan,” Drizzt agreed.
“Aye, and all the time he’s for himself, don’t ye doubt,” said Bruenor. “But I’d rather have that one on me side than fightin’ aside me enemies.”
Drizzt nodded.
“Our friend asked me for help, along with my sister, and so we agreed,” said Mickey. “We came to the Glimmerwood with two of your former associates, Amber and Afafrenfere. And with the help of Sinnafein and her people, we learned of all that has transpired and so laid our plans.”
“Good plans,” Sinnafein added. “You come out hard and with all you can spare, indeed with all you have, and we will help you rout the orcs camped in front of your northern gate.”
“Another ten thousand in the east,” King Connerad reminded her. “And half that in Keeper’s Dale again, from what me boys’re tellin’ me.”
“And so you’ll turn about with most of your forces, as we said,” Mickey replied. “You will be safely back behind Mithral Hall’s great gates before the orc reinforcements arrive. But you,” she added, turning to Bruenor, “will take with you Mithral Hall’s greatest legion—and your powerful friends, I hope—and come with us to waiting boats.”
“Boats?” Connerad asked. “River’s frozen!”
“We’ll not go until the water runs free,” Sinnafein explained, “near the end of the month of Ches, likely. If we tried now and were seen, the orcs would chase us across and dog our every step and so our gains would be short-lived.”
“We will be across the Surbrin and melted into the Glimmerwood before the orcs arrive,” Mickey added. “And if we are clever, and if we are quick, the minions of Warlord Hartusk will not even know the truth of it—that a legion of dwarves had broken free of their hole, ready to go and free Adbar and Felbarr, who are in dire need.”
“And if we’re all comin’ out and their dragon drops upon us, what then?” King Connerad asked.
“It will not,” said Mickey.
“But if it does?”
“If Arauthator is about, we will deal with him, I assure you,” said Mickey.
“Yerself assures me?” Connerad echoed incredulously. “Against a dragon? How can ye make such a claim, lass?”
Mickey smiled, wickedly it seemed, and turned to Drizzt as she answered, “Because we have our friend.”
All eyes followed her gaze to the drow ranger, who stared at Mickey for a long while, then began to nod his agreement.
They had Jarlaxle.
CHAPTER 9
BY THE GODS
SHONTIQ A’LAVALLIER LEANED AGAINST THE STONE WALL OF THE TUNNEL entrance, trying to keep his focus on the sentry task at hand, but his mind constantly drifted back to the city of Q’Xorlarrin. So many possibilities teased the shadows in front of the drow wizard, both with the openings available to him in the fledgling city and with the opportunities that were opening up for practitioners of his craft, given the encroachments of Lolth into the Weave.
But first they had to be done with this increasingly tedious surface war, Shontiq kept reminding himself. It had started promisingly enough with some truly enjoyable battles. Shontiq had been at the side of Ravel, noble son of House Xorlarrin—though he now used the surname of Do’Urden—weaving the lightning web that had engulfed the front line of Knights in Silver when they counterattacked across the Redrun. And how deliciously effective and lethal that lightning had been on the riders in midstream.
And then Sundabar, and truly there had been no previous experience in Shontiq’s eventful life to match the thrill of watching the fall of Sundabar. He had been among the lead wizards in the last assault that had toppled the city, crawling through the tunnels to the substructure of the guard tower. Shontiq couldn’t suppress a grin as he recalled again the image of the lightning net climbing up the stones of that tower, the foolish humans leaping from the tower’s top.
Glorious.
But now the siege had stalled, and this thing called “winter” seemed quite boring to the impatient drow. There were no seasons in the Underdark, but up here, all was buried under a blanket of uncomfortable snow. This season was almost over, the orcs had assured Shontiq and the others, and the slaughter could soon resume.
But it had been a long few months, and longer still because Shontiq had been assigned to this region, the tunnels north of the city called Silverymoon. By all accounts, this city would likely serve as the next conquest, but for these months, the region had offered nothing but boredom, unlike the Upperdark regions around the three dwarven citadels, where skirmishes were common as the desperate bearded folk tried to break free.
Here, though, there was nothing. The folk of Silverymoon seemed content to remain within their walls, and given the reputed number of wizards among their ranks, including their leader whose nickname was Thunderspell, they were no doubt weathering the winter, indeed all of the siege, with little discomfort. Shontiq believed that they should be applying more pressure to the city, with magical and war-machine bombardment day and night. He had said as much to Ravel, and it seemed to him from the Xorlarrin’s response that Ravel did not disagree.
But Ravel had warned him to stand down. Tiago had turned his sights to the dwarves again—to Mithral Hall, for some reason Ravel would not disclose.
Shontiq could not let the matter drop, however. Not in his mind, at least. Not with the incessant boredom closing in all around him. He was now in the second rank of advance scouts, with only one fellow drow, a lovely maiden named Sahvin Sel’rue, between him and the open tunnels of the Underdark.
Many times did Shontiq fantasize about running out among those dark ways to find the encampments near to one of the dwarven citadels, to again use his magical repertoire to summon forth ice storms, to freeze the blood of his enemies and hear their dying screams, instead of the mundane tasks he was assigned in this eventless region.
The drow heaved another resigned sigh. He knew that he should be fanning out to the east of Sahvin Sel’Rue’s quadrant, but really, what was the point of such an exercise? Silverymoon was behind them, with the only notable route blocked by a large encampment of orcs and ogres. If the folk of the city came forth into the tunnels, they’d be tied up long enough with the monstrous fodder for Shontiq and the other dark elves to be long on their way to link up with Ravel’s band in the northwest.
He felt his magical wards dissipating and thought that he should renew them.
But to what end? Every day he came down to this area, protected from fire, protected from ice, protected from arrows, and with his array of magical wands at
the ready on his belt. Every day, for hours and hours. Occasionally he might talk Sahvin into some playful recreation, at least, but the witch was in a most foul mood this day and had gone off to her haunts without even responding to his advances.
Strangely, Shontiq hadn’t even protested, because in truth, he hadn’t even cared.
Perhaps the many tendays down here had turned even that former pleasure into tedium.
So he stood there alone and he thought of Q’Xorlarrin. He’d be a good soldier here in this glorious campaign, and then he’d return home to make the most of his opportunities—and there would be some, he was certain, because some of the other drow wizards would surely fall in the fighting in this campaign, and particularly since Ravel would be going to serve in this ridiculous House Do’Urden in Menzoberranzan.
There would be room for ascension.
The wizard waggled his fingers and produced a ball of fire, hovering above his open palm. He stared at the dancing flames, marveling at their interplay. Perhaps he could bring forth a sprite from the elemental plane of fire, a pet of sorts to dance around and amuse him.
He wondered what such a fiend might sound like when he dropped an ice storm upon it.
“Yes,” he muttered quietly, staring into the flames as if looking for such a creature there in the palm of his hand.
His attention was diverted then by movement down the corridor. He turned his head to look at it, thinking to dismiss the ball of fire, but before he even began that dispelling, he recognized that it was Sahvin approaching up the long corridor.
Shontiq nodded in greeting, thinking the female was waving at him.