R. Salvatore: Archmage

“Ovisin trantes vobis ohm!”

He had to work hard to keep a bubbling chuckle out of his voice when he felt the power growing within him. He could visualize his hand reaching for the Faerzress, prodding through the boundary between the planes, demanding an answer to his call.

And he felt the presence! A balor? A great one indeed-the strength of the demon resonated within him.

He reached deeper, unwittingly wounding the boundary of the Faerzress. He reached for the great power that lurked there in the shadows, just out of sight, only barely beyond his grasping thoughts. But he could stretch. .

“Dimti’ ite spem!”

Bruenor’s strike landed with an explosive sound, the vrock’s skull disintegrating beneath the tremendous weight of the blow. Another room, another corridor, secured.

“I’m thinking they runned off, elf,” he said to Drizzt.

The drow ranger could only shrug, for indeed, there was no sign of any other dark elves about. They had encountered a few demons-nothing bigger than the vulture-like vrock-and various groups of orcs or goblins, but all of those had seemed more interested in running away than in fighting.

And no drow.

“They are either laying a trap for us, or you are quite correct,” Drizzt answered. “The Forge is clear,” Catti-brie said, coming into the room to join her friends. “Toliver’s wizard eye entered and swept through the entirety of the area, and more than once.”

Drizzt was about to suggest that they should go and take the place, but he found he didn’t have to, for as soon as the woman’s message became clear, Bruenor ran off, growling with determination.

Within a very short while, Bruenor’s strike force burst into the allimportant Forge of Gauntlgrym, with Drizzt, Catti-brie, and the Harpells close behind. Oretheo Spikes and a brigade of Wilddwarves fanned out to one flank, Bungalow Thump taking the Gutbusters the other way. “King Emerus should be here,” Bruenor decided as soon as they determined that the room was clear of enemies. He motioned to Mallabritches, who had served her beloved King Emerus for all her life, and she ran off for the main chamber where the gravely wounded dwarf lay. “Send an eye to the primordial chamber,” Catti-brie bade Toliver, and she pointed out the side door that led to the nearby cavern. “No need,” Bruenor insisted, and he walked right to that side door, pulled it open, and started in. Drizzt, Athrogate, Ambergris, and the wizards followed close behind. “I’m bringing three gods with me."

“Why thank ye, me king,” said Athrogate.

“Not yerself, ye dolt!” Bruenor roared, and Athrogate howled with laughter.

Down the tunnel they went, full of confidence. Bruenor didn’t even hesitate as he strode into the main chamber. Near the center of the ledge on this side of the pit, past a gigantic, inanimate jade spider-one that Catti-brie focused her attention on, for she had seen these guardians attack before-Bruenor, Drizzt, and the others found quite a surprise waiting for them.

A beautiful drow woman sat upon the altar stone, seeming quite at ease-though an occasional wince betrayed the hatred that was in her heart.

Bruenor’s entourage fanned out wide, while Drizzt and Catti-brie remained close to the red-bearded dwarf’s side, Catti-brie alternating her wary glance from the drow female to that jade spider, and to another gigantic green arachnid statue standing guard across the way, near the collapsed tunnel where Catti-brie had struck down Dahlia a couple of years earlier.

“And you are the famous Drizzt Do’Urden,” the beautiful drow said, not hiding her contempt. “I congratulate you on being alive, though I doubt it will last all that long.”

All the dwarves and Harpells went deeper into their crouches then, expecting some catastrophe to erupt.

“Short when measured against the lifespan of a drow, I mean,” the matron mother clarified. “Fear not, Drizzt Do’Urden, or you, King Bruenor Battlehammer. There is no battle to be found. You have won back Gauntlgrym. My people, House Xorlarrin, are gone.”

“You are Matron Mother Zeerith Xorlarrin?” Drizzt asked.

The woman stood and bowed.

“And ye waited here to be catched?” Bruenor asked doubtfully.

“I awaited your arrival that we might come to terms,” she replied.

“Terms o’ yer surrender?”

She bowed again. “It is a simple matter,” she said. “I will leave you, the members of House Xorlarrin beside me, and we will not return. .” She paused and smiled. “Let us use the terms of demonic banishment,” she added slyly, “for that seems fitting at this time. We will not return to challenge you for this place you call Gauntlgrym until at least a century has passed.”

“From where I’m looking, I got me a prisoner that’s worth the peace,” Bruenor replied. “For one what’s been beaten, ye’re asking a high price, even in just thinking I’m to let ye go.”

He meant every word, all knew, and why would he not? King Connerad was dead, along with many Gutbusters and hundreds of dwarves from the Silver Marches who had given their lives to drive the drow from Gauntlgrym. King Emerus lay near death, and none of the priests truly expected him to survive.

“Or might that we take yer ugly head now, eh?” Bruenor said. “Queen o’ this city. .”

“Matron Mother,” she corrected. “Zeerith Xorlarrin.”

“What’er ye might call yerself!” Bruenor snapped at her. “Ye bringed me pain, and now ye’re askin’ me to just let ye walk away?”

“I only remained to seal the truce, to accept the terms of surrender.”

“Terms yerself ’s namin’!”

“Behold,” Zeerith said, and she turned to her left, away from the primordial pit, and waved her hand at the magical webbing. It parted obediently, revealing three forms hanging by filaments, and with swarms of ugly spiders the size of a dwarf’s fat hand ready to descend upon them, poison-dripping mandibles clattering eagerly.

Gasps arose from all about. There hung Kenneally and Tuckernuck Harpell, somehow alive. And no jaw fell lower than that of Bruenor Battlehammer, for the third prisoner hanging in that deadly trap was none other than Stokely Silverstream of Icewind Dale.

“Bah!” Bruenor snorted, and it took all of his discipline to not leap out and behead Matron Mother Zeerith Xorlarrin on the spot.

“Their bite is quite poisonous, and quite deadly, even to a dwarf,” Zeerith assured them. “And for all the delicate skin they will tear in such numbers, will they even need the poison, I wonder?”

“They die and I’m throwin’ ye into the pit,” Bruenor promised.

“Spare me your idle threats,” Zeerith replied, and she looked to Cattibrie and the Harpells and waggled her finger, warning them from thinking a small fireball might save their friends.

“I have offered the terms,” Zeerith said. “Understand that I could already be long gone from this place, and could have left behind three corpses to bring your tears.”

“Then why’d ye stay?” Bruenor demanded. This didn’t make much sense to him, particularly in light of the fact that this was a powerful drow matron mother standing in front of him. He had heard enough tales from Drizzt, and indeed, had battled these ferocious and fanatical priestesses before.

But Drizzt, who had been pulled from his unconscious state and guided into battle, figured it out then, and he said, “Jarlaxle,” without a hint of doubt in his voice.

Zeerith didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

Bruenor turned a puzzled expression upon Drizzt, who nodded.

“Agreed, dwarf?” Zeerith asked a moment later.

“Ye come back in a hunnerd years and I’ll be here,” Bruenor replied. “And don’t ye doubt that I’ll be throwin’ ye into that pit then.”