Robert Salvatore - The Two Swords

Kaer'lic bowed low. "Farewell, King of Dark Arrows."

Obould paused just a moment to consider the title, then turned on his heel and marched away.

"One surprise after another," Tos'un remarked when he was gone.

"I am not so surprised anymore," said Kaer'lic. "It was our mistake in underestimating Obould. It will not happen again."

"Let us just go back into the tunnels of the upper Underdark, or find another region in need of our playful cunning."

Kaer'lic's expression did not shift in the least. Eyes narrowed, as if throwing darts at the departing Obould, the priestess mulled over all the information. She thought of her lost companions, then simply let go of them, as was the drow way. She considered Obould's attitude, however, so disrespectful toward the dead drow and toward the Spider Queen. It was not so easy to let go of some things.

"I would speak with Tsinka before we leave," Kaer'lic remarked.

"Tsinka?" came Tos'un's skeptical response. "She is a fool even by orc standards."

"That is how I like my orcs," Kaer'lic answered. "Predictable and stupid."

* * * * *

Later that same day, after casting many spells of creation and imbuing a certain item with a particular dweomer, Kaer'lic sat on a stone opposite the orc priestess. Tsinka regarded her carefully and suspiciously, which she had expected, of course.

"You were not pleased by King Obould's decision to abandon Mithral Hall to the dwarves," Kaer'lic bluntly stated.

"It is not my place to question He-who-is-Gruumsh."

"Is he? Is it the will of Gruumsh to leave dwarves in peace? I am surprised by this."

Tsinka's face twisted in silent frustration and Kaer'lic knew she had hit a nerve here.

"It is often true that when a conqueror makes great gains, he becomes afraid," Kaer'lic explained. "He suddenly has so much more to lose, after all."

"He-who-is-Gruumsh fears nothing!" shrieked the volatile shaman.

Kaer'lic conceded that with a nod. "But likely, King Obould will need more than the prodding of Tsinka to fulfill the will of Gruumsh," the drow said.

The shaman eyed Kaer'lic curiously.

Smiling wickedly, Kaer'lic reached into her belt pouch and pulled forth a small spider-shaped fastener, holding it up before the orc.

"For the straps of a warrior's armor," she explained.

Tsinka seemed both intrigued and afraid.

"Take it," Kaer'lic offered. "Fasten your cloak with it. Or just press it against your skin. You will understand."

Tsinka took the fastener and held it close, and Kaer'lic secretly mouthed a word to release the spells she had placed in contingency upon the fastener.

Tsinka's eyes widened as she felt an infusion of courage and power. She closed her eyes and basked in the warmth of the item, and Kaer'lic used that opportunity to cast another spell upon the orc, an enchantment of friendship that put Tsinka fully at ease.

"The blessing of Lady Lolth," Kaer'lic explained. "She who would see the dwarves routed from Mithral Hall."

Tsinka moved the fastener back out and stared at it curiously. "This will drive He-who-is-Gruumsh back to the dwarven halls to complete the conquest?"

"That alone? Of course not. But I have many of them. And you and I will prod him, for we know that King Obould's greatest glories lay yet before him."

The shaman continued to stare glassy-eyed at the brooch for some time. Then she looked at her new best friend, her smile wide.

Kaer'lic tried hard to make her smile seem reciprocal rather than superior. The drow didn't worry about it too much, though, for Tsinka considered her trustworthy, thought Kaer'lic to be her new best friend.

The drow priestess wondered how Obould might view that friendship.

The walls of Mithral Hall seemed to press in on him as never before. Ivan and Pikel had returned that morning with the news of Delly and of Drizzt, bringing a conflicted spin of emotions to the big man. Wulfgar sat in the candlelight, his back against the stone wall, his eyes unblinking but unseeing as his mind forced him through the memories of the previous months.

He replayed his last conversations with Delly, and saw them in the light of the woman's desperation. How had he missed the clues, the overt cry for help?

He couldn't help but grimace as he considered his responses to Deity's plea that they go to Silverymoon or one of the other great cities. He had so diminished her feelings, brushing them away with a promise of a holiday.

"You cannot blame yourself for this," Catti-brie said from across the room, drawing Wulfgar out of his contemplation.

"She did not wish to stay here," he answered.

Catti-brie walked over and sat on the bed beside him. "Nor did she want to run off into the wild orc lands. It was the sword, and I think myself the fool for leaving it out in the open, where it could catch anyone walking by."

"Delly was leaving," Wulfgar insisted. "She could not tolerate the dark tunnels of dwarves. She came here full of hope for a better life, and found …" His voice trailed off in a great sigh.

"So she decided to cross the river with the other folk. And she took your child with her."

"Colson was as much Delly's as my own. Her claim was no less. She took Colson because she thought it would be best for the girl—of that, I have no doubt."

Catti-brie put her hand on Wulfgar's forearm. He appreciated the touch.

"And Drizzt is alive," he said, looking into her eyes and managing a smile. "There is good news, too, this day."

Catti-brie squeezed his forearm and matched his smile.

She didn't know how to respond, Wulfgar realized. She didn't know what to say or what to do. He had lost Delly and she had found Drizzt in a dwarf's single sentence! Sorrow, sympathy, hope, and relief so obviously swirled inside her as they swirled inside him, and she feared that if the balance tilted too positively, she would be minimizing his loss and showing disrespect.

Her concern about his feelings reminded Wulfgar of how great a friend she truly was to him. He put his other hand atop hers and squeezed back, then smiled more sincerely and nodded.

"Drizzt will find Obould and kill him," he said, strength returning to his voice. "Then he will return to us, where he belongs."

"And we're going to find Colson," Catti-brie replied.

Wulfgar took a deep breath, needing it to settle himself before he just melted down hopelessly.

All of Mithral Hall was searching for the toddler in the hopes that Delly had not taken her out. Dwarves had gone down to the Surbrin, despite the freezing rain that was falling in torrents, trying to get a message across the way to the ferry pilots to see if any of them had noted the child.

"The weather will break soon," Catti-brie said. "Then we will go and find your daughter."

"And Drizzt," Wulfgar replied.

Catti-brie grinned and gave a little shrug. "He'll find us long before that, if I'm knowing Drizzt."

"With Obould's head in hand," Wulfgar added.

It was a little bit of hope, at least, on as dark a day as Wulfgar, son of Beornegar, had ever known.

* * * * *

"… orc-brained, goblin-sniffing son of an ogre and a rock!" Bruenor fumed. He stalked about his audience hall, kicking anything within reach.

"Hee hee hee," said Pikel.

Ivan shot his brother a look and motioned for him to be silent.

"Someone get me armor!" Bruenor roared. "And me axe! Got me a few hunnerd smelly orcs to kill!"

"Hee hee hee."

Ivan cleared his throat to cover his brother's impertinence. They had just informed King Bruenor of Drizzt's intentions, how the drow had taken the magical sword and Ivan's hand crossbow and had gone off after Obould.

Bruenor hadn't taken the news well.

Thrilled as he was that his dear friend was alive, Bruenor couldn't stand his current state of inaction. A storm was whipping up outside, with driving and freezing rain, and heavy snow at the higher elevations, and there was simply no way for Bruenor or anyone else to get out of Mithral Hall. Even if the weather had been clear, Bruenor realized that there would be little he could do to help Drizzt. The drow was astride a flying horse—how could he possibly hope to catch him?