Robert Salvatore - Sea of Swords

“Even if it does not, our enemies will not expect us in here, behind them. Come along.”

And so they went, higher and higher inside the mountain. Soon they heard the booming voices of huge humanoids, growing louder and louder as they ascended.

A short, slightly descending tunnel branched off the chute, with some heat rising, and the booming voices coming in loud and clear with it.

Drizzt waited for Regis to get up level with him in this wider area, then he moved along the side passage, coming to an opening above the low-burning embers of a wide hearth.

The opening of that hearth was somewhat higher than the bottom of the angling tunnel, so Drizzt could see into the huge room beyond, where three ogres, one an exotic, violet-skinned female, were rushing around, strapping on belts and testing weapons.

To the side of the room, Drizzt clearly marked another well-worn passage, sloping upward. The drow backed up to where Regis was waiting.

“Up,” he whispered.

He paused and pulled off his waterskin, wetted the top of his shirt and pulled it over the bottom half of his face to ward off the smoke. Helping Regis do likewise, Drizzt started away.

Barely thirty feet higher, the pair came to a hub of sorts. The main chute continued upward, but five side chambers broke off at various heights and angles, with heat and some smoke coming back at the pair. Also, these side tunnels were obviously hand cut, and fashioned by smaller hands than those of an ogre.

Drizzt motioned for Regis to slowly follow, then crept along the tunnel he figured was heading most directly to the north.

The fire in this hearth was burning brighter, though fortunately the wood was not very wet and not much smoke was coming up. Also, the angle of the chimney to the hearth was steeper, and so Drizzt could not see into the room beyond.

The drow spent a moment tying his long hair back and wetting it, then he knelt, took a deep breath, and went over head first, creeping like a spider down the side of the chute until he could poke his face out under the top lip of the hearth, the flames burning not far below him and with sparks rising up and stinging him.

This room appeared very different from the chamber of the ogres below. It was full of fine furniture and carpets, and with a lavish bed. A door stood across the way, partly opened and leading into another room. Drizzt couldn't make out much in there, but he did discern a few tables, covered with equipment like one might see in an alchemical workshop. Also, across that second room loomed another door, heavier in appearance, and with daylight creeping in around it.

Now he was intrigued, but out of time, for he had to retreat from the intense heat.

He got back to Regis at the hub and described what he had seen.

“We should go outside and try to spot the others,” the halfling suggested, and Drizzt was nodding his agreement when they heard a loud voice echo along one of the other side passages.

“Bloog crunch! No take Bloog's new hammer!”

Off went the drow, Regis following right behind. They came to another steep chute at another hearth, this one hardly burning. Drizzt inverted and poked his head down.

There stood an ogre, a gigantic, ugly, and angry beast, swinging Aegis-fang easily at the end of one arm. Behind it, talking to the ogre in soothing tones, stood a slender elf swordsman.

Without even waiting for Regis, the drow flipped himself over to the fireplace, straddling the embers for a moment, then boldly striding out into the room.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The three friends ran along the ridge at full speed, veering away from the lip when they heard the ruckus of ogre reinforcements charging out from the mound below. They had to veer even farther from the straight path when a second group of beasts came off the mound above the ridgeline, charging up through the snow.

“Probably many more within,” Catti-brie remarked.

“More the reason to go!” snarled Bruenor.

“Drizzt and Regis are likely already nearing the place, if not already in,” Wulfgar added.

The woman, bow in hand, motioned forward.

“Ye gonna call up that cat?” Bruenor asked.

Catti-brie glanced at her belt, where she had set the figurine of Guenhwyvar. “As we near,” she answered. Bruenor only nodded, trusting her implicitly, and rushed off after Wulfgar.

Up ahead, Wulfgar ducked suddenly as another ogre leaped off the mound, across a short ravine to the sloping ridgeline, the brute coming at him with a great swing of a heavy club.

Easily dodging, Wulfgar kicked out and slashed, cutting a deep gash in back of the brute's shoulder. The ogre started to turn, but then lurched wildly as Bruenor came in hard, smashing his axe through the brute's kneecap.

Down it went, howling.

“Finish it, girl!” Bruenor demanded, running past, running for the mound. The dwarf skittered to a stop, though, foiled by the ravine separating the mound from the slope, which was too far across for him to jump.

Then Bruenor had to dive to the side as a rock sailed at him from a position along the side of that mound, just up above him.

Wulfgar came past, roaring “Tempus!” and making the leap across the ravine. The barbarian crashed along some rocks, but settled himself quickly onto a narrow trail winding its way up along the steep slope.

“Should've thrown me first,” Bruenor grumbled, and he dived aside again as another rock crashed by.

The dwarf did pick out a path that would get him to the winding trail, but he knew he would be far behind Wulfgar by that point. “Girl! I need ye!” he howled.

He turned back to see the fallen ogre shudder again as another arrow buried itself deep into its skull.

Catti-brie rushed up, falling to one knee and setting off a stream of arrows at the concealed rock-thrower. The brute popped up once more, rock high over its head, but it fell away as an arrow sizzled past.

Catti-brie and Bruenor heard the roars of battle as Wulfgar reached the brute. Off ran the dwarf, while Catti-brie dropped the onyx figurine to the ground, called for the cat, then put her bow right back to work. For on a ledge high above Wulfgar's position, a new threat had arrived, a group of archers firing bows instead of hurling boulders.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Is it them?” Morik the Rogue asked, pushing against the unyielding door of Bellany's private chambers. He looked up at the swelled wood and understood that the sorceress had magically sealed it. “Bellany?”

In response, the door seemed to exhale and shrink to normal size, and Morik crept through.

“Bellany?”

“I believe your friend and his companions have come to retrieve the warhammer,” came a voice from right in front of Morik. He nearly jumped out of his boots, for he could not see the woman standing before him.

“Wizards,” he muttered as he settled down. “Where is Sheila Kree?”

There came no answer.

“Did you just shrug?” the rogue surmised.

Bellany's ensuing giggle told him she had.

“What of you, then?” Morik asked. “Are you to hide up here, or join in the fray?”

“Sheila instructed me to divine the source of the commotion, and so I have,” the invisible sorceress answered.

A smile widened on Morik's face. He understood well what Bellany's cryptic answer meant. She was waiting to see who would win out before deciding her course. The rogue's respect for the sorceress heightened considerably at that moment.

“Have you another such enchantment?” he asked. “For me?”

Bellany was spellcasting before he ever finished the question. In a few moments Morik, too, vanished from sight.

“A minor enchantment only,” Bellany explained. “It will not last for long.”