Part 3: Drizzt
Drizzt Do’Urden, my son, my friend, and student. Perhaps the only good deed I had ever done in my twisted, cowardly existence in Menzoberranzan.
How often have I wished to see your smile, hear your smile, feel the rush of air as your scimitars meet my swords in a training session? Even in my heaven, I have watched you, watched your movements through the Material Plane, and my heart has swelled with pride.
Perhaps it was your smile, Drizzt, that had prompted me to help you, to defend your passion with my words and actions against Matron Malice’s corruptions.
Perhaps the same smile preserved you in your ten years in the Academy, that allowed you to emerge, untouched, by its foul speeches and deeds.
Perhaps it was that smile that gave me back my heart, above the lake of acid where we fought, relentless, while you tried to take me back from the controls of your evil mother.
Vierna, your sister, who was finally taken by Lloth to go against you. Would that she had escaped, as you did. Would that your smile have found its twin on her beautiful face.
She was not always so evil, I know. At birth, she too, could laugh, could smile, that same innocence I saw later on your face, was apparent in hers. The conclusion of the battles I fought with Malice over her was inevitable, I suppose, but that does not lessen the guilt, the guilt that doubled when I saw what you have become.
Would Vierna have become so too, if I had won?
In my heart, I hoped so, I hoped that she would survive the Academy. That was the source of all my cutting denouciations of your being a dancer, not a drow warrior, my anger when you exclaimed that you would carve your name on the walls of Melee-Magthere.
For your sister had not survived. Dared I hope that you would, too?
Your spirit, perhaps, uncrushable. Your morals... My morals, held you up, took you high enough above the web of deceit and treachery, so that you could see the wrongs around you, and escape.
Drizzt Do’Urden, my greatest achievement.
-- Zaknafein Do’Urden
“Fly up, griffin!” Zaknafein yelled at his sleeping companion.
With a startled squawk, Niranyarr awoke, and automatically launched himself into the air. Two flaming arrows thudded where he had been sleeping. With a protesting hiss, the fire quenched itself in the cooling ground.
Niranyarr looked down in confusion, to a few small, yarring shapes that lurked in the trees. Zak was no where to be seen.
Then his location was revealed by a piercing squeal from one of the shapes. The hunters had become the hunted, and more squeals were heard.
“Drow! Drow!” one screamed, then was abruptly cut off.
Niranyarr bounded next to the dark elf, swatting away another of the small, doglike creatures that were armed with short swords and bows.
The fight ended rather quickly, as the creatures were not good at defending themselves. Emerging back into the sunlight of the afternoon, Niranyarr kicked at one of the prone bodies.
“Sneaking rats,” he commented.
“Not rats. Kobolds,” Zak replied. He remembered them as drow slaves in Menzoberranzan, though he had known them to exist on the surface, he did not know why they carried such elaborate weapons.
“Zak?” The griffin asked, bending over one of the bodies.
Zaknafein walked over to look at what the griffin was holding, and then he shivered.
A necklace with a spider pendant hung on the leader of the kobolds.
“Lloth,” Zak spat out the name as if a curse. So she had been behind the myriad of attacks that they two had endured when they reached this place. Zak had known it was she during the fight with the sword spiders, but did not know about the others.
“Spider Queen?” Niranyarr asked, examining the trinket.
“So she has been behind this,” Zak said slowly, resigned. He should have expected it.
“More fun for us then,” Niranyarr grinned, then flew back over the river.
“Nasty things,” he stated his firm opinion of kobolds, then curled back up to sleep.
Zak merely shook his head in disbelief.
They had followed the directions, and now looked over a shining pool of clear water. It had been two days of almost continuous travel, and now, looking at their destination, Zak felt a strong sense of satisfaction.
The cave loomed beside the pool, a huge cavernous opening that revealed the innermost secrets of the mountain that housed it.
There was a golden glow inside, a glow that spoke of treasure beyond imagining.
The treasure of Rakaroajirac, the Dwarvenbane.
Skirting the pool quietly, Zak came to a stop in front of the cavern, carefully peering inside.
The cavern, a huge tunnel, snaked abruptly, with only the insistent glow to hint of the dragon inside. Stalagmites stuck out from the floor like a dragon’s teeth, towering above even Niranyarr, their cold stone showing an unremarkable gray in the dark elf’s infravision.
Strange pillar-like structures showed in the cave, formed when stalactites touched the stalagmites on the ground to form something that resembled two giant fangs, touching gently, yet firmly.
Yet broken stone littered the floor, in a clear passage to the inside, claw marks raking that path. Zak pointed to the marks, and said somberly, “Rakaroajirac.”
Niranyarr bobbed his head, then impulsively put his talons next to a claw mark. The owner of the claw could easily hold both the griffin and the dark elf.
“You stay here,” Zak said firmly.
Niranyarr crossed his claws over his chest stubbornly.
Zak sighed and tried again, “The fire may not hurt me when I change. The dragon will hurt you though.”
“Seems I heard this before, Zak.” Niranyarr said calmly.
Zak wrung his hands in exasperation. It was no time to argue, and he gave in.
“Oh, all right,” he grumbled, and led the way in, noiselessly.
The small, assorted group came into a clearer sight of the farming village now.
“They’ll know the way to the dragon’s cave,” the dark elf said.
“Then we ask them the way,” the dwarf replied, stumping down to the village.
The dark elf pulled his hood more tightly over his head, to shield his eyes from the hot afternoon sun and also to conceal his drow heritage.
They walked into the street that was filled with the comings and goings of villagers that eyed them dispassionately and then continued on their way.
A big man strode up to them. “Your business in the village of Rimar?” he asked importantly.
“The dragon,” the dwarf stated succinctly
“The red dragon, you say? Funny thing, a drow elf and a griffin passed this way two days ago, also looking for it. A strange pair,” the man added, oblivious to the hooded figure, “The evil elves don’t ever go looking for this kind of trouble.”
“You know somethin’?” the man said conspiratorially, “Ain’t a bad thing if they’re dead now, but the lone drow got a good chance, by me looks. Snapped an arrow out of the air like a fly with one of his swords.”
“Where’s the dragon?” the dwarf asked impatiently.
The man shrugged, then proceeded to detail the way.
He paused at the end, as if remembering something. “Another funny thing, I’ve heard that dark elves don’t like the sun. But that day, it was bright day, and the drow didn’t wear a hood or anything, and he didna seem to mind the sun. Strange isn’t it?”
The man shook his head, then strode away.
Mystified, the small group walked on out of the village. “Dark elf eh?” the dwarf chuckled. “Yer kind’s bin poking their noses where they don’t belong, me friend.”
The dark elf nodded absently as he considered the information. “I find it very peculiar, especially the part about him being able to see in the day.”
“Mayhap his eyes are better than yours, Drizzt,” the girl bantered.
“The drow ran away when the sun came up in Mithril Hall, Catti-brie. I agree with Drizzt,” the halfling said seriously.
“What’s one more drow? He gets in our way, we squash him,” Bruenor, the dwarf, declared.
The halfling, Regis, did not smile. “Drow elves have many nasty tricks... sorry Drizzt... and whatever this one is doing here, I don’t like it.”
“Whatever he’s doing, he’s not gonna beat us to the dragon.” Bruenor said, walking on.
“He has a lead of a few days,” Drizzt pointed out.
“Suren one drow and one griffin aren’t going to defeat a red dragon,” Catti-brie said doubtfully, and the four walked leisurely on.
“Yer drow, elf?” Bruenor asked, pointing at the bodies of the strange, giant blue spiders, lying bloated in the sun with his mithril axe.
They had been cut apart by wicked, precise slices, knife-like scratches and heavy blows, the latter two the handiwork of a powerful beast Drizzt presumed was the griffin.
Drizzt nodded, pulling out Twinkle next to one of the cuts as a contrast. “A blade,” he confirmed, “Sword, by its look.”
“The dark elf travels fast,” Regis observed. The deaths of the spiders were recent.
Catti-brie was holding Taulmaril the Heart-seeker in one hand, an arrow notched, looking nervously at the dark, forbidding woods that did not allow the revealing beams of sunlight to pierce their darkness. The looming trees seemed to be alive, dripping with malevolent evil, claws reaching out hungrily to them.
“Tracks,” she heard Drizzt announce, and saw him pointing to the other side of the river.
“Ain’t got no boat, how did the stinkin’ elf keep jumping back an’ forth?” Bruenor groused.
Drizzt shrugged, and agilely leaped across to a rock, then picked his way through. “The tracks lead southwards,” he said.
Bruenor simply waded across, oblivious to the current, strong and sturdy as mountain rock, holding Regis above the water, while Catti-brie followed Drizzt’s route.
The forest of dead trees stretched further to the south, and the four of them kept coming across slashed bodies of monsters.
“The drow’s good at attracting trouble,” Catti-brie observed.
“Bah! He’d been leaving none for us,” Bruenor grumbled, kicking at the body of a gibberling, its matted hair and purple, distorted body swelling in the heat.
It too, like the spiders, had been killed, by a single neat stroke to the heart.
Drizzt was reminded of the time he had spent in the Underdark with Belwar Dissengulp, the Most Honored Burrow-Warden, and shifted uncomfortably. The cuts looked vaguely familiar.
Zak entered the cave, floating silently, while Niranyarr followed.
They had never seen such splendor. Almost every inch of the enormous cavern was covered with rich treasure, gold coins and trinkets, crowns and necklaces. The heap of treasure shimmered, giving out their glow of promise.
Niranyarr’s talons closed reflexively as he considered a few of the baubles. That necklace, perhaps. Or that ring...
Zaknafein’s eyes were fixed on a single sword, sheathed in a scabbard decorated with images of fire and encrusted with precious stones. Its hilt was of purest mitril, and scribed with the runes of fire. The belt on which the scabbard was attached had another sheath that was empty.
Then their eyes widened as they looked on the sleeping dragon.
Rakaroajirac was covered in shining red scales from head to tail, creamy white horns arching backwards from his face, ending in cruel points. His eyes, almost as big as Zak’s head, were firmly shut, a fact that Zak was thankful for.
His great sail-like wings were folded over his back, while his claws crossed each other in front of him, his massive head resting on them. He almost filled the enormous chamber, and his tail snaked away from sight behind a stone formation.
Wisps of smoke, evidence of his fiery breath, rose from his nostrils, while his great chest rose and fell gently in slumber.
Strangely, he did resemble Morikan, and Zak’s resolve to kill the beast crumbled slightly. Insubstantial, he floated over the treasure, to pick up Scorcher from the heap.
The dragon’s eyes snapped open suddenly. Rakaroajirac could tell when his most precious belongings were touched, and his serpentine head whipped around to see Niranyarr.
With a shriek of outrage, he blasted the griffin with a tongue of searing flame that melted some of his golden coins.
Niranyarr immediately launched into the air, up and away from the killing flame, his feathers slightly singed but otherwise all right. Landing behind the dragon, on his neck, his gloved claws bit into the scales, as he tried to claw his way through to the dragon’s flesh.
Zak sighed, and drew his weapons to materialize and leap up the bulk of the dragon to its neck, jabbing his swords into the flesh as the serpentine neck thrashed in agony and rage.
Niranyarr climbed slowly upwards with his claws, to look down into the glare of the dragon’s deep, beautiful orbs that burned with anger and hatred.
Alarmingly, Rakaroajirac reared upwards, trying to crush the griffin with the ceiling. Hurriedly, Niranyarr leapt off, taking out his hand crossbow, to fire two precise bolts into the dragon’s eyes.
Screaming and blinded, Rakaroajirac slapped out with one claw, that clipped the griffin’s left wing to send him spinning, dazed, to slam against the walls.
A flick of the serpentine neck made Zak slam against the golden floor, breath knocked out of his lungs. He quickly rolled out of the way as a claw crashed into his position, catching and tearing off his sword belt.
Zak stopped on a familiar object. Scorcher. He drew the sword, and charged at the dragon. The flames bathed him and melted more of the gold, but Zak emerged unharmed. Scorcher burned bright red as it bit into the dragon’s neck, and Rakaroajirac screamed.
Zak had become insubstantial when the flame reached him.
Backing backwards with alarming speed, the dragon lowered his head to give another scorching blast. It was just what Zak had been waiting for, and he took out his leaden rod with one hand, and threw it into the gaping maw.
The rod stuck fast, for Zak had spent the afternoons sharpening its edge. Rakaroajirac screamed in pain, the flames emerging anyway, then screamed again when the melted lead burned down his throat, to sear his insides.
The rod had been Zak’s trump. That trick had been tried in legend before, in the books of dragon lore.
Zak leapt forward again, scorcher stabbing relentlessly at the dragon’s chest, avoiding Rakaroajirac’s thrashes.
Niranyarr had gotten up from his fall, but could only watch in awe as the lone dark elf chopped into the dragon with his flaming sword, while the dragon mouth bled liquid lead.
Then Zak saw the single, pumping baglike thing through the bleeding chest, and with a shout of triumph, he plunged Scorcher in.
The dragon’s death throes stopped abruptly with a final, earsplitting shriek that Zak thought would have echoed off the Spine of the World.
Grinning, Zak drew out the sword, and looked at its blade, red with dragon’s blood, and then almost dropped the sword in surprise as the red blood seeped into its actually colorless blade, staining it bright red.
A sudden power rang through the sword and into Zak’s hand, the blade flaring once again into an intense red light, sealing it to its master.
Awed, Zak barely heard Niranyarr, coming up behind him. “You crazy, elf.” He commented, looking at the immense, prone form in front of him. “A red... I’ll never have believed it possible!”
Zak smiled, and then the two started the more pleasant task of rifling through the treasure pile. Zak found a suit of dwarven-crafted chain mail,lightweight and tingling with enchantment, where Scorcher had been. He strapped on the sword then took another jewel-encrusted sword as its companion. He pocketed a few more gold coins, just for luck, then looked over at his friend.
Niranyarr was happily rooting about the chamber, talons filled with necklaces and rings. He finally bounded back up, emptying the stuff inside his backpack, holding up a strange ring, and a scroll.
The oddly shaped ring resembled a gate, and Zak felt its powerful magic. “We better not use ring until we know it,” the griffin said, then handed over the scroll.
Zak opened it carefully, the fragile thing almost collapsing from age. It showed an ancient picture of a few mountains and cities, with old names like “Foreste of Darke Magick”. More important was a name: “Sea of Moving Ice.”
A large ‘X’ sat on the “Mountainnes of Ice”, with a drawing of a blue sword on top of it.
“Frostbite,’ Zak said in excitement, pulling out his own, more modern map, and transferring the ‘X’ onto it.
“There’s more on the side,” Niranyarr said, turning over the scroll.
Zak read it out, “He who slayeth cursed Rakaroajirac with Scorcher wilt give the red sword the dragon’s power. If ye raise the red sword with honor, then seek ye the blue one, its twin, in the Mountains of Ice.”
“The blue sword hath been given Iragkragfaran’s strength, with our curse. If ye have heart enough, defeat its guardians, to claim yer prize.”
“Cross ye the Twin swords on your moment of victory, and ye will see the truth.” With that cryptic line, the rest of the scroll had faded.
“The Spine of the World,” Niranyarr said with a resigned voice.
“Ay, griffin, and we go there next!” Zak laughed, starting out of the cavern door into the welcoming sun outside.
They rested by the pool outside the cavern, then continued on their way. Back up the fork of the river, until they once again saw the bleak, dead forest in front of them.
Zak laughed at Niranyarr’s rather inaccurate account of the dragon, and laughed again when he took out some of the amulets to try them on.
Lighthearted and victorious, the two friends moved on down the river, bantering and jesting.
“Ring is strange,” Niranyarr commented finally, taking out the gate-shaped ring. “Cannot put claw in, hole big enough.” He demonstrated by trying to poke a claw inside the hole, but some unseen force blocked it.
Zak took the ring and tried, also failing. “Dwarven craft,” he said, looking carefully at its inscriptions. “And very old, at its looks.”
Niranyarr bobbed his head. “Try on dwarf,” he suggested. Griffins had a great curiosity about magical items.
“We’ll have to catch one first,” Zak suggested dryly, then handed back the ring and continued up the river.
They continued at leisure now, although but half of their quest had been completed. Zak was content, often fingering the hilt of Scorcher. Strangely, it burned with bright red flame whenever he touched it, and repelled the talons of Niranyarr.
Zak wore the enchanted, dwarven crafted chain mail, that fit as well as drow crafted ones. It seemed to blend perfectly with his patterned Master cloak and his boots, as well as the scabbard hanging by his side. The belt he had picked up from the cave had a single buckle of a silver dragon holding its tail.
Zak thought that very appropriate.
They came across an ogre the next day. Strangely, or perhaps not that surprising, it was wearing armor, and held a two-handed sword. Roaring, it charged straight at Zak.
Zaknafein’s weapons appeared in his hands as he parried the first strokes. The ogre was skilled, and his strokes, containing great strength, crashed again and again on Zak’s defenses.
Zak’s swords flickered and darted, parrying and thrusting, making and taking advantage of holes in the ogre’s defense.
Its clumsy sword did not match against the flickering dance of Zaknafein, Scorcher burning in his hand as he slapped away another blow to nick at the ogre’s leg.
Niranyarr watched silently from the side at the dark elf’s swordplay.
Likewise, unknown to the two, four other pairs of eyes watched from the dark forest of dead trees.
“He’s good,” Regis said quietly, as the other four watched the lone elf.
“The elf’s got Scorcher!” Bruenor exclaimed suddenly, watching the red, burning sword.
“Who?” Drizzt asked absently, trying vainly to look around the ogre, to see the drow’s face. The strokes of the twin swords were painfully familiar, but his heart denied the possibility.
“One of the Twin Swords. Made by dwarves and dragons. The last I heard of the tales, it was with the red dragon that helped to forge it.” Regis said.
“Suren Rakaroajirac was the dragon, then. Then the drow’s...” Catti-brie stopped in an awed silence.
“Killed it?” Regis squeaked, in relief.
Drizzt’s mind was in a confused whirl of emotions. Only one drow he knew would be remotely capable of such a feat. Only one could move with such grace.
But what was happening now, that the drow was back?
They watched as the lone drow feinted with the jeweled, normal sword, then cunningly twisted Scorcher around. The normal sword flashed under the ogre’s parry, and both swords dived simultaneously into the monster’s heart.
The ogre toppled backwards, sword falling from his grasp.
Numbly watching, his heart pounded as Drizzt watched the familiar cut of the other drow’s features. Saw the griffin come over to say something that brought another more familiar smile to the other drow’s face.
His father had returned, and was his own master.
“Zaknafein!” Drizzt cried joyfully, leaping out of his cover to stand on the opposite bank of the river.
The pair spun at the sound, Niranyarr crouching into a defensive position. Zak stopped him with his hand.
“Drizzt.” He said simply, his eyes widening. This meeting, he did not want. Not now, not at this time. His heart hardened, as he knew what he had to do.
“Rimar,” he whispered quickly to the griffin, then disappeared into his soul form.
Niranyarr whirled in surprise, then quickly understood when he did not see Zak. Bobbing his head, he launched himself into the air, wings pumping.
Drizzt’s anguished cry of surprise cut deep into Zaknafein’s heart, but he started to turn away. Then he stopped, looking more closely at the other drow.
Drizzt looked the same as before, except that his eyes were wiser now. More confident of himself. A tightening around them showed that he had been through much grief, had seen more of the world that was not necessarily good.
Drizzt looked wildly around the other side of the bank, trying to see where Zak had gone. For a moment, he thought it had been an illusion, but the dead bulk of the ogre proved otherwise.
“Yer father?” Bruenor said, stumping out behind him, along with Catti-brie and Regis.
Drizzt could only nod, as his eyes brimmed. “Where did he go?”
Then his eyes narrowed. “Guenhwyvar,” he called, holding out the statue. “Be there,” he pointed at the opposite bank.
The mist started to change into the panther’s corporeal form just as Zak realized what was going to happen. Hurriedly, he drifted up the river.
Guenhwyvar came into view; the saucer like eyes looking at Drizzt curiously as it did not detect any danger.
“Find Zak,” Drizzt called across the river, and the panther immediately bounded away.
Being an entity of the Planes, it could see the forms of others.
It ran towards the fleeing spirit, claws digging into the soil, as it caught up quickly and sprang.
Zak yelped in surprise as the panther landed on his soul as if he were in his material form, then it sat on him, calmly licking his paw.
“Get... off me you big cat!” Zak said and swatted with his hand at Guenhwyvar. The panther ignored the feeble blow, then licked at Zak’s face.
Then it bounded aside as Niranyarr swiped viciously at it, the griffin guessing the nature of the panther’s invisible seat.
Zak materialized before the conflict blew out of hand. “Niranyarr!” he protested. The griffin stopped, as did Guenhwyvar, who had been crouching for a spring.
Drizzt had nimbly crossed the river, and hurried up to his father.
“Zaknafein?” he asked tentatively, his voice rather hurt.
Zak bit his lip, not knowing how to answer. Niranyarr looked suspiciously at the fast approaching others, and at the panther, who was continuing to lick its paw.
Zak had no wish to get involved in his son’s life. Nor did he wish Drizzt to want to get involved in his. Drizzt was not yet ready for Sanctuary, where Zaknafein now belonged.
“Father,” Drizzt continued, relentless, when he saw that Zak did not meet him with a drawn sword, as he had in the illithid cavern so long ago, in the Underdark. He saw that Zak recognized him, but was not saying anything.
Abruptly, Zak got up and began to walk away. Niranyarr was getting confused, especially by the younger drow’s last claim.
“Weapon master, what are you doing?” Drizzt cried at Zak’s retreating back, running forward to block the other dark elf when his question went unanswered.
Zak simply tried to step around Drizzt, but Drizzt leaped to block his path again, stubbornly.
“Why are you here?” Drizzt asked.
Zak gave up. “Trying to keep out of your life,” he said sincerely, squarely facing Drizzt.
Drizzt’s eyes widened in surprise, even more when he heard the sincere tone behind the words. Openmouthed, he just stared at Zak.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Zak continued curtly, starting on his way.
“No.” Drizzt jerked out of his surprise, moving again to block Zak’s way. Zak’s eyes flashed, but the younger drow held his ground stubbornly.
“I would think that my life includes my father,” Drizzt said calmly, ignoring the sudden irritated expression on Zaknafein’s face. “I do not know why you are here, or how, but you are my father, and I’ll stay with you.”
This was exactly what Zak had feared, but with an exasperated sigh, he turned to look into Drizzt’s lavender orbs.
Drizzt tensed, waiting for some sarcastic, cutting remark, and was surprised when Zak growled in his face, “Do you never listen?”
The younger drow recovered quickly. “No,” he said truthfully, and grinned.
Drizzt introduced Zaknafein to his friends, as did Zak to Niranyarr. The griffin merely seemed to take this new development in stride, often cocking his head curiously at Drizzt.
Zak had described what had happened to him as they continued up the river to Rimar, then spoke of his quest when they set up camp for night.
Drizzt, of his companions, did not look awed when Zak spoke of the dragon.
“So ye killed Rakaroajirac?” Bruenor asked.
“Yes,” Zak replied.
Bruenor sighed, “Robbed me of me fun,” he grumbled. Zak laughed, a fact that caused Drizzt to look up in surprise. His father had changed, and seemed happier now. More at peace than when he had last seen him.
Regis accepted the new drow into their party without fuss, but Catti-brie kept sneaking glances at Zak, curious and uncertain.
As if she was thinking of his reaction to her.
Zak knew all of Drizzt’s companions from his watching on the Plane of Saints, and spoke to Catti-brie sometimes, knowing why she avoided him, but she remained uncertain.
Guenhwyvar, also to Drizzt’s surprise, seemed to know Zak already. The large cat often brushed against the other elf’s legs, purring.
“Ye know of Frostbite’s location?” Bruenor asked when they set up camp that night.
Zak nodded. “Regheld glacier,” he commented.
The four companions looked at each other in surprise. “Icewind dale.” Drizzt said, the name bringing a load of mixed emotions. He remembered that first home, of meeting Catti-brie on Bruenor’s climb, of Wulfgar’s night lessons.
Niranyarr looked up from where he had been playing with Guenhwyvar, then settled back to swatting at the cat with his talons. The panther easily avoided the half-hearted swing, to rub against the griffin’s flanks.
“Then there we go,” Drizzt said firmly, looking at Zak’s face. Zak had another resigned expression, though he was secretly glad at the other’s decision.
Zak sat up for guard duty the whole night. “I am not really alive, so I do not need sleep. You do,” he added, as he watched Drizzt sit down beside him.
“Two watch better than one,” Drizzt explained easily.
Zak snorted. “Soon you’ll fall asleep,” he predicted.
Drizzt merely smiled, but after a few more hours, did just that.
“I told you,” Zak said to Drizzt’s prone body, then gently tucked him in and returned to watch the area with his infravision.
They arrived back at Rimar the next day, Zak not bothering to wear a hood, while watching his son shield his eyes from the intruding rays of the sun.
They walked into the dirt street of the village. Now the streets were crowded, and the shops open.
A familiar man came striding up to them.
“Ye killed the dragon then?” the man asked, looking at them eagerly.
Zak nodded. “The rest of the treasure’s ripe for the taking. Rimar can have it, as payment for directions.” He declared generously.
Praise be! The accursed worm’s treasure would do well for the healin’ of the land it torched.” The man said excitedly, returning to the interior of his house, shouting instructions.
“I wonder exactly how much of the share each of them will take,” Drizzt wondered.
“Fighting will start.” Niranyarr supplied.
Zak shrugged. “That’s what they get for being greedy.”
“Ye sure ye did right in givin’ them the treasure?” Catti-brie asked, one of the only sentences she had said in the day.
“It mostly belongs to me kin.” Bruenor agreed.
“The people will need it if they continue to live here,” Niranyarr rebutted, looking at the smoke drifting out of the volcanoes.
“How can they?” Regis shuddered, imagining a river of liquid fire burning its way through the russet gold of the vineyards.
“Profit,” Zak said, as if it explained everything. “But I never will understand why they place so much store on it.”
The adventurers continued out of the village that was now astir in excitement.
“Looks like a portal ring,” Bruenor grunted, as Niranyarr handed him the ring that he had taken in the dragon’s lair.
“I cannot put ring on,” the griffin said.
Zak sighed. “Griffins are overcurious about magical things.”
“Aren’t you?” Drizzt asked of his father.
“Well I suppose so, but not that curious.” Zak lied, watching Bruenor intently as the dwarf continued to examine the ring.
Bruenor easily fitted the ring on. “Now, ain’t somethin’ supposed to happen?” he wondered, looking curiously at the ring.
“Look!” Regis cried, as a mist surrounded them.
The world lurched.
The mist cleared. They were standing in what looked like a dwarven king’s court. An imposing, red-bearded dwarf sat on a jeweled throne, and armed dwarves guarded the entrance and the king. Courtiers stopped to stare and what looked like a human messenger turned around from where he had been kneeling before the king to take a look.
The chamber was large and lined with huge magical weapons of legend, glittering, of any type dwarven weapon every made. Dwarves sat on benches behind them, for the purpose of allowing the commoners to look at the court.
The king started forward as the six adventurers appeared, and after a moment of surprise, his guards came forward warily, axes raised in defense.
There was a tense moment, and then Bruenor looked up from where he had been studying the ring. He looked backwards, then turned to face the dwarven king.
“Harbromme?” he cried in surprise.
“Bruenor?” the king replied with equal surprise, “Ye taken t’ playin’ wit’ magic now?”
“Wore the durned ring, then ended up here,” Bruenor explained, taking off the ring then showing it to King Harbromme.
“A portal ring,” one of the clerics near King Harbromme identified.
“Yer stupid bird, ye couldha’ taken us to the nine hells themselves,” Bruenor roared at Niranyarr, who was looking around with curiosity at the great hall.
“Ring did not,” he replied mollifying, drawing more stares. Few had seen griffins before.
Then the stares switched to the two dark elves, unconsciously back to back, weapons drawn.
“The drow’s got Scorcher!” shouted a bard, probably, somewhere, and the dwarves looked at Zaknafein’s red sword.
Zak was beginning to get tired of this.
“Won it fair an’ square. ‘E killed the red dragon,” Bruenor said, drawing gasps from the crowd.
King Harbromme had leaned back onto his throne, thinking fast (something unusual for dwarves) then he stood up, drawing the unwanted attention back to himself.
“Leave us,” he commanded of the other dwarves in the room, and reluctantly, they complied.
When the room was empty but for the adventurers, he walked down to stand in front of them. “Is yer clan so fond of them dramatic entrances?” he asked Bruenor with a trace of his customary humor.
Bruenor grinned, remembering the story of how a member of Clan Battlehammer had stumbled into this same throne room, almost half dead in wounds, to report of Mithril Hall being under attack.
Zak and Drizzt had sheathed their weapons, to look at the King Harbromme. They were now certainly in Citadel Adbar, one of the few kingdoms of the dwarves left.
King Harbromme was a little taller than Bruenor, but not as wild looking, his red beard combed and neat, a contrast to Bruenor’s matted one. His crowned helmet was mithril, surmounted by jewels, and Bruenor’s was an old helmet with a large dent, courtesy of Wulfgar, he had explained to Zak and Niranyarr.
“Ye’ve been collectin’ drow in yer time?” Harbromme asked, looking curiously at Zak and Drizzt.
“They’re friends o’ mine. That one,” Bruenor pointed at Drizzt with one stubby finger, as though pointing towards an inanimate property, “Is Drizzt Do’Urden.”
“That one,” he continued, now pointing at Zak, “Is Zaknafein Do’Urden, the father of the other.”
Harbromme nodded, still full of questions, but waiting for Bruenor to finish the introductions.
“Regis is the halfling, and the bird’s Niranyarr Windsoarer, the griffin that got us in here,” Bruenor glared at Niranyarr, who pretended not to notice.
“And th’ last one’s Catti-brie, who came int’ this very hall demanding we help her take back Mithril Hall” Harbromme finished, with a wink at the now-blushing Catti-brie.
“Welcome all, then. Ye wanna tell my court the story of how you got the dragon?” Harbromme smiled at Zak, who was self-consciously fingering Scorcher’s hilt, “They’re all probably dyin’ for the tale.”
Zaknafein shrugged. He didn’t see any harm in the offer, and being at Adbar meant that they had saved weeks of travel back from the Mountains of Lava.
“Even if a drow killed the dragon?” Zak asked.
“Especially if the drow’s th’ father o’ Drizzt Do’Urden,” Harbromme replied, with a sly glance at Drizzt, who was twisting his foot on the ground.
Zak grinned at Drizzt. “Perhaps Niranyarr would prefer to tell the tale,” he suggested.
Harbromme clapped his hands, and the rest of the court trooped back in. The strange dwarf king walked over back to his throne, and motioned for Bruenor and the others to take the seats of honor.
Harbromme whispered something to a dwarf at the side of his throne, and the dwarf, probably one of the more unlikely looking heralds Zak had ever seen, formally (for a dwarf) announced their names grandly to the court.
“Niranyarr’s decided to grace us wit’ a story of how he and th’ drow defeated th’ dragon,” Harbromme announced at the end, then motioned for the griffin to walk to the center of the hall.
Niranyarr got up gracefully, then padded over to the appropriate place. He paused dramatically.
“Where should I start?” he wondered aloud, “Zaknafein was honor bound, to retrieve the Twin Swords of the dwarven kin, your kin, as a quest.” Leaving it as that, he continued, “We learned the location of the foul dragon’s lair in Silverymoon, and through a tremendous fight with a sorcerer in the Nomad Plains.” Gasps around the griffin told him that the dwarves had heard of the trouble over there, “made that evil mage take us to the Everflame.”
Niranyarr passed quickly over their trip to the cave, then started to describe the cave itself. “The cave was large, a filled with treasure that covered every bit of its huge floor, treasure that glowed a golden light, the promise of wealth.”
Zak was amazed that the griffin’s clipped speech fell away as he wove a story.
“The dragon awoke when he felt someone hold his treasure, and he blew a foul blast of his fiery breath at myself. Quickly I flew upwards, while the tongue of flame melted a great mountain of gold.” Niranyarr arched his wings upwards as though about to fly.
There was absolute silence as the attention of all the dwarves were fixed on Niranyarr, an unlikely storyteller.
Niranyarr, certain of their undying attention, proceeded with the normal tricks of a storyteller, altering the volume of his voice, sometimes imitating the dragon’s roar. He altered his pitch and cadence.
Spellbound, the crowd listened. As he spoke of the twin bolts he had put in the dragon’s eyes, the dwarves cheered, and gasped as he spoke of how Zak had fallen off the dragon, and then got unarmed.
“The magic sword burned bright with red flame, as the warrior sliced into the dragon’s neck. Rakaroajirac screamed with pain and fright, for it had never been hurt in all the centuries of its life after the dwarven smithy.”
“Then it lowered its head to give a killing blast, and Zaknafein took out his leaden spear, and threw it into its gaping maw. The stupid worm let out his flames, and the melted lead burned down its throat, hissing, a silvery stream of justice,” The dwarves cheered again at this trick.
Niranyarr proceeded to detail all of Zak’s sword strokes many times over, that were ‘rewarded by rivers of blood’. Zaknafein sighed quietly, and Drizzt smiled. “He’s enjoying himself,” Drizzt whispered to Zak, who nodded, “I wish that I had seen that fight. Ours was less exciting.”
Drizzt’s shoulders shook in silent laughter.
“With a final shout of triumph, Zaknafein plunged the burning Scorcher into the dragon’s heart. The dragon shrieked in denial and pain, then moved no more.”
There was a stunned silence at this pronouncement, then the applause of the dwarven kin echoed off the great walls. Niranyarr signaled for Zak to come and join in the ‘appreciation’ and they bowed to the applause.
When the hall finally settled down, Harbromme, versed in the tales of his kin, stood up. “What o’ th’ sword?”
“Scorcher dripped with the dragon’s blood. Suddenly it seemed to drink in the blood, staining its blade bright red, and a fire of its own ran up that blade to my hand.” Zak recalled, drawing out the sword to show the dwarves its red blade.
Whispers permeated the crowd, excited whispers.
Harbromme held up a short, thick hand, cutting off the sound. “Then th’ sword’s yours, fer it’s sealed t’ ye now, with th’ dragon’s blood. Well won, an’ a masterful tale,” he smiled at Niranyarr, who bowed again to the thunderous applause, pulling Zak along.
“Ye’ll be honored guests of Adbar tonight,” Harbromme continued, “Or fer as long as ye wish t’ stay here.”
“My thanks,” Zaknafein said with a smile.
There was a banquet in their honor that night, in which Regis ate more than was good for him, and Niranyarr was persuaded to eat the cooked food with less of his messy habits.
After that they were called into the private meeting hall. It had a fireplace at the side, over which was a portrait of the founder of Harbromme’s clan. Comfortable seats, though low to fit dwarves, sat in a circle around a table, not unlike that of Silverymoon’s. The floor however, was of stone, like the rest of the building.
“Ye’ll be seekin’ Frostbite next?” Harbromme asked of Zak.
Zak nodded.
“Frostbite’s in an enchanted shrine, from what I know,” Harbromme said. “’Tis guarded by the one o’ the most powerful monsters that me ancient kin could conjure.”
“Meself, I don’t know what the monsters are, but there’s one thing I know for sure,” he continued, “The shrine calls monsters to defend itself, an’ ye’ll be plagued by them from one end o’ the glacier till ye see Frostbite itself.”
“More fun fer us then,” Bruenor growled.
“Ye’ll leave early tomorrow?” he asked, sensing Zak’s impatience.
Zak nodded again.
“Me kin will refill yer packs, and see ye on yer way.” Harbromme said.
Zak’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if in speculation, and Drizzt, noticing the movement, looked at him curiously.
“Ye’ll get a well deserved rest t’night then. Bruenor an’ I,” Harbromme looked at Bruenor for confirmation, then continued, “Are going to continue a discussion.”
Catti-brie sighed. “Don’t be up too late drinkin’”
“Why, me girl,” Bruenor protested.
“I know what ye two are thinkin’ of,” Catti-brie said firmly.
Drizzt paced the corridor of their rooms on silent feet. He had a certain suspicion about his father, that he would verify tonight, a suspicion partly fueled by his father saying that Niranyarr was happy to stay with him in his chambers.
Sometimes Zak could be so transparent.
He stayed in the corridor as a click could be heard, that of a door opening slowly. His father floated, insubstantial, a fact that Drizzt would probably never get used to. The griffin padded out of the room, hoisting his backpack.
So he had been correct, Drizzt thought. Drizzt too, held a backpack. He had left a message with Regis, something that the halfling had not been happy to do so, then packed up quietly to stay in the corridor.
He could still hear Regis’ response. “Why do you always give me messages that would get me in trouble?” the halfling had wailed.
Regis knew that Catti-brie most probably would not take kindly to this.
Drizzt intended to set off alone after his father, knowing that the others would only hinder him. From what he had seen, Zaknafein could move very fast, tirelessly, and though he and Guenhwyvar would have a chance of catching up alone, the other three would not.
He began to trail the both of them from a respectable distance.
Zak looked back at the dwarven stronghold with relief. He had managed to get out without incident, and was glad to know that Drizzt and his friends were safely inside the Citadel.
He would be able to leave them far behind before they even came out.
Though he had enjoyed their company, his quest would soon become harder, and he did not wish them to get injured, physically or not.
They may pass Luskan, where Zak knew Wulfgar was. That, if the other four were here, would be a hindrance, what with all the teary arguments and such, and Zak knew that both sides were not yet ready for such a confrontation.
Perhaps he would bypass Silverymoon too.
Zak ran swiftly on, thinking about his route, while Niranyarr, alert, flew high overhead. The mountains were on both sides of the friends, and that reminded the griffin, as always, of his beloved Eyrie.
They were considering passing through those mountains again.
Many miles passed under his tireless stride, and the sun rose on the horizon as they neared at the start of the River Rauvin. Zak smiled in satisfaction, and was about to tread on when Niranyarr gave a warning cry, swooping down behind him.
Then he backed away from his target, a figure emerging from the tree-lined mountain passage that they were crossing.
A very familiar looking figure.
Zak walked towards them. “What are you doing, Drizzt?” he asked in exasperation.
“I might ask you the same, weapon master,” Drizzt said evenly, crossing his hands over his chest.
Zak looked around and was surprised not to see any of his companions. “Go back to Adbar,” he told Drizzt.
“No,” the stubborn younger drow said, then paused. “Perhaps it would be a good idea. Catti-brie and the rest are waiting there.”
“If you go with me,” he finished, wiping off the smile of relief on Zak’s face.
“You don’t understand...” Zak started, but Drizzt interrupted him.
“Yes I don’t. Why are you abandoning us to continue by yourself? If it’s due to some obscure idea that you’re protecting us, you’re wrong. We’ve faced things from the Nine Hells themselves, and you’ll never convince us of that.”
“Now, are you coming with me back to Adbar?” Drizzt said.
“No,” Zak replied firmly.
“Then I’m coming with you.” Drizzt said, just as firmly.
Zak glared at him, then at Guenhwyvar, the panther sitting down quietly at Drizzt’s side, who would probably neatly foil any attempt to escape now.
Drizzt looked calmly at his fuming parent. “Like it or not, you can’t stop me.”
“Your friends?” Zak growled, trying to find some way to make Drizzt get back to Adbar, or at least go another way of his own.
“If you are willing to wait for me, which I doubt so, considering your behavior this night, I would go and fetch them.” Drizzt replied.
“I am not,” Zak confirmed his answer.
“Why?” Drizzt pressed.
“I wish to get this quest over very soon so that I can return...” Zak paused, not allowed to mention the Plane of Saints.
“Return?”
“Never you mind. I am telling you for the last time, get back to Adbar, and live your own life.”
“No,” Drizzt repeated. “You’re trying to get rid of us because you think we’ll slow you down? That… isn’t very nice of you, Zaknafein. You should have at least said something.”
“What if I had told the lot of you to your faces then?” Zak challenged.
Drizzt thought that over, then conceded his point. “I’m still going with you though,” he said, “I won’t slow you down. However,” his eyes bored into Zak’s, “I’ll like your promise you won’t do this again.”
Zak looked as if he may strike his former student, then calmed down abruptly. “Oh, all right,” he said ungraciously, and stomped on.
Drizzt smiled at the weapon master’s back, and followed, Guenhwyvar bounding at his side, while Niranyarr looked at the two strangely alike elves with an amused expression, then flew back up into the sky.
The slender spires of Silverymoon were once again apparent in the distance, next to the snaking flow of the River Rauvin.
Though this was a more roundabout route than Zak had intended, Drizzt had insisted on visiting Silverymoon, for ‘scoping out the shrine’.
Zak somehow suspected that Drizzt simply would like to see the Lady Alustriel.
The terrain here, however, was less rough than if they had decided to cut through the large patch of forest near Citadel Adbar. Apparently it was called the Wolf wood, and for good reason, though the wolves there were beyond that of the normal gray wolves that were common in Icewind Dale.
Zak did not wish his son to start a new life as a vampire.
They walked now on the road connecting Sundabar to Silverymoon, a road that Zak had trod, on his way to the Nomad Plains.
Drizzt dreaded the end of this quest. Though he did not fully understand what had happened to Zaknafein, he understood what would happen when Zak held the hilt of Frostbite. Zak would be taken away from him again, to some unreachable place, where they would only meet again in his death.
They spoke often now, of inconsequential things, just for the sake of listening to each other’s voices, for the sake of reinforcing the bond between them.
Niranyarr padded by their side, sometimes joining in the conversations but most of the time simply listening, to Drizzt’s tales of his adventures, that Zak had witnessed, but just heard again, to Zak’s, and Niranyarr’s adventures.
They continued to set up camps in the afternoon, where Drizzt could rest his eyes against the glaring sun, and walk on in the more comfortable light of night.
On one such night, however, Drizzt drew his scimitars with a flourish, and met Zaknafein’s eyes. “A practice session?” he smiled, eyes twinkling. He had a few moves that he would like to try against his father.
Zak merely grinned in return, getting up and drawing his own swords, Scorcher burning with bright red flame. Niranyarr sat down comfortably nearby to watch.
Scimitars rang against swords in a familiar ring, so familiar that Drizzt was almost plunged back into his memories, of the high ceilinged gym of House Do’Urden. Zak stole the offensive at the beginning of the battle, his swords perfectly dancing in a flickering, darting dance that he had observed in Sanctuary, that poked and prodded relentlessly against his opponent, that kept forcing Drizzt’s scimitars wide, then to plunge in with a series of wicked stabs.
Drizzt somehow anticipated such a move, and his scimitars reversed direction quickly to receive the strokes, only getting a stinging slap on his thigh as Zak launched his next counter, one sword slapping at the scimitars, the other arcing low.
Drizzt then wrenched back from the fight and began to turn in full circles, something that he had tried against Entreri, blades flowing around him like a screw, every turn bringing down their blades at different angles and positions.
Zak however, had just happened to have been watching him that day, and he too went into a spinning rotation, his blades countering at every turn, the blue fire of Twinkle mixing with the red flare of Scorcher. Abruptly, Drizzt reversed direction, but Zak felt the sudden shift and reversed too, their weapons ringing again.
“How?” Drizzt asked in surprise as he stepped back, then attacked again, his blades twisting out in many cunning darts.
“I may watch you from my Plane,” Zaknafein replied dryly, his swords parrying every stroke with perfection, and adding a few more of his own.
Then he laughed at Drizzt’s chagrined, slightly outraged expression, charging in and stealing the offensive. His swords leapt out in a haphazard, apparently undisciplined array of cuts and stabs, the favorite move of Winter, forcing down Drizzt’s scimitars, all the while keeping them closer to his body, defensively, so as not to make her mistake.
Drizzt too parried all the moves, as he had done so, blinking at Zak’s strange move, then also saw the opening, and thrust in with Icingdeath. Zak’s normal sword slapped it away, while the other plunged at Drizzt’s chest. Twinkle came up then, smashing it away, but Zak lifted and turned his wrist to the side, and made another arc under the blue sword, moving too quickly away from Twinkle’s down-cutting parry, to slap again at Drizzt’s side.
Drizzt grimaced, Icingdeath reversing back from the parry, but was again foiled by Zak’s sword. Agilely, he danced backwards, his scimitars coming up hard at Zak’s face, pushing up Zak’s swords slowly, step by step, then twirling his body quickly, his foot making an arc at Zak’s knee, trying to trip the weapon master.
Zak saw it coming, and jumped over the leg. Drizzt twisted his body, Twinkle slicing in, but Zak smashed it away in mid air, to land perfectly. Drizzt used his momentum get his feet back under him, parrying another blow at his head, the other whistling low, to slap at Zak’s leg.
“Good move,” Zak commented, then settled into a defensive route, to tire out his opponent.
Drizzt recognized the move, and settled into an easier route, scimitars idly stabbing in, to reverse quickly but efficiently.
Zak didn’t want the fight to go on forever, so he went back in on a tireless, weaving movement, swords spinning in circles, blurring, slanting circles that allowed them to recover from parries at the fastest rate, all the while forcing Drizzt’s swords downwards.
Drizzt understood the idea, acting on instinct, his swords turned away, purposefully leaving an opening, that Zak was quick to oblige with a stab. Icingdeath slapped away the stab, darting down over Zak’s thrust to try and nick his stomach, but Zak agilely twisted away, for it to pass harmlessly away.
Immediately, Icingdeath slapped sideways, but the sword recovered fast, scratching Drizzt’s shoulder.
Zak continued his plan, the swords still forcing down Drizzt’s scimitars, then snaked back and flew high, then raced down, unblocked, to stop an inch above Drizzt’s head.
Drizzt lowered his scimitars, eyes widening. “A good move,” he commented.
Zak sheathed his swords. “Actually intended for the use of a sword and shield, but still useful,” Zak said.
“A sword and a shield?” Drizzt asked, looking at Zak’s two swords. Zaknafein did not use a shield.
“I teach during the mornings in Sanctuary,” Zak reminded Drizzt. Then he smiled. “I saw the end of that move from approximately the same way as you did.”
Drizzt’s answering smile lit up his face, the memory of the words bringing an ache to his heart. We think alike. He had commented then, when Zak had spoken about another such move in the Do’Urden gym.
And so they did.
Catti-brie stalked into Regis’ room, her angry eyes raking the halfling.
Regis sighed, then stopped Catti-brie’s advance by holding up one chubby hand. “I do not know why Drizzt keeps giving me these tasks, but it is not my fault that he left, nor is it my fault that he did not choose to tell you. I did try to persuade him, but he was adamant.”
“Where’d th’ drow go?” Catti-brie said in a more normal tone.
“After his father and the griffin, if he’s not in his room now. He said something about expecting them to try and leave by themselves. He told the both of you to either wait here in Sundabar, or go on your way, for he said he’ll find you at the end of the quest.” Regis replied promptly. He did not want another bashing from the human girl.
“I’m goin’ after him,” Catti-brie decided.
“They have a long lead, and you do not have Guenhwyvar,” Regis reasoned, “I would like to go with them as much as you do, but we’ll never catch up, and you know that.”
“We’ll meet them at Icewind Dale then,” Catti-brie said, “Bruenor knows a faster way there, that Drizzt doesn’t.”
“What if Zaknafein knows about it? Then Drizzt will come back to look for you when you’re looking for him there,” Regis challenged. “If they’re not back here, they’re not wanting our assistance. It isn’t as if Drizzt is alone now, as he was when he tried to go into the Underdark. He’s got friends, powerful friends,” Regis said, thinking about the slain monsters on the trail to the cave.
“Zaknafein travels very fast, and he’s been hinting about wishing to complete the quest in the shortest time. We’ll be hindering him in that, though Drizzt probably won’t.” Regis continued.
Defeated, Catti-brie slumped her shoulders. The halfling was right.
Unfortunately right.
“How are we goin’ t’ tell Bruenor?” she asked suddenly. Regis’ eyes widened.
“I think I’ll stay in my room,” he announced, and climbed back on the bed.
They had stopped over in Silverymoon, to Lady Alustriel’s delight. Zak was compelled to speak of his adventures again, and Drizzt of his.
Niranyarr had another treat as the royal kitchen went into another frenzy of activity.
They sat down again later in the private audience room.
“Guardians, you say?” Trinity asked, summoned again.
Zak nodded. The scroll hadn’t survived much of his backpack, and he had left it in Adbar for the dwarves to find.
“Most of the guardians in legend sound like elementals,” the bard said thoughtfully.
Drizzt sighed. He did not like fighting elementals, though he had won the fight with the last one he had fought.
Zak had been exaggerating slightly when he had informed Drizzt that he had killed a dozen elementals, but he was more experienced, and knew their moves.
Though he suspected an earth elemental would not be found in the glaciers.
“You will probably meet most of the beasts in Icewind Dale, if the legend is correct,” Lady Alustriel said in her musical voice. “However there have been sightings of new, giant monsters lately there.”
“One more thing,” she remarked seriously. “There have been rumors of trouble in Ten towns. My agents have been sent into the area, but I will only know of their findings in a week.”
“Is it widespread?” Zak asked.
“Only around the towns themselves, apparently,” Alustriel replied.
“Good,” Zak said under his breath. Then they could avoid it.
“War again? Has Akar Kessell not taught them anything?” Drizzt said, a rhetoric question.
He should have known, he told himself. The war was probably over fish, as usual. Of all the reasons for war that he had seen in the decades of his life, that was one of the most stupid.
They stayed a day in Silverymoon, then started off in the cool embrace of night.
The misty, enchanted forest of Moonwood. Their feet crunched gently on fallen twigs and leaves, as they slowed their stride to look at the wonderfully tall trees around them, interlocking leaves letting in clear shafts of sunlight, that fell in golden discs on the ground.
Niranyarr, land-bound once more, had padded ahead of the drow elves in search of nourishment. He called the Moonwood ‘boring’, but the elves had merely smiled. To them, the wood was beautiful.
And a safe haven away from the trolls of the Evermoors.
There was a triumphant trill as the griffin, far ahead, spotted something with his eagle eyes. Niranyarr stopped before a curious heap on the ground, reaching out curiously to it, then recoiling suddenly as a scream was heard, a scream of a child.
Drizzt and Zaknafein hurried up to see what was happening, but Niranyarr held up a claw, stopping them in their tracks.
He stepped around the heap, placing his bulk between them and the bundle. Zak caught Drizzt’s shoulder as the other drow started forward. “Trust in Niranyarr,” he signaled in the silent drow code.
Niranyarr started to trill in a soothing, light voice, a strange sound issuing from his fierce exterior. The two elves’ sharp ears could pick up a few words now and again, like “Won’t hurt you” and “friend” among them
Their curiosity sharpened as the griffin started to stand up from his crouching position, claws held back as if holding something.
The bundle. Niranyarr cradled the object, crooning slowly as he turned around.
To the drow elves’ absolute amazement, a small head poked out of the bundle, tawny-haired, with the golden hued skin of a surface elf. Her wide, blue eyes took one look at their dark skins and white hair, then squealed in fright and burrowed deeper into the griffin’s fur.
“Friends,” Niranyarr assured the elven child. “These two drow different,” he continued soothingly, and the child raised her head again to stare at Drizzt and Zak.
Trustingly, she nodded, and continued to look at the two drow elves with a strange intensity in her eyes, that made the both of them feel rather uncomfortable.
Niranyarr looked at Zak as if asking him what they were supposed to do with the child.
“Where is your home?” Drizzt asked the child softly.
The child flinched at his voice, then replied in a barely heard whisper, “Near Gruwald.”
Zak looked at Drizzt. The town of Gruwald was on their way, but he debated inside whether to backtrack to Silverymoon to give Lady Alustriel the task.
Drizzt however, had plunged on, “We’ll take you there,” he said confidently. “Why are you here alone?”
The elven girl stared at him, then burst into tears, her slender shoulders shaking with sobs.
“Trolls,” Niranyarr answered the question. “She smells of them. How she ran away I don’t know.”
“Father and mother,” the child’s voice shook, “Trolls. They told me to run. They didn’t follow.”
“You were brave enough to escape then,” Zak assured her, but she shook her head.
“You couldn’t have done anything else. We’ll look for them,” Zak continued, and she suddenly smiled, a tearful smile.
“Really?” Her voice was hopeful.
“Yes,” Drizzt said firmly, his mind calculating. His last trip through the trollmoors had been rather traumatic, to say the least.
He did not believe that her family survived.
“What is your name?” Zak asked.
“Miranae, but Father and Mother,” this elicited another sob, “called me Mir.”
“Then so will we,” Zak smiled, “It is a beautiful name.”
Mir smiled shyly through her tears.
Miranae was still shy of the drow elves, often retreating to Niranyarr’s side. She found their idea of sleeping in the day rather interesting, more often than not napping in the shade of the griffin’s great wings, then sleeping at night, cradled by one of the adventurers.
When she recovered more of herself, she played small games with Zak in the afternoons, games that he had been taught in the Plane of Spirits.
Drizzt too was pulled into the games sometimes, laughing, induced in by Zak or by Mir’s bright smile and wide-eyed request.
They did not really know why she accepted them so fast, but Niranyarr believed she needed friends after such an incident.
Drizzt took out the onyx statue of Guenhwyvar one afternoon, showing it to Miranae. With her small, slender hands, she took it in delight, happily tracing the perfect carvings that made up the figurine.
Drizzt took it back, and called, “Guenhwyvar, to me!”
Miranae jumped back as she saw the mist swirling out, which formed into a great panther. With a squeal of delight, she jumped up to the panther, running her hands through its fur.
“Beautiful,” she commented, and proceeded to scratch Guenhwyvar’s ears.
Guenhwyvar purred, and licked her face.
They played for the rest of the afternoon, while Drizzt slept safely, undisturbed for once, without little fingers suddenly tickling him unbearably or slipping off his boots and running a feather over his sensitive sole.
Zak often watched this with silent amusement, Drizzt noted. He never interfered, and once even helped Mir in her pranks.
Mir was very young for an elf, and small, so she sat on Guenhwyvar’s back easily, more often riding with delighted laughter as the panther leaped in its great bounds, covering the forest floor.
They soon began picking up fallen branches, for use in the trollmoors looming up ahead. Reluctant to go, their pace slowed, but still they advanced inexorably towards the ghostly place.
Then they stood on the outskirts of Moonwood, facing the unnatural, unearthly mists of the Evermoors.
Drizzt looked out at the moors with a distinct sense of resignation. The moors were just as he remembered them, blackened, with fog swirling endlessly over the uneven, hilly surface, hidden bogs ready to suck in any foolish enough to venture on their surfaces.
“Trollmoors,” he heard Miranae say with an overtone of fright.
“Where did you last see your parents?” Zaknafein asked of the elven child gently.
“I… don’t know. I ran, and don’t remember… don’t know,” Miranae said quietly. “I’m sorry I cannot help much.”
Niranyarr looked at the two drow elves then flew up into the air, high over the Trollmoors. They watched his circling shape high up in the air, Miranae with hope, and Zaknafein and Drizzt with knowing resignation.
Niranyarr swooped down suddenly, disappearing into the fog. Mir let out an excited sound, then her face fell, as he appeared again in the bright blue hue of the sky, seemingly empty-handed.
He spiraled down to them, his claws holding out something to Mir. A silver engraved headband, and a pair of bracers. Also a sodden sling bag with the stitched design of a soaring bird.
Mir did not touch the objects. “Nothing else?” she said in a small voice.
Niranyarr made a low keen of sadness. “Torn cloth,” he said, but his eagle eyes met that of Zak’s then Drizzt’s and they knew that he had found something else. Something too terrible to tell a young child of.
Mir wailed, and Zak enfolded her in a hug. Niranyarr dropped the items in front of her, then motioned to Drizzt.
“There’s something else, isn’t there?” Drizzt asked when they were safely out of earshot.
Niranyarr nodded. “Eaten, they were.” He shuddered.
Drizzt blinked, then a fiery rage began to burn in his lavender eyes. Niranyarr looked at him, then began again. “We may continue northwards to eyries. Safer route for child.”
“I am going through the moors,” Drizzt declared.
Niranyarr sighed. “Then Zak will go, and so will I.”
“Mir?” Drizzt asked of the griffin.
“One will see if Mir enjoys flying,” Niranyarr grinned.
They walked back to Zak. Zaknafein was rocking Mir slowly, saying something comforting, while his eyes burned with the same fire in Drizzt’s. Mir seemed, to all appearances, asleep.
“We cross moors,” Niranyarr told him. “Mir flies with me?”
Zak nodded. “Perhaps she will not be afraid of heights, and this route is the fastest now.”
“And the both of you want to kill trolls,” Niranyarr finished.
Drizzt nodded slowly, his hands on his scimitar hilts.
Niranyarr sighed again, then crouched down in a corner, opening his backpack, and taking out a strange, padded bag made of hard leather, which curved up at the sides. “Passenger,” Niranyarr explained to the curious drow.
Then he carefully took out his vial of firebreath potion, along with another bag of small transparent spheres. With a swift movement, he picked up one of the spheres and inverted it over the top of the vial, which had a pointed top. The sphere filled with a swirling orange, then the griffin carefully put it on the ground next to him.
“Bullets?” Zak asked. Niranyarr nodded.
“Trolls do not need so much of the potion,” the griffin said, filling another sphere, and Zak realized he spoke from experience.
“So goblins are not the only ones griffins bother at night,” he said with a smile. Niranyarr laughed. “Many, many more, Zak.”
Seeing Drizzt’s mystified expression, Zak spoke of the griffin’s nightly raids, while Niranyarr continued to fill the spheres.
Mir struggled, and Zak let her go. She walked over to the griffin, picking up one of the filled orbs. Niranyarr hurriedly took it from her, placing it back into a bundle.
“May I have some?” She said clearly.
“Your aim good?” Niranyarr asked, knowing her intent when he looked at her hard eyes.
She nodded. Niranyarr glanced at the two dark elves and shrugged then took out another bundle while Mir attempted to sit inside the passenger bag. Being small, she succeeded, and smiled in delight, something that Zak was grateful she could still do.
He had no wish to see this child turning into a drow in spirit.
Niranyarr deftly finished his spheres, and they decided to wait one more day in the safety of Moonwood, resting, for the five days of hard travel in front of them.
The sun rose, and Drizzt immediately hooded his eyes against the glaring light, while Zak merely looked on the golden clouds, undisturbed.
Niranyarr stood up, fixing the passenger bag in place at his side, then Zak scooped up Mir and placed her inside.
Mir wriggled into a half-seated, half-reclining position, clutching her bundle of spheres to her side.
“Is that safe?” Drizzt asked of Niranyarr, pointing towards the bundle.
Niranyarr nodded. “Glass will eat away when flying down, not up, and bundle protects them from griffin flight.”
“One will fly low when trolls appear.” He said, and Mir nodded, her small hands fingering the tight clasp at the top of the bundle.
Zak gave the camp a cursory glance, then walked on down the rise to the Trollmoors. “Lead the way past bogs,” he called back at Niranyarr.
“It’s surprising one did not see that,” Niranyarr remarked with a trace of sarcasm.
Zak smiled a little sheepishly, then walked into the mist, Drizzt at his side.
“Ready?” The griffin asked of his passenger. Mir nodded, with an excited look on her face.
Niranyarr leaped off the rise, wings flaring, soaring upwards, Mir letting out an excited laugh, peering downwards, not the least bit afraid.
The griffin stabilized high up in the air, riding on the currents, and started to glide.
“The world is beautiful,” Mir said, almost unconsciously, looking out over the glistening green of a thousand hues of green that made up the top of the Moonwood forest.
Niranyarr nodded, then flew lower a little, ahead of Zaknafein and Drizzt, his claws signaling the best way through the bogs.
“We’re making better time,” Drizzt remarked later in the evening on one of the higher, steeper rises that they had chosen as a defensive spot to spend the night.
Mir sat in the middle of the spot, her bundle open in front of her as she chewed on one of Drizzt’s biscuits.
“Way is clearer, up there,” Niranyarr said, busily dripping a generous trail of oil around the rise.
Zak was lining the oil with portions of dried material. “Did you enjoy flying, Mir?” he asked of the little elf, who was starting on another biscuit.
“Oh yes. It’s fun, I feel so free up there,” she replied through a mouthful.
“Mir not afraid of heights, make good griffin,” Niranyarr grinned, agilely bounding up the steep side. Mir laughed again, her musical, bell-like sound lifting their hearts.
“The air smells better there,” she finished, crinkling her nose at the sickly sweet smell around them, that stifling stench.
Drizzt found himself almost envying her.
Zak began meticulously arraying their defenses, the tinderbox and a few spheres in reach, a few stakes hidden on the rise to slow down the trolls, and scattering some more of the flammable materials around, so that the flame would spread.
Then he climbed up back on the rise.
Night fell faster than usual, the deep black enfolding them like a choking blanket, that threatened to drive them mad. Drizzt and Zaknafein possessed the best infravision of the group, and they stood warily on the rise, weapons at ready, Scorcher dull grey in Zak’s hand.
Niranyarr picked up Mir, her eyes too glowing the red of infravision, her hands tightly clutching the opened bundle.
Silently, he flew into the night, to circle above the encampment, ready and watching for movement.
It was Mir who spotted the tide first. Leaning slightly out of her protective perch, she nudged Niranyarr’s flank, then silently pointed downwards, far east of the makeshift fortress.
A shambling tide, glowing red in their infravision, obscured now and again by the dead rises and bogs, heading surely towards the fortress.
Some of the forms were oddly shaped, but Niranyarr clasped his talons together, and Zak, down below, nodded.
“They come,” he told Drizzt quietly, eyes burning with the light of anticipation.
Niranyarr circled lower, and the shambling gait of the monsters quickened. Then Drizzt saw them, exactly as he remembered them. Lanky, greyish, lurching forms, moaning like the tortured wind, their clawed hands reaching hungrily towards the elves.
Twinkle flared, and the trolls shambled towards the encampment, stupidly swatting at the stakes. Those behind clambered over the ones that were pulling at the stakes, and Drizzt and Zaknafein promptly stabbed at them, pushing them back.
When they were surrounded, Zak picked up one of the spheres, and hurled it precisely where he had left the trail of oil.
Their fortress was suddenly ringed in fire, and the trolls outside the burning moat fled in terror, while those inside, milled around, to be burned by Drizzt’s torch, or by Scorcher’s fiery blade.
Niranyarr swooped down over the fleeing trolls, randomly picking targets and hurling his spheres, Mir doing the same, crying out with triumph whenever she scored a hit. The burning bodies of the trolls bumped into others, also setting them aflame.
They chased them for a goodly distance, then returned to the fort.
Drizzt and Zaknafein had finished torching the trolls inside, and they walked around busily inside their fort, pushing out the charred bodies into the intense flame of the ‘moat’.
Drizzt stopped in front of a charred form. “Look,” he said in astonishment.
Zak wandered over. Below was the charred form of a wolf, the sickly gray skin of a troll melting off slowly.
“I was wondering about that one,” Zak commented. “A troll in the shape of a wolf. It almost got over the rise.”
“Some spell?” Drizzt asked, pointing towards a hunting cat, the skin also melting off.
Zak nodded. “It cannot be polymorph,” he said. The creatures retained their shapes as a troll. “Something akin to it, but I’ll not like the idea of trolls suddenly able to change other creatures into their species.”
Niranyarr landed softly on the rise, and Mir peeked out, her smile still firmly fixed on her face, her eyes retaining their fierce light.
“I got fifteen of them,” she announced as soon as she saw the drow pair.
Niranyarr laughed. “She make good griffin,” he lamented, “Pity.”
Zak looked closely at Miranae. The elven girl’s eyes had lost most of their hard edge, and regained more of her former mischievous look, although they now contained a soft sorrow.
Regret, perhaps, and something else. Zak realized that Mir accepted things as they were, as an inevitable part of life. She did not destroy herself with regrets and laments, and she could let go. An admirable quality, perhaps, but also a dangerous one.
Zak hoped that she would not feel the same about killing. Murder without feeling, she would become another Artemis Entreri, Drizzt’s opposite.
“Is there a building or something around this place?” Drizzt was asking Niranyarr.
Niranyarr cocked his head to the side as he put Mir down. “Maybe, maybe-not. Have to see tomorrow. Why?”
“There may be some wizard living here. Look,” he pointed to the now fully restored, dead wolf form.
Mir walked over to the body before Drizzt could catch her. “I remember,” she said suddenly, faltering. “There were wolf-like trolls in the... group that killed...” she stopped, her small face twisting slightly.
Zak walked over, and scooped her up. She turned a sad smile to him. “They’re in a good place now, aren’t they? A place after death, where there’s only joy? Sometimes, I envy them, I don’t feel sad that they’ve left. I feel them watching, they’re probably glad we’re doing this, aren’t they? I wish I could join them.” She added quietly.
Zak hugged her. “There is a place after death, and you’re mostly right about it. You have a life to live, that they’ve given up theirs for, and you’re not going to disappoint them.” He said.
“Oh I won’t,” she said quickly, with determination.
“You’re a brave girl, Mir, and I’m sure they’re proud of you,” Drizzt commented.
Mir shot all of them a shy smile, then squirmed into a confortable position and closed her eyes, the ghost of the smile remaining.
Niranyarr made an embarrassed sound, then tried to change the subject. “They won’t come back tonight,” he said, almost asking for confirmation.
“No, I don’t think they will,” Drizzt said, remembering his experience.
“Unless something else is controlling them. How long will the potion burn?” Zak asked.
“Through the night, in this place,” Niranyarr replied, looking at the dry ground they were on. “Three hours if it rains.”
“Powerful,” Drizzt commented, averting his eyes from the bright flame. Spots were exploding in his eyes.
“We sleep here then, and move on tomorrow,” Zak decided, then sat down at the highest part of the small rise to keep watch, still holding Mir, a fact that Drizzt was grateful for. Mir enjoyed waking up suddenly during the night, and if she was with Niranyarr, she would play with the griffin’s tail, to Niranyarr’s dismay; if she was with Drizzt, then the drow would give up hopes of sleeping. If she was with Zak, she often slept on, strangely enough.
Drizzt liked Mir, but he did not really enjoy her tricks. She had the hands of a thief, and sometimes he would wake to see her examining his pocket contents on the ground next to him. And his amulets, and bracers, and once even Twinkle. She didn’t seem to be able to break this habit, and Drizzt knew it was only curiousity.
He wished she would try picking Zak’s pockets, for once, but since Zaknafein was always awake, he often indulged her by simply emptying his pockets for her inspection.
Perhaps she found Drizzt’s pockets more challenging.
“Ye bumbling fools!” a troll shrieked, at the mothely gathering of sickly sweet smelling monsters before him.
“I want the drow! And the griffin! Can ye not understand that?” it continued, waving its hands above its head. “Go! Go tomorrow. I want them alive!” The other trolls shambled out of the underground cellar, that had been long abandoned, leaving the troll alone.
The troll had actually been a mage. An unfortunate accident (not uncommon with mages) had changed him into a troll, but he had retained his mind and speech. Now he used the same experimental fluid on other living beings that wandered into the moors, simply building up his army. Soon he would invade Silverymoon.
In his warped, deluded mind, he believed, that he could gather enough to conquer that fair city, that he saw as the ultimate threat to his kingdom.
He found that his transformed trolls retained much of their former knowledge, with the exception of having a strong inclination to obey him.
All the better. Two drow and a griffin would make a good addition to his army.
His army grew each day. A few Riders of Nesme had accidentally wandered too far into the moors, to the waiting arms of the trolls. His regret were a group of elven warriors, that had been surrounded. On the brink of capture, they had cut a path through the trolls, giving their children a running chance, and then burned themselves and the trolls around them.
His revenge was to chase down the children, one by one. To all reports, only one had survived to Moonwood.
Where he still could not, would not venture! The accursed wood irked him, drove him into a seething rage every day!
What was good was the reports that the small party was nearing his base, to their everlasting regret, he knew, rubbing his foul, slimy hands.
Soon, soon he would achieve his dream. Silverymoon would be crushed.
Lledrith RavenWolf