He crossed through narrow tunnels and halls that spread beyond vision to either side and above. He trotted along muddy flats and bare stone, without splashes, without sound. Every step Drizzt Do'Urden took in the deeper tunnels of the Underdark jogged his memory a little bit more, brought him back to the days when he had survived the wilds, when he had been the hunter.
He had to find that inner being, that primal savage within him, that heard the call of his instincts so very well. There was no time for rational calculations in the wilds of the Underdark; there was only time to act.
Drizzt hated the prospect of giving in to that savage element, hated this whole journey, but he had to go on, knowing that if he failed, if he was killed in the wilds before he ever got to Menzober ranzan, his quest would prove detrimental to his friends. Then he would be gone, but the dark elves would not know it and would still go after Mithril Hall. For the sake of Bruenor, Regis, and dear Catti-brie, Drizzt had to go on, and had to become the primal hunter once more.
He climbed to the ceiling of a high corridor for his first break and slept lightly, hanging upside down, his legs wedged up to the knees in a narrow crack, his fingers hooked under his belt, near his scimitars.
An echo down a distant tunnel woke him after only an hour of dozing. It had been a slight sound, a step into sucking mud, per haps, but Drizzt held perfectly still, sensing the disturbance in the still air, hearing minute residual echoes and correctly guessing the direction.
He pulled out his legs and rolled, dropping the fifteen feet to the ground, the toes of his soft boots touching first to absorb the impact and bring him down without a whisper. He ran on, taking care to keep far from those echoes, desiring no more conflicts before he got to the drow city
He grew more confident with every step. His instincts were returning, along with his memories of that time he spent alone in the wilds of the Underdark. He came to another muddy area, where the air was warm, and the sound of hot, aerated water hissed and gurgled. Wet, gleaming stalagmite and stalactites, glowing warm to the drow's heat seeing eyes, dotted the area, breaking this single tunnel into a virtual maze.
Drizzt knew this place, remembered it from the journey he had taken to the surface. That fact brought both relief and trepidation to the drow. He was glad that he was on course, but he could not deny his fear that he was on course. He let the water sound guide him along, knowing that he would find the proper tunnels just beyond the hot springs.
The air grew steadily warmer, soon uncomfortably so, but Drizzt kept his cloak on and drawn tight, not wanting to get caught up with anything more than a scimitar in his hands in this dangerous area.
And the drow knew that this was indeed a dangerous area. Any number of monsters might be crouched behind one of the ever present mounds, and it took great effort for Drizzt to move silently through the thickening mud. If he kept his foot in one position for arty length of time, the clinging stuff ran up around his boot, and subsequently lifting the gummed foot would inevitably result in a sucking sound. On one such occasion, Drizzt paused as he slowly hoisted his foot, trying todiscern the echo patterns. It took only a moment for him to understand that the responding sounds he heard were made by more feet than his own.
Drizzt quickly surveyed the area and considered the air temper ature and the intensity of the stalagmites' glow. The footsteps grew louder, and Drizzt realized that a band of more than a few approached. He scanned every side tunnel, quickly coming to the conclusion that this band carried no light source.
Drizzt moved under one narrow spike of a stalactite, its tip hanging no more than four feet from the floor. He tucked his legs under him and knelt beneath the thing. He positioned his cloak about his knees in a conical fashion, taking care so that there were no obvious jags, like a foot sticking out too far, along all his body Then the drow looked up to the stalactite, studied its form. He lifted his hands to feel its tip, then ran them up and around the stalactite, joining with it smoothly, making sure that its tip remained the smallest taper.
He closed his eyes and tucked his head between his upper arms. He swayed a few times, feeling his balance, smoothing the outer edges of his form.
Drizzt became a stalagmite mound.
He soon heard sucking sounds, and squeaking, croaking voices that he knew to be goblins', all about him. He peeked out only once, and only for an instant, ensuring that they had no light sources. How obvious he would be if a torch passed near him!
But hiding in the lightless Underdark was very different from hiding in a forest, even on a dark night. The trick here was to blur the distinctive lines of body heat, and Drizzt felt confident that the air about him, and the stalagmites, was at least as warm as his outer cloak.
He heard goblin footsteps barely a few feet away, knew that the large troupe, it numbered at least twenty, Drizzt believed, was all about him. He considered the exact movements it would take for him to get his hands most quickly to his scimitars. If one of the gob lins brushed against him, the game would be up and he would explode into motion, ripping at their ranks and trying to get beyond them before they even realized that he was there.
It never came to that. The goblin troupe continued on its way through the host of stalactites and stalagmites and the one drow that was not a mound of rock.
Drizzt opened his lavender eyes, which blazed with the inner fires of the hunter. He remained perfectly still for a few moments longer, to ensure that there were no stragglers, then he ran off, mak ing not a sound.
Catti-brie knew immediately that Drizzt had killed this six legged, tentacled, pantherlike beast. Kneeling over the carcass, she recognized the curving, slashing wounds and doubted that anyone else could have made so clean a kill.
"It was Drizzt, " she muttered to Guenhwyvar, and the panther gave a low growl. "No more than two days old."
This dead monster reminded her of how vulnerable she might be. If Drizzt, with all his training in stealth and in the ways of the Underdark, had been forced into combat, then how could she hope to pass unscathed?
Catti-brie leaned against the black panther's muscled flank, needing the support. She couldn't keep Guenhwyvar with her for much longer, she knew. The magical cat was a creature of the Astral Plane and needed to return there often to rest. Catti-brie had meant to spend her first hour in the tunnel alone, had meant to leave the cave without the panther beside her, but her nerve had waned with the first few steps. She needed the tangible support of her feline ally in this foreign place. As the day had gone on, Catti-brie had become somewhat more comfortable with her surroundings and had planned to dismiss Guenhwyvar as soon as the trail became more obvious, as soon as they found a region with fewer side passages. It seemed that they had found that place, but they had found, too, the carcass.
Catti-brie started ahead quickly, instructing Guenhwyvar to keep close to her side. She knew that she should release the panther then, not tax Guenhwyvar 's strength in case she should need the cat in an emergency, but she justified her delay by convincing herself that many carrion monsters, or other six legged feline beasts, might be about.
Twenty minutes later, with the tunnels dark and quiet around them, the young woman stopped and searched for her strength. Dis missing Guenhwyvar then was among the most courageous things Catti-brie had ever done, and when the mist dissolved and Catti brie replaced the statuette into her pouch, she was glad indeed for the gift Alustriel had given her.
She was alone in the Underdark, alone in deep tunnels filled with deadly foes. She could see, at least, and the starry illusion, beautiful even here against the gray stone bolstered her spirits.
Catti-brie took a deep breath and steadied herself. She remem bered Wulfgar and spoke again her vow that no other friends would be lost. Drizzt needed her; she could not let her fears defeat her.
She took up the heart shaped locket, holding it tightly in her hand so that its magical warmth would keep her on the proper path. She set off again, forcing one foot in front of the other as she moved farther from the world of the sun.
Drizzt quickened his pace after the hot springs, for he now remembered the way, and remembered, too, many of the enemies he had to take care to avoid.
Days passed uneventfully, became a week, and then two for the running drow. It had taken Drizzt more than a month to get to the surface from Blingdenstone, the gnome city some forty to fifty miles west of Menzoberranzan, and now, with his belief that danger was pressing Mithril Hall, he was determined to shorten that time.
He came into tunnels winding and narrow, found a familiar fork in the trail, one corridor cutting north and one continuing to the west. Drizzt suspected that the northern route would get him more quickly to the drow city, but he stayed the course west, hoping that he might gain more information along that more familiar route, and secretly hoping that he might find some old friends along the way
He was still running a couple of days later, but he now paused often and put his ear to the stone, listening for a rhythmic tap tapping sound. Blingdenstone was not far away, Drizzt knew, and deep gnome miners might well be about. The halls remained silent, though, and Drizzt began to realize that he did not have much time. He thought of going straight into the gnome city, but decided against that course. He had spent too long on the road already; it was time to draw near to Menzoberranzan.
An hour later, cautiously rounding a bend in a low corridor that was lined with glowing lichen, Drizzt's keen ears caught a distant noise. At first the drow smiled, thinking that he had found the elu sive miners, but as he continued to listen, catching the sounds of metal scraping metal, even a cry, his expression greatly changed.
A battle was raging, not so far away
Drizzt sprinted off, using the increasingly loud echoes to guide his steps. He came into one dead end and had to backtrack, but soon was on the course again, scimitars drawn. He came to a fork in the corridor, both tunnels continuing on in a similar direction, though one rose sharply, and both resounding with the cries of battle.
Drizzt decided to go up, running, crouching. Around a bend he spotted an opening and knew that he had come upon the fight. He eased out of the tunnel, moving onto a ledge twenty feet above a wide chamber, its floor broken and dotted with stone mounds. Below, svirfnebli and drow forms scrambled all about.
Svirfnebli and drow! Drizzt fell back against the wall, his scimi tars slipping down to his sides. He knew that the svirfnebli, the deep gnomes, were not evil, understood in his heart that the drow had been the ones to instigate this fight, probably laying an ambush for the gnome mining party Drizzt's heart screamed at him to leap down to aid the sorely pressed gnomes, but he could not find the strength. He had fought drow, had killed drow, but never with a clear conscience. These were his kin, his blood. Might there be another Zak'nafein down there? Another Drizzt Do'Urden?
One dark elf, in hot pursuit of a wounded gnome, scrambled up the side of a rocky mound, only to find that it had become a living rock, an earth elemental, ally of the gnomes. Great stony arms wrapped about the dark elf and crushed him, the elemental taking no notice of the weapons that nicked harmlessly off its natural rocky armor.
Drizzt winced at the gruesome sight, but was somewhat relieved to see the gnomes holding their own. The elemental slowly turned about, smashing down a blocking stalagmite and tearing its great chunks of feet from the stone floor.
The gnomes rallied behind their giant ally, trying to reform some semblance of ranks amid the general chaos. They were mak ing progress, many of them zigzagging through the rocky maze to link up with their mounting central force, and the dark elves inevitably fell back from the dangerous giant. One burly gnome, a burrow warden, Drizzt guessed, called for a straight march across the cavern.
Drizzt crouched low on the ledge. From his vantage point, he could see the skilled drow warriors fanning out about the gnomes, flanking and hiding behind mounds. Another group slipped toward the far exit, the gnomes' destination, and took up strategic positions there. If the elemental held out, though, the gnomes would likely punch their way through, and, once into the corridor, they could put their elemental behind them to block the way and run on to Bling denstone.
Three drow females stepped out to confront the giant. Drizzt sighed, seeing that they wore the unmistakable spider emblazoned robes of Lloth worshippers. He recognized that these were priest esses, possibly high priestesses, and knew then that the gnomes would not escape.
One after another, the females chanted and threw their hands out in front of them, sending forth a spray of fine mist. As the mois ture hit the rocky elemental, the giant began to dissolve, streaks of mud replacing the solid stone.
The priestesses kept up their chants, their assaults. On came the rocky giant, growling with rage, its features distorted by the slip ping mud.
A blast of mist hit it squarely, sending a thick line of mud run ning down the monster's chest, but the priestess who had made the assault was too concerned with her attack and did not get back fast enough. A rock arm shot out and punched her, breaking bones and hurling her through the air to crash against a stalagmite.
The remaining two drow hit the elemental again, dissolving its legs, and it crashed helplessly to the floor. It began to reform its appendages immediately, but the priestesses continued their deadly spray. Seeing that the ally was lost, the gnome leader called for a charge, and the svirfnebli rushed on, overwhelming one priestess before the flanking dark elves closed in like a biting maw. The fight was on in full again, this time right below Drizzt Do'Urden.
He gasped for breath as he witnessed the spectacle, saw a gnome slashed repeatedly by three drow, to fall, screaming, dying, to the floor.
Drizzt was out of excuses. He knew right from wrong, knew the significance of the appearance of Lloth's priestesses. Fires simmered in his lavender eyes; out came his scimitars, Twinkle flaring to blue glowing life.
He spotted the remaining priestess down to the left. She stood beside a tall, narrow mound, one arm out touching a svirfneblin. The gnome made no moves against her, only stood and groaned, trembling from the priestess's magical assaults. Black energy crack led up the drow female's arm as she literally sucked the life force from her unfortunate victim.
Drizzt tucked Twinkle under his other arm and leaped out, hooking the top of that narrow mound and rotating about it as he quickly descended. He hit the floor right beside the priestess and snapped his weapons back to the ready.
The startled drow female uttered a series of sharp commands, apparently thinking Drizzt an ally Twinkle dove into her heart.
The half drained gnome eyed Drizzt curiously, then fainted away. Drizzt ran on, calling out warnings to the gnomes, in their own tongue, that dark elves were in position near the far exit. The ranger took care to keep out of the open, though, realizing that any gnome he encountered would likely attack him, and any drow he encountered might recognize him.
He tried not to think of what he had just done, tried not to think of the female's eyes, so similar to his sister Vierna's.
He rushed in hard and put his back against a mound, the cries of battle all about him. A gnome jumped out from behind another stalagmite, waving a hammer dangerously, and before Drizzt could explain that he was no enemy, another drow came around the side, to stand shoulder to shoulder with Drizzt.
The suddenly hesitant gnome looked about, looked for an escape route, but the newest opponent leaped at him.
Purely on instinct, Drizzt slashed the drow's weapon arm, his scimitar drawing a deep gash. The ebon skinned elf dropped his sword and half turned to look back in horror at this drow who was not an ally. Stumbling, the surprised drow focused ahead, just in time to catch a gnomish hammer in the face.
The gnome didn't understand it, of course, and as the dark elf fell, all he thought about was readying his hammer for this second enemy But Drizzt was long gone.
With the priestesses down, a gnome shaman ran over to the felled elemental. He placed a stone atop the pile of rubble and crushed it with his mattock, then began chanting. Soon the elemen tal reformed, as large as ever, and lumbered away like a moving avalanche in search of enemies. The shaman watched it go, but he should have been watching his own situation instead, for another dark elf crept out behind him, mace held high for a killing strike.
The shaman realized the danger only as the mace came crashing down.., and was intercepted by a scimitar.
Drizzt shoved the shaman aside and stood to face the stunned drow.
Friend? the fingers of the drow's free hand quickly asked.
Drizzt shook his head, then sent Twinkle slamming against the drow's mace, batting it aside. The ranger's second scimitar quickly followed the same path, ringing loudly off the metal mace and knocking it far out to Drizzt's left.
Drizzt's advantage of surprise was not as great as he had sup posed, though, for the drow's free left hand had already slipped to his belt and grabbed a slender dirk. Out of the folds of the drow's piwafwi cloak shot the new weapon, straight for Drizzt's heart, the evil drow snarling in apparent victory
Drizzt spun to the right, backsteppirig out of harm's way. He brought his closest scimitar back across and down, hooking the dirk's hilt and pulling the drow's arm out straight. He completed his spin, putting his back tightly against his opponent's chest, wrapping the outstretched arm right about him. The drow tried to work his mace into an angle so that he could strike at Drizzt, but Drizzt was in the better position and was the quicker. He stepped away, then came back in, elbow flying high to smash into his oppo nent's face, once, twice, and then again in rapid succession.
Drizzt flung the drow's dirk hand out wide, and wisely reversed his spin, getting Twinkle up just in time to catch the swinging mace. Drizzt's other arm shot forward, the hilt of his scimitar crushing the drow's face.
The evil drow tried to hold his balance, but he was clearly dazed. A quick twist and snap of Twinkle sent the mace flying into the air, and Drizzt punched out with his left hand, Twinkle's hilt catching the drow on the side of the jaw and dropping him to the floor.
Drizzt looked to the gnome shaman, who stood open mouthed, clutching his hammer nervously. All around them, the fight had become a rout, with the revived elemental leading the svirfnebli to a decisive victory
Two other gnomes joined the shaman and eyed Drizzt with sus picion and fear. Drizzt paused a moment to consider the Svirfneblin tongue, a language that used the melodic inflections similar to sur face Elvish alongside the hard consonant sounds more typical of Dwarvish talk.
"I am no enemy, " he said, and to prove his point he dropped his scimitars to the ground.
The drow on the floor groaned. A gnome sprang upon him and lined his pickaxe up with the back of the dark elf's skull.
"No!" Drizzt cried in protest, starting forward and bending low to intercept the strike.
Drizzt stood up straight suddenly, though, as a searing flash of pain erupted along his backbone. He saw the gnome finish the dazed drow, but couldn't begin to contemplate that brutal action as a series of minor explosions went off down his spine. The lip of some devious, flat edged club ran down his vertebrae like a board snapping across a picket fence.
Then it was over and Drizzt stood motionlessly for what seemed like a very long time. He felt his legs tingle, as though they had gone to sleep, then felt nothing at all below his waist. He fought to hold his balance, but wobbled and fell, and lay scratching at the stone floor and trying to find his breath.
He knew that the darkness of unconsciousness, or a deeper darkness still, was fast approaching, for he could hardly remember where he was or why he had come.
He did hear the shaman, but that small flicker of consciousness that Drizzt had remaining was not comforted by the shaman's words.
Kill him.