Author's Note: The character of Drizzt Do'Urden makes his first appearance in this chapter of the story. At the time that I wrote this, my only experience with Drizzt had been his appearance in the Baldur's Gate series. I had not read the book by R.A. Salvatore, and my apologies if Drizzt seems completely out of character. This was just how I saw him at the time. :)
Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Bioware, Interplay, or the Baldur's Gate series other than copies of the games themselves and an overactive imagination. Nor do I own anything related to the Forgotten Realms, including, but not limited to, Drizzt Do'Urden. Thank you. :)
Journey to
the North
Chapter IX
Janus could hear the wolves
breaking through the underbrush behind him, their growls growing louder and
harsher as the beasts drew nearer. He urged his horse onward, leaning low over
its back to avoid the limbs and leaves that flew by just over his head, praying
silently to Helm for the continued health and use of his eyes and all other
useful parts of his body. He started in the saddle as a howl near him cut
through the night like a knife, answered shortly by others all around him,
surrounding him in a cacophony of canine conversation.
He swore in his mind for the third time that his mastiff would be sold the very moment he returned to Athkatla, and pressed his knees more firmly into the horse's sides, silently pleading for more speed as he began to hear the ragged breathing of a wolf at his foot. He kicked out without looking, and his boot hit a solid mass of muscle and bone with a satisfying thump. The creature yelped, then whined slightly as it fell away, and though the victory was small, it encouraged Janus. He cried to the horse to fly, leaning close enough to the horse's neck that he could feel the foam flying from the velvet coat.
The others had fallen some time ago. The wolves had poured from the shadows without warning, silver streaks in the moonlit night that betrayed the three riders in their hurried flight to the southwest. The initial rush had been easily avoided, the Athkatlan horses smoothly outrunning each gleaming form as they leapt over brush and brook. But even Athkatlan steeds had limits to their endurance, and as the horses' hooves began to feel the first struggles on the uneven forest floor, the wolves had raised their cry to the heavens, and other, faster creatures began to join in the pursuit, larger animals with coats of gleaming frost and eyes of steel. Ran and Paol had been surrounded quickly, the snarling beasts pulling their horses from underneath them. Janus had shut his eyes tightly against the echoing screams of terror that were abruptly silenced in the roar of the kill. He said an unspoken prayer to Helm for their souls and for their forgiveness as he fled from the slaughter like a madman, turning back in the saddle only to see a few of the wolves pull away from the scene and fly after him like ghosts in the night.
The winter wolves had been following Janus closely for the better part of the night. The horse beneath him was sure and fast, and had managed to stay a few lengths ahead of the pack for the past several hours. Janus marveled at the horse's feat even as he knew with a sick feeling that it could not last forever. Though he urged the horse on now with hoarse whispers and urgent kicks, he could feel the beast beginning to tire, and could hear the whispering footsteps on the snowy ground draw closer. His heart sank further, and at last he turned his head only slightly to see a group of new shapes streaming from the shadows to the south, their coats shining scarlet in the moonlight. Vampiric wolves.
The thought passed rather randomly through his mind that the appearance of the new creatures heralded his exit from the foothills of the Silver Mountains and into the forested flatlands that surrounded the Friendly Arm Inn. Under any other circumstances, the realization would have brought a profound relief, but there was no time as Janus felt his horse stumble, crying shrilly as the first of the wolves sank its sharp teeth into the hindquarter. Janus felt the creature fall to its knees and instinctively drew his sword from its sheath, turning with a shout of rage as he made a desperate jump from the saddle. He made the leap just in time to avoid having his legs crushed by the falling animal, but instead landed in the path of an oncoming wolf. It raised a blood-chilling howl of triumph and lunged for Janus' throat. The fighter turned and swung his sword instinctively, crying hoarsely as he felt the blade slice through the wolf's shoulder, then the neck. He pulled his sword free with a jerk as the animal slumped to the ground in a spreading, steaming pool of blood. Janus spun as he heard another wolf rush at him from behind, and raised his sword to strike. The weapon fell, and the blow was true, cleaving the animal's skull in two and leaving the beast to lie quivering beside its fellow.
Janus took a
step back from the fallen animals and turned just in time to see three crimson
streaks flying at him across the snow. He took a ready stance, his sword
balanced lightly in his hand, and watched as the wolves drew closer, their
howls echoing evilly on the icy air. He murmured under his breath, "For
the Order…." Then he raised his sword into the air, the moonlight gleaming
like a silver flame on the polished steel.
He took a step toward his attackers, his heart racing with the desperate
courage of the damned.
"For the Order!"
He never saw the creatures that came from behind. The wolf's leap upon his back was like a blow from a sledgehammer, throwing him to the ground. For a moment he struggled to breathe, not fully comprehending until the sword fell from his hand and disappeared into the thinning blanket of snow with a hiss. He groped for it blindly, twisting his body violently in a frantic effort to dislodge the animal that roared and snarled on his back.
Janus cried out in pain and rage as he felt the razor-sharp teeth tear into the unprotected skin of his shoulder. Silently he cursed to the sky his decision to ride lightly, wearing only traveling leathers instead of the heavier plate armor worn by the Knights of the Order. Sir Anomen had urged him repeatedly to reconsider, but the scout had refused, deciding to trade defense for speed in the night. Now he wondered at his wisdom as he felt the warmth of his blood spreading down his arm and over his neck. He made another desperate attempt to roll over, tearing his flesh from the slavering fangs. He scrambled to his knees, but fell again as another wolf leapt on him from the front.
He felt the flames of pain searing his back as another sank its teeth into the leather, then muscle, then felt the same blazing in his thigh as a third animal tore at the flesh there, pulling at its prize like a selfish child. Janus tried to pull away, to crawl away, but his muscles stubbornly refused to respond to his commands, and at last he sank to the earth with a barely audible groan of defeat. He felt the chill of the snow beneath him begin to sink into his body, and he knew that he was going to die. "Helm forgive me…." was all that he managed to coax from his blood-caked lips as he laid his head on the snow, closing his eyes in the sudden exhaustion of mortal shock.
Suddenly one of the wolves let out a whining shriek of pain, and Janus felt an strange lightness as it sprang from his body. He heard a snarl, then the familiar crunch of steel crushing bone. He felt the animal fall to the ground beside him, the shivering body heavy against his wounded arm. He opened his eyes slightly and saw that the animal's head had been neatly removed from its body. A stain of crimson was beginning to spread on the ground under its neck, hissing slightly as the snow beneath it melted into a sanguine slush.
His mind was slow and filled with a crimson fog. It struggled through his exhaustion to understand what had just happened. He tried to raise his head as he heard the sound of other wolves rushing to where he lay, but instead of the expected attack on his own helpless form, they seemed to be aiming toward another, unseen foe a few feet behind Janus, leaping over the scout's helpless body as easily as they would jump a wounded rabbit. He struggled to turn over toward the source of the sudden diversion, but he moaned as a sickening fire spread through his body, darkening his sight and sending a nausea through him that checked any further movement.
"Stay
still, fool!"
The harsh command was punctuated by the sound of another wolf falling to the
earth with a thud, and Janus obeyed the strange voice without question, closing
his eyes and surrendering to the cold sluggishness that was creeping over him.
The sounds of battle around him slowly blurred into what seemed a dream, and he
felt the warm oblivion of unconsciousness dancing at the corners of his mind.
The cold seemed to fade, the darkness to envelop him, until at last he felt
strong hands on his arms turning him over unceremoniously, and he felt the cool
smoothness of glass touching his lip. A cool liquid tingled upon his tongue,
filling him with a sweet radiance that soothed his limbs and woke his mind into
a sort of fragile alertness. He tried to raise his head, and coughed as more of
the precious fluid slid unexpectedly down his throat. The vial was pulled from
his lips, and the same strong hands lifted him into a somewhat more elevated
position, though he could still feel the icy moisture of the earth at his back.
"Careful, friend." The voice was deep, but had a strangely musical quality that was unfamiliar to Janus' exhausted ears. "There is little enough to be had, and none to spare to carelessness." The vial was pressed to Janus' lips again, and he felt the same glow spread through his body as he drank more eagerly, feeling warmth and vitality spread slowly through his injured frame. All too soon the vial was pulled away, and the strange voice spoke again.
"That is all that I can spare for the time being. Your body will have to continue the healing on its own." Janus struggled to open his eyes, and saw at first only vague shadows, dark against dark. It took several moments for his vision to clear, or so he thought. He saw only two spots of brilliant white against a form that seemed vaguely human, but was utter darkness.
"You seem
to have found more trouble than you were prepared for, stranger. If you can
speak, tell me your name and where you were bound before you met with these
rather… irritating beasts." More brilliant white appeared in the darkness
as the words were spoken, and Janus realized with a start that he was looking
at a face, as black as the night, with eyes of amethyst. Brilliant white hair
shone silver in the moonlight, and was pulled neatly away from the face. The face itself was both strong and finely
chiseled, with delicate features that spoke of elven blood, yet seemed strange,
foreign. The word was whispered in the corners of Janus' mind.
Drow.
Janus closed his eyes and opened his mouth to speak, but could force no sound from his throat. The nameless Drow watched Janus with narrowed eyes for several minutes, patiently waiting for the words that finally fell from Janus' struggling lips.
"Friendly… Arm…."
The dark elf raised an eyebrow. "The Friendly Arm is a good enough inn, stranger, but the ale is hardly worth risking one's life for, and all but the most costly beds are sufferable at best. If you're meeting your lover, may I suggest…."
Janus made a motion that seemed nothing more than a pathetic shake of the head, and the words were repeated.
"Fr… Friendly… Arm…."
***
The Drow sighed rather noisily. The man seemed deucedly determined. The dark elf sat back on his heels and gazed at him for a moment in silence, then noticed a single folded piece of parchment peering from the opening of the wounded man's tunic. He tilted his head thoughtfully, then leaned forward and pulled the letter from the man's tunic with slender fingers. Yes, it was a letter. The seal was of red wax, unbroken, and it seemed to be imprinted with two seals. The outer ring was a symbol that he did not recognize, though it seemed as though it should be familiar. The other was that of an eagle, head in profile, wings outstretched. His silver brows drew together in a frown. The eagle he had seen before.
Delryn.
The drow tucked
the folded parchment into his own tunic and stood, grasping the wounded man's
arms and pulling him rather abruptly to his feet. "Can you walk?"
The wounded soldier wavered on his legs without answering. With a muttered curse in his native tongue,
the Drow took one of the soldier's arms, then one of his legs and lifted him
easily onto his slender shoulders. Lowering himself slightly, he lifted a
battered pack from the rapidly cooling corpse of the fallen horse and looped it
over one of his new companion's legs.
Then he turned without a word and started walking to the southwest.
Drizzt Do'Urden was going to have to carry the man to the Friendly Arm.
