Chapter Three: Seperate Demons, Seperate Journeys
I am angry. At whom or what is unclear. Perhaps it is myself for bringing this misery and pain upon myself, or perhaps I am angry at myself for bringing this upon my friends. Or perhaps am I angry at Ellifain for showing to me the truth? Or I could be angry at my companions for being my friends and bringing it upon themselves, or is it at Catti-brie for allowing herself to be grieviously injured?
Whatever it is, I know but one thing for certain anymore.
My life was a lie.
It was a painful illusion, a perception of my place and my destiny which did not match reality. How foolish my actions seem now, my belief that it was Entreri which was living the lie. Now I see that he was in essence correct.
Perhaps this only illuminates how dangerous and blind is the being who considers him or her self knowing the answers to all the questions. The fanatic only cares about the achievement of the goal and will willingly kill or die to see through the achievement of that goal. It is the peak of self-deception.
Looking back, I see now how fanatical I had become. So secure in believing I was right and held all the answers to life's questions.
I was a fool.
I was so desperate to believe that I had abandoned my blood, my sisters and brothers, my race and my birthplace for the better that I was willing to die to see that inner security fulfilled. I was led astray by my own inner map of morality.
Ellifain was right.
It is all my fault.
I should never have come up from Menzoberranzan, never left what increasingly appears to have been my true destiny. I should have confronted the drow and died for it. That would have been far better than the long, drawn-out tragety which is the life of Drizzt Do'Urden.
Now I wander amid the biting winds of the Dale, looking for purpose but finding none. I feel the hope fading, I see the darkness of reality spreading in my mind. I am beginning to suspect that the dawn may not come.
I wonder, is that a bad thing?
--Drizzt Do'Urden
***
It was barely aware of it's surroundings anymore. No mortal had dared disturb the great worm for close to a century, no foolish warrior had challanged it, no shadow of a thief had crept in, fingers itching for dragon's treasure.
For good reason.
The legend of the beast was renown throughout Icewind Dale-renown and feared. In the aware part of the worm's mind, it felt a deep pleasure and pride in that thought. Reactions of horror, fear, trepidation and awe were not ill-deserved for the giant manevolent creature, for the beast had earned every lasting one of those fears, earned itself even in the nightmares of children who had been born long after the dragon had ceased to travel out into the open world as it had many centuries before. In past years it had often soared over Ten-Towns and the surrounding snowy terrain and pillaged the small seperate communites of Ten-Towns and even the tribes of war-loving barbarians who lived out in the tundra, carrying back the treasure-horde to it's lair on the outskirts of the Spine of the World mountains.
It remembered then the pleasures of raiding and burning. But the dragon was old, over five-hundred years so. Not that the body could not move any slower than before, but that the dragon had sated it's appetite for gold and riches long before and was contented to rest itself in the bowels of the mountains and sleep, until the next pitiable victim encountered the terrible worm.
The frost-colored behemoth shifted position slightly as it lay over it's treasure-countless jewels, thousands of individual coins, hundreds of gold bars, many priceless vases and chalices lay scattered across the stone floor of the cave in great heaps.
Oh, it could barely contain itself as it thought and dreamed of another challange, another worthy, or unworthy, opponent entering it's home, it's lair, and realizing in one horrifying moment, that their small, unimportant life would end and their body left battered and broken in an unmarked and unknown grave deep within the earth as the burning cold issued from the dragon's mouth and snuffed away whatever life stood before it.
For it was a frost-dragon and it's name was BurningIce.
Of course, it was impossible for the dragon to know that it's wish would become reality sooner than it thought.
***
Drizzt stormed down the dirt "road" which led of out Icewind Dale, pulling his forest-green cloak tighter around himself in order to stay warm amid the howl and sting of the winds.
Kelvin's Cairn and the Dwarven mines were now out of sight and had been for a day. Drizzt hardly cared, so caught up in his own self-pity was he.
Soon enough the day wore on and the chill of winter came surging in on the winds of the dale. As the sun began it's descent once again, it began to snow heavily, the hard winds seeming to blow right for Drizzt's face, slashing ice crystals across his cheeks and blasting through his cloak as if it weren't even there.
He traveled through the night without stopping.
Just as the night began to lighten, the road Drizzt was following began to sink down below the level of ground around it. There was a lone tree standing by the roadside, its branches long ago stripped of leaves. Drizzt realized that the area was potentially ripe for an ambush, but his anger and fatigue made him somewhat more careless.
Had he been on the alert, he would have noted the figures crouched just out of sight in small dips in the ground above the road.
As it was, it wasn't until an arrow whistled into the tree just above his head that he realized they were there.
***
Entreri trudged wearily along the road that was little more than a narrow dirt rut in the landscape, deep grooves carved down it on either side, creating little trenches, or moats. Entreri recognized these as wagon tracks, from the many caravans that braved the harsh and dangerous road to the Spine of the World and then beyond, to Icewind Dale. The newest tracks were fresh, probably less than half a day ahead, Entreri knew, feeling pleased that his tracking skills had not yet faded.
Closer and closer to the edge of the wilderness Entreri moved, retracing that same path he had once trod long ago when in pursuit of Regis the Halfling. For the first few hours of darkness, he had moved, easily in the dark with his infrared vision, with meaning and purpose and energy. Then, as he began to tire, slowly but surely Entreri began to calm down, to lose the driving purpose of his mission. He could feel the angered passion he had begun with slowly slipping away.
Now, hours later and miles closer, as the sun began to rise and the world to gradually lighten towards the dawn, Entreri felt worry and uncertainty fill his heart once again.
Did he really want to do this? Did he want to confront the drow? Did he even want to know which was the greater swordsman? In light of his recent conclusions, most of which he had revealed to Jarlaxle in his note, only the tinyest fraction of his brain dared to whisper no.
Silently, he brought up a mental image of the drow from their last meeting, in the bowels of Crenshinibon, standing at ease and confident, his lavander eyes revealing an almost pity for the obsessed human. Anger at the drow's rightous attitude spurred Entreri on, restoring his calm countenance and a self-assurance that he was indeed pursuing the proper course.
He was now making his way up a fair rise in the terrain. His feet felt heavy, each foot as if an invisable weight were attached to them. Something caused him to stop in his tracks, something to cause his ears to prick up though the sound was too indistinct to be identified. He listened carefully and was rewarded when the sound came again after only a few seconds.
The familiar twang of an arrow being loosed from a bow.
Entreri sprinted up the last part of the rise and paused as he reached the crest to take in the scene at the bottom of the slope. His blood raced.
The scene below was one of chaos. The caravan Entreri had realized was ahead of him had formed its wagons in a circle-a familiar defense among the traveling caravans in the regions-and the hired protectors were within the circle, valianting defending the merchants and supplies, not to mention their lives, with vigor and zeal. Many had longbows and crossbows. Arrow shafts crisscrossed the field, impaling themselves in flesh, orc or human, the ground or the wood of wagons.
Their adversaries, Entreri recognized with distaste, were orcs. Lots of orcs. Perhaps twoscore, maybe more.
Entreri was suddenly conscious of his sword, Charon's Claw and dagger, hanging confortably at either hip. He realized that he had not been in an actual fight since the quest to destroy Crenshinibon and that he missed the conflict, the ring of blade against blade.
Drawing his weapons, he hefted them comfortably, feeling their balance and knowing their deadly precision.
He charged down the slope, towards the fighting.
***
Drizzt rolled to the right, away from the tree trunk as another arrow whistled in towards him, and to his feet, drawing his scimitars as he did, seeming as though they simply appeared in his hands. His cloak floated behind him dramatically.
Brandishing his weapons and standing in the middle of the roadway and with enemies on all sides, Drizzt knew he was very deffinately outnumbered. There he stood and took in the spectacle as orcs and humans and goblins and five frost giants rose up all around him on either side of the road, many moving down into the road, thus encircling the drow.
He was in serious trouble. There were at least forty opponents, five of which were frost giants. Drizzt was momentarily stunned. He had never known, in all of his experience, these races to ever work together on anything.
Then, a human stepped to lip looking down into the road, smiling confidently. There were bandages on his arms, and he was wearing a bright ruby hung from a chain about his neck.
Drizzt's eyes opened wide. He recognized that man! It was the thief the wizard had been torturing with the female drow's whip.
"Well, well, well," said the human confidently. "We meet again, drow."
"You!" spat Drizzt furiously.
"Me, Tomar Aldorin at your service!" the man grinned, giving a mocking bow, arm flung out to the side.
"I gave you mercy!"
"Don't tell me that you, mighty warrior, are begging for mercy?" sneered the man, apparently enjoying the thought.
"No, I merely comment on your own stupidity!" snarled Drizzt.
"Be wary, drow," he spat the word with great distaste, "that your words do not condemn you to death."
Drizzt felt the rage building, the anger and frustration of all of his problems, his hate, his anger, welling up to replace any conscious feeling.
He was the Hunter again.
"Oh, wait," said the man, mockingly pretending to just have thought of what he was saying, "you're going to be killed anyway. My mistake."
"Yes, it was," remarked Drizzt.
The man glared at the dark elf.
"Goodbye, Drizzt Do'Urden."
He turned away and flicked his hand in the general direction of Drizzt.
"Kill him," he said.
Ten bows came up, ten arrows nocked and cocked. There were ten loud twangs in the still of the dawn as ten arrows were loosed, all at a singular target.
***
Entreri reached the first of the orcs, who was staring away towards the circle of caravans, watching the battle.
A jeweled dagger plunged into its back. And then a sword took its ugly head off its shoulders and deposited it messily to the ground before it could cry out. The body stood there, Entreri's dagger still embedded in it's back.
The dagger's life-force sucking ability then activated and Entreri gasped as the familiar but horrible sensation of the orc's life-force being ripped from it's body and pumped into Entreri's. He felt it rejuvenating him, restoring his energy and stamina to him. Finished with its horrible work, the dagger ceased its power and the body slid off of the blade and to the ground.
There were three orcs nearby and they turned about at the sound of the body hitting the ground to see Entreri standing calmly over their comrad.
They shouted in alarm and anger and, hefting their weapons, charged the deadly human.
Entreri entered the fray in full, sword and dagger flashing in the dawn light.
The three orcs spread out, trying to flank the human, as they charged. Ignoring the left and right opponents for the moment, but registering their movements at the edges of his vision, he attacked the middle orc, which hefted its sword over it's head and as Entreri reached striking distance, the orc brought its weapon down. Hard.
Entreri casually lifted Charon's Claw to deflect the expected strike, and then dropped to his knees before the orc, and drove his dagger into the beast's belly.
A second later, drained of energy, the body slid away. Staying where he was, purposefully presenting an inviting target for the remaining orcs, he expected them to rush in at his vunerable back. They did.
He waited until they were nearly upon him, then rolled to the right, directly between them, and sprang to his feet. Both of the orcs had struck for the head and finding no head there, over balanced and continued on by. Entreri extended his arms out to either side and stabbed each as they continued to the ground.
Meanwhile, the orcs had broken through the circle of wagons at multiple points and the clang of steel upon steel and the screams and howls of wounded and dying now echoed up into the still of the morning.
Nodding at the still bodies in satisfaction in a job well done, Entreri hefted his sword and dagger and continued down the slope, into the thick of pitched battle.
***
Fortunately for Drizzt, most of the archers weren't very good and probably wouldn't have hit him anyway. Several arrows were sailing true, however.
Deep into the Hunter, there was no reaction, no wince, no hesitation. There were threats. They must be elliminated. Up came the scimitars and Drizzt spun, swords weaving before him, swatting arrow after arrow from the air. So attuned was he to his surroundings that he caught one of the arrows on his blade, using its momentem to flip it completely around the blade and hurl it into the lone tree next to the other arrow.
He skidded to a halt, spraying snow into the air. His many opponents drew their swords and charged. Anticipating the clash, Drizzt snarled, feeling his rage explode into his arms and legs, and he charged them, turning to the left, and ran down the road, straight at several of the approaching human figures, loping off the head of a far-too-eager goblin as he did.
Swatting aside their meager defences, he slammed into them, scimitars whipping before him, acting like a large and sharp meatgrinder.
He took off hands and arms and heads as he furiously hacked his way into their ranks. Totally unexpecting such a ferocious assult, the humans panicked, trying to get away from the drow and his spinning blades of death.
Suddenly finding himself some room to work in, Drizzt set his feet as a brave, or possibly stupid, opponent charged him, brandishing a sword. The human thrust ahead with his blade, Drizzt responding by knocking it away.
What followed was a three-move duel. The human attacked again, his sword slashing out horizontally, clearly hoping to open Drizzt's belly from kidney to kidney. First move. Drizzt deflected the attack with Icingdeath, flipping it up and over their heads as the second move. The sword tore itself free of the human's fingers, selecting the chest of one of his companions as it's resting place. Drizzt then took off the human's head with Twinkle. Third move.
The body fell away. Unfortunately, Drizzt was now surrounded by at least a score of humans and orcs, all with very sharp weapons. All pointed Drizzt's way. He narrowed his lavander eyes in anger and felt for the pouch at his side bearing Guen. He felt the familiar shape of the figurine and grasped it through the leather and shouted the name of his panther friend.
With a loud warcry, the enemies charged inward towards Drizzt, hoping numbers to overwhelm the skilled drow warrior. Only there was one singularly louder roar which met them, leading the attack of a six-hundred pound panther which, not having been called recently, had quite a lot of pent-up energy to use. Unfortunately for the bandits, this energy was directed at them in the particular manner of claws and jaws.
Drizzt turned to the other charging side, and barrelled into them, thrusting his scimitars ahead of him, close together, and prised the wall of sharp swords open by opening his arms and pressing his scimitars against the two nearest weapons, turning them away.
Panther and drow fought, fought well, against overwhelming odds.
***
Entreri walked casually through the ranks of orcs, slashing and stabbing, his sword and dagger constantly moving, weaving a dazzling trail in the air before him. Soon enough he reached the circle of wagons and broke into a sprint, leaping into the air and nimbly clambering to the top of the wagon and surveyed the battle within.
The humans were fighting valiantly, but the orc forces were like a raging flood against them. Men were falling everywhere.
Hefting his weapons and taking a deep breath, Entreri did a forward flip down into the arena, landing on the shoulders of an orc, the sudden pressure breaking its spine. As it fell, Entreri leaped into the fray, slamming against the back of yet another orc, driving his dagger deep. He twisted it in the body for good measure, then let it fall.
Then he began to spin in the close quarters of the battle, remaining in the same spot, but rotating around, hacking into orcs all around him, driving sword and dagger into them.
An explosion erupted behind him, at the other side of the circle. Orcs were hurtled into the air, as were the various parts of orcs as the bright orange fireball rose into the heavens and became black smoke. Through the thinner line of orcs, Entreri caught a glance of a mage, deep in the throws of casting another spell.
The fireball shot its way straight for the large group of orcs Entreri was now fighting. His eyes widened in horror, and he dived to the ground. Or tried to. The fireball struck the orcs before him and exploded, the shockwave picking him up and hurtling him backward into the air. He heard a loud crunch as he was blasted through the side of one of the wagons. The cloth covering deflated and fell upon him, and all was lost to darkness.
***
Drizzt spun, swinging his blades back and forth. Enemies were pressing in on all sides. He was taking hits, not serious, but nicks and light slashes. His knuckles were split open and blood flowed freely over his fingers from all of the punches he had delivered.
Sensing an attack from behind, he flipped Icingdeath back over his head, swinging it so that it was parallel with his back, deflecting a blow intended to impale him, without even looking. At the same time, he parryed a five-move attack by the opponent in front of him, deflecting the strikes, using the tip of Twinkle to lift the man's sword up and out, bringing Icingdeath back from behind him and thrust it into the bandit's chest.
Instantly, as the body fell away, two more bandits came to take the place of their fallen comrade. Beginning to tire, Drizzt gasped in a breath and pressed into them, scimitars driving and sticking. Sensing an attack from the side, Drizzt leaped away, only slightly too late, as the sword nicked him across the thigh in midleap.
Wincing in pain, Drizzt twisted awkwardly to avoid the next strike, and came down hard on his left foot. It buckled under him and he fell to the red-stained snow. From all around, bandits leaped upon him.
***
Entreri came awake.
The sounds of battle were all around him. He was suffocating under the wagon cover. He flailed his arms about, trying to free himself from its confines. Growing frustrated, he drove Charon's Claw through the material, and slit it open. He tore himself free of the tangled cloth, leaped from the wagon back to the ground, and slashed into the nearest orc.
He found that there were significantly less orcs about, noting that many were charred. The mage had been busy. There was probably a score, perhaps less now. Entreri sprinted up to one orc engaged with another human defender, and furiously slashed and hacked at its vulnerable back. It fell away with a cry which ended in a gurgle. The human nodded at Entreri in thanks, and Entreri nodded back. Then he turned, sensing a presence coming in from behind, meeting an orc blade edge to edge, shoving it down and to the ground, then struck at the orc's throat with his dagger, once, again, again, until the creature fell away with only a bloody mass for a neck.
A whole group of five orcs surged over their companion then and launched a full-out assult against him. Entreri gave a shout of challange and attacked, turning away their pikes as they came in, Charon's Claw slicing through the wooden shaft of one, removing it's spiked tip. Holding nothing more than a short stick, the orc stared at its severed weapon for a long moment, before Entreri's sword found its belly and drove into the soft flesh, slashing vital organs and piercing armor. Without pausing, Entreri tore the sword from the corpse and swung to the left, sword swinging out to catch the orc's searching pike, deflecting its strike, and before the orc could summon up any defense, Entreri stepped close, inside the orc's defense, and drove his dagger, now slick with orc blood, into the orc's armor, which the blade sliced through as if it were tin foil and stabbed the heart.
The orc fell.
Entreri turned to face the rest of his foes, sinking to his knees as an orc blade sailed over his head. He drove Charon's Claw into the orc, then sprang to his feet, spun the orc corpse around. The orc's companion had struck for Entreri's side, but now impaled its dead friend and as it stood, surprised, Entreri stabbed it with his sword. Both orcs fell upon the earth. Then Entreri spun again, this time to his left, Charon's Claw extended horizontally. The orc lifted its pike shaft to meet the strike, but the enchanted sword sliced through the wood and continued on to pass through the neck as well.
***
Bruenor stood upon Bruenor's Climb outside of the dwarven mines, deep in thought and reflection. He thought of Catti-brie, of her as a young child, smiling and happy, Catti-brie as a young girl, innocent as a flower and beautiful as a princess, Catti-brie and her engagement with Wulfgar...
A cleric slowly emerged from the mines and came to stand behind and slightly to the left of the king.
"Me king," he said grimly.
Bruenor turned to regard the cleric sadly.
"Has she...?" Bruenor choked and could not continue.
"Ye best come see her," said the cleric quietly. "Te say yer piece afore she slips away."
Bruenor nodded glumly, and his once proud shoulders slumped.
"Aye, that I should be doin'," Bruenor said distractedly.
The dwarves turned their backs upon the glaring sun and entered the mines once again. To Bruenor that day, it seemed as the longest walk of his life.
***
As the first bandit leaped into the air, sword pointed down towards Drizzt, the dark elf lifted his scimitars and allowed the foolish human to impale himself upon the blades. Drizzt then kicked his legs into the air, doing a handstand, kicking the bandit square in the back. The body was launched into the air to slam into the ranks surrounding Drizzt.
Using his momentem, Drizzt launched himself into a head-over-heels flip, which lifted him clear of the ranks of bandits to land on his feet on the left side of the road, on the rise. Many pursued, scrabbling up the side of the incline after the escaping elf.
He scurried to the top and was forced to leap again, this time to the right, as a frost giant's club hurtled down to crush the pursuing humans as they crested the rise.
Drizzt wasted no time in quickly sticking the giant in the calves with his scimitars, slapping them across the giant's tough hide, trying to sever the hamstring. He didn't get to it in time.
With a roar of pain, the giant swatted Drizzt away into the air at least ten feet, to land on the unyielding tundra hard. The drow lost his hold on his prized weapons and Icingdeath bounced away to the left and Twinkle to the right. The giant was within striking distance in a single stride and lifted it's monstrous club high into the air, preparing to crush Drizzt like an umpleasant insect.
Body numb from the landing, dazed, battered and bleeding, Drizzt could barely see straight. It was, he reflected, a very bad start to the day.
The club descended and Drizzt watched it interestedly, dettachedly.
There was a feral scream of rage and Guenhwavar gave a mighty leap into the air, sailing high and free, into the oncoming path of the descending club. There was a sickening crunch as the two, cat and club, collided. The giant drove the cat and his club into the earth with the power of his swing.
Drizzt stared, eyes wide, in absolute horror at the indentation in the ground right before him. Something clicked in him and he grabbed the figureine in his pouch and quickly dismissed the cat back to the Astral plane-if it was not too late.
He rolled and retrieved his scimitars quicker than the giant thought possible. Then Drizzt stood, his eyes burning like a lavander inferno. If there was part of his mind that had not previously become the Hunter, the whole of his reality was now swallowed by a red wall of sheer and unadulterated rage. Even though the drow was much smaller than the giant, the giant saw the expression on Drizzt's face-an expression that spoke of absolute death for the giant and every last one of his companions-and found himself afraid.
The giant took an uncertain step back. Twinkle's normal blue glow intensified until it was as a miniature star in the day, casting a blue tint on the landscape.
Drizzt charged then, and so full of adrenaline and rage that the giant barely had time to react before Drizzt had lept onto its chest and had stabbed it with both blades. The giant howled in pain, and crushed it's arms to it's chest, hoping to turn the drow into a sort of jelly, but Drizzt merely tore his blades from the frost giant's chest and clambered his way higher, until he had slipped onto the the giant's shoulders and driven his scimitars deep into both of the giant's eyes.
The body tipped backward. Drizzt leaped off of it before it hit the ground with a thunderous crash and had crushed several more of its own bandit friends.
Drizzt landed in the midst of a score of orcs and humans, scimitars flashing, Icingdeath out in front, guarding the drow's front while Twinkle danced behind, twirling and slicing, forming an impenatrable wall of sharp steel. Nothing could stand in Drizzt's way. In a matter of half a minute, a score lay dead around him and he showed no signs of slowing again.
He was the Hunter in full. Swords did not stop him. Arrows did not slow him. Giants fell and ran before him. Wounds he did not feel, nor remorse.
They would die, the Hunter had determined.
They would all die.
***
It was a lost cause, Entreri determined. More orcs had arrived and were swarming over the circle of wagons like they were a mere fence against a flood.
In the midst of spell-casting, the mage had been overwhelmed and struck down. Humans, warriors, fell all around him against the overpowering forces of the orc hords. Deciding that sticking around to the bitter end to be folly and suicide, Entreri turned and broke into a run, leaping up to the top of one of the wagons and halted, horrified.
Orcs swarmed everywhere. It was as if the ground were shifting and moving, moving in from the east. What could bring so many orcs together? What horror had such power? Entreri wondered. Shaking himself out of his stillness, the agile human leaped down from the wagon and struck out in the only safe direction. North.
Away from the road.
Towards the Spine of the World.
Orcs pursued.
***
The general watched the raid with satisfaction. His armies were growing. The frost giants had just joined his alliance, and general was feeling invincible. His plans were proceeding. His armies were pressing north.
Soon, they would be strong enough. Enough to begin the assult.
Enough to conquor.
The general liked the sound of that. Very much, indeed.
***
Every step Bruenor took brought him closer to Catti-brie, closer to the time when he would be forced to acknowledge that he was going to lose his adopted daughter.
The hardy dwarf had faced hundreds of foes, from drow to orcs, goblins, yetis, even Balor. Yet of all his battles, his confrontations, this was shaping up to be the greatest.
He was not sure he could handle the challange.
The cleric pushed open the door to Catti-brie's quarters, where she lay, deep in a coma, on the brink of death. He held the door for his king, and then shut the doors again.
A familiar figure sat watching Catti-brie sadly.
"Regis!" Bruenor nearly shouted.
The halfling looked up, nodded to Bruenor, and then gave him a grim, half- hearted smile.
"I came as soon as I heard," the halfling said.
Bruenor crossed the stone room and laid a hand upon Regis's shoulder.
"I'm bein' glad yer here," the dwarf said, his voice quiet. "I'm not fer bein' alone when she..." he didn't bother finishing the sentence, his throat already constricting in a great sob, making any further communication impossible. And unnecessary.
"I still hold to hope," Regis stated confidently.
Bruenor sat on the edge of the bed, watching his human daughter. He sighed.
"Glad one o' us does, Regis...."
Regis stared at the defeated dwarf in surprise. That was probably the first time Bruenor had called the halfling by his real name and not Rumblebelly, his nickname. It only showed the halfling how depressed Bruenor had become.
Bruenor reached out, hesitating only a moment, his hand hovering close to her skin, then he touched her brow. It was icy cold, as if there were no life in her at all. Her face had taken on a sallow, deadened look. Bruenor closed his eyes as hot tears came. He gritted his teeth, and he pulled the hand touching her still form away, and curled it into a fist shaking with rage, with helplessness, and with sorrow. He pressed that fist into his own hot brow, desperately trying to force the tears back.
He might have well been trying to drive back the sea.
"Don't ye dare go, girl!" he shouted suddenly into the silence. "Don't ye dare be leavin'!"
Her chest rose and fell shallowly.
Ignoring the tears flowing steadily into his beard, fighting uncontrolable and unconscious sobs that shook his powerful form, the noble dwarf put his shaking hands on Catti-brie's gray cheeks. Overcome with grief, he lowered his head closer to her still and peaceful face.
"I don't know where ye are, girl, or where ye be travelin' to," the normally gruff dwarf whispered so that only he and his daughter could hear, "but I know I'm not wantin' te see ye goin'. I'm knowin' tha' fer sure. Tha' elf o' yours, Drizzt, he be needin' ye, girly, he be needin' ye a lot. Come back fer him."
He paused to blink tears out of his eyes.
"But if ye needin' to be goin', then I know ye'll be findin' clear trails afore ye. I know ye'll be findin' rest and peace. If this be goodbye, me daughter, then goodbye te ye, but don't ye go willin'ly! Ye fight, ye hear, girl? Ye fight it te the end!"
He fell silent then and the only sound in the room was the crackle of the torches set into the walls. They all seemed to be holding their breath after Bruenor's words. There was no sound of breathing.
Catti-brie's chest now lay still.
Bruenor stared down at her still form in horror and shock. Everything seemed to be spinning. Somewhere in his mind he registered the sight of the clerics rushing forward, shouting prayers and healings though he didn't seem to be hearing anything. Dimly he registered the horror-stricken stare of Regis. He heard no sound, though he would be told later that he was bellowing at the top of his lungs in a heartrending denial.
***
Drizzt Do'Urden stood among the fallen as the last enemy flopped to the snow. He was covered in blood, his scimitars slick in the stuff. He was running purely on adrenaline then, filled with a deep rage. Following the body down, he struck it again with Twinkle, again with Icingdeath, a feral growl escaping his lips. His vision was beginning to blur and darkness was beginning to cover what he was seeing.
Still his arms pumped the scimitars up and down, slashing into the corpse. He didn't even realize that his growl had become a scream of pure rage, of anguish. His swords fell from his freezing fingers, splashing into the red snow. He didn't even bother to retrieve them to continue, simply siezed the corpse about the neck and began strangling it, releasing his anger, his rage. He didn't even stop when the neck snapped.
The Hunter fell away then, and suddenly Drizzt returned to himself and found himself upon his knees, twin scimitars fallen away to the red snow, strangling a dead and mutilated corpse. He released it, startled, and fell back, off of the body, landing prone in the snow, no energy left, staring up at the blue sky. He remembered....
And he heard a familiar voice.
"Drizzt...." it whispered, as if carried by the wind, barely audible. "Drizzt..."
He smiled weakly.
"Catti-brie...." he whispered. The cold seemed to gently drift away. Drizzt was suddenly warm, though nothing in his surroundings had changed.
She was standing over him then, smiling. He grinned up at her.
"What's this?" She asked slyly, a grin of mischief playing upon her face. "Drizzt Do'Urden asleep on the job?"
"Hardly," he retorted. "I was just resting."
She shrugged, still grinning.
"Sleeping or resting, don't matter. It's all the same if there be someone with a knife at yer throat!"
And with a laugh, she leaped upon him, stradling him, her knife at his throat. "What be your plan now, elf?" she cried.
"My plan?" he said as he stared into her eyes. She suddenly blushed red at her actions, conscious of their proximity. He slowly reached up and gently pushed the knife from his throat. It fell to the ground beside them. Their faces were inches upart. "My plan involves this...."
He slowly lifted his head until their lips touched, gently, tenderly. It wasn't much of a kiss in terms of pressure or wild passion, but it was full of it's own passion, a tender fire. His hand came up to caress her cheek, so soft and warm. They parted, but only a few inches.
"Drizzt?"
He looked at her.
"I think I love you...." she whispered.
He smiled.
"And I you."
Their lips came together again, this time with more passion. The campfire burned low in the absence of their tending.
Catti-brie had fallen asleep in his strong arms. And then he heard the crack of a whip and a scream of pain, faint on the wind. Gently he extracted himself from her embrace, dressed quickly and headed into the dawn. He left her asleep and unguarded as he departed from the circular alcove. He had not known that she would soon be ambushed by yetis.
He broke free from the memory, so full of happiness and pain. The bite of the icewind staggered him, and his wounds returned to their pain.
He was free of the memory, and yet her voice came again to him, as if from upon the winds and at the same time hearing it inside of his skull.
"I love you...be strong...."
Then it too was gone, whisked by on the winds, gradually growing fainter until it had faded completely.
"Catti-brie," Drizzt tried to shout, "don't go!"
He staggered to his knees, scrabbling for his scimitars, sheathed them, and pulled himself to his feet, employing the side of the rise to do so. The voice had sounded like it had been traveling south. He crawled up the rise with what strength he had been able to muster. He began crawling after the sound of Catti-brie's voice on his hands and knees, then forced himself to his feet, drawing energy from his deep reservoir of determination and stubborness and staggered through the snow, pursuing the voice of his love, refusing to stop, refusing to stumble and fall, refusing to succumb to his wounds, refusing to lay down and die.
He staggered onward to the south.
Towards the Spine of the World.
Towards the last revelation.
Towards the final duel.
I am angry. At whom or what is unclear. Perhaps it is myself for bringing this misery and pain upon myself, or perhaps I am angry at myself for bringing this upon my friends. Or perhaps am I angry at Ellifain for showing to me the truth? Or I could be angry at my companions for being my friends and bringing it upon themselves, or is it at Catti-brie for allowing herself to be grieviously injured?
Whatever it is, I know but one thing for certain anymore.
My life was a lie.
It was a painful illusion, a perception of my place and my destiny which did not match reality. How foolish my actions seem now, my belief that it was Entreri which was living the lie. Now I see that he was in essence correct.
Perhaps this only illuminates how dangerous and blind is the being who considers him or her self knowing the answers to all the questions. The fanatic only cares about the achievement of the goal and will willingly kill or die to see through the achievement of that goal. It is the peak of self-deception.
Looking back, I see now how fanatical I had become. So secure in believing I was right and held all the answers to life's questions.
I was a fool.
I was so desperate to believe that I had abandoned my blood, my sisters and brothers, my race and my birthplace for the better that I was willing to die to see that inner security fulfilled. I was led astray by my own inner map of morality.
Ellifain was right.
It is all my fault.
I should never have come up from Menzoberranzan, never left what increasingly appears to have been my true destiny. I should have confronted the drow and died for it. That would have been far better than the long, drawn-out tragety which is the life of Drizzt Do'Urden.
Now I wander amid the biting winds of the Dale, looking for purpose but finding none. I feel the hope fading, I see the darkness of reality spreading in my mind. I am beginning to suspect that the dawn may not come.
I wonder, is that a bad thing?
--Drizzt Do'Urden
***
It was barely aware of it's surroundings anymore. No mortal had dared disturb the great worm for close to a century, no foolish warrior had challanged it, no shadow of a thief had crept in, fingers itching for dragon's treasure.
For good reason.
The legend of the beast was renown throughout Icewind Dale-renown and feared. In the aware part of the worm's mind, it felt a deep pleasure and pride in that thought. Reactions of horror, fear, trepidation and awe were not ill-deserved for the giant manevolent creature, for the beast had earned every lasting one of those fears, earned itself even in the nightmares of children who had been born long after the dragon had ceased to travel out into the open world as it had many centuries before. In past years it had often soared over Ten-Towns and the surrounding snowy terrain and pillaged the small seperate communites of Ten-Towns and even the tribes of war-loving barbarians who lived out in the tundra, carrying back the treasure-horde to it's lair on the outskirts of the Spine of the World mountains.
It remembered then the pleasures of raiding and burning. But the dragon was old, over five-hundred years so. Not that the body could not move any slower than before, but that the dragon had sated it's appetite for gold and riches long before and was contented to rest itself in the bowels of the mountains and sleep, until the next pitiable victim encountered the terrible worm.
The frost-colored behemoth shifted position slightly as it lay over it's treasure-countless jewels, thousands of individual coins, hundreds of gold bars, many priceless vases and chalices lay scattered across the stone floor of the cave in great heaps.
Oh, it could barely contain itself as it thought and dreamed of another challange, another worthy, or unworthy, opponent entering it's home, it's lair, and realizing in one horrifying moment, that their small, unimportant life would end and their body left battered and broken in an unmarked and unknown grave deep within the earth as the burning cold issued from the dragon's mouth and snuffed away whatever life stood before it.
For it was a frost-dragon and it's name was BurningIce.
Of course, it was impossible for the dragon to know that it's wish would become reality sooner than it thought.
***
Drizzt stormed down the dirt "road" which led of out Icewind Dale, pulling his forest-green cloak tighter around himself in order to stay warm amid the howl and sting of the winds.
Kelvin's Cairn and the Dwarven mines were now out of sight and had been for a day. Drizzt hardly cared, so caught up in his own self-pity was he.
Soon enough the day wore on and the chill of winter came surging in on the winds of the dale. As the sun began it's descent once again, it began to snow heavily, the hard winds seeming to blow right for Drizzt's face, slashing ice crystals across his cheeks and blasting through his cloak as if it weren't even there.
He traveled through the night without stopping.
Just as the night began to lighten, the road Drizzt was following began to sink down below the level of ground around it. There was a lone tree standing by the roadside, its branches long ago stripped of leaves. Drizzt realized that the area was potentially ripe for an ambush, but his anger and fatigue made him somewhat more careless.
Had he been on the alert, he would have noted the figures crouched just out of sight in small dips in the ground above the road.
As it was, it wasn't until an arrow whistled into the tree just above his head that he realized they were there.
***
Entreri trudged wearily along the road that was little more than a narrow dirt rut in the landscape, deep grooves carved down it on either side, creating little trenches, or moats. Entreri recognized these as wagon tracks, from the many caravans that braved the harsh and dangerous road to the Spine of the World and then beyond, to Icewind Dale. The newest tracks were fresh, probably less than half a day ahead, Entreri knew, feeling pleased that his tracking skills had not yet faded.
Closer and closer to the edge of the wilderness Entreri moved, retracing that same path he had once trod long ago when in pursuit of Regis the Halfling. For the first few hours of darkness, he had moved, easily in the dark with his infrared vision, with meaning and purpose and energy. Then, as he began to tire, slowly but surely Entreri began to calm down, to lose the driving purpose of his mission. He could feel the angered passion he had begun with slowly slipping away.
Now, hours later and miles closer, as the sun began to rise and the world to gradually lighten towards the dawn, Entreri felt worry and uncertainty fill his heart once again.
Did he really want to do this? Did he want to confront the drow? Did he even want to know which was the greater swordsman? In light of his recent conclusions, most of which he had revealed to Jarlaxle in his note, only the tinyest fraction of his brain dared to whisper no.
Silently, he brought up a mental image of the drow from their last meeting, in the bowels of Crenshinibon, standing at ease and confident, his lavander eyes revealing an almost pity for the obsessed human. Anger at the drow's rightous attitude spurred Entreri on, restoring his calm countenance and a self-assurance that he was indeed pursuing the proper course.
He was now making his way up a fair rise in the terrain. His feet felt heavy, each foot as if an invisable weight were attached to them. Something caused him to stop in his tracks, something to cause his ears to prick up though the sound was too indistinct to be identified. He listened carefully and was rewarded when the sound came again after only a few seconds.
The familiar twang of an arrow being loosed from a bow.
Entreri sprinted up the last part of the rise and paused as he reached the crest to take in the scene at the bottom of the slope. His blood raced.
The scene below was one of chaos. The caravan Entreri had realized was ahead of him had formed its wagons in a circle-a familiar defense among the traveling caravans in the regions-and the hired protectors were within the circle, valianting defending the merchants and supplies, not to mention their lives, with vigor and zeal. Many had longbows and crossbows. Arrow shafts crisscrossed the field, impaling themselves in flesh, orc or human, the ground or the wood of wagons.
Their adversaries, Entreri recognized with distaste, were orcs. Lots of orcs. Perhaps twoscore, maybe more.
Entreri was suddenly conscious of his sword, Charon's Claw and dagger, hanging confortably at either hip. He realized that he had not been in an actual fight since the quest to destroy Crenshinibon and that he missed the conflict, the ring of blade against blade.
Drawing his weapons, he hefted them comfortably, feeling their balance and knowing their deadly precision.
He charged down the slope, towards the fighting.
***
Drizzt rolled to the right, away from the tree trunk as another arrow whistled in towards him, and to his feet, drawing his scimitars as he did, seeming as though they simply appeared in his hands. His cloak floated behind him dramatically.
Brandishing his weapons and standing in the middle of the roadway and with enemies on all sides, Drizzt knew he was very deffinately outnumbered. There he stood and took in the spectacle as orcs and humans and goblins and five frost giants rose up all around him on either side of the road, many moving down into the road, thus encircling the drow.
He was in serious trouble. There were at least forty opponents, five of which were frost giants. Drizzt was momentarily stunned. He had never known, in all of his experience, these races to ever work together on anything.
Then, a human stepped to lip looking down into the road, smiling confidently. There were bandages on his arms, and he was wearing a bright ruby hung from a chain about his neck.
Drizzt's eyes opened wide. He recognized that man! It was the thief the wizard had been torturing with the female drow's whip.
"Well, well, well," said the human confidently. "We meet again, drow."
"You!" spat Drizzt furiously.
"Me, Tomar Aldorin at your service!" the man grinned, giving a mocking bow, arm flung out to the side.
"I gave you mercy!"
"Don't tell me that you, mighty warrior, are begging for mercy?" sneered the man, apparently enjoying the thought.
"No, I merely comment on your own stupidity!" snarled Drizzt.
"Be wary, drow," he spat the word with great distaste, "that your words do not condemn you to death."
Drizzt felt the rage building, the anger and frustration of all of his problems, his hate, his anger, welling up to replace any conscious feeling.
He was the Hunter again.
"Oh, wait," said the man, mockingly pretending to just have thought of what he was saying, "you're going to be killed anyway. My mistake."
"Yes, it was," remarked Drizzt.
The man glared at the dark elf.
"Goodbye, Drizzt Do'Urden."
He turned away and flicked his hand in the general direction of Drizzt.
"Kill him," he said.
Ten bows came up, ten arrows nocked and cocked. There were ten loud twangs in the still of the dawn as ten arrows were loosed, all at a singular target.
***
Entreri reached the first of the orcs, who was staring away towards the circle of caravans, watching the battle.
A jeweled dagger plunged into its back. And then a sword took its ugly head off its shoulders and deposited it messily to the ground before it could cry out. The body stood there, Entreri's dagger still embedded in it's back.
The dagger's life-force sucking ability then activated and Entreri gasped as the familiar but horrible sensation of the orc's life-force being ripped from it's body and pumped into Entreri's. He felt it rejuvenating him, restoring his energy and stamina to him. Finished with its horrible work, the dagger ceased its power and the body slid off of the blade and to the ground.
There were three orcs nearby and they turned about at the sound of the body hitting the ground to see Entreri standing calmly over their comrad.
They shouted in alarm and anger and, hefting their weapons, charged the deadly human.
Entreri entered the fray in full, sword and dagger flashing in the dawn light.
The three orcs spread out, trying to flank the human, as they charged. Ignoring the left and right opponents for the moment, but registering their movements at the edges of his vision, he attacked the middle orc, which hefted its sword over it's head and as Entreri reached striking distance, the orc brought its weapon down. Hard.
Entreri casually lifted Charon's Claw to deflect the expected strike, and then dropped to his knees before the orc, and drove his dagger into the beast's belly.
A second later, drained of energy, the body slid away. Staying where he was, purposefully presenting an inviting target for the remaining orcs, he expected them to rush in at his vunerable back. They did.
He waited until they were nearly upon him, then rolled to the right, directly between them, and sprang to his feet. Both of the orcs had struck for the head and finding no head there, over balanced and continued on by. Entreri extended his arms out to either side and stabbed each as they continued to the ground.
Meanwhile, the orcs had broken through the circle of wagons at multiple points and the clang of steel upon steel and the screams and howls of wounded and dying now echoed up into the still of the morning.
Nodding at the still bodies in satisfaction in a job well done, Entreri hefted his sword and dagger and continued down the slope, into the thick of pitched battle.
***
Fortunately for Drizzt, most of the archers weren't very good and probably wouldn't have hit him anyway. Several arrows were sailing true, however.
Deep into the Hunter, there was no reaction, no wince, no hesitation. There were threats. They must be elliminated. Up came the scimitars and Drizzt spun, swords weaving before him, swatting arrow after arrow from the air. So attuned was he to his surroundings that he caught one of the arrows on his blade, using its momentem to flip it completely around the blade and hurl it into the lone tree next to the other arrow.
He skidded to a halt, spraying snow into the air. His many opponents drew their swords and charged. Anticipating the clash, Drizzt snarled, feeling his rage explode into his arms and legs, and he charged them, turning to the left, and ran down the road, straight at several of the approaching human figures, loping off the head of a far-too-eager goblin as he did.
Swatting aside their meager defences, he slammed into them, scimitars whipping before him, acting like a large and sharp meatgrinder.
He took off hands and arms and heads as he furiously hacked his way into their ranks. Totally unexpecting such a ferocious assult, the humans panicked, trying to get away from the drow and his spinning blades of death.
Suddenly finding himself some room to work in, Drizzt set his feet as a brave, or possibly stupid, opponent charged him, brandishing a sword. The human thrust ahead with his blade, Drizzt responding by knocking it away.
What followed was a three-move duel. The human attacked again, his sword slashing out horizontally, clearly hoping to open Drizzt's belly from kidney to kidney. First move. Drizzt deflected the attack with Icingdeath, flipping it up and over their heads as the second move. The sword tore itself free of the human's fingers, selecting the chest of one of his companions as it's resting place. Drizzt then took off the human's head with Twinkle. Third move.
The body fell away. Unfortunately, Drizzt was now surrounded by at least a score of humans and orcs, all with very sharp weapons. All pointed Drizzt's way. He narrowed his lavander eyes in anger and felt for the pouch at his side bearing Guen. He felt the familiar shape of the figurine and grasped it through the leather and shouted the name of his panther friend.
With a loud warcry, the enemies charged inward towards Drizzt, hoping numbers to overwhelm the skilled drow warrior. Only there was one singularly louder roar which met them, leading the attack of a six-hundred pound panther which, not having been called recently, had quite a lot of pent-up energy to use. Unfortunately for the bandits, this energy was directed at them in the particular manner of claws and jaws.
Drizzt turned to the other charging side, and barrelled into them, thrusting his scimitars ahead of him, close together, and prised the wall of sharp swords open by opening his arms and pressing his scimitars against the two nearest weapons, turning them away.
Panther and drow fought, fought well, against overwhelming odds.
***
Entreri walked casually through the ranks of orcs, slashing and stabbing, his sword and dagger constantly moving, weaving a dazzling trail in the air before him. Soon enough he reached the circle of wagons and broke into a sprint, leaping into the air and nimbly clambering to the top of the wagon and surveyed the battle within.
The humans were fighting valiantly, but the orc forces were like a raging flood against them. Men were falling everywhere.
Hefting his weapons and taking a deep breath, Entreri did a forward flip down into the arena, landing on the shoulders of an orc, the sudden pressure breaking its spine. As it fell, Entreri leaped into the fray, slamming against the back of yet another orc, driving his dagger deep. He twisted it in the body for good measure, then let it fall.
Then he began to spin in the close quarters of the battle, remaining in the same spot, but rotating around, hacking into orcs all around him, driving sword and dagger into them.
An explosion erupted behind him, at the other side of the circle. Orcs were hurtled into the air, as were the various parts of orcs as the bright orange fireball rose into the heavens and became black smoke. Through the thinner line of orcs, Entreri caught a glance of a mage, deep in the throws of casting another spell.
The fireball shot its way straight for the large group of orcs Entreri was now fighting. His eyes widened in horror, and he dived to the ground. Or tried to. The fireball struck the orcs before him and exploded, the shockwave picking him up and hurtling him backward into the air. He heard a loud crunch as he was blasted through the side of one of the wagons. The cloth covering deflated and fell upon him, and all was lost to darkness.
***
Drizzt spun, swinging his blades back and forth. Enemies were pressing in on all sides. He was taking hits, not serious, but nicks and light slashes. His knuckles were split open and blood flowed freely over his fingers from all of the punches he had delivered.
Sensing an attack from behind, he flipped Icingdeath back over his head, swinging it so that it was parallel with his back, deflecting a blow intended to impale him, without even looking. At the same time, he parryed a five-move attack by the opponent in front of him, deflecting the strikes, using the tip of Twinkle to lift the man's sword up and out, bringing Icingdeath back from behind him and thrust it into the bandit's chest.
Instantly, as the body fell away, two more bandits came to take the place of their fallen comrade. Beginning to tire, Drizzt gasped in a breath and pressed into them, scimitars driving and sticking. Sensing an attack from the side, Drizzt leaped away, only slightly too late, as the sword nicked him across the thigh in midleap.
Wincing in pain, Drizzt twisted awkwardly to avoid the next strike, and came down hard on his left foot. It buckled under him and he fell to the red-stained snow. From all around, bandits leaped upon him.
***
Entreri came awake.
The sounds of battle were all around him. He was suffocating under the wagon cover. He flailed his arms about, trying to free himself from its confines. Growing frustrated, he drove Charon's Claw through the material, and slit it open. He tore himself free of the tangled cloth, leaped from the wagon back to the ground, and slashed into the nearest orc.
He found that there were significantly less orcs about, noting that many were charred. The mage had been busy. There was probably a score, perhaps less now. Entreri sprinted up to one orc engaged with another human defender, and furiously slashed and hacked at its vulnerable back. It fell away with a cry which ended in a gurgle. The human nodded at Entreri in thanks, and Entreri nodded back. Then he turned, sensing a presence coming in from behind, meeting an orc blade edge to edge, shoving it down and to the ground, then struck at the orc's throat with his dagger, once, again, again, until the creature fell away with only a bloody mass for a neck.
A whole group of five orcs surged over their companion then and launched a full-out assult against him. Entreri gave a shout of challange and attacked, turning away their pikes as they came in, Charon's Claw slicing through the wooden shaft of one, removing it's spiked tip. Holding nothing more than a short stick, the orc stared at its severed weapon for a long moment, before Entreri's sword found its belly and drove into the soft flesh, slashing vital organs and piercing armor. Without pausing, Entreri tore the sword from the corpse and swung to the left, sword swinging out to catch the orc's searching pike, deflecting its strike, and before the orc could summon up any defense, Entreri stepped close, inside the orc's defense, and drove his dagger, now slick with orc blood, into the orc's armor, which the blade sliced through as if it were tin foil and stabbed the heart.
The orc fell.
Entreri turned to face the rest of his foes, sinking to his knees as an orc blade sailed over his head. He drove Charon's Claw into the orc, then sprang to his feet, spun the orc corpse around. The orc's companion had struck for Entreri's side, but now impaled its dead friend and as it stood, surprised, Entreri stabbed it with his sword. Both orcs fell upon the earth. Then Entreri spun again, this time to his left, Charon's Claw extended horizontally. The orc lifted its pike shaft to meet the strike, but the enchanted sword sliced through the wood and continued on to pass through the neck as well.
***
Bruenor stood upon Bruenor's Climb outside of the dwarven mines, deep in thought and reflection. He thought of Catti-brie, of her as a young child, smiling and happy, Catti-brie as a young girl, innocent as a flower and beautiful as a princess, Catti-brie and her engagement with Wulfgar...
A cleric slowly emerged from the mines and came to stand behind and slightly to the left of the king.
"Me king," he said grimly.
Bruenor turned to regard the cleric sadly.
"Has she...?" Bruenor choked and could not continue.
"Ye best come see her," said the cleric quietly. "Te say yer piece afore she slips away."
Bruenor nodded glumly, and his once proud shoulders slumped.
"Aye, that I should be doin'," Bruenor said distractedly.
The dwarves turned their backs upon the glaring sun and entered the mines once again. To Bruenor that day, it seemed as the longest walk of his life.
***
As the first bandit leaped into the air, sword pointed down towards Drizzt, the dark elf lifted his scimitars and allowed the foolish human to impale himself upon the blades. Drizzt then kicked his legs into the air, doing a handstand, kicking the bandit square in the back. The body was launched into the air to slam into the ranks surrounding Drizzt.
Using his momentem, Drizzt launched himself into a head-over-heels flip, which lifted him clear of the ranks of bandits to land on his feet on the left side of the road, on the rise. Many pursued, scrabbling up the side of the incline after the escaping elf.
He scurried to the top and was forced to leap again, this time to the right, as a frost giant's club hurtled down to crush the pursuing humans as they crested the rise.
Drizzt wasted no time in quickly sticking the giant in the calves with his scimitars, slapping them across the giant's tough hide, trying to sever the hamstring. He didn't get to it in time.
With a roar of pain, the giant swatted Drizzt away into the air at least ten feet, to land on the unyielding tundra hard. The drow lost his hold on his prized weapons and Icingdeath bounced away to the left and Twinkle to the right. The giant was within striking distance in a single stride and lifted it's monstrous club high into the air, preparing to crush Drizzt like an umpleasant insect.
Body numb from the landing, dazed, battered and bleeding, Drizzt could barely see straight. It was, he reflected, a very bad start to the day.
The club descended and Drizzt watched it interestedly, dettachedly.
There was a feral scream of rage and Guenhwavar gave a mighty leap into the air, sailing high and free, into the oncoming path of the descending club. There was a sickening crunch as the two, cat and club, collided. The giant drove the cat and his club into the earth with the power of his swing.
Drizzt stared, eyes wide, in absolute horror at the indentation in the ground right before him. Something clicked in him and he grabbed the figureine in his pouch and quickly dismissed the cat back to the Astral plane-if it was not too late.
He rolled and retrieved his scimitars quicker than the giant thought possible. Then Drizzt stood, his eyes burning like a lavander inferno. If there was part of his mind that had not previously become the Hunter, the whole of his reality was now swallowed by a red wall of sheer and unadulterated rage. Even though the drow was much smaller than the giant, the giant saw the expression on Drizzt's face-an expression that spoke of absolute death for the giant and every last one of his companions-and found himself afraid.
The giant took an uncertain step back. Twinkle's normal blue glow intensified until it was as a miniature star in the day, casting a blue tint on the landscape.
Drizzt charged then, and so full of adrenaline and rage that the giant barely had time to react before Drizzt had lept onto its chest and had stabbed it with both blades. The giant howled in pain, and crushed it's arms to it's chest, hoping to turn the drow into a sort of jelly, but Drizzt merely tore his blades from the frost giant's chest and clambered his way higher, until he had slipped onto the the giant's shoulders and driven his scimitars deep into both of the giant's eyes.
The body tipped backward. Drizzt leaped off of it before it hit the ground with a thunderous crash and had crushed several more of its own bandit friends.
Drizzt landed in the midst of a score of orcs and humans, scimitars flashing, Icingdeath out in front, guarding the drow's front while Twinkle danced behind, twirling and slicing, forming an impenatrable wall of sharp steel. Nothing could stand in Drizzt's way. In a matter of half a minute, a score lay dead around him and he showed no signs of slowing again.
He was the Hunter in full. Swords did not stop him. Arrows did not slow him. Giants fell and ran before him. Wounds he did not feel, nor remorse.
They would die, the Hunter had determined.
They would all die.
***
It was a lost cause, Entreri determined. More orcs had arrived and were swarming over the circle of wagons like they were a mere fence against a flood.
In the midst of spell-casting, the mage had been overwhelmed and struck down. Humans, warriors, fell all around him against the overpowering forces of the orc hords. Deciding that sticking around to the bitter end to be folly and suicide, Entreri turned and broke into a run, leaping up to the top of one of the wagons and halted, horrified.
Orcs swarmed everywhere. It was as if the ground were shifting and moving, moving in from the east. What could bring so many orcs together? What horror had such power? Entreri wondered. Shaking himself out of his stillness, the agile human leaped down from the wagon and struck out in the only safe direction. North.
Away from the road.
Towards the Spine of the World.
Orcs pursued.
***
The general watched the raid with satisfaction. His armies were growing. The frost giants had just joined his alliance, and general was feeling invincible. His plans were proceeding. His armies were pressing north.
Soon, they would be strong enough. Enough to begin the assult.
Enough to conquor.
The general liked the sound of that. Very much, indeed.
***
Every step Bruenor took brought him closer to Catti-brie, closer to the time when he would be forced to acknowledge that he was going to lose his adopted daughter.
The hardy dwarf had faced hundreds of foes, from drow to orcs, goblins, yetis, even Balor. Yet of all his battles, his confrontations, this was shaping up to be the greatest.
He was not sure he could handle the challange.
The cleric pushed open the door to Catti-brie's quarters, where she lay, deep in a coma, on the brink of death. He held the door for his king, and then shut the doors again.
A familiar figure sat watching Catti-brie sadly.
"Regis!" Bruenor nearly shouted.
The halfling looked up, nodded to Bruenor, and then gave him a grim, half- hearted smile.
"I came as soon as I heard," the halfling said.
Bruenor crossed the stone room and laid a hand upon Regis's shoulder.
"I'm bein' glad yer here," the dwarf said, his voice quiet. "I'm not fer bein' alone when she..." he didn't bother finishing the sentence, his throat already constricting in a great sob, making any further communication impossible. And unnecessary.
"I still hold to hope," Regis stated confidently.
Bruenor sat on the edge of the bed, watching his human daughter. He sighed.
"Glad one o' us does, Regis...."
Regis stared at the defeated dwarf in surprise. That was probably the first time Bruenor had called the halfling by his real name and not Rumblebelly, his nickname. It only showed the halfling how depressed Bruenor had become.
Bruenor reached out, hesitating only a moment, his hand hovering close to her skin, then he touched her brow. It was icy cold, as if there were no life in her at all. Her face had taken on a sallow, deadened look. Bruenor closed his eyes as hot tears came. He gritted his teeth, and he pulled the hand touching her still form away, and curled it into a fist shaking with rage, with helplessness, and with sorrow. He pressed that fist into his own hot brow, desperately trying to force the tears back.
He might have well been trying to drive back the sea.
"Don't ye dare go, girl!" he shouted suddenly into the silence. "Don't ye dare be leavin'!"
Her chest rose and fell shallowly.
Ignoring the tears flowing steadily into his beard, fighting uncontrolable and unconscious sobs that shook his powerful form, the noble dwarf put his shaking hands on Catti-brie's gray cheeks. Overcome with grief, he lowered his head closer to her still and peaceful face.
"I don't know where ye are, girl, or where ye be travelin' to," the normally gruff dwarf whispered so that only he and his daughter could hear, "but I know I'm not wantin' te see ye goin'. I'm knowin' tha' fer sure. Tha' elf o' yours, Drizzt, he be needin' ye, girly, he be needin' ye a lot. Come back fer him."
He paused to blink tears out of his eyes.
"But if ye needin' to be goin', then I know ye'll be findin' clear trails afore ye. I know ye'll be findin' rest and peace. If this be goodbye, me daughter, then goodbye te ye, but don't ye go willin'ly! Ye fight, ye hear, girl? Ye fight it te the end!"
He fell silent then and the only sound in the room was the crackle of the torches set into the walls. They all seemed to be holding their breath after Bruenor's words. There was no sound of breathing.
Catti-brie's chest now lay still.
Bruenor stared down at her still form in horror and shock. Everything seemed to be spinning. Somewhere in his mind he registered the sight of the clerics rushing forward, shouting prayers and healings though he didn't seem to be hearing anything. Dimly he registered the horror-stricken stare of Regis. He heard no sound, though he would be told later that he was bellowing at the top of his lungs in a heartrending denial.
***
Drizzt Do'Urden stood among the fallen as the last enemy flopped to the snow. He was covered in blood, his scimitars slick in the stuff. He was running purely on adrenaline then, filled with a deep rage. Following the body down, he struck it again with Twinkle, again with Icingdeath, a feral growl escaping his lips. His vision was beginning to blur and darkness was beginning to cover what he was seeing.
Still his arms pumped the scimitars up and down, slashing into the corpse. He didn't even realize that his growl had become a scream of pure rage, of anguish. His swords fell from his freezing fingers, splashing into the red snow. He didn't even bother to retrieve them to continue, simply siezed the corpse about the neck and began strangling it, releasing his anger, his rage. He didn't even stop when the neck snapped.
The Hunter fell away then, and suddenly Drizzt returned to himself and found himself upon his knees, twin scimitars fallen away to the red snow, strangling a dead and mutilated corpse. He released it, startled, and fell back, off of the body, landing prone in the snow, no energy left, staring up at the blue sky. He remembered....
And he heard a familiar voice.
"Drizzt...." it whispered, as if carried by the wind, barely audible. "Drizzt..."
He smiled weakly.
"Catti-brie...." he whispered. The cold seemed to gently drift away. Drizzt was suddenly warm, though nothing in his surroundings had changed.
She was standing over him then, smiling. He grinned up at her.
"What's this?" She asked slyly, a grin of mischief playing upon her face. "Drizzt Do'Urden asleep on the job?"
"Hardly," he retorted. "I was just resting."
She shrugged, still grinning.
"Sleeping or resting, don't matter. It's all the same if there be someone with a knife at yer throat!"
And with a laugh, she leaped upon him, stradling him, her knife at his throat. "What be your plan now, elf?" she cried.
"My plan?" he said as he stared into her eyes. She suddenly blushed red at her actions, conscious of their proximity. He slowly reached up and gently pushed the knife from his throat. It fell to the ground beside them. Their faces were inches upart. "My plan involves this...."
He slowly lifted his head until their lips touched, gently, tenderly. It wasn't much of a kiss in terms of pressure or wild passion, but it was full of it's own passion, a tender fire. His hand came up to caress her cheek, so soft and warm. They parted, but only a few inches.
"Drizzt?"
He looked at her.
"I think I love you...." she whispered.
He smiled.
"And I you."
Their lips came together again, this time with more passion. The campfire burned low in the absence of their tending.
Catti-brie had fallen asleep in his strong arms. And then he heard the crack of a whip and a scream of pain, faint on the wind. Gently he extracted himself from her embrace, dressed quickly and headed into the dawn. He left her asleep and unguarded as he departed from the circular alcove. He had not known that she would soon be ambushed by yetis.
He broke free from the memory, so full of happiness and pain. The bite of the icewind staggered him, and his wounds returned to their pain.
He was free of the memory, and yet her voice came again to him, as if from upon the winds and at the same time hearing it inside of his skull.
"I love you...be strong...."
Then it too was gone, whisked by on the winds, gradually growing fainter until it had faded completely.
"Catti-brie," Drizzt tried to shout, "don't go!"
He staggered to his knees, scrabbling for his scimitars, sheathed them, and pulled himself to his feet, employing the side of the rise to do so. The voice had sounded like it had been traveling south. He crawled up the rise with what strength he had been able to muster. He began crawling after the sound of Catti-brie's voice on his hands and knees, then forced himself to his feet, drawing energy from his deep reservoir of determination and stubborness and staggered through the snow, pursuing the voice of his love, refusing to stop, refusing to stumble and fall, refusing to succumb to his wounds, refusing to lay down and die.
He staggered onward to the south.
Towards the Spine of the World.
Towards the last revelation.
Towards the final duel.