The Lesser Evil

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of R.A. Salvatore/Wizards of the Coast ©. I don't own them; I'm just examining all their possibilities.

Chapter 6: Not Looking Back

It was past midnight when Drizzt crept through the dwarven caverns like a floating shadow, leaving no sound and no trace. His light feet took him down the hall and back to the room that had been his prison for several days. It would be his prison no more; neither would the caverns, the gossiping townsfolk, the accusing councilors, the distant friends, nor Icewind Dale itself. Drizzt never would have chosen to leave his once beloved home in shame, but if it was meant to be this way it was not his place to argue. The drow entered the room and picked his leather travel sack out of the corner, hastily opening it and shoving in a few articles of clothing and other basic items scattered around the room that he knew he would need. He wanted to collect his things and be out of there as soon as possible, no interruptions, no long goodbyes.

Drizzt then looked to a small stool in the corner and saw a folded piece of parchment placed on it, his name written on the outside. He picked it up and started to shove it in his bag for later reading, but then he recognized Bruenor's scratchy handwriting and froze. Drizzt unfolded the parchment and sat on his bed, bracing himself for the expected, final condemnation. It read:

Drizzt,

Sorry you are getting this instead of seeing me, but vacation from the throne kind of got cut short. Got a letter from Banak today. Some of Obould's little friends are slipping their leash and making themselves annoying. It's not a whole army, just a couple of troublemakers who need my axe. Speaking of troublemakers, Rumblebelly told me what happened at the council house. In fact the whole town's got their lips flapping about it. Kemp will live, he'll be laid up for a while, but he'll live. I say the fool deserved it, but you didn't have to plunk him so hard. Don't worry, elf, I'll talk to Cassius about lifting this banishment nonsense. In the meantime, come to Mithril Hall and pound some orcs with me; that should make your blades happy. That is unless you got better things to do.

Bruenor

Drizzt stared at the letter with a sigh, and then shoved in the bag. He then rose and tied the sack, all his things were ready and all that was left for him was to walk out.

Before leaving, he paused and breathed deeply to calm himself and consider one more painful thought that entered his mind earlier that had to be dealt with now. Drizzt reached into his belt pouch and produced Guenwhyvar's figurine. He wanted to summon her now, but for some reason he could not bring himself to do it. She had been his oldest companion, his most understanding, non-judgmental friend. She was also the one good thing he could control and instruct to carry out acts of his own, unchecked rage. If Drizzt was killed by any powerful villain he would attack to satisfy his current bloodthirst or any "good" soldier wanting to claim a drow head as a prize, she would be a prized possession in the wrong hands. Then there was the one devious friend who always coveted her, the same one Drizzt summoned earlier. With a pained sigh, he placed the figurine on the stool and found a piece of parchment and a pen on the floor. With a shaking hand, he wrote:

Dear friends,

It is in lamentation that I leave you now. I wish my departure was coming under more peaceful circumstances, though I do not control fate. I now return to the road, where it takes me is also beyond my control. I leave all of you my love. Although we have all been distant in these horrible days, I still count all of you the best companions I have ever had. I also leave Guenwhyvar in your hands. She has proved a faithful friend to you all, though I fear she would be better cared for in other hands for the time being. My world has been plunged so far into blackness that I have lost all sense of myself, let alone those around me, so I leave her to you. May she serve you well. I swear to you now that these mournful days will end and we will all meet again in happiness in this world or the next. Until that day, I will find the happiness that has been destroyed in my soul and may you all find the same.

Sincerely,

Drizzt Do'Urden

Drizzt then gave one last, painful look at Guenwhyvar before turning around abruptly and running from his room, down the corridors, and finally out into the cold night.

He ran for several minutes, not looking back and wanting to be as far from intruding eyes as possible. At last he reached a painfully familiar side of Kelvin's Cairn and stopped, looking up through the low clouds to see the entrance to the cave he and Catti-brie shared. Drizzt had avoided this trip since the day she died, but now it had to be done. He could not allow himself to be banished from Icewind Dale without one last visit to finally close the door on some of the worst moments of his existence.

Drizzt paused, gazing up at the moon and savoring the fresh breeze against his face. He wanted to stay there for hours, but there were other matters that needed completion. He then sprinted up the rocks and finally reached the cave. Drizzt paused and stared at the brown canvas door, trying to push himself towards it, yet his legs refused to move. The cold wind enhanced the growing chill in his body as he recalled the last time he was here. It was a beautiful morning, he thought, the sun had just risen. Catti-brie was alive. He remembered walking in that morning, inhaling the aroma of her warm flesh before he lay down next to her. Then she woke, her beautiful, blue eyes shining as she looked at him, kissed him, and made love to him. Then there was a flash outside…

Drizzt closed his eyes and shivered as one stubborn tear found its way down his ebony cheek. He could still hear her laughter over the winds and smell her warm flesh as if it were coming from the cave, but that smell turned to burned branches and burnt offerings to the winds that laughed at him. He gave a painful sigh that sounded like a sob, but his tears were all dry. At last, Drizzt walked to the opening, pulled the canvas back, and walked into the cave he shared with his wife. The blankets had been stripped from their cot, there were no clothes from the line, Jarlaxle's letter was now in Cassius' possession, and Catti-brie's ashes were scattered in the wind. Drizzt closed his eyes and took some measure of comfort in the cold emptiness of this vacant space. This space was now a blank canvas, much like the rest of his life.

He sat down on the cot and remembered the events of the passing day. He remembered all the stares from the people of Bryn Shander. He remembered Kemp of Targos accusing him of killing his wife while laughing at his heritage. Kemp wasn't laughing when the blade sliced into his skin, nor did he give any snide comments when the drow slammed the pommel of his scimitar into the bastard's bones. He was rather humbled actually. Drizzt then opened his eyes at the realization that he was smiling on this thought. He gave a groan and covered his face with his hands.

"What is happening to me?" he said softly.

This was the first clear, calm moment he had all day. After his assault on Kemp of Targos and his resulting banishment from Icewind Dale, Drizzt ran from Bryn Shander as fast as his legs could carry him. He finally stopped in a small patch of wood, where he found a small stream and washed Kemp's blood off Twinkle's pommel and calm his nerves, though the effort was futile. The next few hours were filled with fits of screaming, several hacked trees, and the bloody deaths of a few passing small creatures at the ends of two scimitars. The came an exhausted calm, though Drizzt's mind was blank. As the sun set low, he managed to slip into an uneasy Reverie. His dreams were even bloodier than in previous rests, though he woke in a calmer state that allowed him to walk to the dwarven caverns and prepare for his last departure.

It was only in this moment, as he sat on the cot in his cold, empty cave, that he was finally able to fully digest his horrible situation.

"Eight days ago I was a happy man," he said to himself, going into one of his speeches to himself that allowed him to work out his most troubling problems. "Catti-brie was alive. I finally had the woman I loved by my side. I had a group of the best friends anyone could have. For the first time in my existence, I actually enjoyed my life. I thought I had my peace. Now my wife is dead. Cut down before my eyes. What else is there? The town I have risked my life defending now sees me a villain, while my best friends keep to their own holes of grief and wounded pride. Interesting how Catti-brie's passing ended it all so quickly. Interesting, or tragic; no I prefer interesting. Is this among the long list of the greatest tragedies in my life, or was this just the fall of happy façade that finally rotted off and revealed the truth?"

He paused and placed his chin in his hands.

"No, I am just being pessimistic," he continued, shaking his head and trying to calm his trembling hands. "I am just taken over my own negativity. I shouldn't speak ill of my companions. I was not the only one cut apart when Catti-brie died. I am just the only one who needs to know I was the only one not cut apart. I need to know I am sad as well and bury myself in the arms of my closest friends. Yet their arms embrace themselves, now and I am just standing in the cold."

He let out a choking sob and buried his head in his hands, yet no more tears came.

"No, I did feel warmth while clutching my wife's dead body. The only two people who showed me any actual sympathy, any remote tenderness were two of the most dangerous creatures I have ever known. Bruenor writes me a passing note while Artemis Entreri gave me a pat on the shoulder? Dear gods, fate does have a sense of humor."

Drizzt chuckled at this amusing realization, a laugh that turned into a series of maddening cackles as he fell back against the bed.

"No, I shouldn't be so amused. Those two are the vilest of evil doers," Drizzt continued in a sarcastic tone. "Their actions had to be false, the work of skilled actors trying to drag a good man into a realm of evil and death."

He paused, and then sat up.

"Evil and death," he said with another chuckle, "I am up to my neck in both already. What in the Nine Hells makes me so different from those two anyway? I am a hardened warrior like Entreri and a vicious drow like Jarlaxle, all of us calculating and unyielding. Only I am a 'hero,' a renowned defender of goodness. I could put my anger to a worthy cause and go on a murderous rampage to slay some evil creatures and protect the innocents who would have suffered otherwise. How I long for the good old days when I could just bury myself in my rage, slaughter some orcs, and just say I was lost in the Hunter. That, however, was a long time ago. There are now just a few of Obould's friends who slip the leash, no raging armies, and no causes to defend. All the causes are meaningless now. Besides, the Hunter is a little harder to find these days."

He closed his eyes and gave a slight gasp at all the potential implications of this statement.

"Almost as if he is not here at all. I guess I just have myself, the only person I have ever come to totally know and trust, though the latter is apparently a bit harder to do right now. I think that thought should scare me, but I am more terrified by the fact that it doesn't."

With a sad sigh, he opened his eyes, looked down, and saw a purple, plumed hat lying at his feet. It was obvious he wasn't alone.

"I thought your little trinket was broken for a second," Drizzt said, looking up to see Jarlaxle lying on the ceiling, hands behind his head. He wasn't there a second ago, so the shifty mercenary must have snuck in. Drizzt didn't know whether he should be annoyed by the sudden intrusion or annoyed with himself for allowing it to happen. "It took you long enough to get here."

Jarlaxle's legs lifted downward and he landed feet-first on the floor in front of Drizzt, who bent down and grabbed the hat.

"All apologies, abbil," he said with a wide smile, "but we were caught up in some business."

Jarlaxle reached for his hat, but Drizzt snatched it up and placed it on his own head in a sweeping motion. The mercenary looked at him and chuckled

"Do you always talk to yourself?" Jarlaxle asked. "You know Vierna started talking to herself before she went insane.

"And I talk to myself to keep from going insane," Drizzt said with a smile.

"We're all mad in our own little ways," Jarlaxle said, yanking his hat from Drizzt's head and picking off a few lingering white hairs.

"So you had some other business," Drizzt said rising. "Another ruffian in need of capture?"

"Perhaps, but I am sure it is nothing to you."

"Have you caught your quarry?"

"You are just full of questions, aren't you?"

"I just want to know who we are up against."

Jarlaxle paused and placed his hat on his bald head.

"'We?' You can't be saying you want to join us. Drizzt Do'Urden the celebrated hero wants to become Drizzt Do'Urden the filthy sellsword? I thought it would start snowing in the Nine Hells before that happened."

"Well I hope the tanar'ri have their mittens unpacked. If my sword is being sold, it is still being used, which is more than I can say for my current situation. Besides my banishment from these lands begins at sunrise, so I say we leave swiftly."

Drizzt turned around and swiftly walked through the cave and the canvas door, hearing another light swish of the door behind him.

"Banishment?" Jarlaxle said in a half surprised, half amused tone.

"Oh, it was nothing more than cracking the skull of a town spokesman with the pommel of a scimitar," Drizzt said continuing down the hill, "but he's still alive and it's a long story. Now I believe you have some sort of teleportation device."

"Patience is a virtue, drowling," Jarlaxle said, grabbing Drizzt's arm and turning him around with a force that almost tripped him.

"What makes you think I will allow you to join me?" the mercenary said in an icy tone, putting his face straight into Drizzt's. "You have cursed my work before, yet now you insist on being at my side. I could consider that a rather rude imposition that is more deserving of my wrath than my obligation."

Drizzt met Jarlaxle's gaze, his face making no expression other than a slightly raised eyebrow.

"However, I think you have reasonable skill with a blade," Jarlaxle continued, his tone lighter. "I also respect you greatly; perhaps I even like you a little."

"And of course you never wanted me in Bregan D'aerthe," Drizzt said. Jarlaxle gave a shrug in spite of himself.

"Let me just make a few things clear before you run away with us," the mercenary said, his icy tone returning. "This is not another adventure where you go off with your loyal friends and play hero of the world. This is dirty, bloody business with nothing goodly or heroic about it and you will be no different than the rest of us lowly cutthroats. This is not Bregan D'aerthe and I am not your captain, technically speaking, but I will be watching you constantly. The first time your moral compass costs me any profit is the last time you see certain parts of your body. Consider that before you jump into this pack of wolves and get torn apart."

Drizzt looked into Jarlaxle's uncovered red eye and smiled.

"If you expected anything different, I would be very disappointed," Drizzt said evenly.

Jarlaxle nodded with a wide grin as his free hand removed the wand from his vest.

"Welcome aboard," the mercenary said, clutching Drizzt's arm tighter.

Jarlaxle said a command word, tapping himself with the wand, and bringing both to the scene of their first adventure.