Vengeance of the Iron Dwarf

by R. A. Salvatore

  “Ye don’t raid the garden without a fast flight,” Bruenor, who was not surprised and indeed had helped organize all of this, told them with a wink. He led them across the lake slowly, pointing out the double tunnel being built. One side was being dug simply, natural stone and ground chopped into stairs, while the other, cut on the other side of a small ridge, was simply a slope, and one the dwarves were smoothing out carefully, even sliding sections of flat rock into place to cover jagged expanses.

  “A hunnerd and fifty feet more to the ridge north o’ Keeper’s Dale,” Bruenor explained. “Tunnel’s more than halfway there and we’re findin’ easier ground now.”

  A crash turned them all around to see a gang of dwarves entering the chamber from the side tunnel, pulling a wagon loaded with firewood and coal and piles of heavy blankets.

  “O’er there!” Bruenor ordered, pointing to the corner back where he and the other two had entered, a small area mostly secluded by large stalagmites. “And ye got the curving beams?”

  “Aye, King Bruenor!” one shouted back, her smile so wide that it almost took in her ears. She clapped her hands and shouted, “Whee!” and all the dwarves around her began to laugh.

  “Should we even ask?” Drizzt said to Bruenor.

  “Nah!” replied the dwarf, who was clearly quite elated at getting out into the fight. “Ye’re not wantin’ to know!”

  Off to the side of the trio, an excited young dwarf went running up to King Connerad, prompting the three to silence so they could hear the news.

  “We’re to the snow,” the youngster announced to the king. “And she’s not thick about our hole. We’re out, me king!”

  Connerad looked over at Bruenor and nodded. They had already agreed that Drizzt would be among the first out of the hole so that he could scout around.

  Catti-brie turned to the drow and began spellcasting. A few moments later, a profound warmth spread throughout Drizzt’s body.

  “To protect you from the winter winds,” she said.

  Drizzt merely smiled and kissed her lightly on the cheek. He had survived scores of winters in Icewind Dale, out on the mountainside or open tundra around Ten Towns, and surely was no stranger to the winter winds. He gave her a wink, though, for surely he appreciated the gesture.

  With Bruenor and Catti-brie beside him, Drizzt moved to the up-sloping tunnel, where Bungalow Thump and several others of the famed Gutbuster Brigade waited.

  “Ye go out right behind meself, elf,” the ferocious dwarf said. Bungalow moved to the tunnel stair and took a great shield off the stack.

  “And don’t ye forget to get yerself a shield,” he called back to Drizzt.

  “I fight with two weapons,” Drizzt replied, moving up.

  Bungalow laughed at him. “Take a shield,” he said. “Ye’ll put it down when ye get out, but we’re needin’ ’em up there.”

  Drizzt did as he was asked, and off they went, up the long stairway. When they reached the top, Bungalow Thump looked back, grinned, then plowed right through into the open air atop the ridgeline framing the northern end of Keeper’s Dale.

  The wind howled in their ears, and it was a cold one indeed, late in the afternoon, with the meager sun already touching the western horizon. But other than the blowing snow, nothing stirred around them. Despite the whiteness of the snow and the fact that they had been underground for months, they did not need to squint. The sky above remained dark, still in the grasp of the foul drow magic. Bungalow tossed his shield to the snow, which was not deep in this windblown place on the far side of the tunnel exit, and nodded for Drizzt to stack his atop it.

  Drizzt complied, still not quite understanding, and before he had even put the shield down, he was crowded by the other Gutbusters, rushing from the tunnel and eager to be rid of their great shields.

  “Now don’t ye be worryin’ ’bout taking back yer own if it’s time to get back in,” Bungalow Thump explained. “Ye just grab the top one of the pile and take yer ride! Ha!”

  Drizzt looked from the shield pile, and already it was considerable, to the tunnel exit just as Catti-brie came out, Bruenor close behind, and Athrogate close behind him, and all three carrying shields.

  “You cannot mean …” Drizzt replied to Bungalow Thump, and the dwarf howled and bounded away.

  “What?” Catti-brie asked, coming over to place her shield on the stack.

  Drizzt looked past her to note that some of the dwarves now coming out carried buckets of water, which they carefully poured back into the tunnel, along the smooth side and not the stairs.

  The Gutbusters were already forming a wide defensive perimeter around the exit, but there was no sign of any enemies. Even out from the sheltering mountainside, the snow was not too deep, though visibility was fairly low from the constant swirls of blowing snow and the lack of normal daylight.

  Bruenor tapped Drizzt on the arm and pointed up to a rocky ridge in the northeast. “Light’s gettin’ low, elf, and weren’t much to start with in this darkened land. Ye think ye can get up there?”

  Drizzt nodded.

  “Ye’ll see the orc camp up by the north door from there,” Bruenor explained. “I’m wantin’ to be hittin’ them soon as the dark’s settled deep. We’ll get around the mountain and to the Surbrin by midmorning if the weather holds.”

  “Might be enemies hiding in the cracks around the rocks,” Catti-brie pointed out.

  Drizzt nodded and smiled at her. “Bring your boys to the base,” he instructed Bruenor. Then he trotted off toward the ridge, through the growing throng of Battlehammers exiting the tunnel and stretching in the open air for the first time in many tendays.

  As soon as he passed beyond the widening Gutbuster perimeter, he paused, and when he started off once more, Guenhwyvar now beside him, he heard the muted claps and cheers and even gasps from the dwarves behind them. Only a few of them had seen the magnificent panther, of course, and even those who had known the cat before, other than the handful who had been in the lower tunnel when Drizzt and his companions had first come into Mithral Hall, hadn’t seen her in decades.

  Guenhwyvar led the way to the rocky outcropping, bounding along the icy stones with surefooted ease. Propelled by his magical ankle bracelets and graced with exceptional agility even for one of his dexterous race, Drizzt, too, went up gracefully and swiftly. With the hunting panther leading the way, he was confident that no monsters would spring out at him from concealed cubbyholes.

  Stone-to-stone, he leaped, and still the dwarves gathered below, a sizable crowd now and with more still pouring out of Mithral Hall. From Drizzt’s high vantage, they seemed more a teeming and amorphous mass than individual figures. The drow had to slow as he got higher. Snow remained thick around the stones and with ice settled firmly beneath it. He glanced back just before he crested the ridge. Several hundred dwarves were out now, their perimeter widening. Looking past them into Keeper’s Dale, off to the west farther along the rim, or even up north to the wide passes, Drizzt could see no sign of enemies, other than the tracks left by the giants and their departing war machines.

  The fact that those tracks went north, however, did set off an alarm, or at least a series of concerning questions. If the besieging giants had gone off to reinforce the main Many-Arrows army, their ultimate direction would be either south to Silverymoon or Everlund, or east to the Surbrin Bridge and the road to Citadel Felbarr.

  Why were they going north? The fastest and easiest trail to the south would have taken them straight west around Keeper’s Dale, and if the Surbrin Bridge was their goal, they should have passed just north of this very ridge Drizzt now stood upon.

  Those questions drove him upward even faster, his eagerness bringing him over the ridge and in view of the northern door.

  Where the orc forces remained encamped.

  Exactly as they had hoped, Drizzt thought with a nod, but he glanced again back to the north where the snow had been cleaved by the wheels of huge war machines. Had the giants abandoned the orcs, h
e wondered? He thought back to the time of King Obould. That same alliance had been tenuous indeed.

  With that in mind, he focused more intently on the orc camp, and immediately began to see the troubling signs that this was not as it seemed. The orcs milled around their cookfires and bonfires, seemingly going about their late-day routine—at a casual glance.

  But they all had their weapons, Drizzt noted, even heavy halberds and greataxes, and many had their swords in hand, empty scabbards hanging on their belts.

  The dwarves wouldn’t ambush them.

  Drizzt spun, and called the panther to his side.

  “Guen, down as fast as you can, and right back into Mithral Hall!” he instructed the cat, who gave a low growl and leaped away.

  Drizzt started down at full speed, but the panther flew a dozen of his strides with each powerful leap. She hit one snow-capped rock, and the whole thing began to tip, and for a moment, Drizzt held his breath.

  But Guenhwyvar was gone before the stone could roll around upon her, flying through the air to a snowy expanse, then riding a miniature avalanche all the way to the ground.

  Bruenor, Catti-brie, and the other dwarves noted the cat’s run long before that last snowy slide. They saw Drizzt, too, far above and rushing down.

  “He’s seen somethin’,” Athrogate remarked.

  “Aye, and wanting us to be on the move,” Bruenor replied.

  “A charge or a retreat?” Catti-brie asked.

  Just to the east of them at the base of the rocky outcropping, Guenhwyvar came rolling down in a cloud of snow. The black ball of snarling feline came out of that frozen tangle at full speed, rushing for the friends.

  “We’re to know soon,” Bruenor remarked. He braced himself, expecting the cat to run him over and sit on him—as had happened so many times in his previous life!

  But Guenhwyvar didn’t slow, didn’t acknowledge the trio at all as she sped by, other than a quick snarl in their direction. She raced off for the tunnel back into Mithral Hall—the dwarves there scattered as she neared—and went straight back into the hole.

  “Retreat,” Catti-brie mouthed, realizing the signal. “We’ve been lured!”

  “Connerad!” Bruenor yelled, and started running for the young king, waving his arms, though Connerad had surely noted the panther’s run as well.

  Catti-brie’s attention went back to the rocky ridge and Drizzt, still picking his way down with all speed. “What did you see, my love?” she whispered under her breath, her eye roving back up to the crest of the mountain spur, as if she expected a horde of giants to come bounding into sight at any moment.

  When nothing appeared, she continued her upward movement, her gaze climbing the mountainside, looking for monsters, looking for some hint.

  And there she saw the white dragon, above the high top of Fourthpeak and dropping from on high, and the sight took her breath away.

  Beside her, Bruenor heard that gasp and followed the shocked woman’s gaze. “Elf!” he screamed, running for the ridge and banging his axe on his shield. “Elf! Dragon!”

  The wind had kicked up, moaning about the stones, and Drizzt was still far away, so even when Catti-brie joined in the shouting, Bruenor and she doubted he could hear them. But he did notice the dragon, and the wyrm had surely taken notice of him.

  Drizzt veered to a high stone, the dragon closing, and now Bruenor and Catti-brie noted a drow riding the wyrm. Out Drizzt leaped, just an instant before the dragon leveled out, huge wings battling its own momentum, and cut fast to the side. It soared past the rock as Drizzt fell far below.

  The ranger hit the snow hard and fell back into it, riding down a small avalanche into another jag of stone.

  “Crossbows! Shoot the damned thing!” Athrogate roared, the dragon already turning and coming back in at Drizzt.

  But other cries from the north sounded as well. An army of orcs and giants had appeared, coming around a second rocky spur and charging at the dwarves with all speed.

  “To the hall, girl!” Bruenor ordered Catti-brie, but he cut the thought short as he turned, to find Catti-brie standing calm, her eyes closed, beginning the chant of a spell.

  “To the hall, all of us!” King Connerad corrected, running with his entourage to join Bruenor. “We’re not fightin’ a horde o’ orcs and giants with that beast flying about!”

  Connerad grabbed Bruenor by the shoulder, but Bruenor wouldn’t budge and wouldn’t look away. Up above, Drizzt came back into sight, scrambling upon a high rock, Taulmaril now in hand as he leveled toward the incoming dragon.

  The beast flew fast along the mountainside, weaving back and forth—not so much out of fear for the bow as trying to protect its rider.

  A streak of silver flew past it, then a second. A third scored a stinging hit on the dragon’s shoulder, but the beast didn’t slow.

  Up on the rock, Drizzt moved to the end as if to leap again, and Bruenor cried out in warning. The dragon swerved outward from the mountain spur, and probably would have caught him in its mouth if he’d followed that course.

  Drizzt’s leap was a feint, though, and he reversed suddenly and leaped back the other way, deeper into the rocks.

  But the dragon was ready for that, too, and its serpentine neck rolled back at the rocks, and from its open maw came a thick blast of freezing breath, chasing Drizzt back, right behind him, following him down, and surely catching him just beyond Bruenor’s view.

  “Elf!” the dwarf howled—and Connerad and Dagnabbet joined in.

  The dragon swooped past the point, wings wide and turning as it tried to slow.

  A fireball caught it there, in midair, some fifty feet or so past where Drizzt had disappeared. The beast came through the flames awkwardly with its wings tucking defensively, and turning and rocking, too close to the stones. On its back, the drow crouched low, a translucent shield defensively up over his head.

  “Oh, good shot, girl!” Connerad yelled as the dragon clipped the stones and began to tumble, rolling past, finally kicking out, but dropping down below the ridge and into Keeper’s Dale.

  “To the hall!” Connerad demanded, and he started that way, dragging a reluctant Bruenor.

  Over by the tunnel, the dwarves were already in retreat, methodically. They went to the stacks of shields in a line, taking one and diving atop it into the smooth, iced side of the tunnel, riding it back into the tunnels.

  A fight was on, though, up in the north, as the leading lines of orcs met with the Gutbusters, and it wasn’t one Bruenor intended to miss.

  Bruenor shoved Connerad hard toward the tunnel. The younger dwarf caught his balance and swung back, surprised and snarling.

  “Ye’re the king!” Bruenor yelled at him. “Get yerself in.”

  “Aye, and yerself’s Bruenor,” Dagnabbet said, grabbing at the red-bearded dwarf, who tugged away from her. “Get yerself in!”

  “Aye, I’m Bruenor, with no throne under me bum, and know that I’m seein’ me place,” Bruenor explained.

  He charged off to the north, Catti-brie and Athrogate right behind.

  Only Athrogate ran full out to join in the fighting, though, as Catti-brie and Bruenor continued to stare up the ridge for some sign of their friend, hoping against hope.

  Arauthator veered back and forth as he approached the drow, those stinging lightning arrows reaching out far too quickly for the wyrm’s liking.

  Tiago, his magnificent shield in front of him easily blocking any of the shots, cared less. Much less. This was Drizzt standing on that rock.

  Drizzt the Heretic.

  Drizzt the Embarrassment.

  Drizzt the Trophy.

  Out went the rogue drow, as if to leap away down the rock face, and Arauthator veered out. But back went Drizzt, diving into the stones.

  The dragon couldn’t turn his bulk or slow, but he could, and did, swivel his head, and Tiago lifted his sword in victory. From his perch, he could see the dragon’s killing breath catching up to the rogue drow in the rocky crevice.
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  And then the drow pulled back and curled inward. Arauthator howled in protest as a fireball erupted immediately in front of them.

  A tremendous blast seared and expanded as the pair crashed right through. Tiago got as small as he could behind his shield, but still the flames caught him and bit at him.

  The dragon rolled, and Tiago nearly fell free.

  The dragon clipped the rocky outcropping, dislodging stones and throwing snow, and one of Tiago’s legs came free in the awkward impact. Finally Arauthator managed to right himself enough to push off from the cliff, but in a tumble and roll, right over, spinning down over the lip of the gorge.

  Somehow Tiago held his seat, but at the price of his sword, which went flying free into the blowing snow, tumbling into the wide canyon known as Keeper’s Dale.

  Tiago shouted, but it was more a growl than any meaningful word as the drow struggled to hold on, as the dragon, too, plummeted into the vale. At the last moment, Arauthator managed to right himself and collect his wits enough to spread his wings, but still, down they went, skidding and crashing into the deep snow in the bowl of Keeper’s Dale.

  Tiago lay in the snow, his legs aching, and one, he was sure, was broken. His skin stung from those flames—he could hardly believe the power of that fireball.

  When he located Arauthator in the dying light, he expected that the dragon shared his feelings. Smoke wafted from the wyrm’s horned head and even in the last moments of daylight, meager as it was, Arauthator’s face seemed to glow, radiating heat.

  The dragon just growled, long and low, and Tiago half expected the thing to eat him.

  “My sword,” he said, grimacing as he struggled to sit up. “We must find it.”

  “Your sword, drow?” Arauthator roared at him. “An army up above—and I will find and eat that wizard!—and you fret for a sword?”

  “Vidrinath!” Tiago argued. “Not just a sword! An artifact of the new age, crafted by Gol’fanin in the Forge of Gauntlgrym!”

  The dragon’s growl seemed more a purr suddenly. “Do tell,” the beast prompted.