The Collected Stories, The Legend of Drizzt (forgotten realms)

by R. A. Salvatore

  He thought of going to see Anders, to try one last time to talk the old human out of his designs, but the bladesinger dismissed that notion. He didn’t understand humans, he realized, and had indeed lost a bit of faith in the race (and, subsequently, in Eltargrim’s decision) because of what he perceived as Anders’s failure. The mage, once a ranger and more attuned to the elven ideals than so very many of his rough-edged race, should have known better, should not have sacrificed such a wondrous and intelligent animal as that particular panther, for the sake of magic.

  Josidiah moved through the forest, then out of the canopy and under a million stars, shining despite the westering full moon. He reached a treeless hillock. He effortlessly climbed the steep slope through the carpet-thick grass and came to the top of the hill, a private and special place he often used for contemplation.

  Then he simply stood and stared upward at the stars, letting his thoughts fly to the greater mysteries, the unknown and never-known, the heavens themselves. He felt mortal suddenly, as though his last remaining centuries were but a passing sigh in the eternal life of the universe.

  A sigh that was so much longer, so it seemed, than the remaining life of the panther, if the cat was even still alive.

  A subtle rustle at the base of the hillock alerted the elf, brought him from his contemplations. He went into a crouch immediately and stared down at the spot, letting his vision slip into the infrared spectrum.

  Heat sources moved about the trees, all along the base of the hill. Josidiah knew them, and thus was not surprised when the forest erupted suddenly and a host of orcs came screaming out of the underbrush, waving weapons, charging the hill and the lone elf, this apparently easy kill.

  The lead orcs were right before the crest of the hillock, close enough for Josidiah to see the glistening lines of drool about their tusky faces, when the elf released his fireball. The gouts of flame engulfed that entire side of the hill, shriveling orcs. It was a desperate spell, one Josidiah hated casting in the midst of grasslands, but few options presented themselves. Even as those orcs on the side of the hill fell away into the flames, charred and dying, they were replaced by a second group, charging wildly, and then came a third, from the back side of the hill.

  Out came the elf’s twin swords, snapping up to the ready. “Cleansing flames!” the elf cried, commanding the powers within his swords. Greenish fires licked at the metal, blurred the distinct lines of the razor-sharp blades.

  The closest two orcs, those two who had been right before the elf and had thus escaped the fury of the fireball, skidded in surprise at the sudden appearance of the flaming blades and, for just an instant, let their guards drop.

  Too long; Josidiah’s left sword slashed across the throat of one, while his right plunged deep into the chest of the second.

  The elf spun about, deflecting wide a hurled spear, dodging a second, then picking off a third with a furious down-cut. He dived into a roll and came up charging fast for the back side of the hill, meeting the rush of three monsters, cutting at them wildly before they could get their defenses coordinated.

  One fell away, mortally wounded; another lost half of its arm to the searing sweep of the elf’s deadly blade. But almost immediately Josidiah was pressed from all sides, orcs stabbing in at him with long spears or rushing forward suddenly to slash with their short, cruel swords.

  He could not match weapons with this many, so he moved his flaming blades in purely defensive motions, beginning the chant to let loose another spell.

  He took a spear thrust on the side and nearly lost his concentration and his spell. His finely meshed elven chain armor deflected the blow, however, and the elf finished with a twirl, tapping the hilts of his swords together, crying out a word to release the spell. His swords went back up straight, his thumbs came out to touch together, and a burst of flame fanned out from the elf in a half-circle arc.

  Without even stopping to witness the effects of his spell, Josidiah spun about, swords slashing across and behind. Ahead charged the bladesinger, a sudden rush of overwhelming fury that broke apart the orcish line and gave Josidiah several openings in the defensive posture of his enemies.

  A surge of adrenalin kept the bladesinger moving, dancing and cutting down orcs with a fury. He thought of the panther again, and her undeserved fate, and focused his blame for that act upon these very orcs.

  Another fell dead, another atop that one, and many went scrambling down the hill, wanting no part of this mighty warrior.

  Soon Josidiah stood quiet, at the ready, a handful of orcs about him, staying out of his reach. But there was something else, the elf sensed, something more evil, more powerful. Something calmed these orcs, lending them confidence, though more than a score of their kin lay dead and another dozen wounded.

  The elf sucked in his breath as the newest foes came out onto the open grass. Josidiah realized then his folly. He could defeat a score of orcs, two-score, if he got his spells away first, but these three were not orcs.

  These were giants.

  The cat was restless, pacing and growling; Anders wondered if she knew what was to come, knew that this was her last night as a mortal creature. The thought that she might indeed understand shook the old mage profoundly, made all of Josidiah’s arguments against this magical transformation echo again in his mind.

  The panther roared, and threw herself against the cage door, bouncing back and pacing, growling.

  “What are you about?” the old mage asked, but the cat only roared again, angrily, desperately. Anders looked around; what did the cat know? What was going on?

  The panther leaped again for the cage door, slamming hard and bouncing away. Anders shook his head, thoroughly confused, for he had never seen the panther like this before-not at all.

  “To the Nine Hells with you, elf,” the wizard grumbled, wishing he had not revealed Whiskers to Josidiah until the transformation had been completed. He took a deep breath, yelled at the cat to calm down, and drew out a slender wand.

  “It will not hurt,” Anders promised apologetically. He spoke a word of command, and a greenish ray shot forth from the wand, striking the panther squarely. The cat stopped her pacing, stopped everything, just stood perfectly still, immobilized by the magic of the wand.

  Anders took up the figurine and the specially prepared knife, and opened the cage door. He had known from the very start that this was not going to be easy.

  He was at the cat’s side, the figurine in hand, the knife moving slowly for the creature’s throat.

  Anders hesitated. “Am I presuming to play the role of a god?” he asked aloud. He looked into those marvelous, intelligent eyes; he thought of Josidiah, who was indeed much like a ranger, much like Anders had been before devoting his life to ways magical.

  Then he looked to the knife, the knife that his hand, his ranger hand, was about to plunge into the neck of this most magnificent creature.

  “Oh, damn you, elf!” the mage cried out, and threw the knife across the cage. He began a spell then, one that came to his lips without conscious thought. He hadn’t used this incantation in months, and how he recalled it then, Anders would never know. He cast it forth, powerfully, and all the cabinet doors in his shop, and the door to the hallway, and all the doors in the lower section of the tower, sprang open and wide.

  The mage moved to the side of the cage and slumped to a sitting position. Already the great cat was stirring-even the powerful magic of his wand could not hold such a creature as this for long. Anders clutched that wand now, wondering if he might need it again, for his own defense.

  The cat shook her head vigorously and took an ambling step, the sensation at last returning to her limbs. She gave Anders a sidelong glance.

  The old mage put the wand away. “I played god with you, Whiskers,” he said softly. “Now it is your turn.”

  But the panther was preoccupied and hardly gave the wizard a thought as she launched herself from the cage, darting across the room and out into the hallway. She was
long gone before Anders ever got to his tower door, and he stood there in the night, lamenting not at all his wasted weeks of effort, his wasted gold.

  “Not wasted,” Anders said sincerely, considering the lesson he had just learned. He managed a smile and turned to go back into his tower, then saw the burst of flame, a fireball, mushrooming into the air from the top of a hillock to the north, a place that Anders knew well.

  “Josidiah,” he gasped, a reasonable guess indeed. That hillock was Josidiah’s favorite place, a place Anders would expect the elf to go on a night such as this.

  Cursing that he had few spells prepared for a confrontation, the old man hustled back into his tower and gathered together a few items.

  His only chance lay in speed, in darting about, never letting his enemies close on him. Even that tactic would only delay the inevitable.

  He rushed to the left but had to stop and spin, sensing the pursuit coming from close behind. Backing them off with a sweeping cross of his blades, Josidiah turned and darted left again and, predictably, had to pull up short. This time, though, the elf not only stopped but backtracked, flipping one sword in his hand and stabbing it out behind him, deep into the belly of the closest pursuing orc.

  His grim satisfaction at the deft maneuver couldn’t hold, however, for even as the dead creature slid from his blade, even as the other few orcs scrambled away down the side of the hill, Josidiah noted the approach of the three giants, fifteen-foot-tall behemoths calmly swinging spiked clubs the size of the elf’s entire body.

  Josidiah considered the spells remaining to him, tried to find some way to turn them to his advantage.

  Nothing; he would have to fight this battle with swords only. And with three giants moving toward him in coordinated fashion, he did not like the odds.

  He skittered right, out of the range of a club swipe, then went straight back, away from a second giant, trying to get at the first attacker before it could bring its heavy weapon to bear once more. He would indeed have had the strike, but the third giant cut him off and forced him into a diving roll to avoid a heavy smash.

  I must get them to work against each other, the elf thought. To tangle their long limbs with each other.

  He put his sword up high and screamed, charging straight for the closest brute, then dipped low under the parrying club and dived into a forward roll. He came to his feet and ran on, right between the giant’s widespread legs. Up thrust one sword, out to the side slashed the second, and Josidiah ran out from under the giant, meeting the attack of one of its companions with a double-bladed deflection, his swords accepting the hit of the club and turning it, barely, to the side and down.

  Josidiah’s arms were numbed from the sheer weight of the hit; he could not begin to counterattack. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted the sudden rush of the third giant and knew his daring attack on the first had put him in a precarious position indeed. He scrambled out to the side, threw himself into yet another roll as he saw the club come up high.

  But this giant was a smart one, and it held the strike as it closed another long, loping stride. Josidiah rolled right over a second time and a third, but he could not get out of range, not this time.

  The giant roared. Up went the club, high and back over its head, and Josidiah started a sidelong scramble, but stopped, startled, as a huge black spear-a spear? — flew over him.

  No, it was not a spear, the bladesinger realized, but a panther, the old mage’s cat! She landed heavily on the giant’s chest, claws grabbing a firm hold, maw snapping for the stunned monster’s face. Back the behemoth stumbled, overbalanced, and down the giant went, the panther riding it all the way to the ground.

  The cat was in too close for any strike, so the giant let go of its club and tried to grab at the thing. The panther’s front claws held fast, though, while her back legs began a running rake, tearing through the giant’s bearskin tunic and then through the giant’s own skin.

  Josidiah had no time to stop and ask how, or why, or anything else. He was back on his feet, another giant closing fast. The one he had hit shuffled to join in as well. Out to the side rushed the bladesinger, trying to keep one giant in front of the other, trying to fight them one at a time.

  He ducked a lumbering swing, ducked again as the club rushed past from a vicious backhand, then hopped high, tucking his legs as the giant came swiping across a third time, this time predictably low. And getting the club so low meant that the giant was bending near to the ground. Josidiah landed in a run, charging forward, getting inside the range of the coming backhand and sticking the monster, once, twice, right in the face.

  It howled and fell away, and its companion shuffled in, one hand swinging the club, the other clutching its torn loins.

  A sudden blast, a lightning stroke, off to the side of the hill, temporarily blinded both elf and giant, but Josidiah did not need his eyes to fight. He waded right in, striking hard.

  The giant’s hand closed on the cat, but the agile panther twisted about suddenly, biting hard, taking off three fingers, and the behemoth fostered no further thoughts of squeezing its foe. It merely shoved hard with its other hand, pushing the cat from its chest. The giant rolled about, grabbing for its club, knowing it must get to its feet before the cat came back in.

  No chance of that; the panther hit the ground solidly, all four claws digging a firm hold, every muscle snapping taut to steal, to reverse the cat’s momentum. Turf went flying as the panther pivoted and leaped, hitting the rising giant on the head, latching on, biting, and raking.

  The behemoth wailed in agony and dropped its club again. It flailed at the cat with both arms and scored several heavy blows. But the panther would not let go, great fangs tearing deep holes in the behemoth’s flesh, mighty claws erasing the features from the giant’s face.

  Josidiah came up square against his one opponent, the giant bleeding from several wounds, but far from finished. Its companion moved in beside it, shoulder to shoulder.

  Then another form crested the hill, a hunched, human form, and the second giant turned to meet this newest enemy.

  “It took you long enough to get here,” the elf remarked sarcastically.

  “Orcs in the woods,” Anders explained. “Pesky little rats.”

  The human had no apparent defenses in place, and so the giant waded right in, taking up its club in both hands. Anders paid it little heed, beginning a chant for another spell.

  The club swished across, and Josidiah nearly cried out, thinking Anders was about to be batted a mile from the hilltop.

  The giant might as well have hit the side of a stone mountain. The club slammed hard against Anders’s shoulder and simply bounced off. Anders didn’t even blink, never stopped his chanting.

  “Oh, I do love that spell,” the old mage remarked between syllables of his present casting.

  “Stoneskin,” Josidiah said dryly. “Do teach it to me.”

  “And this one, too,” Anders added, laughing. He finished his present casting, throwing his arms down toward the ground at the giant’s feet. Immediately, earth began flying wildly, as though a dozen giants with huge spades were digging furiously at the spot. When it ended, the giant was standing in a hole, its eyes even with those of the wizard.

  “That’s more fair,” Anders remarked.

  The giant howled and moved to raise its club, but found the hole too constricting for it to properly get the weapon up high. The wizard began yet another chant, holding his hand out toward the monster, pointing one finger right between the giant’s eyes and bending the digit to show the giant a bejeweled ring.

  With its weapon tangled in the tight quarters of the hole, the monster improvised, snapping its head forward and biting hard the wizard’s extended hand.

  Again, Anders hardly finished, and the giant groaned loudly, one tooth shattered by the impact.

  Anders thrust his hand forward, putting the ring barely an inch from the monster’s open mouth and loosing the magic of his ring. Balls of lightning popped fo
rth, into the open mouth, lighting up the behemoth’s head.

  “Ta da!” said the old mage, bending his legs, more of a curtsy than a bow, and throwing his arms out wide, palms up, as the giant slumped down into the hole.

  “And the grave is already dug,” Anders boasted.

  The second giant had seen enough, and started for the side of the hill, but Josidiah would not let it get away so easily. The bladesinger sprinted right behind, sheathing one sword. He let the giant get far enough down the hillside so that when he leaped for it, he came in even with the monster’s bulbous nose. He held fast and brought his sword arm in hard around the other side, slashing deep into the monster’s throat. The giant tried to reach up and grab the elf, but suddenly it was gasping, stumbling, skidding to its knees, and sliding down the hill.

  Josidiah’s sword arm pumped furiously, widening the wound, tearing at the brute’s arteries and windpipe. He pushed away as the giant tumbled facedown, coming to a standing position atop the monster’s back. It was still alive, still gasping, but the wound was mortal, Josidiah knew, and so he turned back for the hilltop.

  Anders’s self-congratulatory smile was short-lived, dissipating as soon as the mage looked to the battered panther. The cat had done her work well-the giant lay dead on the ground-but she had been battered in the process and lay awkwardly, breath coming in forced gasps, backbone obviously shattered.

  Anders ran to the panther’s side; Josidiah joined him there a moment later.

  “Do something!” the elf pleaded.

  “There is nothing I can do,” Anders protested.

  “Send the cat back into the figurine,” Josidiah said. “She should be whole again when she returns.”

  Anders turned on the elf, grabbed him by the front of his tunic. “I have not completed the spell,” he cried, and only then did it hit the mage. What had brought the panther out here? Why would a panther, a wild panther, run to the aid of an elf?