Sojourn (frde-3)

by Robert Anthony Salvatore

  “They are all true, and they are all one, I fear,” Montolio replied. Drizzt had to agree with Montolio’s earlier observation: He did not understand.

  “You view the gods as entities without,” Montolio tried to explain. “You see them as physical beings trying to control our actions for their own ends, and thus you, in your stubborn independence, reject them. The gods are within, I say, whether one has named his own or not. You have followed Mielikki all of your life, Drizzt. You merely never had a name to put on your heart.”

  Suddenly Drizzt was more intrigued than skeptical.

  “What did you feel when you first walked out of the Underdark?” Montolio asked. “What did your heart tell you when first you looked upon the sun or the stars, or the forest green?”

  Drizzt thought back to that distant day, when he and his drow patrol had come out of the Underdark to raid an elven gathering. Those were painful memories, but within them loomed one sense of comfort, one memory of wondrous elation at the feel of the wind and the scents of newly bloomed flowers.

  “And how did you talk to Bluster?” Montolio continued. “No easy feat, sharing a cave with that bear! Admit it or not, you’ve the heart of a ranger. And the heart of a ranger is a heart of Mielikki.”

  So formal a conclusion brought back a measure of Drizzt’s doubts. “And what does your goddess require?” he asked, the angry edge returned to his voice. He began to stand again, but Montolio slapped a hand over his legs and held him down.

  “Require?” The ranger laughed. “I am no missionary spreading a fine word and imposing rules of behavior! Did I not just tell you that gods are within? You know Mielikki’s rules as well as I. You have been following them all of your life. I offer you a name for it, that is all, and an ideal of behavior personified, an example that you might follow in times that you stray from what you know is true.” With that, Montolio took up the branch and Drizzt followed.

  Drizzt considered the words for a long time. He did not sleep that day, though he remained in his den, thinking.

  “I wish to know more of your… our… goddess,” Drizzt admitted that next night, when he found Montolio cooking their supper.

  “And I wish to teach you,” Montolio replied.

  * * *

  A hundred sets of yellow, bloodshot eyes settled to stare at the burly human as he made his way through the encampment, reining his yellow dog tightly to his side. Roddy didn’t enjoy coming here, to the fort of the orc king, Graul, but he had no intentions of letting the drow get away this time. Roddy had dealt with Graul several times over the last few years; the orc king, with so many eyes in the wild mountains had proven an invaluable, though expensive, ally in hunting bounties.

  Several large orcs purposely crossed Roddy’s path, jostling him and angering his dog. Roddy wisely kept his pet still, though he, too, wanted to set upon the smelly orcs. They played this game every time he came in, bumping him, spitting at him, anything to provoke a fight. Orcs were always brave when they outnumbered opponents a hundred to one.

  The whole group swept up behind McGristle and followed him closely as he covered the last fifty yards, up a rocky slope, to the entrance of Graul’s cave. Two large orcs jumped out of the entrance, brandishing spears, to intercept the intruder.

  “Why has yous come?” one of them asked in their native tongue. The other held out its hand, as if expecting payment.

  “No pay this time,” Roddy replied, imitating their dialect perfectly. “This time Graul pay!”

  The orcs looked to each other in disbelief, then turned on Roddy and issued snarls that were suddenly cut short when an even larger orc emerged from the cave.

  Graul stormed out and threw his guards aside, striding right up to put his oozing snout only an inch from Roddy’s nose. “Graul pay?” he snorted, his breath nearly overwhelming Roddy.

  Roddy’s chuckle was purely for the sake of those excited orc commoners closest to him. He couldn’t show any weakness here; like vicious dogs, orcs were quick to attack anyone who did not stand firm against them.

  “I have information, King Graul,” the bounty hunter said firmly. “Information that Graul would wish to know.”

  “Speak,” Graul commanded.

  “Pay?” Roddy asked, though he suspected that he was pushing his luck.

  “Speak!” Graul growled again. “If yous wordses has value, Graul will let yous live.”

  Roddy silently lamented that it always seemed to work this way with Graul. It was difficult to strike any favorable bargain with the smelly chieftain when he was surrounded by a hundred armed warriors. Roddy remained undaunted, though. He hadn’t come here for money—though he had hoped he might extract some—but for revenge. Roddy wouldn’t openly strike against Drizzt while the drow was with Mooshie. In these mountains, surrounded by his animal friends, Mooshie was a formidable force, and even if Roddy managed to get past him to the drow, Mooshie’s many allies, veterans such as Dove Falconhand, would surely avenge the action.

  “There be a dark elf in yer domain, mighty orc king!” Roddy proclaimed. He didn’t get the shock he had hoped for.

  “Rogue,” Graul clarified.

  “Ye know?” Roddy’s wide eyes betrayed his disbelief.

  “Drow killed Graul’s fighters,” the orc chieftain said grimly. All the gathered orcs began stamping and spitting, cursing the dark elf.

  “Then why does the drow live?” Roddy asked bluntly. The bounty hunter’s eyes narrowed as he came to suspect that Graul did not now know the drow’s location. Perhaps he still had something to bargain with.

  “Me scouts cannot finds him!” Graul roared, and it was true enough. But any frustration the orc king showed was a finely crafted piece of acting. Graul knew where Drizzt was, even if his scouts did not.

  “I have found him!” Roddy roared, and all the orcs jumped and cried in hungry glee. Graul raised his arms to quiet them. This was the critical part, the orc king knew. He scanned the gathering to locate the tribe’s shaman, the spiritual leader of the tribe, and found the red-robed orc watching and listening intently, as Graul had hoped.

  On advice from that shaman, Graul had avoided any action against Montolio for all these years. The shaman thought the cripple who was not so crippled to be an omen of bad magic, and with their religious leader’s warnings, all the orc tribe cowered whenever Montolio was near. But in allying with the drow, and, if Graul’s suspicions were correct, in helping the drow to win the battle on the high ridge, Montolio had struck where he had no business, had violated Graul’s domain as surely as had the renegade drow. Now convinced that the drow was indeed a rogue—for no other dark elves were in the region—the orc king only awaited some excuse that might spur his minions to action against the grove. Roddy, Graul had been informed, might now provide that excuse.

  “Speak!” Graul shouted in Roddy’s face, to intercept any forthcoming attempts for payment.

  “The drow isses with the ranger,” Roddy replied. “He sits in the blind ranger’s grove!” If Roddy had hoped that his proclamation would inspire another eruption of cursing, jumping, and spitting, he was surely disappointed. The mention of the blind ranger cast a heavy pall over the gathering, and now all the common orcs looked from the shaman to Graul and back again for some guidance.

  It was time for Roddy to weave a tale of conspiracy, as Graul had been told he would.

  “Ye must goes and gets them!” Roddy cried. “They’re not fer… ”

  Graul raised his arms to silence both the muttering and Roddy. “Was it the blind ranger who killded the giant?” the orc king asked Roddy slyly. “And helped the drow to kill me fighters?”

  Roddy, of course, had no idea what Graul was talking about, but he was quick enough to catch on to the orc king’s intent.

  “It was!” he declared loudly. “And now the drow and the ranger plot against ye all! Ye must bash them and smash them before they come and bash yerselves! The ranger’ll be bringing his animals, and elveses—lots an’ lots of elveses—an
d dwarveses, too, against Graul!”

  The mention of Montolio’s friends, particularly the elves and dwarves, which Graul’s people hated above everything else in all the world, brought sour expressions on every face and caused more than one orc to look nervously over its shoulder, as if expecting the ranger’s army to be encircling the camp even then. Graul stared squarely at the shaman.

  “He-Who-Watches must bless the attack,” the shaman replied to the silent question. “On the new moon!”

  Graul nodded, and the red-robed orc turned about, summoned a score of commoners to his side, and set out to begin the preparations.

  Graul reached into a pouch and produced a handful of silver coins for Roddy. Roddy hadn’t provided any real information that the king did not already know, but the bounty hunter’s declaration of a conspiracy against the orc tribe gave Graul considerable assistance in his attempt to rouse his superstitious shaman against the blind ranger.

  Roddy took the pitiful payment without complaint, thinking it well enough that he had achieved his purpose, and turned to leave.

  “Yous is to stay,” Graul said suddenly at his back. On a motion from the orc king, several orc guards stepped up beside the bounty hunter. Roddy looked suspiciously at Graul. “Guest,” the orc king explained calmly. “Join in the fight.” Roddy wasn’t left with many options. Graul waved his guards aside and went alone back into his cave. The orc guards only shrugged and smiled at each other, having no desire to go back in and face the king’s guests, particularly the huge silver-furred wolf.

  * * *

  When Graul had returned to his place within, he turned to speak to his other guest. “Yous was right,” Graul said to the diminutive sprite.

  “I-am-quite-good-at-getting-information.” Tephanis beamed, and silently he added, and-creating-favorable-situations!

  Tephanis thought himself clever at that moment, for not only had he informed Roddy that the drow was in Montolio’s grove, but he had then arranged with King Graul for Roddy to aid them both. Graul had no love for the blind ranger, Tephanis knew, and with the drow’s presence serving as an excuse, Graul could finally persuade his shaman to bless the attack.

  “Caroak will help in the fight?” Graul asked, looking suspiciously at the huge and unpredictable silver wolf.

  “Of-course,” Tephanis said immediately. “It-is-in-our-interest,-too,-to-see-those-enemies-destroyed!”

  Caroak, understanding every word the two exchanged, rose up and sauntered out of the cave. The guards at the entrance did not try to block his way.

  “Caroak-will-rouse-the-worgs,” Tephanis explained. “A-mighty-force-will-assemble-against-the-blind-ranger. Too-long-has-he-been-an-enemy-of-Caroak.”

  Graul nodded and mused privately about the coming weeks. If he could get rid of both the ranger and the drow, his valley would be more secure than it had been in many years—since before Montolio’s arrival. The ranger rarely engaged the orcs personally, but Graul knew that it was the ranger’s animal spies that always alerted the passing caravans. Graul could not remember the last time his warriors had caught a caravan unawares, the preferred orc method. If the ranger was gone, however…

  With summer, the height of the trading season, fast approaching, the orcs would prey well this year.

  All that Graul needed now was confirmation from the shaman, that He-Who-Watches, the orc god Gruumsh One-eye, would bless the attack.

  The new moon, a holy time for the orcs and a time when the shaman believed he could learn of the god’s pleasures, was more than two weeks away. Eager and impatient, Graul grumbled at the delay, but he knew that he would simply have to wait. Graul, far less religious than others believed, meant to attack no matter the shaman’s decision, but the crafty orc king would not openly defy the tribe’s spiritual leader unless it was absolutely necessary.

  The new moon was not so far away, Graul told himself. Then he would be rid of both the blind ranger and the mysterious drow.

  17. Outnumbered

  “You seem troubled,” Drizzt said to Montolio when he saw the ranger standing on a rope bridge the next morning. Hooter sat in a branch above him.

  Montolio, lost in thought, did not immediately answer. Drizzt thought nothing of it. He shrugged and turned away, respecting the ranger’s privacy, and took the onyx figurine out of his pocket.

  “Guenhwyvar and I will go out for a short hunt,” Drizzt explained over his shoulder, “before the sun gets too high. Then I will take my rest and the panther will share the day with you.”

  Still Montolio hardly heard the drow, but when the ranger noticed Drizzt placing the onyx figurine on the rope bridge, the drow’s words registered more clearly and he came out of his contemplations.

  “Hold,” Montolio said, reaching a hand out. “Let the panther remain at rest.”

  Drizzt did not understand. “Guenhwyvar has been gone a day and more,” he said.

  “We may need Guenhwyvar for more than hunting before too long,” Montolio began to explain. “Let the panther remain at rest,”

  “What is the trouble?” Drizzt asked, suddenly serious. “What has Hooter seen?”

  “Last night marked the new moon,” Montolio said. Drizzt, with his new understanding of the lunar cycles, nodded.

  “A holy day for the orcs,” Montolio continued. “Their camp is miles away, but I heard their cries last night.”

  Again Drizzt nodded in recognition. “I heard the strains of their song, but I wondered if it might be no more than the quiet voice of the wind.”

  “It was the wail of orcs,” Montolio assured him. “Every month they gather and grunt and dance wildly in their typical stupor—orcs need no potions to induce it, you know. I thought nothing of it, though they seemed overly loud. Usually they cannot be heard from here. A favorable… unfavorable… wind carried the tune in, I supposed.”

  “You have since learned that there was more to the song?” Drizzt assumed.

  “Hooter heard them, too,” Montolio explained. “Always watching out for me, that one.” He glanced at the owl. “He flew off to get a look.”

  Drizzt also looked up at the marvelous bird, sitting puffed and proud as though it understood Montolio’s compliments. Despite, the ranger’s grave concerns, though, Drizzt had to wonder just how completely Montolio could understand Hooter, and just how completely the owl could comprehend the events around it.

  “The orcs have formed a war party,” Montolio said, scratching at his bristled beard. “Graul has awakened from the long winter with a vengeance, it seems.”

  “How can you know?” Drizzt asked. “Can Hooter understand their words?”

  “No, no, of course not!” Montolio replied, amused at the notion.

  “Then how can you know?”

  “A pack of worgs came in, that much Hooter did tell me,” Montolio explained. “Orcs and worgs are not the best of friends, but they do get together when trouble is brewing. The orc celebration was a wild one last night, and with the presence of worgs, there can be little doubt.”

  “Is there a village nearby?” Drizzt asked.

  “None closer than Maldobar,” Montolio replied. “I doubt the orcs would go that far, but the melt is about done and caravans will be rolling through the pass, from Sundabar to Citadel Adbar and the other way around, mostly. There must be one coming from Sundabar, though I do not believe Graul would be bold enough, or stupid enough, to attack a caravan of heavily armed dwarves coming from Adbar.”

  “How many warriors has the orc king?”

  “Graul could collect thousands if he took the time and had the mind to do it,” Montolio said, “but that would take weeks, and Graul has never been known for his patience. Also, he wouldn’t have brought the worgs in so soon if he meant to hold off while collecting his legions. Orcs have a way of disappearing while worgs are around, and the worgs have a way of getting lazy and fat with so many orcs around, if you understand my meaning.”

  Drizzt’s shudder showed that he did indeed.

 
“I would guess that Graul has about a hundred fighters,” Montolio went on, “maybe a dozen to a score worgs, by Hooter’s count, and probably a giant or two.”

  “A considerable force to strike at a caravan,” Drizzt said, but both the drow and the ranger had other suspicions in mind. When they had first met, two months before, it had been at Graul’s expense.

  “It will take them a day or two to get ready,” Montolio said after an uncomfortable pause. “Hooter will watch them more closely tonight, and I shall call on other spies as well.”

  “I will go to scout on the orcs,” Drizzt added. He saw concern cross Montolio’s face but quickly dismissed it. “Many were the times that such duties fell on me as a patrol scout in Menzoberranzan,” he said. “It is a task that I feel quite secure in performing. Fear not.”

  “That was in the Underdark,” Montolio reminded him.

  “Is the night so different?” Drizzt replied slyly, throwing a wink and a comforting smile Montolio’s way. “We shall have our answers.”

  Drizzt said his “good days” then and headed off to take his rest. Montolio listened to his friend’s retreating steps, barely a swish through the thickly packed trees, with sincere admiration and thought it a good plan.

  * * *

  The day passed slowly and uneventfully for the ranger. He busied himself as best he could in considering his defense plans for the grove. Montolio had never defended the place before, except once when a band of foolish thieves had stumbled in, but he had spent many hours formulating and testing different strategies, thinking it inevitable that one day Graul would grow weary of the ranger’s meddling and find the nerve to attack.

  If that day had come, Montolio was confident that he would be ready.

  Little could be done now, though—the defenses could not be put in place before Montolio was certain of Graul’s intent—and the ranger found the waiting interminable. Finally, Hooter informed Montolio that the drow was stirring.