Exile (The Dark Elf Trilogy #2)(38)

“I am in your debt,” Drizzt replied. “In the debt of all Blingdenstone.”

“We do not consider friendship a debt,” the burrow-warden replied with a wink. He left Drizzt and Guenhwyvar then and went back into the cave-room of his house, allowing the two dear friends a private reunion.

Seldig and the other young deep gnomes were in for quite a treat that day when Drizzt came out to join them with Guenhwyvar by his side. Seeing the cat at play with the svirfnebli, Drizzt could not help but remember that tragic day, a decade before, when Masoj had used Guenhwyvar to hunt down the last of Belwar’s fleeing miners. Apparently,

Guenhwyvar had dismissed that awful memory altogether, for the panther and the young deep gnomes frolicked together for the entire day.

Drizzt wished only that he could so readily dismiss the errors of his past.

“Most Honored Burrow-Warden,” came a call a couple of days later, while Belwar and Drizzt were enjoying their morning meal. Belwar paused and sat perfectly still, and

Drizzt did not miss the unexpected cloud of pain that crossed his host’s broad features. Drizzt had come to know the svirfneblin so very well, and when Belwar’s long, hawk-like nose turned up in a certain way, it inevitably signaled the burrow-warden’s distress.

“The king has reopened the eastern tunnels,” the voice continued. “There are rumors of a thick vein of ore only a day’s march. It would do honor to my expedition if Belwar

Dissengulp would find his way to accompany us.”

A hopeful smile widened on Drizzt’s face, not for any thoughts he had of venturing out, but because he had noticed that Belwar seemed a bit too reclusive in the otherwise open svirfneblin community.

“Burrow-Warden Brickers,” Belwar explained to Drizzt grimly, not sharing the drow’s budding enthusiasm in the least. “One of those who comes to my door before every expedition, bidding me to join in the journey.”

“And you never go,” Drizzt reasoned.

Belwar shrugged. “A courtesy call, nothing more,” he said, his nose twitching and his wide teeth grating together.

“You are not worthy to march beside them,” Drizzt added, his tone dripping with sarcasm. At last, he believed, he had found the source of his friend’s frustration.

Again Belwar shrugged.

Drizzt scowled at him. “I have seen you at work with your mithril hands,” he said. “You would be no detriment to any party! Indeed, far more! Do you so quickly consider yourself crippled, when those about you do not?”

Belwar slammed his hammer-hand down on the table, sending a fair-sized crack running through the stone. “I can cut rock faster than the lot of them!” the burrow-warden growled fiercely. “ And if monsters descended upon us .. ,” He waved his pickaxe-hand in a menacing way, and Drizzt did not doubt that the barrel-chested deep gnome could put the instrument to good use.

“Enjoy the day, Most Honored Burrow-Warden,” came a final cry from outside the door. “As ever, we shall respect your decision, but, as ever, we also shall lament your absence.’

Drizzt stared curiously at Belwar. “Why, then?” he asked at length. “If you are as competent as all-yourself included-agree, why do you remain behind? I know the love svirfnebli have for such expeditions, yet you are not interested. Nor do you ever speak of your own adventures outside Blingdenstone. Is it my presence that holds you at home? Are you bound to watch over me?”

“No,” Belwar replied, his booming voice echoing back several times in Drizzt’s keen ears. “You have been granted the return of your weapons, dark elf. Do not doubt our trust.’

“But.. ?’ Drizzt began, but he stopped short, suddenly realizing the truth of the deep gnome’s reluctance. “The fight,” he said softly, almost apologetically. “That evil day more than a decade ago?’

Belwar’s nose verily rolled up over itself, and he briskly turned away.

“You blame yourself for the loss of your kin!” Drizzt continued, gaining volume as he gained confidence in his reasoning. Still, the drow could hardly believe his words as he spoke them.

But when Belwar turned back on him, the burrow-warden’s eyes were rimmed with wetness and Drizzt knew that the words had struck home.

Drizzt ran a hand through his thick white mane, not really knowing how to respond to Belwar’s dilemma. Drizzt personally had led the drow party against the svirfnebli mining group, and he knew that no blame for the disaster could rightly be placed on any of the deep gnomes. Yet, how could Drizzt possibly explain that to Belwar?

“I remember that fated day,” Drizzt began tentatively. “Vividly I remember it, as if that evil moment will be frozen in my thoughts, never to recede.’

“No more than in mine,” the burrow-warden whispered.

Drizzt nodded his accord. “Equally, though,” he said, “for I find myself caught within the very same web of guilt that entraps you.”

Belwar looked at him curiously, not really understanding.

“It was I who led the drow patrol,” Drizzt explained. “I found your troupe, errantly believing you to be marauders intending to descend upon Menzoberranzan.”

“If not you, then another,” Belwar replied.

“But none could have led them as well as I,” Drizzt said. “Out there-“ he glanced at the door-“in the wilds, I was at home. That was my domain.”