Exile (The Dark Elf Trilogy #2)(39)

Belwar was listening to his every word now, just as Drizzt had hoped.

“And it was I who defeated the earth elemental,” Drizzt continued, speaking matter-of-factly, not cockily. “Had it not been for my presence, the battle would have proved equal. Many svirfnebli would have survived to return to Blingdenstone.”

Belwar could not hide his smile. There was a measure of truth in Drizzt’s words, for Drizzt had indeed been a major factor in the drow attack’s success. But Belwar found

Drizzt’s attempt to dispel his guilt a bit of a stretch of the truth.

“I do not understand how you can blame yourself,” Drizzt said, now smiling and hoping that his levity would bring some measure of comfort to his friend. “With Drizzt Do’Urden at the lead of the drow party, you never had a chance.”

“Magga cammara! It is a painful subject to jest of,” Belwar replied, though he chuckled in spite of himself even as he spoke the words.

“Agreed,” said Drizzt, his tone suddenly serious. “But dismissing the tragedy in a jest is no more ridiculous than living mired in guilt for a blameless incident. No, not blameless,” Drizzt quickly corrected himself. “The blame lies on the shoulders of Menzoberranzan and its inhabitants. It is the way of the drow that caused the tragedy. It is the wicked existence they live, every day, that doomed your expedition’s peaceable miners.”

“Charged with the responsibility of his group is a burrow-warden,” Belwar retorted. “Only a burrow-warden may call an expedition. He must then accept the responsibility of his decision.”

“You chose to lead the deep gnomes so close to Menzoberranzan?” Drizzt asked.

“I did.”

“Of your own volition?” Drizzt pressed. He believed that he understood the ways of the deep gnomes well enough to know that most, if not all, of their important decisions were democratically resolved. “Without the word of Belwar Dissengulp, the mining party would never have come into that region?”

“We knew of the find,” Belwar explained. “A rich cache of ore. It was decided in council that we should risk the nearness to Menzoberranzan. I led the appointed party.”

“If not you, then another,” Drizzt said pointedly, mimicking Belwar’s earlier words.

“A burrow-warden must accept the respons- .. ,” Belwar began, his gaze drifting away from Drizzt.

“They do not blame you,” Drizzt said, following Belwar’s empty stare to the blank stone door. “They honor you and care for you.”

“They pity me!” Belwar snarled.

“Do you need their pity?” Drizzt cried back. “Are you less than they? A helpless cripple?”

“Never I was!”

“Then go out with them!” Drizzt yelled at him. “See if they truly pity you. I do not believe that at all, but if your assumptions prove true, if your people do pity their ‘Most Honored Burrow-Warden; then show them the truth of Belwar Dissengulp! If your companions mantle upon you neither pity nor blame, then do not place either burden upon your own shoulders!”

Belwar stared at his friend for a very long moment, but he did not reply.

“All the miners who accompanied you knew the risk of venturing so close to Menzoberranzan,” Drizzt reminded him. A smile widened on Drizzt’s face. “None of them, yourself included, knew that Drizzt Do’Urden would lead your drow opponents against you. If you had, you certainly would have stayed at home.”

“Magga cammara,” Belwar mumbled. He shook his head in disbelief, both at Drizzt’s joking attitude and at the fact that, for the first time in over a decade, he did feel better about those tragic memories. He rose up from the stone table, flashed a grin at Drizzt, and headed for the inner room of his house.

“Where are you going?” Drizzt asked.

“To rest,” replied the burrow-warden. “The events of this day have already wearied me.”

“The mining expedition will depart without you.”

Belwar turned back and cast an incredulous stare at Drizzt. Did the drow really expect that Belwar would so easily refute years of guilt and just go bounding off with the miners?

“I had thought Belwar Dissengulp possessed more courage,” Drizzt said to him. The scowl that crossed the burrow-warden’s face was genuine, and Drizzt knew that he had found a weakness in Belwar’s armor of self-pity.

“Boldly do you speak,” Belwar growled through a grimace.

“Boldly to a coward,” Drizzt replied. The mithril handed svirfneblin stalked in, his breathing coming in great heaves of his densely muscled chest.

“If you do not like the title, then cast it away!” Drizzt growled in his face. “Go with the miners. Show them the truth of Belwar Dissengulp, and learn it for yourself!”

Belwar banged his mithril hands together. “Run out then and get your weapons!” he commanded. Drizzt hesitated. Had he just been challenged? Had he gone too far in his attempt to shake the burrow-warden loose of his guilty bonds?

“Get your weapons, Drizzt Do’Urden,” Belwar growled again, “for if I am to go with the miners, then so are you!”

Elated, Drizzt clasped the deep gnome’s head between his long, slender hands and banged his forehead softly into Belwar’s, the two exchanging stares of deep admiration and affection. In an instant, Drizzt rushed away, scrambling to the House Central to retrieve his suit of finely meshed chain mail, his piwafwi, and his scimitars.