Exile (The Dark Elf Trilogy #2)(58)

“Safe enough he is!” snorted Belwar. “What monster would willingly attack a hook horror?” Belwar understood Drizzt’s sincere concern, but he understood, too, the danger in Drizzt’s suggestion. “I have witnessed such spells.’ the svirfneblin said somberly. “They are called polymorph. Immediately comes the change of the body, but the change of the mind can take time.’

“What are you saying?” Drizzt’s voice edged on panic.

Clacker is still a pech,” replied Belwar, “trapped though he is in the body of a hook horror. But soon, I fear, Clacker will be a pech no more. A hook horror he will become, mind and body, and however friendly we might be, Clacker will come to think of us as no more than another meal.’

Drizzt started to argue, but Belwar silenced him with one sobering thought. “Would you enjoy having to kill him, dark elf?”

Drizzt turned away. “His tale is familiar to me.’

“Not as much as you believe,” replied Belwar.

“I, too, was lost,” Drizzt reminded the burrow-warden.

“So you believe,” Belwar answered. “But that which was essentially Drizzt Do’Urden remained within you, my friend. You were as you had to be, as the situation around you forced you to be. This is different. Not just in body, but in very essence will Clacker become a hook horror. His thoughts will be the thoughts of a hook horror and, magga cammara, he will not return your grant of mercy when you are the one on the ground.’

Drizzt could not be satisfied, though he could not refute the deep gnome’s blunt logic. He moved into the complex’s left-hand chamber, the one he had claimed as his bedroom, and fell into his hammock.

“Alas for you, Drizzt Do’Urden,” Belwar mumbled under his breath as he watched the drow’s heavy movements, laden with sorrow. “And alas for our doomed pech friend.’ The burrow-warden went into his own chamber and crawled into his hammock, feeling terrible about the whole situation but determined to remain coldly logical and practical, whatever the pain. For Belwar understood that Drizzt felt a kinship to the unfortunate creature, a potentially fatal bond founded in empathy for Clacker’s loss of self.

Later that night, an excited Drizzt shook the svirfneblin from his slumber. “We must help him,” Drizzt whispered harshly.

Belwar wiped an arm across his face and tried to orient himself. His sleep had been uneasy, filled with dreams in which he had cried” Bivrip’ in an impossibly loud voice, then had proceeded to bash the life out of his newest companion.

“We must help him!” Drizzt said again, even more forcefully. Belwar could tell by the drow’s haggard appearance that Drizzt had found no sleep this night.

“I am no wizard,” the burrow-warden said. “Neither are-“

“Then we will find one,” Drizzt growled. “We will find the human who cursed Clacker and force him to reverse the dweomer! We saw him by the stream only a few days ago. He cannot be so far away!”

“A mage capable of such magic will prove no easy foe,” Belwar was quick to reply. “Have you so quickly forgotten the fireball?” Belwar glanced to the wall, to where his scorched leather jack hung on a peg, as if to convince himself. “The wizard is beyond us, I fear,” Belwar mumbled, but Drizzt could see the lack of conviction in the burrow-warden’s expression as he spoke the words.

“Are you so quick to condemn Clacker?” Drizzt asked bluntly. A wide smile began to spread over Drizzt’s face as he saw the svirfneblin weakening. “Is this the same Belwar Dissengulp who took in a lost drow? That most honored burrow-warden who would not give up hope for a dark elf that everyone else considered dangerous and beyond help?”

“Go to sleep, dark elf,” Belwar retorted, pushing Drizzt away with his hammer-hand.

“Wise advice, my friend,” said Drizzt. “And you sleep well. We may have a long road ahead of us.”

“Magga cammara,” huffed the taciturn svirfneblin, stubbornly holding to his facade of gruff practicality. He rolled away from Drizzt and soon was snoring.

Drizzt noted that Belwar’s snores now sounded from the depths of a deep and contented sleep.

Clacker beat against the wall with his clawed hands, taptapping the stone relentlessly.

“Not again,” a flustered Belwar whispered to Drizzt. “Not out here!”

Drizzt sped along the winding corridor, homing in on the monotonous sound. “Clacker!” he called softly when the hook horror was in sight.

The hook horror turned to face the approaching drow, clawed hands wide and ready and a growling hiss slipping through his great beak. A moment later, Clacker realized what he was doing and abruptly stopped.

“Why must you continue that banging?” Drizzt asked him, trying to pretend, even to himself, that he had not seen Clacker’s battle stance. “We are out in the wilds, my friend. Such sounds invite visitors.”

The giant monster’s head drooped. “You should not have c-c-come out with m-me,” Clacker said. “I c-c-cannot-many things will happen that I cannot c-control.”

Drizzt reached up and put a comforting hand on Clacker’s bony elbow. “It was my fault,” the drow said, understanding the hook horror’s meaning. Clacker had apologized for turning dangerously on Drizzt. “We should not have gone off in different directions,” Drizzt continued, “and I should not have approached you so quickly and without warning. We will all stay together now, though our search may prove longer, and Belwar and I will help you to maintain control.”