Exile (The Dark Elf Trilogy #2)(60)

Finally, Clacker tumbled down in a heap, sobbing in exhaustion and pain and helpless rage. Then Belwar, his mithril hands sparking whenever they touched, waded in.

“Move aside!” the burrow-warden demanded. “I have come too far to be stopped by a single door!” Belwar moved directly in front of the small door and slammed his enchanted hammer-hand at it with all his strength. A blinding flash of blue sparks burst out in every direction. The deep gnome’s muscled arms worked furiously, scraping and bashing, but when Belwar had exhausted his energy, the tower door showed only the slightest of scratches and superficial burns.

Belwar banged his hands together in disgust, showering himself in harmless sparks, and Clacker agreed wholeheartedly with his frustrated sentiments. Drizzt, though, was more angry and concerned than his friends. Not only had the wizard’s tower stopped them, but the wizard inside undoubtedly knew of their presence. Drizzt moved about the structure cautiously, noting the many arrow slits. Creeping below one, he heard a soft chant, and though he couldn’t understand the wizard’s words, he could guess easily enough the human’s intent.

“Run!” he yelled to his companions, and then, in sheer desperation, he grabbed a nearby stone and hauled it up into the opening of the arrow slit. Luck was with the drow, for the wizard completed his spell just as the rock slammed against the opening. A lightning bolt roared out, shattered the stone, and sent Drizzt flying, but it reflected back into the tower.

“Damnation! Damnation!” came a squeal from inside the tower. “I hate vhen that hoppens!”

Belwar and Clacker rushed over to help their fallen friend. The drow was only stunned, and he was up and ready before they ever got there.

“Oh, you ist going to pay dearly for that one, yest you ist!” came a cry from within.

“Run away!” cried the burrow-warden, and even the outraged hook horror was in full agreement. But as soon as Belwar looked into the drow’s lavender eyes, he knew that

Drizzt would not flee. Clacker, too, backed away a step from the fires gathering within Drizzt Do’Urden.

“Magga cammara, dark elf, we cannot get in.’ the svirfneblin prudently reminded Drizzt.

Drizzt pulled out the onyx figurine and held it against the arrow slit, blocking it with his body. “We shall see,” he growled, and then he called to Guenhwyvar.

The black mist swirled about and found only one empty path clear from the figurine.

“I vill keell you alll” cried the unseen wizard.

The next sound from within the tower was a low panther’s growl, and then the wizard’s voice rang out again. “I cood be wrong!”

“Open the door!” Drizzt screamed. “On your life, foul wizard!”

“Never!”

Guenhwyvar roared again, then the wizard screamed and the door swung wide.

Drizzt led the way. They entered a circular room, the tower’s bottom level. An iron ladder ran up its center to a trap door, the wizard’s attempted escape route. The human hadn’t quite made it, however, and he hung upside-down off the back side of the ladder, one leg hooked at the knee through a rung. Guenhwyvar, appearing fully healed from the ordeal in the acid lake and looking again like the most magnificent of panthers, perched on the other side of the ladder, casually mouthing the wizard’s calf and foot.

“Do come een!” the wizard cried, throwing his arms out wide, then drawing them back to pull his drooping robe up from his face. Wisps of smoke rose from the remaining tatters of the lightning-blackened robe. “I am Brister Fendlestick. Velcome to my hoomble home!”

Belwar kept Clacker at the door, holding his dangerous friend back with his hammer-hand, while Drizzt moved up to take charge of the prisoner. The drow paused long enough to regard his dear feline companion, for he hadn’t summoned Guenhwyvar since that day when he had sent the panther away to heal.

“You speak drow,” Drizzt remarked, grabbing the wizard by the collar and agilely spinning him down to his feet. Drizzt eyed the man suspiciously; he had never seen a human before the encounter in the corridor by the stream. To this point, the drow wasn’t overly impressed.

“Many tongues ist known to me,” replied the wizard, brushing himself off. And then, as if his proclamation was meant to carry some great importance, he added, “I am Brister Fendlestick!”

“Do you name pech among your languages?” Belwar growled from the door.

“Pech?” the wizard replied, spitting the word with apparent distaste.

“Pech.’ Drizzt snarled, emphasizing his response by snapping the edge of a scimitar to within an inch of the wizard’s neck.

Clacker took a step forward, easily sliding the blocking svirfneblin across the smooth floor.

“My large friend was once a pech,” Drizzt explained. “You should know that.”

“Pech.’ the wizard spat. “Useless leetle things, and always they ist in the way,” Clacker took another long stride forward.

“Be on with it, drow,” Belwar begged, futilely leaning against the huge hook horror.

“Give him back his identity,” Drizzt demanded. “Make our friend a pech again. And be quick about it.”

“Bah!” snorted the wizard. “He ist better off as he ist!” the unpredictable human replied. “Why would anyone weesh to remain a pech?”

Clacker’s breath came in a loud gasp. The sheer strength of his third stride sent Belwar skidding off to the side.