Exile (The Dark Elf Trilogy #2)(75)

“I believe they were,” Drizzt retorted easily, returning the wink. “Under the charms of a mind flayer, I mean,” he quickly added.

“Never!” Belwar insisted. “Never the work of a svirfneblin is this, not even if his mind had been melted away!” In spite of their dire peril, the deep gnome managed a belly laugh, and Drizzt joined him.

Sounds of battle sounded from the side passages of every intersection they crossed. Guenhwyvar’s keen senses kept them along the clearest route, though the panther had no way of knowing which way was out. Still, whatever lay in any direction could only be an improvement over the horrors they had left.

A mind flayer jumped out into their corridor just after Guenhwyvar crossed an intersection. The creature hadn’t seen the panther and faced Drizzt and Belwar fully. Drizzt threw the svirfneblin down and dived into a headlong roll toward his adversary, expecting to be blasted before he ever got close.

But when the drow came out of the roll and looked up, his breath came back in a profound sigh of relief. The mind flayer lay face down on the stone, Guenhwyvar comfortably perched atop its back.

Drizzt moved to his feline companion as Guenhwyvar casually finished the grim business, and Belwar soon joined them.

“Anger, dark elf,” the svirfneblin remarked. Drizzt looked at him curiously.

“I believe anger can fight back against their blasts,” Belwar explained. “One got me up on the stairs, but I was so mad, I hardly noticed. Perhaps I am mistaken, but-“

“No,” Drizzt interrupted, remembering how little he had been affected, even at close range, when he had gone to retrieve his scimitars. He had been in the thralls of his alter ego then, that darker, maniacal side he so desperately had tried to leave behind. The illithid’s mental assault had been all but useless against the hunter. “You are not mistaken,” Drizzt assured his friend. “Anger can beat them, or at least slow the effects of their mind assaults.’

Then get mad!” Belwar growled as he signaled Guenhwyvar ahead. Drizzt threw his supporting arm back under the burrow-warden’s shoulder and nodded his agreement with Belwar’s suggestion. The drow realized, though, that blind rage such as Belwar was speaking of could not be consciously created. Instinctive fear and anger might defeat the illithids, but Drizzt, from his experiences with his alter ego, knew those were emotions brought on by nothing short of desperation and panic.

The small party crossed through several more corridors, through a large, empty room, and down yet another passage. Slowed by the limping svirfneblin, they soon heard heavy footsteps closing in from behind.

“Too heavy for illithids,” Drizzt remarked, looking back over his shoulder.

“Slaves,” Belwar reasoned.

Fwoop! An attack sounded behind them. Fwoop! Fwoop! The sounds came to them, followed by several thuds and groans.

“Slaves once again,” Drizzt said grimly. The pursuing foot steps came on again, this time sounding more like a light shuffle.

“Faster!” Drizzt cried, and Belwar needed no prompting. They ran on, thankful for every turn in the passage, for they feared that the illithids were only steps behind.

They then came into a large and high hall. Several possible exits came into view, but one, a set of large iron doors, held their attention keenly. Between them and the doors was a spiraling iron stairway, and on a balcony not so far above loomed a mind flayer.

“He’ll cut us off,” Belwar reasoned. The footsteps came louder from behind. Belwar looked back toward the waiting illithid curiously when he saw a wide smile cross the drow’s face. The deep gnome, too, grinned widely.

Guenhwyvar took the spiraling stairs in three mighty bounds. The illithid wisely fled along the balcony and off into the shadows of adjoining corridors. The panther did not pursue, but held a high, guarding position above Drizzt and Belwar.

Both the drow and the svirfneblin called their thanks as they passed, but their elation turned sour when they arrived at the doors. Drizzt pushed hard, but the portals would not budge.

“Locked!” he cried.

“Not for long!” growled Belwar. The enchantment had expired in the deep gnome’s mithril hands, but he charged ahead anyway, pounding his hammer-hand against the metal.

Drizzt moved behind the deep gnome, keeping a rear guard and expecting the illithids to enter the hall at any moment. “Hurry, Belwar,” he begged.

Both mithril hands worked furiously on the doors. Gradually, the lock began to loosen and the doors opened just an inch. “Magga cammara, dark elf!” the burrow-warden cried. “A bar it is that holds them! On the other side!”

“Damn!” Drizzt spat, and across the way, a group of several mind flayers entered the hall.

Belwar didn’t relent. His hammer-hand smashed at the door again and again.

The illithids crossed the stairway and Guenhwyvar sprang into their midst, bringing the whole group tumbling down. At that horrible moment, Drizzt realized that he did not have the onyx figurine.

The hammer-hand banged the metal in rapid succession, widening the gap between the doors. Belwar pushed his pickaxe-hand through in an uppercut motion and lifted the bar from its locking clasps. The doors swung wide.

“Come quickly!” the deep gnome yelled to Drizzt. He hooked his pickaxe-hand under the drow’s shoulder to pull him along, but Drizzt shrugged away the hold.

“Guenhwyvar!” Drizzt cried.