Homeland (The Legend of Drizzt #1)(76)

“If only I had found the strength then,” he lamented. “How much grief might I have spared Drizzt? How much pain did his days at the Academy bring to him, that he is so very changed?” The words rang hollow in the empty room. They were just words, useless now, for Zak had already decided that Drizzt was out of reason’s reach. Drizzt was a drow warrior, with all of the wicked connotations carried in such a title.

The choice was gone to Zaknafein if he wished to hold any pretense of value to his wretched existence. This time, he could not stay his sword. He had to kill Drizzt.





Chapter 22

Gnomes, Wicked Gnomes


Among the twists and turns of the tunnel mazes of the Underdark, slipping about their silent way, went the svirfnebli, the deep gnomes. Neither kind nor evil, and so out of place in this world of pervading wickedness, the deep gnomes survived and thrived. Haughty fighters, skilled in crafting weapons and armor, and more in tune to the songs of the stone than even the evil gray dwarves, the svirfnebli continued their business of plucking gems and precious metals in spite of the perils awaiting them at every turn.

When the news came back to Blingdenstone, the cluster of tunnels and caverns that composed the deep gnomes’ city, that a rich vein of gemstones had been discovered twenty miles to the east-as the rockworm, the thoqqua, burrowed-Burrow-warden Belwar Dissengulp had to climb over a dozen others of his rank to be awarded the privilege of leading the mining expedition. Belwar and all of the others knew well that forty miles east-as the rockworm burrowed-would put the expedition dangerously close to Menzoberranzan, and that even getting there would mean a week of hiking, probably through the territories of a hundred other enemies. Fear was no measure against the love svirfnebli had for gems, though, and every day in the Underdark was a risk.

When Belwar and his forty miners arrived in the small cavern described by the advance scouts and inscribed with the gnomes’ mark of treasure, they found that the claims had not been exaggerated. The burrow-warden took care not to get overly excited, though. He knew that twenty thousand drow elves, the svirfnebli’s most hated and feared enemy, lived fewer than five miles away.

Escape tunnels became the first order of business, winding constructions high enough for a three-foot gnome b ut not for a taller pursuer. All along the course of these the gnomes placed breaker walls, designed to deflect a lightning bolt or offer some protection from the expanding flames of a fireball.

Then, when the true mining at last began, Belwar kept fully a third of his crew on guard at all times and walked the area of the work with one hand always clutching the magical emerald, the summoning stone, he kept on a chain around his neck.

“Three full patrol groups,” Drizzt remarked to Dinin when they arrived at the open “field,” on the eastern side of Menzoberranzan. Few stalagmites lined this region of the city, but it did not seem so open now, with dozens of anxious drow milling about.

“Gnomes are not to be taken lightly,” Dinin replied. “They are wicked and powerful-.”

“As wicked as surface elves?” Drizzt had to interrupt, covering his sarcasm with false exuberance.

“Almost,” his brother warned grimly, missing the connotations of Drizzt’s question. Dinin pointed off to the side, where a contingent of female drow was coming in to join the group. “Clerics,” he said, “and one of them a high priestess. The rumors of activity must have been confirmed.”

A shudder coursed through Drizzt, a tingle of pre-battle excitement. That excitement was altered and lessened, though, by fear, not of physical harm, or even of the gnomes. Drizzt feared that this encounter might be a repeat of the surface tragedy.

He shook the black thoughts away and reminded himself that this time, unlike the surface expedition, his home was being invaded. The gnomes had crossed the boundaries of the draw realm. If they were as evil as Dinin and all the others claimed, Menzoberranzan had no choice but to respond with force. If.

Drizzt’s patrol, the most celebrated group among the males, was selected to lead, and Drizzt, as always, took the point position. Still unsure, he wasn’t thrilled with the assignment, and as they started out, Drizzt even contemplated leading the group astray. Or perhaps, Drizzt thought, he could contact the gnomes privately before the others arrived and warn them to flee.

Drizzt realized the absurdity of the notion. He couldn’t stop the wheels of Menzoberranzan from turning along their designated course, and he couldn’t do anything to hinder the two score drow warriors, excited and impatient, at his back. Again he was trapped and on the edge of despair. Masoj Hun’ett appeared then and made everything better.

“Guenhwyvar!” the young wizard called, and the great panther came bounding. Masoj left the cat beside Drizzt and headed back toward his place in the line.

Guenhwyvar could no more hide its elation at seeing Drizzt than Drizzt could contain his own smile. With the interruption of the surface raid, and then his time back home, he hadn’t seen Guenhwyvar in mere than a month.

Guenhwyvar thumped against Drizzt’s side as it passed, nearly knocking the slender drow from his feet. Drizzt responded with a heavy pat, vigorously rubbing a hand over the cat’s ear.

They both turned back together, suddenly conscious of the unhappy glare boring into them. There stood Masoj, arms crossed over his chest and a visible scowl heating up his face.

“I shan’t use the cat to kill Drizzt,” the young wizard muttered to himself. “I want the pleasure for myself.”