He had brought Bruenor and Regis out to witness this moment. It was fitting that all four of them stood by when Guenhwyvar returned.
Part 4 THE DROW MARCH
I noticed something truly amazing, and truly heartwarming,as we, all the defenders of Mithril Hall and the immediateregion, neared the end of preparations, neared the time when the drow would come.
I am drow. My skin proves that I am different. The ebony hue showsmy heritage clearly and undeniably. And yet, not a glare was aimed myway, not a look of consternation from the Harpells and the Longriders, notan angry word from volatile Berkthgar and his warrior people. And nodwarf, not even General Dagna, who did not like anyone who was not adwarf, pointed an accusing finger at me.
We did not know why the drow had come, be it for me or for thepromise of treasure from the rich dwarven complex. Whatever the cause, tothe defenders, I was without blame. How wonderful that felt to me, whohad worn the burden of self-imposed guilt for many months, guilt for the previous raid, guilt for Wulfgar, guilt that Catti-brie had been forced byfriendship to chase me all the way to Menzoberranzan.
Ihad worn this heavy collar, and yet those around me who had asmuch to lose as I placed no burden on me.
You cannot understand how special that realization was to one of my past. It was a gesture of sincere friendship, and what made it all the moreimportant is that it was an unintentional gesture, offered without thoughtor purpose. Too often in the past, my «friends» would make such gesturesas if to prove something, more to themselves than to me. They could feelbetter about themselves because they could look beyond the obvious differences, such as the color of my skin.
Guenhwyvar never did that. Bruenor never did that. Neither did Catti-brie or Regis. Wulfgar at first despised me, openly and withoutexcuse, simply because I was drow. They were honest, and thus, they werealways my friends. But in the days of preparation for war, 1 saw that sphere
of friendship expand many times over. I came to know that the dwarves ofMithril Hall, the men and women of Settlestone, and many, many more,truly accepted me.
That is the honest nature of friendship. That is when it becomes sincere, and not self-serving. So in those days, Drizzt Do'Urden came tounderstand, once and for all, that he was not of Menzoberranzan.
I threw off the collar of guilt. I smiled.
Chapter 17 BLINGDENSTONE
They were shadows among the shadows, flickering movements that disappeared before the eye could take them in. And there was no sound. Though three hundred dark elves moved in formation, right flank, left flank, center, there was no sound.
They had come to the west of Menzoberranzan, seeking the easier and wider tunnels that would swing them back toward the east and all the way to the surface, to Mithril Hall. Blingdenstone, the city of svirfnebli, whom the drow hated above all others, was not so far away, another benefit of this roundabout course.
Uthegental Armgo paused in one small, sheltered cubby. The tunnels were wide here, uncomfortably so. Svirfnebli were tacticians and builders; in a fight they would depend on formations, perhaps even on war machines, to compete with the more stealthy and individual-minded drow. The widening of these particular tunnels was no accident, Uthegental knew, and no result of nature. This battlefield had long ago been prepared by his enemies.
So where were they? Uthegental had come into their domain
with three hundred drow, his group leading an army of eight thousand dark elves and thousands of humanoid slaves. And yet, though Blingdenstone itself could not be more than a twenty minute march from his position—and his scouts were even closer than that—there had been no sign of svirfnebli.
The wild patron of Barrison del'Armgo was not happy. Uthegental liked things predictable, at least as far as enemies were concerned, and had hoped that he and his warriors would have seen some action against the gnomes by now. It was no accident that his group, that he, was at the forefront of the drow army. That had been a concession by Baenre to Mez'Barris, an affirmation of the importance of the second house. But with that concession came responsibility, which Matron Mez'Barris had promptly dropped on Uthegental's sturdy shoulders. House Barrison del'Armgo needed to come out of this war with high glory, particularly in light of Matron Baenre's incredible display in the destruction of House Oblodra. When this business with Mithril Hall was settled, the rearrangement of the pecking order in Menzoberranzan would likely begin. Interhouse wars seemed unavoidable, with the biggest holes to be filled those ranks directly behind Barrison del'Armgo.
Thus had Matron Mez'Barris promised full fealty to Baenre, in exchange for being personally excused from the expedition. She remained in Menzoberranzan, solidifying her house's position and working closely with Triel Baenre in forming a web of lies and allies to insulate House Baenre from further accusations. Baenre had agreed with Mez'Barris's offer, knowing that she, too, would be vulnerable if all did not go well in Mithril Hall.
With the matron mother of his house back in Menzoberranzan, the glory of House Barrison del'Armgo was Uthegental's to find. The fierce warrior was glad for the task, but he was edgy as well, filled with nervous energy, wanting a battle, any battle, that he might whet his appetite for what was to come, and might wet the end of his wicked trident with the blood of an enemy.
But where were the ugly little svirfnebli? he wondered. The marching plan called for no attack on Blingdenstone proper— not on the initial journey, at least. If there was to be an assault on the gnome city, it would come on the return from Mithril Hall, after the main objective had been realized. Uthegental had been given permission to test svirfneblin defenses, though, and to
skirmish with any gnomes he and his warriors found out in the open tunnels.
Uthegental craved that, and had already determined that if he found and tested the gnome defenses and discovered sufficient holes in them, he would take the extra step, hoping to return to Baenre's side with the head of the svirfneblin king on the end of his trident.
All glory for Barrison del'Armgo.
One of the scouts slipped back past the guards, moved right up to the fierce warrior. Her fingers flashed in the silent drow code, explaining to her leader that she had gone closer, much closer, had even seen the stairway that led up to the level of Blingdenstone's massive front gates. But no sign had she seen of the svirfnebli.
It had to be an ambush; every instinct within the seasoned weapon master told Uthegental that the svirfnebli were lying in wait, in full force. Almost any other dark elf, a race known for caution when dealing with others (mostly because the drow knew they could always win such encounters if they struck at the appropriate time), would have relented. In truth, Uthegental's mission, a scouting expedition, was now complete, and he could return to Matron Baenre with a full report that she would be pleased to hear.
But fierce Uthegental was not like other drow. He was less than relieved, was, in fact boiling with rage.
Take me there, his fingers flashed, to the surprise of the female scout.
You are too valuable, the female's hands replied.
"All of us!" Uthegental roared aloud, his volume surprising every one of the many dark elves about him. But Uthegental wasn't startled, and did not relent. "Send the word along every column," he went on, "to follow my lead to the very gates of Blingdenstone!"
More than a few drow soldiers turned nervous looks to each other. They numbered three hundred, a formidable force, but Blingdenstone held many times that number, and svirfnebli, full of tricks with the stone and often allied with powerful monsters from the Plane of Earth, were not easy foes. Still, not one of the dark elves would argue with Uthegental Armgo, especially since