They were still out across the Surbrin, in the northern stretches of the newly-proclaimed Kingdom of Many Arrows, just south of the towering easternmost peaks of the Spine of the World. The drow tried not to respond, but his thoughts flickered back to Sinnafain’s announcement to him that Drizzt Do’Urden had returned from the west and stopped in the Moonwood.
He saw you on that day he battled Obould, Khazid’hea warned. He knows you were in league with the orcs.
He saw two drow, Tos’un corrected. And from afar. He cannot know for certain that it was me.
And if he does? His eyes are much more attuned to the glare of the sun than are yours. Do not underestimate his understanding. He did battle with two of your companions, as well. You cannot know what Drizzt might have learned from them before he slew them.
Tos’un slid the sword away and glanced around the ring of boulders fronting the shallow cave that he and the elves had taken for their camp the previous night. He had suspected that Drizzt had been involved in the fall of Donnia Soldue and Adnon Khareese, but the sword’s confirmation jarred him.
You will exact vengeance for your dead friends? Khazid’hea asked, and there was something in the sword’s telepathy that led him to understand the folly of that course. In truth, Tos’un wanted no battle with the legendary rogue that had so upset the great city of Menzoberranzan. Kaer’lic had feared that Drizzt was actually in Lolth’s favor, as chaos seemed to widen in his destructive wake, but even if that were not the case, the rogue’s reputation still brought shudders up Tos’un’s spine.
Could he bluff his way past Drizzt’s doubts, or would the rogue just cut him down?
Good, Khazid’hea purred in his thoughts. You understand that this is not a battle you are ready to fight. The sword led his gaze to Sinnafain, sitting on a rock not far away and staring out at the wide valley beyond.
Kill her quickly and let us be gone, Khazid’hea offered. The others are out or deep in Reverie-they will not arrive in time to stop you.
Despite his reservations, Tos’un’s hand closed on the sword’s hilt. But he let go almost immediately.
Drizzt will not strike me down. I can dissuade him. He will accept me.
At the very least, he will demand my return, Khazid’hea protested, so that he can give me back to that human woman.
I will not allow that.
How will you prevent it? And how will Tos’un answer the calls of the priests when Khazid’hea is not helping him to defeat their truth-seeking spells?
We are beyond that point, the drow replied.
Not if I betray you, the sword warned.
Tos’un sucked in his breath and knew he was caught. The thought of going back out alone in the winter cold did not sit well with him, but he had no answer for the wretched sword.
Nor was he willing to surrender Khazid’hea, to Drizzt or to anyone. Tos’un understood that his fighting skills were improving because of the tutoring of the blade, and few weapons in the world possessed a finer edge. Still, he did not doubt Khazid’hea’s estimation that he was not ready to do battle with the likes of Drizzt Do’Urden.
Hardly aware of the movements, the drow walked up behind Sinnafain.
“It is a beautiful day, but the wind will keep us about the cave,” she said, and Tos’un caught most of the words and her meaning. He was a quick student, and the Elvish language was not so different from that of the drow, with many similar words and word roots, and an identical structure.
She turned on the rock to face him just as he struck.
The world must have seemed to spin for Sinnafain. She lay on the ground, the drow standing above her, his deadly sword’s tip at her chin, forcing her to arch her neck.
Kill her! Khazid’hea demanded.
Tos’un’s mind raced. He wanted to plunge his sword into her throat and head. Or maybe he should take her hostage. She would be a valuable bargaining chip, and one that would afford him many pleasures before it was spent, to be sure.
But to what end?
Kill her! Khazid’hea screamed in his mind.
Tos’un eased the blade back and Sinnafain tilted her chin down and looked at him. The terror in her blue eyes felt good to him, and he almost pulled the sword back, just to give her some hope, before reversing and cutting out her throat.
But to what end?
Kill her!
“I am not your enemy, but Drizzt will not understand,” Tos’un heard himself saying, though his command of the language was so poor that Sinnafain’s face screwed up in confusion.
“Not your enemy,” he said slowly, focusing on the words. “Drizzt will not understand.”
He shook his head in frustration, reached down, and removed the helpless elf’s weapons, tossing them far aside. He jerked Sinnafain to her feet and shoved her away, Khazid’hea at her back. He glanced back at the cave a few times, but soon was far enough away to understand that no pursuit would be forthcoming.
He spun Sinnafain around and forced her to the ground. “I am not your enemy,” he said yet again.
Then, to Khazid’hea’s supreme outrage, Tos’un Armgo ran away.
“It is Catti-brie’s sword,” Drizzt said when Sinnafain told him the tale of Tos’un a few days later, when she and her troupe returned to the Moonwood. “He was one of the pair I saw when I did battle with Obould.”
“Our spells of truth-seeking did not detect his lie, or any malice,” Sinnafain argued.
“He is drow,” Innovindil put in. “They are a race full of tricks.”
But Sinnafain’s simple response, “He did not kill me,” mitigated much of the weight of that argument.
“He was with Obould,” Drizzt said again. “I know that several drow aided the orc king, even prompted his attack.” He looked over at Innovindil, who nodded her agreement.
“I will find him,” Drizzt promised.
“And kill him?” Sinnafain asked.
Drizzt didn’t answer, but only because he managed to bite back the word “yes,” before it escaped his lips.
“You understand the concept?” Priest Jallinal asked Innovindil. “The revenant?”
“A spirit with unfinished business, yes,” Innovindil replied, and she couldn’t keep the tremor out of her voice. The priests would not undertake such a ritual lightly. Normally revenants were thankfully rare, restless spirits of those who had died in great tumult, unable to resolve central questions of their very being. But Ellifain was not a revenant-not yet. In their communion with their god, the elf priests had come to believe that it would be for the best to create a revenant of Ellifain, something altogether unheard of. They were convinced of their course, though, and with their confidence, and given all that was at stake, Innovindil was hardly about to decline. She, after all, was the obvious choice.
“Possession is not painful,” Jallinal assured her. “Not physically. But it is unsettling to the highest degree. You are certain that you can do this?”
Innovindil sat back and glanced out the left side of the wooden structure, to the hut where she knew Drizzt to be. She found herself nodding as she considered Drizzt, the drow she had come to love as a cherished friend. He needed it to happen as much as Ellifain did.
“Be done with it, and let us all rest more comfortably,” Innovindil said.
Jallinal and the other clerics began their ritual casting, and Innovindil reclined on the floor pillows and closed her eyes. The magic filtered through her gently, softly, opening the conduit to the spirit the priests called forth. Her consciousness dulled, but was not expelled. Rather, her thoughts seemed as if filtered through those of her former friend, as if she was seeing and hearing everything reflected off the consciousness of Ellifain.