Toogwik Tuk held faith that when they smashed that wall, the cries for Grguch would be louder than those for Obould. The next cheers he led would hold fewer references to the glory of Obould and more to the glory of Gruumsh. But he would not lessen the number of his claims that all of it was being wrought by the power of Grguch.
Jack could see that the sprout of hair on one side of Hakuun’s misshapen, wart-covered nose tingled with nervous energy as he walked out from the main host, among dark pines and broken fir trees.
“By sprockets and elemental essences, that was exciting, wasn’t it?”
The orc shaman froze in place at the all-too-familiar voice, composed himself with a deep breath that greatly flared his nostrils, and slowly turned to regard a curious little humanoid in brilliant purple robes sitting on a low branch, swinging his feet back and forth like a carefree child. The form was new to Hakuun. Oh, he knew what a gnome was, indeed, but he had never seen Jaculi in that state before.
“That young priest is so full of spirit,” Jack said. “I almost walked out and joined in with Grguch myself! Oh, what a grand march they have planned!”
“I didn’t ask you to come up here,” Hakuun remarked.
“Did you not?” said Jack, and he hopped down from the tree and brushed the twigs from his fabulous robes. “Tell me, Shaman of Clan Karuck, what am I to think when I peer out from my work to find that the one to whom I have bestowed such great gifts has run off?”
“I did not run off,” Hakuun insisted, trying to keep his voice steady, though he was visibly near panic. “Often does Clan Karuck go hunting.”
Hakuun gave ground as the gnome walked up to him. Jack continued to advance as Hakuun retreated.
“But this was no ordinary excursion.”
Hakuun looked at Jack with dull curiosity, obviously not understanding him.
“No ordinary hunt,” Jack explained.
“I have told you.”
“Of Obould, yes, and of his thousands,” said Jack. “A bit of mischief and a bit of loot to be found, so you said. But it is more than that, is it not?”
Again Hakuun wore a puzzled expression.
Jack snapped his stubby fingers in the air and whirled away. “Do you not feel it, shaman?” he asked, his voice full of excitement. “Do you not recognize that this is no ordinary hunt?”
Jack spun back on Hakuun to measure his response, and still he saw that the shaman wasn’t quite catching on. For Jack, so perceptive and cunning, had deduced the subtext of Toogwik Tuk’s speech, and the implications it offered.
“Perhaps it is just my own suspicion,” the gnome said, “but you must tell me all that you know. Then we should speak with that spirited young priest.”
“I have told you…” Hakuun protested. His voiced trailed off and he retreated a step, knowing what awful thing was about to befall him.
“No, I mean that you must tell me everything,” Jack said, all humor gone from his voice and his expression as he took a step toward the shaman. Hakuun shrank back, but that only made Jack stride more purposefully.
“Ah, you do forget,” the gnome said as he closed the gap. “All that I have done for you, and so little have I asked in return. With great power, Hakuun, comes great expectations.”
“There is nothing more,” the shaman started to plead, and he held up his hands.
Jack the Gnome wore a mask of evil. He said not a word, but pointed to the ground. Hakuun shook his head feebly and continued to wave, and Jack continued to point.
But it was no contest, the outcome never in doubt. With a slight whimper, Hakuun, the mighty shaman of Clan Karuck, the conduit between Grguch and Gruumsh, prostrated himself on the ground, face down.
Jack looked straight ahead and lowered his arms to his sides as he quietly mouthed the words to his spell. He thought of the mysterious illithids, the brilliant mind flayers, who had taught him so much of one particular school of magic.
His robes fluttered only briefly as he shrank, then they and all his other gear melded into his changing form. In an instant Jack the Gnome was gone and a sightless rodent padded across the ground on four tiny feet. He went up to Hakuun’s ear and sniffed for a few moments, hesitating simply because he recognized how uncomfortable it was making the cowering creature.
Then Jack the Gnome-cum-brain mole crawled into Hakuun’s ear and disappeared from sight.
Hakuun shuddered and jerked in agonized spasms as the creature burrowed deeper, through the walls of his inner ear and into the seat of his consciousness. The shaman forced himself up to all fours as he began to gag. He vomited and spat, though of course the feeble defenses of his physical body could not begin to dislodge his unwelcome guest.
A few moments later, Hakuun staggered to his feet.
There, said the voice of Jack in his head. Now I better understand the purpose of this adventure, and together we will learn the extent of this spirited young shaman’s plans.
Hakuun didn’t argue—there was no way he could, of course. And for all his revulsion and pain, Hakuun knew that with Jack inside him, he was much more perceptive, and many times more powerful.
A private conversation with Toogwik Tuk, Jack instructed, and Hakuun could not disagree.
Even with their sensitive elf ears, Drizzt and Hralien could only make out the loudest chants from the gathered orcs. Still, the purpose of the march became painfully obvious.
“They are the ones,” Hralien remarked. “The yellow banner was seen in the Moonwood. It appears that their numbers have…”
He paused as he looked over at his companion, who didn’t seem to be listening. Drizzt crouched, perfectly still, his head turned back to the south, toward Mithral Hall.
“We have already passed several orc settlements,” the drow said a few heartbeats later. “No doubt this march will cross through each.”
“Swelling their numbers,” Hralien agreed, and Drizzt finally looked at him.
“And they’ll continue southward,” the drow reasoned.
Hralien said, “This may be renewed aggression brewing. And I fear that there is an instigator.”
“Tos’un?” said Drizzt. “I see no dark elf among the gathering.”
“He’s likely not far afield.”
“Look at them,” Drizzt said, nodding his chin in the direction of the chanting, cheering orcs. “If Tos’un did instigate this madness, could he still be in control of it?”
It was Hralien’s turn to shrug. “Do not underestimate his cunning,” the elf warned. “The attack on the Moonwood was well-coordinated, and brutally efficient.”
“Obould’s orcs have surprised us at every turn.”
“And they were not without drow advisors.”
The two locked stares at that remark, a cloud briefly crossing Drizzt’s face.
“I truly believe that Tos’un orchestrated the attack on the Moon-wood,” Hralien said. “And that he is behind this march, wherever it may lead.”
Drizzt glanced back to the south, toward Bruenor’s kingdom.
“It may well be that their destination is Mithral Hall,” Hralien conceded. “But I beg you to continue on the road that led you out of Bruenor’s depths. For all our sakes, find Tos’un Armgo. I will shadow these orcs, and will give ample warning to King Bruenor should it become necessary—and I will err on the side of caution. Trust me in this, I beg, and free yourself for this most important task.”
Drizzt looked from the gathered orcs back toward Mithral Hall yet again. He envisioned a battle fought along the Surbrin, fierce and vicious, and felt the pangs of guilt in considering that Bruenor and Regis, perhaps even Catti-brie and the rest of Clan Battle hammer, would yet again be fighting for their survival without him by their side. He winced as he saw again the fall of the tower at Shallows, with Dagnabbit, whom he had then thought to be Bruenor, tumbling down to his death atop it.