Exile

“And now it is leaving,” Drizzt said softly. “The pech is falling away from your grasp once again, buried under the instincts of a hook horror.”

Clacker looked away and again banged a hook against the wall in reply. Something in the motion brought him comfort, and he repeated it, over and over, rhythmically tapping as if trying to hold on to a piece of his former self.

Drizzt and Belwar walked out of the alcove and back into the corridor to give their giant friend his privacy. A short time later, they noticed that the tapping had ceased, and Clacker stuck his head out, his huge, birdlike eyes filled with sorrow. His stuttered words sent shivers through the spines of his friends, for they found that they could not deny his logic or his desire.

“P-please k-k-kill me!”

Part 5.

Spirit

Spirit. It ca

That is the false assumption of Zin-carla and the danger of such sentient animation. The priestesses, I have come to learn, claim it as the highest gift of the Spider Queen deity who rules the drow. I think not. Better to call Zin-carla Lloth’s greatest lie.

The physical powers of the body ca

How many tyrants have tried? How many rulers have sought to reduce their subjects to simple, unthinking instruments of profit and gain? They steal the loves, the religions, of their people; they seek to steal the spirit.

Ultimately and inevitably; they fail. This I must believe. If the flame of the spirit’s candle is extinguished, there is only death, and the tyrant finds no gain in a kingdom littered with corpses.

But it is a resilient thing, this flame of spirit, indomitable and ever-striving. In some, at least, it will survive, to the tyrant’s demise.

Where, then, was Zaknafein, my father; when he set out purposefully to destroy me? Where was I in my years alone in the wilds, when this hunter that I had become blinded my heart and guided my sword hand often against my conscious wishes?

We both were there all along, I came to know, buried but never stolen.

Spirit. In every language in all the Realms, surface and Underdark, in every time and every place, the word has a ring of strength and determination. It is the hero’s strength, the mother’s resilience, and the poor man’s arm. It ca

This I must believe.

Chapter 22.

Without Direction

The sword cut came too swiftly for the goblin slave to even cry out in terror. It toppled forward, quite dead before it ever hit the floor. Zaknafein stepped on its back and continued on; the path to the narrow cavern’s rear exit lay open before the spirit-wraith, barely ten yards away. Even as the undead warrior moved beyond his latest kill, a group of illithids came into the cavern in front of him. Zaknafein snarled and did not turn away or slow in the least. His logic and his strides were direct; Drizzt had gone through this exit, and he would follow.

Anything in his way would fall to his blade.

Let this one go on its way! came a telepathic cry from several points in the cavern, from other mind flayers who had witnessed Zaknafein in action. You ca

This new group standing in Zaknafein’s way did not miss the urgency of the telepathic pleas. They parted to either side with all speed―except for one.

The illithid race based its existence on pragmatism founded in vast volumes of communal knowledge. Mind flayers considered base emotions such as pride fatal flaws.

It proved to be true again on this occasion.

Fwoop! The single illithid blasted the spirit-wraith, determined that none should be allowed to escape.

An instant later, the time of a single, precise swipe of a sword, Zaknafein stepped on the fallen illithid’s chest and continued on his way out into the wilds of the Underdark.

No other illithids made any move to stop him.

Zaknafein crouched and carefully picked his path. Drizzt had traveled down this tu

But, unlike Zaknafein, Drizzt had to rest.

“Hold.” The tone of Belwar’s command left no room for debate. Drizzt and Clacker froze in their tracks, wondering what had put the burrow-warden on sudden alert.

Belwar moved over and put his ear to the rock wall. “Boots,” he whispered, pointing to the stone. “Parallel tu

Drizzt joined his friend by the wall and listened intently, but, though his senses were keener than almost any other dark elf, he was not nearly as adept at reading the vibrations of the stone as the deep gnome.

“How many?” he asked.

“A few,” replied Belwar, but his shrug told Drizzt that he was only making a hopeful approximation.

“Seven,” said Clacker from a few paces down the wall, his voice clear and sure. “Duergar―gray dwarves―fleeing from the illithids, as are we.”

“How can you…” Drizzt started to ask, but he stopped, remembering what Clacker had told him concerning the powers of the pech.

“Do the tu

Clacker turned back to the stone for the answers. “The tu

“Then if we stay here, the gray dwarves will probably pass us by,” Belwar reasoned.

Drizzt was not so certain of the deep gnome’s reasoning. “We and the duergar share a common enemy,” Drizzt remarked, then his eyes widened as a thought came to him suddenly. “Allies?”

“Although often the duergar and drow travel together, gray dwarves do not usually ally with svirfnebli,” Belwar reminded him. “Or hook horrors, I would guess!”

“This situation is far from usual,” Drizzt was quick to retort. “If the duergar are in flight from the mind flayers, then they are probably ill-equipped and unarmed. They might welcome such an alliance, to the gain of both groups.”

“I do not believe they will be as friendly as you assume,” Belwar replied with a sarcastic snicker, “but concede I will that this narrow tu

“Then to the place where the tu

The three companions soon came into a small, oval-shaped chamber. Another tu

A moment later, the seven duergar came into the oval chamber. They were haggard, as Drizzt had suspected, but they were not unarmed. Three carried clubs, another a dagger, two held swords, and the last sported two large rocks.