Sojourn

“I will complete the trip to Mirabar with you,” Drizzt explained, “then I will leave.”

“Leave?” asked Mateus, concerned.

“This is not my place,” Drizzt explained.

“Ten-Towns ish the place!” Jankin blurted.

“If anyone has offended you… ” Mateus said to Drizzt, taking no heed of the drunken man.

“No one,” Drizzt said and smiled again. “There is more for me in this life, Brother Mateus. Do not be angry, I beg, but I am leaving. It was not a decision I came to lightly.”

Mateus took a moment to consider the words. “As you choose,” he said, “but might you at least escort us through the tu

“Ten-Towns!” Jankin insisted. “Thast the place fer’ suf-ferin’! Vou’d like it, too, drow. Land o’ rogues, where a rogue might find hish place!”

“Often there are rakes in the shadows who would prey on unarmed friars,” Mateus interrupted, giving Jankin a rough shake.

Drizzt paused a moment, transfixed on Jankin’s words. Jankin had collapsed, though, and the drow looked up to Mateus. “Is that not why you take the tu

“The others insist that we go through the tu

Drizzt wanted to scream at the phony friar. Mateus considered missing a single meal a harsh suffering and only used his facade because many gullible people handed coins to the cloaked fanatics, more often than not just to be rid of the smelly men.

Drizzt nodded and watched as Mateus hauled Jankin away. “Then I leave,” he whispered under his breath. He could tell himself over and over that he was serving his goddess and his heart by protecting the seemingly helpless band, but their behavior often flew in the face of those words.

“Dwow! Dwow!” Brother Jankin slobbered as Mateus dragged him back to the others.

21. Hephaestus

Tephanis watched the party of six—the five friars and Drizzt—make their slow way toward the tu

Tephanis wasn’t so sure. The sprite had watched Ulgulu, a master arguably more powerful than Roddy McGristle, dispatched by the drow, and another mighty master, Caroak, had been torn apart by the drow’s black panther. If Roddy got his wish and met the drow in battle, Tephanis might soon be searching for yet another master.

“Not-this-time, drow,” the sprite whispered suddenly, an idea coming to mind. “This-time-I-get-you!” Tephanis knew the tu

He made a wide circuit around the group, not wanting to alert the sharp-eared drow, and still made the tu

Brother Mateus led the way into the tu

They met no other travelers and moved along the torch-lit passage at a steady pace. They came to an intersection and Mateus stopped abruptly, seeing the raised portcullis to a passage on the right side. A dozen steps in, an iron door swung wide, and the passage beyond that was pitch black, not torch-lit like the main tu

“How curious,” Mateus remarked.

“Careless,” another corrected. “Let us pray that no other travelers, who might not know the way as well as we, happen by here and take the wrong path!”

“Perhaps we should close the door,” still another offered.

“No,” Mateus quickly interjected. “There may be some down there, merchants perhaps, who would not be so pleased if we followed that plan.”

“No!” Brother Jankin cried suddenly and ran to the front of the group. “It is a sign! A sign from God! We are beckoned, my brethren, to Phaestus, the ultimate suffering!”

Jankin turned to charge down the tu

“Phaestus!” Jankin cried wildly, his long and shaggy black hair flying all about his face. “I am coming!”

“What is it?” Drizzt had to ask, having no idea of what the friars were talking about, though he thought he recognized the reference. “Who, or what, is Phaestus?”

“Hephaestus,” Brother Mateus corrected.

Drizzt did know the name. One of the books he had taken from Mooshie’s Grove was of dragon lore, and Hephaestus, a venerable red dragon living in the mountains northwest of Mirabar, had an entry.

“That is not the dragon’s real name, of course,” Mateus went on between grunts as he struggled with Jankin. “I do not know that, nor does anyone else anymore.” Jankin twisted suddenly, throwing the other monk aside, and promptly stomped down on Mateus’s sandal.

“Hephaestus is an old red dragon who has lived in the caves west of Mirabar for as long as anyone, even the dwarves, can remember,” explained another friar, Brother Herschel, one less engaged than Mateus. “The city tolerates him because he is a lazy one and a stupid one, though I would not tell him so. Most cities, I presume, would choose to tolerate a red if it meant not fighting the thing! But Hephaestus is not much for pillaging—none can recall the last time he even came out of his hole—and he even does some ore-melting for hire, though the fee is steep.”

“Some pay it, though,” added Mateus, having Jankin back under control, “especially late in the season, looking to make the last caravan south. Nothing can separate metal like a red dragon’s breath!” His laughter disappeared quickly as Jankin slugged him, dropping him to the ground.

Jankin bolted free, for just a moment. Quicker than anyone could react, Drizzt threw off his cloak and rushed after the fleeing monk, catching him just inside the heavy iron door. A single step and twisting maneuver put Jankin down hard on his back and took the wild-eyed friar’s breath away.

“Let us get by this region at once,” the drow offered, staring down at the stu

Two of the others came over and gathered Jankin up, then the whole troupe turned to depart.

“Help!” came a cry from farther down the dark tu

Drizzt’s scimitars came out in his hands. The friars all gathered around him, peering down into the gloom.

“Do you see anything?” Mateus asked the drow, knowing that Drizzt’s night vision was much keener than his own.