Exile: The Legend of Drizzt (22 page)

Belwar banged his mithral hands together. “And you, dark elf cannot begin to imagine the ways I can deal with such dangers! I am not letting you walk off alone into the wilds. Understand that as fact—
magga cammara
—and we can get on with things.”

Drizzt shrugged helplessly, looked once more to the stubborn determination stamped openly on Belwar’s face, and started off down the tunnel, the deep gnome falling into step at his side. This time, at least, Drizzt had a companion he could talk to, a weapon against the intrusions of the hunter. He put his hand in his pocket and fingered the Guenhwyvar’s onyx figurine. Perhaps, Drizzt dared to hope, the three of them would have a chance to find more than simple survival in the Underdark.

For a long time afterward, Drizzt wondered if he had acted selfishly in giving in so easily to Belwar. Whatever guilt he felt, however, could not begin to compare with the profound sense of relief Drizzt knew whenever he looked down at his side, to the most honored burrow-warden’s bald, bobbing head.

o live or to survive? Until my second time out in the wilds of the Under-dark, after my stay in Blingdenstone, I never would have understood the significance of such a simple question.

When first I left Menzoberranzan, I thought survival enough; I thought that I could fall within myself, within my principles, and be satisfied that I had followed the only course open to me. The alternative was the grim reality of Menzoberranzan and compliance with the wicked ways that guided my people. If that was life, I believed, simply
surviving would be far preferable.

And yet, that simple survival nearly killed me. Worse, it nearly stole everything that I held dear.

The svirfnebli of Blingdenstone showed me a different way. Svirfneblin society, structured and nurtured on communal values and unity, proved to be everything that I had always hoped Menzoberranzan would be. The svirfnebli did much more than merely survive. They lived and laughed and worked, and the gains they made were shared by the whole, as was the pain of the losses they inevitably suffered in the hostile subsurface world.

Joy multiplies when it is shared among friends, but grief diminishes with every division. That is life.

And so, when I walked back out of Blingdenstone, back into the empty Underdark’s lonely chambers, I walked with hope. At my side went Belwar, my new friend, and in my pocket went the magical figurine that could summon Guenhwyvar, my proven friend. In my brief stay with the deep gnomes, I had witnessed life as I always had hoped it would be—I could not return to simply surviving.

With my friends beside me, I dared to believe that I would not have to.

—Drizzt Do’Urden

id you set it?” Drizzt asked Belwar when the burrow-warden returned to his side in the winding passage. “The fire pit is cut,” Belwar replied, tapping his mithral hands triumphantly—but not too loudly—together. “And I rumpled the extra bedroll off in a corner. Scraped my boots all over the stone and put your neck-purse in a place where it will be easily found. I even left a few silver coins under the blanket—I figure I’ll not be needing them anytime soon, anyway.” Belwar managed a chuckle, but despite the disclaimer, Drizzt could see that the svirfneblin did not so easily part with valuables.

“A fine deception,” Drizzt offered, to take away the sting of the cost.

“And what of you, dark elf?” Belwar asked. “Have you seen or heard anything?”

“Nothing,” Drizzt replied. He pointed down a side corridor. “I sent Guenhwyvar away on a wide circuit. If anyone is near, we
will soon know.”

Belwar nodded. “Good plan,” he remarked. “Setting the false camp this far from Blingdenstone should keep your troublesome mother from my kinfolk.”

“And perhaps it will lead my family to believe that I am still in the region and plan to remain,” Drizzt added hopefully. “Have you given any thought to our destination?”

“One way is as good as another,” remarked Belwar, hoisting his hands out wide. “No cities are there, beyond our own, anywhere close. None to my knowledge, at least.”

“West, then,” offered Drizzt. “Around Blingdenstone and off into the wilds, straight away from Menzoberranzan.”

“A wise course, it would seem,” agreed the burrow-warden. Belwar closed his eyes and attuned his thoughts to the emanations of the stone. Like many Underdark races, deep gnomes possessed the ability to recognize magnetic variations in the rock, an ability that allowed them to judge direction as accurately as a surface dweller might follow the sun’s trail. A moment later, Belwar nodded and pointed down the appropriate tunnel.

“West,” Belwar said. “And quickly. The more distance you put between yourself and that mother of yours, the safer we all shall be.” He paused to consider Drizzt for a long moment, wondering if he might be prodding his new friend a bit too deeply with his next question.

“What is it?” Drizzt asked him, recognizing his apprehension.

Belwar decided to risk it, to see just how close he and Drizzt had become. “When first you learned that you were the reason for the drow activity in the eastern tunnels,” the deep gnome began bluntly, “you seemed a bit weak in the knees, if you understand me. They are your family, dark elf. Are they so terrible?”

Drizzt’s chuckle put Belwar at ease, told the deep gnome that he had not pressed too far. “Come,” Drizzt said, seeing Guenhwyvar
return from the scouting trek. “If the deception of the camp is complete, then let us take our first steps into our new life. Our road should be long enough for tales of my home and family.”

“Hold,” said Belwar. He reached into his pouch and produced a small coffer. “A gift from King Schnicktick,” he explained as he lifted the lid and removed a glowing brooch, its quiet illumination bathing the area around them.

Drizzt stared at the burrow-warden in disbelief. “It will mark you as a fine target,” the drow remarked.

Belwar corrected him. “It will mark us as fine targets,” he said with a sly snort. “But fear not, dark elf, the light will keep more enemies at bay than it will bring. I am not so fond of tripping on crags and chips in the floor!”

“How long will it glow?” Drizzt asked, and Belwar gathered from his tone that the drow hoped it would fade soon.

“Forever is the dweomer,” Belwar replied with a wide smirk. “Unless some priest or wizard counters it. Stop your worrying. What creatures of the Underdark would willingly walk into an illuminated area?”

Drizzt shrugged and trusted in the experienced burrow-warden’s judgment. “Very well,” he said, shaking his white mane helplessly. “Then off for the road.”

“The road and the tales,” replied Belwar, falling into step beside Drizzt, his stout little legs rolling along to keep up with the drow’s long and graceful strides.

They walked for many hours, stopped for a meal, then walked for many more. Sometimes Belwar used his illuminating brooch; other times the friends walked in darkness, depending on whether or not they perceived danger in the area. Guenhwyvar was frequently about yet rarely seen, the panther eagerly taking up its appointed duties as a perimeter guard.

For a tenday straight, the companions stopped only when
weariness or hunger forced a break in the march, for they were anxious to be as far from Blingdenstone—and from those hunting Drizzt—as possible. Still, another full tenday would pass before the companions moved out into tunnels that Belwar did not know. The deep gnome had been a burrow-warden for almost fifty years, and he had led many of Blingdenstone’s farthest-reaching mining expeditions.

“This place is known to me,” Belwar often remarked when they entered a cavern. “Took a wagon of iron,” he would say, or mithral, or a multitude of other precious minerals that Drizzt had never even heard of. And though the burrow-warden’s extended tales of those mining expeditions all ran in basically the same direction—how many ways can a deep gnome chop stone?— Drizzt always listened intently, savoring every word.

He knew the alternative.

For his part in the storytelling, Drizzt recounted his adventures in Menzoberranzan’s Academy and his many fond memories of Zaknafein and the training gym. He showed Belwar the double-thrust low and how the pupil had discovered a parry to counter the attack, to his mentor’s surprise and pain. Drizzt displayed the intricate hand and facial combinations of the silent drow code, and he briefly entertained the notion of teaching the language to Belwar. The deep gnome promptly burst into loud and rolling laughter. His dark eyes looked incredulously at Drizzt, and he led the drow’s gaze down to the ends of his arms. With a hammer and pickaxe for hands, the svirfneblin could hardly muster enough gestures to make the effort worthwhile. Still, Belwar appreciated that Drizzt had offered to teach him the silent code. The absurdity of it all gave them both a fine laugh.

Guenhwyvar and the deep gnome also became friends during those first couple of tendays on the trail. Often, Belwar would fall into a deep slumber only to be awakened by prickling in his legs,
fast asleep under the weight of six hundred pounds of panther. Belwar always grumbled and swatted Guenhwyvar on the rump with his hammer-hand—it became a game between the two—but Belwar truly didn’t mind the panther being so close. In fact, Guenhwyvar’s mere presence made sleep—which always left one so vulnerable in the wilds—much easier to come by.