smaller halls at th'other end."
A hot draft of air from the hole reminded them that it probably
connected to the lower halls, and the dragon's lair.
"Let's be leaving," Catti-brie suggested, "afore the beast gets a
notion that we're here."
Regis then cried out from the other side of the chamber. The friends
rushed to him, not knowing if he had stumbled upon treasure or danger.
They found him crouched beside a pile of stone, peering into a gap in
the blocks.
He held up a silver-shafted arrow. "I found it in there," he explained.
"And there's something more - a bow, I think."
Wulfgar moved the torch closer to the gap and they all saw clearly the
curving arc that could only be the wood of a longbow, and the silvery shine
of a bowstring. Wulfgar grasped the wood and tugged lightly, expecting it
to break apart in his hands under the enormous weight of the stone.
But it held firmly, even against a pull of all his strength. He looked
around at the stones, seeking the best course to free the weapon.
Regis, meanwhile, had found something more, a golden plaque wedged in
another crack in the pile. He managed to slip it free and brought it into
the torchlight to read its carved runes.
" 'Taulmaril the Heartseeker,' " he read. " 'Gift of-' "
"Anariel, Sister of Faerun," Bruenor finished without even looking at
the plaque. He nodded in recognition to Catti-brie's questioning glance.
"Free the bow, boy," he told Wulfgar. "Suren it might be put to a
better use than this."
Wulfgar had already discerned the structure of the pile and started
lifting away specific blocks at once. Soon Catti-brie was able to wiggle
the longbow free, but she saw something else beyond its nook in the pile
and asked Wulfgar to keep digging.
While the muscled barbarian pushed aside more stones, the others
marveled at the beauty of the bow. Its wood hadn't even been scratched by
the stones and the deep finish of its polish returned with a single brush
of the hand. Catti-brie strung it easily and held it up, feeling its solid
and even draw.
"Test it," Regis offered, handing her the silver arrow.
Catti-brie couldn't resist. She fitted the arrow to the silvery string
and drew it back, meaning only to try its fit and not intending to fire.
"A quiver!" Wulfgar called, lifting the last of the stones. "And more
of the silver arrows."
Bruenor pointed into the blackness and nodded. Catti-brie didn't
hesitate.
A streaking tail of silver followed the whistling missile as it soared
into the darkness, ending its flight abruptly with a crack. They all rushed
after it, sensing something beyond the ordinary. They found the arrow
easily, for it was buried halfway to its fletches in the wall!
All about its point of entry, the stone had been scorched, and even
tugging with all of his might, Wulfgar couldn't budge the arrow an inch.
"Not to fret," said Regis, counting the arrows in the quiver that
Wulfgar held. "There are nineteen . . . twenty more!" He backed away,
stunned. The others looked at him in confusion.
"Nineteen, there were," Regis explained. "My count was true."
Wulfgar, not understanding, quickly counted the arrows. "Twenty," he
said.
"Twenty now," Regis answered. "But nineteen when I first counted."
"So the quiver holds some magic, too," Catti-brie surmised. "A mighty
gift, indeed, the Lady Anariel gave to the clan!"
"What more might we find in the ruins of this place?" Regis asked,
rubbing his hands together.
"No more," Bruenor answered gruffly. "We're for leaving, and not a word
of arguin' from ye!"
Regis knew with a look at the other two that he had no support against
the dwarf, so he shrugged helplessly and followed them back through the
curtain and into the corridor.
"The gorge!" Bruenor declared, starting them off again.
"Hold, Bok," Sydney whispered when the companions' torchlight
re-entered the corridor a short distance ahead of them.
"Not yet," she said, an anticipating smile widening across her
dust-streaked face. "We shall find a better time!"
21
Silver in the Shadows
Suddenly, he found a focus in the blur of gray haze, something tangible
amid the swirl of nothingness. It hovered before him and turned over
slowly.
Its edges doubled and rolled apart, then rushed together again. He
fought the dull ache in his head, the inner, blackness that had consumed
him and now fought to keep him in its hold. Gradually, he became aware of
his arms and legs, who he was, and how he had come to be here.
In his startled awareness, the image sharpened to a crystalline focus.
The tip of a jeweled dagger.
Entreri loomed above him, a dark silhouette against the backdrop of a
single torch set into the wall a few yards beyond, his blade poised to
strike at the first sign of resistance. Drizzt could see that the assassin,
too, had been hurt in the fall, though he had obviously been the quicker to
recover.
"Can you walk?" Entreri asked, and Drizzt was smart enough to know what
would happen if he could not.
He nodded and moved to rise, but the dagger shot in closer.
"Not yet," Entreri snarled. "We must first determine where we are, and
where we are to go!"
Drizzt turned his concentration away from the assassin then and studied
their surroundings, confident that Entreri would have already killed him if
that was the assassin's intent. They were in the mines, that much was
apparent, for the walls were roughly carved stone supported by wooden
columns every twenty feet or so.
"How far did we fall?" he asked the assassin, his senses telling him
that they were much deeper than the room they had fought in.
Entreri shrugged. "I remember landing on hard stone after a short drop,
and then sliding down a steep and twisting chute. It seemed like many
moments before we finally dropped in here." He pointed to an opening at the
corner of the ceiling, where they had fallen through. "But the flow of time
is different for a man thinking he is about to die, and the whole thing may
have been over much more quickly than I remember."
"Trust in your first reaction," Drizzt suggested, "for my own
perceptions tell me that we have descended a long way indeed."
"How can we get out?"
Drizzt studied the slight grade in the floor and pointed to his right.
"The slope is up to that direction," he said.
"Then. on your feet," Entreri said, extending a hand to help the drow.
Drizzt accepted the assistance and rose cautiously and without giving
any sign of a threat. He knew that Entreri's dagger would cut him open long
before he could strike a blow of his own.
Entreri knew it, too, but didn't expect any trouble from Drizzt in
their present predicament. They had shared more than an exchange of
swordplay up in the alcove, and both looked upon the other with grudging
respect.
"I need your eyes," Entreri explained, though Drizzt had already
figured as much. "I have found but one torch, and that will not last long
enough to get me out of here. Your eyes, black elf, can find their way in
the darkness. I will be close enough to feel your every move, close enough
to kill you with a single thrust!" He turned the dagger over again to
emphasize his point, but Drizzt understood him well enough without the
visual aid.
When he got to his feet, Drizzt found that he wasn't as badly injured
as he had feared. He had twisted his ankle and knee on one leg and knew as
soon as he put any weight upon it that every step would be painful. He
couldn't let on to Entreri, though. He wouldn't be much of an asset to the
assassin if he couldn't keep up.
Entreri turned to retrieve the torch and Drizzt took a quick look at
his equipment. He had seen one of his scimitars tucked into Entreri's belt,
but the other, the magical blade, was nowhere around. He felt one of his
daggers still tucked into a hidden sheath in his boot, though he wasn't
sure how much it would help him against the saber and dagger of his skilled
enemy. Facing Entreri with any kind of a disadvantage was a prospect
reserved only for the most desperate situation.
Then, in sudden shock, Drizzt grabbed at his belt pouch, his fear
intensifying when he saw that its ties were undone. Even before he had
slipped his hand inside, he knew that Guenhwyvar was gone. He looked about
frantically, and saw only the fallen rubble.
Noting his distress, Entreri smirked evilly under the cowl of his
cloak. "We go," he told the drow.
Drizzt had no choice. He certainly couldn't tell Entreri of the magical
statue and take the risk that Guenhwyvar would once again fall into the
possession of an evil master. Drizzt had rescued the great panther from
that fate once, and would rather that it remained forever buried under the
tons of stone than return to an unworthy master's hands. A final mourning
glance at the rubble, and he stoically accepted the loss, taking comfort
that the cat lived, quite unharmed, on its own plane of existence.
The tunnel supports drifted past them with disturbing regularity, as
though they were passing the same spot again and again. Drizzt sensed that
the tunnel was arcing around in a wide circle as it slightly climbed. This
made him even more nervous. He knew the prowess of dwarves in tunneling,
especially where precious gems or metals were concerned, and he began to
wonder how many miles they might have to walk before they even reached the
next highest level.
Although he had less keen underground perception and was unfamiliar
with dwarven ways, Entreri shared the same uneasy feelings. An hour became
two and still the line of wooden supports stretched away into the
blackness.
"The torch burns low," Entreri said, breaking the silence that had
surrounded them since they had started. Even their footfalls, the practiced
steps of stealthy warriors, died away in the closeness of the low passage.
"Perhaps the advantage will shift to you, black elf."
Drizzt knew better. Entreri was a creature of the night as much as he,
with heightened reflexes and ample experience to more than compensate for
his lack of vision in the blackness. Assassins did not work under the light
of the midday sun.
Without answering, Drizzt turned back to the path ahead, but as he was
looking around, a sudden reflection of the torch caught his eye. He moved
to the corridor wall, ignoring Entreri's uneasy shuffle behind him, and
started feeling the surface's texture, and peered intently at it in hopes
of seeing another flash. It came for just a second as Entreri shifted
behind him, a flicker of silver along the wall.
"Where silver rivers run," he muttered in disbelief.
"What?" demanded Entreri.
"Bring the torch," was Drizzt's only reply. He moved his hands eagerly
over the wall now, seeking the evidence that would overcome his own
stubborn logic and vindicate Bruenor from his suspicions that the dwarf had
exaggerated the tales of Mithril Hall.
Entreri was soon beside him, curious. The torch showed it clearly: a
stream of silver running along the wall, as thick as Drizzt's forearm and
shining brightly in its purity.
"Mithril," Entreri said, gawking. "A king's hoard!"
"But of little use to us," Drizzt said, to diffuse their excitement. He
started again down the hall, as though the lode of mithril did not impress
him. Somehow he felt that Entreri should not look upon this place, that the
assassin's mere presence fouled the riches of Clan Battlehammer. Drizzt did
not want to give the assassin any reason to seek these halls again. Entreri
shrugged and followed.
The grade in the passageway became more apparent as they went along,
and the silvery reflections of the mithril veins reappeared with enough
regularity to make Drizzt wonder if Bruenor may have even understated the
prosperity of his clan.
Entreri, always no more than a step behind the drow, was too intent
upon watching his prisoner to take much notice of the precious metal, but
he understood well the potential that surrounded him. He didn't care much
for such ventures himself, but knew that the information would prove
valuable and might serve him well in future bargaining.
Before long the torch died away, but the two found that they could
still see, for a dim light source was somewhere up ahead, beyond the turns
of the tunnel. Even so, the assassin closed the gap between he and Drizzt,
putting the dagger tip against Drizzt's back and taking no chances of
losing his only hope of escape if the light faded completely.
The glow only brightened, for its source was great indeed. The air grew
warmer around them and soon they heard the grinding of distant machinery
echoing down the tunnel. Entreri tightened his reins even further, grasping
Drizzt's cloak and pulling himself closer. "You are as much an intruder
here as I," he whispered. "Avoidance is ally to both of us."
"Could the miners prove worse than the fate you offer?" Drizzt asked
with a sarcastic sigh.
Entreri released the cloak and backed away. "It seems I must offer you
something more to ensure your agreement," he said.
Drizzt studied him closely, not knowing what to expect. "Every
advantage is yours," he said.
"Not so," replied the assassin. Drizzt stood perplexed as Entreri slid
