Drizzt, too, didn’t know what to make of this. He recognized the archmage, but why would that one come now, and why would he cross over to their side of the pit? For surely Gromph Baenre could have destroyed them all from across the way.
Drizzt’s confusion turned to horror, though, when Catti-brie ran out in front of him to meet the charge of the archmage.
“You cannot be here!” she cried, lifting her enchanted staff at the drow. “Be gone!”
Gromph skidded to a stop, and seemed for all the world as though he only then realized there were others in the room. He looked at the woman opposing him, his amber eyes, bloodshot now and with scratches all around them, flaring dangerously.
But Catti-brie didn’t blink and didn’t back down.
Swirling mists gathered in Gromph’s wake, as if the very floor was awakening to his passage, to his call.
And small fires danced behind Catti-brie as she stalked opposite, keeping herself squared to the dangerous drow.
Drizzt moved up beside Zeerith, but suddenly felt as if this whole thing was quite beyond him. He looked to Zeerith, and could tell that she, too, wanted nothing to do with the battle that simmered on the ledge in front of them all.
“Do not challenge me, foolish woman,” Gromph warned. “Not now.”
“If you come intending battle, you will face me,” Catti-brie said. The fires behind her flared more intensely, and forms appeared in them, alive and begging release.
But Gromph’s gray mists, too, took shape, diabolical and dark.
The archmage growled and reached out behind him, turning to face the antechamber across the way. With a growl he let loose a tremendous bolt of lightning that sizzled across the pit, arcing and sparking through the archway to resound sharply within the stones of the small chamber. The bolt was so powerful it left all the air of the large chamber smelling like a battered field after a violent thunderstorm.
“I will be followed,” he growled in response to Catti-brie’s puzzled look. “That chamber must be sealed!”
“Do it! Oh, do it!” cried another voice, and all turned to see Jarlaxle stumbling into the room. “Shut it! Destroy it! Eliminate it! Oh, quickly!
“You know?” Gromph demanded.
The flames rushed in at Catti-brie, leaping upon her and limning her form. She lifted her staff, which blackened, hot lines of fire veining it.
“Dull the power of the water beasts,” Catti-brie demanded, in a voice that seemed different then, hissing and crackling as if infused with the stuff of fire.
Gromph launched into a spell, as did Penelope, Kipper, and Toliver, all rushing over. One spell designed to mute magic after another went into the pit, assailing the swirl of water elementals, driving them from the area immediately below the antechamber.
And all the while, Catti-brie cast her own enchantment, calling to the primordial to rise up. The chamber shook, all the complex of Gauntlgrym rumbled under the power of the godlike beast. Up came a wall of lava carrying great black boulders, targeted by the will of Catti-brie. The eruption leaped above the level of the stunned companions, exploding into the antechamber across the way, the lava stones crashing and bouncing off the walkway bridge in their descent. So violent was the belch of the rumbling primordial that it sent half the onlookers tumbling to the floor.
But not Catti-brie, who held her ground and held fast her concentration, her demands to the fire beast.
It was over as abruptly as it had started, the molten vomit settling back into the pit, the water elementals leaping back into their entrapping spin. Gusts of steam filled the chamber, turning everything ghostlike, but when the mists cleared enough, Drizzt could see that the walkway across the pit was no more, smashed and brought down by falling boulders, and the angry orange glow of the lava filling the antechamber fast darkened to black as it cooled, entombing the lever and the room.
Drizzt looked for Catti-brie and found her, standing opposite Gromph, the two wizards once again staring at each other threateningly.
Drizzt inched forward, ready to leap upon the archmage if he made a move against Catti-brie.
But Gromph Baenre, who had just fled the most feared beast of the lower planes, offered only a respectful bow.
Catti-brie didn’t blink, and she threw off her fiery coat, the living flames rushing at her demand to leap upon the thick webbing that covered the back wall of House Xorlarrin’s altar room. The webs disintegrated under the touch of the living flames, the spiders shrieked and curled in smoky death, and Matron Mother Zeerith gasped and stumbled back to fall into a sitting position on the altar stone.
Gromph’s lips curled in a smile, and to the shock of all in the room, he bowed to Catti-brie yet again.
Then Catti-brie wore a curious expression, and it seemed to Drizzt as if she were listening to something, as if the archmage, perhaps, was silently in her thoughts, speaking to her.
“You need us,” Catti-brie said at length. “And I need you.”
The mighty Archmage Gromph Baenre looked at the woman curiously.
But he did not disagree.
EPILOGUE
That same busy day, the fifteenth of Nightal in Dalereckoning 1486, the Year of the Nether Mountain Scrolls, when the boundary of the Faerzress was broken and the dwarves claimed victory in Gauntlgrym and Demogorgon entered the Underdark of Faerûn, Bruenor Battlehammer stood in front of the Throne of the Dwarf Gods in the upper audience hall of Gauntlgrym.
In the seat in front of him rested the body of Connerad Brawnanvil, Twelfth King of Mithral Hall.
“Gairm mi Conneradhe Brawnanvil Ard-Righ a’ chiad air Gauntlgrym!” Bruenor said, thus declaring Connerad as the First King of Gauntlgrym, and a great cheer and clanging of tankards together echoed through the great hall.
“Adhlaic Conneradhe comh-glormhor,” cried Bruenor. “Bury Connerad in glory!”
No sooner was Connerad taken away than King Emerus Warcrown was helped into the seat by Ragged Dain and Mandarina Dobberbright. The old king rested back comfortably, though his breathing sounded slow and labored.
“Me old friend, ye’ve earned yer spot here,” Bruenor whispered to him, leaning forward and putting his lips very near Emerus’s ear. “I thank ye for lettin’ me give Connerad the place o’ honor as the first.”
“Aye,” Emerus responded. It seemed like he might want to say more, but clearly, he hadn’t the strength.
“And now’s yer turn,” Bruenor whispered. “Ye’ll rule well.”
He started to back off, to formerly announce the new King of Gauntlgrym, but with sudden and surprising strength, Emerus grabbed him by the collar and tugged him back.
“No,” Emerus whispered in Bruenor’s ear. “Moradin’s callin’ me, me friend. It’s time.”
Bruenor pulled back and stood straight. He wanted to argue, but saw the light already leaving the gray eyes of old Emerus Warcrown.
“Gairm mi Emerus Warcrown Ard-Righ an darna air Gauntlgrym!” Bruenor declared as loudly as he could, for he knew that Emerus, dear Emerus, was already slipping far, far away, and he wanted his dear old friend to hear the proclamation that he might carry it proudly to the table of Moradin.
Soon after, the shouts echoed throughout the reclaimed dwarven homeland, from the entry cavern to the Forge, “All hail Bruenor Battlehammer, Third King of Gauntlgrym!”
Demogorgon’s path of devastation meandered from Sorcere on Tier Breche to the exit of the cavern housing Menzoberranzan, leaving in its wake great piles of rubble, including large sections of more than one drow manor, and many dead dark elves, and scores more who had been driven mad by the mere sight of the great and terrible beast.
The whole city held its collective breath, for though the march of the Prince of Demons took only a short while, so great echoed the cries, so horrified sounded the calls, that every House huddled down as quietly as possible, not wanting to attract any attention.