“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 week 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 week 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 mithril, 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 weeks 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.
“Do you understand?” Drizzt whispered to Guenhwyvar one day. Off to the side, Belwar was fast asleep, flat on his back on the stone, using a rock for a pillow. Drizzt shook his head in continued amazement when he studied the little figure. He was beginning to suspect that the deep gnomes carried their affinity with the earth a bit too far.
“Go get him.” he prompted the cat.
Guenhwyvar lumbered over and plopped across the burrow-warden’s legs. Drizzt moved away into the shielding entrance of a tunnel to watch.
Only a few minutes later, Belwar awoke with a snarl. “Magga cammara, panther!” the deep gnome growled. “Why must you always bed down on me, instead of beside me?” Guenhwyvar shifted slightly but let out only a deep sigh in response. “Magga cammara, cat!” Belwar roared again. He wiggled his toes frantically, trying futilely to keep the circulation going and dismiss the tingles that had already begun. “Away with you!” The burrow-warden propped himself up on one elbow and swung his hammer hand at Guenhwyvar’s backside.
Guenhwyvar sprang away in feigned flight, quicker than Belwar’s swat. But just as the burrow-warden relaxed, the panther cut back on its tracks, pivoted completely, and leaped atop Belwar, burying him and pinning him flat to the stone.
After a few moments of struggling, Belwar managed to get his face out from under Guenhwyvar’s muscled chest.
“Get yourself off me or suffer the consequences!” the deep gnome growled, obviously an empty threat. Guenhwyvar shifted, getting a bit more comfortable in its perch.
“Dark elf!” Belwar called as loudly as he dared. “Dark elf, take your panther away. Dark elf!”
“Greetings,” Drizzt answered, walking in from the tunnel as though he had only just arrived. “Are you two playing again? I had thought my time as sentry near to its end.”
“Your time has passed,” replied Belwar, but the svirfneblin’s words were muffled by thick black fur as Guenhwyvar shifted again. Drizzt could see Belwar’s long, hooked nose, though, crinkle up in irritation.
“Oh, no, no,” said Drizzt. “I am not so tired. I would not think of interrupting your game. I know that you both enjoy it so.” He walked by, giving Guenhwyvar a complimentary pat on the head and a sly wink as he passed.
“Dark elf!” Belwar grumbled at his back as Drizzt departed. But the drow kept going, and Guenhwyvar, with Drizzt’s blessings, soon fell fast asleep.
Drizzt crouched low and held very still, letting his eyes go through the dramatic shift from infravision―viewing the heat of objects in the infrared spectrum―to normal vision in the realm of light. Even before the transformation was completed, Drizzt could tell that his guess had been correct. Ahead, beyond a low natural archway, came a red glow. The drow held his position, deciding to let Belwar catch up to him before he went to investigate. Only a moment later, the dimmer glow of the deep gnome’s enchanted brooch came into view.
“Put out the light,” Drizzt whispered, and the brooch’s glow disappeared.
Belwar crept along the tunnel to join his companion. He, too, saw the red glow beyond the archway and understood Drizzt’s caution. “Can you bring the panther?” the burrow-warden asked quietly.
Drizzt shook his head. “The magic is limited by spans of time. Walking the material plane tires Guenhwyvar. The panther needs to rest.”
“Back the way we came, we could go.” Belwar suggested. “Perhaps there is another tunnel around.”
“Five miles,” replied Drizzt, considering the length of the unbroken passageway behind them. “Too long.”
“Then let us see what is ahead,” the burrow-warden reasoned, and he started boldly off. Drizzt liked Belwar’s straightforward attitude and quickly joined him.
Beyond the archway, which Drizzt had to crouch nearly double to get under, they found a wide and high cavern, its floor and walls covered in a mosslike growth that emitted the red light. Drizzt pulled up short, at a loss, but Belwar recognized the stuff well enough.
“Baruchies!” the burrow-warden blurted, the word turning into a chuckle. He turned to Drizzt and, not seeing any reaction to his smile, explained. “Crimson spitters, dark elf. Not for decades have I seen such a patch of the stuff. Quite a rare sight they are, you know.”
Drizzt, still at a loss, shook the tenseness out of his muscles and shrugged, then started forward. Belwar’s pick-hand hooked him under the arm, and the powerful deep gnome spun him back abruptly.
“Crimson spitters,” the burrow-warden said again, pointedly emphasizing the latter of the words. “Magga cammara, dark elf, how did you get along through the years?”
Belwar turned to the side and slammed his hammer-hand into the wall of the archway, taking off a fair-sized chunk of stone. He scooped this up in the flat of his pick-hand and flipped it off to the side of the cavern. The stone hit the red-glowing fungus with a soft thud, then a burst of smoke and spores blasted into the air.