“Then pray that you may never need them, Drizzt Do’Urden,” Montolio replied. “I have seen peace and I have seen war, and I can tell you that I prefer the former! Come now, friend. There are so many more things I wish to show you.”
Drizzt regarded the scimitars one final time, then slipped them into the sheaths on his belt and followed Montolio.
With summer fast approaching and with such fine and exciting companionship, both the teacher and his unusual student were in high spirits, anticipating a season of valuable lessons and wondrous events.
How diminished their smiles would have been if they had known that a certain orc king, angered at the loss of ten soldiers, two worgs, and a valued giant ally, had its yellow, bloodshot eyes scanning the region, searching for the drow. The big orc was beginning to wonder if Drizzt had gone back to the Underdark or had taken in with some other group, perhaps with the small elven bands known to be in the region, or with the damnable blind ranger, Montolio.
If the drow was still in the area, Graul meant to find him. The orc chieftain took no chances, and the mere presence of the drow constituted a risk.
14. Montolio’s Test
“Well, I have waited long enough!” Montolio said sternly late one afternoon. He gave the drow another shake.
“Waited?” Drizzt asked, wiping the sleep from his eyes.
“Are you a fighter or a wizard?” Montolio went on. “Or both? One of those multitalented types? The elves of the surface are known for that.”
Drizzt’s expression twisted in confusion. “I am no wizard,” he said with a laugh.
“Keeping secrets, are you?” Montolio scolded, though his continuing smirk lessened his gruff facade. He pointedly straightened himself outside of Drizzt’s bedroom hole and folded his arms over his chest. “That will not do. I have taken you in, and if you are a wizard, I must be told!”
“Why do you say that?” asked the perplexed drow. “Wherever did you—”
“Hooter told me!” Montolio blurted. Drizzt was truly confused. “In the fight when first we met,” Montolio explained, “you darkened the area around yourself and some orcs. Do not deny it, wizard. Hooter told me!”
“That was no wizard’s spell,” Drizzt protested helplessly, “and I am no wizard.”
“No spell?” echoed Montolio. “A device then? Well, let me see it!”
“Not a device,” Drizzt replied, “an ability. All drow, even the lowest ranking, can create globes of darkness. It is not such a difficult task.”
Montolio considered the revelation for a moment. He had no experience with dark elves before Drizzt had come into his life. “What other ‘abilities’ do you possess?”
“Faerie fire,” Drizzt replied. “It is a line of—”
“I know of the spell,” Montolio said to him. “It is commonly used by woodland priests. Can all drow create this as well?”
“I do not know,” Drizzt answered honestly. “Also, I am, or was—able to levitate. Only drow nobles can accomplish that feat. I fear that the power is lost to me, or soon shall be. That ability has begun to fail me since I came to the surface, as my piwafwi, my boots, and my drow-crafted scimitars have failed me.”
“Try it,” Montolio offered.
Drizzt concentrated for a long moment. He felt himself growing lighter, then he lifted off the ground. As soon as he got up, though, his weight returned and he settled back to his feet. He rose no more than three inches.
“Impressive,” Montolio muttered.
Drizzt only laughed and shook his white mane. “May I go back to sleep now?” he asked, turning back to his bedroll.
Montolio had other ideas. He had come to further feel out his companion, to find the limits of Drizzt’s abilities, wizardly and otherwise. A new plan came to the ranger, but he had to set it into motion before the sun went down.
“Wait,” he bade Drizzt. “You can rest later, after sunset. I need you now, and your ‘abilities.’ Could you summon a globe of darkness, or must you take time to contemplate the spell?”
“A few seconds,” Drizzt replied.
“Then get your armor and weapons,” Montolio said, “and come with me. Be quick about it. I do not want to lose the advantage of daylight.”
Drizzt shrugged and got dressed, then followed the ranger to the grove’s northern end, a little used section of the woodland complex.
Montolio dropped to his knees and pulled Drizzt down beside him, pointing out a small hole on the side of a grassy mound.
“A wild boar has taken to living in there,” the old ranger explained. “I do not wish to harm it, but I fear to get close enough to make contact with the thing. Boars are unpredictable at best.”
A long moment of silence passed. Drizzt wondered if Montolio simply meant to wait for the boar to emerge.
“Go ahead then,” the ranger prompted.
Drizzt turned on him incredulously, thinking that Montolio expected him to walk right up and greet their uninvited and unpredictable guest.
“Do it,” the ranger continued. “Enact your darkness globe—right in front of the hole—if you please.”
Drizzt understood, and his relieved sigh made Montolio bite his lip to hide his revealing chuckle. A moment later, the area before the grassy mound disappeared in blackness. Montolio motioned for Drizzt to wait behind and headed in.
Drizzt tensed, watching and listening. Several high-pitched squeals issued forth suddenly, then Montolio cried out in distress. Drizzt leaped up and charged in headlong, nearly tripping over his friend’s prostrate form.
The old ranger groaned and squirmed and did not answer any of the drow’s quiet calls. With no boar to be heard anywhere about, Drizzt dropped down to find out what had happened and recoiled when he found Montolio curled up, clutching at his chest.
“Montolio,” Drizzt breathed, thinking the old man seriously wounded. He leaned over to speak directly into the ranger’s face, then straightened quicker than he had intended as Montolio’s shield slammed into the side of his head.
“It is Drizzt!” the drow cried, rubbing his developing bruise. He heard Montolio jump up before him, then heard the ranger’s sword come out of its scabbard.
“Of course it is!” Montolio cackled.
“But what of the boar?”
“Boar?” Montolio echoed. “There is no boar, you silly drow. There never was one. We are the opponents here. The time has come for some fun!”
Now Drizzt fully understood. Montolio had manipulated him to use his darkness merely to take away his advantage of sight. Montolio was challenging him, on even terms. “Flat of the blade!” Drizzt replied, quite willing to play along. How Drizzt had loved such tests of skill back in Menzoberranzan with Zaknafein!
“For the sake of your life!” Montolio retorted with a laugh that came straight from his belly. The ranger sent his sword arcing in, and Drizzt’s scimitar drove it harmlessly wide.
Drizzt countered with two rapid and short strokes straight up the middle, an attack that would have defeated most foes but did no more than play a two-note tune on Montolio’s well-positioned shield. Certain of Drizzt’s location, the ranger shield-rushed straight ahead.
Drizzt was pushed back on his heels before he managed to get out of the way. Montolio’s sword came in again from the side, and Drizzt blocked it. The old man’s shield slammed straight ahead again, and Drizzt deflected its momentum, digging his heels in stubbornly.
The crafty old ranger thrust the shield up high then, taking one of Drizzt’s blades, and a good measure of the drow’s balance, along with it, then sent his sword screaming across at Drizzt’s midsection.
Drizzt somehow sensed the attack. He leaped back on his toes, sucked in his gut, and threw his rump out behind him. For all his desperation, he still felt the rush as the sword whisked past.