Montolio’s quiet chuckle stole the power from Drizzt’s proclamation. “You have a god, Drizzt Do’Urden,” he said.
“My god is my heart,” Drizzt declared, turning back to him.
“As is mine.”
“You named your god as Mielikki,” Drizzt protested.
“And you have not found a name for your god yet,” Montolio shot back. “That does not mean that you have no god. Your god is your heart, and what does your heart tell you?”
“I do not know,” Drizzt admitted after considering the troubling question.
“Think then!” Montolio cried. “What did your instincts tell you of the gnoll band, or of the farmers in Maldobar? Lloth is not your deity—that much is certain. What god or goddess then fits that which is in Drizzt Do’Urden’s heart?”
Montolio could almost hear Drizzt’s continuing shrugs.
“You do not know?” the old ranger asked. “But I do.”
“You presume much,” Drizzt replied, still not convinced.
“I observe much,” Montolio said with a laugh. “Are you of like heart with Guenhwyvar?”
“I have never doubted that fact,” Drizzt answered honestly.
“Guenhwyvar follows Mielikki.”
“How can you know?” Drizzt argued, growing a bit perturbed. He didn’t mind Montolio’s presumptions about him, but Drizzt considered such labeling an attack on the panther. Somehow to Drizzt, Guenhwyvar seemed to be above gods and all the implications of following one.
“How can I know?” Montolio echoed incredulously. “The cat told me, of course! Guenhwyvar is the entity of the panther, a creature of Mielikki’s domain.”
“Guenhwyvar does not need your labels,” Drizzt retorted angrily, moving briskly to sit again beside the ranger.
“Of course not,” Montolio agreed. “But that does not change the fact of it. You do not understand, Drizzt Do’Urden. You grew up among the perversion of a deity.”
“And yours is the true one?” Drizzt asked sarcastically.
“They are all true, and they are all one, I fear,” Montolio replied. Drizzt had to agree with Montolio’s earlier observation: He did not understand.
“You view the gods as entities without,” Montolio tried to explain. “You see them as physical beings trying to control our actions for their own ends, and thus you, in your stubborn independence, reject them. The gods are within, I say, whether one has named his own or not. You have followed Mielikki all of your life, Drizzt. You merely never had a name to put on your heart.”
Suddenly Drizzt was more intrigued than skeptical.
“What did you feel when you first walked out of the Underdark?” Montolio asked. “What did your heart tell you when first you looked upon the sun or the stars, or the forest green?”
Drizzt thought back to that distant day, when he and his drow patrol had come out of the Underdark to raid an elven gathering. Those were painful memories, but within them loomed one sense of comfort, one memory of wondrous elation at the feel of the wind and the scents of newly bloomed flowers.
“And how did you talk to Bluster?” Montolio continued. “No easy feat, sharing a cave with that bear! Admit it or not, you’ve the heart of a ranger. And the heart of a ranger is a heart of Mielikki.”
So formal a conclusion brought back a measure of Drizzt’s doubts. “And what does your goddess require?” he asked, the angry edge returned to his voice. He began to stand again, but Montolio slapped a hand over his legs and held him down.
“Require?” The ranger laughed. “I am no missionary spreading a fine word and imposing rules of behavior! Did I not just tell you that gods are within? You know Mielikki’s rules as well as I. You have been following them all of your life. I offer you a name for it, that is all, and an ideal of behavior personified, an example that you might follow in times that you stray from what you know is true.” With that, Montolio took up the branch and Drizzt followed.
Drizzt considered the words for a long time. He did not sleep that day, though he remained in his den, thinking.
“I wish to know more of your… our… goddess,” Drizzt admitted that next night, when he found Montolio cooking their supper.
“And I wish to teach you,” Montolio replied.
A hundred sets of yellow, bloodshot eyes settled to stare at the burly human as he made his way through the encampment, reining his yellow dog tightly to his side. Roddy didn’t enjoy coming here, to the fort of the orc king, Graul, but he had no intentions of letting the drow get away this time. Roddy had dealt with Graul several times over the last few years; the orc king, with so many eyes in the wild mountains had proven an invaluable, though expensive, ally in hunting bounties.
Several large orcs purposely crossed Roddy’s path, jostling him and angering his dog. Roddy wisely kept his pet still, though he, too, wanted to set upon the smelly orcs. They played this game every time he came in, bumping him, spitting at him, anything to provoke a fight. Orcs were always brave when they outnumbered opponents a hundred to one.
The whole group swept up behind McGristle and followed him closely as he covered the last fifty yards, up a rocky slope, to the entrance of Graul’s cave. Two large orcs jumped out of the entrance, brandishing spears, to intercept the intruder.
“Why has yous come?” one of them asked in their native tongue. The other held out its hand, as if expecting payment.
“No pay this time,” Roddy replied, imitating their dialect perfectly. “This time Graul pay!”
The orcs looked to each other in disbelief, then turned on Roddy and issued snarls that were suddenly cut short when an even larger orc emerged from the cave.
Graul stormed out and threw his guards aside, striding right up to put his oozing snout only an inch from Roddy’s nose. “Graul pay?” he snorted, his breath nearly overwhelming Roddy.
Roddy’s chuckle was purely for the sake of those excited orc commoners closest to him. He couldn’t show any weakness here; like vicious dogs, orcs were quick to attack anyone who did not stand firm against them.
“I have information, King Graul,” the bounty hunter said firmly. “Information that Graul would wish to know.”
“Speak,” Graul commanded.
“Pay?” Roddy asked, though he suspected that he was pushing his luck.
“Speak!” Graul growled again. “If yous wordses has value, Graul will let yous live.”
Roddy silently lamented that it always seemed to work this way with Graul. It was difficult to strike any favorable bargain with the smelly chieftain when he was surrounded by a hundred armed warriors. Roddy remained undaunted, though. He hadn’t come here for money—though he had hoped he might extract some—but for revenge. Roddy wouldn’t openly strike against Drizzt while the drow was with Mooshie. In these mountains, surrounded by his animal friends, Mooshie was a formidable force, and even if Roddy managed to get past him to the drow, Mooshie’s many allies, veterans such as Dove Falconhand, would surely avenge the action.
“There be a dark elf in yer domain, mighty orc king!” Roddy proclaimed. He didn’t get the shock he had hoped for.
“Rogue,” Graul clarified.
“Ye know?” Roddy’s wide eyes betrayed his disbelief.
“Drow killed Graul’s fighters,” the orc chieftain said grimly. All the gathered orcs began stamping and spitting, cursing the dark elf.
“Then why does the drow live?” Roddy asked bluntly. The bounty hunter’s eyes narrowed as he came to suspect that Graul did not now know the drow’s location. Perhaps he still had something to bargain with.
“Me scouts cannot finds him!” Graul roared, and it was true enough. But any frustration the orc king showed was a finely crafted piece of acting. Graul knew where Drizzt was, even if his scouts did not.
“I have found him!” Roddy roared, and all the orcs jumped and cried in hungry glee. Graul raised his arms to quiet them. This was the critical part, the orc king knew. He scanned the gathering to locate the tribe’s shaman, the spiritual leader of the tribe, and found the red-robed orc watching and listening intently, as Graul had hoped.