On advice from that shaman, Graul had avoided any action against Montolio for all these years. The shaman thought the cripple who was not so crippled to be an omen of bad magic, and with their religious leader’s warnings, all the orc tribe cowered whenever Montolio was near. But in allying with the drow, and, if Graul’s suspicions were correct, in helping the drow to win the battle on the high ridge, Montolio had struck where he had no business, had violated Graul’s domain as surely as had the renegade drow. Now convinced that the drow was indeed a rogue—for no other dark elves were in the region—the orc king only awaited some excuse that might spur his minions to action against the grove. Roddy, Graul had been informed, might now provide that excuse.
“Speak!” Graul shouted in Roddy’s face, to intercept any forthcoming attempts for payment.
“The drow isses with the ranger,” Roddy replied. “He sits in the blind ranger’s grove!” If Roddy had hoped that his proclamation would inspire another eruption of cursing, jumping, and spitting, he was surely disappointed. The mention of the blind ranger cast a heavy pall over the gathering, and now all the common orcs looked from the shaman to Graul and back again for some guidance.
It was time for Roddy to weave a tale of conspiracy, as Graul had been told he would.
“Ye must goes and gets them!” Roddy cried. “They’re not fer… ”
Graul raised his arms to silence both the muttering and Roddy. “Was it the blind ranger who killded the giant?” the orc king asked Roddy slyly. “And helped the drow to kill me fighters?”
Roddy, of course, had no idea what Graul was talking about, but he was quick enough to catch on to the orc king’s intent.
“It was!” he declared loudly. “And now the drow and the ranger plot against ye all! Ye must bash them and smash them before they come and bash yerselves! The ranger’ll be bringing his animals, and elveses—lots an’ lots of elveses—and dwarveses, too, against Graul!”
The mention of Montolio’s friends, particularly the elves and dwarves, which Graul’s people hated above everything else in all the world, brought sour expressions on every face and caused more than one orc to look nervously over its shoulder, as if expecting the ranger’s army to be encircling the camp even then. Graul stared squarely at the shaman.
“He-Who-Watches must bless the attack,” the shaman replied to the silent question. “On the new moon!”
Graul nodded, and the red-robed orc turned about, summoned a score of commoners to his side, and set out to begin the preparations.
Graul reached into a pouch and produced a handful of silver coins for Roddy. Roddy hadn’t provided any real information that the king did not already know, but the bounty hunter’s declaration of a conspiracy against the orc tribe gave Graul considerable assistance in his attempt to rouse his superstitious shaman against the blind ranger.
Roddy took the pitiful payment without complaint, thinking it well enough that he had achieved his purpose, and turned to leave.
“Yous is to stay,” Graul said suddenly at his back. On a motion from the orc king, several orc guards stepped up beside the bounty hunter. Roddy looked suspiciously at Graul. “Guest,” the orc king explained calmly. “Join in the fight.” Roddy wasn’t left with many options. Graul waved his guards aside and went alone back into his cave. The orc guards only shrugged and smiled at each other, having no desire to go back in and face the king’s guests, particularly the huge silver-furred wolf.
When Graul had returned to his place within, he turned to speak to his other guest. “Yous was right,” Graul said to the diminutive sprite.
“I-am-quite-good-at-getting-information.” Tephanis beamed, and silently he added, and-creating-favorable-situations!
Tephanis thought himself clever at that moment, for not only had he informed Roddy that the drow was in Montolio’s grove, but he had then arranged with King Graul for Roddy to aid them both. Graul had no love for the blind ranger, Tephanis knew, and with the drow’s presence serving as an excuse, Graul could finally persuade his shaman to bless the attack.
“Caroak will help in the fight?” Graul asked, looking suspiciously at the huge and unpredictable silver wolf.
“Of-course,” Tephanis said immediately. “It-is-in-our-interest,-too,-to-see-those-enemies-destroyed!”
Caroak, understanding every word the two exchanged, rose up and sauntered out of the cave. The guards at the entrance did not try to block his way.
“Caroak-will-rouse-the-worgs,” Tephanis explained. “A-mighty-force-will-assemble-against-the-blind-ranger. Too-long-has-he-been-an-enemy-of-Caroak.”
Graul nodded and mused privately about the coming weeks. If he could get rid of both the ranger and the drow, his valley would be more secure than it had been in many years—since before Montolio’s arrival. The ranger rarely engaged the orcs personally, but Graul knew that it was the ranger’s animal spies that always alerted the passing caravans. Graul could not remember the last time his warriors had caught a caravan unawares, the preferred orc method. If the ranger was gone, however…
With summer, the height of the trading season, fast approaching, the orcs would prey well this year.
All that Graul needed now was confirmation from the shaman, that He-Who-Watches, the orc god Gruumsh One-eye, would bless the attack.
The new moon, a holy time for the orcs and a time when the shaman believed he could learn of the god’s pleasures, was more than two weeks away. Eager and impatient, Graul grumbled at the delay, but he knew that he would simply have to wait. Graul, far less religious than others believed, meant to attack no matter the shaman’s decision, but the crafty orc king would not openly defy the tribe’s spiritual leader unless it was absolutely necessary.
The new moon was not so far away, Graul told himself. Then he would be rid of both the blind ranger and the mysterious drow.
17. Outnumbered
“You seem troubled,” Drizzt said to Montolio when he saw the ranger standing on a rope bridge the next morning. Hooter sat in a branch above him.
Montolio, lost in thought, did not immediately answer. Drizzt thought nothing of it. He shrugged and turned away, respecting the ranger’s privacy, and took the onyx figurine out of his pocket.
“Guenhwyvar and I will go out for a short hunt,” Drizzt explained over his shoulder, “before the sun gets too high. Then I will take my rest and the panther will share the day with you.”
Still Montolio hardly heard the drow, but when the ranger noticed Drizzt placing the onyx figurine on the rope bridge, the drow’s words registered more clearly and he came out of his contemplations.
“Hold,” Montolio said, reaching a hand out. “Let the panther remain at rest.”
Drizzt did not understand. “Guenhwyvar has been gone a day and more,” he said.
“We may need Guenhwyvar for more than hunting before too long,” Montolio began to explain. “Let the panther remain at rest,”
“What is the trouble?” Drizzt asked, suddenly serious. “What has Hooter seen?”
“Last night marked the new moon,” Montolio said. Drizzt, with his new understanding of the lunar cycles, nodded.
“A holy day for the orcs,” Montolio continued. “Their camp is miles away, but I heard their cries last night.”
Again Drizzt nodded in recognition. “I heard the strains of their song, but I wondered if it might be no more than the quiet voice of the wind.”
“It was the wail of orcs,” Montolio assured him. “Every month they gather and grunt and dance wildly in their typical stupor—orcs need no potions to induce it, you know. I thought nothing of it, though they seemed overly loud. Usually they cannot be heard from here. A favorable… unfavorable… wind carried the tune in, I supposed.”