"Who can know?" the orc king said with a shrug, and he seemed to hardly care. "They are just the options, all the more possible because of our successes. If all this land becomes an orc stronghold, will the peoples of the region band together and fight us? How many thousands will they sacrifice? How long will they hold their resolve when their kin die by the score? By the hundred, or thousand? And all of that with the option of peace honestly offered to them."
"Honestly?"
"Honestly," Obould replied. "We cannot take Silverymoon, or Sundabar, if all my kin and all your kin and all the trolls of the Trollmoors banded together. You know this as I know this."
The admission nearly had Gerti choking with disbelief, for she had known that truth from the beginning, of course, but had never believed that Obould would ever truly understand his real limitations.
"Wh-what about Citadel Felbarr?" she did manage to stammer, hoping once more to throw the orc king off his guard.
"We will see how far our victories take us," Obould replied. "Perhaps Mitnral Hall will be conquered—that is no less a prize than Felbarr. Perhaps even the Moonwood will fall to us in the months it will take to secure any peace. We will be in need of lumber, of course, and not so that we might dance about the living trees as do the foolish elves."
He looked to the side again, as if staring far away, and gave a little guttural chuckle.
"We get too far ahead of ourselves," the orc king remarked. "Let us secure what we now have. Close the Surbrin to those who would support Mithral Hall. Let Proffit work his disaster in the southern tunnels, and let Urlgen then drive the dwarves fully into their hole and close the western door. Then we might decide our next march."
Gerti settled back against the wall of the stone room and stared at her counterpart and at the smug shaman sitting next to him. She resisted the urge to reach out and crush the life out of Arganth, though she dearly wanted to do just that, if only because he was such an ugly little wretch.
And she wondered, honestly, if she should spring forward and crush the life out of Obould first. The creature who was sitting before her was constantly amazing her, was constantly putting her off her balance. He was not the sniveling orc who had once brought her dwarf heads as a present. He was not the overreaching and doomed-to-disaster warrior leader whom she had played as an ally out of amusement. Obould was biding his time over in the west against the dwarves, sacrificing short-term gain and swift victory for a long-term benefit. What orc ever thought like that?
It seemed to Gerti as if Obould honestly had it all planned out, and even more amazing, it seemed as if he had a real chance of succeeding. What she had to wonder, however, was what plans the orc king might have in store for her.
* * *
"They smell like rothй dung in fetid water," Tos'un complained.
Despite her generally foul mood, Kaer'lic Suun Wett didn't argue the point—her nose wouldn't let her.
"And Proffit is the smelliest of the bunch," Tos'un rambled on.
Kaer'lic shot him a look reminding him that they were two drow amidst an army of trolls and that it might not do well to so openly insult the leader of the brutes.
"Perhaps that is how he got so elevated," Tos'un added, amusing himself, Kaer'lic figured, for she found nothing at all amusing about their current state of affairs. Particularly concerning her own state of indecision.
Tos'un continued to grumble and began to stalk around. He stopped suddenly and took a closer look at the small cave Kaer'lic had taken for her temporary shelter. Glyphs and runes had been etched here and there, and the priestess's ceremonial robes were set out.
When Tos'un turned to more closely scrutinize her, she did not hide the fact that she had been beginning to change into those garments when he had burst in.
"This is not a ceremonial day, is it?" the male asked.
"No," the priestess answered simply.
"Then you are communing … perhaps to locate our lost companions?"
"No."
"To gain spells that will help us with the trolls?"
"No."
"Am I to guess every possible purpose, then? Or is it that you would not tell me in any case?"
"No."
Tos'un paused and studied her, obviously not quite sure of where that last answer fit in exactly.
"Your pardon, high priestess," he said with clear sarcasm, and he dipped a bow that was full of his frustration. "I forget my place as a mere male."
"Oh, shut up," Kaer'lic replied, and she moved toward her vestments and began further disrobing. "I am as confused as you are," she admitted.
She gave a little laugh as she considered that—why shouldn't she tell Tos'un
the truth, after all, since he was the only drow companion she was going to know for some time?
"It does not surprise me that Ad'non and Donnia sneaked away," Tos'un said.
"Nor does it surprise me," Kaer'lic replied. "My confusion has nothing to do with them."
"Then what? Obould?"
"He would be part of it, yes," said the priestess. "As would be whatever intervention his brutish god offered."
"It was an impressive ceremony."
Kaer'lic turned on him suddenly, caring not at all that she was stripped to the waist.
"I fear that I have angered Lolth," she admitted.
It didn't seem to sink into Tos'un at first, and he started to respond. But then, with her continuing stare, the weight of her words nearly bowled the male over. He glanced around, as if expecting some creature of the Abyss to leap out of the shadows and devour him then and there.
"What does that mean?" he asked, his voice shaky.
"I do not know," Kaer'lic replied. "I do not even know if I am correct in my assessment."
"Do you think the intervention of Gruumsh One-Eye to be—"
"No, it was before that ceremony," Kaer'lic admitted.
"Then what?"
"I fear it is because of your advice," Kaer'lic honestly replied.
"Mine?" the male protested. "What have I done that holds any sway to the Spider Queen? I have offered nothing—"
"You suggested that we would be better served in avoiding Drizzt Do'Urden, did you not?"
Tos'un rocked back on his heels, his eyes darting around, seeming like a trapped animal.
"I fear that I am trapped within a web of my own suspicions," said Kaer'lic. "Perhaps my unwillingness to engage the traitor, as you advised, has cost me Lolth's favor, but in truth, I fear that going against Drizzt Do'Urden and slaying him would anger the Spider Queen even more!"
Tos'un looked as if a slight breeze would have knocked him over.
"She denies you communion?"
"I am afraid to even try," the priestess admitted. "It is possible that my own fears work against me here."
"Your fears of Drizzt?" he asked, shaking his head, so obviously at a complete loss.
"Long ago, I came to some conclusions concerning the renegade of House Do'Urden," Kaer'lic explained. "Even before I knew of Matron Baenre's march against Mithral Hall. The name of Drizzt was not unknown to us even before you joined our little band. So many of our priestesses have come to errant presumptions concerning that one, I fear … and I believe. They see him as an enemy of the Spider Queen."
"Of course," said Tos'un. "How could he be anything but?"
"He is a facilitator of chaos!" Kaer'lic interrupted. "In his own beautiful way, Drizzt Do'Urden has brought more chaos to your home city than perhaps any before him. Would that not be the will of Lolth?"
Tos'un's eyes widened so much that it seemed as if they might simply roll out of their sockets.
"You believe the road of Drizzt Do'Urden to be Lolth-inspired?" he asked.
"I do," said Kaer'lic, and she turned away. "Clever Kaer'lic! To see the irony of the rebel. To imagine the beauty of Lolth's design."