Albondiel looked at her with surprise for just a few moments then nodded his agreement. Though seemingly out of context, it sounded like a reasonable desire—of course they both knew that they weren’t going to catch a drow in those wilds anytime soon.
I know them, Tos’un assured the doubting Khazid’hea. Dnark is chieftain of an important tribe. I was the one who coaxed him into Obould’s coalition before they ever marched from the Spine of the World.
Much has happened, Khazid’hea reminded him, between Tos’un and Obould. If these three know of your last encounter with the orc king, they will not welcome you.
They were not there, Tos’un assured the sword.
They have not heard of the fall of Kaer’lic Suun Wett? Khazid’hea asked. Can you be certain?
Even if they have, they are well aware of Obould’s temper, Tos’un imparted. They will accept that he was outraged at Kaer’lic, and so he killed her. Do you believe that any of these orcs have not lost friends to the temper of Obould? And yet they remain loyal to him.
You risk much.
I risk nothing, Tos’un argued. If Dnark and his friends know that Obould hunts for me, or if they have concluded that I am in league with the elves, then I…then we, will have to kill them. I did not expect that such a result would displease Khazid’hea.
There, he had communicated the magic words, he knew, for the sword fell silent in his thoughts, and he even sensed eagerness coming from it. He considered the exchange as he made his way down toward the trio of orcs, who had drifted off to the side of the construction area where the unusually large orcs had gathered. He came to the conclusion that he had been paid a compliment, that Khazid’hea did not want to be pried from his grasp.
He chose his path to the three orcs carefully, allowing himself a fast route of escape should the need arise—and he feared it would. Several times he paused to search the surrounding area for any guards he might have missed.
Still some distance from the three, he called out the expected, respectful refrain to the chieftain. “Hail Dnark, may the Wolf Jaw bite strong,” he said in his best Orcish, but with no attempt to hide his Underdark drow accent. He watched carefully then to gauge their initial reaction, knowing that to be the bare truth.
All three turned his way, their expressions showing surprise, even shock. Tellingly, however, not one flinched toward a weapon.
“To the throat of your enemy,” Tos’un finished the Wolf Jaw tribe’s salute. He continued his approach, noting that Ung-thol, the older shaman, visibly relaxed, but that the younger Toogwik Tuk remained very much on edge.
“Well met, again,” Tos’un offered, and he climbed the last small rise to gain the sheltered flat ground the trio had staked out. “We have come far from the holes in the Spine of the World, as I predicted to you those months ago.”
“Greetings, Tos’un of Menzoberranzan,” said Dnark.
The drow measured the chieftain’s voice as cautious, and neither warm or cold.
“I am surprised to see you,” Dnark finished.
“We have learned the fate of your companions,” Ung-thol added.
Tos’un stiffened, and had to consciously remind himself not to grasp his sword hilts. “Yes, Donnia Soldou and Ad’non Kareese,” he said. “I have heard their sad fate, and a curse upon the murderous Drizzt Do’Urden.”
The three orcs exchanged smug grins. They knew of the murdered priestess, Tos’un realized.
“And pity to Kaer’lic,” he said lightly, as if it didn’t really matter. “Foolish was she who angered mighty Obould.” He found a surprising response to that from Toogwik Tuk, for the young orc’s smile disappeared, and his lips grew tight.
“She and you, so it is said,” Ung-thol replied.
“I will prove my value again.”
“To Obould?” asked Dnark.
The question caught the drow off-balance, for he had no idea of where the chieftain might be going with it.
“Is there another who would seek that value?” he asked, keeping enough sarcasm out of his tone so that Dnark might seize it as an honest question if he so chose.
“There are many above ground now, and scattered throughout the Kingdom of Many-Arrows,” said Dnark. He glanced back at the hulking orcs milling around the construction area. “Grguch of Clan Karuck has come.”
“I just witnessed his ferocity in routing the cursed surface elves.”
“Strong allies,” said Dnark.
“To Obould?” Tos’un asked without hesitation, turning the question back in similar measure.
“To Gruumsh,” said Dnark with a toothy grin. “To the destruction of Clan Battlehammer and all the wretched dwarves and all the ugly elves.”
“Strong allies,” said Tos’un.
They are not pleased with King Obould, Khazid’hea said in the drow’s mind. Tos’un didn’t respond, other than to not disagree. An interesting turn.
Again the drow didn’t disagree. A tingling feeling came over him, that exciting sensation that befell many of Lady Lolth’s followers when they first discovered that an opportunity for mischief might soon present itself.
He thought of Sinnafain and her kin, but didn’t dwell on them. The joy of chaos came precisely from the reality that it was often so very easy, and not requiring too much deep contemplation. Perhaps the coming mayhem would benefit the elves, perhaps the orcs, Dnark or Obould, one or both. That was not for Tos’un to determine. His duty was to ensure that no matter which way the tumult broke, he would be in the best position to survive and to profit.
For all of his time with the elves of late, for all of his fantasies of living among the surface folk, Tos’un Armgo remained, first and foremost, drow.
He sensed clearly that Khazid’hea very much approved.
Grguch was not pleased. He stomped across the hillside before the tunnel entrance and all of Clan Karuck fled before him. All except for Hakuun, of course. Hakuun could not flee before Grguch. It was not permitted. If Grguch decided that he wanted to kill Hakuun then Hakuun had to accept that as his fate. Being the shaman of Clan Karuck carried such a responsibility, and it was one that Hakuun’s family had accepted throughout the generations—and was one that had cost more than a few of his family their lives.
He knew that Grguch would not cleave him in half, though. The chieftain was angry that the elves had escaped, but the battle could not be called anything but a victory for Clan Karuck. Not only had they stung a few of the elves, but they had sent them running, and had it not been for that troublesome tunnel, the raiding elf band never would have escaped complete and utter ruin.
The hulking brutes of Clan Karuck could not follow them through that tunnel, however, to Grguch’s ultimate frustration.
“This will not end here,” he said in Hakuun’s face.
“Of course not.”
“I desired a greater statement to be made in our first meeting with these ugly faerie folk.”
“The fleeing elves wore expressions of terror,” Hakuun replied. “That will spread back to their people.”
“Right before we fall upon them more decisively.”
Hakuun paused, expecting the order.
“Plan it,” said Grguch. “To their very home.”
Hakuun nodded, and Grguch seemed satisfied with that and turned away, barking orders at the others. Elves were just the sort of cowardly creatures to run away and sneak back for quiet murder, of course, and so the chieftain began setting his defenses and his scouts, leaving Hakuun alone with his thoughts.
Or so Hakuun believed.
He flinched then froze when the foot-long serpent landed on his shoulder, and he held his breath, as he always did on those thankfully rare occasions when he found himself in the company of Jaculi—for that was the name that Jack had given him, the name of the winged serpent that Jack wore as a disguise when venturing out of his private workshops.