He spotted a form in the lower boughs of a thick pine and rushed to the trunk. Without slowing, he leaped against it, planting his foot, then pushed off to the side, climbing higher in the air and landing atop one of the lower branches. Three quick springs brought him near to the cowering orc, and a few quick slashes had the humanoid tumbling to the ground.
Drizzt sprang down to the lowest branch again and did a quick survey. He picked a lone orc at the far end of the camp, then a trio closer and to his left. With a grin, he started for the trio, but stopped almost immediately, his gaze suddenly drawn back to the lone figure approaching from across the way.
His heart went into his throat; he wanted to scream out in denial and rage.
He knew the sword that orc carried.
Drizzt came out of the tree in a wild rush. He held all respect for the devastating weapon set in the orc's grasp, but it didn't matter. He didn't slow and didn't try to measure his opponent. He just rushed in, his scimitars working in a blur of motion, spinning circles over his shoulder, slashing across and stabbing ahead. He cut, he leaped, and he thrust, over and over. Sometimes he heard the ring of metal as he struck the fine blade of Khazid'hea, other times the rush of air cracking over his blades, and other times the softer sound of a blade striking leather or flesh.
He went into a spin around the orc, blades flying wide and level, turning their angle constantly to avoid any feeble parries, though the orc was already past any semblance of defense. The drow stopped in mid-turn and rushed back the other way, right near the orc, blades stabbing, smashing, and slashing. Technique no longer mattered. All that mattered was striking at the orc. All that mattered was cutting that creature who was holding Catti-brie's sword.
Blood flew everywhere, but Drizzt didn't even notice. The orc dropped the blade from its torn arm, but Drizzt didn't even notice. The light went out of the creature's eyes, the strength left it legs, and the only thing holding it upright was the constant barrage of Drizzt's hits.
But Drizzt didn't notice.
The orc finally fell to the dirt and the drow moved over it, smashing away with his deadly blades.
Sunset set down behind him, Innovindil leaping from her seat to rush to his side.
Drizzt didn't even notice.
He slashed and chopped. He hit the orc a dozen times, a score of times, a hundred times, until his sleeves were heavy with orc blood.
"Drizzt!" he finally heard, and from the tone, it registered to him that Innovindil must have been calling him for some time.
He fell to his knees and dropped his bloody blades to the dirt, then grabbed up Khazid'hea, holding it across his open, bloody palms.
"Drizzt?" Innovindil said again, and she crouched beside him.
The drow began to sob.
"What is it?" Innovindil asked, and she gathered him close.
Drizzt stared at Khazid'hea, tears running from his lavender eyes.
* * * * *
"There are other possible explanations," Innovindil said to Drizzt a short while later. They made camp down near the Surbrin, off to the side of a quiet pool that hadn't quite iced over yet so that Drizzt could clean the blood from his hands, his face, his whole body.
Drizzt looked back at her, and at Khazid'hea, lying on a stone on the ground before the elf. Innovindil, too, stared at the sword.
"It was not unexpected," Drizzt said.
"But that didn't lessen the shock."
The drow stared at her for a moment, then looked down. "No," he admitted.
"The orc was paid back in full," Innovindil reminded him. "Catti-brie has been avenged."
"It seems a small comfort."
The elf's smile comforted him somewhat. She started to rise, but stopped and glanced to the side, her expression drawing Drizzt's eyes that way as well, to a small bird sitting on a stone, chattering at them. As they watched, the bird hopped from its perch and fluttered away.
"Curious," said the elf.
"What is it?"
Innovindil looked at him, but did not reply. Her expression remained somewhat confused, though.
Drizzt looked back to the stone, then scanned the sky for any sign of the bird, which was long gone. With a shrug, he went back to his cleaning.
The mystery didn't take long to unfold, for within an hour, as Drizzt and Innovindil brushed Sunrise and Sunset, they heard a curious voice.
"Drizzit Dudden, hee hee hee."
The two turned to see Ivan and Pikel Bouldershoulder coming into view, and they both knew at once that the bird had been one of Pikel's spies.
"Well, ain't yerself the fine sight for a tired dwarf's eyes," Ivan greeted, smiling wide as he moved into the camp.
"Well met, yourself," Drizzt replied, stepping forward to clasp the dwarf's offered hand. "And curiously met!"
"Are you not far from the dwarven lines?" Innovindil asked, coming over to similarly greet the brothers. "Or are you, like we two, trapped outside of Mithral Hall?"
"Bah, just come from there," said Ivan. "Ain't no one trapped here—Bruenor busted out to the east and we're holding the ground to the Surbrin."
"Bruenor?" Innovindil asked before Drizzt could.
"Red-bearded dwarf, grumbles a lot?" said Ivan.
"Bruenor fell at Shallows," Drizzt said. "I saw it myself."
"Yeah, he fell, but he bounced," said Ivan. "Priests prayed over him for days and days, but it was Regis that finally woke him up."
"Regis?" Drizzt gasped, and he found it hard to breathe.
"Little one?" Ivan said. "Some call him Rumblebelly."
"Hee hee hee," said Pikel.
"What're ye gone daft, Drizzt?" asked Ivan. "I'm thinking ye're knowing Bruenor and Regis."
Drizzt looked at Innovindil. "This cannot be."
The elf wore a wide smile.
"Ye thought 'em dead, didn't ye?" Ivan asked. "Bah, but where's yer faith then? Nothing dead about them two, I tell ye! Just left them a few days ago." Ivan's face grew suddenly more somber. "But I got some bad news for ye, elf." He looked to the sword and Drizzt's heart sank once more.
"Wulfgar's girl, she took that blade and come out on her own," Ivan explained. "Me and me brother—"
"Me brudder!" Pike! proudly interrupted.
"Me and me brother come out after her, but we found her too late."
"Catti-brie—" Drizzt gasped.
"Nah, not her. Wulfgar's girl. Delly. We found her dead a couple o' days back. Then we spotted yerself flying about on that durned winged horse and so we came to find ye. Bruenor and Regis, Catti-brie and Wulfgar been worrying about ye terribly, ye got to know."
Drizzt stood there transfixed as the weight of the words washed over him.
"Wulfgar and Catti-brie, too?" he asked in a whisper.
Innovindil rushed up beside him and hugged him, and he truly needed the support.
"Ye been out here thinking yer friends all dead?" Ivan asked.
"Shallows was overrun," Drizzt said.
"Well, course it was, but me brother—"
"Me brudder!" Pikel cried on cue.
Ivan snickered. "Me brother there built us a statue to fool them orcs, and with Thibbledorf Pwent beside us, we give them the what's-for! We got 'em all out o' Shallows and run back to Mithral Hall. Been killing orcs ever since. Hunnerds o' the dogs."
"We saw the battlefield north of Keeper's Dale," Innovindil remarked. "And the blasted ridgeline."
"Boom!" cried Pikel.
Drizzt stood there shaking his head, overwhelmed by it all. Could it be true? Could his friends be alive? Bruenor, Wulfgar, and Regis? And Catti-brie? Could it be true? He looked to his partner, to find Innovindil smiling warmly back at him.
"I know not what to say," he admitted.
"Just be happy," she said. "For I am happy for you."