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emotional burden, and Drizzt picked up on the ways of the natural world better than anyone Montolio had ever seen. But Montolio sensed that something still bothered the drow, though he had no idea of what it might be.
“Do all humans possess such fine hearing?” Drizzt asked him suddenly as they dragged a huge fallen branch out of the grove. “Or is yours a blessing, perhaps, to make up for your blindness?”
The bluntness of the question surprised Montolio for just the moment it took him to recognize the drow’s frustration, an uneasiness caused by Drizzt’s failure to understand the man’s abilities.
“Or is your blindness, perhaps, a ruse, a deception you use to gain the advantage?” Drizzt pressed relentlessly.
“Then it is a good one, Montolio DeBrouchee,” Drizzt replied. “Surely it aids you against “If it is?” Montolio replied offhandedly.
enemies… and friends alike.” The words tasted bitter to Drizzt, and he suspected that he was letting his pride get the best of him.
“You have not often been bested in battle,” Montolio replied, recognizing the source of Drizzt’s frustrations as their sparring match. If he could have seen the drow then, Drizzt’s expression would have revealed much.
“You take it too hard,” Montolio continued after an uneasy silence. “I did not truly defeat you.”
“You had me down and helpless.”
“You beat yourself,” Montolio explained. “I am indeed blind, but not as helpless as you seem to think. You underestimated me. I knew that you would, too, though I hardly believed that you could be so blind.”
Drizzt stopped abruptly, and Montolio stopped on cue as the drag on the branch suddenly increased. The old ranger shook his head and cackled. He then pulled out a dagger, spun it high into the air, caught it, and, yelling, “Birch!” heaved it squarely into one of the few birch trees by the evergreen grove.
“Could a blind man do that?” Montolio asked rhetorically.
“Then you can see,” Drizzt stated.
“Of course not,” Montolio retorted sharply. “My eyes have not functioned for five years. But neither am I blind, Drizzt, especially in this place I call my home!
“Yet you thought me blind,” the ranger went on, his voice calm again. “In our sparring, when your spell of darkness expired, you believed that you had gained the edge. Did you think that all of my actions–effective actions, I must say–both in the battle against the orcs and in our fight were simply prepared and rehearsed? If I were as crippled as Drizzt Do’Urden believes me, how should I survive another day in these mountains?”
“I did not… ” Drizzt began, but his embarrassment silenced him. Montolio spoke the truth, and Drizzt knew it. He had, at least on an unconscious level, thought the ranger less than whole since their very first meeting. Drizzt felt he showed his friend no disrespect–indeed, he thought highly of the man–but he had taken Montolio for granted and thought the ranger’s limitations greater than his own.
“You did,” Montolio corrected, “and I forgive you that. To your credit, you treated me more fairly than any who knew me before, even those who had traveled beside me through uncounted campaigns. Sit now,” he bade Drizzt. “It is my turn to tell my tale, as you have told yours.”
now, another life that he had left behind. He retained one link to his past, though: his training as a “Where to begin?” Montolio mused, scratching at his chin. It all seemed so distant to him ranger of the goddess Mielikki. Drizzt, similarly instructed by Montolio, would understand.
“I gave my life to the forest, to the natural order, at a very young age,” Montolio began. “I learned, as I have begun to teach you, the ways of the wild world and decided soon enough that I would defend that perfection, that harmony of cycles too vast and wonderful to be understood. That is why I so enjoy battling orcs and the like. As I have told you before, they are the enemies of natural order, the enemies of trees and animals as much as of men and the goodly races. Wretched
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things, all in all, and I feel no guilt in cutting them down!”
Montolio then spent many hours recounting some of his campaigns, expeditions in which he acted singly or as a scout for huge armies. He told Drizzt of his own teacher, Dilamon, a ranger so skilled with a bow that he had never seen her miss, not once in ten thousand shots. “She died in battle,” Montolio explained, “defending a farmhouse from a raiding band of giants. Weep not for Mistress Dilamon, though, for not a single farmer was injured and not one of the few giants who crawled away ever showed its ugly face in that region again!”
Montolio’s voice dropped noticeably when he came to his more recent past. He told of the Rangewatchers, his last adventuring company, and of how they came to battle a red dragon that had been marauding the villages. The dragon was slain, as were three of the Rangewatchers, and Montolio had his face burned away. “The clerics fixed me up well,” Montolio said somberly. “Hardly a scar to show for my pain.” He paused, and Drizzt saw, for the first time since he had met the old ranger, a cloud of pain cross Montolio’s face. “They could do nothing for my eyes, though. The wounds were beyond their abilities.”
“You came out here to die,” Drizzt said, more accusingly than he intended.
Montolio did not refute the claim. “I have suffered the breath of dragons, the spears of orcs, the anger of evil men, and the greed of those who would rape the land for their own gain,” the ranger said. “None of those things wounded as deeply as pity. Even my Rangewatcher companions, who had fought beside me so many times pitied me. Even you.”
“I did not… ” Drizzt tried to interject.
“You did indeed,” Montolio retorted. “In our battle, you thought yourself superior. That is why you lost! The strength of any ranger is wisdom, Drizzt. A ranger understands himself, his enemies, and his friends. You thought me impaired, else you never would have attempted so brash a maneuver as to jump over me. But I understood you and anticipated the move.” That sly smile flashed wickedly. “Does your head still hurt?” “It does,” Drizzt admitted, rubbing the bruise, “though my thoughts seem to be clearing.”
“As to your original question,” Montolio said, satisfied that his point had been made, “there is nothing exceptional about my hearing, or any of my other senses. I just pay more attention to what they tell than do other folks, and they guide me quite well, as you now understand. Truly, I did not know of their abilities myself when I first came out here, and you are correct in your guess as to why I did. Without my eyes, I thought myself a dead man, and I wanted to die here, in this grove that I had come to know and love in my earlier travels.
“Perhaps it was due to Mielikki, the Mistress of the Forest–though more likely it was Graul, an enemy so close at hand–but it did not take me long to change my intentions concerning my own life. I found a purpose out here, alone and crippled–and I was crippled in those first days. With that purpose came a renewal of meaning in my life, and that in turn led me to realize again my limits. I am old now, and weary, and blind. If I had died five years ago, as I had intended, I would have died with my life incomplete. I never would have known how far I could go. Only in adversity, beyond anything Montolio DeBrouchee had ever imagined, could I have come to know myself and my goddess so well.”
Montolio stopped to consider Drizzt. He heard a shuffle at the mention of his goddess, and he took it to be an uncomfortable movement. Wanting to explore this revelation, Montolio reached inside his chain mail and tunic and produced a pendant shaped like a unicorn’s head.
Drizzt hesitated. The unicorn was perfectly crafted and marvelous in design, but the “Is it not beautiful?” he pointedly asked.
connotations of such a pendant did not sit easily with the drow. Back in Menzoberranzan Drizzt had witnessed the folly of following the commands of deities, and he liked not at all what he had seen.
“Who is your god, drow?” Montolio asked. In all the weeks he and Drizzt had been together, they had not really discussed religion.
“I have no god,” Drizzt answered boldly, “and neither do I want one.”
It was Montolio’s turn to pause.
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Drizzt rose and walked off a few paces.
“My people follow Lloth,” he began. “She, if not the cause, is surely the continuation of their wickedness, as this Gruumsh is to the orcs, and as other gods are to other peoples. To follow a god is folly. I shall follow my heart instead.”
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. that bear! Admit it or not, you’ve the heart of a ranger. And the heart of a ranger is a heart of “And how did you talk to Bluster?” Montolio continued. “No easy feat, sharing a cave with 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
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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 veterans such as Dove Falconhand, would surely avenge the action. formidable force, and even if Roddy managed to get past him to the drow, Mooshie’s many allies,
“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.