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hollowed log.
“Adbar brandy is powerful stuff,” Montolio explained. “It burns brighter than all but the finest
oil.”
Now Drizzt understood. Together, he and Montolio carried the log out and placed it at the end of the only pass from the east. They poured in some brandy, then covered it with leaves and grass.
When they got back to the rope bridge, Drizzt saw that Montolio had already made the preparations on this end. A single crossbow was set facing east, its loaded quarrel headed by a wrapped, oil-soaked rag and a flint and steel resting nearby.
“You will have to sight it in,” Montolio explained. “Without Hooter, I cannot be sure, and even with the bird, sometimes the height of my aim is off.” log. Montolio had built the supports along the rope bridge quite well and with just this purpose in The daylight was almost fully gone now, and Drizzt’s keen night vision soon located the split mind, and with a few minor adjustments, Drizzt had the weapon locked on its target.
All of the major defenses were in place, and Drizzt and Montolio busied themselves finalizing their strategies. Every so often, Hooter or some other owl would rush in, chattering with news. One came in with the expected confirmation: King Graul and his band were on the march.
“You can call Guenhwyvar now,” Montolio said. “They will come in this night.”
“Foolish,” said Drizzt. “The night favors us. You are blind anyway and in no need of daylight and I surely prefer the darkness.”
The owl hooted again.
“The main host will come in from the west,” Montolio told Drizzt smugly. “As I said they would. Scores of orcs and a giant besides! Hooter’s watching another smaller group that split from the first.”
The mention of the giant sent a shudder along Drizzt’s spine, but he had every intention, and a plan already set, for fighting this one. “I want to draw the giant to me,” he said. is only one giant–you or I will get it.” Montolio turned to him curiously. “Let us see how the battle goes,” the ranger offered. “There
“I want to draw the giant to me,” Drizzt said again, more firmly. Montolio couldn’t see the set of the drow’s jaw or the seething fires in Drizzt’s lavender eyes, but the ranger couldn’t deny the determination in Drizzt’s voice.
“Mangura bok woklok ” he said, and he smiled again, knowing that the strange utterance had caught the drow unaware.
“Mangura bok woklok ” Montolio declared again. “ ‘Stupid blockhead,’ translated word by word. Stone giants hate that phrase–brings them charging in every time!”
“Mangura bok woklok ” Drizzt mouthed quietly. He’d have to remember that.
18. The Battle of Mooshie’s Grove
Drizzt noticed that Montolio looked more than a little troubled after Hooter, back with more news, departed.
“The split of Graul’s forces?” he inquired.
Montolio nodded, his expression grim. “Worg-riding orcs–just a handful–circling around to the west.”
Drizzt looked out beyond the rock wall, to the pass secured by their brandy trough. “We can stop them,” he said.
Still the ranger’s expression told of doom. “Another group of worgs–a score or more–is coming from the south.” Drizzt did not miss the ranger’s fear, as Montolio added, “Caroak is leading them. I never thought that one would fall in with Graul.”
“A giant?” Drizzt asked.
“No, winter wolf,” Montolio replied. At the words, Guenhwyvar flattened its ears and growled angrily.
“The panther knows,” Montolio said as Drizzt looked on in amazement. “A winter wolf is a
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perversion of nature, a blight against creatures following the natural order, and thus, Guenhwyvar’s enemy.”
The black panther growled again.
“It’s a large creature,” Montolio went on, “and too smart for a wolf. I have fought Caroak before. Alone he could give us a time of it! With the worgs around him, and us busy fighting orcs, he might have his way.”
Guenhwyvar growled a third time and tore the ground with great claws.
“Guenhwyvar will deal with Caroak,” Drizzt remarked.
Montolio moved over and grabbed the panther by the ears, holding Guenhwyvar’s gaze with his own sightless expression. “ ‘Ware the wolf’s breath,” the ranger said. “A cone of frost, it is, that and knew that the drow wore a concerned expression. will freeze your muscles to your bones. I have seen a giant felled by it!” Montolio turned to Drizzt
“Guenhwyvar has to keep them away from us until we can chase off Graul and his group,” the ranger said, “then we can make arrangements for Caroak.” He released his hold on the panther’s ears and swatted Guenhwyvar hard on the scruff of the neck.
Guenhwyvar roared a fourth time and darted off through the grove, a black arrow aimed at the heart of doom.
* * *
Graul’s main attack force came, as expected, from the west, whooping and hollering and trampling the brush in its path. The troops approached in two groups, one through each of the dense copses.
“Aim for the group on the south!” Montolio called up to Drizzt, in position on the crossbow-laden rope bridge. “We’ve friends in the other!” As if in confirmation of the ranger’s decree, the northern copse erupted suddenly in orc cries that sounded more like terrified shrieks than battle calls. A chorus of throaty growls accompanied the screams. Bluster the bear had come to Montolio’s call, Drizzt knew, and by the sounds in the copse, he had brought a number of friends. Drizzt wasn’t about to question their good fortune. He positioned himself behind the closest crossbow and let the quarrel fly as the first orcs emerged from the southern copse. Right down the line the drow ran, clicking off his shots in rapid succession. From down below, Montolio arced a few arrows over the wall.
In the sudden swarm of orcs, Drizzt couldn’t tell how many of their shots actually hit, but the buzzing bolts did slow the orc charge and scattered their ranks. Several orcs dropped to their bellies; a few turned and headed straight back into the trees. The bulk of the group, though, and some running to join from the other copse, came on.
Montolio fired one last time, then felt his way back into a sheltered run behind the center of his bent tree traps, where he would be protected on three sides by walls of wood and trees. His bow in one hand, he checked his sword and then reached around to touch a rope at his other side.
Drizzt noticed the ranger moving into position twenty feet below him and to the side, and he figured that this might be his last free opportunity. He sorted out an object hanging above Montolio’s head and dropped a spell over it. more effective. First one, then another, orc stepped in, their cries rising over the din of the charge. The quarrels had brought minimum chaos to the field of charging orcs, but the traps proved As other orcs saw their companions’ pain and peril, they slowed considerably or stopped altogether.
With the commotion growing in the field, Drizzt paused and carefully considered his final shot. He noticed a large, finely outfitted orc watching from the closest boughs of the northern copse. Drizzt knew this was Graul, but his attention shifted immediately to the figure standing next to the orc king. “Damn,” the drow muttered, recognizing McGristle. Now he was torn, and he moved the crossbow back and forth between the adversaries. Drizzt wanted to shoot at Roddy, wanted to end
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his personal torment then and there. But Roddy was not an orc, and Drizzt found himself repulsed by the thought of killing a human!
“Graul is the more important target,” the drow told himself, more to distract his inner torment than for any other reason. Quickly, before he could find any more arguments, he took aim and fired. The quarrel whistled long and far, knocking into the trunk of a tree just inches above Graul’s head. Roddy promptly grabbed the orc king and pulled him back into the deeper shadows. In their stead came a roaring stone giant, rock in hand.
The boulder clipped the trees beside Drizzt, shaking the branches and bridge alike. A second shot followed at once, this one taking a supporting post squarely and dropping the front half of the bridge.
far a range. As the front half of the bridge fell away beneath him, Drizzt leaped out, catching a hold Drizzt had seen it coming, though he was amazed and horrified by the uncanny accuracy at so in a tangle of branches. When he finally sorted himself out, he was faced by a new problem. From the east came the worg-riders, brandishing torches.
Drizzt looked to the log trap, then to the crossbow. It and the post securing it had survived the boulder hit, but the drow could not hope to cross to it on the faltering bridge.
The leaders of the main host, now behind Drizzt, reached the rock wall then. Fortunately, the first orc leaping over landed squarely into another of the wicked jaw traps, and its companions were not so quick to follow.
* * *
Guenhwyvar leaped around and between the many broken crags of stone marking the descent to the north. The panther caught the distant first cries of battle back at the grove, but more intently, Guenhwyvar heard the ensuing howls of the approaching wolf pack. The panther sprang up to a low ledge and waited.
Caroak, the huge silver canine beast, led the charge. Focused on the distant grove, the winter wolf’s surprise was complete when Guenhwyvar dropped upon it, scratching and raking wildly.
Clumps of silver fur flew about under the assault. Yelping, Caroak dove into a sidelong roll. Guenhwyvar rode the wolf as a lumberjack might foot-roll a log in a pool, slashing and kicking with each step. But Caroak was a wizened old wolf, a veteran of a hundred battles. As the monster rolled about to its back, a blast of icy frost came at the panther.
Guenhwyvar dodged aside, both from the frost and the onslaught of several worgs. The frost got the panther on the side of the face, though, numbing Guenhwyvar’s jaw. Then the chase was on, with Guenhwyvar leaping and tumbling right around the wolf pack, and the worgs, and angry Caroak, nipping at the panther’s heels.
* * *
Time was running out for Drizzt and Montolio. Above all else, the drow knew that he must protect their rear flank. In synchronous movements, Drizzt kicked off his boots, took the flint in one hand and put a piece of steel in his mouth, and leaped up to a branch that would take him out over the lone crossbow.
He got above it a moment later. Holding with one hand, he struck the flint hard. Sparks rolled down, close to the mark. Drizzt struck again and again, and finally, a spark hit the oil-soaked rags tipping the loaded quarrel squarely enough to ignite them.
Now the drow was not so lucky. He rocked and twisted but could not get his foot close enough to the trigger.
Montolio could see nothing, of course, but he knew well enough the general situation. He heard the approaching worgs at the back of the grove and knew that those in front had breached the
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wall. He sent another bow shot through the thick canopy of bent trees, just for good measure, and hooted loudly three times.
In answer, a group of owls swooped down from the pines, bearing down on the orcs along the rock wall. Like the traps, the birds could only cause minimal real damage, but the confusion bought the defenders a little more time.
* * *
To this point, the only clear advantage for the grove’s defenders came in the northernmost copse, where Bluster and three of his closest and largest bear buddies had a dozen orcs down and a score more running about blindly.
One orc, in flight from a bear, came around a tree and nearly crashed into Bluster. The orc kept its wits enough to thrust its spear ahead, but the creature hadn’t the strength to drive the crude weapon through Bluster’s thick hide.
Bluster responded with a heavy swipe that sent the orc’s head flying through the trees.
Another great bear ambled by, its huge arms wrapped in front of it. The only clue that the bear held an orc in the crushing hug was the orc’s feet, which hung out and kicked wildly below the engulfing fur.
Bluster caught sight of another enemy, smaller and quicker than an orc. The bear roared and charged, but the diminutive creature was long gone before he ever got close.
Tephanis had no intentions of joining the battle. He had come with the northernmost group mostly to keep out of Graul’s sight, and had planned all along to remain in the trees and wait out the fighting. The trees didn’t seem so safe anymore, so the sprite lighted out, meaning to get into the southern copse. him past the trap before the iron jaws snapped closed, but the wicked teeth just caught the end his About halfway to the other woods, the sprite’s plans were foiled again. Sheer speed nearly got foot. The ensuing jolt blasted the breath from him and left him dazed, facedown in the grass.
* * *
Drizzt knew how revealing that little fire on the quarrel would prove, so he was hardly surprised when another giant-hurled rock thundered in. It struck Drizzt’s bending branch, and with a series of cracks, the limb swung down.
Drizzthooked the crossbow with his foot as he dropped, and he hit the trigger immediately, before the weapon was deflected too far aside. Then he stubbornly held his position and watched.
The fiery quarrel reached out into the darkness beyond the eastern rock wall. It skidded in low, sending sparks up through the tall grass, then thudded into the side–the outside–of the brandy-filled trough.
The first half of the worg-riders got across the trap, but the remaining three were not so lucky, bearing in just as flames licked over the side of the dugout. The brandy and kindling roared to life as the riders plunged through. Worgs and orcs thrashed about in the tall grass, setting other pockets of fire. orc rider was thrown heavily, landing on its own torch, and the other two barely kept their seats. Those who had already come through spun about abruptly at the sudden conflagration. One Above all else, worgs hated fire, and the sight of three of their kin rolling about, furry balls of flame, did little to strengthen their resolve for this battle.
* * *