Wulfgar, his eyes sparkling wildly as they caught the afternoon sun.
"Come," the drow repeated, beckoning with one hand. "There are only six of
them!"
Wulfgar shook his head resignedly and sighed. During the weeks of training,
he had come to know Drizzt as a controlled and deadly swordsman who weighed
every feint and strike with calm precision. But in the last two days, Wulfgar
had seen an overly daring - even reckless - side of the drow. Drizzt's
unwavering confidence was the only thing that convinced Wulfgar that the elf
wasn't suicidal, and the only thing that compelled Wulfgar to follow him against
his own better judgement. He wondered if there was any limit to how far he would
trust the drow.
He knew then and there that Drizzt would someday lead him into a situation
from which there was no escape.
* * * * *
The giant patrol traveled southward for a short while, Drizzt and Wulfgar
secretly in tow. The verbeeg found no immediate trace of the missing giants and
feared that they were getting too close to the dwarven mines, so they turned
sharply back to the northeast, in the general directions of the flat rock where
the skirmish had taken place.
"We must move on them soon," Drizzt told his companion. "Let us close in on
our prey."
Wulfgar nodded. A short time later, they approached a broken area of jagged
stones, where the narrow path twisted and turned suddenly. The ground was
sloping upward slightly, and the companions recognized that the path they
traveled would move out to the rim of a small chasm. The daylight had faded
enough to provide some cover. Drizzt and Wulfgar exchanged knowing glances; the
time had come for action.
Drizzt, by far the more battle-seasoned of the two, quickly discerned the
mode of attack that offered the best chance of success. He motioned silently for
Wulfgar to pause. "We have to strike and move away," he whispered, "and then
strike again."
"Not an easy task against a wary foe," Wulfgar said.
"I have something that may aid us." The drow pulled his pack from his back
and took out the small figurine and called his shadow. When the wondrous feline
abruptly appeared, the barbarian gasped in horror and leaped away.
"What demon have you conjured?" he cried as loudly as he dared, his knuckles
whitening under the pressure of his clutch on Aegis-fang.
"Guenhwyvar is no demon," Drizzt reassured his large companion. "He is a
friend and a valuable ally." The cat growled, as if it understood, and Wulfgar
took another step away.
"No natural beast," the barbarian retorted. "I shall not fight beside a demon
conjured with sorcery!" The barbarians of Icewind Dale feared neither man nor
beast, but the black arts were absolutely foreign to them, and their ignorance
left them vulnerable.
"If the verbeeg learn the truth of the missing patrol, Bruenor and his kin
will be in danger," Drizzt said darkly. "The cat will help us to stop this
group. Will you allow your own fears to hinder the rescue of the dwarves?"
Wulfgar straightened and recaptured a measure of his composure. Drizzt's play
on his pride and on the very real threat to the dwarves was pressuring him to
temporarily put aside his revulsion for the black arts. "Send the beast away, we
