Free The Crystal Shard by R. A. Salvatore Page B

action he had suggested at the council. It quickly became obvious to the other spokesmen and to Bruenor, who had joined in the subsequent strategy meetings as the representative of the dwarves, that the halfling wouldn’t be much help in organizing the forces or drawing any battle plans, so when Drizzt told Bruenor that he would need a courier to sit watch with him, the dwarf was quick to volunteer Regis.
    Now the halfling was thoroughly miserable. His feet and fingers were numbed from the cold, and his back ached from sitting against the hard stone. This was the third night out, and Regis grumbled and complained constantly, punctuating his discomfort with an occasional sneeze. Through it all, Drizzt sat unmoving and oblivious to the conditions, his stoic dedication to duty overriding any personal distress.
    “How many more nights do we have to wait?” Regis whined. “One morning, I’m sure—maybe even tomorrow—they’ll find us up here, dead and frozen to this cursed mountain!”
    “Fear not, little friend,” Drizzt answered with a smile. “The wind speaks of winter. The barbarians will come all too soon, determined to beat the first snows.” Even as he spoke, the drow caught the tiniest flicker of light in the corner of his eye. He rose from his crouch suddenly, startling the halfling, and turned toward the direction of the flicker, his muscles tensed with reflexive wariness, his eyes straining to spot a confirming sign.
    “What’s—” Regis began, but Drizzt silenced him with an outstretched palm. A second dot of fire flashed on the edge of the horizon.
    “You have gotten your wish,” Drizzt said with certainty.
    “Are they out there?” Regis whispered. His vision wasn’t nearly as keen as the drow’s in the night.
    Drizzt stood silently in concentration for a few moments, mentally trying to measure the distance of the campfires and calculate the time it would take the barbarians to complete their journey.
    “Go to Bruenor and Cassius, little friend,” he said at length. “Tell them that the horde will reach Bremen’s Run when the sun peaks tomorrow.”
    “Come with me,” said Regis. “Surely they’ll not put you out when you bear such urgent news.”
    “I have a more important task at hand,” Drizzt answered. “Now be off! Tell Bruenor—and Bruenor alone—that I shall meet him on Bremen’s Run at the first light of dawn.” And with that, the drow padded off into the darkness. He had a long journey before him.
    “Where are you going?” Regis called after him.
    “To find the horizon’s horizon!” came a cry from the black night.
    And then there was only the murmur of the wind.

    The barbarians had finished setting up their encampment shortly before Drizzt reached its outer perimeter. This close to Ten-Towns, the invaders were on their guard; the first thing Drizzt noticed was that they had set many men on watch. But alert as they were, their campfires burned low and this was the night, the time of the drow. The normally effective watchmen were outmatched by an elf from a world that knew no light, one who could conjure a magical darkness that even the keenest eyes could not penetrate and carry it beside him like a tangible cloak. Invisible as a shadow in the darkness, with footfalls as silent as a stalking cat’s, Drizzt passed by the guards and entered the inner rings of the camp.
    Just an hour earlier, the barbarians had been singing and talking of the battle they would fight the next day. Yet even the adrenaline and bloodlust that pumped through their veins could not dispel theexhaustion from their hard march. Most of the men slept soundly, their heavy, rhythmic breathing comforting Drizzt as he picked his way among them in search of their leaders, who would no doubt be finalizing the battle plans.
    Several tents were grouped together within the encampment. Only one, though, had guards posted outside its entrance. The flap was closed, but Drizzt could see the glow of candles