Free Exile: The Legend of Drizzt by R. A. Salvatore Page A

each other, scrambling around the small landing, some rushing to protect the doors to the city, others surrounding Drizzt within a ring of weapon tips, and still others rushing frantically to the stairs and down a few, trying to see if this dark elf was just the first of an entire drow war party.
    One svirfneblin, the leader of the guard contingent and apparently looking for some explanation, barked out a series of pointed demands at Drizzt. Drizzt shrugged helplessly, and the half-dozen deep gnomes around him jumped back a cautious step at his innocuous movement.
    The svirfneblin spoke again, more loudly, and jabbed the very sharp point of his iron spear in Drizzt’s direction. Drizzt could not begin to understand or respond to the foreign tongue. Very slowly and in obvious view, he slid one hand down over his stomach to the clasp of his belt buckle. The deep gnome leader’s hands wrung tightly over the shaft of his weapon as he watched the dark elf’s every movement.
    A flick of Drizzt’s wrist released the clasp and his scimitars clanged loudly on the stone floor.
    The svirfnebli jumped in unison, then recovered quickly and came in on him. On a single word from the leader of the group, two of the guards dropped their weapons and began a complete, and not overly gentle, search of the intruder. Drizzt flinched when they found the dagger he had kept in his boot. He thought himself stupid for forgetting the weapon and notrevealing it openly from the beginning.
    A moment later, when one of the svirfnebli reached into the deepest pocket of Drizzt’s piwafwi and pulled out the onyx figurine, Drizzt flinched even more.
    Instinctively, Drizzt reached for the panther, a pleading expression on his face.
    He received the butt end of a spear in the back for his efforts. Deep gnomes were not an evil race, but they held no love for dark elves. The svirfnebli had survived for centuries untold in the Underdark with few allies but many enemies, and they ever ranked the drow elves as foremost among the latter. Since the founding of the ancient city of Blingdenstone, the majority of all of the many svirfnebli who had been killed in the wilds had fallen at the ends of drow weapons.
    Now, inexplicably, one of these same dark elves had walked right up to their city doors and willingly surrendered his weapons.
    The deep gnomes bound Drizzt’s hands tightly behind his back, and four of the guards kept their weapon tips resting on him, ready to drive them home at Drizzt’s slightest threatening movement. The remaining guards returned from their search of the stairway, reporting no other drow elves anywhere in the vicinity. The leader remained suspicious, though, and he posted guards at various strategic positions, then motioned to the two deep gnomes waiting at the city’s doors.
    The massive portals parted, and Drizzt was led in. He could only hope in that moment of fear and excitement that he had left the hunter out in the wilds of the Underdark.

n no hurry to stand before his outraged mother, Dinin wandered slowly toward the anteroom to House Do’Urden’s chapel. Matron Malice had called for him, and he could not refuse the summons. He found Vierna and Maya in the corridor beyond the ornate doors, similarly tentative.
    “What is it about?” Dinin asked his sisters in the silent hand code.
    “Matron Malice has been with Briza and Shi’nayne all the day,” Vierna’s hands replied.
    “Planning another expedition in search of Drizzt,” Dinin motioned half heartedly, not liking the idea that he would no doubt be included in such plans.
    The two females did not miss their brother’s disdainful scowl. “Was it really so terrible?” Maya asked. “Briza would say little about it.”
    “Her severed fingers and torn whip revealed much,” Viernaput in, a wry smile crossing her face as she motioned. Vierna, like every other sibling of House Do’Urden, had little love for her eldest sister.
    No agreeing smile spread on Dinin’s face