His scimitars struck, left and right, taking the throat from the beast to his right and gashing the shoulder of the other. And still, with help from Icingdeath, Drizzt ignored the blistering heat that radiated from the beasts.
The wounded salamander scrambled to put some ground between itself and the drow, trying to realign its weapon and find some measure of defense.
Before Drizzt could pursue, another form flew past from on high. Dahlia descended from her vault with a flying kick to the side of the monster’s head, throwing it to the ground. As she landed, straddling it, the elf woman sent her long staff into a sudden spin then drove it straight down and through the creature. When the metal struck the stone beneath, Kozah’s Needle let loose a blast of powerful lightning.
Holding it in one extended hand, her other arm out wide the other way, Dahlia seemed to bask in that energy, that power. She threw her head back, her eyes closed and her mouth wide, an expression of pure ecstasy on her fair face.
Drizzt couldn’t tear his eyes from her! If another enemy had crept in and charged at him, he surely would have been cut down!
Dahlia held the pose for a long while, and Drizzt stared at her through it all.
“We have a problem,” came a call, Jarlaxle’s voice, breaking the trance of both.
“He couldn’t summon the elemental?” Drizzt asked.
“The bowl is in place,” Jarlaxle replied. “Eight of ten. But the ninth placard is destroyed, as is the alcove behind it.”
Drizzt and Dahlia exchanged a concerned glance then followed Jarlaxle from the corridor and through the few small rooms back to the wider hall where Bruenor and Athrogate waited—waited with hands on hips, staring at an impenetrable pile of rubble and a collapsed wall.
“Was here,” Bruenor insisted. “Ain’t no more.”
“What does this mean?” Dahlia asked. “Can we not put the beast back in its hole?”
“Bah, but nine water monsters’ll do it then!” Athrogate bellowed.
The others looked at him.
“Ain’t no choice to it!” he answered with strength and conviction. To the side of him lay two dead salamanders, both swatted down by Athrogate when first they’d entered the room. To put a true exclamation point at the end of his proclamation, the dwarf spat upon the dead creatures then gave a hearty, “Bwahaha!” and thumped King Bruenor on the shoulder.
And to Drizzt’s surprise, Bruenor thumped Athrogate right back.
“Come on, then!” King Bruenor declared. “The devil worshipers can’t stop us, the fire worshipers can’t stop us, and not this primor … this prim … this volcano beast’ll be stoppin’ us neither! I got me one more water monster to set and a big lever to pull, and let all the world know that Gauntlgrym’s ghosts’ll be restin’ easy once more!”
And off they went. It did Drizzt’s heart good to see his old friend so animated and boisterous and full of fire, and he watched Bruenor for a long while. Gradually, though, his gaze slipped back to Dahlia, who walked quietly at his side. He noticed then three marks in her right ear, just above the single diamond stud set there.
Three missing earrings?
There was a story there, Drizzt knew, and he was surprised once again by the enigmatic woman, and by his own reaction to her, when he realized how much he wanted to hear that tale.
The sound of water rushing over their heads had all the Ashmadai looking up with alarm.
“The magic returns!” Valindra cried. “The Hosttower answers the call of our enemies!”
“What does it mean?” the Ashmadai commander begged.
“It means that you will fail, and your Dread Ring will not sing the praise of Asmodeus,” Beealtimatuche the pit fiend growled, and all save Valindra shrank back from the sheer power in the devil’s angry voice.
“Nay,” Valindra corrected, and she held forth her scepter to silence any further dissent from the fiend. “It means that we must press on with more speed.”
“Straight to the Forge,” offered the Ashmadai leader, who had been there those years before when Sylora had arrived to bolster the faltering Dahlia.
A huge bat came rushing up the corridor at them then, and flipped over itself in the air right before Valindra and Beealtimatuche, elongating as it came around to assume the human form of Dor’crae once more, his face a mask of concern.
“The water …” Valindra warned, but Dor’crae shook his head.
“Our enemies block the way,” he explained. “The primordial’s minions—not Dahlia’s troupe.”
“Then they die!” Beealtimatuche roared, and all the zealots cheered.
But Dor’crae was still shaking his head.
“They have a dragon,” he explained. “A red dragon.”
With a stomp of his clawed foot that gouged the floor and shook the walls of the corridor, the pit fiend stormed away, and how the cultists scrambled to get out of his path. And when one was too slow, the devil swatted her aside with his great fiery mace, mulching her shoulder, igniting her leathers and hair, and throwing her into the wall with a sickening crunch of her every bone.
She slumped into an almost formless mass of blood and burning flesh.
And the Ashmadai cheered.
Chapter 23 - Josi … Josi Puddles
DAHLIA GRIPPED HER TRI-STAFF TIGHTLY, READY TO SPRING OUT AND throttle whomever or whatever approached the small room in which she waited with the dwarves.
She relaxed when Drizzt came through the archway.
“Our enemies are close,” he warned her. “Ahead of us in every corridor and chamber.”
From just outside the room’s other door, the one through which the five had entered, Jarlaxle replied, “And they’re not far behind, as well.”
“We’re to be fighting again, then,” said Dahlia, and she didn’t show a hint of regret or fear at that thought. She nodded to Drizzt, who returned her confident look.
“All the way to the Forge o’ Gauntlgrym,” Athrogate agreed. “If a hunnerd lizard boys stand in me way, a hunnerd lizard boys’ll die! Eh, King Bruenor?” he added, and he turned and slapped Bruenor on the shoulder.
Bruenor, busy inspecting the wall, just grunted.
“We should move on swiftly,” Drizzt said. “We’ll not want those behind catching us while we’re fighting those ahead.”
He moved back to the archway, Dahlia right behind him. Jarlaxle entered from across the way and moved to join them, then Athrogate joined as well, after another clap on Bruenor’s shoulder.
But Bruenor didn’t even grunt in response, one hand lifted to feel the texture of the carved relief on the chamber’s stone wall.
“Bruenor,” Drizzt called. “We must move.”
The dwarf waved his hand at them dismissively, and studied the wall more intently. His mind drifted back across the centuries, to the revelations of the magical throne.
This is the room, he thought. It has to be the room. If I can only find the catch!
Noise from the tunnel they had just descended entered the hall.
“Bruenor,” Drizzt said, but more quietly. He rushed over to join the dwarf. “Come,” he bade his friend, and he put his hand on Bruenor’s strong shoulder. “Our enemies near. We must be gone.”
“Aye, be gone,” the irritated dwarf grumbled back. He pressed his hand more strongly on the wall, hoping he wasn’t about to spring a deadly trap.
Was it possible that the centuries of idleness had ruined the mechanisms? The thought rattled Bruenor. It was Gauntlgrym, after all, the pinnacle of dwarven civilization.
“Dwarves build things to last,” he said aloud.
“Build what?”
Finally Bruenor did look up at Drizzt, and he motioned his chin back to the wall and stepped aside. Drizzt moved in quickly. He wasn’t exactly sure what he might be looking for. Bruenor had revealed nothing of the reasons for his interest in that particular bas relief, and Gauntlgrym teemed with such carvings.
The drow stared at the carving for a few heartbeats. The others soon came over, pleading with the pair to lead the way out of the small chamber, which was seeming more and more like a trap—or a tomb—than anything else.
Drizzt shook his head, not to answer those complaints, but simply because he saw no anomalies in the relief, not a hint of anything out of place. He closed his eyes, spread both his hands up in front of him, and gently ran his fingers along the wall. The drow opened his eyes and a curious grin came upon him.
“What d’ye know?” Bruenor asked.
Drizzt removed one hand from the wall, then all but one finger of his other hand. He moved the remaining contact up a bit, then slowly slid it back to its original place, and his smile grew with confidence.
Bruenor lifted his hand and Drizzt moved his own aside.
The dwarf closed his eyes and felt for the spot. “Clever dwarf,” he whispered, referring to the craftsman who had constructed that particular mechanism.
There was no seam. There was no mark of color or shape. In that one spot, at one point no bigger than the tip of a stubby dwarf finger, the wall was not made of stone, but of metal.
Bruenor turned his finger to get his nail against the spot, and pushed hard.
“Lead,” he announced.
“It’s a cover plate,” said Drizzt.
“Aye, one to be melted.” They both turned to Jarlaxle, who always seemed to have all the answers.
“Melted?” Drizzt asked, skeptical. “We could build a fire and heat some makeshift poker, but we’ve not the time to bring something to that temperature.”
“What’s behind it?” asked Dahlia.
“Our escape, if I’m readin’ their faces right,” Athrogate said.
Bruenor looked at the wall, and at Drizzt, who seemed just as perplexed as to how they might get through it. Back in the hall, more sounds echoed, their enemies obviously nearing the chamber.
“Mark it,” Drizzt instructed. He stepped away, and as he did, he revealed his plan as he slid Taulmaril from his shoulder.
Bruenor glanced around, and patted his pockets and his pack, trying to figure out how he might do that. He produced one of his maps and tore a piece from its corner, plopping it into his mouth. He rushed back to the spot in front of the wall and gently felt the surface again, chewing all the while. When he had the spot, he spat the wet parchment into his hand, pressed it into place, and stepped aside.
Drizzt already had an arrow fitted to the bowstring. He drew level and took careful and steady aim.
He fired, and a flash of lightning illuminated the room. The enchanted missile hit the mark. It melted the paper first then drilled right through the lead cover and right into the catch behind, ruining it forever. Both drow and dwarf knew it to be a risk, for in doing that, had Drizzt also forever sealed the secret door?
They heard rocks sliding somewhere behind the wall, though whether that was a promising sign or a portent of doom, they couldn’t be sure.
But then the stone groaned before them as the counterweights took hold in some unseen mechanism. The hatch fell in slightly, revealing the outline of a dwarf-sized doorway. Dust slipped from all edges and a musty smell, an old smell, filled their nostrils. With a great groan of protest, the secret door slid aside, disappearing into the right-hand wall.