“I-am-quite-good-at-getting-information.” Tephanis beamed, and silently he added, and-creating-favorable-situations!

Tephanis thought himself clever at that moment, for not only had he informed Roddy that the drow was in Montolio’s grove, but he had then arranged with King Graul for Roddy to aid them both. Graul had no love for the blind ranger, Tephanis knew, and with the drow’s presence serving as an excuse, Graul could finally persuade his shaman to bless the attack.

“Caroak will help in the fight?” Graul asked, looking suspiciously at the huge and unpredictable silver wolf.

“Of-course,” Tephanis said immediately. “It-is-in-our-interest,-too,-to-see-those-enemies-destroyed!”

Caroak, understanding every word the two exchanged, rose up and sauntered out of the cave. The guards at the entrance did not try to block his way.

“Caroak-will-rouse-the-worgs,” Tephanis explained. “A-mighty-force-will-assemble-against-the-blind-ranger. Too-long-has-he-been-an-enemy-of-Caroak.”

Graul nodded and mused privately about the coming weeks. If he could get rid of both the ranger and the drow, his valley would be more secure than it had been in many years—since before Montolio’s arrival. The ranger rarely engaged the orcs personally, but Graul knew that it was the ranger’s animal spies that always alerted the passing caravans. Graul could not remember the last time his warriors had caught a caravan unawares, the preferred orc method. If the ranger was gone, however… 

With summer, the height of the trading season, fast approaching, the orcs would prey well this year.

All that Graul needed now was confirmation from the shaman, that He-Who-Watches, the orc god Gruumsh One-eye, would bless the attack.

The new moon, a holy time for the orcs and a time when the shaman believed he could learn of the god’s pleasures, was more than two weeks away. Eager and impatient, Graul grumbled at the delay, but he knew that he would simply have to wait. Graul, far less religious than others believed, meant to attack no matter the shaman’s decision, but the crafty orc king would not openly defy the tribe’s spiritual leader unless it was absolutely necessary.

The new moon was not so far away, Graul told himself. Then he would be rid of both the blind ranger and the mysterious drow.

17. Outnumbered

“You seem troubled,” Drizzt said to Montolio when he saw the ranger standing on a rope bridge the next morning. Hooter sat in a branch above him.

Montolio, lost in thought, did not immediately answer. Drizzt thought nothing of it. He shrugged and turned away, respecting the ranger’s privacy, and took the onyx figurine out of his pocket.

“Guenhwyvar and I will go out for a short hunt,” Drizzt explained over his shoulder, “before the sun gets too high. Then I will take my rest and the panther will share the day with you.”

Still Montolio hardly heard the drow, but when the ranger noticed Drizzt placing the onyx figurine on the rope bridge, the drow’s words registered more clearly and he came out of his contemplations.

“Hold,” Montolio said, reaching a hand out. “Let the panther remain at rest.”

Drizzt did not understand. “Guenhwyvar has been gone a day and more,” he said.

“We may need Guenhwyvar for more than hunting before too long,” Montolio began to explain. “Let the panther remain at rest,”

“What is the trouble?” Drizzt asked, suddenly serious. “What has Hooter seen?”

“Last night marked the new moon,” Montolio said. Drizzt, with his new understanding of the lunar cycles, nodded.

“A holy day for the orcs,” Montolio continued. “Their camp is miles away, but I heard their cries last night.”

Again Drizzt nodded in recognition. “I heard the strains of their song, but I wondered if it might be no more than the quiet voice of the wind.”

“It was the wail of orcs,” Montolio assured him. “Every month they gather and grunt and dance wildly in their typical stupor—orcs need no potions to induce it, you know. I thought nothing of it, though they seemed overly loud. Usually they cannot be heard from here. A favorable… unfavorable… wind carried the tune in, I supposed.”

“You have since learned that there was more to the song?” Drizzt assumed.

“Hooter heard them, too,” Montolio explained. “Always watching out for me, that one.” He glanced at the owl. “He flew off to get a look.”

Drizzt also looked up at the marvelous bird, sitting puffed and proud as though it understood Montolio’s compliments. Despite, the ranger’s grave concerns, though, Drizzt had to wonder just how completely Montolio could understand Hooter, and just how completely the owl could comprehend the events around it.

“The orcs have formed a war party,” Montolio said, scratching at his bristled beard. “Graul has awakened from the long winter with a vengeance, it seems.”

“How can you know?” Drizzt asked. “Can Hooter understand their words?”

“No, no, of course not!” Montolio replied, amused at the notion.

“Then how can you know?”

“A pack of worgs came in, that much Hooter did tell me,” Montolio explained. “Orcs and worgs are not the best of friends, but they do get together when trouble is brewing. The orc celebration was a wild one last night, and with the presence of worgs, there can be little doubt.”

“Is there a village nearby?” Drizzt asked.

“None closer than Maldobar,” Montolio replied. “I doubt the orcs would go that far, but the melt is about done and caravans will be rolling through the pass, from Sundabar to Citadel Adbar and the other way around, mostly. There must be one coming from Sundabar, though I do not believe Graul would be bold enough, or stupid enough, to attack a caravan of heavily armed dwarves coming from Adbar.”

“How many warriors has the orc king?”

“Graul could collect thousands if he took the time and had the mind to do it,” Montolio said, “but that would take weeks, and Graul has never been known for his patience. Also, he wouldn’t have brought the worgs in so soon if he meant to hold off while collecting his legions. Orcs have a way of disappearing while worgs are around, and the worgs have a way of getting lazy and fat with so many orcs around, if you understand my meaning.”

Drizzt’s shudder showed that he did indeed.

“I would guess that Graul has about a hundred fighters,” Montolio went on, “maybe a dozen to a score worgs, by Hooter’s count, and probably a giant or two.”

“A considerable force to strike at a caravan,” Drizzt said, but both the drow and the ranger had other suspicions in mind. When they had first met, two months before, it had been at Graul’s expense.

“It will take them a day or two to get ready,” Montolio said after an uncomfortable pause. “Hooter will watch them more closely tonight, and I shall call on other spies as well.”

“I will go to scout on the orcs,” Drizzt added. He saw concern cross Montolio’s face but quickly dismissed it. “Many were the times that such duties fell on me as a patrol scout in Menzoberranzan,” he said. “It is a task that I feel quite secure in performing. Fear not.”

“That was in the Underdark,” Montolio reminded him.

“Is the night so different?” Drizzt replied slyly, throwing a wink and a comforting smile Montolio’s way. “We shall have our answers.”

Drizzt said his “good days” then and headed off to take his rest. Montolio listened to his friend’s retreating steps, barely a swish through the thickly packed trees, with sincere admiration and thought it a good plan.

The day passed slowly and uneventfully for the ranger. He busied himself as best he could in considering his defense plans for the grove. Montolio had never defended the place before, except once when a band of foolish thieves had stumbled in, but he had spent many hours formulating and testing different strategies, thinking it inevitable that one day Graul would grow weary of the ranger’s meddling and find the nerve to attack.