CHAPTER 27

TRUST, AND VERIFY

This Toogwik Tuk is aggressive,” Grguch said to Hakuun, and to Jack, though of course Grguch didn’t know that. They stood off to the side of the gathering force as it realigned itself for a march to the west. “He would have us wage war with Obould.”

“He claims that Obould would wage war with us,” the shaman agreed after a quick internal dialogue with Jack.

Grguch grinned as if nothing in the world would please him more. “I like this Toogwik Tuk,” he said. “He speaks with Gruumsh.”

“Are you not curious as to why Obould halted his march?” Hakuun asked, though the question had originated with Jack. “His reputation is for ferocity, but he builds walls instead of tearing them down.”

“He fears rivals,” Grguch assumed. “Or he has grown comfortable. He walks away from Gruumsh.”

“You do not intend to convince him otherwise.”

Grguch grinned even more wickedly. “I intend to kill him and take his armies. I speak to Gruumsh, and I will please Gruumsh.”

“Your message will be blunt, or coaxed at first?”

Grguch looked at the shaman curiously then motioned with his chin toward a bag set off to the side, a sack that held Oktule’s head.

A wry smile widened on Hakuun’s face. “I can strengthen the message,” he promised, and Grguch was pleased.

Hakuun looked back over his shoulder and spoke a few arcane words, strung together with dramatic inflection. Jack had predicted all of it, and had already worked the primary magic for it. Out of the shadows walked Oktule, headless and grotesque. The animated zombie strode stiff-legged to the sack and shifted aside the flaps. It stood straight a moment later and moved slowly toward the pair, cradling its lost head in both hands at its midsection.

Hakuun looked to Grguch and shrugged sheepishly. The chieftain laughed.

“Blunt,” he said. “I only wish that I might view Obould’s face when the message is delivered.”

Inside Hakuun’s head, Jack whispered, and Hakuun echoed to Grguch, “It can be arranged.”

Grguch laughed even louder.

With a bellow of “Kokto Gung Karuck,” Grguch’s orc force, a thousand strong and growing, began its march to the west, the clan of the Wolf Jaw taking the southern flank, Clan Karuck spearheading the main mass.

In the very front walked the zombie Oktule, holding a message for Obould.

They heard the resonating grumble of “Kokto Gung Karuck,” and from a high mountain ridge not far northeast of Mithral Hall, Drizzt, Bruenor, and the others saw the source of that sound, the march of Clan Karuck and its allies.

“It is Grguch,” Tos’un told the group. “The conspirators are leading him to Obould.”

“To fight him?” Bruenor asked.

“Or to convince him,” said Tos’un.

Bruenor snorted at him, but Tos’un just looked at Drizzt and Hralien and shook his head, unwilling to concede the point.

“Obould has shown signs that he wishes to halt his march,” Drizzt dared say.

“Tell it to the families of me boys who died at the wall a couple o’ nights ago, elf,” Bruenor growled.

“That was Grguch, perhaps,” Drizzt offered, careful to add the equivocation.

“That was orcs,” Bruenor shot back. “Orcs is orcs is orcs, and th’ only thing they’re good for is fertilizing the fields. Might that their rotting bodies’ll help grow trees to cover the scars in yer Moonwood,” he added, addressing Hralien, who blanched and rocked back on his heels.

“To cover the blood of Innovindil,” Bruenor added, glaring at Drizzt.

But Drizzt didn’t back from the stinging comment. “Information is both our weapon and our advantage,” he said. “We would do well to learn more of this march, its purpose, and where it might turn next.” He looked down and to the north, where the black swarm of Grguch’s army was clear to see along the rocky hills. “Besides, our trails parallel anyway.”

Bruenor waved his hand dismissively and turned away, Pwent following him back to the food spread out at the main encampment.

“We need to get closer to them,” Drizzt told the remaining half a dozen. “We need to learn the truth of their march.”

Regis took a deep breath as Drizzt finished, for he felt the weight of the task on his shoulders.

“The little one will be killed,” Tos’un said to Drizzt, using the drow language, Low Drow, that only he and Drizzt understood.

Drizzt looked at him hard.

“They are warriors, fierce and alert,” Tos’un explained.

“Regis is more than he seems,” Drizzt replied in the same Under-dark language.

“So is Grguch.” As he finished, Tos’un glanced at Hralien, as if to invite Drizzt to speak to the elf for confirmation.

“Then I will go,” said Drizzt.

“There is a better way,” Tos’un replied. “I know of one who can walk right in and speak with the conspirators.”

That gave Drizzt pause, an expression of doubt clouding his face and obvious to everyone nearby.

“Ye plannin’ to tell us what ye’re talking about?” Torgar said impatiently.

Drizzt looked at him then back at Tos’un. He nodded, to both.

After a brief private conversation with Cordio, Drizzt pulled Tos’un off to the side to join the priest.

“Ye sure?” Cordio asked Drizzt when they were alone. “Ye’re just gonna have to kill him.”

Tos’un tensed at the words, and Drizzt fought hard to keep the smile from his face.

“He might be full o’ more information that we can coax out o’ him,” Cordio went on, playing his role perfectly. “Might be that a few tendays o’ torture’ll bring us answers about Obould.”

“Or lies to stop the torture,” Drizzt replied, but he ended the forthcoming debate with an upraised hand, for it didn’t matter anyway. “I am sure,” he said simply, and Cordio heaved an “oh-if-I-must” sigh, the perfect mix of disgust and resignation.

Cordio began to chant and slowly dance around the startled Tos’un. The dwarf cast a spell—a harmless dweomer that would have cured any diseases that Tos’un might have contracted, though of course, Tos’un didn’t know that, and recognized only that the dwarf had sent some magical energy into his body. Another harmless spell followed, then a third, and with each casting, Cordio narrowed his eyes and sharpened his inflection just a bit more, making it all seem quite sinister.

“The arrow,” the dwarf commanded, holding a hand out toward Drizzt though his intense stare never left Tos’un.

“What?” Drizzt asked, and Cordio snapped his fingers impatiently. Drizzt recovered quickly and drew an arrow from his magical quiver, handing it over as demanded.

Cordio held it up before his face and chanted. He waggled the fingers of his free hand over the missile’s wicked tip. Then he moved it toward Tos’un, who shrank back but did not retreat. The dwarf lifted the arrow up to Tos’un’s head then lowered it.

“The head, or the heart?” he asked, turning to Drizzt.

Drizzt looked at him curiously.

“Telled ye it was a good spell,” Cordio lied. “Not that it’ll much matter with that durned bow o’ yers. Blast his head from his shoulders or take out half his chest? Yer choice.”

“The head,” said the amused drow. “No, the chest. Shoot center mass….”

“Ye can’t miss either way,” the dwarf promised.

Tos’un stared hard at Drizzt.

“Cordio has placed an enchantment upon you,” Drizzt explained as Cordio continued to chant and wave the arrow before Tos’un’s slender chest. The dwarf ended by tapping the arrowhead against the drow, right over his heart.

“This arrow is now attuned to you,” Drizzt said, taking the arrow from the dwarf. “If it is shot, it will find your heart, unerringly. You cannot dodge it. You cannot deflect it. You cannot block it.”

Tos’un’s look was skeptical.

“Show ’im, elf,” Cordio said.

Drizzt hesitated for effect.

“We’re shielded from the damned orcs,” the priest insisted. “Show ’im.”