Looking back at Tos’un, Drizzt still saw doubt, and that he could not allow. He drew Taulmaril from his shoulder, replaced the “enchanted” arrow in his quiver and took out a different one. As he set it, he turned and targeted, then let fly at a distant boulder.

The magical bolt split the air like a miniature lightning bolt, flashing fast and true. It cracked into the stone and blasted through with a sharp retort that had Regis and the other dwarves jumping with surprise. It left only a smoking hole in the stone where it had hit.

“The magic of the surface dwellers is strange and powerful, do not doubt,” Drizzt warned his fellow drow.

“Ye ain’t got a chest plate thick enough,” Cordio added, and he tossed an exaggerated wink at Tos’un then turned with a great laugh and ambled away.

“What is this about?” Tos’un asked in the drow tongue.

“You wish to play the role of scout, so I will let you.”

“But with the specter of death walking beside me.”

“Of course,” said Drizzt. “Were it just me, I might trust you.”

Tos’un tilted his head, curious, trying to get a measure of Drizzt.

“Fool that I am,” Drizzt added. “But it is not just me, and if I am to entrust you with this, I need to ensure that my friends will not be harmed by my decision. You hinted that you can walk right into their camp.”

“The conspirators know that I am no friend of Obould’s.”

“Then I will allow you to prove your worth. Go and learn what you may. I will be near, bow in hand.”

“To kill me if I deceive you.”

“To ensure the safety of my friends.”

Tos’un began to slowly shake his head.

“You will not go?” Drizzt asked.

“You need not do any of this, but I understand,” Tos’un replied. “I will go as I offered. You will come to know that I am not deceiving you.”

By the time the two dark elves got back to the rest of the group, Cordio had informed the others of what had transpired, and of the plan going forward. Bruenor stood with his hands on his hips, clearly unconvinced, but he merely gave a “harrumph” and turned away, letting Drizzt play out his game.

The two drow set off from the others after nightfall, moving through the shadows with silent ease. They picked their way toward the main orc encampment, dodging guards and smaller camps, and always with Tos’un several steps in the lead. Drizzt followed with Taulmaril in hand, the deadly “enchanted” arrow set on its string—at least, Drizzt hoped he had taken out the same arrow Cordio had played with, or that if he had not, Tos’un hadn’t noticed.

As they neared the main group, crossing along the edge of a clearing that was centered by a large tree, Drizzt whispered for Tos’un to stop. Drizzt paused for a few heartbeats, hearing the rhythm of the night. He waved for Tos’un to follow out to the tree. Up Drizzt went, so gracefully that it seemed as if he had walked along a fallen log rather than up a vertical trunk. On the lowest branch, he paused and looked around then turned his attention on Tos’un below.

Drizzt dropped a sword belt, both of Tos’un’s weapons sheathed.

You would trust me? the son of House Barrison Del’Armgo signaled up with his fingers, using the intricate silent language of the drow.

Drizzt’s answer was simple, and reflected on his impassive expression. I have nothing to lose. I care nothing for that sword—it destroys more than it helps. You will drop it and your other blade to the ground when you return to the tree, or I will retrieve it from the grasp of the dying orc who took it from you after I put an arrow through your heart.

Tos’un stared at him long and hard, but had no retort against the simple and straightforward logic. He looked down at the sword belt, at the hilt of Khazid’hea, and truly he was glad to have the sword back in hand.

He disappeared into the darkness a moment later, and Drizzt could only hope that his guess regarding Tos’un’s veracity had been correct. For there had been no spell, of course, Cordio’s grand exhibition being no more than an elaborate ruse.

Tos’un was truly torn as he crossed the orc lines to the main encampment. Known by the Wolf Jaw orcs sprinkled among the Clan Karuck sentries, he had no trouble moving in, and found Dnark and Ung-thol easily enough.

“I have news,” he told the pair.

Dnark and Ung-thol exchanged suspicious looks. “Then speak it,” Ung-thol bade him.

“Not here.” Tos’un glanced around, as if expecting to find spies behind every rock or tree. “It is too important.”

Dnark studied him for a few moments. “Get Toogwik…” he started to say to Ung-thol, but Tos’un cut him short.

“No. For Dnark and Ung-thol alone.”

“Regarding Obould.”

“Perhaps,” was all the drow would answer, and he turned and started away. With another look at each other, the two orcs followed him into the night, all the way back to the edge of the field where Drizzt Do’Urden waited in a tree.

“My friends are watching,” Tos’un said, loudly enough for Drizzt, with his keen drow senses, to hear.

Drizzt tensed and drew back Taulmaril, wondering if he was about to be revealed.

Tos’un would die first, he decided.

“Your friends are dead,” Dnark replied.

“Three are,” said Tos’un.

“You have made others. I salute you.”

Tos’un shook his head with disgust at the pathetic attempt at sarcasm, wondering why he had ever suffered such creatures to live.

“There is a sizable drow force beneath us,” he explained, and the two orcs, predictably, blanched. “Watching us—watching you.”

He let that hang there for a few heartbeats, watching the two shift uncomfortably.

“Before she died, Kaer’lic called to them, to Menzoberranzan, my home. There was glory and wealth to be found, she promised them, and that call from a priestess of Lady Lolth could not go unheeded. And so they have come, to watch and to wait, at first. You are advancing toward Obould.”

“Ob—King Obould,” Dnark corrected rather stiffly, “has summoned Chieftain Grguch to his side.”

Tos’un wore a knowing grin. “The drow hold no love for Obould,” he explained, and indeed, it seemed to Drizzt as if the orc chieftain relaxed a bit at that.

“You go to pay fealty? Or to wage war?”

The two orcs looked at each other again.

“King Obould summoned Clan Karuck, and so we go,” Ung-thol said with clear determination.

“Grguch attacked the Moonwood,” Tos’un replied. “Grguch attacked Mithral Hall. Without Obould’s permission. He will not be pleased.”

“Perhaps…” Dnark started.

“He will not be pleased at all,” Tos’un interrupted. “You know this. It is why you brought Clan Karuck forth from their deep hole.”

“Obould has no heart for the fight,” Dnark said with a sudden sneer. “He has lost the words of Gruumsh. He would barter and…” He stopped and took a deep breath, and Ung-thol picked up the thought.

“Perhaps the presence of Grguch will inspire Obould and remind him of his duty to Gruumsh,” the shaman said.

“It will not,” said Tos’un. “And so my people watch and wait. If Obould wins, we will travel back to the lower Underdark. If Grguch prevails, perhaps there is cause for us to come forth.”

“And if Obould and Grguch join together to sweep the north-land?” Dnark asked.

Tos’un laughed at the preposterous statement.

Dnark laughed, too, after a moment.

“Obould has forgotten the will of Gruumsh,” Dnark said bluntly. “He sent an emissary to parlay with the dwarves, to beg forgiveness for Grguch’s attack.”

Tos’un could not hide his surprise.

“An emissary who never arrived, of course,” the orc chieftain explained.

“Of course. And so Grguch and Dnark will remind Obould?”

The orc didn’t reply.

“You will kill Obould, and replace him with Grguch, for the will of Gruumsh?”

No answer again, but it was apparent from the posture and expressions of the two orcs that the last remark hit closer to the truth.