"They will speak with their axes and their bows. They will answer with fury, and nothing more."
"You said that you have not been to Mithral Hall."
"Need I return to a place and people I know so well to anticipate the course of Clan Battlehammer?"
"This is beyond Clan Battlehammer," said Obould, and Drizzt could see that his smile had disappeared. With a growl, the orc king kicked the squirming Fender, sending the dwarf flying off the back side of the stone and bouncing down a short descending path.
The sudden surge of anger caught the drow off guard.
"You wish for a parlay with Mithral Hall?" Drizzt stated as much as asked, and he didn't even try to keep the surprise out of his voice.
Obould stared at him hatefully through the glassy eye-plates.
Questions came at Drizzt from every corner of his mind. If Obould desired a parlay, could it be that the war was at its end? If Drizzt battled the orc king, would he be showing disloyalty to Bruenor and his people, given that he might have just witnessed a sliver of hope that the war could be ended?
"You will return to your mountain homes?" Drizzt blurted, even as the question formulated in his thoughts.
Obould scoffed at him. "Look around you, drow," he said. "This is my home now. My kingdom! When you fly on your pet, you see the greatness of Obould. You see the Kingdom of Dark Arrows. Remember that name for the last minutes of your life. You die in Dark Arrows, Drizzt Do'Urden, and will be eaten by birds on a mountainside in the home of King Obould." He ended with a snarl and lifted his greatsword up before him, beginning a determined approach.
"Who is your second?" Drizzt asked, the unexpected words halting
Obould. "For when you are dead, I will need to know. Perhaps that orc will be wiser than Obould and will see that he has no place here, among the dwarves, the elves, and the humans. Or if not, I will kill him, too, and speak with his second."
Drizzt saw Obould's eyes widen behind the glassy plates, and with a roar that shook the stones, Obould leaped ahead, stabbing ferociously with his powerful sword, the blade bursting into flame as he thrust.
Out snapped Icingdeath, in the blink of a drow eye, the enchanted weapon slapping across the greatsword, extinguishing the fires in an angry puff of smoke as Drizzt hopped to the side. He could have struck with Khazid'hea, for Obould, in his supreme confidence, had abandoned all semblance of defense in the assault. But Drizzt held the attack.
The greatsword came slashing across, predictably, forcing the drow into a fast retreat. Had he taken that first opening and struck with his newfound sword, Drizzt would have scored a hit, but nothing substantial.
And in that instance, Obould would have recognized his unanticipated vulnerability.
Obould pressed the attack wildly, slashing and stabbing, rushing ahead, and on the high ground behind and to the side of the flat stone, orcs cheered and shouted in glee.
Drizzt measured every turn and retreat, letting the fury play out, using less energy than his outraged opponent. He wasn't trying to tire Obould, but rather to gain better insight into the orc's turns and movements, that he could better anticipate.
The greatsword flamed to life again with one feinted stab that became a sudden reversal into a downward chop, and had Drizzt not seen a similar distraction tactic used against the elf Tarathiel, he might have found himself caught by surprise. As it was, the descending greatsword met only the slap of Icingdeath, extinguishing the larger weapon's fires.
Obould came on suddenly and wildly, charging straight for the drow, who stepped left, then leaped back right, going into a roll as Obould started one way then threw himself back the other, slashing his sword across. That sword flamed to life again, and the rolling Drizzt felt the heat of those magical fires as the blade cut above him.
Drizzt came up to his feet and spun, then back-stepped and slid off to the side once more as Obould continued to press. Around and around they went, the orcs cheering and howling with every slash of Obould's sword, though he got nowhere close to hitting the elusive drow.
Neither did he show any signs of tiring, though.
Finally, Obould stopped his charge and stood glaring at Drizzt from behind the flames of the upraised greatsword.