Catti-brie opened the locket and regarded the perfect image of her dear drow friend. She wondered if she should take it. With Guenhwyvar she could likely follow Drizzt anyway, if she could get on his trail, and she had kept it in the back of her mind that, when Bruenor learned the truth from Regis, the fire would come into his eyes, and he would rush off in pursuit.
Catti-brie liked that image of fiery Bruenor, wanted her father to come charging in to her aid, and to Drizzt's rescue, but that was a child's hope, she realized, unrealistic and ultimately dangerous.
Catti-brie shut the locket and snapped it up into her hand. She slipped out of Bruenor's bedroom and through his sitting room (with the red bearded dwarf still seated before the fire, his thoughts a million miles away), then rushed through the halls of the upper levels, knowing that if she didn't get on her way soon, she might lose her nerve.
Outside, she regarded the locket again and knew that in taking it, she had cut off any chances that Bruenor would follow. She was on her own.
That was how it had to be, Catti-brie decided, and she slipped the chain over her head and started down the mountain, hoping to get to Silverymoon not so long after Drizzt.
He slipped as quietly and unobtrusively as he could along the dark streets of Menzoberranzan, his heat seeing eyes glowing ruby red. All that he wanted was to get back to Jarlaxle's base, back with the drow who recognized his worth.
"Waela rivvil!" came a shrill cry from the side.
He stopped in his tracks, leaned wearily against the pile of bro ken stone near an unoccupied stalagmite mound. He had heard those words often before, always those two words, said with obvi ous derision.
"Waela rivvil!" the drow female said again, moving toward him, a russet tentacle rod in one hand, its three eight foot long arms writhing of their own accord, eagerly, as though they wanted to lash out with their own maliciousness and slap at him. At least the female wasn't carrying one of those whips of fangs, he mused, thinking of the multi snake headed weapons many of the higher ranking drow priestesses used.
He offered no resistance as she moved to stand right in front of him, respectfully lowered his eyes as Jarlaxle had taught him. He suspected that she, too, was moving through the streets inconspicu ously, why else would a drow female, powerful enough to be car rying one of those wicked rods, be crawling about the alleys of this, the lesser section of Menzoberranzan?
She issued a string of drow words in her melodic voice, too quickly for this newcomer to understand. He caught the words quarth, which meant command, and harl'iI'cik, or kneel, and expected them anyway, for he was always being commanded to kneel.
Down he went, obediently and immediately, though the drop to the hard stone pained his knees.
The drow female paced slowly about him, giving him a long look at her shapely legs, even pulling his head back so that he could stare up into her undeniably beautiful face, while she purred her name, "Jerlys."
She moved as if to kiss him, then slapped him instead, a sting ing smack on his cheek. Immediately, his hands went to his sword and dirk, but he calmed and reminded himself of the consequences.
Still the drow paced about him, speaking to herself as much as to him. "Iblith, " she said many times, the drow word for excrement, and finally he replied with the single word "abban, " which meant ally, again as Jarlaxle had coached him.
"Abban del darthiir!" she cried back, smacking him again on the back of his head, nearly knocking him flat to his face.
He didn't understand completely, but thought that dart hiir had something to do with the faeries, the surface elves. He was begin ning to figure out then that he was in serious trouble this time, and would not so easily get away from this one.
"Abban del darthiir!" Jerlys cried again, and this time her tentacle rod, and not her hand, snapped at him from behind, all three tenta cles pounding painfully into his right shoulder. He grabbed at the wound and fell flat to the stone, his right arm useless and the waves of pain rolling through him.
Jerlys struck again, at his back, but his sudden movement