For a week straight, the companions stopped only when weariness or hunger forced a break in the march, for they were anxious to be as far from Blingdenstone―and from those hunting Drizzt―as possible. Still, another full week would pass before the companions moved out into tunnels that Belwar did not know. The deep gnome had been a burrow-warden for almost fifty years, and he had led many of Blingdenstone’s farthest-reaching mining expeditions.
“This place is known to me,” Belwar often remarked when they entered a cavern. “Took a wagon of iron,” he would say, or mithril, or a multitude of other precious minerals that Drizzt had never even heard of. And, though the burrow-warden’s extended tales of those mining expeditions all ran in basically the same direction―how many ways can a deep gnome chop stone? Drizzt always listened intently, savoring every word.
He knew the alternative.
For his part in the storytelling, Drizzt recounted his adventures in Menzoberranzan’s Academy and his many fond memories of Zaknafein and the training gym. He showed Belwar the double-thrust low and how the pupil had discovered a parry to counter the attack, to his mentor’s surprise and pain. Drizzt displayed the intricate hand and facial combinations of the silent drow code, and he briefly entertained the notion of teaching the language to Belwar. The deep gnome promptly burst into loud and rolling laughter. His dark eyes looked incredulously at Drizzt, and he led the drow’s gaze down to the ends of his arms. With a hammer and pickaxe for hands, the svirfneblin could hardly muster enough gestures to make the effort worthwhile. Still, Belwar appreciated that Drizzt had offered to teach him the silent code. The absurdity of it all gave them both a fine laugh.
Guenhwyvar and the deep gnome also became friends during those first couple of weeks on the trail. Often, Belwar would fall into a deep slumber only to be awakened by prickling in his legs, fast asleep under the weight of six hundred pounds of panther. Belwar always grumbled and swatted Guenhwyvar on the rump with his hammer-hand―it became a game between the two―but Belwar truly didn’t mind the panther being so close. In fact, Guenhwyvar’s mere presence made sleep―which always left one so vulnerable in the wilds―much easier to come by.
“Do you understand?” Drizzt whispered to Guenhwyvar one day. Off to the side, Belwar was fast asleep, flat on his back on the stone, using a rock for a pillow. Drizzt shook his head in continued amazement when he studied the little figure. He was beginning to suspect that the deep gnomes carried their affinity with the earth a bit too far.
“Go get him.” he prompted the cat.
Guenhwyvar lumbered over and plopped across the burrow-warden’s legs. Drizzt moved away into the shielding entrance of a tunnel to watch.
Only a few minutes later, Belwar awoke with a snarl. “Magga cammara, panther!” the deep gnome growled. “Why must you always bed down on me, instead of beside me?” Guenhwyvar shifted slightly but let out only a deep sigh in response. “Magga cammara, cat!” Belwar roared again. He wiggled his toes frantically, trying futilely to keep the circulation going and dismiss the tingles that had already begun. “Away with you!” The burrow-warden propped himself up on one elbow and swung his hammer hand at Guenhwyvar’s backside.
Guenhwyvar sprang away in feigned flight, quicker than Belwar’s swat. But just as the burrow-warden relaxed, the panther cut back on its tracks, pivoted completely, and leaped atop Belwar, burying him and pinning him flat to the stone.
After a few moments of struggling, Belwar managed to get his face out from under Guenhwyvar’s muscled chest.
“Get yourself off me or suffer the consequences!” the deep gnome growled, obviously an empty threat. Guenhwyvar shifted, getting a bit more comfortable in its perch.
“Dark elf!” Belwar called as loudly as he dared. “Dark elf, take your panther away. Dark elf!”
“Greetings,” Drizzt answered, walking in from the tunnel as though he had only just arrived. “Are you two playing again? I had thought my time as sentry near to its end.”
“Your time has passed,” replied Belwar, but the svirfneblin’s words were muffled by thick black fur as Guenhwyvar shifted again. Drizzt could see Belwar’s long, hooked nose, though, crinkle up in irritation.
“Oh, no, no,” said Drizzt. “I am not so tired. I would not think of interrupting your game. I know that you both enjoy it so.” He walked by, giving Guenhwyvar a complimentary pat on the head and a sly wink as he passed.
“Dark elf!” Belwar grumbled at his back as Drizzt departed. But the drow kept going, and Guenhwyvar, with Drizzt’s blessings, soon fell fast asleep.
Drizzt crouched low and held very still, letting his eyes go through the dramatic shift from infravision―viewing the heat of objects in the infrared spectrum―to normal vision in the realm of light. Even before the transformation was completed, Drizzt could tell that his guess had been correct. Ahead, beyond a low natural archway, came a red glow. The drow held his position, deciding to let Belwar catch up to him before he went to investigate. Only a moment later, the dimmer glow of the deep gnome’s enchanted brooch came into view.
“Put out the light,” Drizzt whispered, and the brooch’s glow disappeared.
Belwar crept along the tunnel to join his companion. He, too, saw the red glow beyond the archway and understood Drizzt’s caution. “Can you bring the panther?” the burrow-warden asked quietly.
Drizzt shook his head. “The magic is limited by spans of time. Walking the material plane tires Guenhwyvar. The panther needs to rest.”
“Back the way we came, we could go.” Belwar suggested. “Perhaps there is another tunnel around.”
“Five miles,” replied Drizzt, considering the length of the unbroken passageway behind them. “Too long.”
“Then let us see what is ahead,” the burrow-warden reasoned, and he started boldly off. Drizzt liked Belwar’s straightforward attitude and quickly joined him.
Beyond the archway, which Drizzt had to crouch nearly double to get under, they found a wide and high cavern, its floor and walls covered in a mosslike growth that emitted the red light. Drizzt pulled up short, at a loss, but Belwar recognized the stuff well enough.
“Baruchies!” the burrow-warden blurted, the word turning into a chuckle. He turned to Drizzt and, not seeing any reaction to his smile, explained. “Crimson spitters, dark elf. Not for decades have I seen such a patch of the stuff. Quite a rare sight they are, you know.”
Drizzt, still at a loss, shook the tenseness out of his muscles and shrugged, then started forward. Belwar’s pick-hand hooked him under the arm, and the powerful deep gnome spun him back abruptly.
“Crimson spitters,” the burrow-warden said again, pointedly emphasizing the latter of the words. “Magga cammara, dark elf, how did you get along through the years?”
Belwar turned to the side and slammed his hammer-hand into the wall of the archway, taking off a fair-sized chunk of stone. He scooped this up in the flat of his pick-hand and flipped it off to the side of the cavern. The stone hit the red-glowing fungus with a soft thud, then a burst of smoke and spores blasted into the air.
“Spit,” explained Belwar, “and choke you to death will the spore! If you plan to cross here, walk lightly, my brave, foolish friend.”
Drizzt scratched his unkempt white locks and considered the predicament. He had no desire to return the five miles down the tunnel, but neither did he plan to go plodding through this field of red death. He stood tall just inside the archway and looked around for some solution. Several stones, a possible walkway, rose up out of the baruchies, and beyond them lay a trail of clear stone about ten feet wide running perpendicular to the archway across the chasm.
“We can make it through,” he told Belwar. “There is a clear path.”
“There always is in a field of baruchies,” the burrow-warden replied under his breath. Drizzt’s keen ears caught the comment. “What do you mean?” he asked, springing agilely out to the first of the raised stones.
“A grubber is about,” the deep gnome explained.
“Or has been.”
“A grubber?” Drizzt prudently hopped back to stand beside the burrow-warden.
“Big caterpillar,” Belwar explained. “Grubbers love baruchies. They are the only things the crimson spitters do not seem to bother.”
“How big?”
“How wide was the clear path?” Belwar asked him.
“Ten feet, perhaps,” Drizzt answered, hopping back out to the first stepping stone to view it again. Belwar considered the answer for a moment. “One pass for a big grubber, two for most.” Drizzt hopped back to the side of the burrow-warden again, giving a cautious look over his shoulder. “Big caterpillar.” he remarked.
“But with a little mouth.” Belwar explained. “Grubbers eat only moss and molds―and baruchies, if they can find them. Peaceful enough creatures, all in all.”
For the third time, Drizzt sprang out to the stone. “Is there anything else I should know before I continue?” he asked in exasperation.
Belwar shook his head.
Drizzt led the way across the stones, and soon the two companions stood in the middle of the ten-foot path. It traversed the cavern and ended with the entrance to a passage on either side. Drizzt pointed both ways, wondering which direction Belwar would prefer.
The deep gnome started to the left, then stopped abruptly and peered ahead. Drizzt understood Belwar’s hesitation, for he, too, felt the vibrations in the stone under his feet.
“Grubber.” said Belwar. “Stand quiet and watch, my friend. They are quite a sight.”
Drizzt smiled wide and crouched low, eager for the entertainment. When he heard a quick shuffle behind him, though, Drizzt began to suspect that something was out of sorts.
“Where...” Drizzt began to ask when he turned about and saw Belwar in full flight toward the other exit.
Drizzt stopped speaking abruptly when an explosion like the crash of a cave-in erupted from the other way, the way he had been watching.
“Quite a sight!” he heard Belwar call, and he couldn’t deny the truth of the deep gnome’s words when the grubber made its appearance. It was huge―bigger than the basilisk Drizzt had killed―and looked like a gigantic pale gray worm, except for the multitude of little feet pumping along beside its massive torso. Drizzt saw that Belwar had not lied, for the thing had no mouth to speak of, and no talons or other apparent weapons. But the giant was coming straight at Drizzt with a vengeance now, and Drizzt couldn’t get the image of a flattened dark elf, stretched from one end of the cavern to the other, out of his mind. He reached for his scimitars, then realized the absurdity of that plan. Where would he hit the thing to slow it? Throwing his hands helplessly out wide, Drizzt spun on his heel and fled after the departing burrow-warden.
The ground shook under Drizzt’s feet so violently that he wondered if he might topple to the side and be blasted by the baruchies. But then the tunnel entrance was just ahead and Drizzt could see a smaller side passage, too small for the grubber, just outside the baruchie cavern. He darted ahead the last few strides, then cut swiftly into the small tunnel, diving into a roll to break his momentum. Still, he ricocheted hard off the wall, then the grubber slammed in behind, smashing at the tunnel entrance and dropping pieces of stone all about.
When the dust finally cleared, the grubber remained outside the passage, humming a low, growling moan and, every so often, banging its head against the stone. Belwar stood just a few feet farther in than Drizzt, the deep gnome’s arms crossed over his chest and a satisfied grin on his face.
“Peaceful enough?” Drizzt asked him, rising to his feet and shaking off the dust.
“They are indeed.” replied Belwar with a nod. “But grubbers do love their baruchies and have no mind to share the things!”
“You almost got me crushed!” Drizzt snarled at him.
Again Belwar nodded. “Mark it well, dark elf, for the next time you set your panther to sleep on me, I will surely do worse!”
Drizzt fought hard to hide his smile. His heart still pumped wildly under the influence of the adrenaline burst, but Drizzt held no anger toward his companion. He thought back to encounters he had suffered just a few months before, when he was out alone in the wilds. How different life would be with Belwar Dissengulp by his side! How much more enjoyable! Drizzt glanced back over his shoulder to the angry and stubborn grubber.
And how much more interesting!
“Come along,” the smug svirfneblin continued, starting off down the passage. “We are only making the grubber angrier by loitering in its sight.”
The passageway narrowed and turned a sharp bend just a few feet farther in. Around the bend, the companions found even more trouble, for the corridor ended in a blank stone wall. Belwar moved right up to inspect it, and it was Drizzt’s turn to cross his arms over his chest and gloat.
“You have put us in a dangerous spot, little friend.” the drow said. “An angry grubber behind, trapping us in a box corridor!”
Pressing his ear to the stone, Belwar waved Drizzt off with his hammer-hand. “Merely an inconvenience,” the deep gnome assured him. “There is another tunnel beyond―not more than seven feet.”
“Seven feet of stone.” Drizzt reminded him.
But Belwar didn’t seem concerned. “A day.” he said. “Perhaps two.” Belwar held his arms out wide and began a chant too low for Drizzt to hear clearly, though the drow realized that Belwar was engaged in some sort of spellcasting.
“Bivrip!” Belwar cried.
Nothing happened.
The burrow-warden turned back on Drizzt and did not seem disappointed. “A day.” he proclaimed again.
“What did you do?” Drizzt asked him.
“Set my hands a humming.” replied the deep gnome. Seeing that Drizzt was completely at a loss, Belwar turned on his heel and slammed his hammer-hand into the wall. An explosion of sparks brightened the small passage, blinding Drizzt. By the time the drow’s eyes could adjust to the continuing burst of Belwar’s punching and hacking, he saw that his svirfneblin companion already had ground several inches of rock into fine dust at his feet. “Magga cammara, dark elf,” Belwar cried with a wink. “You did not believe that my people would go to all the trouble of crafting such fine hands for me without putting a bit of magic into them, did you?”
Drizzt moved to the side of the passage and sat. “You are full of surprises, little friend.” he answered with a sigh of surrender.
“I am indeed!” Belwar roared, and he pounded the stone again, sending flecks flying in every direction.
They were out of the box corridor in a day, as Belwar had promised, and they set off again, traveling now―by the deep gnome’s estimation―generally north. Luck had followed them so far, and they both knew it, for they had spent two weeks in the wilds and had encountered nothing more hostile than a grubber protecting its baruchies.
A few days later, their luck changed.
“Summon the panther,” Belwar bade Drizzt as they crouched in the wide tunnel they had been traveling. Drizzt did not argue the wisdom of the burrow-warden’s request; he didn’t like the green glow ahead any more than Belwar did. A moment later, the black mist swirled and took shape, and Guenhwyvar stood beside them.
“I go first.” Drizzt said. “You both follow together, twenty steps behind.” Belwar nodded and Drizzt turned and started away. Drizzt almost expected the movement when the svirfneblin’s pickaxe-hand hooked him and turned him about.
“Be careful.” Belwar said. Drizzt only smiled in reply, touched at the sincerity in his friend’s voice and thinking again how much better it was to have a companion by his side. Then Drizzt dismissed his thoughts and moved away, letting his instincts and experience guide him.
He found the glow to be emanating from a hole in the corridor floor. Beyond it, the corridor continued but bent sharply, nearly doubling back on itself. Drizzt fell to his belly and peered down the hole. Another passage, about ten feet below him, ran perpendicular to the one he was in, opening a short way ahead into what appe
ared to be a large cavern.
“What is it?” Belwar whispered, coming up behind.
“Another corridor to a chamber,” Drizzt replied. “The glow comes from there.” He lifted his head and looked down into the ensuing darkness of the higher corridor. “Our tunnel continues,” Drizzt reasoned. “We can go right by it.”
Belwar looked down the passageway they had been traveling, noting the turn. “Doubles back,” he reasoned. “And probably comes right out at that side passage we passed an hour ago.” The deep gnome dropped to the dirt and looked into the hole.
“What would make such a glow?” Drizzt asked him, easily guessing that Belwar’s curiosity was as keen as his own. “Another form of moss?”
“None that I know,” Belwar replied.
“Shall we find out?”
Belwar smiled at him, then hooked his pick-hand on the ledge and swung over and in, dropping down to the lower tunnel. Drizzt and Guenhwyvar followed silently, the drow, scimitars in hand, again taking the lead as they moved toward the glow.
They came into a wide and high chamber, its ceiling far beyond their sight and a lake of green-glowing foul-smelling liquid bubbling and hissing twenty feet below them. Dozens of interconnected narrow stone walkways, varying from one to ten feet wide, crisscrossed the gorge, most ending at exits leading into more side corridors.
“Magga cammara,” whispered the stunned svirfneblin, and Drizzt shared that thought.
“It appears as though the floor was blasted away.” Drizzt remarked when he again found his voice.
“Melted away,” replied Belwar, guessing the liquid’s nature. He hacked off a chunk of stone at his side and, tapping Drizzt to get his attention, dropped it into the green lake. The liquid hissed as if in anger where the rock hit, eating away at the stone before it even sank from sight.