Siege of Darkness

limning selected defenders.

The remaining barbarian force did as the plan had demanded, angling between the Longriders and the area just below the second position, linking up, not with the Knights in Silver, as was originally planned, but with Berkthgar and his force.

* * * * *

High above the battle, Alustriel used all her discipline and restraint to hold herself in check. The defenders were, as expected, slicing the kobold and goblin ranks to pieces, killing the enemy in a ratio far in excess of fifty to one.

That number would have easily doubled had Alustriel loosed her magic, but she could not. The drow were waiting patiently, and she respected the powers of those evil elves enough to know that

her first attack might be her only one.

She whispered to the enchanted horses pulling the aerial chariot and moved lower, nodding grimly as she confirmed that the battle was going as anticipated. The slaughter high on the south face was complete, but the dark mass continued to flow below the struggle to the west.

Alustriel understood that many drow were among the ranks of that lower group.

The chariot swooped to the east, swiftly left the battle behind, and the Lady of Silverymoon took some comfort in the realization that the enemy lines were not so long, not so far beyond the easternmost of the defensive positions.

She came to understand why when she heard yet another battle, around the mountain, to the east. The enemy had found Mithril Hall's eastern door, had entered the complex, and was battling the dwarves within!

Flashes of lightning and bursts of fire erupted within the shadows of that low door, and the creatures that entered were not diminutive kobolds or stupid goblins. They were dark elves, many, many dark elves.

She wanted to go down there, to rush over the enemy in a magical, explosive fury, but Alustriel had to trust in Bruenor's people. The tunnels had been prepared, she knew, and the attack from outside the mountain had been expected.

Her chariot flew on, around to the north, and Alustriel thought to complete the circuit, to cut low through Keeper's Dale in the east, where the other allies, another hundred of her Knights in Silver, waited.

What she saw did not settle well, did not comfort her.

The northern face of Fourthpeak was a treacherous, barren stretch of virtually unclimbable rock faces and broken ravines that no man could pass.

Virtually unclimbable, but not to the sticky feet of giant subterranean lizards.

Berg'inyon Baenre and his elite force, the four hundred famed lizard riders of House Baenre, scrambled across that northern facing, making swift progress to the west, toward Keeper's Dale,

The waiting knights had been positioned to shore up the final defenses against the force crossing the southern face. Their charge, if

it came, would be to open up the last flank, to allow Besnell, the Longriders, and the men of Nesme and Settlestone to get into the dale, which was accessible through only one narrow pass.

The lizard-riders would get there first, Alustriel knew, and they outnumbered the waiting knights—and they were drow.

* * * * *

The easternmost position was surrendered. The barbarians, or what remained of their ranks, ran fast to the west, crossing behind the Knights in Silver to join Berkthgar.

After they had crossed, Besnell turned his force to the west as well, pushing Berkthgar's force, which had swelled to include nearly every living warrior from Settlestone, ahead.

The leader of the Knights in Silver began to think that Berkthgar's error would not be so devastating, that the retreat could proceed as planned. He found a high plateau and surveyed the area, nodding grimly as he noted that the enemy force below had rolled around the first three positions.

Besnell's eyes widened, and he gasped aloud as he realized the exact location of the leading edge of that dark cloud. The Riders of Nesme had missed their call! They had to get down the mountainside quickly, to hold that flank, and yet, for some reason, they had hesitated and the leading edge of the enemy force seemed beyond the fourth, and last, position.

Now the Riders of Nesme did come, and their full-out charge down the smoothest stone of the south face was indeed devastating, the forty horsemen trampling thrice that number of kobolds in mere moments.

But the enemy had that many to spare, Besnell knew, and many more beyond that. The plan had called for an organized retreat to the west, to Keeper's Dale, even in through Mithril Hall's western door if need be.

It was a good plan, but now the flank was lost and the way to the west was closed.

Part 5 OLD KINGS AND OLD QUEENS

They came as an army, but not so. Eight thousand dark elvesand a larger number of humanoid slaves, a mighty and massive force, swarmed toward Mithril Hall.

The descriptions are fitting in terms of sheer numbersand strength, and yet «army» and «force» imply something more, a senseof cohesion and collective purpose. Certainly the drow are among the finestwarriors in the Realms, trained to fight from the youngest age, alone or ingroups, and certainly the purpose seems clear when the war is racial, whenit is drow battling dwarves. Yet, though their tactics are perfect, groupsworking in unison to support each other, that cohesion among drow ranksremains superficial.

Few, if any, dark elves of Lloth's army would give her or his life to saveanother, unless she or he was confident that the sacrifice would guarantee aplace of honor in the afterlife at the Spider Queen's side. Only a fanatic among the dark elves would take a hit, however minor, to spare another's life, and only because that fanatic thought the act in her own best interest.The drow came crying for the glory of the Spider Queen, but, in reality,they each were looking for a piece of her glory.

Personal gain was always the dark elves' primary precept.

That was the difference between the defenders of Mithril Hall andthose who came to conquer. That was the one hope of our side when faced with such horrendous odds, outnumbered by skilled drow warriors!

If a single dwarf came to a battle in which his comrades were beingoverrun, he would roar in defiance and charge in headlong, however terrible the odds. Yet if we could catch a group of drow, a patrol, perhaps, in anambush, those supporting groups flanking their unfortunate comradeswould not join in unless they could be assured of victory.

We, not they, had true collective purpose. We, not they, understoodcohesion, fought for a shared higher principle, and understood and accepted

that any sacrifice we might make would be toward the greater good.

There is a chamber — many chambers, actually — in Mithril Hall,where the heroes of wars and past struggles are honored. Wulfgar's hammer is there; so was the bow — the bow of an elf—that Catti-brie put intoservice once more. Though she has used the bow for years, and has addedconsiderably to its legend, Catti-brie refers to it still as 'the bow ofAnariel,' that long-dead elf. If the bow is put into service again by a friendof Clan Battlehammer centuries hence, it will be called 'the bow of Catti-brie, passed from Anariel. '

There is in Mithril Hall another place, the Hall of Kings, where thebusts of Clan Battlehammer's patrons, the eight kings, have been carved,gigantic and everlasting.

The drow have no such monuments. My mother, Malice, never spokeof the previous matron mother of House Do'Urden, likely because Maliceplayed a hand in her mother's death. In the Academy, there are no plaquesof former mistresses and masters. Indeed, as I consider it now, the onlymonuments in Menzoberranzan are the statues of those punished byBaenre, of those struck by Vendes and her wicked whip, their skin turned toebony, that they might then be placed on display as testaments of disobedience on the plateau of Tier Breche outside the Academy.