The first dwarf would have soon finished off the giant he had felled, but the last of the monsters was upon him at once. The two combatants parried and countered, with the dwarf actually gaining a bit of an advantage. An advantage that lasted only until the giant who had been struck in the eye by the thrown hammer recovered enough to jump in.

The two verbeeg rained blow after heavy blow at the dwarf. He managed to dodge and deflect them for a short while, but then one landed squarely on his shoulder and dropped him to his back. He found his breath in a short time, for he was as tough as the stone he had landed on, but a heavy boot stomped on him and held him prone.

“Squish ‘im!” begged the injured giant the dwarf had cut down. “Then we takes ‘im to the cook!”

“We does not!” growled the giant above the dwarf. It ground its huge boot into the earth, slowly pressing the life from the unfortunate victim.

“Biggrin’ll take us to the cook if ‘e finds us out!” The other two grew genuinely afraid when they were reminded of the wrath of their brutal leader. They looked helplessly to their more cunning companion for a solution.

“We puts ‘em an’ their filthy things in a dark hole and says nothin’ more o’ this!”

Many miles to the east, in his solitary tower, Akar Kessell waited patiently. In the autumn, the last—and largest—of the trading caravans would roll back into Ten-Towns from Luskan, laden with riches and supplies for the long winter. His vast armies would be assembled and on the move by then, marching gloriously to destroy the pitiful fishermen. The mere thought of the fruits of his easy victory sent shivers of delight through the wizard. He had no way of knowing that the first blows of the war had already been struck.

When Wulfgar awakened just before midday, rested from his long night’s work, he was surprised to see Drizzt already up and about, busily preparing a pack for a long hike.

“Today we start a different type of lesson,” Drizzt explained to the barbarian. “We’ll set out right after you’ve had something to eat.”

“To where?”

“First, the dwarven mines,” replied Drizzt. “Bruenor will want to see you so he might measure your progress for himself.” He smiled at the big man. “He shan’t be disappointed!”

Wulfgar smiled, confident that his new-found prowess with the hammer would impress even the grumpy dwarf. “And then?”

“To Termalaine, on the banks of Maer Dualdon. I have a friend there. One of my few,” he added quickly with a wink, drawing a smile from Wulfgar. “A man named Agorwal. I want you to meet some of the people of Ten-Towns so that you might better judge them.”

“What have I to judge?” Wulfgar asked angrily. The drow’s dark and knowing eyes bore into him. Wulfgar clearly understood what Drizzt had in mind. The dark elf was trying to personalize the people the barbarians had declared enemies, to show Wulfgar the everyday existence of the men, women, and children who might have been victims of his own heavy pole if the fight on the slopes had turned out differently. Fearless in any battle, Wulfgar was truly frightened of facing those people. Already the young barbarian had begun to question the virtues of his warlike people; the innocent faces he would encounter in the town his people had casually marked for burning could well complete the destruction of the foundations of his entire world.

The two companions set out a short time later, retracing their steps around the eastern trails of Kelvin’s Cairn. A dusty wind was blowing in steadily from the east, assaulting them with fine grains of stinging sand as they crossed the exposed face of the mountain. Though the glaring sun was especially draining on Drizzt, he kept a strong pace and did not stop for rest.

In the late afternoon, when they finally rounded a southern spur, they were exhausted but in good spirits.

“In the shelter of the mines, I had forgotton how cruel the tundra wind could be!” laughed Wulfgar.

“We’ll have some protection below the rim of the valley,” said Drizzt. He patted the empty waterskin at his side. “Come, I know where we might refill these before we continue.”

He led Wulfgar westward, below the southern slopes of the mountain. The drow knew of an icy stream a short distance away, its waters fed from the snow melt atop Kelvin’s Cairn.

The brook sang merrily as it danced across the stones. Nearby birds cackled and cawed at the approach of the companions, and a lynx slipped silently away. Everything appeared as it should, but from the moment they arrived on the large, flat rock that was commonly used by travelers as a campsite, Drizzt sensed that something was terribly wrong. Moving in tentatively, he searched for some tangible sign that would confirm his growing suspicions.

Wulfgar, though, dove belly-down onto the stone and dunked his sweat– and dust-streaked face eagerly into the cold water. When he pulled it back out, the luster had returned to his eyes, as if the icy water had given him back his vitality.

But then the barbarian noticed crimson stains on the rock and followed their gory trail to the hairy piece of skin that had gotten caught on the sharp tip of a stone just above the rushing stream.

Both skilled trackers, the ranger and barbarian had little difficulty in ascertaining that a battle had recently been fought on this spot. They recognized the coarse hair on the patch of skin as a piece of beard, which of course led them to think of the dwarves. They found three sets of giant-size footsteps nearby. Following a tangent line of tracks that stretched southward a short distance to a sandy patch of ground, they soon found the shallow graves.

“Not Bruenor,” Drizzt said grimly, examining the two corpses. “Younger dwarves—Bundo, son of Fellhammer, and Dourgas, son of Argo Grimblade, I believe.”

“We should make all haste to the mines,” Wulfgar suggested.

“Soon,” replied the drow. “We still have much to learn about what happened here, and tonight may be our only chance. Were these giants simply passing rogues, or are they lairing in the area? And are there more of the foul beasts?”

“Bruenor should be told,” Wulfgar argued.

“And so he will,” said Drizzt. “But if these three are still nearby, as I believe they are since they took the time to bury their kill, they might well return for some more sport when night falls.” He directed Wulfgar’s gaze to the west, where the sky had already begun to take on the pink shades of twilight. “Are you ready for a fight, barbarian?”

With a determined grunt, Wulfgar brought Aegis-fang down from his shoulder and slapped the adamantite handle across his free hand. “We shall see who finds sport this night.”

They moved behind the secrecy of a rocky bluff south of the flat stone and waited as the sun passed below the horizon and the dark shadows deepened into evening.

It wasn’t very long a wait, for the same verbeeg that had killed the dwarves the night before were again the first out of the lair, anxious to seek fresh victims. Soon the patrol came crashing over the mountain slopes and onto the flat rock beside the stream.

Wulfgar immediately moved to charge, but Drizzt stayed him before he gave their position away. The drow had every intention of killing these giants, but he wanted to see if he could learn anything about why they were here first.

“Drats an’ dingers,” grumbled one of the giants. “Not a dwarf to be found!”

“Rotten luck, it is,” groaned another. “An’ our last night out, too,” The creature’s companions looked at it curiously.

“The other group’s cumin’ in tomorrow,” the verbeeg explained. “Our numbers’ll double, an’ stinkin’ ogres an’ orcs to boot, an’ the boss ain’t to let us out ‘til everthin’s calmed again.”