The Crystal Shard by R. A. Salvatore

moment,” Drizzt reminded Bruenor. Earlier that day, in a meeting in the dwarven halls, the drow had detailed his findings to the dwarves.
    “Yer sure they’ll be comin’ then?” Bruenor asked now.
    “Their charge will shake the stones of Kelvin’s Cairn,” Drizzt replied as he left the darkness of the mountain’s silhouette and joined his friend. “And if Ten-Towns does not stand united against them, the people are doomed.”
    Bruenor settled into a crouch and turned his eyes to the south, toward the distant lights of Bryn Shander. “They’ll not, the stubborn fools,” he muttered.
    “They might, if your people went to them.”
    “No,” growled the dwarf. “We’ll fight beside them if they chooseto stand together, an’ pity then to the barbarians! Go to them, if ye wish, an’ good luck to ye, but nothing o’ the dwarves. Let us see what grit an’ guts the fisherfolk can muster.”
    Drizzt smiled at the irony of Bruenor’s refusal. Both of them knew well that the drow was not trusted, not even openly welcomed, in any of the towns other than Lonelywood, where their friend Regis was spokesman. Bruenor marked the drow’s look, and it pained him as it pained Drizzt, though the elf stoically pretended otherwise.
    “They owe ye more than they’ll ever know,” Bruenor stated flatly, turning a sympathetic eye on his friend.
    “They owe me nothing!”
    Bruenor shook his head. “Why do ye care?” he growled. “Ever yer watchin’ over the folk that show ye no good will. What do ye owe to them?”
    Drizzt shrugged, hard-pressed to find an answer. Bruenor was right. When the drow had first come to this land the only one who had shown him any friendship at all was Regis. He often escorted and protected the halfling through the dangerous first legs of the journey from Lonelywood, around the open tundra north of Maer Dualdon and down toward Bryn Shander, when Regis went to the principal city for business or council meetings. They had actually met on one such trek: Regis tried to flee from Drizzt because he’d heard terrible rumors about him. Luckily for both of them, Regis was a halfling who was usually able to keep an open mind about people and make his own judgments concerning their character. It wasn’t long before the two were fast friends.
    But to this day, Regis and the dwarves were the only ones in the area who considered the drow a friend. “I do not know why I care,” Drizzt answered honestly. His eyes turned back to his ancient homeland where loyalty was merely a device to gain an advantage over a common foe. “Perhaps I care because I strive to be different from my people,” he said, as much to himself as to Bruenor. “Perhaps I care because I am different from my people. I may be more akin to the races of the surface…that is my hope at least. I care because I have to care about something. You are not so different, BruenorBattlehammer. We care lest our own lives be empty.” Bruenor cocked a curious eye.
    “You can deny your feelings for the people of Ten-Towns to me, but not to yourself.”
    “Bah!” Bruenor snorted. “Sure that I care for them! My folk need the trade!”
    “Stubborn,” Drizzt mumbled, smiling knowingly. “And Catti-brie?” he pressed. “What of the human girl who was orphaned in the raid those years ago on Termalaine? The waif that you took in and raised as your own child?” Bruenor was glad that the cover of night offered some protection from his revealing blush. “She lives with you still, though even you would have to admit that she is able to go back to her own kind. Might it be, perhaps, that you care for her, gruff dwarf?”
    “Aw, shut yer mouth,” Bruenor grumbled. “She’s a servin’ wench and makes my life a bit easier, but don’t ye go gettin’ sappy about her!”
    “Stubborn,” Drizzt reiterated more loudly this time. He had one more card to play in this discussion. “What of myself, then? Dwarves are not overly fond of the light elves, let