right through that meager stone cover. I held the shot, though, and bade Guenhwyvar to stay in place. If this was the band I had been tracking, then why had no more arrows whistled out beside the first? Why hadn't the stupid goblin-kin started their typical war-whoops? “I am no enemy!” I called out, since my position was no secret anyway. The reply let me ease my pull on the bowstring. “If you're no enemy, then who might you be?” This left me in a predicament that only a dark elf on the surface can know. Of course, I was no enemy to these men-farmers, I presumed, who had come out in pursuit of the raiding monster band. We were unknowingly working toward the same goal, but what would these simple folk think when a drow rose up before them? “I am Drizzt Do'Urden, a ranger and friend of King Bruenor Battlehammer of Mithril Hall!” I called. Off came my hood and out I stepped, wanting this typically tension-filled first meeting to be at an end. “A stinking drow!” I heard one man exclaim, but another, an older man of about fifty years, told him and the others to hold their shots. “We're hunting a band of ores and ogres,” the older man-I later learned his name to be Tharman-explained. “Then you are on the wrong side of the river,” I called back. “The tracks are here, heading along the bank. I would guess they'll lead to a trail not so far from this point. Can you get across?” Tharman conferred with his fellows for a moment-there were five of them in all-then signaled for me to wait where I was. I had passed a frozen section of the river, dotted with many large stones, just a short distance back, and it was only a few minutes before the farmers caught up with me. They were raggedly dressed and poorly armed, simple folk and probably no match for the merciless ores and ogres that had passed this way. Tharman was the only one of the group who had seen more than thirty winters. Two of the farmers looked as if they had not yet seen twenty, and one of these didn't even show the stubble common to the road- weary faces of the others. “Ilmater's tears!” one of them cried in surprise as the group neared. If the sight of a dark elf was not enough to put them on their nerves, then the presence of Guenhwyvar certainly was. The man's shouted oath startled Guenhwyvar. The panther must have thought the plea to the God of Suffering a threat of some kind, for she flattened her ears and showed her tremendous fangs. The man nearly fainted, and a companion beside him tentatively reached for an arrow.
“Guenhwyvar is a friend,” I explained. “As am I.” Tharman looked to a rugged man, half his age and carrying a hammer better suited to a smithy than a war party. The younger man promptly and savagely slapped the nervous archer's hand away from the bow. I could discern already that this brute was the leader of the group, probably the one who had bullied the others into coming into the woods in the first place. Though my claim had apparently been accepted, the tension did not fly from the meeting, not at all. I could smell the fear, the apprehension, emanating from these men, Tharman included. I noticed the younger farmers gripping more tightly to their weapons. They would not move against me, I knew-that was one benefit of the savage reputation of my heritage. Few wanted to wage battle against dark elves. And even if I had not been an exotic drow, the farmers would not have attacked with the mighty panther crouched beside me. They knew that they were overmatched, and they knew, too, that they needed an ally, any ally, to help them in their pursuit. Five men, farmers all, poorly armed and poorly armored. What in the Nine Hells did they expect to do against a band of twenty monsters, ogres included? Still, I had to admire their courage, and I could not discount them as foolish. I believed that the raiders had taken prisoners. If those unfortunates were these men's families, their children perhaps, then their desperation was certainly warranted, their actions admirable. Tharman came forward, his soil-stained hand extended. I must admit that the greeting, nervous