They came as an army, but not so. Eight thousand dark elves and a larger number of humanoid slaves, a mighty and massive force, swarmed toward Mithril Hall.
The descriptions are fitting in terms of sheer numbers and strength, and yet “army” and “force” imply something more, a sense of cohesion and collective purpose. Certainly the drow are among the finest warriors in the Realms, trained to fight from the youngest age, alone or in groups, and certainly the purpose seems clear when the war is racial, when it is drow battling dwarves. Yet, though their tactics are perfect, groups working in unison to support each other, that cohesion among drow ranks remains superficial.
Few, if any, dark elves of Lloth’s army would give her or his life to save another, unless she or he was confident that the sacrifice would guarantee a place 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 and those 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 being overrun, 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 an ambush, those supporting groups flanking their unfortunate comrades would not join in unless they could be assured of victory.
We, not they, had true collective purpose. We, not they, understood cohesion, 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 into service once more. Though she has used the bow for years, and has added considerably to its legend, Catti-brie refers to it still as “the bow of Anariel,” that long-dead elf. If the bow is put into service again by a friend of 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 the busts of Clan Battlehammer’s patrons, the eight kings, have been carved, gigantic and everlasting.
The drow have no such monuments. My mother, Malice, never spoke of the previous matron mother of House Do’Urden, likely because Malice played a hand in her mother’s death. In the Academy, there are no plaques of former mistresses and masters. Indeed, as I consider it now, the only monuments in Menzoberranzan are the statues of those punished by Baenre, of those struck by Vendes and her wicked whip, their skin turned to ebony, that they might then be placed on display as testaments of disobedience on the plateau of Tier Breche outside the Academy.
That was the difference between the defenders of Mithril Hall and those who came to conquer. That was the one hope.
- Drizzt Do’Urden