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The Halfling's Gem
"He left this," Pellman continued, handing the tiny pouch to Wulfgar." And
bade me to tell you that he will await your arrival in Calimport."
Wulfgar held the pouch tentatively, as if expecting it to explode in his
face.
"Our thanks," Drizzt told Pellman. "We will tell our associate that you
performed the task admirably."
Pellman nodded and bowed, turning away as he did so, to return to his
duties.
Drizzt led Wulfgar off to the side, out of plain view. Seeing the
barbarian's paling look, he took the tiny pouch and gingerly loosened the draw
string, holding it as far away as possible. With a shrug to Wulfgar, who had
moved a cautious step away, Drizzt brought the pouch down to his belt level and
peeked in.
Wulfgar moved closer, curious and concerned when he saw Drizzt's shoulders
droop. The drow looked to him in helpless resignation and inverted the pouch,
revealing its contents.
A halfling's finger.
THE ICEWIND DALE TRILOGY
Book One: The Crystal Shard
Book Two: Streams of Silver
Book Three: The Halfling's Gem
To my sister Susan,
who'll never know how
much her support has meant
to me over the last few years.
Prelude
Maps
Book 1: Halfway to Everywhere
Chapter 1 Tower of Twilight
Chapter 2 A Thousand Thousand Little Candles
Chapter 3 Conyberry's Pride
Chapter 4 The City of Splendors
Chapter 5 Ashes
Chapter 6 Baldur's Gate
Epilogue
Book 2: Allies
Chapter 7 Stirrings
Chapter 8 A Plain Brown Wrapper
Chapter 9 Fiery Riddles
Chapter 10 The Weight of a Kings Mantle
Chapter 11 Hot Winds
Chapter 12 Comrades
Chapter 13 Paying the Piper
Chapter 14 Dancing Snakes
Chapter 15 The Guide
Epilogue
Book 3: Desert Empires
Chapter 16 Never a Fouler Place
Chapter 17 Impossible Loyalties
Chapter 18 Double Talker
Chapter 19 Tricks and Traps
Chapter 20 Black and White
Chapter 21 Where No Sun Shines
Chapter 22 The Rift
Chapter 23 If Ever You Loved Catti-brie
Chapter 24 Interplanar Goo
Chapter 25 A Walk in the Sun
Epilogue
Prelude
The wizard looked down upon the young woman with uncertainty. Her back was
to him; he could see the thick mane of her auburn locks flowing around her
shoulders, rich and vibrant. But the wizard knew, too, the sadness that was in
her eyes. So young she was, barely more than a child, and so beautifully
innocent.
Yet this beautiful child had put a sword through the heart of his beloved
Sydney.
Harkle Harpell brushed away the unwanted memories of his dead love and
started down the hill. "A fine day," he said cheerily when he reached the young
woman.
"Do ye think they've made the tower?" Catti-brie asked him, her gaze never
leaving the southern horizon.
Harkle shrugged. "Soon, if not yet." He studied Catti-brie and could find no
anger against her for her actions. She had killed Sydney, it was true, but
Harkle knew just by looking at her that necessity, not malice, had guided her
sword arm. And now he could only pity her.
"How are you?" Harkle stammered, amazed at the courage she had shown in
light of the terrible events that had befallen her and her friends.
Catti-brie nodded and turned to the wizard. Surely there was sorrow edging
her deep blue eyes, but mostly they burned with a stubborn resolve that chased
away any hints of weakness. She had lost Bruenor, the dwarf who had adopted her
and had reared her as his own since the earliest days of her childhood. And
Catti-brie's other friends even now were caught in the middle of a desperate
chase with an assassin across the southland.
"How quickly things have changed," Harkle whispered under his breath,
feeling sympathy for the young woman. He remembered a time, just a few weeks
earlier, when Bruenor Battlehammer and his small company had come through
Longsaddle in their quest to find Mithril Hall, the dwarf's lost homeland. That
had been a jovial meeting of tales exchanged and promises of future friendships
with the Harpell clan. None of them could have known that a second party, led by
an evil assassin, and by Harkle's own Sydney, held Catti-brie hostage and was
gathering to pursue the company. Bruenor had found Mithril Hall, and had fallen
there.
And Sydney, the female mage that Harkle had so dearly loved, had played a
part in the dwarf's death.
Harkle took a deep breath to steady himself. "Bruenor will be avenged," he
said with a grimace.
Catti-brie kissed him on the cheek and started back up the hill toward the
Ivy Mansion. She understood the wizard's sincere pain, and she truly admired his
decision to help her fulfill her vow to return to Mithril Hall and reclaim it
for Clan Battlehammer.
But for Harkle, there had been no other choice. The Sydney that he had loved
was a facade, a sugar coating to a power-crazed, unfeeling monster. And he
himself had played a part in the disaster, unwittingly revealing to Sydney the
whereabouts of Bruenor's party.
Harkle watched Catti-brie go, the weight of troubles slowing her stride. He
could harbor no resentment toward her - Sydney had brought about the
circumstances of her own death, and Catti-brie had no choice but to play them
out. The wizard turned his gaze southward. He, too, wondered and worried for the
drow elf and the huge barbarian lad. They had slumped back into Longsaddle just
three days before, a sorrow-filled and weary band in desperate need of rest.
There could be no rest, though, not now, for the wicked assassin had escaped
with the last of their group, Regis the halfling, in tow.
So much had happened in those few weeks; Harkle's entire world had been
turned upside down by an odd mixture of heroes from a distant, forlorn land
called Icewind Dale, and by a beautiful young woman who could not be blamed.
And by the lie that was his deepest love.
Harkle fell back on the grass and watched the puffy clouds of late summer
meander across the sky.
* * *
Beyond the clouds, where the stars shone eternally, Guenhwyvar, the entity
of the panther, paced excitedly. Many days had passed since the cat's master,
the drow elf named Drizzt Do'Urden, had summoned it to the material plane.
Guenhwyvar was sensitive to the onyx figurine that served as a link to its
master and that other world; the panther could sense the tingle from that
far-off place even when its master merely touched the statuette.
But Guenhwyvar hadn't felt that link to Drizzt in some time, and the cat was
nervous now, somehow understanding in its otherworldly intelligence that the
drow no longer possessed the figurine. Guenhwyvar remembered the time before
Drizzt, when another drow, an evil drow, had been its master. Though in essence
an animal, Guenhwyvar possessed dignity, a quality that its original master had
stolen away.
Guenhwyvar remembered those times when it had been forced to perform cruel,
cowardly acts against helpless foes for the sake of its master's pleasure.
But things had been very different since Drizzt Do'Urden came to possess the
figurine. Here was a being of conscience and integrity, and an honest bond of
love had developed between Guenhwyvar and Drizzt.
The cat slumped against a star-trimmed tree and issued a low growl that
observers to this astral spectacle might have taken as a resigned sigh.
Deeper still would the cat's sigh have been if it knew that Artemis Entreri,
the killer, now possessed the figurine.
Book 1:
Halfway to Everywhere
1
Tower of Twilight
"A day and more we have lost," the barbarian grumbled, reining in his horse
and looking back over his shoulder. The lower rim of the sun had just dipped
below the horizon. "The assassin moves away from us even now!"
"We do well to trust in Harkle's advice," replied Drizzt Do'Urden, the dark
elf. "He would not have led us astray." With the sunshine fading, Drizzt dropped
the cowl of his black cloak back onto his shoulders and shook free the locks of
his stark white hair.
Wulfgar pointed to some tall pines. "That must be the grove Harkle Harpell
spoke of," he said, "yet I see no tower, nor signs that any structure was ever
built in this forsaken area."
His lavender eyes more at home in the deepening gloom, Drizzt peered ahead
intently, trying to find some evidence to dispute his young friend. Surely this
was the place that Harkle had indicated, for a short distance ahead of them lay
the small pond, and beyond that the thick boughs of Neverwinter Wood. "Take
heart," he reminded Wulfgar. "The wizard called patience the greatest aid in
finding the home of Malchor. We have been here but an hour."
"The road grows ever longer," the barbarian mumbled, unaware that the drow's
keen ears did not miss a word. There was merit in Wulfgar's complaints, Drizzt
knew, for the tale of a farmer in Longsaddle - that of a dark, cloaked man and a
halfling on a single horse - put the assassin fully ten days ahead of them, and
moving swiftly.
But Drizzt had faced Entreri before and understood the enormity of the
challenge before him. He wanted as much assistance as he could get in rescuing
Regis from the deadly man's clutches. By the farmer's words, Regis was still
alive, and Drizzt was certain that Entreri did not mean to harm the halfling
before getting to Calimport.
Harkle Harpell would not have sent them to this place without good reason.
"Do we put up for the night?" asked Wulfgar. "By my word, we'd ride back to
the road and to the south. Entreri's horse carries two and may have tired by
now. We can gain on him if we ride through the night."
Drizzt smiled at his friend. "They have passed through the city of Waterdeep
by now," he explained. "Entreri has acquired new horses, at the least." Drizzt
let the issue drop at that, keeping his deeper fears, that the assassin had
taken to the sea, to himself.
"Then to wait is even more folly!" Wulfgar was quick to argue.
But as the barbarian spoke, his horse, a horse raised by Harpells, snorted
and moved to the small pond, pawing the air above the water as though searching
for a place to step. A moment later, the last of the sun dipped under the
western horizon and the daylight faded away. And in the magical dimness of
twilight, an enchanted tower phased into view before them on the little island
in the pond, its every point twinkling like starlight, and its many twisting
spires reaching up into the evening sky. Emerald green it was, and mystically
inviting, as if sprites and faeries had lent a hand to its creation.
And across the water, right below the hoof of Wulfgar's horse, appeared a
shining bridge of green light.
Drizzt slipped from his mount. "The Tower of Twilight," he said to Wulfgar,
as though he had seen the obvious logic from the start. He swept his arm out
toward the structure, inviting his friend to lead them in.
But Wulfgar was stunned at the appearance of the tower. He clutched the
reins of his horse even tighter, causing the beast to rear up and flatten its
ears against its head.
"I thought you had overcome your suspicions of magic," said Drizzt
sarcastically. Truly Wulfgar, like all the barbarians of Icewind Dale, had been
raised with the belief that wizards were weakling tricksters and not to be
trusted. His people, proud warriors of the tundra, regarded strength of arm, not
skill in the black arts of wizardry, as the measure of a true man. But in their
many weeks on the road, Drizzt had seen Wulfgar overcome his upbringing and
develop a tolerance, even a curiosity, for the practices of wizardry.
With a flex of his massive muscles, Wulfgar brought his horse under control.
"I have," he answered through gritted teeth. He slid from his seat. "It is
Harpells that worry me!"
Drizzt's smirk widened across his face as he suddenly came to understand his
friend's trepidations. He himself, who had been raised amidst many of the most
powerful and frightening sorcerers in all the Realms, had shaken his head in
disbelief many times when they were guests of the eccentric family in
Longsaddle. The Harpells had a unique - and often disastrous - way of viewing
the world, though no evil festered in their hearts, and they wove their magic in
accord with their own perspectives - usually against the presumed logic of
rational men.
"Malchor is unlike his kin," Drizzt assured Wulfgar. "He does not reside in
the Ivy Mansion and has played advisor to kings of the northland."
"He is a Harpell," Wulfgar stated with a finality that Drizzt could not
dispute. With another shake of his head and a deep breath to steady himself,
Wulfgar grabbed his horse's bridle and started out across the bridge. Drizzt,
still smiling, was quick to follow.
"Harpell," Wulfgar muttered again after they had crossed to the island and
made a complete circuit of the structure.
The tower had no door.
"Patience," Drizzt reminded him.
They did not have to wait long, though, for a few seconds later they heard a
bolt being thrown, and then the creak of a door opening. A moment later, a boy
