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. But first, he realized suddenly, he had another mission to complete, a
subconscious command that he could not resist. Following Entreri's orders, the
harbormaster moved from the docks and toward the upper level of the city.
Toward the house of Oberon.
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.
Book 2:
Allies
7
Stirrings
The first thing he noticed was the absence of the wind. He had lain long
hour after hour on his perch at the top of the chimney, and through it all, even
in his semiconscious state, there had been the unceasing presence of the wind.
It had taken his mind back to Icewind Dale, his home for nearly two centuries.
But Bruenor had felt no comfort in the gale's forlorn moan, a continual reminder
of his predicament and the last sound he thought he would ever hear.
But it was no more. Only the crackle of a nearby fire broke the quiet
stillness. Bruenor lifted a heavy eyelid and stared absently into the flames,
trying to discern his condition and his whereabouts. He was warm and
comfortable, with a heavy quilt pulled up tightly around his shoulders. And he
was indoors - the flames burned in a hearth, not in the open pit of a campfire.
Bruenor's eye drifted to the side of the hearth and focused on a neatly
stacked pile of equipment.
His equipment!
The one-horned helm, Drizzt's scimitar, the mithril armor, and his new
battle-axe and shining shield. And he was stretched out under the quilt, wearing
only a silken nightshirt.
Suddenly feeling very vulnerable, Bruenor pulled himself up to his elbows.
A wave of blackness rolled over him and sent his thoughts reeling in
nauseous circles. He dropped heavily to his back.
His vision returned for just a moment, long enough to register the form of a
tall and beautiful woman kneeling over him. Her long hair, gleaming silver in
the firelight, brushed across his face.
"Spider's poison," she said softly. "Would have killed anything but a
dwarf."
Then there was only the blackness.
* * *
Bruenor awoke again a few hours later, stronger and more alert. Trying not
to stir and bring any attention, he half-opened one eye and surveyed the area,
glancing at the pile first. Satisfied that all of his equipment was there, he
slowly turned his head over.
He was in a small chamber, apparently a one-roomed structure, for the only
door seemed to lead outside. The woman he had seen earlier - though Bruenor
wasn't really sure until now if that image had been a dream - stood beside the
door, staring out the room's single window to the night sky beyond. Her hair was
indeed silver. Bruenor could see that its hue was no trick of the firelight. But
not silver with the graying of age; this lustrous mane glowed with vibrant life.
"Yer pardon, fair lady," the dwarf croaked, his voice cracking on every
syllable. The woman twirled and looked at him curiously.
"Might I be getting a bit o' food?" asked Bruenor, never one to mix up his
priorities.
The woman floated across the room and helped Bruenor up into a sitting
position. Again a wave of blackness swirled over the dwarf, but he managed to
shrug it away.
"Only a dwarf!" the woman muttered, astonished that Bruenor had come through
his ordeal.
Bruenor cocked his head up at her. "I know ye, lady, though I cannot find
yer name in me thoughts."
"It is not important," the woman replied. "You have come through much,
Bruenor Battlehammer." Bruenor cocked his head further and leaned away at the
mention of his name, but the woman steadied him and continued. "I attended to
your wounds as best I could, though I feared that I had come upon you too late
to mend the hurts of the spider's poison."
Bruenor looked down at his bandaged forearm, reliving those terrible moments
when he had first encountered the giant spider. "How long?"
"How long you lay atop the broken grate, I do not know," the woman answered.
"But here you have rested for three days and more - too long for your stomach's
liking! I will prepare some food." She started to rise, but Bruenor caught her
arm.
"Where is this place?"
The lady's smile eased his grip. "In a clearing not far from the grate. I
feared to move you."
Bruenor didn't quite understand. "Yer home?"
"Oh, no," the woman laughed, standing. "A creation, and only temporary. It
will be gone with the dawn's light if you feel able to travel."
The tie to magic flickered recognition. "Ye're the Lady of Silverymoon!"
Bruenor spouted suddenly.
"Clearmoon Alustriel," the woman said with a polite bow. "My greetings,
noble King."
"King?" Bruenor echoed in disgust. "Suren me halls are gone to the scum."
"We shall see," said Alustriel.
But Bruenor missed the words altogether. His thoughts were not on Mithril
Hail, but on Drizzt and Wulfgar and Regis, and especially on Catti-brie, the joy
of his life. "Me friends," he begged to the woman. "Do ye know o' me friends?"
"Rest easy," Alustriel answered. "They escaped the halls, each of them."
"Even the drow?"
Alustriel nodded. "Drizzt Do'Urden was not destined to die in the home of
his dearest friend."
Alustriel's familiarity with Drizzt triggered another memory in the dwarf.
"Ye met him before," he said, "on our road to Mithril Hall. Ye pointed the way
for us. And that is how ye knew me name."
"And knew where to search for you," Alustriel added. "Your friends think you
dead, to their ultimate grief. But I am a wizard of some talent, and can speak
to worlds that oft bring surprising revelations. When the specter of Morkai, an
old associate who passed from this world a few years ago, imparted to me an
image of a fallen dwarf, half out of a hole on the side of a mountain, I knew
the truth of the fate of Bruenor Battlehammer. I only hoped that I would not be
too late."
"Bah! Fit as ever!" Bruenor huffed, thumping a fist into his chest. As he
shifted his weight, a stinging pain in his seat made him wince.
"A crossbow quarrel," Alustriel explained.
Bruenor thought for a moment. He had no recollection of being hit, though
the memory of his flight from the undercity was perfectly clear. He shrugged and
attributed it to the blindness of his battle-lust. "So one o' the gray scum got
me..." he started to say, but then he blushed and turned his eyes away at the
thought of this woman plucking the quarrel from his backside.
Alustriel was kind enough to change the subject. "Dine and then rest," she
instructed. "Your friends are safe . . . for the present."
"Where-"
Alustriel cut him off with an outstretched palm. "My knowledge in this
matter is not sufficient," she explained. "You shall find your answers soon
enough. In the morning, I will take you to Longsaddle and Catti-brie. She can
tell you more than I."
Bruenor wished that he could go right now to the human girl he had plucked
from the ruins of a goblin raid and reared as his daughter, that he could crush
her against him in his arms and tell her that everything was all right. But he
reminded himself that he had never truly expected to see Catti-brie again, and
he could suffer through one more night.
Any fears he had of anxious restlessness were washed away in the serenity of
exhausted sleep only minutes after he had finished the meal. Alustriel watched
over him until contented snores resounded throughout the magical shelter.
Satisfied that only a healthy sleeper could roar so loudly, the Lady of
Silverymoon leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes.
It had been a long three days.
* * *
Bruenor watched in amazement as the structure faded around him with the
first light of dawn, as if the dark of night had somehow lent the place the
tangible material for its construction. He turned to say something to Alustriel
but saw her in the midst of casting a spell, facing the pinkening sky and
reaching out as though trying to grab the rays of light.
She clenched her hands and brought them to her mouth, whispering the
enchantment into them. Then she flung the captured light out before her, crying
out the final words of the dweomer, "Equine aflame!" A glowing ball of red
struck the stone and burst into a shower of fire, forming almost instantly into
a flaming chariot and two horses. Their images danced with the fire that gave
them shape, but they did not burn the ground.
"Gather your things," the lady instructed Bruenor. "It is time we leave."
Bruenor stood motionless a moment longer. He had never come to appreciate
magic, only the magic that strengthened weapons and armor, but neither did he
ever deny its usefulness. He collected his equipment, not bothering to don armor
or shield, and joined Alustriel behind the chariot. He followed her onto it,
somewhat reluctantly, but it did not burn and it felt as tangible as wood.
Alustriel took a fiery rein in her slender hand and called to the team. A
single bound lifted them into the morning sky, and they shot away, west around
the bulk of the mountain and then south.
The stunned dwarf dropped his equipment to his feet - his chin to his chest
- and clutched the side of the chariot. Mountains rolled out below him; he noted
the ruins of Settlestone, the ancient dwarven city, now far below, and only a
second later, far behind. The chariot roared over the open grassland and skimmed
westward along the northern edge of the Trollmoors. Bruenor had relaxed enough
to spit a curse as they soared over the town of Nesme, remembering the
less-than-hospitable treatment he and his friends had received at the hands of a
patrol from the place. They passed over the Dessarin River network, a shining
snake writhing through the fields, and Bruenor saw a large encampment of
barbarians far to the north.
Alustriel swung the fiery chariot south again, and only a few minutes later,
the famed Ivy Mansion of Harpell Hill, Longsaddle, came into view.
A crowd of curious wizards gathered atop the hill to watch the chariot's
approach, cheering somberly - trying to maintain a distinguished air - as they
always did when Lady Alustriel graced them with her presence. One face in the
crowd blanched to white when the red beard, pointed nose, and one-horned helm of
Bruenor Battlehammer came into view.
"But . . . you . . . uh . . . dead . . . fell," stammered Harkle Harpell as
Bruenor jumped from the back of the chariot.
"Nice to see yerself, too," Bruenor replied, clad only in his nightshirt and
helm. He scooped his equipment from the chariot and dropped the pile at Harkle's
feet. "Where's me girl?"
"Yes, yes . . . the girl . . . Catti-brie . . . oh, where? Oh, there," he
rambled, the fingers of one hand nervously bouncing on his lower lip. "Do come,
yes do!" He grabbed Bruenor's hand and whisked the dwarf off to the Ivy Mansion.
They intercepted Catti-brie, barely out of bed and wearing a fluffy robe,
shuffling down a long hall. The young woman's eyes popped wide when she spotted
Bruenor rushing at her, and she dropped the towel she was holding, her arms
falling limply to her side. Bruenor buried his face into her, hugging her around
the waist so tightly that he forced the air from her lungs. As soon as she
recovered from her shock, she returned the hug tenfold.
"Me prayers," she stammered, her voice quaking with sobs. "By the gods, I'd
thought ye dead!"
Bruenor didn't answer, trying to hold himself steady. His tears were soaking
the front of Catti-brie's robe, and he felt the eyes of a crowd of Harpells
behind him. Embarrassed, he pushed open a door to his side, surprising a
half-clad Harpell who stood naked to the waist.
"Excuse-" the wizard began, but Bruenor grabbed his shoulder and pulled him
out into the hall, at the same time leading Catti-brie into the room. The door
slammed in the wizard's face as he turned back to his chamber. He looked
helplessly to his gathered kin, but their wide smiles and erupting laughter told
him that they would be of no assistance. With a shrug, the wizard moved on about
his morning business as though nothing unusual had happened.
It was the first time Catti-brie had ever seen the stoic dwarf truly cry.
Bruenor didn't care and couldn't have done a thing to prevent the scene anyway.
"Me prayers, too," he whispered to his beloved daughter, the human child he had
taken in as his own more than a decade and a half before.
