owner.
A curious look came over the halfling's face. He snapped his fingers and
hopped down from the banister, as if his last action had given him an idea. He
ran to Pook, rolled the former guildmaster's head to the side-trying to ignore
the very conspicuous wound in Pook's neck - and lifted off the ruby pendant that
had started the whole adventure. Satisfied, Regis turned to the very curious
stares of his two friends.
"Time to make some allies," the halfling explained, and he darted off down
the stairs.
Bruenor and Drizzt looked at each other in disbelief.
"He'll own the guild," Bruenor assured the drow.
Drizzt didn't argue the point.
* * *
From an alley on Rogues Circle, Rassiter, again in his human form, heard the
dying screams of his fellow ratmen. He had been smart enough to understand that
the guild was overmatched by the heroes from the North, and when Pook sent him
down to rally the fight, he had slipped instead back into the protection of the
sewers.
Now he could only listen to the cries and wonder how many of his lycanthrope
kin would survive the dark day. "I will build a new guild," he vowed to himself,
though he fully understood the enormity of the task, especially now that he had
achieved such notoriety in Calimport. Perhaps he could travel to another city -
Memnon or Baldur's Gate - farther up the coast.
His ponderings came to an abrupt end as the flat of a curving blade came to
rest on his shoulder, the razor edge cutting a tiny line across the side of his
neck.
Rassiter held up a jeweled dagger. "This is yours, I believe," he said,
trying to sound calm. The saber slipped away and Rassiter turned to face Artemis
Entreri.
Entreri reached out with a bandaged arm to pull the dagger away, at the same
time slipping the saber back into its scabbard.
"I knew you had been beaten," Rassiter said boldly. "I feared you dead."
"Feared?" Entreri grinned. "Or hoped?"
"It is true that you and I started as rivals," Rassiter began.
Entreri laughed again. He had never figured the ratman worthy enough to be
considered a rival.
Rassiter took the insult in stride. "But we then served the same master." He
looked to the guildhouse, where the screaming had finally begun to fade. "I
think Pook is dead, or at least thrown from power."
"If he faced the drow, he is dead," Entreri spat, the mere thought of Drizzt
Do'Urden filling his throat with bile.
"Then the streets are open," Rassiter reasoned. He gave Entreri a sly wink.
"For the taking."
"You and I?" Entreri mused.
Rassiter shrugged. "Few in Calimport would oppose you," the wererat said,
"and with my infectious bite, I can breed a host of loyal followers in mere
weeks. Certainly none would dare stand against us in the night."
Entreri moved beside him, joining him in his scan of the guildhouse. "Yes,
my ravenous friend," he said quietly, "but there remain two problems."
"Two?"
"Two," Entreri reiterated. "First, I work alone."
Rassiter's body jolted straight as a dagger blade cut into his spine.
"And second," Entreri continued, without missing a breath, "you are dead,"
He jerked the bloody dagger out and held it vertical, to wipe the blade on
Rassiter's cloak as the wererat fell lifeless to the ground.
Entreri surveyed his handiwork and the bandages on his wounded elbow.
"Stronger already," he muttered to himself, and he slipped away to find a dark
hole. The morning was full and bright now, and the assassin, still with much
healing to do, was not ready to face the challenges he might come across on the
daytime streets.
25
A Walk in the Sun
Bruenor knocked lightly on the door, not expecting a response. As usual, no
reply came back.
This time, though, the stubborn dwarf did not walk away. He turned the latch
and entered the darkened room.
Stripped to the waist and running his slender fingers through his thick mane
of white hair, Drizzt sat on his bed with his back to Bruenor. Even in the
dimness, Bruenor could clearly see the scab line sliced across the drow's back.
The dwarf shuddered, never imagining in those wild hours of battle that Drizzt
had been so viciously wounded by Artemis Entreri.
"Five days, elf," Bruenor said quietly. "Do ye mean to live yer life in
here?"
Drizzt turned slowly to face his dwarven friend. "Where else would I go?" he
replied.
Bruenor studied the lavender eyes, twinkling to reflect the light of the
hallway beyond the open door. The left one had opened again, the dwarf noted
hopefully. Bruenor had feared that the demodand's blow had forever closed
Drizzt's eye.
Clearly it was healing, but still those marvelous orbs worried Bruenor. They
seemed to him to have lost a good bit of their luster.
"How is Catti-brie?" Drizzt asked, sincerely concerned about the young
woman, but also wanting to change the subject.
Bruenor smiled. "Not for walkin' yet," he replied, "but her fighting's back
and she's not caring for lyin' quiet in a bed!" He chuckled, recalling the scene
earlier in the day, when one attendant had tried to primp his daughter's pillow.
Catti-brie's glare alone had drained the blood from the man's face. "Cuts her
servants down with her blade of a tongue when they fuss over her."
Drizzt's smile seemed strained. "And Wulfgar?"
"The boy's better," Bruenor replied. "Took four hours scraping the spider
gook off him, and he'll be wearin' wrappings on his arm for a month to come, but
more'n that's needed to bring that boy down! Though as a mountain, and nearen as
big!"
They watched each other until the smiles faded and the silence grew
uncomfortable. "The halfling's feast is about to begin," Bruenor said. "Ye
going? With a belly so round, me guess is that Rumblebelly will set a fine
table."
Drizzt shrugged noncommittally.
"Bah!" Bruenor snorted. "Ye can't be living yer life between dark walls!" He
paused as a thought suddenly popped into his head. "Or are ye out at night?" he
asked slyly.
"Out?"
"Hunting," explained Bruenor. "Are ye out hunting Entreri?"
Now, Drizzt did laugh - at the notion that Bruenor linked his desire for
solitude to some obsession with the assassin.
"Ye're burning for him," Bruenor reasoned, "and he for yerself if he's still
for drawing breath."
"Come," Drizzt said, pulling a loose shirt over his head. He picked up the
magical mask as he started around the bed, but stopped to consider the item. He
rolled it over in his hands, then dropped it back to the dressing table. "Let us
not be late for the feast."
Bruenor's guess about Regis had not missed the mark; the table awaiting the
two friends was splendidly adorned with shining silver and porcelain, and the
aromas of delicacies had them unconsciously licking their lips as they moved to
their appointed seats.
Regis sat at the long table's head, the thousand gemstones he had sewn into
his tunic catching the candlelight in a glittering burst every time he shifted
in his seat. Behind him stood the two hill giant eunuchs who had guarded Pook at
the bitter end, their faces bruised and bandaged.
At the halfling's right sat LaValle, to Bruenor's distaste, and at his left,
a narrow-eyed halfling and a chubby young man, the chief lieutenants in the new
guild.
Farther down the table sat Wulfgar and Catti-brie, side by side, their hands
clasped between them, which, Drizzt guessed - by the pale and weary looks of the
two - was as much for mutual support as genuine affection.
As weary as they were, though, their faces lit with smiles, as did Regis's,
when they saw Drizzt enter the room, the first time any of them had seen the
drow in nearly a week.
"Welcome, welcome!" Regis said happily. "It would have been a shallow feast
if you could not join us!"
Drizzt slid into the chair beside LaValle, drawing a concerned look from the
timid wizard. The guild's lieutenants, too, shifted uneasily at the thought of
dining with a drow elf.
Drizzt smiled away the weight of their discomfort; it was their problem, not
his. "I have been busy," he told Regis.
"Brooding," Bruenor wanted to say as he sat next to Drizzt, but he tactfully
held his tongue.
Wulfgar and Catti-brie stared at their black friend from across the table.
"You swore to kill me," the drow said calmly to Wulfgar, causing the big man
to sag back in his chair.
Wulfgar flushed a deep red and tightened his grip on Catti-brie's hand.
"Only the strength of Wulfgar could have held that gate," Drizzt explained.
The edges of his mouth turned up in a wistful smile.
"But, I-" Wulfgar began, but Catti-brie cut him short.
"Enough said about it, then," the young woman insisted, banging her fist
into Wulfgar's thigh. "Let us not be talking about troubles we've past. Too much
remains before us!"
"Me girl's right," spouted Bruenor. "The days walk by us as we sit and heal!
Another week, and we might be missing a war."
"I am ready to go," declared Wulfgar.
"Ye're not," retorted Catti-brie. "Nor am I. The desert'd stop us afore we
ever got on the long road beyond."
"Ahem," Regis began, drawing their attention. "About your departure, . . ."
He stopped to consider their stares, nervous about presenting his offer in just
the right way. "I . . . uh . . . thought that . . . I mean. . ."
"Spit it," demanded Bruenor, guessing what his little friend had in mind.
"Well, I have built a place for myself here," Regis continued.
"And ye're to stay," reasoned Catti-brie. "We'll not blame ye, though we're
sure to be missing ye!"
"Yes," said Regis, "and no. There is room here, and wealth. With the four of
you by my side . . ."
Bruenor halted him with an upraised hand. "A fine offer," he said, "but me
home's in the North."
"We've armies waiting on our return," added Catti-brie.
Regis realized the finality of Bruenor's refusal, and he knew that Wulfgar
would certainly follow Catti-brie - back to Tarterus if she so chose. So the
halfling turned his sights on Drizzt, who had become an unreadable puzzle to
them all in the last few days.
Drizzt sat back and considered the proposition, his hesitancy to deny the
offer drawing concerned stares from Bruenor, Wulfgar, and, particularly,
Catti-brie. Perhaps life in Calimport would not be so bad, and certainly the
drow had the tools to thrive in the shadowy realm Regis planned to operate
within. He looked Regis square in the eye.
"No," he said. He turned at the audible sigh from Catti-brie across the
table, and their eyes locked. "I have walked through too many shadows already,"
he explained. "A noble quest stands before me, and a noble throne awaits its
rightful king."
Regis relaxed back in his chair and shrugged. He had expected as much. "If
you are all so determined to go back to a war, then I would be a sorry friend if
I did not aid your quest."
The others eyed him curiously, never amazed at the surprises the little one
could pull.
"To that end," Regis continued, "one of my agents reported the arrival of an
important person - from the tales Bruenor has told me of your journey south - in
Calimport this morning." He snapped his fingers, and a young attendant entered
from a side curtain, leading Captain Deudermont.
The captain bowed low to Regis, and lower still to the dear friends he had
made on the perilous journey from Waterdeep. "The wind was at our backs," he
explained, "and the Sea Sprite runs swifter than ever. We can depart on the
morrow's dawn; surely the gentle rock of a boat is a fine place to mend weary
bones!"
"But the trade," said Dr izzt. "The market is here in Calimport. And the
season. You did not plan to leave before spring!"
"I may not be able to get you all the way to Waterdeep," said Deudermont.
"The winds and ice will tell. But you surely will find yourself closer to your
goal when you take to land once again." He looked over at Regis, then back to
Drizzt. "For my losses in trade, accommodations have been made."
Regis tucked his thumbs into his jeweled belt. "I owed you that, at the
least!"
"Bah!" snorted Bruenor, an adventurous gleam in his eye. "Ten times more,
Rumblebelly, ten times more!"
* * *
Drizzt looked out of his room's single window at the dark streets of
Calimport. They seemed quieter this night, hushed in suspicion and intrigue,
anticipating the power struggle that would inevitably follow the downfall of a
guildmaster as powerful as Pasha Pook.
Drizzt knew that there were other eyes out there, looking back at him, at
