with the smoke of exotic weeds and the stench of stale ale. A few drunken
sailors lay facedown on tables or sat propped against walls while others
stumbled about, spilling their drinks - often on more sober patrons, who
responded by shoving the offenders to the floor. Wulfgar wondered how many of
these men had missed the sailing of their ships. Would they stagger about in
here until their money ran out, only then to be dropped into the street to face
the coming winter penniless and without shelter? "Twice I have seen the bowels
of a city," Wulfgar whispered to Drizzt. "And both times I have been reminded of
the pleasures of the open road!"
"The goblins and the dragons?" Drizzt retorted lightheartedly, leading
Wulfgar to an empty table near the bar.
"A far lot better than this," Wulfgar remarked.
A serving wench was upon them before they had even sat down. "What's yer
pleasure?" she asked absently, having long ago lost interest in the patrons she
served.
"Water," Wulfgar answered gruffly.
"And wine," Drizzt quickly added, handing over a gold piece to dispel the
woman's sudden scowl.
"That must be Deudermont," Wulfgar said, deflecting any forthcoming scolding
concerning his treatment of the wench. He pointed to a tall man leaning over the
bar rail.
Drizzt rose at once, thinking it prudent to be done with their business and
out of the tavern as quickly as possible. "Hold the table," he told Wulfgar.
Captain Deudermont was not the average patron of the Mermaid's Arms. Tall
and straight, he was a refined man accustomed to dining with lords and ladies.
But as with all of the ship captains who put into Waterdeep Harbor, especially
on the day of their departures, Deudermont spent most of his time ashore,
keeping a watchful eye on his valued crew and trying to prevent them from
winding up in Waterdeep's overfilled jails.
Drizzt squeezed in next to the captain, brushing away the inquiring look of
the barkeep. "We have a common friend," Drizzt said softly to Deudermont.
"I would hardly number Orlpar among my friends," the captain replied
casually. "But I see that he did not exaggerate about the size and strength of
your young friend."
Deudermont was not the only one who had noticed Wulfgar. As did every other
tavern in this section of Waterdeep - and most bars across the Realms - the
Mermaid's Arms had a champion. A bit farther down the bar rail, a massive,
hulking slob named Bungo had eyed Wulfgar from the minute the young barbarian
had walked through the door. Bungo didn't like the looks of this one, not in the
least. Even more than the corded arms, Wulfgar's graceful stride and the easy
way he carried his huge war hammer revealed a measure of experience beyond his
age.
Bungo's supporters crowded around him in anticipation of thecoming brawl,
their twisted smiles and beer-reeking breath spurring their champion to action.
Normally confident, Bungo had to work to keep his anxiety under control. He had
taken many hits in his seven-year reign at the tavern. His frame was bent now,
and dozens of bones had been cracked and muscles torn. Looking at the awesome
spectacle of Wulfgar, Bungo honestly wondered if he could have won this match
even in his healthier youth.
But the regulars of the Mermaid's Arms looked up to him. This was their
domain, and he their champion. They provided his free meals and drinks - Bungo
could not let them down.
He quaffed his full mug in a single gulp and pushed himself off the rail.
With a final growl to reassure his supporters, and callously tossing aside
anyone in his way, Bungo made his way toward Wulfgar.
Wulfgar had seen the group coming before it had ever started moving. This
scene was all too familiar to the young barbarian, and he fully expected that he
would once again, as had happened at the Cutlass in Luskan, be singled out
because of his size.
"What're ye fer?" Bungo said with a hiss as he towered, hands on hips, over
the seated man. The other ruffians spread out around the table, putting Wulfgar
squarely within their ring.
Wulfgar's instincts told him to stand and drop the pretentious slob where he
stood. He had no fears about Bungo's eight friends. He considered them cowards
who needed their leader to spur them on. If a single blow put Bungo down - and
Wulfgar knew it would - the others would hesitate before striking, a delay that
would cost them dearly against the likes of Wulfgar.
But over the last few months, Wulfgar had learned to temper his anger, and
he had learned a broader definition of honor. He shrugged, making no move that
resembled a threat. "A place to sit and a drink," he replied calmly. "And who
might you be?"
"Name's Bungo," said the slob, spittle spraying with every word. He thrust
his chest out proudly, as if his name should mean something to Wulfgar.
Again Wulfgar, wiping Bungo's spray from his face, had to resist his
fighting instincts. He and Drizzt had more important business, he reminded
himself.
"Who said ye could come to my bar?" Bungo growled, thinking hoping - that he
had put Wulfgar on the defensive. He looked around at his friends, who leaned
closer over Wulfgar, heightening the intimidation.
Surely Drizzt would understand the necessity to put this one down, Wulfgar
reasoned, his fists tightening at his sides. "One shot," he muttered silently,
looking around at the wretched group a group that would look better sprawled out
unconscious in the corners of the floor.
Wulfgar summoned an image of Regis to ward off his welling rage, but he
could not ignore the fact that his hands were now clenched on the rim of the
table so tightly that his knuckles had whitened for lack of blood.
* * *
"The arrangements?" Drizzt asked.
"Secured," replied Deudermont. "I've room on the Sea Sprite for you, and I
welcome the added hands - and blades - especially of such veteran adventurers.
But I've a suspicion that you might be missing our sailing." He grasped Drizzt's
shoulder to turn him toward the trouble brewing at Wulfgar's table.
"Tavern champion and his cronies," Deudermont explained, "though my bet
would be with your friend."
"Money well placed," Drizzt replied, "but we have no time..."
Deudermont guided Drizzt's gaze across to a shadowy corner of the tavern and
to four men sitting calmly watching the growing tumult with interest. "The
Watch," Deudermont said. "A fight will cost your friend a night in the dungeons.
I cannot hold port."
Drizzt searched the tavern, looking for some out. All eyes seemed to be
closing in on Wulfgar and the ruffians, eagerly anticipating the fight. The drow
realized that if he went to the table now, he would probably ignite the whole
thing.
* * *
Bungo thrust his belly forward, inches from Wulfgar's face, to display a
wide belt notched in a hundred places. "Fer every man I beat," he boasted. "Give
me somethin' to do on my night in jail." He pointed at a large cut to the side
of the buckle. "Killed that one there. Squashed 'is head real good. Cost me five
nights."
Wulfgar eased his grip, not impressed, but wary now of the potential
consequences of his actions. He had a ship to catch.
"Perhaps it was Bungo I came to see," he said, crossing his arms and leaning
back in his chair.
"Get 'im, then!" growled one of the ruffians.
Bungo eyed Wulfgar wickedly. "Come lookin' fer a fight?"
"Nay, I think not," Wulfgar retorted. "A fight? Nay, I am but a boy out to
see the wide world."
Bungo could not hide his confusion. He looked around to his friends, who
could only shrug in response.
"Sit," Wulfgar offered. Bungo made no move.
The ruffian behind Wulfgar poked him hard in the shoulder and growled,
"What're ye fer?"
Wulfgar had to consciously catch his own hand before it shot across and
squashed the ruffian's filthy fingers together. But he had control now. He
leaned closer to the huge leader. "Not to fight; to watch," he said quietly.
"One day, perhaps, I might deem myself worthy to challenge the likes of Bungo,
and on that day I will return, for I have no doubt that you will still be the
champion of this tavern. But that day is many years away, I fear. I have so much
to learn."
"Then why've ye come?" Bungo demanded, his confidence brimming over. He
leaned over Wulfgar, threateningly close.
"I have come to learn," Wulfgar replied. "To learn by watching the toughest
fighter in Waterdeep. To see how Bungo presents himself and goes about his
affairs."
Bungo straightened and looked around at his anxious friends, who were
leaning nearly to the point of falling over the table. Bungo flashed his
toothless grin, customary before he clobbered a challenger, and the ruffians
tensed. But then their champion surprised them, slapping Wulfgar hard on the
shoulder - the clap of a friend.
Audible groans issued throughout the tavern as Bungo pulled up a chair to
share a drink with the impressive stranger.
"Get ye gone!" the slob roared at his companions. Their faces twisted in
disappointment and confusion, but they did not dare disobey. The one behind
Wulfgar poked him again for good measure, then followed the others back to the
bar.
* * *
"A wise move," Deudermont remarked to Drizzt.
"For both of them," the drow replied, relaxing against the rail.
"You have other business in the city?" the captain asked.
Drizzt shook his head. "No. Get us to the ship," he said. "I fear that
Waterdeep can bring only trouble."
A million stars filled the sky that cloudless night. They reached down from
the velvety canopy to join with the distant lights of Waterdeep, setting the
northern horizon aglow. Wulfgar found Drizzt above decks, sitting quietly in the
rolling serenity offered by the sea.
"I should like to return," Wulfgar said, following his friend's gaze to the
now distant city.
"To settle a score with a drunken ruffian and his wretched friends," Drizzt
concluded.
Wulfgar laughed but stopped abruptly when Drizzt wheeled on him.
"To what end?" Drizzt asked. "Would you then replace him as the champion of
the Mermaid's Arms?"
"That is a life I do not envy," Wulfgar replied, chuckling again, though
this time uncomfortably.
"Then leave it to Bungo," Drizzt said, turning back to the glow of the city.
Again Wulfgar's smile faded.
Seconds, minutes perhaps, slipped by, the only sound the slapping of the
waves against the prow of the Sea Sprite. On an impulse, Drizzt slid Twinkle
from its sheath. The crafted scimitar came to life in his hand, the blade
glowing in the starlight that had given Twinkle its name and its enchantment.
"The weapon fits you well," Wulfgar remarked.
"A fine companion," Drizzt acknowledged, examining the intricate designs
etched along the curving blade. He remembered another magical scimitar he had
once possessed, a blade he had found in the lair of a dragon that he and Wulfgar
had slain. That blade, too, had been a fine companion. Wrought of ice magic, the
scimitar was forged as a bane to creatures of fire, impervious, along with its
wielder, to their flames. It had served Drizzt well, even saving him from the
certain and painful death of a demon's fire.
Drizzt cast his gaze back to Wulfgar. "I was thinking of our first dragon,"
he explained to the barbarian's questioning look. "You and I alone in the ice
cave against the likes of Icingdeath, an able foe."
"He would have had us," Wulfgar added, "had it not been for the luck of that
huge icicle hanging above the dragon's back."
"Luck?" Drizzt replied. "Perhaps. But more often, I dare to say, luck is
simply the advantage a true warrior gains in executing the correct course of
action."
Wulfgar took the compliment in stride; he had been the one to dislodge the
pointed icicle, killing the dragon.
"A pity I do not have the scimitar I plundered from Icingdeath's lair to
serve as a companion for Twinkle," Drizzt remarked.
"True enough," replied Wulfgar, smiling as he remembered his early
adventures beside the drow. "But, alas, that one went over Garumn's Gorge with
Bruenor."
Drizzt paused and blinked as if cold water had been thrown in his face. A
sudden image flooded through his mind, its implications both hopeful and
frightening. The image of Bruenor Battlehammer drifting slowly down into the
depths of the gorge on the back of a burning dragon.
A burning dragon!
It was the first time Wulfgar had ever noted a tremble in the voice of his
normally composed friend, when Drizzt rasped out, "Bruenor had my blade?"
5
Ashes
The room was empty, the fire burning low. The figure knew that there were
gray dwarves, duergar, in the side chamber, through the partly opened door, but
he had to chance it. This section of the complex was too full of the scum for
him to continue along the tunnels without his disguise.
