probing. "DelRoy is very old and learned. He may prove to be our best hope
of ever finding the road to Mithril Hall."
Bruenor was indeed thinking to the meeting ahead.
And Drizzt sat back quietly throughout the meal, considering the tales
and the images of his homeland that he had imparted to DelRoy, remembering
the unique beauty of Menzoberranzan.
And the malicious hearts that had despoiled it.
A short time later, Harkle took Drizzt, Bruenor, and Wulfgar to see the
old mage - Regis had begged out of the meeting in lieu of another party at
the tavern. They met DelRoy in a small, torchlit, and shadowy chamber, the
flickerings of light heightening the mystery in the aged wizard's face.
Bruenor and Wulfgar came at once to agree with Drizzt's observations of
DelRoy, for decades of experience and untold adventures were etched visibly
into the features of his leathery brown skin. His body was failing him now,
they could see, but the sheen of his pale eyes told of inner life and left
little doubt about the sharp edge of his mind.
Bruenor spread his map out on the room's circular table, beside the
books and scrolls that DelRoy had brought. The old mage studied it
carefully for a few seconds, tracing the line that had brought the
companions to Longsaddle. "What do you recall of the ancient halls, dwarf?"
he asked. "Landmarks or neighboring peoples?"
Bruenor shook his head. "The pictures in me head show the deep halls
and workplaces, the ringing sound of iron on the anvil. The flight of me
clan started in mountains; that's all I know."
"The northland is a wide country," Harkle remarked. "Many long ranges
could harbor such a stronghold."
"That is why Mithril Hall, for all of its reputed wealth, has never
been found," replied DelRoy.
"And thus our dilemma," said Drizzt. "Deciding where to even begin to
look."
"Ah, but you have already begun," answered DelRoy. "You have chosen
well to come inland; most of the legends of Mithril Hall stem from the
lands east of here, even farther from the coast. It seems likely that your
goal lies between Longsaddle and the great desert, though north or south, I
cannot guess. You have done well."
Drizzt nodded and broke off the conversation as the old mage fell back
into his silent examination of Bruenor's map, marking strategic points and
referring often to the stack of books he had piled beside the table.
Bruenor hovered beside DelRoy, anxious for any advice or revelations that
might be forthcoming. Dwarves were patient folk, though, a trait that
allowed their crafting to outshine the work of the other races, and Bruenor
kept his calm as best he could, not wanting to press the wizard.
Some time later, when DelRoy was satisfied that his sorting of all the
pertinent information was complete, he spoke again. "Where would you go
next," he asked Bruenor, "if no advice were offered here?"
The dwarf looked back to his map, Drizzt peering over his shoulder, and
traced a line east with his stubby finger. He looked to Drizzt for consent
when he had reached a certain point that they had discussed earlier on the
road. The drow nodded. "Citadel Adbar," Bruenor declared, tapping his
finger on the map.
"The dwarven stronghold," said DelRoy, not too surprised. "A fine
choice. King Harbromm and his dwarves may be able to aid you greatly. They
have been there, in the Mithril Mountains, for centuries uncounted.
Certainly Adbar was old even in the days when the hammers of Mithril Hall
rang out in dwarven song."
"Is Citadel Adbar your advice to us, then?" Drizzt asked.
"It is your own choice, but as good a destination as I can offer,"
replied DelRoy. "But the way is long, five weeks at the least if all goes
well. And on the east road beyond Sundabar, that is unlikely. Still, you
may get there before the first colds of winter, though I doubt that you
would be able to take Harbromm's information and resume your journey before
the next spring."
"Then the choice seems clear," declared Bruenor. "To Adbar!"
"There is more you should know," said DelRoy. "And this is the true
advice that I shall give to you: Do not be blinded to the possibilities
along the road by the hopeful vision at the road's end. Your course so far
has followed straight runs, first from Icewind Dale to Luskan, then from
Luskan to here. There is little, other than monsters, along either of those
roads to give a rider cause to turn aside. But on the journey to Adbar, you
shall pass Silverymoon, city of wisdom and legacy, and the Lady Alustriel,
and the Vault of Sages, as fine a library as exists in all the northland.
Many in that fair city may be able to offer more aid to your quest than I,
or even than King Harbromm. "And beyond Silverymoon you shall find
Sundabar, itself an ancient dwarven stronghold, where Helm, reknowned
dwarf-friend, rules. His ties to your race run deep, Bruenor, tracing back
many generations. Ties, perhaps, even to your own people."
"Possibilities!" beamed Harkle.
"We shall heed your wise advice, DelRoy," said Drizzt.
"Aye," agreed the dwarf, his spirits high. "When we left the dale, I
had no idea beyond Luskan. Me hopes were to follow a road of guesses,
expectin' half and more to be nothing of value. The halfling was wise in
guiding us to this spot, for we've found a trail of clues! And clues to
lead to more clues!" He looked around at the excited group, Drizzt, Harkle,
and DelRoy, and then noticed Wulfgar, still sitting quietly in his chair,
his huge arms crossed on his chest, watching without any apparent emotion.
"What of yerself, boy?" Bruenor demanded. "Have ye a notion to share?"
Wulfgar leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Neither my
quest, nor my land," he explained. "I follow you, confident in any path you
choose.
"And I am glad of your mirth and excitement," he added quietly.
Bruenor took the explanation as complete, and turned back to DelRoy and
Harkle for some specific information on the road ahead. Drizzt, though,
unconvinced of the sincerity of Wulfgar's last statement, let his gaze
linger on the young barbarian, noting the expression in his eyes as he
watched Bruenor.
Sorrow?
They spent two more restful days in the Ivy Mansion, though Drizzt was
hounded constantly by curious Harpells who wanted more information about
his rarely seen race. He took the questions politely, understanding their
good intentions, and answered as best he could. When Harkle came to escort
them out on the fifth morning, they were refreshed and ready to get on with
their business. Harkle promised to arrange for the return of the horses to
their rightful owners, saying that it was the least he could do for the
strangers who had brought so much interest to the town.
But in truth, the friends had benefited more for the stay. DelRoy and
Harkle had given them valuable information and, perhaps even more
importantly, had restored their hope in the quest. Bruenor was up and about
before dawn that last morning, his adrenaline pumping at the thought of
returning to the road now that he had somewhere to go.
They moved out from the mansion throwing many good-byes and lamenting
looks over their shoulders, even from Wulfgar, who had come in so steadfast
in his antipathy toward wizards.
They crossed the overbridge, saying farewell to Chardin, who was too
lost in his meditations of the stream to even notice, and soon discovered
that the structure beside the miniature stable was an experimental farm.
"It will change the face of the world!" Harkle assured them as he veered
them toward the building for a closer look. Drizzt guessed his meaning even
before they entered, as soon as he heard the high-pitched bleating and
cricketlike chirping. Like the stable, the farm was one room, though part
of it had no roof and was actually a field within walls. Cat-sized cows and
sheep mulled about, while chickens the size of field mice dodged around the
animals' tiny feet.
"Of course, this is the first season and we have not seen results yet,"
explained Harkle, "but we expect a high yield considering the small amount
of resources involved."
"Efficiency," laughed Regis. "Less feed, less space, and you can blow
them back up when you want to eat them!"
"Precisely!" said Harkle.
They next went to the stable, where Harkle picked out fine mounts for
them, two horses and two ponies. These were gifts, Harkle explained, only
to be returned at the companions' leisure. "It's the least we could do to
aid such a noble quest," Harkle said with a low bow to stop any protests
from Bruenor and Drizzt.
The road meandered, continuing on down the back of the hill. Harkle
stood for a moment scratching his chin, a puzzled expression on his face.
"The sixth post," he told himself, "but to the left or the right?"
A man working on a ladder (another amusing curiosity - to see a ladder
rise up above the phony rails of the fence and come to rest in mid-air
against the top of the invisible wall) came to their aid. "Forgot again?"
he chuckled at Harkle. "He pointed to the railing off to one side. "Sixth
post to your left!"
Harkle shrugged away his embarrassment and moved on.
The companions watched the workman curiously as they passed from the
hill, their mounts still tucked under their arms. He had a bucket and some
rags and was rubbing several reddish-brown spots from the invisible wall.
"Low-flying birds," Harkle explained apologetically. "But have no fear,
Regweld is working on the problem even as we speak.
"Now we have come to the end of our meeting, though many years shall
pass before you are forgotten in the Ivy Mansion! The road takes you right
through the village of Longsaddle. You can restock your supplies there - it
has all been arranged."
"Me deepest regards to yerself and yer kin," said Bruenor, bowing low.
"Suren Longsaddle has been a bright spot on a bleary road!" The others were
quick to agree.
"Farewell then, Companions of the Hall," sighed Harkle. "The Harpells
expect to see a small token when you at last find Mithril Hall and start
the ancient forges burning again!" .
"A king's treasure!" Bruenor assured him as they moved away.
They were back on the road beyond Longsaddle's borders before noon,
their mounts trotting along easily with fully stuffed packs.
"Well, which do ye prefer, elf," Bruenor asked later that day, "the
jabs of a mad soldier's spear, or the pokings of a wonderin' wizard's
nose?"
Drizzt chuckled defensively as he thought about the question.
Longsaddle had been so different from anywhere he had ever been, and yet,
so much the same. In either case, his color singled him out as an oddity,
and it wasn't so much the hostility of his usual treatment that bothered
him, as the embarrassing reminders that he would ever be different.
Only Wulfgar, riding beside him, caught his mumbled reply.
"The road."
9
There is No Honor
"Why do you approach the city before the light of dawn?" the
Nightkeeper of the North Gate asked the emissary for the merchant caravan
that had pulled up outside Luskan's wall. Jierdan, in his post beside the
Nightkeeper, watched with special interest, certain that. this troupe had
come from Ten-Towns.
"We would not impose upon the regulations of the city if our business
were not urgent," answered the spokesman. "We have not rested for two
days." Another, man emerged from the cluster of wagons, a body limp across
his shoulders.
"Murdered on the road," explained the spokesman. "And another of the
party taken. Catti-brie, daughter of Bruenor Battlehammer himself!"
"A dwarf-maid?" Jierdan blurted out, suspecting otherwise, but masking
his excitement for fear that it might implicate him.
"Nay, no dwarf. A woman," lamented the spokeman. "Fairest in all the
dale, maybe in all the north. The dwarf took her in as an orphaned child
and claimed her as his own."
"Orcs?" asked the Nightkeeper, more concerned with potential hazards on
the road than with the fate of a single woman.
"This was not the work of orcs," replied the spokesman. "Stealth and
cunning took Catti-brie from us and killed the driver. We did not even
discover the foul deed until the next morn."
Jierdan needed no further information, not even a more complete
description of Catti-brie, to put the pieces together. Her connection to
Bruenor explained Entreri's interest in her. Jierdan looked to the eastern
horizon and the first rays of the coming dawn, anxious to be cleared of his
duties on the wall so that he could go report his findings to Dendybar.
This little piece of news should help to alleviate the mottled wizard's
anger at him for losing the drow's trail on the docks.
"He has not found them?" Dendybar hissed at Sydney.
"He has found nothing but a cold trail," the younger mage replied. "If
they are on the docks yet, they are well disguised."
Dendybar paused to consider his apprentice's report. Something was out
of place with this scenario. Four distinctive characters simply could not
have vanished. "Have you learned anything of the assassin, then, or of his
companion?"
"The vagabonds in the alleys fear him. Even the ruffians give him a
