"Of course," agreed Dendybar. "No purpose in wasting such a valuable
hostage."
"We are three against five," Sydney reasoned. "If things do not work
out as easily as the two of you seem to expect, the girl may prove to be
our downfall."
"She goes!" demanded Entreri.
Dendybar had the solution already worked out. He turned a wry smile at
Sydney. "Take Bok," he chuckled.
Sydney's face drooped, at the suggestion, as though Dendybar's command
had stolen her desire for the hunt.
Entreri wasn't sure if he liked this new development or not.
Sensing the assassin's discomfort, Dendybar motioned Sydney to a
curtained closet at the side of the room. "Bok," she called softly when she
got there, the hint of a tremble in her voice.
It stepped through the curtain. Fully eight feet tall and three wide at
the shoulders, the monster strode stiffly to the woman's side. A huge man,
it seemed, and indeed the wizard had used pieces of human bodies for many
of its parts. Bok was bigger and more square than any man living, nearly
the size of a giant, and had been magically empowered with strength beyond
the measures of the natural world.
"A golem," Dendybar proudly explained. "My own creation. Bok could kill
us all right now. Even your fell blade would be of little use against it,
Artemis Entreri."
The assassin wasn't so convinced, but he could not completely mask his
intimidation. Dendybar had obviously tipped the scales of their partnership
in his own favor, but Entreri knew that if he backed away from the bargain
now he would be aligning the mottled wizard and his minions against him,
and in direct competition with him for the dwarf's party. Furthermore, it
would take him weeks, perhaps even months to catch the travelers by normal
means and he did not doubt that Dendybar could get there faster.
Catti-brie shared the same uncomfortable thoughts. She had no desire to
travel with the gruesome monster, but she wondered what carnage she would
find when she finally caught up to Bruenor and the others if Entreri
decided to break away from the alliance.
"Fear not," Dendybar comforted. "Bok is harmless, incapable of any
independent thought, for, you see, Bok has no mind. The golem answers to my
commands, or to Sydney's, and would walk into a fire to be consumed if we
merely asked it to do so!"
"I have business to finish in the city," Entreri said, not doubting
Dendybar's words and having little desire to hear any more about the golem.
"When do we depart?" "Night would be best," reasoned Dendybar. "Come back
to the green outside the Hosttower when the sun is down. We shall meet
there and get you on your way."
Alone in his chamber, save for Bok, Dendybar stroked the golem's
muscled shoulders with deep affection. Bok was his hidden trump, his
protection against the resistance of the companions, or the treachery of
Artemis Entreri. But Dendybar did not part with the monster easily, for it
played a powerful role, as well, in protecting him from would-be successors
in the Hosttower. Dendybar had subtly but definitely passed along the
warning to other wizards that any of them striking against him would have
to deal with Bok, even if Dendybar were dead.
But the road ahead might be long, and the Master of the North Spire
could not forsake his duties and expect to hold his title. Especially not
with the Archmage just looking for any excuse to be rid of him,
understanding the dangers of Dendybar's outspoken aspirations to the
central tower.
"Nothing can stop you, my pet," Dendybar told the monster. In truth, he
was simply reaffirming his own fears about his choice to send the
inexperienced mage in his stead. He didn't doubt her loyalty, nor
Jierdan's, but Entreri and the heroes from Icewind Dale were not to be
taken lightly.
"I have given you the hunting power," Dendybar explained, as he tossed
the scroll tube and the now-useless parchment to the floor. "The drow is
your purpose and you can now sense his presence from any distance. Find
him! Do not return to me without Drizzt Do'Urden!"
A guttural roar issued from Bok's blue lips, the only sound the
unthinking instrument was capable of uttering.
Entreri and Catti-brie found the wizard's party already assembled when
they arrived at the Hosttower later that night.
Jierdan stood alone, off to the side, apparently none too thrilled
about partaking in the adventure, but having little choice. The soldier
feared the golem, and had no love, or trust, for Entreri. He feared
Dendybar more, though, and his uneasiness about the potential dangers on
the road did not measure up against the certain dangers he would face at
the hands of the mottled wizard if he refused to go.
Sydney broke away from Bok and Dendybar and walked across the way to
meet her companions. "Greetings," she offered, more interested in
appeasement now than competition with her formidable partner. "Dendybar
prepares our mounts. The ride to Silverymoon shall be swift indeed!"
Entreri and Catti-brie looked to the mottled wizard. Bok stood beside
him, holding an unrolled parchment out in view while Dendybar poured a
smoky liquid from a beaker over a white feather and chanted the runes of
the spell.
A mist grew at the wizard's feet, swirling and thickening into
something with a definite shape. Dendybar left it to its transformation and
moved to repeat the ritual a short way off. By the time the first magical
horse had appeared, the wizard was creating the fourth and final one.
Entreri raised his brow. "Four?" he asked Sydney. "We are now five."
"Bok could not ride," she replied, amused at the notion. "It will run."
She turned and headed back toward Dendybar, leaving Entreri with the
thought.
"Of course," Entreri muttered to himself, somehow less thrilled than
ever about the presence of the unnatural thing.
But Catti-brie had begun to view things a bit differently. Dendybar had
obviously sent Bok along more to gain an advantage over Entreri than to
ensure victory over her friends. Entreri must have known it, too.
Without realizing it, the wizard had set up just the type of nervous
environment that Catti-brie hoped for, a tense situation that she might
find a way to exploit.
10
Bonds of Reputation
The sun beamed brightly on the morning of the first day out from
Longsaddle. The companions, refreshed by their visit with the Harpells,
rode at a strong pace, but still managed to enjoy the clear weather and the
clear road. The land was flat and unmarked, not a tree or hill anywhere
near.
"Three days to Nesme, maybe four," Regis told them.
"More to three if the weather holds," said Wulfgar.
Drizzt shifted under his cowl. However pleasant the morning might seem
to them, he knew they were still in the wilds. Three days could prove to be
a long ride indeed.
"What do ye know of this place, Nesme?" Bruenor asked Regis.
"Just what Harkle told us," Regis replied. "A fair-sized city, trading
folk. But a careful place. I have never been there, but tales of the brave
people living on the edge of the Evermoors reach far across the northland."
"I am intrigued by the Evermoors," said Wulfgar. "Harkle would say
little of the place, just shake his head and shiver whenever I asked of
it."
"Not to doubt, a place with a name beyond truth," Bruenor said,
laughing, unimpressed by reputations. "Could it be worse than the dale?"
Regis shrugged, not fully convinced by the dwarf's argument. "The tales
of the Trollmoors, for that is the name given to those lands, may be
exaggerated, but they are always foreboding. Every city in the north
salutes the bravery of the people of Nesme for keeping the trading route
along the Surbrin open in the face of such trials."
Bruenor laughed again. "Might it be that the tales be coming from
Nesme, to paint them stronger than what they are?"
Regis did not argue.
By the time they broke for lunch, a high haze veiled the sunshine. Away
to the north, a black line of clouds had appeared, rushing their way.
Drizzt had expected as much. In the wild, even the weather proved an enemy.
That afternoon the squall line rolled over them, carrying sheets of
rain and hailstones that clinked off of Bruenor's dented helm. Sudden cuts
of lightning sliced the darkened sky and the thunder nearly knocked them
from their mounts. But they plodded on through the deepening mud.
"This is the true test of the road!" Drizzt yelled to them through the
howling wind. "Many more travelers are defeated by storms than by orcs,
because they do not anticipate the dangers when they begin their journey!"
"Bah! A summer rain is all!" Bruenor snorted defiantly.
As if in prideful reply, a lightning bolt exploded just a few yards to
the side of the riders. The horses jumped and kicked. Bruenor's pony went
down, stumbling split-legged into the mud and nearly crushing the stunned
dwarf in its scramble.
His own mount out of control, Regis managed to dive from the saddle and
roll away.
Bruenor got to his knees and wiped the mud from his eyes, cursing all
the while. "Damn!" he spat, studying the pony's movements. "The thing's
lame!"
Wulfgar steadied his own horse and tried to start after Regis's bolting
pony, but the hailstones, driven by the wind, pelted him, blinded him, and
stung his horse, and again he found himself fighting to hold his seat.
Another lightning bolt thundered in. And another.
Drizzt, whispering softly and covering his horse's head with his cloak
to calm it, moved slowly beside the dwarf. "Lame!" Bruenor shouted again,
although Drizzt could barely hear him.
Drizzt only shook his head helplessly and pointed to Bruenor's axe.
More lightning came, and another blast of wind. Drizzt rolled to the
side of his mount to shield himself, aware that he could not keep the beast
calm much longer.
The hailstones began to come larger, striking with the force of slung
bullets.
Drizzt's terrified horse jerked him to the ground and, bucked away,
trying to flee beyond the reach of the punishing storm.
Drizzt was up quickly beside Bruenor, but any emergency plans the two
might have had were immediately deterred, for then Wulfgar stumbled back
toward them.
He was walking-barely-leaning against the wind's push, using it to hold
him upright. His eyes seemed droopy, his jaw twitched, and blood mixed with
the rain on his cheek. He looked at his friends blankly, as if he had no
comprehension of what had happened to him.
Then he fell, face down, into the mud at their feet.
A shrill whistle cut through the blunt wall of wind, a singular point
of hope against the storm's mounting power. Drizzt's keen ears caught it as
he and Bruenor hoisted their young friend's face from the muck. So far away
the whistle seemed, but Drizzt understood how storms could distort one's
perceptions.
"What?" Bruenor asked of the noise, noticing the drow's sudden
reaction, for Bruenor had not heard the call.
"Regis!" Drizzt answered. He started dragging Wulfgar in the direction
of the whistle, Bruenor following his lead. They didn't have time to
discern if the young man was even alive.
The quick-thinking halfling saved them that day. Fully aware of the
killing potential of squalls rolling down from the Spine of the World,
Regis had crawled around in search of some shelter in the empty land. He
stumbled across a hole in the side of a small ridge, an old wolf den
perhaps, empty now.
Following the beacon of his whistles, Drizzt and Bruenor soon found
him.
"It'll fill with the rain and we'll be drowned!" Bruenor yelled, but he
helped Drizzt drag Wulfgar inside and prop him up against the rear wall of
the cave, then took his place beside his friends as they worked to build a
barrier of dirt and their remaining packs against the feared flood.
A groan from Wulfgar sent Regis scurrying to his side.
"He's alive!" the halfling proclaimed. "And his wounds don't seem too
bad!" -?
"Tougher'n a badger in a corner," Bruenor remarked.
Soon they had their den tolerable, if not comfortable, and even Bruenor
stopped his complaining.
"The true test of the road," Drizzt said again to Regis, trying to
cheer up his thoroughly miserable friend as they sat in the Mud and rode
out the night, the incessant booming of the thunder and pounding of the
hail a constant reminder of the small margin of safety.
In reply, Regis poured a stream of water out of his boot.
"How many miles do ye reckon we made?" Bruenor grumbled at Drizzt.
"Ten, perhaps," the drow answered.
"Two weeks to Nesme, at this rate!" Bruenor muttered, folding his arms
across his chest.
"The storm will pass," Drizzt offered hopefully, but the dwarf was no
longer listening.
The next day began without rain, though thick gray clouds hung low in
the sky. Wulfgar was fine by morning, but he still did not understand what
had happened to him. Bruenor insisted that they start out at once, though
Regis would have preferred that they remain in their hole until they were
certain the storm had passed.
"Most of the provisions are lost," Drizzt reminded the halfling. "You
might not find another meal beyond a pittance of dried bread until we reach
