Drizzt - 12 - The Spine of the World

by R. A. Salvatore

  "Looks like a good one to have along for a pirate fight," remarked Waillan Micanty, the third of the group.

  "So 'tis true!" said the second. "Not as good as his companion, though. Ye're knowin' that one. A dark-skinned fellow, small and pretty lookin', but fiercer than a wounded sahuagin, and quicker with a blade-or a pair o' the things-than any I ever seen."

  "Drizzt Do'Urden?" asked the skinny one. "That big one traveled with the drow elf?"

  "Yep," said the second, now commanding their fullest attention. He was smiling widely, both at being the center of it all and in remembering the exciting voyage he had taken with Wulfgar, Drizzt, and the drow's panther companion.

  "What about Catti-brie?" asked Waillan, who, like all of Deudermont's crew, had developed a huge crush on the beautiful and capable woman soon after she and Drizzt had joined their crew a couple of years before. Drizzt, Catti-brie, and Guenhywvar had sailed aboard Sea Sprite for many months, and how much easier scuttling pirates had been with that trio along!

  "Catti-brie joined us south o' Baldur's Gate," the storyteller explained. "She came in with a dwarf, King Bruenor of Mithral Hall, on a flying chariot that was all aflame. Never seen anything like it, I tell ye, for that wild dwarf put the thing right across the sails o' one o' the pirate ships we was fighting. Took the whole danged ship down, he did, and was still full o' spit and battle spirit when we pulled him from the water!"

  "Bah, but ye're lyin'," the skinny sailor started to protest.

  "No, I heard the story," Waillan Micanty put in. "Heard it from the captain himself, and from Drizzt and Catti-brie."

  That quieted the skinny man. All of them just sat and studied Wulfgar's movements a bit longer.

  "Ye're sure that's him?" the first asked. "That's the Wulfgar fellow?" Even as he asked the question, Wulfgar brought Aegis-fang off of his back and placed it against a wall.

  "Oh, by me own eyes, that's him," the second answered. "I'd not be forgettin' him or that hammer o' his. He can split a mast with the thing, I tell ye, and put it in a pirate's eye, left or right, at a hunnerd long strides."

  Across the room, Wulfgar had a short argument with a patron. With one mighty hand the barbarian reached out and grabbed the man's throat and easily, so very easily, hoisted him from his seat and into the air. Wulfgar strode calmly across the inn to the door and tossed the drunk into the street.

  "Strongest man I ever seen," the second sailor remarked, and his two companions weren't about to disagree. They drained their drinks and watched a bit longer before leaving the Cutlass for home, where they found themselves running anxiously to inform their captain of who they'd seen.

  *****

  Captain Deudermont rubbed his fingers pensively across his neatly trimmed beard, trying to digest the tale Waillan Micanty had just related to him. He was trying very hard, for it made no sense to him. When Drizzt and Catti-brie had sailed with him during those wonderful early years of chasing pirates along the Sword Coast, they had told him a sad tale of Wulfgar's demise. The story had had a profound effect on Deudermont, who had befriended the huge barbarian on that journey to Memnon years before.

  Wulfgar was dead, so Drizzt and Catti-brie had claimed, and so Deudermont had believed. Yet here was one of Duedermont's trusted crewmen claiming that the barbarian was very much alive and well and working in the Cutlass, a tavern Deudermont had frequented. The image brought Deudermont back to his first meeting with the barbarian and Drizzt in the Mermaid's Arms tavern in Waterdeep. Wulfgar had avoided a fight with a notorious brawler by the name of Bungo. What great things the barbarian and his companions had subsequently accomplished, from rescuing their little halfling friend from the clutches of a notorious pasha in Calimport to the reclamation of Mithral Hall for Clan Battlehammer. The thought, of Wulfgar working as a brawler in a seedy tavern in Luskan seemed preposterous. Especially since, according to Drizzt and Catti-brie, Wulfgar was dead. Deudermont thought of his last voyage with the duo when Sea Sprite had put onto a remote island far out at sea. A blind seer had accosted Drizzt with a riddle about one he thought he had lost. The last time Deudermont had seen Drizzt and Catti-brie was at their parting, on an inland lake, no less, where Sea Sprite had been inadvertently transported. So might Wulfgar be alive? Captain Deudermont had seen too much to dismiss the possibility out of hand.

  Still, it seemed likely to the captain that his crewmen had been mistaken. They had little experience with northern barbarians, all of whom seemed huge and blond and strong. One might look like another to them. The Cutlass had taken on a barbarian warrior as a bouncer, but it was not Wulfgar.

  He thought no more of it, having many duties and engagements to attend at the more upscale homes and establishments in the city. Three days later, however, when dining at the table of one of Luskan's noble families, the conversation turned to the death of one of the city's most reknowned bullies.

  "We're a lot better off without Tree Block Breaker," one of the guests insisted. "The purest form of trouble ever to enter our city."

  "Just a thug and nothing more," another replied, "and not so tough."

  "Bah, but he could take down a running horse by stepping in front of the thing," the first insisted. "I saw him do so!"

  "But he couldn't take down Arumn Gardpeck's new boy," the other put in. "When he tried to fight that fellow, our Tree Block Breaker flew out of the Cutlass and brought the frame of a door with him."

  Deudermont's ears perked up.

  "Yeah, that one," the first agreed. "Too strong for any man, from the stories I am hearing, and that warhammer! Most beautiful weapon I've ever seen."

  The mention of the hammer nearly made Deudermont choke on his food, for he remembered well the power of Aegis-fang. "What is his name?" the captain inquired.

  "Who's name?"

  "Arumn Gardpeck's new boy."

  The two men looked at each other and shrugged. "Wolf-something, I believe," the first said. When he left the noble's house, a couple of hours later, Captain Deudermont found himself wandering not back to Sea Sprite, but along infamous Half-Moon Street, the toughest section of Luskan, the home of the Cutlass. He went in without hesitation, pulling up a chair at the first empty table. Duedermont spotted the big man before he even sat down. It was, without doubt, Wulfgar, son of Beornegar. The captain hadn't known Wulfgar very well and hadn't seen him in years, but there could be no question about it. The sheer size, the aura of strength, and the piercing blue eyes of the man gave him away. Oh, he was more haggard-looking now, with an unkempt beard and dirty clothes, but he was Wulfgar.

  The big man met Duedermont's stare momentarily, but there was no recognition in the barbarian's eyes when he turned away. Deudermont became even more certain when he saw the magnificent warhammer, Aegis-fang, strapped across Wulfgar's broad back.

  "Ye drinking or looking for a fight?"

  Deudermont turned about to see a young woman standing beside his table, tray in hand.

  "Well?"

  "Looking for a fight?" the captain repeated dully, not understanding.

  "The way ye're staring at him," the young woman responded, motioning toward Wulfgar.

  "Many's the ones who come in here looking for a fight. Many's the ones who get carried away from here. But good enough for ye if ye're wanting to fight him, and good enough for him if ye leave him dead in the street."

  "I seek no fight," Deudermont assured her. "But, do tell me, what is his name?" The woman snorted and shook her head, frustrated for some reason Deudermont could not fathom. "Wulfgar," she answered. "And better for us all if he never came in here." Without asking again if he wanted a drink, she merely walked away.

  Deudermont paid her no further heed, staring again at the big man. How had Wulfgar wound up here? Why wasn't he dead? And where were Drizzt, and Catti-brie?

  He sat patiently, watching the lay of the place as the hours passed, until dawn neared and all the patrons, save he and one skinny fellow at the bar, had drifted out.

  "Time for leaving,
" the barkeep called to him. When Duerdermont made no move to respond or rise from his chair, the man's bouncer made his way over to the table. Looming huge, Wulfgar glared down upon the seated captain. "You can walk out, or you can fly out," he explained gruffly. "The choice is yours to make."

  "You have traveled far from your fight with pirates south of Baldur's Gate," the captain replied. "Though I question your direction."

  Wulfgar cocked his head and studied the man more closely. A flicker of recognition, just a flicker, crossed his bearded face.

  "Have you forgotten our voyage south?" Deudermont prompted him. "The fight with pirate Pinochet and the flaming chariot?"

  Wulfgar's eyes widened. "What do you know of these things?"

  "Know of them?" Deudermont echoed incredulously. "Why, Wulfgar, you sailed on my vessel to Memnon and back. Your friends, Drizzt and Catti-brie, sailed with me again not too long ago, though surely they thought you dead!"

  The big man fell back as if he had been slapped across the face. A jumbled mixture of emotions flashed across his clear blue eyes, everything from nostalgia to loathing. He spent a long moment trying to recover from the shock.

  "You are mistaken, good man," he replied at last to Deudermont's surprise. "About my name and about my past. It is time for you to leave."

  "But Wulfgar," Deudermont started to protest. He jumped in surprise to find another man, small and dark and ominous, standing right behind him, though he had heard not a footfall of approach. Wulfgar looked to the little man, then motioned to Arumn. The barkeep, after a moment's hesitation, reached behind the bar and produced a bottle, tossing it across the way where sure-fingered Morik caught it easily.

  "Walk or fly?" Wulfgar asked Deudermont again. The sheer emptiness of his tone, not icy cold, but purely indifferent, struck Deudermont profoundly, told him that the man would make good on the promise to launch him out of the tavern without hesitation if he didn't move immediately.

  " Sea Sprite is in port for another week at the least," Deudermont explained, rising and heading for the door. "You are welcomed there as a guest or to join the crew, for I have not forgotten," he finished firmly, the promise ringing in his wake as he slipped from the inn.

  "Who was that?" Morik asked Wulfgar after Deudermont had disappeared into the dark Luskan night.

  "A fool," was all that the big man would answer. He went to the bar and pointedly pulled another bottle from the shelf. Turning his gaze from Arumn to Delly, the surly barbarian left with Morik.

  *****

  Captain Duedermont had a long walk ahead of him to the dock. The sights and sounds of Luskan's nightlife washed over him-loud, slurred voices through open tavern windows, barking dogs, clandestine whispers in dark corners-but Duedermont scarcely heard them, engrossed as he was in his own thoughts.

  So Wulfgar was alive, and yet in worse condition than the captain could ever have imagined the heroic man. His offer to the barbarian to join the crew of Sea Sprite had been genuine, but he knew from the barbarian's demeanor that Wulfgar would never take him up on it. What was Deudermont to do?

  He wanted to help Wulfgar, but Deudermont was experienced enough in the ways of trouble to understand that you couldn't help a man who didn't want help.

  "If you plan to leave a dinner engagement, kindly inform us of your whereabouts," came a reproachful greeting as the captain approached his ship. He looked up to see both Robillard and Waillan Micanty staring down at him from the rail.

  "You shouldn't be out alone," Waillan Micanty scolded, but Deudermont merely waved away the notion.

  Robillard frowned his concern. "How many enemies have we made these last years?" the wizard demanded in all seriousness. "How many would pay sacks of gold for a mere chance at your head?"

  "That's why I employ a wizard to watch over me," Deudermont replied calmly, setting foot up the plank.

  Robillard snorted at the absurdity of the remark. "How am I to watch over you if I don't even know where you are?"

  Duedermont stopped in his tracks, and a wide smile creased his face as he gazed up at his wizard. "If you can't locate me magically, what faith should I hold that you could find those who wish me harm?"

  "But it is true, Captain," Waillan interjected while Robillard flushed darkly. "Many would love to meet up with you unguarded in the streets."

  "Am I to bottle up the whole crew, then?" Deudermont asked. "None shall leave, for fear of reprisals by friends of the pirates?"

  "Few would leave Sea Sprite alone," Waillan argued.

  "Fewer still would be known enough to pirates to be targets!" Robillard spouted. "Our enemies would not attack a minor and easily replaced crewman, for to do so would incur the wrath of Deudermont and the lords of Waterdeep, but the price might be worth paying for the chance to eliminate the captain of Sea Sprite." The wizard blew a deep sigh and eyed the captain pointedly. "You should not be out alone," he finished firmly.

  "I had to check on an old friend," Deudermont explained.

  "Wulfgar, by name?" asked the perceptive wizard.

  "So I thought," replied Deudermont sourly as he continued up the plank and by the two men, going to his quarters without another word.

  *****

  It was too small and nasty a place to even have a name, a gathering hole for the worst of Luskan's wretches. They were sailors mostly, wanted by lords or angry families for heinous crimes. Their fears that walking openly down a street in whatever port their ship entered would get them arrested or murdered were justified. So they came to holes like this, back rooms in shanties conveniently stocked near to the docks.

  Morik the Rogue knew these places well, for he'd got his start on the streets working as lookout for one of the most dangerous of these establishments when he was but a young boy. He didn't go into such holes often anymore. Among the more civilized establishments, he was highly respected and regarded, and feared, and that was probably the emotion Morik most enjoyed. In here, though, he was just another thug, a little thief in a nest of assassins. He couldn't resist entering a hole this night, though, not with the captain of the famed Sea Sprite showing up to have a conversation with his new friend, Wulfgar.

  "How tall?" asked Creeps Sharky, one of the two thugs at Morik's table. Creeps was a grizzled old sea dog with uneven clumps of dirty beard on his ruddy cheeks and one eye missing.

  "Cheap Creeps," the patrons often called him, for the man was quick with his rusty old dagger and slow with his purse. So tight was Creeps with his booty that he wouldn't even buy a proper patch for his missing eye. The dark edge of the empty socket stared out at Morik from beneath the lowest folds of the bandana Creeps had tied about his head.

  "Head and a half taller than me," Morik answered. "Maybe two." Creeps glanced to his pirate companion, an exotic specimen, indeed. The man had a thick topknot of black hair and tattoos all about his face, neck, and practically every other patch of exposed flesh-and since all he wore was a kilt of tiger skin, there was more than a little flesh exposed. Just following Creeps's glance to the other sent a shudder along Morik's spine, for while he didn't know the specifics of Creeps's companion, he had certainly heard the rumors about the

  "man," Tee-a-nicknick. This pirate was only half human, the other half being qullan, some rare and ferocious warrior race.

  "Sea Sprite's in port," Creeps remarked to Morik. The rogue nodded, for he had seen the three-masted schooner on his way to this drinking hole.

  "He wore a beard just about the jawline," Morik added, trying to give as complete a description as he could.

  "He sit straight?" the tattooed pirate asked.

  Morik looked at Tee-a-nicknick as if he did not understand.

  "Did he sit straight in his chair?" Creeps clarified, assuming a pose of perfect posture.

  "Lookin' like he had a plank shoved up his arse all the way to his throat?" Morik smiled and nodded. "Straight and tall."

  Again the two pirates shared a glance.

  "Soundin' like Deudermont," Creeps put in. "The
dog. I'd give a purse o' gold to put me knife across that one's throat. Put many o' me friends to the bottom, he has, and cost all o' us prettily." The tattooed pirate showed his agreement by hoisting a bulging purse of coins onto the table. Morik realized then that every other conversation in the hole had come to an abrupt halt and that all eyes were upon him and his two rakish companions.

  "Aye, Morik, but ye're likin' the sight," Creeps remarked, indicating the purse. "Well, it's yer own to have, and ten more like it, I'm guessin'." Creeps jumped up suddenly, sending his chair skidding back across the floor. "What're ye sayin', lads?" he cried. "Who's got a gold coin or ten for the head o' Deudermont o' Sea Sprite?"

  A great cheer went up throughout the rathole, with many curses spoken against Deudermont and his pirate-killing crew.

  Morik hardly heard them, so focused was he on the purse of gold. Deudermont had come to see Wulfgar. Every man in the place, and a hundred more like them, no doubt, would pitch in a few more coins. Deudermont knew Wulfgar well and trusted him. A thousand gold pieces. Ten thousand? Morik and Wulfgar could get to Deudermont, and easily. Morik's greedy, thieving mind reeled at the possibilities.

  Chapter 2

  ENCHANTMENT

  She came skipping down the lane, so much like a little girl, and yet so obviously a young woman. Shiny black hair bounced around her shoulders, and her green eyes flashed as brightly as the beaming smile upon her fair face.

  She had just spoken to him, to Jaka Sculi, with his soulful blue eyes and his curly brown hair, one strand hanging across the bridge of his nose. And just speaking to him made her skip where she might have walked, made her forget the mud that crept in through the holes in her old shoes or the tasteless food she would find in her wooden bowl at her parents' table that night. None of that mattered, not the bugs, not the dirty water, nothing. She had spoken to Jaka, and that alone made her warm and tingly and scared and alive all at the same time.