“My friends and I will escort you to Bryn Shander’s gates, but then I, at least, will turn away for Kelvin’s Cairn.”
“You will get your pay.”
Drizzt smiled. He hardly cared, and had only wanted to inform the caravan of his plans.
“The Battlehammer dwarves for you, then?” the driver added, and Drizzt nodded. “I heard you were friends o’ them.”
“Proud to be called such.”
“We’ve a wagon of goods bound for Stokely Silverstream’s boys,” the driver explained, and Drizzt was glad to hear that name again. “Might be two. I’ll begin splitting up the goods when we camp tonight, sorting them that’s for the dwarves, and you can guard those wagons to the mountain.”
Drizzt nodded again and moved up front with Afafrenfere. He paced Andahar a bit faster after that, his conversation making him anxious to walk the ways of Kelvin’s Cairn once more.
The next morning, soon after they were on the road again, the tip of that small mountain came into view, and Drizzt’s heart leaped.
THE SONG OF THE GODDESS
THE BEER, THE ALE, AND THE HONEY MEAD FLOWED FREELY IN THE BALL-ROOM hall of Clan Battlehammer, beneath the rocks of Kelvin’s Cairn. Dain Stokely Silverstream led the toasts, one after another, for Drizzt and the others of the drow’s band, and so ridiculously effusive were the compliments that it didn’t take long for the companions to recognize that they were as much an excuse as a reason for drinking.
Other than Drizzt, long a friend of the clan, Amber Gristle O’Maul got the bulk of the attention and praise, and truly, the female dwarf hadn’t felt so welcomed in a long, long while.
Nor had she often found herself among so many peers in matters of holding one’s liquor.
The celebration went on for many days, and both Drizzt and Dahlia were repeatedly pressed to recount their story of Gauntlgrym, describing the primordial, and most important of all, the fall of King Bruenor Battlehammer, patriarch and hero of the clan. The openness of Stokely and the others about the true identity of the dwarf who had gone by the name of Bonnego Battleaxe surprised Drizzt, and pleasantly so. The official story among the Battlehammer dwarves was that King Bruenor had died in Mithral Hall, decades before his actual demise, but this outpost of Battlehammers knew better, for they had been there, led by Thibbledorf Pwent, when King Bruenor, infused with the power of dwarf gods, had valiantly saved the day, heroically giving his own life in the process.
They knew the truth of Bonnego, and Mithral Hall almost surely knew as well—and thus, knew too that the cairn in Mithral Hall marking the grave of King Bruenor was an empty pile of rocks. But they’d never publicly admit it.
The absurdity of the open duplicity was surely not lost on Drizzt, but he found that he approved of the winks and nods, and that the Battlehammers celebrated the ultimate victory that had marked his dearest friend’s demise came as a sincere and warm comfort to him.
“So how long’re ye for the dale?” Stokely asked Drizzt a tenday later, when the two found a private moment outside the mining complex on the lower trails of Kelvin’s Cairn.
“Perhaps forever,” Drizzt answered, and he noted Stokely’s approving nod and grin. “I’ve nowhere else to go that I can fathom, for nowhere else feels so much like home.”
“Sure that meself’s one to understand that! But I’m not thinkin’ yer friends’re of like mind. Amber, likely, and that monk fellow, but not so much th’other three, mostly that broken fellow.”
“Are you so certain of that, or is it, perhaps, your own wishes to have Effron away?” Drizzt asked, and Stokely stiffened at the remark.
“Well, he is demon spawn, or devil spawn, or whatever durned tieflings be,” the dwarf said uncomfortably.
“And I am drow spawn,” Drizzt reminded.
Stokely could only shrug. “We ain’t for kickin’ him out,” he said.
Drizzt laughed. “We’ll not be staying here for long.”
“Ye just said forever.”
“Here at Kelvin’s Cairn,” Drizzt clarified. “Perhaps we’ll set up in Bryn Shander, or maybe Lonelywood would be more to our liking. Dahlia and Entreri aren’t overly comfortable with your tunnels.”
Stokely narrowed his eyes.
“Inviting as you’ve made them,” Drizzt quickly added, and he bowed to diffuse Stokely’s growing scowl. “Dahlia is an elf, after all, and Entreri—”
“Not always a friend of the Battlehammers, eh?” Stokely interjected.
“Though no longer an enemy, else I would never have brought him here. Indeed, were that the case, I would not be traveling with him.”
“Well, ye go where ye’re needin’ to go,” Stokely said. “But if ye’re staying in the dale, then ye best be visitin’ me and me boys.”
“Oftentimes,” Drizzt assured him.
Later that same day, Drizzt, Dahlia, and Entreri rode out from Kelvin’s Cairn for Bryn Shander, where the drow hoped they could begin to lay their longer-term plans. Afafrenfere saw them off, but remained behind to keep an eye on Ambergris and her unrelenting libations. Effron too, surprisingly, had declared that he would remain behind, and Drizzt discovered that Stokely had asked the tiefling to do so, that the two of them could spend some time alone and Effron could better explain his heritage. That notion struck Drizzt profoundly, and reminded him that Battlehammer dwarves were not nearly as xenophobic as many of the races of Faerûn. An open-minded Bruenor had long-ago befriended a rogue dark elf, after all, and now Stokely was apparently trying to carry on that tradition.
Drizzt’s confidence that he had done well in leading his companions to this distant, seemingly-forlorn but ultimately-welcoming land only grew as he left the Clan Battlehammer complex.
Dahlia rode upon Andahar behind Drizzt, but the added weight did little to hinder the powerful steed and the trio made Bryn Shander that same day, though after the sun had set and the chilly wind began to blow more strongly. The city’s gates were closed at the late hour, but the guards recognized Drizzt Do’Urden and were more than happy to grant him and his companions entrance.
“When’s the caravan back to Luskan?” one asked as the strange and powerful mounts trotted between the western gate’s small guard towers.
Drizzt shrugged, neither knowing nor caring. He dismounted from Andahar, bade Dahlia do the same, then dismissed the unicorn as Entreri released his nightmare.
“Our best choice is to enlist as scouts for the leaders of the city,” Drizzt explained as the three made their way to the nearest tavern.
“How long do you plan on remaining here?” Entreri asked.
Drizzt stopped short and glanced around, ensuring that they were alone and would not be overheard.
“Jarlaxle recommended that we spend the rest of the season or more,” Drizzt admitted.
“Sounds like a good reason to turn around and leave,” Entreri replied.
“There are powerful forces seeking us—seeking me, at least—and they will find you, as well,” Drizzt admitted.
“Draygo Quick,” Dahlia reasoned.
“That is one.”
“What do you know?” Entreri insisted.
“The drow from Gauntlgrym,” Drizzt admitted. “They have come to realize my identity, I am told.”
“Wonderful,” Entreri muttered.
“What does this mean?” asked Dahlia.
“It means, welcome to your new home,” said the dour assassin.
“When the trail grows cold, Jarlaxle will inform us,” Drizzt said. “And there are worse places to live. Is there somewhere you would rather be?”
The pointed question elicited a curious response from Entreri: a shrug that came as an admission that indeed, this place was likely as good as any other.
“We have made some enemies, it would seem,” Dahlia admitted. “Draygo Quick, Szass Tam, and now these dark elves. Is there a corner of the world far enough removed.”
“If there is, we have now found it,” Entreri remarked.
They drank
for free that night, for Drizzt was recognized in the tavern, and their table was often visited by Bryn Shander citizens, offering drinks, or even a stay at their home if the trio were looking for accommodations, and asking Drizzt for stories of the long-ago days.
“To see a drow so welcomed,” Entreri said sarcastically in one of the few moments when the three found themselves alone. “Truly touching.”
“Stokely,” Drizzt reasoned. “Apparently, our dwarf friends returned to Ten-Towns from Gauntlgrym with tales of heroism that were well-received. And I notice that you haven’t refused the free food or drink.”
“Free? I earn it by tolerating their insufferable intrusions,” Entreri said. “I haven’t killed any of them yet, so I deserve the food—and it is quite possible that the drink will prevent me from murdering any in the near future.”
“If our time here is to be no more than a constant recitation of the heroics of Drizzt, then I will head back to Luskan and take my chances with Draygo Quick,” Dahlia put in, drawing laughter from both Drizzt and Entreri—but Drizzt’s mirth dissipated quickly when he looked at the woman, peering at him over the rim of her upraised mug, and realized that there was no small measure of truth in her joke.
“Tomorrow we go to the captain of the town guard and sign on,” Drizzt said, changing the subject. “With our mounts, we can easily serve as scouts and couriers to the other communities. Who will outride us? Who will outfight us? We will find many nights such as this in all of the communities, I am sure. Not so hard a life.”
Entreri lifted his glass in toast to that, though his expression showed it to be as much of a mocking gesture as any serious agreement. Drizzt accepted and welcomed that, however, knowing it to be the best he could expect from that one, and seeing that there really was a measure of acceptance in the assassin. Clearly, Entreri wasn’t planning on leaving anytime soon.
Where the dour assassin was concerned, Drizzt took his victories where he could find them.
The innkeeper offered them a pair of complimentary rooms for the night, and promised to find lodging for them thereafter, though they’d have to pay—it was the busy season in Ten-Towns, after all. Drizzt graciously accepted the generous offer, and went back to his conversation with the others, when a complimentary dinner showed up at the table, to the cheers of all in the tavern.
“Insufferable,” Entreri muttered, but Drizzt noted that Entreri ate quite eagerly.
They hadn’t finished the meal before the next interruption, a middle-aged woman moving up to the table and fixing a grin on Drizzt.
“Ah, but you’ve heard the rumors, then,” she said.
“Rumors?” Dahlia asked. She looked to Drizzt as she spoke, and he had no answers for her.
He looked at the woman more closely, a flicker of recognition in his eyes as he agreed, “Rumors?”
“About the forest, and the witch,” she replied.
Drizzt’s eyes widened. “I know you,” he mumbled, though he couldn’t remember the woman’s name.
“My da was Lathan, who’s been to the wood.”
“Tulula!” Drizzt said. “Tulula Obridock!”
“Aye, but it’s Hoerneson now,” she said. “And well met again to you, Drizzt Do’Urden.”
“What forest?” asked Dahlia. “What rumors?”
Again Drizzt felt her gaze upon him, but he could only shrug in reply, preferring to answer the second question and not the first.
“Iruladoon,” Tulula answered. “A magical forest, ’tis said to be, appearing at its whim, so they speak.”
“What is she talking about?” Entreri asked.
“Ruled by an auburn-haired witch and a halfling who lives by the lake,” Tulula said.
Entreri and Dahlia turned directly on Drizzt, who sat staring at Tulula and seeming not to even draw breath at that point, clearly overwhelmed.
“Catti-brie,” Entreri remarked quietly, nodding.
“The barbarian tribes have spoken of it of late,” Tulula confirmed. “Seems my da wasn’t so crazy, and more than a few of the folk have apologized for their jokes about crazy Lathan Obridock, and sure that they owed it to me!”
Drizzt ran his fingers through his hair. He didn’t know where to begin, or what to think, even! He scrutinized Tulula and suspected, feared, that this was no more than a woman holding on desperately to her father’s reputation. Did he dare allow his hopes to soar yet again?
“Ah, but the crazy Lady Hoerneson’s captured you, has she?” said another patron, coming over and draping an arm affectionately across Tulula’s shoulders.
“Bah for your own bluster, Rummy Hoerneson,” she said.
“Your husband?” Drizzt asked.
“His brother,” Rummy corrected. “As soon as I heard you were back in town, I knew Tulula would run to you.”
“These rumors …” Drizzt started to ask.
“Nonsense and nothing more,” said Rummy.
“Three have seen it!” Tulula protested.
“Three took your coins to say they’ve seen it, you mean,” Rummy countered.
“They were speaking of it before ever did I see them,” Tulula protested.
“Because they knew you would come running, purse in hand,” Rummy said with a great laugh. “You’ve been looking for that forest since your da passed, and who can blame you? But a band of drunken barbarians looking for more to drink isn’t anything to send this poor drow here swimming across Dinneshere!”
“What tribe?” Drizzt asked.
“Oh, don’t you think it!” Rummy Hoerneson cried.
“Elk,” Tulula explained. “Tribe of the Elk. They’re following the herd back into the foothills, and came through to market. They’d be fair high up in the Spine of the World by now, I’m thinking.”
Not even considering the movement, Drizzt reflexively turned his head to the southeast, for he knew well the route and destination of the caribou herds.
“Have you ever seen it?” he asked the woman.
“Went across Dinneshere only the one time with yourself, and again a few years later, when my da passed.” She shook her head. “Never seen it.”
“None ever seen it,” Rummy grumbled.
“Catti-brie,” Dahlia said, her tone terse, and she almost spat out the last part of the thought, aiming her venom at Drizzt, “long dead.”
Drizzt swung his head around to regard her.
“Right?” she asked.
Drizzt just stared.
“You cannot even say it?” Dahlia asked incredulously.
Entreri gave a little laugh and Drizzt glared at him.
The tension growing thick around them, Tulula and Rummy offered quick salutations to Drizzt and his friends, welcoming them to Ten-Towns, then promptly hustled away.
“So, when do we head out to find the Tribe of the Elk?” Entreri asked when they were alone, and Drizzt glared all the harder—to no discernible effect.
“We are going, you know,” Entreri said to Dahlia. “Or he is, at least.”
Dahlia’s glower more than matched the one Drizzt wore.
The drow relented and sat back. “Two of my friends were lost to me, many years ago,” he began to explain.
“Your lover and a friend, you mean,” said Dahlia.
Drizzt nodded, but corrected, “My wife. And yes, a friend. They were taken from us in an extraordinary manner—”
“I know the story,” Dahlia said, biting through each word as it escaped her lips, and never blinking.
“You brought us to this forsaken land to chase a ghost?” Entreri asked, still seeming more amused than concerned.
“I have heard nothing of Iruladoon for many years until this very meeting,” Drizzt protested. “Not in many years. Not since before I first ventured to Gauntlgrym.”
“But you mean to go now,” Dahlia said. She stood up and headed for the door, leaving Drizzt to stare blankly, overwhelmed and confused by the reaction.
“You truly are an idiot,” Artemis Entreri said, laughing still some
more.
Drizzt rose and started to follow Dahlia, and heard Entreri remark, “As you are about to prove yet again,” as he moved away. That gave the drow pause, but only for a moment, and he hustled out the door.
Dahlia stood on the street with her back to him, her arms crossed over her chest as if she were chilly, though the night was quite warm. Drizzt moved up behind her and gently touched her shoulder.
“Dahlia,” he said, or started to say, for she wheeled around and slapped him hard across the face.
“Why?” he managed to ask before her right arm swung again, and this time, the agile and strong Drizzt caught her by the wrist.
Across came her slapping left hook, and Drizzt caught that one, too.
“Dahlia,” he pleaded.
She head-butted him, her forehead smashing into his nose, and as he staggered back, letting go of her wrists. She kicked up at him, aiming for his groin. He managed to turn his hip in and catch the foot on his thigh, but still it stung.
Dahlia pursued—in the moonlight, he could see tears streaking her cheeks.
A form rushed past Drizzt and intervened as Artemis Entreri cut off her advance and held her back, trying futilely to calm her.
“Fine, then, we’ll go find your ghost!” Dahlia said. “And oh, but you can hug your dear dead Catti-brie, and would that her corpse freezes your heart forevermore!”
Drizzt held one arm out to the side helplessly, his other hand pinching his bleeding nose, as he tried vainly to begin to understand this outburst.
“Well, we leave in the morning, then,” Entreri said, glancing back as he bulled Dahlia away. “A wonderful summer journey, I expect!”
Dahlia rode with Entreri upon the nightmare that next morning, leading the way back to Kelvin’s Cairn to retrieve their other companions.
SCRIMSHAW AND QUIET DREAMS
THE SIX COMPANIONS MOVED OUT OF BRYN SHANDER’S EASTERN GATE THE next morning, traveling the Eastway, a fairly smooth and straight cobblestoned road running from the main city of Ten-Towns to the easternmost of the area’s communities, aptly named Easthaven. Ambergris drove the small wagon they had rented, Afafrenfere and Effron on the bench seat at her side, while Drizzt led the way upon Andahar, with Entreri and, notably, Dahlia following astride Entreri’s nightmare.
The Last Threshold: Neverwinter Saga, Book IV Page 40
