They anticipated an easy day’s ride to Easthaven, some dozen miles away, and understood that their road would grow more perilous and difficult after that, after they forded the swollen channel that ran between the two lakes of Lac Dinneshere and Redwaters. They wouldn’t take the wagon past Easthaven, for the tundra beyond would undoubtedly prove too muddy, and Drizzt even hinted that Andahar and the nightmare might not fare well plodding around the unstable ground.
They spent only one very short night in the town of Easthaven, renting just a single room where they could store their supplies and take a short nap. They’d learned in that town that there was a ferry to take them from the town docks to the banks of Lac Dinneshere opposite the river, but alas, the captain would only offer the service before dawn.
“Too much fishin’ to get done early in the morning,” he explained.
So they were out before the dawn, the dark mound of Kelvin’s Cairn looming before them as they boarded the wide and shallow boat tied to Easthaven’s dock. The mountain shifted behind Drizzt’s left shoulder as the ferry caught the morning breeze and glided to the east. The morning sun was just beginning to peek over the flat plain stretching before them when the ferry dropped its long gangplank, and the six companions walked off the boat to the eastern bank of Lac Dinneshere.
“We’re going all the way to them mountains?” Ambergris asked, pointing to the south, to the Spine of the World range, the snow-capped peaks shining brilliantly in the dawn’s light.
“Eventually,” said Drizzt, and that surprising answer had all eyes turning his way. The drow guided those looks the other way, to the north along the large lake’s shoreline.
“The Tribe of the Elk?” Dahlia asked. “Were you not seeking them to keep your pretty dreams of Catti-brie alive?”
Her tone had Entreri rolling his eyes, Afafrenfere and Effron looking on incredulously, and Ambergris sucking in her breath as if expecting an outburst to follow.
“Aye, and they be in the foothills, so ye said,” the dwarf added, and she put a bit of jollity in her voice, something that was not lost on Drizzt.
He smiled appreciatively at the dwarf and nodded. “They will be in or around the foothills for a month or more,” he explained. “But we seek them to confirm rumors, or their place in those rumors, at least.” He looked back to the north again and nodded. “We can confirm a lot more in a day or so.”
“Yer forest is up there?”
“So he hopes,” Dahlia muttered.
Drizzt started off to the north along the shore, Ambergris and Afafrenfere moving close behind. Effron lingered, staying within earshot of Entreri and Dahlia.
“Why are we following him, then?” Entreri asked. “Let him chase his ghosts while we figure out if this place, Ten-Towns, is worth the trouble of getting here. Good enough to hide out with the drow chasing us, perhaps, but how long a wait—”
“No,” Dahlia interrupted, and she started north along the shore as well. “I want to witness this. I want to see Drizzt find his ghosts, or surrender his hope. He owes me that much at least.”
“Ah, true love,” Entreri said wistfully to Effron as he walked past the twisted warlock.
Effron stood there staring for some time, trying to figure out what was happening, before he set off in pursuit.
The drow and drider caravan entered the southern end of the pass through the Spine of the World, moving steadily northward. When they had first started out from Gauntlgrym, Tiago Baenre had pushed them hard, eager to find his victory. But when they had learned of Drizzt’s move to the north, Ravel Xorlarrin had counseled Tiago to relax, and to set a steady and careful pace. Icewind Dale was not a large region, and was fully bordered by mostly impassable mountains and the unnavigable Sea of Moving Ice.
There was nowhere for Drizzt Do’Urden to run.
Riding Byok, his magnificent lizard, Tiago looked around at his band and took comfort. They were only thirty strong, but Tiago had little doubt that they could destroy all of Ten-Towns if the communities joined together to support Drizzt—though from everything he had learned of the place, that seemed quite unlikely. Ravel had brought his most powerful spellspinners, the same seven who had helped him develop his lightning web enchantment. Ravel was the youngest of the group, but they showed great loyalty to him.
And Jearth, weapons master of House Xorlarrin, had brought along his most experienced and skilled warriors, to say nothing of Yerrininae and the five powerful driders, including his consort, who flanked the procession.
Tiago regarded Saribel, riding a lizard not far from him, and her fellow priestesses. None of them were very old, he realized, and none as accomplished in their particular field as the spellspinners or the warriors. Still, Tiago found himself holding faith in this group—surely Matron Mother Zeerith Xorlarrin had eagerly enlisted her family in this hunt, with two of her children and her House weapons master riding along.
And all for Tiago’s benefit. Drizzt was his trophy to claim, and the Xorlarrins knew it. For while Drizzt’s head would bring glory to Tiago, the more important potential for Zeerith was the continued support of the Baenres as the Xorlarrins solidified their hold on Gauntlgrym as a sister city to Menzoberranzan.
No doubt many of the replacements now moving through the Underdark tunnels to bolster the force at Gauntlgrym were, in fact, Baenres or Baenre agents.
As he considered that, as he realized the bond that was strengthening between the two families, Tiago found his gaze lingering on Saribel. He had grown fond of this one, he realized, and she had learned to please him.
With his new weapon and shield, Vidrinath and Orbcress, and certainly with the head of Drizzt Do’Urden, Tiago had come to think his ascent to the position of weapons master in House Baenre would come quickly, likely immediately upon his return to the city. Even Anzdrel wouldn’t be foolish enough to oppose him.
But now he was thinking that perhaps that wasn’t the best course before him. Surely male drow would fare better in Gauntlgrym than in Menzoberranzan, for House Xorlarrin had always afforded their males positions of great power and influence compared to the other Houses.
Perhaps Tiago would serve House Baenre better, and serve himself better, if he remained in Gauntlgrym.
He veered Byok to the side toward Saribel, the other priestesses fading back when his intent to engage the Xorlarrin became obvious.
“I do not enjoy the World Above,” she said as he approached. “I feel ever vulnerable here, with no walls in close and no ceiling preventing attacks from above.” As she spoke, she glanced up at the towering mountain walls, and she shuddered, obviously imagining some archer up there, or a giant ready to drop rocks on them.
“Our prize is well worth the trouble,” Tiago assured her.
“Your prize, you mean.”
Tiago grinned at her. “Will you not share in my glory?”
“We are your raiding party, at your command.”
“And you are no more than that?”
She looked at him curiously.
“My lover?” he asked.
“So is Berellip,” she replied, referring to her older sister. “So are most of the females in Gauntlgrym, and a fair number in Menzoberranzan, I expect.”
Tiago laughed and shrugged, but didn’t argue the point. “Yes,” he said, “but none of them, not even Berellip, could find the gain you will discover from this journey. Consider the glory I will know when I have returned with the head of Drizzt Do’Urden. My path before me will be my own to choose.”
“Weapons master of House Baenre,” she said. Tiago shook his head, but Saribel pressed on, “That has been the rumor since before we set out for Gauntlgrym.”
“House Baenre will stake a strong position in your matron mother’s desired Xorlarrin city,” he replied. “Perhaps I will embody that position.”
Saribel tried to remain calm, but her eyes widened, giving her hopes away.
“Perhaps I will take a Xorlarrin noble as my wife, joining our families in an allian
ce that will further both our aims,” Tiago said.
“Berellip would be the obvious choice,” Saribel said.
“My choice,” Tiago emphasized, “would not be Berellip.”
Saribel swallowed hard. “What are you—?”
“We will be married, our families will be joined,” Tiago stated plainly.
“What?” came a question from the side, and the two turned to find Ravel listening in.
“You do not approve … brother?” Tiago said.
Ravel sat upon his invisible floating disc looking back at the Baenre, his expression shifting as he digested the startling news. Gradually a grin came to dominate his face—no doubt, Tiago realized, Ravel was going through the same thought process he had just realized, and coming to the same conclusion.
“Ah, brother,” Ravel said at length. “It is good to be out on the hunt with you!”
“Particularly when our prey is cornered,” Tiago replied.
“Well, hardly be callin’ it a forest,” Ambergris said, trudging through the scraggly trees above the small, dilapidated cabin on the banks of Lac Dinneshere. “Ye sure this be the place, then?”
The dwarf stopped talking and pulled up short when she regarded Dahlia and Drizzt, the drow crouched on one knee, staring down intently at his hand. No, not at his hand, she realized, but at something he held.
“What is it?” Dahlia asked.
Drizzt looked up at her, his expression blank, and he only shook his head, as if confused, as if he couldn’t find any words at that moment.
Ambergris and Entreri arrived then, from different directions.
Drizzt closed his hand and rolled his fingers, gradually finding the strength to rise.
“What is it?” Entreri asked this time.
Drizzt looked at him, then over Entreri’s shoulder, down at Effron and Afafrenfere, who were on the small dock before the old cabin.
“Drizzt?” Dahlia prompted.
“Scrimshaw,” he answered, his voice hollow.
Dahlia reached for the hand, but Drizzt pulled it away quickly and defensively. His movement surprised her, and startled the other two as well.
Drizzt took a deep breath and brought his hand up, unfolding his fingers to reveal a small statuette depicting a woman holding a very distinctive bow, the same bow, it appeared, as the one currently draped over Drizzt’s shoulder.
“Regis’s work,” Artemis Entreri said.
“Is that her?” Dahlia asked loudly, drowning out the assassin.
Drizzt stared at her blankly, hesitant to answer.
“Catti-brie?” she pressed. “Your beloved Catti-brie?”
“How’d it get out here?” Ambergris asked, looking all around. “Few been here in many years, I’m guessing.”
“None, more likely,” said Dahlia, staring still at Drizzt, her expression reflecting a deep and obvious discontent.
“Except when the forest is here, perhaps,” Artemis Entreri said, and Drizzt took another deep breath, feeling as if he might simply topple over—or wondering if Dahlia might leap over and throttle him, given her expression.
“It is likely nothing more than coincidence,” Drizzt said.
Artemis Entreri walked over and reached for the statue, but Drizzt kept it away.
“The foot,” Entreri said. “The right foot. Should I have to tell this to you?”
Drizzt slowly upturned the scrimshaw, looked at its underside, the clutched it tightly against his heart.
“The ‘R’ of Regis,” Entreri explained to the others.
“And how’re ye knowin’ that?” Ambergris asked.
“I have a long history with that one,” the assassin chuckled.
Drizzt locked stares with him. “What does it mean?”
Entreri shrugged and held out his hand, and this time, Drizzt handed the statue over. Entreri studied it closely. “It’s been lying out here for a long time,” he said.
“And there’s no forest to be seen,” Dahlia added, rather unkindly.
“And the day’s gettin’ long,” Ambergris remarked, looking back across the lake to the setting sun. “At least we’ll be sleeping under a proper roof this night, eh?” She glanced down at the lakeside cottage. “Such as it is.”
In reply, Drizzt rolled his pack off his back and let if fall to the ground.
Ambergris looked down at it, then back up to the stone-faced drow. “Like I was sayin’,” she said. “Another fine night out under the stars.”
Drizzt camped right there, sleeping on the very spot where he had found the figurine. None of his five companions went to the cottage, but rather surrounded him with their own bedrolls.
“Chasing ghosts,” Dahlia muttered to Entreri much later on, the two sitting off to the side, looking back at Drizzt. The night was not cold and the fire long out, but the half-moon had already passed overhead and they could see the drow clearly. He lay back on his bedroll, looking up at the multitude of stars shining over Lac Dinneshere. He still clutched the figurine, rolling it over in his nimble fingers.
“Chasing her, you mean.”
Dahlia turned on him.
“You can’t rightly blame him, can you?” Entreri went on against that stare. “These were his friends, his family. We’ve all chased our ghosts.”
“To kill them, not to make love to them,” Dahlia said and looked back at the drow.
Entreri smiled at her obvious jealousy, but wisely said nothing more.
At first he thought it Andahar’s barding, sweet bells ringing in the night, but as Drizzt opened his eyes, he came to understand that it was something more subtle and more powerful all at the same time, with all the forest around him resonating in a gentle and overwhelming melody.
All the forest around him …
When he had fallen asleep, he had done so watching the night sky and a multitude of stars, but now, from the same place, Drizzt could barely make out any such twinkling lights through the dense canopy above him.
He sat up straight, glancing all around, trying to make sense of it.
He was near a small pond that had not been there. He was near a small and well-tended cottage that had not been there, set against a low hill of hedgerows and flowers and a vegetable garden that had not been there. He pulled himself to his feet and considered his companions, all sleeping nearby, with one notable exception.
Drizzt moved to Dahlia and stirred her. “Where is Entreri?” he asked.
The elf woman rubbed a sleepy eye. “What?” she asked generally, her mind not catching up to the moment. She rubbed her eyes again and sat up, considered Drizzt somewhat blankly. “What is that music?” she asked, and then she looked around.
And then her eyes popped open wide indeed!
Artemis Entreri walked into view then and both regarded him curiously as he shrugged helplessly.
“No singer,” he said, helplessly shaking his head. “Just a song.”
He ended with a yawn, and eased back down to the ground.
“How far did you search?” Drizzt asked, but he too couldn’t suppress a yawn as he fought through the words, for a great weariness came rushing over him then.
He looked at Dahlia, but she had slumped back to the ground and seemed fast asleep.
Magic—powerful magic, Drizzt knew, for elves were generally immune to such dweomers of sleep and weariness. Drow, as well, and yet Drizzt found himself on his knees. He looked around, and tried to fight it.
His head was on Dahlia’s strong belly then, though he really wasn’t aware of the movement that had put him to the ground. All he knew was the song, filling his ears with sweetness, filling his heart with warmth, filling his eyes with the sandman’s pinch.
Dreams of Catti-brie danced in his thoughts.
THE HERO OF ICEWIND DALE
HAIL AND WELL MET,” TIAGO BAENRE SAID TO THE GROUP OF GUARDS WHO had come running when the young warrior and his three dark elf companions approached Bryn Shander’s western gate. He smiled as he spoke, attempting to be disarming here
, but the group surely didn’t relax in light of his tone and posture, for surely few cut a more impressive and imposing figure than Tiago Baenre. He wore black leather armor, studded with mithral and accented in swirling designs of platinum leaf. His belt was a cord of woven gold, tied at the hip and hanging down the side of his leg, like a tassel. His fine piwafwi was perfectly black, so rich in hue that it seemed as if the fabric had great depth, like peering hopelessly into a deep Underdark cavern.
But aside from the obvious fit and quality of his clothing, two other items quite clearly marked this drow as someone to be feared. Set in his belt, not in a scabbard but simply through a loop—for who would hide such magnificence as Vidrinath inside a sheath?—rested his amazing sword, its semi-translucent glassteel blade sparkling with the power of the inset diamonds, its curled hilt’s green spider eyes staring at the guards as if it served as some sentient guardian familiar to Tiago. Set on Tiago’s back, Orbcress was sized at that moment to be no more than a small buckler. Whatever its size, the shield spoke of powerful enchantments, for it seemed as if it were fashioned from a block of ice, and closer inspection revealed what seemed to be an intricate spider web encased within.
“Be at ease,” he told the guard more directly with his halting command of the common language of the surface. “I have come in search of a friend, and am no enemy to the folk of Ten-Towns.”
“Drizzt Do’Urden?” one of the guards asked, speaking more to her companions than to the visitors, but Tiago heard, and truly, no words had ever rung sweeter in his ears.
“He is here?”
“Was,” a different guard replied. “Went out to Easthaven a few days ago, and meant to move out east from there, from what I heard.”
“To where?” Tiago asked, and he tried hard not to let his disappointment show—and particularly not in the form of the anger that was suddenly bubbling up inside of him.
The Last Threshold: Neverwinter Saga, Book IV Page 41
