Catti-brie wasn't used to dealing with women of her own age and of a similar mind. She liked it, though, liked Danica quite a bit, and could imagine a great friendship between the two if time and the situation would permit. In truth, the situation was also awkward for Danica, her life had been no easier and her contact with women of her own age no more common.
They spoke of the past and finally, of the present, of their hopes for the future.
"Do you love him?" Danica dared to ask, referring to the dark elf.
Catti-brie blushed, and really had no answer. Of course she loved Drizzt, but she didn't know if she loved him in the way that Danica was speaking of. Drizzt and Catti-brie had agreed to put off any such feelings, but now, with Wulfgar gone for so many years and Catti-brie approaching the age of thirty, the question was beginning to resurface.
"He is a handsome one," Danica remarked, giggling like a little girl.
Indeed, that's what Catti-brie felt like, reclining on the wide davenport in Danica's sitting room: a girl. It was like being a teenager again, thinking of love and of life, allowing herself to believe that her biggest problem was in trying to decide if Drizzt was handsome or not.
Of course, the weight of reality for both these women was fast to intrude, fast to steal the giggles. Catti-brie had loved and lost, and Danica, with two young children of her own, had to face the possibility that her husband, unnaturally aged by the creation of the Spirit Soaring, would soon be gone.
The conversation gradually shifted, then died away, and then Danica sat quiet, staring intently at Catti-brie.
"What is it?" Catti-brie wanted to know.
"I am with child," Danica said, and Catti-brie knew at once that she was the first person the monk had told, even before Cadderly.
Catti-brie waited a moment, waited to see the smile widen on Danica's face to make sure that, for the young monk, being pregnant was indeed a good thing, and then she grinned broadly and wrapped Danica in a tight hug.
"Do not say anything to Cadderly," Danica begged. "I've already planned how I will tell him."
Catti-brie sat back. "And yet ye told me first," she said, the gravity of that reality evident in her solemn tones.
"You are leaving," Danica answered matter-of-factly.
"But ye hardly know o' me," Catti-brie reminded her.
Danica shook her head, her strawberry blonde hair flying wide and her exotic almond-shaped eyes locking fast with Catti-brie's deep blue eyes. "I know you," Danica said softly.
It was true enough, and Catti-brie felt that she knew Danica as well. They were much alike, and both came to realize that they would miss each other a great deal.
They heard Cadderly stirring in the room next door; it was almost time to go.
"I will come back here someday," Catti-brie promised.
"And I will visit Icewind Dale," Danica responded.
Cadderly entered the room and told them that it was time for Catti-brie and Drizzt to leave. He smiled warmly, and was gracious enough to say nothing of the moisture that rimmed the eyes of the two young women.
*****
Cadderly, Drizzt and Danica stood atop the highest tower of the Spirit Soaring, nearly three hundred feet above the ground, the wind whipping against their backs.
Cadderly chanted quietly for some time, and gradually, both friends began to feel lighter, somehow less substantial. Cadderly grabbed a hand of each and continued his chant, and the threesome faded away. Ghostlike, they walked off the tower top with the wind.
All the world sped past, blurry, in a fog, a dreamlike vision. Neither Drizzt nor Catti-brie knew how long they were flying, but dawn was breaking along the eastern horizon when they slowed and then stopped, becoming more substantial again.
They were in the city of Luskan, along the northernmost stretch of the Sword Coast, just south of the western lip of the Spine of the World mountains and barely two hundred miles, by horse or by foot, from Ten-Towns.
Cadderly didn't know the city, but the priest's aim was perfect and the three came out of their enchantment right in front of the temple of Deneir. Cadderly was well received by his fellow priests. He quickly secured rooms for his friends and while they
were sleeping, went out with one of the Luskan priests to make the arrangements for Drizzt and Catti-brie to hook up with a caravan heading for Icewind Dale.
It was easier than Cadderly expected, and that made him glad, for he feared that Drizzt's heritage would outweigh any words he might offer. But Drizzt was known among many of the merchants in Luskan, as was Catti-brie, and their fighting prowess would be a welcome addition to any caravan traveling north to the dangerous land that was Icewind Dale.
The two were awake when Cadderly got back to the Deneirian temple, speaking with the other priests and gathering supplies for the long road ahead. Drizzt accepted one gift reverently, a pair of waterskins filled with blessed water from the temple's font. The drow didn't see any practical use for the water, but the significance that a human priest of a goodly god had given it to him, a drow elf, was not lost on him.
"Your fellows are a good lot," Drizzt remarked to Cadderly, when he, the old priest, and Catti-brie were at last alone. Cadderly had already explained the provisions that had been made, including the time and place, where Drizzt and Catti-brie were to meet with the caravan. The merchants were putting out this very day, giving the pair less than an hour to get out on the road. They knew that this was yet another parting.
"They do Deneir proud," Cadderly agreed.
Drizzt was busy with his pack then, and so Catti-brie quietly pulled Cadderly aside. Her thoughts were on Danica, her friend.
Cadderly smiled warmly, seeming to understand what this private conversation might be about.
"Ye've got many responsibilities," Catti-brie began.
"My god is not so demanding," Cadderly said coyly, for he knew that Catti-brie was not speaking of his duties to Deneir.
"I'm meaning the twins," Catti-brie whispered. "And Danica."
Cadderly nodded. No argument there.
Catti-brie paused for a long while, seeming to struggle with the words. How might she put things so as not to insult the old priest?
"Ivan telled me something about yer … condition," Catti-brie admitted.
"Oh?" Cadderly replied. He wasn't going to make this easy for the young woman.
"The dwarf says ye expected to die as soon as the Spirit Soaring was completed," Catti-brie explained. "Says ye looked like ye would, too."
"I felt like I would," Cadderly admitted. "And the visions I had of the cathedral made me believe that to be the truth."
"That was more than a year ago," Catti-brie remarked.
Cadderly nodded again.
"The dwarf says ye look like ye're getting younger," Catti-brie pressed. "And stronger."
Cadderly's smile was wide. He understood that Catti-brie was looking out for Danica's interests and her apparently deep friendship with his wife warmed his heart profoundly. "I cannot be certain of anything," he said to her, "but the dwarf's observations seem to be accurate. I am stronger now, much stronger and more energetic than when the cathedral was first completed." Cadderly reached up and pulled straight a few strands of hair, mostly gray, but with several sandy-colored strands mixed in. "Brown hairs," the old priest went on. "It was white, all white, when first the cathedral was completed."
"Ye're gettin' younger!" Catti-brie proclaimed with much enthusiasm.
Cadderly blew a long and deep sigh, and then, couldn't help but nod. "So it would seem," he admitted.
"I cannot be sure of anything," he said as if he was afraid of speaking his hopes out loud. "The only explanation that I can figure is that the visions shown to me-visions of my impending death-and the fatigue I felt at the completion of the Spirit Soaring were a test of my ultimate loyalty to the precepts and commandments of Deneir. I honestly expected to die as soon as the first service in the new cathedral was completed, and indeed, when it was done, a great wearine
ss overcame me. I went to my room-I was practically carried by Danica and Ivan-and went to sleep, expecting to never again open my eyes upon this world. I accepted that." He paused and closed his eyes, recalling that fateful date.
"But now," Catti-brie prompted.
"Perhaps Deneir tested me, tested my loyalty," Cadderly said. "It might be that I passed that test, and so now my god has chosen to spare me."
"If he's a goodly god, then the choice is made," Catti-brie said firmly. "No good god'd take ye from Danica and the twins, and …"
She paused and bit her lip, not wanting to give away Danica's secret.
"Deneir is a goodly god," Cadderly replied with equal determination. "But you speak of the concerns of mortals and we cannot understand Deneir's will or his ways. If Deneir takes me from Danica and my children, then that does not make him anything less than the goodly god that he truly is."
Catti-brie shook her head and didn't seem convinced.
"There are higher meanings and higher principles than we humans can understand," Cadderly said to her. "I hold faith that Deneir will do what is ultimately right by his needs and his designs, which outweigh my own."
"But ye hope it's true," Catti-brie said, her tone showing the words to be an accusation. "Ye hope ye get young again, as young as yer bride, that ye might live out yer life beside her and with yer kids!"
Cadderly laughed aloud. "True enough," he finally admitted, and Catti-brie was appeased.
So was Drizzt, listening in with those keen drow ears of his, only half his attention focused upon the task of packing his haversack.
Catti-brie and Cadderly shared a hug, and then the old priest, who seemed not so old, went to Drizzt and offered a sincere handshake. "Bring to me the artifact, this crystal shard," Cadderly said. "Together we will discover a way to rid the world of its evil.
"And bring your father as well," Cadderly went on. "I feel that he would enjoy a stay at the Spirit Soaring."
Drizzt gripped Cadderly's hand all the tighter, thankful for the priest's confidence that he would succeed. "The artifact will give me … give us," he corrected, looking to Catti-brie, "the excuse we need to make the journey back to Carradoon."
"A journey I must make now," Cadderly said, and so he left the pair.
They said nothing when they were alone, just went about finishing their preparations for the road.
The road home.
Chapter 19 AND ALL THE WORLD IS THEIRS
Revjak knew that it would come to this, had guessed it as soon as he had realized that Berkthgar did not mean to split off from the Tribe of the Elk to recreate one of the other tribes. So now Revjak stood facing the brutish barbarian within a ring of all their people. Everyone in the tribe knew what was to come, but it had to be done properly, by the rules of ancient traditions.
Berkthgar waited for the gathering to quiet. He could be patient because he knew that the whispers were leaning in his favor, that the arguments for his ascension were gaining momentum. Finally, after what seemed to Revjak to be many minutes, the crowd went silent.
Berkthgar lifted his arms high to the sky, his hands reaching wide. Behind him, strapped diagonally across his back, loomed Bankenfuere, his huge flamberge. "I claim the Right of Challenge," the huge barbarian declared.
A chorus of cheers rose up, not a strong as Berkthgar would have liked, but showing that he had quite a bit of support.
"By what birthright do you make such a claim?" Revjak responded properly.
"Not by blood," Berkthgar promptly answered, "but by deed!" Again came the cheers from the younger man's supporters.
Revjak shook his head. "There is no reason, if blood does not demand a challenge," he protested, and his supporters, though not as vocal as Berkthgar's, gave their own burst of cheering. "I have led in peace and in strength," Revjak finished firmly, a claim that was all too true.
"As have I!" Berkthgar was quick to interrupt. "In Settlestone, so far from our home. I have brought our people through war and peace, and have led the march all the way back to Icewind Dale, our home!"
"Where Revjak is King of the Tribe of the Elk," the older man put in without hesitation.
"By what birthright?" Berkthgar demanded.
Revjak had a problem here, and he knew it.
"What birthright does Revjak, son of Jorn the Red, who was not a king, claim?" Berkthgar asked slyly.
Revjak had no answer.
"The position was given to you," Berkthgar went on, telling a tale that was nothing new to his people, but from a slightly different perspective than they normally heard. "It was handed to you, through no challenge and no right, by Wulfgar, son of Beornegar."
Kierstaad watched it all from the sidelines. At that moment, the young man came to understand the real reason why Berkthgar had launched a campaign to discredit Wulfgar. If the legend of Wulfgar still loomed larger than life to the barbarians, then his father's claim as king would be strong indeed. But with Wulfgar somewhat discredited …
"Who rightly claimed the kingship from Heafstaag, who was by birthright, rightly king," Revjak reasoned. "How many here," he asked the general gathering, "remember the battle wherein Wulfgar, son of Beornegar, became our king?"
Many heads bobbed, mostly of the older folk who had remained in Icewind Dale through all the years.
"I, too, remember the battle." Berkthgar growled defiantly. "And I do not doubt Wulfgar's claim, nor all the good he did for my people. But you have no claim of blood, no more than my own, and I would lead, Revjak. I demand the Right of Challenge!"
The cheers were louder than ever.
Revjak looked to his son and smiled. He could not avoid Berkthgar's claim, no more than he could possibly defeat the huge man in combat. He turned back to Berkthgar. "Granted," he said, and the cheers were deafening then, from both Berkthgar's supporters and Revjak's.
"In five hours, before the sun runs low along the horizon," Berkthgar began.
"Now," Revjak said unexpectedly.
Berkthgar eyed the man, trying to discern what trick he might be pulling. Normally a Right of Challenge would be answered later in the day on which it was made, after both combatants had the time to prepare themselves mentally and physically for the combat.
Berkthgar narrowed his blue eyes and all the crowd hushed in anticipation. A smile widened on the huge man's face. He didn't fear Revjak, not now, not ever. Slowly, the huge man's hand went up over his shoulder, grasping the hilt of Bankenfuere, drawing the massive blade up from its scabbard. That sheath had been cut along its top edge so that Berkthgar could draw the weapon quickly. He did so, hoisting the heavy blade high into the sky.
Revjak took up his own weapon, but, to his observant and worried son, he did not seem ready for combat.
Berkthgar approached cautiously, feeling the balance of Bankenfuere with every step.
Then Revjak held up his hand and Berkthgar stopped, waiting.
"Who among us hopes for Revjak to win?" he asked, and a loud cheer of many voices went up.
Thinking the question to be no more than a ruse to lower his confidence, Berkthgar issued a low growl. "And who would see Berkthgar, Berkthgar the Bold, as King of the Tribe of the Elk?"
The cheer was louder still, obviously so.
Revjak moved right up to his opponent, unthreateningly, one hand up and his axe's head low to the ground. "The challenge is answered," he said, and he dropped his weapon to the ground.
All eyes widened in disbelief, Kierstaad's perhaps widest of all. This was dishonor! This was cowardice among the barbarians!
"I cannot defeat you, Berkthgar," Revjak explained, speaking loudly so that all would hear. "Nor can you defeat me."
Berkthgar scowled mightily. "I could cut you in half!" he declared, taking up his sword in both hands so powerfully that Revjak half expected him to do so right then and there.
"And our people would suffer the consequences of your actions," Revjak said quietly. "Whoever might win the challenge would be faced with two tribes
, not one, split apart by anger and wanting revenge." He looked to the general gathering again, speaking to all his people. "We are not strong enough yet to support that," he said. "Whether we are to strengthen the friendship with Ten-Towns and the dwarves who have returned, or whether we are to return to our ways of old, we must do so together, as one!"
Berkthgar's scowl did not relent. Now he understood. Revjak could not defeat him in combat-they both knew that-so the wily older man had usurped the very power of the challenge. Berkthgar truly wanted to cut him in half, but how could he take any actions against the man?
"As one," Revjak repeated, and he held out his hand, bidding his opponent to clasp his wrist.
Berkthgar was wild with rage. He hooked his foot under Revjak's dropped axe and sent it spinning across the circle. "Yours is the way of the coward!" he roared. "You have proven that this day!" Up went Berkthgar's huge arms, up and out wide as if in victory.
"I have no claim of blood!" Revjak yelled, commanding attention. "Nor do you! The people must decide who will rule and who will step aside."
"The challenge is of combat!" Berkthgar retorted.
"Not this time!" Revjak shot back. "Not when all the tribe must suffer your foolish pride." Berkthgar moved again as if to strike, but Revjak ignored him and turned to the gathering. "Decide!" he commanded.
"Revjak!" yelled one man, but his voice was buried by a band of young warriors who cried out for Berkthgar. They, in turn, were outdone by a large group calling for Revjak. And so it went, back and forth, mounting cries. Several fights broke out, weapons were drawn.
Through it all, Berkthgar glowered at Revjak, and when the older man matched that intense stare, Berkthgar merely shook his head in disbelief. How could Revjak have done such dishonor to their people?
But Revjak held faith in his choice. He was not afraid to die, never that, but he truly believed that a fight between himself and Berkthgar would split the tribe and bring hardship to both groups. This was the better way, as long as things didn't get out of hand.
And they seemed to be heading in just that direction. Both sides continued to yell out, but now each cry was accompanied by a lifting of sword and axe, open threats.
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