The Companions

by R. A. Salvatore

  But Catti-brie wasn’t about to argue any longer, so she handed over the coins, then walked somberly down the street, right out of the town of Auckney. She meandered down the stony mountain passes to the sea, settling on a dark stone and staring into the cold surf.

  The scene befit her mood, for this day had fast turned into a sobering reminder of the fickle nature of memory and of time iself. Wulfgar had lived his life admirably with regards to the events in Auckney. He had helped Lady Meralda to do the right thing, and had raised Colson with love and decency, and then had, at great personal and emotional expense, returned the child to her rightful mother.

  And for all that, he was not remembered fondly up here in Auckney. Quite the opposite, so it would seem.

  Catti-brie glanced back up the rock cliffs to see the distant rooftops and snaking streams of fireplace smoke drifting up into the cold autumn air. It seemed a cold smoke to her, wrought of a cold fire in a cold place, and she realized at once that she had no desire to go back there, to ever return to Auckney.

  She looked back out at the dark waters and a wry smile came over her.

  She cast a spell to protect herself from the brutal elements, her right arm glowing softly, bluish tendrils curling out of her sleeve. She hiked up her white and black cape, then moved into the surf and cast another spell, this time with her left arm showing the mist of arcane energy, summoning a mount.

  Her waterborne steed arrived, and she packed her leather shoes away into her backpack and settled onto the dolphin’s back. This was no ordinary animal, but a magical creation, fully under her control. She grasped its dorsal fin, and with a thought, sped away.

  She stayed near to the shore, her magical mount weaving around the many stones, and she tired quickly, surprised by how taxing the ride proved to be. She was in no hurry, though, other than her desire to be far from Auckney, and so she camped under the shelter of a rocky overhang, nestled beside a magical fire, eating conjured food, and drying her white gown and black shawl over a nearby tree branch.

  She was out the next morning, and then again the next afternoon after a long break for lunch and rest, and then called back an enchanted mount for a third run that day, albeit a short one.

  Catti-brie found herself at peace, alone with her thoughts and near to nature, near to Mielikki. By the third day, she noted the turn to the north, around the westernmost spur of the mountains, and at midday on the sixth day out of Auckney, Catti-brie stepped out of the water to feel cold dirt under her bare feet instead of wet, hard stone.

  The wind thrummed in her ears, and she knew she was home.

  She summoned a new mount, a spectral unicorn, and rode east along the north bank of the Shaengarne River, rushing across the leagues. Just beating the snows in the onset of the winter of 1482, Catti-brie came to the town of Bremen, on the southern banks of Maer Dualdon. The wind blew much colder now, and in a colder land than Auckney, but when Catti-brie mingled around the townsfolk of this western village in Ten-Towns, she didn’t feel that way.

  Quite the opposite.

  She had come home, to a place she knew, and though the faces had changed with the passage of so many decades, Icewind Dale had not, and Ten-Towns had not. She took great comfort in that familiarity, going from town to town as the tendays and months drifted past. With her magical abilities, she came to be seen by the community as an asset, and she soon had friends in every tavern in every town.

  She needed to build trust and a network to garner information, and none were better at knowing the comings and goings than those selling food and drink.

  The Year of the Tasked Weasel (1483 DR) Icewind Dale

  “A most unusual halfling,” Catti-brie whispered, glancing down from the grass atop a ridge to the lakeshore, her eyes filling with tears.

  That was how he had been described to her, by one of the many friends she had made since arriving in Icewind Dale. She wasn’t a resident of any of the towns, though she had split most of her time between Bryn Shander, the dwarven complex beneath Kelvin’s Cairn, and this place, Lonelywood.

  In Bryn Shander, a tenday earlier, she had heard of this strange character who had come in on a caravan from Luskan, all full of dandy and decoration. A little investigating had led her here, to the outskirts of Lonelywood, looking down on the lake, looking down upon Regis.

  And surely she recognized her dear old friend. He wore facial hair now, and his curly brown hair was much longer than she had known, but it was unmistakably Regis, both in appearance and demeanor.

  He had survived the decades and had made it home to Icewind Dale.

  What a great relief flooded over Catti-brie at that moment. For the months she had been around Ten-Towns, she had waited anxiously for this moment. In truth, she had been surprised to find out that Regis and Bruenor had not arrived in the dale before her, and that reality had only reminded her of the many dangers involved in getting here, in even surviving for twenty-one years in the dangerous Realms. The world was wild and dark; her own trials had only confirmed that.

  With her friends not to be found, coupled with the news she had gleaned of Drizzt, who had not been seen around Ten-Towns in more than a decade, and who, it was said, had come running to Icewind Dale in flight from a great demon, and the woman had been near to despair. Catti-brie had seen the memorial to a drow named Tiago outside of Bryn Shander’s western gate, on the spot where Tiago had reportedly destroyed the balor in a great battle that had taken down part of Bryn Shander’s wall and her gate. But that battle had been fifteen years and more removed, and there had been no word of Drizzt. None.

  With no sign of Drizzt and being the first of the three who had stepped out of Iruladoon to arrive, there was no small amount of doubt and fear growing in the woman over the last few months, and so her heart truly warmed now at this sight.

  For here he was, Regis, reclining on the banks of Maer Dualdon, a fishing line tied to his toe. How many times had Catti-brie witnessed this scene in the years before the Spellplague?

  She wanted to rush down and wrap him in a great hug, but she held herself back. She had come too far to rush headlong to Regis, at least until she had learned more about how he had come here, and what he had brought with him, inadvertently or otherwise.

  For in the back of Catti-brie’s mind lay her own troubles. She knew that Lady Avelyere had not given up the hunt for her. Even though nearly two years had passed since she had fled the Ivy Mansion, a magical ride that seemed to have put Avelyere off the trail, Catti-brie did not underestimate the lady’s stubbornness. Avelyere knew that she was alive, that she had faked her death in Shade Enclave, and that she had traveled to the far west. Perhaps Avelyere even knew of Catti-brie’s ultimate destination, Icewind Dale. Catti-brie could not be sure, since she couldn’t be sure of how much she had actually divulged to Avelyere when under the hypnotic dweomers of the powerful diviner. It could well be that Lady Avelyere and her allies were somewhere within Icewind Dale, perhaps even in one of the towns, lying in wait.

  If that was so and Catti-brie was caught, then what a wretched friend she would be, to both Regis and Drizzt, to have Regis dragged away beside her.

  So she took her joy in seeing him from afar.

  She moved back into the forest, not far from his house, and there constructed a shrine to Mielikki, a private garden sheltered from the coming winter, and that she meant to tend throughout the next season, until the night of the spring equinox.

  The woman nodded at her choice. She would watch over Regis closely, but in secret.

  “Boisterous bunch,” Darby Snide said to Catti-brie when she moved up to the bar in his tavern in Bremen a tenday later. He was a big man, with huge hands and gigantic sideburns that rode all the way down his jawline, just short of connecting at his chin.

  Catti-brie looked around, and indeed, Knuckleheader, the tavern, was full this night, and with a raucous crowd, particularly one loud group across the way by the front window. Catti-brie had heard their catcalls when she entered, moving
right past them.

  “Is that why you sent for me?” she asked. “Or are your larders thin for so many?”

  “Could use some food, Miss Curtie, if you’ve the spell to conjure any,” Darby admitted, and Catti-brie nodded. She had spent her first tendays in Icewind Dale right here in Bremen and had taken a room in this very inn, bartering for room and board in trade for her magical dweomers. She conjured food, healed the minor wounds of patrons, even cured a few diseases, all compliments of the Knuckleheader, and in exchange, Darby had treated her quite well.

  Indeed, Catti-brie, under the name once more of Delly Curtie, had similar arrangements with a tavern in Bryn Shander, and with Stokely’s dwarves under the mountain, and lesser relationships with innkeepers in all of the towns.

  “They look like a Luskar crew,” Catti-brie remarked.

  “Ship Rethnor, say the whispers,” Darby agreed.

  Catti-brie nodded. “So why are you calling for me? Are you expecting a fight and hoping to sell out some healing spells?”

  A surprised Darby turned fast on her, to see her wide grin, and he let out a burst of hearty laughter.

  “No, lassie,” he replied. “I thought you might like to know that they’ve been asking about a friend of yours.”

  Catti-brie’s grin disappeared. “A friend?”

  “The little halfling friend you’ve been looking for, and found, so say the whispers, in Lonelywood.”

  Catti-brie stared at him incredulously, then realized that she shouldn’t be surprised her search for Regis would take her to Lonelywood. “They know of him?” she asked.

  Darby shrugged. “I didn’t tell them, surely, but the little one’s easy to point out, with his dress and manners, from what I been hearing. My guess is that they’ll find him soon enough. Might be friends of his.”

  Catti-brie studied the group of ruffians and found that she could not come to that conclusion.

  “Be aware, Regis,” came a voice out of nowhere, and the halfling, reclining on the bank of the lake, opened wide a sleepy eye. He almost jumped up, but the mention of his real name gave him pause, as did the tone of the whisper, and a strange familiarity with the voice itself.

  “I am here, beside you,” came another whisper. “Four from Ship Rethnor are in the woods, seeking you.”

  “Catti?” the halfling whispered back, suddenly catching on. Regis couldn’t draw breath, and couldn’t begin to sort out the words—for what did they even matter to him in that glorious moment! This was Catti-brie, he knew it! She had survived the years; their crazy plan to meet up on Kelvin’s Cairn—one that had seemed incredible to Regis now that he had actually managed to return to Icewind Dale—might actually come to pass.

  But here she was, after twenty-one years, standing beside him … invisibly?

  “I will tell you when they near,” she replied, bringing Regis back to the matter at hand. “Feign your nap and draw them in.”

  Regis shifted just a bit, moving his hand near to the crossbow handle in front of his right hip, and better angling himself for a quick leap and turn. That thought had him glancing down nervously at his one bare foot, though, and at the fishing line tied around his toe.

  He felt a hand on that foot, then, and nearly jumped in surprise, as his invisible friend carefully removed the line.

  “They are at the tree line,” Catti-brie quietly informed him, “coming forward cautiously.”

  “Good to ‘see’ you,” Regis quietly greeted, wearing a sarcastic smile, for of course, he could not see the woman at all.

  Catti-brie began a soft chant, and Regis felt warmth flowing through him. He put a hand to his rapier hilt as she began a second spell, and now felt his grip intensify, as if she had loaned him the physical strength of her goddess.

  She was magically preparing him for battle, he understood, covering him with wards and magical energy. He wore a grin, but it didn’t last.

  “A bow!” Catti-brie cried suddenly.

  Up leaped the halfling, spinning around and drawing his hand crossbow as he went. As the invisible woman had informed him, four attackers came at him, three men brandishing swords and a woman, standing back with her bow leveled his way.

  He heard Catti-brie chanting the words of another spell; he lifted his hand to fire, but saw the arrow speeding his way. It hit something, some magical shield perhaps, and flashed and deflected, but not harmlessly, diving down and driving hard into Regis’s thigh. He yelped and fired wildly, and none of the three men charging at him slowed.

  The wounded halfling stubbornly fought to hold his balance and drew his blades, grimacing through the pain as the arrow quivered, stuck fast into his leg. But not deeply, he realized, and he could put weight on that foot—and surely he’d need to.

  In charged the three ruffians, barely five strides away. Regis sent his thoughts into his prism ring as he tried to figure the best angle for his warp step, seeking a position so that he could strike at two opponents quickly.

  But then Catti-brie appeared between him and his enemies, her newest magical dweomer, offensive in nature, eliminating the enchantment of invisibility. She lifted her hands up before her and brought forth a fan of flames to intercept the charge.

  The three attackers skidded to a stop, one diving into a roll on the beach sand, all three batting furiously at the biting fires.

  “The archer!” Regis started to yell, but as the flames dissipated and he looked past Catti-brie and the attackers, he saw the distant woman lying flat on the ground, face down.

  Catti-brie fell into spellcasting again, and Regis rushed past her, his rapier driving aside the sword of the man in the center. Regis rolled his blade over that sword and quick-stepped forward as he thrust, his rapier striking hard and true, the halfling’s added strength driving the tip home.

  Hardly watching as that man fell backward, Regis half turned to his right. Now he did use his ring, stepping forward past the charging man, too fast for the ruffian to even register the step.

  The halfling’s dagger went deep into that one’s back, and he fell straight down, his legs folding under him.

  Regis swung around, to see the man he had stuck with the rapier coming right back in, but at Catti-brie and not him. Regis flicked his wrist, throwing a small snake out at the pirate, and he yelled out, demanding the man’s attention.

  That proved enough to break the attacker’s momentum, and by the time the ruffian realized what was transpiring, the magical snake had slithered up around his neck.

  Regis winced, as always, at the sight of that leering, rotting, ghostly face, grinning back at him over the man’s shoulder, pulling tight the snake garrote.

  Over went the swordsman, down to the ground, his sword flying free. He thrashed around, but could not get his fingers under the choking garrote. In desperation, he took a different tact, grabbing up his blade and stabbing hard over his shoulder, as if sensing the spectral presence. To his relief, and to Regis’s surprise, the ghostly creature exploded into a burst of insubstantial fog as the blade struck it in the face, flying away to nothingness, and the snake, too, died, letting go its deadly grip.

  The pirate took in a big gulp of air and moved to rise, but Regis was there, stabbing down with his rapier into one shoulder, then the other, and as the pirate fell back, a second snake landed upon him and rushed up around his throat. He thrashed and tried to stab once more, but the halfling stomped on his hand and stabbed him again in the shoulder, stealing his strength.

  The pirate gasped, trying desperately to draw in air. With his free hand, he clawed at the choking serpent, and tried pitifully to punch back over his shoulder, but to no avail.

  His eyes bulged and Regis winced and started to turn away. But the halfling found he could not avert his gaze, and he watched, mesmerized, as the pirate’s eyes rolled back and the man lay still.

  Regis couldn’t stomach this—it was too personal, too merciless, for him. He jabbed his rapier down again, hard, but for the ghost and not the pirate.

 
; Another burst of fog and the specter was gone, and the second snake lay dead, and for a moment, Regis thought the pirate lay dead as well. But then the man groaned a little bit and shifted, barely drawing breath.

  Confident that the wounded man would bother them no more, Regis leaped away, charging the third of the group, who had come up from the sand by then, to close in on Catti-brie.

  The woman stood facing him, and her calm demeanor tipped Regis off to the truth of the encounter. For the ruffian had half-risen, one foot planted beneath him, one knee still on the ground, but there he stayed, perfectly still, frozen in place, held by some magical dweomer. Smoke wafted from his clothing still, for he had been hit fully with the burning hands of Catti-brie, and indeed, one flame returned to life, flickering on his left shoulder as he stood there.

  “Your leg,” Catti-brie said with alarm, and she bent toward the arrow.

  Regis walked right past her as she moved to help him, though, staring at the ruffian. He patted out the flame and studied the pirate, for he recognized this one as the man he had put at rapier-tip on the Upstream Span in Luskan. He moved his rapier for the man’s throat once more, thinking to finish him off.

  “Regis, no!” Catti-brie scolded. “He will not threaten us for a long while, I assure you.”

  Regis looked around. None of the four seemed in any condition to threaten anyone any longer. One lay on the ground, the life nearly choked out of him and lines of blood around his shoulders and arms. A second squirmed around on the ground back the other way, barely moving and moving not at all from his waist down. Back by the trees, the woman archer lay very still, face down in the dirt.

  Catti-brie began to cast a spell.

  “What happened to her?” Regis asked, nodding his chin toward the woman, and he grunted and sucked in his breath as Catti-brie bent low and tugged the arrow from his leg, the moment of burning pain fast replaced by the soothing warmth of magical healing.

  Catti-brie rose up beside him, supporting him in the uncomfortable moments until her spell took full effect.