The Two Swords th-3

by Robert Salvatore

  How well Drizzt had known that truth.

  "You speak your thoughts after the fact?" Innovindil asked. "You take your experiences and play them out before you, that you might consider your own actions and feelings in the glaring and revealing light of hindsight?"

  "Sometimes."

  "And through this process, does Drizzt internalize the lessons he has learned? Do you, in reaffirming your actions, gain some confidence should a similar situation arise?"

  The question had Drizzt leaning back for a minute. He had to believe that Innovindil had hit upon something. Drizzt had resolved many of his internal struggles through his personal discussions, had come almost full circle, so he believed—until the disaster at Shallows.

  He looked back at Innovindil, and noticed that she had moved very close to him. He could feel the warmth of her breath. Her golden hair seemed so soft in that moment, backlit by the fire, almost as if she was aglow. Her eyes seemed so dark and mysterious, but so full of intensity.

  She reached up and stroked his face gently, and Drizzt felt his blood rushing. He tried hard to control his trembling.

  "I think you a gentle and beautiful soul, Drizzt Do'Urden," she said. "I understand better this difficult road you have traveled, and admire your dedication."

  "So you believe now that I know what it is to be an elf?" Drizzt asked, more to alleviate the sudden tension he was feeling, to lighten the mood, than anything else.

  But Innovindil didn't let him go so easily.

  "No," she said. "You have half the equation, the half that takes care to anticipate the long-term course of things. You reflect and worry, ask yourself to examine your actions honestly, and demand of yourself honest answers, and that is no small thing. Young elves react and examine, and along that honest road of self-evaluation, you will one day come to react to whatever is found before you in full confidence that you are doing right."

  Drizzt leaned back just a bit as Innovindil continued to press forward, so that her face was barely an inch from his own.

  "And the half I have not learned?" he asked, afraid his voice would crack with each word.

  In response, Innovindil pressed in closer and kissed him.

  Drizzt didn't know how to respond. He sat there passively for a long while, feeling the softness of her lips and tongue, her hand brushing his neck, and her lithe body as she pressed in closer to him. Blood rushed through him and the world seemed as if it was spinning, and Drizzt stopped even trying to think and just… felt.

  He began to kiss Innovindil back and his hands started to move around her. He heard a soft moan escape his own lips and was hardly even conscious of it.

  Innovindil broke the kiss suddenly and fell back, her arms coming out to hold Drizzt from pursuing. She looked at Drizzt curiously for just a moment, then asked, "What if she is alive?"

  Drizzt tried to question the sudden shift, but as her inquiry hit him, his response was more stutter than words.

  "If you knew that Catti-brie was alive, then would you wish to continue this?" Innovindil asked, and she might as well have added, "Drizzt Do'Urden," to the end of the question.

  Drizzt's mind spun in circles. He managed to stammer, "B-but…"

  "Ah, Drizzt Do'Urden," Innovindil said. She twirled, rising gracefully to her feet. "You spend far too much time in complete control. You consider the future with every move."

  "Is that what it is to be an elf?" Drizzt asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

  "It might be," Innovindil answered. She came forward again and bent low, looking at Drizzt mischievously, but directly. "In your experience, stoicism is what it is to be an elf. But letting go sometimes, my friend, that is what it is to be alive."

  She turned with a giggle and stepped away.

  "You pulled back, not I," Drizzt reminded, and Innovindil turned on him sharply.

  "You didn't answer my question."

  She was right and Drizzt knew it. He could only begin to imagine his torn emotions had they gone through with the act.

  "I have seen you reckless in battle," Innovindil went on. "But in love? In life? With your scimitars, you will take a chance against a giant or ten! But with your heart, are you nearly as brave? You will cry out in anger against goblinkind, but will you dare cry out in passion?"

  Drizzt didn't answer, because he didn't have an answer. He looked down and gave a self-deprecating chuckle, and was surprised when Innovindil sat down again beside him and comfortably put her arm around his shoulders.

  "I am alone," the female elf said. "My lover is gone and my heart is empty. What I need now is a friend. Are you that friend?"

  Drizzt leaned over and kissed her, but on the cheek.

  "Happily so," he answered. "But am I your friend or your student, when you so freely play with my emotions?"

  Innovindil assumed a pensive posture and a moment later answered, "I hope you will learn from my experiences, as I hope to learn from yours. I know that my life is enriched because of your companionship these last tendays. I hope that you can say the same."

  Drizzt knew he didn't even have to answer that question. He put his arm around Innovindil and pulled her close. They sat there under the stars and let the Reverie calm them.

  CHAPTER 14 REGROUPING

  A pall hung over the audience chamber at Mithral Hall. The orcs had been pushed out, the western entry seemingly secured. And because of their cleverness and the explosive potions of Nanfoodle, few dwarves had fallen in either the initial assault that had brought the orcs into the hall or the counterattack that had pushed them out.

  But word had come from the south, both hopeful and tragic.

  Bruenor Battlehammer stood tall in front of his throne then, commanding the attention of all, from the guards lining the room to the many citizens and refugees standing by the doors awaiting their audience with the king.

  To the side of Bruenor stood Cordio and Stumpet, the two principle clerics of the clan. Bruenor motioned to them, and Cordio quickly dipped a large mug in the barrel of dwarven holy water, a very sweet honey mead. Attendants all over the hall scrambled to disseminate the drink, so that everyone in attendance, even the three non-dwarves—Regis, Wulfgar, and Nanfoodle—had mug in hand when Bruenor raised his in toast.

  "And so does General Dagna Waybeard of Adbar and Mithral Hall join his son in the Halls of Moradin," Bruenor proclaimed. "To Dagna and to all who served well with him. They gave their lives in defense of neighbors and in battle with smelly trolls." He paused, then raised his voice to a shout as he finished, "A good way to die!"

  "A good way to die!" came the thunderous response.

  Bruenor drained his entire mug in one great gulp, then tossed it back to Cordio and fell back into his seat.

  "The news was not all bad," said Banak Brawnanvil, sitting at his side in a specially constructed chair to accommodate legs that would no longer support him.

  "Yeah?" said Bruenor.

  "Alustriel was seen at the fight," said Banak. "No small thing, that."

  Bruenor looked to the young courier who had brought the news from the south. When Bruenor had sent out the Mirabarran dwarves, he had stretched a line of communication all the way from Mithral Hall, a relay team of couriers so that news would flow back quickly. With the orcs back out of Mithral Hall, the dwarf king expected a very fluid situation and had no intention of being caught by surprise from any direction.

  "Alustriel was there?" he pressed the courier. "Or we're thinking she was there?"

  "Oh, they seen her, me king," said the dwarf, "come in on a flaming chariot, down from the sky in a ball of fire!"

  "Then how did they know it to be her, through the veil of flames?" Nanfoodle dared to ask. He blanched and fell back, showing everyone that he was merely thinking aloud.

  "Aye, that's Alustriel," Bruenor assured the gnome and everyone else. "I'm knowing a thing or two about the Lady of Silverymoon's fiery chariot."

  That brought chuckles from the others around Bruenor, especially from the normal
ly quiet Wulfgar, who had witnessed first-hand Bruenor's piloting of Alustriel's magical cart. Far to the south and out on the sea, Bruenor had brought Alustriel's conjured chariot of flame streaking across the deck of a pirate ship, to ultimate disaster—for the pirates, of course.

  "So she's knowing that a fight's afoot," Bruenor said, and he looked to the emissary from another outside kingdom.

  "Citadel Felbarr would surely've telled her," Jackonray Broadbelt agreed. "We've got a good flow o' runners to Silverymoon and to Sundabar. Alustriel's knowing what's afoot, to be sure, if she joined in the fight in the south."

  "But will she come on to the north with her forces, as she did when the drow marched against Mithral Hall?" asked Wulfgar.

  "Might be that we should send Rumblebelly to her to find out," Bruenor said, throwing a wink at the barbarian as they both turned their looks over Regis.

  The halfling didn't catch it, obviously, for he sat very still and very quiet, head down.

  Bruenor studied him for just a moment, and recognized the source of his apparent dismay. "What'd'ye think, Rumblebelly?" he bellowed. "Ye think ye might use yer ruby there on Alustriel and get all o' Silverymoon marching to help us?"

  Regis looked up at him and shrugged, and his eyes widened as he apparently only then registered the absurd question.

  "Bah, sit yerself back," Bruenor said with a laugh. "Ye won't go using that magical pendant o' yers on the likes of Alustriel!"

  Everyone around the dwarf king joined in the laughter, but Bruenor's expression took on a more serious look as soon as he had the cover of the mirth.

  "But we'll be needin' to talk about Silverymoon, and yerself and me girl're the two who're best knowing the place. Ye go and sit with her, Rumblebelly. I'll get by to talk with ye two as soon as I'm done here."

  Regis's relief at being dismissed from the large gathering was evident to anyone who bothered to glance his way. He nodded and hopped up, then swiftly walked out of the room, even breaking into a trot as he reached the doorway.

  * * * * *

  Regis found Catti-brie sitting up in bed, a sizable plate of food set out before her. Her smile at him as he entered was among the sweetest sights he had ever known, for it was full of eagerness and acceptance. It was a smile that promised better days and another fight—something that Regis had feared Catti-brie would never be able to hope for again.

  "Stumpet and Cordio have been hard at work, I see," he remarked as he moved into the room and pulled up a small chair to sit beside the woman's bed.

  "And Moradin's been good enough to hear their call, for healing the likes of me. Do ye … you think perhaps I have more dwarf in me than either of us are knowing?"

  The halfling found her answer somewhat ironic, given her own mid-sentence correction of her dwarven dialect.

  "When do you think you'll be out of here?"

  "I'll be out of bed in less than a tenday," Catti-brie answered. "I'll be fighting again in two—sooner if I find I'm needed, don't you doubt."

  Regis looked at her skeptically. "Is that your guess or Cordio's?"

  Catti-brie waved the question away and went back to eating, and so Regis understood that the priests had likely given estimates of at least a month.

  As she finished with one piece of fruit, Catti-brie leaned over the opposite side of the bed, where a pail sat for the refuse. When she did, the movement caused the blanket to ride up on the side closest Regis, affording him a clear view of her torn hip and upper leg.

  The woman settled back before the halfling could replace his pained expression.

  "The rock hit you good," Regis said, knowing there was no way to avoid it.

  Catti-brie tucked the blanket back down under her side. "I'm fortunate that it bounced off the ledge and the wall first," she admitted.

  "How serious was the damage?"

  Catti-brie's face went blank.

  Regis met that stare and pressed on, "How far will you recover, do they say? That hip was crushed, the muscles torn through. Will you walk again?"

  "Yes."

  "Will you run?"

  The woman paused a bit longer, her face growing tight. "Yes."

  It was an answer more of determination than expectation, Regis knew. He let it go and stiffened his resolve against the wave of pity that wanted to flood out of him. He knew very well that Catti-brie would hear none of that.

  "Word has come from the south," Regis said. "Lady Alustriel has joined the fight, albeit briefly."

  "But Dagna has fallen," Catti-brie replied, surprising Regis.

  "Word of such things passes quickly through a dwarven community," she explained.

  Regis quieted for a few moments so that they could both offer a silent prayer for the soul of the fallen dwarf.

  "Do you think it will ever be the same?" he asked.

  "I don't," replied Catti-brie, and the halfling's head snapped up, for that was not precisely the answer he had expected and wanted from the normally optimistic woman. "As it was not the same when we drove the dark elves back underground. This fight's sure to leave a scar, my friend."

  Regis considered that for a moment, then nodded his agreement. "Obould stuck it in deep, and stuck it hard," he said. "Bruenor will be glad when he has that one's head piked out beyond the western door."

  "It is not all bad, these changes.. " said Catti-brie.

  "Torgar's here with his boys," Regis was quick to put in. "And we're talking with Felbarr as never before!"

  "Aye," said the woman. "And sometimes tragedy is the catalyst for those who are left behind, to change in ways they knew they should, but never found the courage to grasp."

  Something about her tone and the faraway look in her eye told the halfling that many things were stirring behind the blue eyes of Catti-brie, and not all of them in accordance to that which he and the others would normally expect of her.

  "We're trying to get some scouts out and about, up through the chimneys," he said. "We're hoping for word from Drizzt."

  Catti-brie's face twitched a bit at the mention of the drow. Not a grimace, but enough of a movement to tell Regis that he had hit a sensitive subject.

  Again Regis quickly changed the topic. What use in speculating about Drizzt, after all, when none of them knew anything definite, though all of them held the same hopes? Instead Regis talked of better days to come, of the inevitable defeat of Obould and his stupid orcs and the good times they'd have with the brave dwarves of Mirabar, the newest members of the clan. He talked of Tred and Citadel Felbarr, and promises of allegiance that ran deep on both sides of the Underdark tunnels. He talked of Ivan and Pikel, and of the Spirit Soaring, their cathedral home set high in the Snowflake Mountains above the town of Carradoon on Impresk Lake. He would go and see that wondrous place, he prompted repeatedly, drawing smiles from Catti-brie, and finally coaxing her into talking about it, for she and Drizzt had once visited Cadderly and Danica.

  After an hour or so, there came a sharp knock on the door, and Bruenor came bounding in.

  "Word's in from Felbarr," he announced before he even bothered to say hello. "Jackonray's runners come back with the news that Emerus Warcrown's marching!"

  "They will arrive through the eastern tunnels?" Regis asked. "We must set a proper feast for a visiting king."

  "Ain't about food this time, Rumblebelly," said Bruenor. "And not through any tunnels. King Emerus's got his boys spilling out aboveground. A great force, marching to the River Surbrin. Already their front runners are setting up camp at Winter Edge, just across the river. Townsfolk there ain't never had such company as they're seeing today!"

  "You're breaking out the eastern door," Catti-brie said.

  "We're crossing Garumn's Gorge with everything we've got," Bruenor replied, referring to the cavern and ravine that separated the eastern end of Mithral Hall from the rest of the complex. "We'll blow the side o' the mountain away before us, and come out in such a rush that them stupid orcs'll be jumping into the river to get away from us!"

&
nbsp; "And we'll wave at each other across the river?" Regis remarked.

  Bruenor scowled at him and said, "We're gonna set a hold on our side, and smash those orcs back to the north. Emerus is coming across—they're building the boats as they march. From the eastern doors to the river will become a part of Mithral Hall, walled and strong, and with a bridge that'll cross over and give our growing allies a clean route to join in the fight."

  The bold plan stole any quips from Regis, and had both he and Catti-brie sitting quietly attentive.

  "How long?" the halfling finally managed to ask.

  "Three days," said Bruenor, and Regis's jaw dropped open.

  "I'll be ready to go," Catti-brie remarked, and both dwarf and halfling turned to her in surprise.

  "No ye won't," said her father. "Already been talking to Cordio and Stumpet. This is one ye're missing, girl. Ye get yerself healthy and ready to fight. We'll be needing ye, don't ye doubt, when we've got the hold and're trying to get the damn bridge built. Yer bow on a tower's worth a legion of ground fighters to me."

  "Ye're not keeping me out o' the fight!" Catti-brie argued.

  Regis nearly giggled at how dwarflike the woman suddenly seemed when her ire went up.

  "No, I'm not," Bruenor agreed. "It's yer wound that's doing that. Ye can't even stand, ye unbearded girl gnome."

  "I will stand!"

  "And ye'll hobble," said Bruenor. "And ye'll have me and me boy Wulfgar, and Rumblebelly there, looking back for ye as often as we're looking ahead at the damned orcs!"

  Catti-brie, sitting so bolt upright then that she was leaning forward at Bruenor, started to argue, but her words dissipated as she seemed to melt beck into her pillows. The intensity didn't leave her eyes—she so dearly wanted to fight—but it was clear that Bruenor's appeal to her on the grounds of how her stubbornness would affect those she loved had done the trick.