Starlight Enclave

by R. A. Salvatore

  “Shame in that,” he said quietly when she finished.

  “In what?”

  “In them duergar going down into the deep Underdark,” he explained. “Same as the drow elfs. Too low, too near the demons. Ruined ’em both for thousands o’ years. Me own family’s got duergar in the lines, so me grandyda telled me.”

  Catti-brie couldn’t help but glance at Zak and Jarlaxle at that reply, and they both had heard Alviss, she could tell.

  “Ruined some, but not all of them,” she assured Alviss.

  “Ah, well, a’aha’ile,” he said. “Ye mindin’ if I put meself here for a sleep?”

  Catti-brie looked at him in surprise. She was planning to ask what that greeting meant exactly, as this was the second time she had heard it, but the unexpected request buried that thought.

  “Of course, good Alviss,” Azzudonna answered before Catti-brie could get any clarification. “The more, the warmer.”

  “Hoi hoi,” Alviss answered. He pulled off his heavy boots and wiggled his toes, then plopped down on his belly and buried his face in his folded arms right beside Catti-brie. Before she could even sort it all out, Alviss’s snores filled the igloo.

  She had to admit, it reminded her of home.

  Smiling, wondering if Alviss’s choice of his bed had been noticed by the others, Catti-brie glanced about in the low firelight. Her eyes widened, and her smile followed, when she noted Azzudonna snuggled comfortably with Zak, who seemed quite content indeed.

  They started out the next day to great progress, for though the storm continued to rage, the wind had shifted and was now mostly blocked by the glacier. They went right past their next intended rest fissure, but turned back soon after, for the wind continued its shift, seeming like the path of the sun they had witnessed circling the top of the world.

  Now the wind was at their backs as they retreated to the fissure, and in there set their camp.

  And there they remained for several days, for they could not test those headwinds.

  “It is just the way in the long night,” Azzudonna said with a shrug, and if she or any of the other Callidaeans minded this unexpected delay, they did not show it. “So many things can happen, particularly out here on the ice cap,” she told them, “and you simply must accept that and be prepared for it, and let the storm pass.”

  So they did. They rested in their igloos and they talked among themselves and with their new friends—and Azzudonna and Zak seemed to be great friends already, and lay beside each other every night.

  Entreri and Jarlaxle spent most of the time with Emilian, Ilina, Vessi and Ayeeda, and Catti-brie had more than a few new friends of her own soon enough. She didn’t even share an igloo with her companions from the south at this juncture, but rather with Alviss, a handful of other kurit, and even a pair of orcs, a husband and wife who told her that they were the ones who had found Doum’wielle wandering the ice cap—or more specifically, had found her in their own igloo, where she had crawled in, nearly dead.

  Just like the kurit, they wanted to hear her tales more than tell their own, and at first, it was quite uncomfortable for Catti-brie. She thought of her arguments with Drizzt, and felt rather awkward now with this clear evidence of orcs who were worthy of her respect and friendship.

  That epiphany led her to quiet and uncomfortable musing that followed her to sleep—questions about her goddess, about the actions of her life, about her perception of reality itself.

  The next day, the storm still impassable, she remained with this group, and even told them of the conflicts in a land called the Silver Marches, of a war between dwarves and orcs that ended with the signing of the monumental Treaty of Garumn’s Gorge.

  And she told them honestly of how the treaty hadn’t held, and war had come once more, to the fall of the Kingdom of Many-Arrows.

  The orc couple seemed sad, but not too bothered. And the dwarves no less so in either case, with not a cheer among them for the victories of Mithral Hall.

  “It is different up here,” said Ninik Burnook, the female orc. “The land itself wants to kill you. You live because you have friends. You will need them and they will need you. You have no room for enemies.”

  “Except the slaadi and the giants?” Catti-brie asked.

  “Only because they make themselves so,” Ninik replied. “For those of us of Callidae, it is best to just avoid them. But sometimes we cannot.”

  “Like the fight where Doum’wielle was lost?”

  “Yes,” Ninik answered. “I drove one of the sled teams that brought the rescue teams to the caverns below the castle. We do not go near to that place often, of course, but we had to try to recover the captured kurit. We were hoping for a stealthy rescue; what the party that entered the caverns found instead was a great fight that cost many lives.”

  “Here’s hopin’ that yer Jarlaxle friend helped us sort out the riddle, eh?” Alviss remarked.

  Catti-brie let it go at that, and asked for tales from her companions in the igloo. They were happy to provide many, particularly the orc couple, who were out on the ice cap most of the time and had some grand adventures indeed. Mostly in the summer, though, when they could find puddles and ponds of meltwater far from the glacier.

  Ninik told of white whales coming up several at a time, poking their heads from the water simply to watch her and her husband. She told of a seal rookery, with thousands of baby seals waddling about and learning to swim.

  It struck Catti-brie rather profoundly that while most of her stories were about battles and glory and generational conflict, those of the kurit and oroks were not.

  The stories went on and on, and became more private discussions as one or another of the gathering drifted off, and even those gradually quieted, overcome by snores and heavy breathing as all fell asleep, Catti-brie doing so without the slightest reservation about her orc and dwarf companions.

  The storm broke in the morning and the caravan set off once more, moving easily through the next days until one morning, soon after their breakfast and repacking, the friends were told that there was just one more journey to get to the caverns, a short one, and most of the team would not be going farther than this campground.

  The aevendrow volunteers—Azzudonna, Emilian, Ilina, Vessi, Ayeeda, and Galathae—put on their skis and led the way. After only a couple of hours skiing along the side of the glacial wall, they turned down a narrow rift, and from there, into a tunnel to the right, one low and more fitting for a human or a drow than for a giant or a slaad. Any relief the four southerners might have gotten from that proved short-lived, though, for their aevendrow escort left the skis outside and entered the tunnel with weapons drawn and ready.

  A short way in, they came upon a small chamber, which seemed a natural hollow and nothing that had been carved out and shaped. Galathae led them in.

  “This is as far as we go,” she told the companions. “One last time, I must ask you to reconsider. Your friend is lost, and if you go deeper into these chambers to find her, then I believe you are lost, too. You have a word of recall prepared for Callidae?”

  “I do,” Catti-brie assured her. “It will bring us to the signposts in Scellobel, near the inn.”

  “Keep it close in mind,” the paladin advised. “When we return to Callidae, if you are not back there, then we will know that you have perished. I hope to see you. I do not wish the perils of this place for you, or for any. Follow the tunnel and stay to the right at any forks, and take no side passages left or right. When you come upon a huge chamber filled with pillars of ice, you will know that you have found the fall of Doum’wielle, and of so many others. I suspect you will not find her there, but if you do, it will not likely be the woman you once knew, but an overtaken. Do not feel any guilt when you destroy that monster, if you are able, for in that case, it is not Doum’wielle, and could not again be Doum’wielle.”

  “You’ve told us only a bit about these monsters, the cante and the n’divi, you call them,” Artemis Entreri said brusquely.
“Do you have any details to add? Perhaps like how we best fight them? What they look like? Anything?”

  “There isn’t much more to tell,” Azzudonna answered before Galathae could reply. “The cante are empty as clear ice and flow like water. You don’t see them until they are upon you. That is their secret.”

  “And they flow upon you, climbing up onto you, and encase you and freeze you and suffocate you,” Galathae added. “Then their magic devours you, or melds with you—we cannot know because none have prevailed in a fight with them in any meaningful manner. No aevendrow has stood over a defeated cante, or wouldn’t gain insights even if so because its corpse is no more than water. You can destroy them with weapons, with fire, with lightning, and likely a host of other magical spells, but that is not the problem. The problem is that they come upon you quickly, and overtake individuals before you realize you’re under assault. Those victims become n’divi, the overtaken, not living, not dead. Not to be reasoned with, but only to be destroyed. In that event, you are left with the corpse of a friend.”

  “Use your fire, but take great care not to stir the wind god,” Azzudonna added. “When we came here and fought, we awakened Qadeej.”

  Galathae looked to the warrior and nodded, her expression one of great pain and sorrow.

  “We were fifty in number, fully armed and prepared for battle,” the paladin added. “It was not a long fight. More than half were lost.”

  “But you didn’t come back after them,” Zak remarked.

  “You should consider that truth alongside our pleas to you that you do not go back for Doum’wielle,” Galathae replied. “We didn’t come back because we had no choice but to accept the loss.”

  A long and uncomfortable silence hung in the air between them all.

  “Might I have my whistle?” Jarlaxle asked, finally breaking the tension. “Not this one, for I see no mukteff about.”

  Galathae shook her head. “Your whistle remains in Callidae, and if you return to us, you will be given it under the agreed conditions. And if you do not return, it will be locked away in the Siglig, in the deep libraries where we keep magical items and books that we dare not use. I do hope you return to reclaim it.”

  “And in that case, perhaps refuse to take it back,” Emilian added.

  “We are leaving soon,” Galathae said. “Are you sure you cannot be persuaded?”

  “We are. Just as we are grateful that you brought us here,” Catti-brie told her.

  “I fear that you would not be if you truly understood that which awaits you,” the paladin soberly replied. “Right at any forks—I recall three of them—and take no side passages and enter no side chambers.”

  She motioned at the tunnel beyond the room and let the friends go on their way.

  Zak and Entreri took the lead, turning left at the tunnel and moving down a short distance, where Jarlaxle called for a pause and all four turned back to watch the departure of the aevendrow.

  “You’re sure about this?” Entreri asked.

  “Of course I’m not,” Jarlaxle answered. “But Doum’wielle would prove a great prize, and we might save ten thousand lives if we can rescue her. More, it is the right thing to do.”

  He nodded to Zak, who drew out Khazid’hea and handed it to Catti-brie.

  She took it gingerly, held it loosely in her palm, and let her mind interact with the magic of the weapon. She opened her eyes only a moment later.

  “I feel her. Very near.” She paused. “I . . . think.” She shook her head, for these sensations through Khazid’hea really weren’t convincing her of much at all. She’d had no experiences with any magic akin to this until Jarlaxle had brought it to her attention, not even long before when she had wielded the sword. Nor had she heard of any such feelings with others when they used Khazid’hea. Still, she really couldn’t be certain if the sword was telling her that Doum’wielle was alive or dead, or worse, if Doum’wielle had become one of these monsters Galathae had just warned of. The whole mission—as it ever had—seemed tenuous to her, at best.

  She gave the sword back to Zak. “I have the word of recall at the ready, and I will be quick to use it,” she promised.

  “Not too quick,” Jarlaxle said. “I have no desire to ski all the way from Callidae if we have to come back.”

  They started away, Catti-brie looking over her shoulder repeatedly the way they had come, where Azzudonna had lingered behind the other departing aevendrow and now stood staring at the companions. It was pretty obvious to Catti-brie that Azzudonna among all of their new friends was most anxious to see the return of the southerners.

  Particularly Zaknafein.

  With that cheery thought in mind, Catti-brie chased after her three companions.

  Chapter 26

  The Breath of Qadeej

  Jarlaxle pulled out a wand, very slim and of smooth metal. With it, he cast a dweomer upon himself allowing him to detect any magic in the area, while Catti-brie used her own divine powers to do likewise.

  “You watch left, I’ll focus on the right,” he told her. “Let us hope these cante creatures are magical in nature, that we might discover them before they get too near.”

  “Move quickly,” Catti-brie told Entreri and Zak. “The enchantments will not last long.”

  Down they went, but not as fast as they wanted, for the tunnel became quite slick. Entreri passed a side chamber and glanced in, but moved along as Galathae had instructed.

  More side passages and chambers dotted the hallway, and again, with only cursory looks, the friends pressed on. Entreri came to another hole in the tunnel wall, this one rounded like an archway, and the chamber within curving and roughly oval, seeming almost as if this area had suddenly melted and flowed outward.

  Entreri moved past.

  “Hold!” said Catti-brie, coming behind him. She stared into the room, the hairs on the back of her neck tingling. She sensed something, or perhaps some movement had flickered in the corner of her eye.

  She stood there crouched, staring, waiting.

  Jarlaxle came beside her. “Magical and yet not?” he asked, and Catti-brie nodded, understanding his meaning completely.

  Something was in there.

  The floor undulated suddenly as if a wave had rolled through. And in its wake, a form arose, a single blunt watery pillar rearing like a cobra and swaying in a slow dance. It bubbled and rolled in on itself, and from there took shape, humanoid shape, except that it was completely of liquid.

  “Cante. Uninhabited,” whispered Jarlaxle.

  Two more humanoids appeared.

  Catti-brie waved her hands and three lines of fire shot forth, hitting one fully in the chest, clipping a second about the hip and taking one leg right off, and melting the head off the third.

  The first diminished as it shed water, but came forward.

  The second fell over onto the floor, dissolved into it, and came right back up again, leg reformed.

  And the third continued its headless approach, until another head grew out of its collar.

  Lightning flashed from Jarlaxle, hitting the first again, squarely. The bolt grounded on it, through it, leaving a spiderweb of cracks with bits falling away.

  Zaknafein leaped in front, bringing forth his fiery whip.

  Entreri tried to join him, but called out, suddenly stuck to the floor.

  Catti-brie turned at his call, then looked on in horror as another monster climbed up his leg, giving him the sensation of sinking into a puddle. The watery creature’s leading edge remained fluid, flowing upward, the liquid left behind froze solid.

  Entreri whacked at the floor with Charon’s Claw, breaking the ice all around. He grimaced and groaned in pain, and they could see the ice squeezing his leg.

  A crack of Zaknafein’s whip cut the floor just beside the trapped foot, then a second snap as Zak sorted out where the corridor ended and the cante began.

  “The ones in the room!” Jarlaxle demanded, and another lightning bolt left his wand.

 
; Catti-brie popped Taulmaril into her hands and began a line of arrows, aimed not at the humanoid-shaped ice monsters, but at the floor all about the entrance to the side chamber. Most just sparked into the ice, sending a small ball of electricity about and leaving cracks, but one caught yet another of the creatures flowing quietly, sneaking, out.

  Entreri broke free of the icy grasp and attacked the spot with his red-bladed sword. He took up his jeweled dagger as he retreated and dug at the ice enwrapping his leg, but it was Zak’s fiery whip that finished the job. The weapon master then turned on the one Catti-brie had struck with an arrow.

  “Don’t call to the Plane of Fire!” Catti-brie reminded him as the weapon master went into a wild dance, spinning and snapping the bullwhip, the weapon perfectly designed for fighting creatures made of ice, surely.

  One humanoid-shaped monster got too near and Zak took its legs with a single, devastating crack of the whip. The torso bounced to the floor and began to dissolve, but an arrow of lightning shattered it.

  Into the room Zak spun, battering everything in sight, floor, monster, walls, even taking down an icy stalactite.

  “More!” Entreri called from farther along the corridor,

  “Flee!” said Jarlaxle when he turned that way, and Catti-brie understood, following his gaze, for the whole corridor seemed alive with flowing forms, waves of elementals, water weirds, or whatever strange cross of the two these monsters might be.

  But they couldn’t flee, couldn’t hope to get away from this liquid swarm.

  “Cover!” Catti-brie called instead, and she threw her greatest fire spell, a tiny pea of flame flying away down the corridor.

  She had no idea what the result might be, or how far back the fireball would expand in the confined space, but she was fairly certain whatever happened would be better than that which they now faced.

  As soon as she let fly the spell, she shied away and lifted her cloak up over her head and shoulders, and the hot winds rolled over her, rolled over them all.

  And then, as quickly as this encounter had begun, it ended, the air thick with mist and strangely quiet, save for a dripping sound. When it cleared, the friends, all shaken, skin red and warm, held the defensive posture for some time.