Danica looked at her and nodded. "Your reputation precedes you," she assured the young woman. "We have heard of Bruenor Battlehammer and the fight to reclaim Mithril Hall."
"And the war with the drow elves?" Drizzt asked.
Danica nodded. "In part," she replied. "I hope that before you leave you will find the time to tell us the story in full."
"What do ye know o' Bruenor's leavin'?" Catti-brie asked bluntly.
"Cadderly knows more of that than I," Danica replied. "I have heard that Bruenor abdicated his reclaimed throne to an ancestor."
"Gandalug Battlehammer," Drizzt explained.
"So it is said," Danica went on. "But where the king and the two hundred loyal to him went, that I do not know."
Drizzt and Catti-brie exchanged glances, both having a fair guess as to where Bruenor might have gone.
Ivan returned then, along with an old, but sprightly man dressed in a tan-white tunic and matching trousers. A light blue silken cape was pulled back from his shoulders, and a wide-brimmed hat, blue and banded in red topped his head. At the front center of the hat band sat a porcelain and gold pendant that depicted a candle burning above an eye, which all of the four recognized as the holy symbol of Deneir-the god of literature and art.
The man was of average height, around six feet, and was muscular, despite his advanced age. His hair, what was left of it, was
mostly silver in hue, with a hint of brown. Something about his appearance seemed strangely out of place to the companions. Drizzt finally recognized it to be the man's eyes, striking gray orbs that seemed full of sparkle, the eyes of a younger man.
"I am Cadderly," he said warmly with a humble bow. "Welcome to the Spirit Soaring, the home of Deneir and of Oghma, and of all the goodly gods. You have met my wife, Danica?"
Catti-brie looked from the old Cadderly, to Danica, who could not have been much older than Catti-brie, certainly not yet out of her twenties.
"And yer twins," Ivan added with a smirk, eyeing Catti-brie as she studied Danica. It seemed to perceptive Drizzt and Deudermont that the dwarf was familiar with such confusion upon such an introduction, a fact that led them both to think that Cadderly's advanced age was no natural thing.
"Ah, yes, the twins," Cadderly said, shaking his head and unable to contain a smirk at the mere thought of his boisterous legacy.
The wise priest studied the expressions of the four, appreciating their gracious withholding of the obvious questions. "Twenty-nine," he remarked offhandedly. "I am twenty-nine years old."
"Thirty in two weeks," Ivan added. "Though ye're not looking a day over a hunnerd and six!"
"It was the task of building the cathedral," Danica explained, and there was just a hint of sorrow and anger in her controlled tones. "Cadderly gave to the place his life force, a choice he made for the glory of his god."
Drizzt looked long and hard at the young woman, the dedicated warrior, and he understood that Danica, too, had been forced into a great sacrifice because of Cadderly's choice. He sensed an anger within her, but it was buried deep, overwhelmed by her love for this man and her admiration for his sacrifice.
Catti-brie didn't miss any of it. She, who had lost her love, surely empathized with Danica, and yet, she knew that this woman was undeserving of any sympathy. In those few sentences of explanation, in the presence of Cadderly and of Danica, and within the halls of this most reverent of structures, Catti-brie understood that to give sympathy to Danica would belittle the sacrifice, would diminish what Cadderly had accomplished in exchange for his years.
The two women looked into each other's eyes, locking gazes, Danica's exotic almond-shaped orbs and Catti-brie's large eyes, the richest shade of blue. Catti-brie wanted to say, "At least you have your lover's children," wanted to explain to Danica the emptiness of her own loss, with Wulfgar gone before …
Before so much, Catti-brie thought with a sigh.
Danica knew the story, and simply in sharing that long look with Catti-brie, she understood and appreciated what was in the woman's heart.
The eight-for Pikel soon returned, explaining that the children were sleeping in the gardens and being watched over by several priests-spent the next two hours exchanging tales. Drizzt and Cadderly seemed kindred spirits and indeed, had shared many adventures. Both had faced a red dragon and lived to tell the tale, both had overcome legacies of their past. They hit it off splendidly, as did Danica and Catti-brie, and though the dwarven brothers wanted to hear more of Mithril Hall, they found it hard in cracking into the conversation between the women, and the one between Drizzt and Cadderly. Gradually they gave up, and spent their time engaged with Harkle. He had been to Mithril Hall and had participated in the drow war, and turned out to be quite the storyteller, highlighting his tales with minor illusions.
Deudermont felt strangely removed from it all. He found himself missing the sea and his ship, longing to sail again out of Waterdeep Harbor to chase pirates on the open waters.
It might have gone on for all of the afternoon, except that a priest knocked on the door, informing Danica that the children were awake. The woman started to leave with the dwarves, but Drizzt stopped her. He took out the panther figurine and called to Guenhwyvar.
That set Ivan back on his heels! Pikel squealed, too, but in glee, the dwarfish druid always willing to meet with such a magnificent animal, despite the fact that the animal could tear the features from his face.
"The twins will enjoy their time with Guenhwyvar," the drow explained.
The great cat ambled out of the room, Pikel in close pursuit, grabbing the panther's tail that Guenhwyvar might pull him along.
"Not as much as me brother," Ivan, still a bit shaken, remarked.
Danica was going to ask the obvious question of safety, but she held the thought in check, realizing that if the panther wasn't to be trusted, Drizzt would never have brought it in. She smiled and bowed graciously, then left with Ivan. Catti-brie would have gone, but Drizzt's posture, suddenly formal, told her that it was time to speak of business.
"You have not come here merely to exchange tales, fine though they may be," Cadderly said, and he sat up straight, folding his hands in front of him, ready to hear their most important story in full.
Deudermont told it, Drizzt and Catti-brie adding in points they thought necessary, and Harkle constantly highlighting the story with remarks that really had nothing to do with anything as far as the other four could tell.
Cadderly confirmed that he had read of Caerwich and the blind seer. "She speaks in riddles that are not always what they seem," he warned.
"So we have heard," Deudermont agreed. "But this is one riddle my friends cannot ignore."
"If the seer spoke truthfully, then a friend lost, my father Zaknafein, is in the clutches of an evil being," Drizzt explained. "A minion of Lloth, perhaps, or a matron mother of one of Menzoberranzan's ruling houses."
Harkle bit hard on his lip. He saw a mistake here, but had to consider the limitations of his spell. He had read the blind seer's poem, word by word, at least a score of times, committing it fully to memory. But that was privileged information, beyond the scope of his spell. The fog of fate facilitated what would be, but if Harkle used the information that the spell privately gave to him, then he might be altering fate. What that might mean, catastrophe or better conclusion, the wizard could only guess.
Cadderly nodded, not disagreeing with Drizzt's reasoning, but wondering where he might fit in all of this, wondering what role the visitors expected him to play.
"I expect it is a handmaiden," Drizzt went on. "An extraplanar being of the Abyss."
"You wish me to use my powers to confirm this," Cadderly reasoned. "Perhaps to bring forth the beast that you might bargain or battle for your father's soul."
"I understand the depth of my request," Drizzt said firmly. "A
yochlol is a powerful being …"
"I learned long ago not to fear evil," Cadderly calmly assured him.
"We have
gold," Deudermont offered, thinking the price would be high.
Drizzt knew better. In the short time he had been with Cadderly, the drow understood the man's heart and motivations. Cadderly would not take gold, would take no payment at all. He was not surprised when Cadderly answered simply, "One soul is worth saving."
Chapter 14 THE FLUSTERED WIZARD
"Where's Deudermont?" Catti-brie asked of Harkle when the wizard stumbled into a small side room where the young woman was sitting with Drizzt.
"Oh, out and about, out and about," the distracted Harpell replied. There were two chairs in the room, both set before a large window that looked out over the majestic Snowflakes. Drizzt and Catti-brie occupied these, half-facing each other and half-looking out to the beautiful view. The dark elf reclined, his feet up on the window's wide sill. Harkle considered the scene for just a moment, then seemed to collect his wits and moved right between the two. He motioned Drizzt to take his feet away, then hopped up to sit on the window sill.
"Do join us," Catti-brie said with obvious sarcasm-obvious to Drizzt at least, for Harkle smiled dumbly.
"You were discussing the poem, of course," the wizard reasoned. It was partially true. Drizzt and Catti-brie were talking as much about the news that Bruenor had left Mithril Hall as about the all-important poem.
"Of course you were," Harkle said. "That is why I have come."
"Have you deciphered any more of the verse?" Drizzt asked, not too hopeful. The drow liked Harkle, but had learned not to expect too much from the wizard. Above all else, Harkle and his kin were unpredictable sorts, oftentimes of great help, as in the fight for Mithril Hall, and at other times more a detriment than an advantage.
Harkle recognized the drow's ambivalent tone, and he found that he wanted to prove himself at that moment, wanted to tell the drow all of the information in his magical journal, to recite the poem word by word, exactly as the seer had told it. Harkle bit back the words, though, fearful of the limitations of his spell and the potential consequences.
"We're thinking it's Baenre," Catti-brie said. "Whoever's holding the Baenre throne, I mean. 'Given to Lloth and by Lloth given, is what she said, and who better than the one sitting on Baenre's throne for the Spider Queen to give such a gift?"
Harkle nodded, letting Drizzt take up the thought, but believing that they were slipping off track.
"Catti-brie thinks that it is Baenre, but the seer spoke of the Abyss, and that makes me believe that Lloth has engaged a handmaiden," said Drizzt.
Harkle bit hard on his lip and nodded unconvincingly.
"Cadderly has an informant in the Abyss," Catti-brie added. "An imp, or something akin to that. He'll summon the beastie and try to find us a name."
"But I fear that my road …" Drizzt began.
"Our road," Catti-brie corrected, so firmly that Drizzt had to concede the point.
"I fear that our road will once again lead to Menzoberranzan," Drizzt said with a sigh. He didn't want to go back there, that much was obvious, but it was clear also that the ranger would charge headlong into the accursed city for the sake of a friend.
"Why there?" Harkle asked, his voice almost frantic. The wizard saw where the seer's poem had guided Drizzt, and knew that the second line, the one concerning Drizzt's father's ghost, had forced the ranger to think of Menzoberranzan as the source of it all. There were references in the poem to Menzoberranzan, but there was one word in particular that led Harkle to believe that the drow city was not their ultimate goal.
"We have already discussed that," Drizzt replied. "Menzoberranzan would seem to be the dark road the seer spoke of."
"You think it is a handmaiden?" Harkle asked Drizzt.
The drow half-nodded, half-shrugged.
"And you agree?" Harkle questioned Catti-brie.
"Might be that it is," Catti-brie replied. "Or might be a matron mother. That'd be me own guess."
"Aren't handmaidens female?" Harkle's question seemed irrelevant.
"All of Lloth's closest minions are female," Catti-brie replied. "That's why the Spider Queen's one to be fearin'," she added with a wink, trying to break some of the tension.
"As are all of the matron mothers," Harkle reasoned.
Drizzt looked to Catti-brie, neither of them quite understanding what the unpredictable wizard might be getting at.
Harkle flapped his arms suddenly, looking as if he was about to burst. He hopped down from the window, nearly overturning Drizzt in his chair. "She said he!" the flustered wizard cried. "The blind hag said he! The traitor to Lloth is sought by he who hates him most! " Harkle stopped and gave a great, exasperated sigh. Then there came a hissing sound and a line of gray smoke began wafting out of his pocket.
"Oh, by the gods," the wizard moaned.
Drizzt and Catti-brie both jumped to their feet, more because of the wizard's surprisingly acute reasoning than because of the present smoky spectacle.
"What foe, Drizzt?" Harkle pressed with all urgency, the wizard suddenly suspecting that his time was short.
"He," Catti-brie echoed over and over, trying to jog her memory. "Jarlaxle?"
" 'Who is most unshriven, " Harkle reminded her.
"Not the mercenary, then," said Drizzt, for he had come to the conclusion that Jarlaxle was not as evil as many. "Berg'inyon Baenre, perhaps. He has hated me since our days in the Academy."
"Think! Think! Think!" Harkle shouted as a great gout of smoke rose up from his pocket.
"What are you burning?" Catti-brie demanded, trying to pull the Harpell around so that she could better see. To her surprise and horror, her hand went right through the wizard's suddenly-less-than-corporeal form.
"Never mind that!" Harkle snapped at her. "Think, Drizzt
Do'Urden. What foe, who is most unshriven, who festers in the swirl of Abyss and hates you above all? What beast must be freed, that only you can free?" Harkle's voice seem to trail away as his form began to fade.
"I have exceeded the limits of my spell," the wizard tried to explain to his horrified companions. "And so I am out of it, I fear, sent away …"
Harkle's voice came back strong, unexpectedly. "What beast, Drizzt? What foe?" And then he was gone, simply gone, leaving Drizzt and Catti-brie standing and staring blankly in the small room.
That last call, as Harkle faded from view, reminded Drizzt of another time when he had heard such a distant cry.
"Errtu," the drow whispered breathlessly. He shook his head even as he spoke the obvious answer, for, though Harkle's reasoning seemed sound, it didn't make sense to Drizzt, not in the context of the poem.
"Errtu," Catti-brie echoed. "Suren that one's hating ye above all, and Lloth'd likely know him, or know of him."
Drizzt shook his head. "It cannot be, for never did I meet the tanar'ri in Menzoberranzan, as the blind seer declared."
Catti-brie thought on that one for a moment. "She never said Menzoberranzan," the woman replied. "Not once."
"In the home that was. ." Drizzt began to recite, but he nearly gagged on the words, on the sudden realization that his interpretation of their meaning might not be correct.
Catti-brie caught it, too. "Ye never called that place yer home," she said. "And ye often telled me that yer first home was …"
"Icewind Dale," Drizzt said.
"And it was there that ye met Errtu, and made o' him an enemy," Catti-brie reasoned, and Harkle Harpell seemed a wise man indeed at that moment.
Drizzt winced, remembering well the power and wickedness of the evil balor. It pained the ranger to think of Zaknafein in Errtu's clutches.
* * * * *
Harkle Harpell lifted his head from his huge desk and stretched with a great yawn.
"Oh, yes," he said, recognizing the pile of parchments spread on the desk before him. "I was working on my spell."
Harkle sorted them out and studied them more closely.
"My new spell!" he cried in glee. "Oh, it is finally completed, the fog of fate! Oh, joy, oh happy day!" The wizard lea
ped up from his chair and twirled about the room, his voluminous robes flying wide. After so many months of exhausting research, his new spell was finally complete. The possibilities rolled through Harkle's mind. Perhaps the fog of fate would take him to Calimshan, on an adventure with a pasha, perhaps to Anauroch, the great desert, or perhaps even to the wastelands of Vaasa. Yes, Harkle would like to go to Vaasa and the rugged Galena Mountains.
"I will have to learn more of the Galenas and have them fully in mind when I cast the spell," he told himself. "Yes, yes, that's the trick." With a snap of his fingers, the wizard rushed to his desk, carefully sorted and arranged the many parchments of the long and complicated spell and placed them in a drawer. Then he rushed out, heading for the library of the Ivy Mansion, to gather information on Vaasa and neighboring Damara, the famed Bloodstone Lands. He could hardly keep his balance, so excited was he about what he believed to be the initial casting of his new spell, the culmination of months of labor.
For Harkle had no recollection of the true initial casting. All of the last few weeks had been erased from his mind as surely as the pages of the enchanted journal that accompanied the spell were now blank once more. As far as Harkle knew, Drizzt and Catti-brie were sailing off the coast of Waterdeep, in a pirate hunting ship whose name he did not know.
*****
Drizzt stood beside Cadderly in a square room, gorgeously decorated, though not a single piece of furniture was in it. The walls were all of polished black stone, bare, except for twisted iron wall sconces, one set in the exact center of each wall. The torches in these were not burning, not in the conventional sense. They were made of black metal, not wood, each with a crystal ball set at its top. The light-it seemed that Cadderly could conjure whatever colored light he chose-emanated from the balls. One was glowing red now, another yellow, and two green, giving the room a
strange texture of colors and depth, with some hues seeming to penetrate more deeply into the glassy surface of the polished walls than others.
All of that held Drizzt's attention for a while, an impressive spectacle indeed, but it was the floor that most amazed the dark elf, who had seen so many amazing sights in his seven decades of life. The perimeter of the floor was black and glassy, like the walls, but the bulk of the floor area was taken up by a mosaic, a double-lined circle. The area between the lines, about a foot wide, was filled with arcane runes. A sign was etched inside, its star-like tips touching the innermost circle. All of these designs had been cut into the floor, and were filled with crushed gemstones of various colors. There was an emerald rune beside a ruby star, both of which were between the twin diamond lines of the outer circles.
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