Sea of Swords pod-4

by Robert Salvatore

  “I would hesitate to ever bet against that group,” Jule said. “Their teamwork is impeccable, wrought of years fighting together, and each of them, even the runt halfling, is formidable.”

  “What o' these other ones, then?” the obviously nervous pirate leader asked. “What o' Bruenor the dwarf king? Think he'll bring an army against us?”

  Neither Jule nor Bellany had any way of knowing. “Le'lorinel told us much,” the sorceress said, “but the information is far from complete.”

  “In my encounter with them in Icewind Dale, the dwarf worked with his friends, but with no support from his clan whatsoever,” Jule interjected. “If Bruenor knows the power of your band, though, he might decide to rouse the fury of Clan Battle-hammer.”

  “And?” Sheila asked.

  “Then we sail, winter storm or no,” Bellany was quick to reply. Sheila started to scold her but noted that Jule was nodding her agreement, and in truth, the icy waters of the northern Sword

  Coast in winter seemed insignificant against the threat of an army of hostile dwarves.

  “When Wulfgar was in Luskan, he was known to be working for Arumn Gardpeck at the Cutlass,” Jule, who had been in Luskan in those days, offered.

  “ 'Twas Arumn's fool friend who selled me the warhammer,” Sheila remarked.

  “But his running companion was an old friend of mine,” Jule went on. “A shadowy little thief known as Morik the Rogue.”

  Sheila and Bellany looked to each other and nodded. Sheila had heard of Morik, though not in any detail. Bellany, though, knew the man fairly well, or had known him, at least, back in her days as an apprentice at the Hosttower of the Arcane. She looked to Jule, considered what she personally knew of lusty Morik, and understood what the beautiful, sensuous woman likely meant by the phrase “an old friend.”

  “Oh, by the gods,” Sheila Kree huffed a few moments later, her head sagging as so many things suddenly became clear to her.

  Both of her companions looked at her curiously.

  “Deudermont's chasing us,” Sheila Kree explained. “What'd'ye think he's looking for?”

  “Do we know that he's looking for anything at all?” Bellany replied, but she slowed down as she finished the sentence, as if starting to catch on.

  “And now Drizzt and his girlfriend are waiting for us at Deudermont's house,” Sheila went on.

  “So Deudermont is after Aegis-fang, as well,” reasoned Jule Pepper. “It's all connected. But Wulfgar is not—or at least was not—with Drizzt and the others from Icewind Dale, so. .”

  “Wulfgar might be with Deudermont,” Bellany finished.

  “I'll be paying Josi Puddles back for this, don't ye doubt,” Sheila said grimly, settling back in her seat.

  “We know not where Wulfgar might be,” Jule Pepper put in. “We do know that Deudermont will not likely be sailing anywhere north of Waterdeep for the next season, so if Wulfgar is with Deudermont. .”

  She stopped as Sheila growled and leaped up from her seat, pounding a fist into an open palm. “We're not knowing enough to make any choices,” she grumbled. “We're needing to learn more.”

  An uncomfortable silence followed, at last broken by Jule Pepper. “Morik,” the woman said.

  Bellany and Sheila looked at her curiously.

  “Morik the Rogue, as well-connected as any rogue on Luskan's streets,” Bellany explained. “And with a previous interest in Wulfgar, as you just said. He will have some answers for us, perhaps.”

  Sheila thought it over for a moment. “Bring him to me,” she ordered Bellany, whose magical powers could take her quickly to Luskan, despite the season.

  Bellany nodded, and without a word she rose and left the room.

  “Dark elves and war-hammers,” Sheila Kree remarked when she and Jule were alone. “A mysterious and beautiful elf visitor. .”

  “Exotic, if not beautiful,” Jule agreed. “And I admit I do like the look. Especially the black mask.”

  Sheila Kree laughed at the craziness of it all and shook her head vigorously, her wild red hair flying all about. “If Le'lorinel survives this, then I'll be naming an elf among me commanders,” she explained.

  “A most mysterious and beautiful and exotic elf,” Jule agreed with a laugh. “Though perhaps a bit crazy.”

  Sheila considered her with an incredulous expression. “Ain't we all?”

  Chapter 15 SHARING A DRINK WITH A SURLY DWARF

  I should've known better than to let the two of ye go running off on yer own,” a blustering voice greeted loudly as Drizzt and Catti-brie entered the Cutlass in Luskan. Bruenor and Regis sat at the bar, across from Arumn Gardpeck, both looking a bit haggard still from their harrowing journey.

  “I didn't think you would come out,” Drizzt remarked, pulling a seat up beside his friends. “It is late in the season.”

  “Later than you think,” Regis mumbled, and both Drizzt and Catti-brie turned to Bruenor for clarification.

  “Bah, a little storm and nothing to fret about,” the dwarf bellowed.

  “Little to a mountain giant,” Regis muttered quietly, and Bruenor gave a snort.

  “Fix up me friend and me girl here with a bit o' the wine,” Bruenor called to Arumn, who was already doing just that. As soon as the drinks were delivered and Arumn, with a nod to the pair, started away, the red-bearded dwarfs expression grew very serious.

  “So where's me boy?” he asked.

  “With Deudermont, sailing on Sea Sprite, as far as we can tell,” Catti-brie answered.

  “Not in port here,” Regis remarked.

  “Nor in Waterdeep, though they might put in before winter,” Drizzt explained. “That would be Captain Deudermont's normal procedure, to properly stock the ship for the coming cold season.”

  “Then they'll likely sail south,” Catti-brie added. “Not returning to Waterdeep until the spring.”

  Bruenor snorted again, but with a mouthful of ale, and wound up spitting half of it over Regis, “Then why're ye here?” he demanded. “If me boy's soon to be in Waterdeep, and not back for half a year, why ain't ye there seeing to him?”

  “We left word,” Drizzt explained.

  “Word?” the dwarf echoed incredulously. “What word might that be? Hello? Well met? Keep warm through the winter? Ye durn fool elf, I was counting on ye to bring me boy back to us.”

  “It is complicated,” Drizzt replied.

  Only then did Catti-brie note that both Arumn Gardpeck and Josi Puddles were quietly edging closer, each craning an ear the way of the four friends. She didn't scold them, though, for she well understood their stake in all of this.

  “We found Delly,” she said, turning to regard the two of them in turn. “And the child, Colson.”

  “How fares my Delly?” asked Arumn, and Catti-brie didn't miss the fact that Josi Puddles was chewing his lip with anticipation. Likely that one was sweet on the girl, Catti-brie recognized.

  “She does well, as does the little girl,” Drizzt put in. “Though even as we arrived, we found them in peril.”

  All four of the listeners stared hard at those ominous words.

  “Sheila Kree, the pirate, or so we believe,” Drizzt explained. “For some reason that I do not yet know, she took it upon herself to send a raiding party to Waterdeep.”

  “Looking for me boy?” Bruenor asked.

  “Or looking to back off Deudermont, who's been chasing her all season,” remarked Arumn, who was well versed in such things, listening to much of the gossip from the many sailors who frequented his tavern.

  “One or the other, and so we have returned to find out which,” Drizzt replied.

  “Do we even know that Sea Sprite is still afloat?” Regis asked.

  The halfling's eyes went wide and he bit his lip as soon as he heard the words coming out of his mouth, his wince showing clearly that he had realized, too late, that such a possibility as the destruction of the ship would weigh very heavily on the shoulders of Bruenor.

  Still, it was an hone
st question to ask, and one that Drizzt and Catti-brie had planned on asking Arumn long before they arrived in Luskan. Both looked questioningly to the tavern-keeper.

  “Heard nothing to say it ain't,” Arumn answered. “But if Sheila Kree got Sea Sprite, then it could well be months before we knowed it here. Can't believe she did, though. Word among the docks is that none'd take on Sea Sprite in the open water.”

  “See what you can find out, I beg you,” Drizzt said to him.

  The portly tavern-keeper nodded and motioned to Josi to likewise begin an inquiry.

  “I strongly doubt that Sheila Kree got anywhere near to Sea Sprite,” Drizzt echoed, for Bruenor's benefit, and with conviction. “Or if she did, then likely it was the remnants of her devastated band that staged the raid against Captain Deudermont's house, seeking one last bit of retribution for the destruction of Sheila's ship and the loss of her crew. I sailed with Captain Deudermont for five years, and I can tell you that I never encountered a single ship that could out-duel Sea Sprite,”

  “Or her wizard, Robillard,” Catti-brie added.

  Bruenor continued simply to stare at the two of them hard, the dwarf obviously on the very edge of anxiety for his missing son.

  “And so we're to wait?” he asked a few moments later. It was obvious from his tone that he wasn't thrilled with that prospect.

  “The winter puts Sea Sprite out of the hunt for Sheila Kree's ship,” Drizzt explained, lowering his voice so that only the companions could hear. “And likely it puts Sheila Kree off the cold waters for the season. She has to be docked somewhere.”

  That seemed to appease Bruenor somewhat. “We'll find her, then,” he said determinedly. “And get back me warhammer.”

  “And hopefully Wulfgar will join us,” Catti-brie added. “That he might be holdin' Aegis-fang once again. That he might be finding where he belongs and where the hammer belongs.”

  Bruenor lifted his mug of ale in a toast to that hopeful sentiment, and all the others joined in, each understanding that Catti-brie's scenario had to be considered the most optimistic and that a far darker road likely awaited them all.

  In the subsequent discussion, the companions decided to spend the next few days searching the immediate area around Luskan, including the docks. Arumn and Josi, and Morik the Rogue once they could find him, were to inquire where they might about Sea Sprite and Sheila Kree. The plan would give Wulfgar a chance to catch up with them, perhaps, if he got the news in Waterdeep and that was his intent. It was also possible that Sea Sprite would come through Luskan on its way to Waterdeep. If that was to happen, it would be very soon, Drizzt knew, for the season was getting late.

  Drizzt ordered a round for all four, then held back the others before they could begin their drinking. He held his own glass up in a second toast, a reaffirmation of Bruenor's first one.

  “The news is brighter than we could have expected when first we left Ten-Towns,” he reminded them all. “By all accounts, our friend is alive and with good and reliable company.”

  “To Wulfgar!” said Regis, as Drizzt paused.

  “And to Delly Curtie and to Colson,” Catti-brie added with a smile aimed right at Bruenor and even more pointedly at Drizzt. “A fine wife our friend has found, and a child who'll grow strong under Wulfgar's watchful eye.”

  “He learned to raise a son from a master, I would say,” Drizzt remarked, grinning at Bruenor.

  “And too bad it is that that one didn't know as much about raising a girl,” Catti-brie added, but she waited until precisely the moment that Bruenor began gulping his ale before launching the taunt.

  Predictably, the dwarf spat and Regis got soaked again.

  * * * * * * * * * *

  Morik the Rogue wore a curious and not displeased expression when he opened the door to his small apartment to find a petite, dark-haired woman waiting for him.

  “Perhaps you have found the wrong door,” Morik graciously offered, his dark eyes surveying the woman with more than a little interest. She was a comely one, and she held herself with perfect poise and a flicker of intelligence that Morik always found intriguing.

  “Many people would call the door of Morik the Rogue the wrong door,” the woman answered. “But no, this is where I intended to be.” She gave a coy little smile and looked Morik over as thoroughly as he was regarding her. “You have aged well,” she said.

  The implication that this enticing creature had known Morik in his earlier years piqued the rogue's curiosity. He stared at her hard, trying to place her.

  “Perhaps it would help if I cast spells to shake our bed,” the woman remarked. “Or multicolored lights to dance about us as we make love.”

  “Bellany!” Morik cried suddenly. “Bellany Tundash! How many years have passed?”

  Indeed, Morik hadn't seen the sorceress in several years, not since she was a minor apprentice in the Hosttower of the Arcane. She had been the wild one! Sneaking out from the wizards' guild nearly every night to come and play along the wilder streets of Luskan. And like so many pretty women who had come out to play, Bellany had inevitably found her way to Morik's side and Morik's bed for a few encounters.

  Amazing encounters, Morik recalled.

  “Not so many years, Morik,” Bellany replied. “And here I thought I was more special than that to you.” She gave a little pout, pursing her lips in such a way as to make Morik's knees go weak. “I believed you would recognize me immediately and sweep me into your arms for a great kiss.”

  “A situation I must correct!” said Morik, coming forward with his arms out wide, a bright and eager expression on his face.

  * * * * * * * * ** * *

  Both Catti-brie and Regis retired early that night, but Drizzt stayed on in the tavern with Bruenor, suspecting that the dwarf needed to talk.

  “When this business is finished, you and I must go to Waterdeep,” the drow remarked. “It would do my heart good to hear Colson talk of her grandfather.”

  “Kid's talking?” Bruenor asked.

  “No, not yet,” Drizzt replied with a laugh. “But soon enough.”

  Bruenor merely nodded, seeming less than intrigued with it all.

  “She has a good mother,” Drizzt said after a while. “And we know the character of her father. Colson will be a fine lass.”

  “Colson,” Bruenor muttered, and he downed half his mug of ale. “Stupid name.”

  “It is Elvish,” Drizzt explained. “With two meanings, and seeming perfectly fitting. 'Col' means 'not', and so the name literally translates into 'not-son, or 'daughter. Put together, though, the name Colson means 'from the dark town'. A fitting name, I would say, given Delly Curtie's tale of how Wulfgar came by the child.”

  Bruenor huffed again and finished the mug.

  “I would have thought you would be thrilled at the news,” the drow dared to say. “You, who knows better than any the joy of finding a wayward child to love as your own.”

  “Bah,” Bruenor snorted.

  “And I suspect that Wulfgar will soon enough produce grandchildren for you from his own loins,” Drizzt remarked, sliding another ale Bruenor's way.

  “Grandchildren?” Bruenor echoed doubtfully, and he turned in his chair to face the drow directly. “Ain't ye assuming that Wulfgar's me own boy?”

  “He is.”

  “Is he?” Bruenor asked. “Ye're thinking that a couple o' years apart mended me heart for his actions on Catti-brie.” The dwarf snorted yet again, threw his hand up in disgust, then turned back to the bar, cradling his new drink below him, muttering, “Might be that I'm looking to find him so I can give him a big punch in the mouth for the way he treated me girl.”

  “Your worry has been obvious and genuine,” Drizzt remarked. “You have forgiven Wulfgar, whether you admit it or not.

  “As have I,” Drizzt quickly added when the dwarf turned back on him, his eyes narrow and threatening. “As has Catti-brie. Wulfgar was in a dark place, but from all I've learned, it would seem that he has begun the climb ba
ck to the light.”

  Those words softened Bruenor's expression somewhat, and his ensuing snort was not as definitive this time.

  “You will like Colson,” Drizzt said with a laugh. “And Delly Curtie.”

  “Colson,” Bruenor echoed, listening carefully to the name as he spoke it. He looked at Drizzt and shook his head, but if he was trying to continue to show his disapproval, he was failing miserably.

  “So now I got a granddaughter from a son who's not me own, and a daughter o' his that's not his own,” Bruenor said some time later, he and Drizzt having gone back to their respective drinks for a few reflective moments. “Ye'd think that one of us would've figured out that half the fun's in makin' the damn brats!”

  “And will Bruenor one day sire his own son?” Drizzt asked. “A dwarf child?”

  The dwarf turned and regarded Drizzt incredulously, but considered the words for a moment and shrugged. “I just might,” he said. He looked back at his ale, his face growing more serious and a bit sad, Drizzt noticed. “I'm not a young one, ye know, elf?” he asked. “Seen the centuries come and go, and remember times when Catti-brie and Wulfgar's parents' parents' parents' parents hadn't felt the warming of their first dawn. And I feel old, don't ye doubt! Feel it in me bones.”

  “Centuries of banging stone will do that,” Drizzt said dryly, but his levity couldn't penetrate the dwarfs mood at that moment.

  “And I see me girl all grown, and me boy the same, and now he's got a little one.. ” Bruenor's voice trailed off and he gave a great sigh, then drained the rest of his mug, turning as he finished to face Drizzt squarely. “And that little one will grow old and die, and I'll still be here with me aching bones.”

  Drizzt understood, for he too, as a long-living creature, surely saw Bruenor's dilemma. When elves, dark or light, or dwarves befriended the shorter living races—humans, halflings, and gnomes—there came the expectancy that they would watch their friends grow old and die. Drizzt knew that one of the reasons elves and dwarves remained clannish to their own, whether they wanted to admit it or not, was because of exactly that—both races protecting themselves from the emotional tearing.