The Last Threshold tns-4

by R. A. Salvatore

  He veered Byok to the side toward Saribel, the other priestesses fading back when his intent to engage the Xorlarrin became obvious.

  “I do not enjoy the World Above,” she said as he approached. “I feel ever vulnerable here, with no walls in close and no ceiling preventing attacks from above.” As she spoke, she glanced up at the towering mountain walls, and she shuddered, obviously imagining some archer up there, or a giant ready to drop rocks on them.

  “Our prize is well worth the trouble,” Tiago assured her.

  “Your prize, you mean.”

  Tiago grinned at her. “Will you not share in my glory?”

  “We are your raiding party, at your command.”

  “And you are no more than that?”

  She looked at him curiously.

  “My lover?” he asked.

  “So is Berellip,” she replied, referring to her older sister. “So are most of the females in Gauntlgrym, and a fair number in Menzoberranzan, I expect.”

  Tiago laughed and shrugged, but didn’t argue the point. “Yes,” he said, “but none of them, not even Berellip, could find the gain you will discover from this journey. Consider the glory I will know when I have returned with the head of Drizzt Do’Urden. My path before me will be my own to choose.”

  “Weapons master of House Baenre,” she said. Tiago shook his head, but Saribel pressed on, “That has been the rumor since before we set out for Gauntlgrym.”

  “House Baenre will stake a strong position in your matron mother’s desired Xorlarrin city,” he replied. “Perhaps I will embody that position.”

  Saribel tried to remain calm, but her eyes widened, giving her hopes away.

  “Perhaps I will take a Xorlarrin noble as my wife, joining our families in an alliance that will further both our aims,” Tiago said.

  “Berellip would be the obvious choice,” Saribel said.

  “My choice,” Tiago emphasized, “would not be Berellip.”

  Saribel swallowed hard. “What are you-?”

  “We will be married, our families will be joined,” Tiago stated plainly.

  “What?” came a question from the side, and the two turned to find Ravel listening in.

  “You do not approve … brother?” Tiago said.

  Ravel sat upon his invisible floating disc looking back at the Baenre, his expression shifting as he digested the startling news. Gradually a grin came to dominate his face-no doubt, Tiago realized, Ravel was going through the same thought process he had just realized, and coming to the same conclusion.

  “Ah, brother,” Ravel said at length. “It is good to be out on the hunt with you!”

  “Particularly when our prey is cornered,” Tiago replied.

  “Well, hardly be callin’ it a forest,” Ambergris said, trudging through the scraggly trees above the small, dilapidated cabin on the banks of Lac Dinneshere. “Ye sure this be the place, then?”

  The dwarf stopped talking and pulled up short when she regarded Dahlia and Drizzt, the drow crouched on one knee, staring down intently at his hand. No, not at his hand, she realized, but at something he held.

  “What is it?” Dahlia asked.

  Drizzt looked up at her, his expression blank, and he only shook his head, as if confused, as if he couldn’t find any words at that moment.

  Ambergris and Entreri arrived then, from different directions.

  Drizzt closed his hand and rolled his fingers, gradually finding the strength to rise.

  “What is it?” Entreri asked this time.

  Drizzt looked at him, then over Entreri’s shoulder, down at Effron and Afafrenfere, who were on the small dock before the old cabin.

  “Drizzt?” Dahlia prompted.

  “Scrimshaw,” he answered, his voice hollow.

  Dahlia reached for the hand, but Drizzt pulled it away quickly and defensively. His movement surprised her, and startled the other two as well.

  Drizzt took a deep breath and brought his hand up, unfolding his fingers to reveal a small statuette depicting a woman holding a very distinctive bow, the same bow, it appeared, as the one currently draped over Drizzt’s shoulder.

  “Regis’s work,” Artemis Entreri said.

  “Is that her?” Dahlia asked loudly, drowning out the assassin.

  Drizzt stared at her blankly, hesitant to answer.

  “Catti-brie?” she pressed. “Your beloved Catti-brie?”

  “How’d it get out here?” Ambergris asked, looking all around. “Few been here in many years, I’m guessing.”

  “None, more likely,” said Dahlia, staring still at Drizzt, her expression reflecting a deep and obvious discontent.

  “Except when the forest is here, perhaps,” Artemis Entreri said, and Drizzt took another deep breath, feeling as if he might simply topple over-or wondering if Dahlia might leap over and throttle him, given her expression.

  “It is likely nothing more than coincidence,” Drizzt said.

  Artemis Entreri walked over and reached for the statue, but Drizzt kept it away.

  “The foot,” Entreri said. “The right foot. Should I have to tell this to you?”

  Drizzt slowly upturned the scrimshaw, looked at its underside, the clutched it tightly against his heart.

  “The ‘R’ of Regis,” Entreri explained to the others.

  “And how’re ye knowin’ that?” Ambergris asked.

  “I have a long history with that one,” the assassin chuckled.

  Drizzt locked stares with him. “What does it mean?”

  Entreri shrugged and held out his hand, and this time, Drizzt handed the statue over. Entreri studied it closely. “It’s been lying out here for a long time,” he said.

  “And there’s no forest to be seen,” Dahlia added, rather unkindly.

  “And the day’s gettin’ long,” Ambergris remarked, looking back across the lake to the setting sun. “At least we’ll be sleeping under a proper roof this night, eh?” She glanced down at the lakeside cottage. “Such as it is.”

  In reply, Drizzt rolled his pack off his back and let if fall to the ground.

  Ambergris looked down at it, then back up to the stone-faced drow. “Like I was sayin’,” she said. “Another fine night out under the stars.”

  Drizzt camped right there, sleeping on the very spot where he had found the figurine. None of his five companions went to the cottage, but rather surrounded him with their own bedrolls.

  “Chasing ghosts,” Dahlia muttered to Entreri much later on, the two sitting off to the side, looking back at Drizzt. The night was not cold and the fire long out, but the half-moon had already passed overhead and they could see the drow clearly. He lay back on his bedroll, looking up at the multitude of stars shining over Lac Dinneshere. He still clutched the figurine, rolling it over in his nimble fingers.

  “Chasing her, you mean.”

  Dahlia turned on him.

  “You can’t rightly blame him, can you?” Entreri went on against that stare. “These were his friends, his family. We’ve all chased our ghosts.”

  “To kill them, not to make love to them,” Dahlia said and looked back at the drow.

  Entreri smiled at her obvious jealousy, but wisely said nothing more.

  At first he thought it Andahar’s barding, sweet bells ringing in the night, but as Drizzt opened his eyes, he came to understand that it was something more subtle and more powerful all at the same time, with all the forest around him resonating in a gentle and overwhelming melody.

  All the forest around him …

  When he had fallen asleep, he had done so watching the night sky and a multitude of stars, but now, from the same place, Drizzt could barely make out any such twinkling lights through the dense canopy above him.

  He sat up straight, glancing all around, trying to make sense of it.

  He was near a small pond that had not been there. He was near a small and well-tended cottage that had not been there, set against a low hill of hedgerows and flowers and a vegetable garden that had not b
een there. He pulled himself to his feet and considered his companions, all sleeping nearby, with one notable exception.

  Drizzt moved to Dahlia and stirred her. “Where is Entreri?” he asked.

  The elf woman rubbed a sleepy eye. “What?” she asked generally, her mind not catching up to the moment. She rubbed her eyes again and sat up, considered Drizzt somewhat blankly. “What is that music?” she asked, and then she looked around.

  And then her eyes popped open wide indeed!

  Artemis Entreri walked into view then and both regarded him curiously as he shrugged helplessly.

  “No singer,” he said, helplessly shaking his head. “Just a song.”

  He ended with a yawn, and eased back down to the ground.

  “How far did you search?” Drizzt asked, but he too couldn’t suppress a yawn as he fought through the words, for a great weariness came rushing over him then.

  He looked at Dahlia, but she had slumped back to the ground and seemed fast asleep.

  Magic-powerful magic, Drizzt knew, for elves were generally immune to such dweomers of sleep and weariness. Drow, as well, and yet Drizzt found himself on his knees. He looked around, and tried to fight it.

  His head was on Dahlia’s strong belly then, though he really wasn’t aware of the movement that had put him to the ground. All he knew was the song, filling his ears with sweetness, filling his heart with warmth, filling his eyes with the sandman’s pinch.

  Dreams of Catti-brie danced in his thoughts.

  Chapter 28

  THE HERO OF ICEWIND DALE

  "Hail and well met,” Tiago Baenre said to the group of guards who had come running when the young warrior and his three dark elf companions approached Bryn Shander’s western gate. He smiled as he spoke, attempting to be disarming here, but the group surely didn’t relax in light of his tone and posture, for surely few cut a more impressive and imposing figure than Tiago Baenre. He wore black leather armor, studded with mithral and accented in swirling designs of platinum leaf. His belt was a cord of woven gold, tied at the hip and hanging down the side of his leg, like a tassel. His fine piwafwi was perfectly black, so rich in hue that it seemed as if the fabric had great depth, like peering hopelessly into a deep Underdark cavern.

  But aside from the obvious fit and quality of his clothing, two other items quite clearly marked this drow as someone to be feared. Set in his belt, not in a scabbard but simply through a loop-for who would hide such magnificence as Vidrinath inside a sheath? — rested his amazing sword, its semi-translucent glassteel blade sparkling with the power of the inset diamonds, its curled hilt’s green spider eyes staring at the guards as if it served as some sentient guardian familiar to Tiago. Set on Tiago’s back, Orbcress was sized at that moment to be no more than a small buckler. Whatever its size, the shield spoke of powerful enchantments, for it seemed as if it were fashioned from a block of ice, and closer inspection revealed what seemed to be an intricate spider web encased within.

  “Be at ease,” he told the guard more directly with his halting command of the common language of the surface. “I have come in search of a friend, and am no enemy to the folk of Ten-Towns.”

  “Drizzt Do’Urden?” one of the guards asked, speaking more to her companions than to the visitors, but Tiago heard, and truly, no words had ever rung sweeter in his ears.

  “He is here?”

  “Was,” a different guard replied. “Went out to Easthaven a few days ago, and meant to move out east from there, from what I heard.”

  “To where?” Tiago asked, and he tried hard not to let his disappointment show-and particularly not in the form of the anger that was suddenly bubbling up inside of him.

  The guard shrugged and looked to his fellows, who similarly shook their heads or shrugged, having no answer.

  “Not far, and not for long, likely,” replied the woman who had first spoken Drizzt’s name. “Might be to see the barbarian tribes, or might be to hunt. But he’s sure to return soon enough. Nowhere to go east of Ten-Towns.”

  That calmed Tiago greatly. “Easthaven?” he asked as sweetly as he could manage.

  “A day’s ride down the Eastway,” the woman answered.

  Tiago turned to his companions, Ravel, Saribel, and Jearth, and all four wore perplexed expressions.

  “To the east,” another guard explained, and he turned back and pointed down the boulevard straight into the heart of the city. “Straight through and straight out Bryn Shander’s eastern gate, to the east.”

  “Night is upon us,” the woman explained. “You’ll be wanting lodging.”

  Tiago shook his head. “I have arrangements elsewhere. This road, the Eastway, runs out from the other end of this city?”

  “Aye,” several answered.

  Tiago turned and started back the way he had come, the other three drow moving in his wake, not one of them offered a parting word, or looking back, except for Jearth, whose duty it was to keep the rear guard watch.

  “Drizzt Do’Urden,” an excited Tiago whispered when they were out of earshot of the guards.

  “Only days ahead of us,” Ravel agreed.

  “With nowhere to run,” Saribel remarked, and all four dreamed of the glory they would soon know.

  The small, flat-bottomed boat lurched and rolled, and the nervous captain looked at his three passengers, fearing they would punish him severely for the uncomfortable journey. But the seven of them, drow all, didn’t appear at all bothered by the rolling; so dexterous and balanced were they even in this unfamiliar environment that they barely shifted as the deck was jolted repeatedly by the shock of uneven waves.

  The captain glanced at the drow more than they regarded him, which gave him some comfort at least. These were proclaimed friends of Drizzt Do’Urden, but something about their demeanor didn’t fit that description. Not that the captain knew Drizzt well, of course, having met him only once on this same ferry route, but the tales of the rogue drow were common about Ten-Towns, particularly Easthaven, which looked out onto the open tundra. Drizzt had been instrumental in forging the peace between Ten-Towns and the barbarian tribes a century before, and that peace held to this day, to say nothing of his legendary exploits in defeating the minions of the infamous Crystal Shard.

  Even though few alive in Ten-Towns knew much of present-day Drizzt-indeed, only a couple of elves remaining in Lonelywood were even alive back in the time of Akar Kessell and the Crystal Shard-most would swing wide their doors for him. The nervous captain could hardly believe the same would be true for this particular group of grim-faced drow adventurers.

  He was glad then, as he turned his craft around the last stony jut and into the shallow and somewhat protected cove on the lake’s eastern shore. He dropped the single sail and let the current take them, locking the wheel and moving to the anchor and long gangplank set forward. He could typically secure the landing very quickly, having years of practice, but this day, despite the frothing waters, the captain had them in place and with the bridge to the shore up and steady faster than ever before.

  He moved far aside, to the front corner of the craft, as the contingent of drow headed away.

  “This is the exact location where you left Drizzt?” asked Tiago, coming near the end of the line, with only Jearth behind him.

  “Same spot,” the captain replied.

  “A tenday ago?”

  “To the day, sir.”

  “You will await our return in this very place.”

  The captain nearly choked on that. He had agreed to, and been paid for, taking them out here, but even with the rough weather, he wanted a day of knucklehead fishing. Indeed, in weather such as this, knucklehead trout were more likely to bite.

  “But-” he started to argue, but the drow fixed him with such a stare that he knew that any contrary word from him would likely get him murdered, then and there.

  “You will await our return,” Tiago said again.

  “H-how long?” the captain stammered.

  “Until you di
e of old age, if need be,” said Tiago. “And then you will return us to Easthaven’s dock, or you will begin a circuitous ferry from that dock to this place as the rest of my force is brought forth.”

  The notion that there were more of these dangerous folk around had the hairs on the back of the captain’s neck standing up. What had he stepped into here, he wondered and imagined a drow invasion force burning Easthaven to the ground!

  Later that same day, the sun setting low, the captain breathed a sigh of relief when Tiago and the others stepped off his boat again, this time onto Easthaven’s docks. They had found no sign of Drizzt out in the east, and had quickly realized the fool’s errand of trying to pursue the rogue, who knew the region so much better than they, into the open tundra.

  So instead, Tiago and a select few remained at the inn in Easthaven, with the bulk of their thirty-warrior force camped in an extra-dimensional space created by Ravel and the other spellspinners, ready for fast recall.

  And they waited.

  Another tenday passed. Tiago sent out tendrils-Saribel’s priestesses-to Bryn Shander, and hired indigenous scouts to widen his network to encompass the whole of Ten-Towns, including the Battlehammer contingent living under the lone mountain. Ravel and his spellspinners, meanwhile, utilized their divination magic, while Saribel and her kind called out to Lolth’s handmaidens for guidance in their search.

  A month slipped by. Tiago hired locals to reach out to the barbarian tribes for word on the missing drow.

  Another month passed, with no word of Drizzt, and indeed, even the extra-planar creatures the priestesses and now magic-users he had called upon could find no sign of the rogue. The season began its turn, where the mountain passes would fill with snow and cold, and Icewind Dale would again be isolated from the rest of Faerun. By the time of the first snowstorm, no caravan moved along the single road connecting Icewind Dale to the lands south of the Spine of the World.

  No caravan, perhaps, but the storm did not hinder the approach of a demonic balor, whose every monstrous stride turned the snowpack to steam.