“Have you finished your service?” Catti-brie finished for him, and Regis finally did look up at her, plaintively. Her smile was warm and disarming. “You have done more than any could ask, my friend. None will judge you for leaving now, though surely we all will miss you.”
“Brother Afafrenfere is only passing through Mithral Hall,” Regis explained, “then going south to Silverymoon and Everlund, and to the south road to Waterdeep.”
“He has explained as much, that his time here is at its end,” Catti-brie agreed. “All are grateful for his actions here, for indeed he is credited in no small part in killing the white dragon on the slopes of Fourthpeak. A great ally is Brother Afafrenfere.”
“From Waterdeep, he’ll find the Trade Way, which I rode with the Grinning Ponies before I found you on the banks of Maer Dualdon. I will go with him, all the way to the port of Suzail, and I’ll sail home east to Aglarond while he sails northeast to the city of Procampur and the Bloodstone Lands.”
“I wish I could dissuade you.”
“You know that you cannot.”
“You are in love, Reg … Spider Parrafin,” Catti-brie said. “I only hope that one day I will meet this halfling woman, Donnola Topolino, who has so stolen your heart.”
“You will,” Regis vowed. “I will lead her to the road of adventure beside me, or so I hope. And that road will lead to Gauntlgrym.”
“It is a wider world than you imagine, I fear. When Wulfgar left us for Icewind Dale, did we not proclaim that we would all meet again.”
“I did—with Wulfgar, I mean. As did Drizzt.”
“And?”
The halfling swallowed hard at that poignant question, for that meeting with Wulfgar in Icewind Dale had been friendly enough, but strangely unfulfilling to all three of them.
“Are you saying that I should not return? Or that I should not go?”
“I surely do not want you to go!” the woman replied. “But no, you have no choice, my dear friend. I have seen you looking east in your quiet moments—we all have. You cannot spend your days wondering about your beloved Donnola. You’ll always have the Companions of the Hall, Spider of Aglarond. Always will you remain one of us, and so, always welcomed wherever we are, with open arms and wide smiles, and kisses from me—so many kisses!”
“I tried to be worthy of the Companions of the …” Regis started to say, but his voice trailed away.
It was becoming very real to him, then, Catti-brie knew. He was leaving them, and the weight of that was only now truly descending on his small shoulders.
“Worthy? You are a hero, in every sense of the word. You saved Wulfgar’s life in the tunnels south of Mithral Hall. Twice!”
“After he came for me.”
“It is what we do for each other,” said Catti-brie. “I only wish I could accompany you to Aglarond.”
Regis nodded and swallowed hard, and forced Catti-brie to look him in the eye, his expression very serious, which confused the woman.
“Wulfgar has agreed to come with me,” Regis explained.
For a moment, Catti-brie seemed unbalanced, as if she would simply fall off the side of her magically summoned mount. She steadied herself quickly, though, and managed a nod.
“He has agreed to stand beside me in my journeys,” Regis explained. “Perhaps he feels as if our trials together in the Underdark …”
“He owes you a life debt.”
“One for which I would never demand payment.”
“He is happy to repay you. Likely, he is happy to find the open road and more conquests … of various natures.”
“Say nothing, I beg you,” Regis was quick to reply, as if Catti-brie’s remarks had reminded him of something. “Well, we will go to Drizzt and Bruenor together, but for now, it is our secret. Agreed?”
“Why?”
Regis motioned forward with his chin, leading Catti-brie’s gaze to Wulfgar, and to the Knight-Commander of Silverymoon.
“Aleina Brightlance is quite smitten with him,” Regis explained.
“Perhaps she will go with you.”
Regis was shaking his head before Catti-brie finished the thought. “Her duty is to Silverymoon. There are rumors that she will be given command of Sundabar when it is rebuilt.”
“You have chosen love,” the woman reminded. “Perhaps she …”
“I do not think Wulfgar would want her to come,” Regis explained. “He’s … different now. I don’t believe he desires a family—he already had one, in his previous life. Children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren—he knew them all. He outlived many of them. He had already mentioned to me that his biggest regret in the road I have chosen is that he’ll not travel with you back through Longsaddle.”
“Penelope Harpell,” Catti-brie said with a laugh.
Regis shrugged. “Our secret?”
“One we have to share soon with Drizzt and Bruenor, that we can all properly prepare to say good-bye.”
The halfling nodded and turned his focus once more on the road ahead. He had to do that, Catti-brie knew, to make sure she didn’t see the tears that were welling in his eyes.
LATER THAT DAY, the great marching force split, with the elves turning east to the River Surbrin, where their boats waited to ferry them and the thousands from Citadel Adbar across to the Glimmerwood.
King Emerus and his charges of Citadel Felbarr could have gone that way as well, but he opted to march farther south, to the Surbrin Bridge, beside his friend Bruenor so they could further discuss this great adventure that awaited the dwarves in the most ancient Delzoun home of all.
That very night, Catti-brie and Regis found Bruenor, Wulfgar, and Drizzt alone by a fire. They took their seats beside their friends, with food and drink all about.
“Call in Guenhwyvar,” Regis bade Drizzt.
The drow looked at him curiously, for it seemed a strange request.
“Ain’t none in the world to attack the army about us,” Bruenor said.
But Regis looked to Drizzt and nodded, and Catti-brie did, too, and so the drow pulled out his onyx figurine and brought in the sixth member of the Companions of the Hall.
All gathered then, Regis and Wulfgar announced their plans, and Bruenor’s cry of dismay split the night and turned many nearby eyes their way.
“It’s me greatest quest!” the dwarf protested, on the edge of desperation. “I can’no be doin’ it without ye!”
“Yes you can,” Catti-brie answered. “We can. Drizzt and I will be beside you, and thousands of your sturdy kin as well.”
Bruenor looked at her sharply, clearly feeling he had been deceived, or as if he was the last to know.
“They have to go,” Catti-brie insisted. “Their business—Regis’s business in particular—is no less urgent than your own. More urgent than your own, I say, for Gauntlgrym has been there for thousands of years, and will be there for thousands more, no doubt, but Donnola …”
She looked at Regis, who nodded his gratitude.
“Yer girl?” Bruenor asked incredulously, as if the thought of chasing a woman when such a grand adventure lay in front of them was perfectly ludicrous.
“The woman I will make my wife,” said Regis. “Perhaps we will name our first child Bruenor, though I fear his beard will disappoint you.”
Bruenor started to argue, but the halfling’s words turned that into a sputter, then a laugh.
And so they ate and so they drank, and many cheers and flagons of ale were lifted into the night air, and many promises that they would see each other again, in Gauntlgrym likely. This was no good-bye, they all declared, but merely a temporary parting of the ways.
How many have made those often futile promises?
“Are we disturbing your private gathering?” came an unexpected voice. Jarlaxle walked into the firelight, flanked by the sisters Tazmikella and Ilnezhara.
“We’ve room for more,” Drizzt said quickly, before Bruenor could protest. He slid along the log he had taken as a bench, making room for the newc
omers.
“A drink?” Drizzt asked, looking to Bruenor, who scowled for a heartbeat, but produced another flagon.
Ilnezhara handed the first flagon along to Jarlaxle and explained, “I prefer blood,” as Bruenor reached behind his shield once more. The dwarf stopped and stared at her.
“You walk openly among the dwarves and others,” Drizzt said quietly to Jarlaxle.
“The war is over and so I have come to try to mend relations between the races, ostensibly,” the drow mercenary replied and took a sip of the ale. “Though, of course, I am here as a spy for Matron Mother Baenre, to whom I will, of course, provide a complete accounting.”
Wulfgar bristled and Bruenor hopped up at that declaration.
To which Jarlaxle merely shrugged and smiled, and looked to Drizzt. “My use of ‘of course’ two times in one sentence did not properly relay my sarcasm?”
“It’s been a long year,” Drizzt replied.
“Ah,” Jarlaxle agreed. “Well, good dwarf and man-giant, do be at ease,” he said. “I will tell Menzoberranzan nothing more than that which they already know. The dwarves won, the orcs fled, the human kingdom will be built anew, and for all of our—of their—efforts, this war Menzoberranzan prodded onto the Silver Marches has done little more than strengthen the bonds of the alliance of Luruar.”
“That’s what ye’re meaning to tell ’em, eh?” asked Bruenor.
“Aye,” Jarlaxle answered. “In exchange for a small favor.”
Bruenor straightened at that, and cast a sour look Drizzt’s way, but Drizzt held up his hand, begging the dwarf for patience.
“I have two associates, both known to you, who are intrigued at the prospect of your intended reclamation of Gauntlgrym,” the drow explained.
“Them two?” Bruenor asked, pointing to the sisters.
“Try not to be so foolish,” Tazmikella said.
“Good dwarf, we are already long bored,” Ilnezhara agreed.
“Not them,” Jarlaxle explained, “but dwarves, including the newest member of Bregan D’aerthe. Both have asked for a leave, that they might march beside you to your homeland, and given all that they have done, I would be a terrible leader and a worse friend to refuse them.” He lifted his hand and motioned, and into the firelight hopped Ambergris and Athrogate, holding hands and grinning hopefully.
“Ye want me to take these two?” Bruenor asked.
“Powerful allies,” Jarlaxle said.
Bruenor seemed at a loss. He looked from the drow to the dwarves to Drizzt, then back and forth again. “Aye, I can’no deny the truth o’ that.”
“I been granted back me old home o’ Felbarr,” said Athrogate.
“And meself can return to Adbar and all’s forgiven,” added Amber Gristle O’Maul, of the Adbar O’Mauls. “And we’re owing ye all for that.”
“Aye, and we’d rather be takin’ the road aside ye,” Athrogate said. “Fore’er more.”
“And what of yourself?” Drizzt asked Jarlaxle.
The mercenary shrugged. “I’ve to report to the matron mother, of course, and then I have another road before me.”
“He’s off to find Effron, don’t ye know?” Ambergris interjected. “Aye, to find the poor boy and give him a hug for meself.”
“Do we have an agreement?” Jarlaxle asked.
“And if I’m sayin’ no?” Bruenor asked.
“Then I will report the same tale to the matron mother, but you will have lost a pair of fine and powerful companions.”
Bruenor looked to Drizzt. “What says yerself, elf?”
“In a fight, those are two dwarves I would want on my side.”
“Good enough, then, and glad to have ye,” Bruenor said to the pair, who grinned all the wider, bowed, and moved back out into the darkness between the campfires.
“And now I must be off,” Jarlaxle said, draining his flagon, tipping his cap, and rising. “Farewell and not good-bye, for I’ve no doubt that our roads will cross again, my friends.” He started to bow, but Tazmikella grabbed him by the sleeve and with frightening ease pulled him back down to sit beside her. She began whispering in his ear, and pointed across the firelight to Wulfgar.
Jarlaxle laughed.
The big man scowled.
“My friend here is wondering if you are in need of a fine bed this night,” Jarlaxle said.
The stunned Wulfgar seemed at a loss, muttering “umm” repeatedly.
“She’s a dragon, boy,” Bruenor said to him.
“Why does everyone keep saying that as if it is a bad thing?” Jarlaxle asked. He looked to Wulfgar and grinned slyly. “Enticing, yes?”
But Regis answered before Wulfgar could. “Aleina is not far, and she is expecting you,” he reminded, and the growing smirk disappeared from the big man’s face.
“I … with sincere gratitude …” Wulfgar stammered, but the sisters laughed at him and stood up, hoisting Jarlaxle between them and tugging him away.
“I will have to suffer greater trials for your absence,” Jarlaxle said with feigned regret. He tried to bow again, but was off the ground, lifted over the log, and easily slung over Ilnezhara’s shoulder.
“Alas,” he said with great lament, and he awkwardly managed to tip his outrageous hat.
“Dragons …” Catti-brie said incredulously, and she looked to Wulfgar and shook her head with disgust.
“It does present an intriguing …” Drizzt kidded, and he ducked fast from Catti-brie’s good-natured slap.
To Wulfgar, though, there remained a look of clear interest as he watched the trio depart. He considered the beautiful sisters and what he, surprisingly, found to be an intriguing offer. And he looked, too, at Jarlaxle, envying the carefree, self-serving drow.
Had Jarlaxle found what Wulfgar sought?
HORNS BLEW AND the cadence of a drumbeat was matched perfectly by the thousand dwarves of Citadel Felbarr, stomping across the Surbrin Bridge, escorted away by the cheering of their Battlehammer kin.
“He’s supporting you with everything he can,” Drizzt remarked to Bruenor as they watched Emerus Warcrown depart.
“He’s a good man, is me friend Emerus,” Bruenor replied solemnly. “He’ll be generous when we meet at the year’s turn. Many who’re marchin’ beside us, elf, will be from Citadel Felbarr, don’t ye doubt.”
“I don’t,” Drizzt agreed.
Another horn blew, this one to the south, and Drizzt noted that Bruenor swallowed hard at this one, the muster call from the Knights in Silver. Drizzt, too, breathed a long sigh.
“Me girl’s with ’em,” Bruenor remarked. “Let’s go and say our goodbyes …” His voice trailed off and the sturdy dwarf bit back a chortle. He looked up at Drizzt and nodded, and the two started off.
They found Catti-brie with Wulfgar and Regis a few moments later, Aleina and Brother Afafrenfere standing off to the side, waiting patiently.
Bruenor began pulling flagons of ale out from behind his shield the moment he arrived, handing them around to the other four, then lifting his own up high.
“To the Companions of the Hall,” the dwarf said in a strong and loud voice—loud enough so that many nearby turned to regard the gathering of the five friends. “If ne’er we’re to meet again, then know in yer hearts that few’ve knowed a friendship as deep.”
Regis winced at that, and it seemed to Drizzt as if he was on the verge of breaking, perhaps renouncing his intended journey to Aglarond.
“We’ll meet again,” Drizzt said to assure them all, particularly the halfling, though in truth, he doubted his own words.
“Aye, in this world or the next,” Catti-brie confidently added.
Drizzt noted that this time both Wulfgar and Regis winced.
He understood.
They toasted and drank, toasted some more and drank some more, though the horns to muster were growing more frequent and more urgent in the south. Finally Aleina Brightlance walked over. “We are off,” she told Wulfgar and Regis.
Hugs and kisses,
and the five left, all with tears in their eyes. When he hugged Drizzt, Regis whispered, “I have to go” into the drow’s ear, as if asking permission.
“I know,” the drow said.
And so they did, moving down the riverbank to the south with the soldiers of Silverymoon and Everlund, leaving Drizzt and Catti-brie and Bruenor to contemplate their long road ahead without the pair.
CHAPTER 2
Walking the Nether Planes
MATRON MOTHER ZEERITH XORLARRIN JOINED HANDS WITH HER mighty nephew, the wizard Tsabrak, and began her spellcasting. Similarly, the wizard launched into his own casting, the two twining their magical energies into a unique spell, both arcane and divine.
Across the altar in the primordial chamber of Q’Xorlarrin, High Priestess Kiriy, Zeerith’s oldest daughter, held her breath in anticipation. She had never seen this ritual performed before, though she was well versed in necromancy.
“Dwardermey,” Tsabrak whispered a long while later, evoking the name of one of the fallen drow in the Silver Marches.
“Dwardermey,” Matron Mother Zeerith echoed, and they both repeated the call many times.
The body came from inside the stone block altar itself, facial features forming within the stone, and growing, rising. Then it was separate from the altar, the body of a slain dark elf, torn by swords and axes.
“Kiriy!” Matron Mother Zeerith said sharply, and the high priestess realized that she was taking too long. She put aside her astonishment and launched into a simple spell to animate the dead.
A few moments later, the corpse of Dwardermey Xorlarrin sat up on the altar, then stiffly shifted to the side, legs hanging over the altar slab.
High Priestess Kiriy looked to Matron Mother Zeerith, who nodded, and so Kiriy commanded the zombie to stand and walk. The unthinking zombie did walk, directly away from the high priestess, as ordered. It did not pause when it reached the lip of the primordial’s pit. It made not a sound when it pitched over the edge, tumbling through the swirl of the trapped water elementals to land on the lava skin of the godlike beast.
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