“Neverwinter?” Drizzt asked, and Catti-brie winced.
“Then where?”
“Penelope has invited us to reside at the Ivy Mansion, or anywhere in Longsaddle,” Catti-brie said. “It is not so long a journey for Andahar and my spectral steed.”
“And there you can continue your studies,” Drizzt reasoned. “No better place.”
“But what for Drizzt?”
“The Bidderdoos,” the drow ranger replied without the slightest hesitation, and with an honest lightness in his voice. “When we have found an enchantment to relieve them of their lycanthropy, someone will need to catch them and bring them in to receive their cure. Who better suited to such a task as that than a ranger of Mielikki?”
“Noble hunting,” Catti-brie agreed, her voice almost giddy with relief now that she had openly expressed her desires, and now that she had seen Drizzt’s sincere enthusiasm to share in her choice.
“I will be here, in Gauntlgrym, many tendays as well—many more than you, I expect,” Drizzt did say in warning. “The dwarves will not secure this place in Bruenor’s lifetime or my own. It will be contested ground by many, from the drow of Menzoberranzan to the Lords of Waterdeep, if Lord Neverember is any indication of the greed we can expect. I intend to stand beside Bruenor and Clan Battlehammer whenever they call, and even when they do not.”
“I would have it no other way,” Catti-brie agreed. “And I know the Harpells will remain vigilant beside Gauntlgrym.”
“Family,” Drizzt said.
“And what of your family?” Catti-brie asked.
Drizzt stared at her for a long while, caught off-guard, for he understood the implications of her tone.
“Your wife,” she clarified.
Drizzt nodded, but still wasn’t sure what to make of her remark.
“In the first fight for Mithral Hall, I was wounded and nearly killed,” Catti-brie reminded him.
“I remember it as clearly as you do.”
“And from those wounds, I was damaged,” Catti-brie said, and Drizzt nodded again. “My days as a warrior were ended …”
“And so you turned to the Art.”
“My days as a mother would never be ended,” Catti-brie went on.
Drizzt swallowed hard.
“In this new life, I am not damaged,” Catti-brie explained. “My body is whole. I could take up a sword once more, if I so chose, though I do not.”
“Are you with child?”
The woman gave a slight smile. “No,” she said. “But if I were?”
Drizzt fell over her with a great hug and a kiss, suddenly wanting nothing more than to share a child with Catti-brie. He had put that thought out of his mind for so long—for in his love’s other life, it could not be, and in the decades after she was lost to him, he held no desire to father a child with any other. Certainly Dahlia was not the mother Drizzt would choose for his daughter or son. And there had been no other, no other Catti-brie.
Looking at her now, Drizzt knew that there could never be anyone else for him. Not Innovindil, not Dahlia.
“We will build a wonderful life,” he promised her in a whisper.
“When we find the time,” she replied, somewhat sourly, but Drizzt put his finger over her lips to silence her.
“We will make the time,” he promised.
BRUENOR REACHED BEHIND his enchanted shield and pulled forth a flagon of ale.
“Bah, but ye’re to put the brewers out o’ their living,” Emerus said, taking the offered mug.
“Fine ale,” Connerad agreed.
“Ale, mead, beer,” Bruenor said with a hearty laugh.
“Fine shield, then!” said Connerad, offering a toast, and the three kings tapped their flagons together.
They were on the beach outside of the grand entry hall, the work buzzing around them. All of the dwarves had gained the cavern by then, filling the place and the entry hall. Already, construction on the bridge across the dark pond was well underway, with the buttresses growing tall and solid. The Harpells were out there assisting with the bridge, and old Kipper seemed to be having quite the time of it, easing the heavy burden of the laboring dwarves by magically lifting the heavy beams, which could then be easily shoved into place.
“We should send groups back up to the surface for more logs,” Connerad remarked. “Can’t have enough ballistae and catapults out.”
“Go see to it,” said Emerus. “Send some Mirabarrans. Tell them o’ the importance.”
Connerad looked at the old king curiously, for Connerad, too, was a dwarf king and was not used to being ordered about. But Emerus gave him a solemn nod and Connerad understood. He drained his flagon and handed it to Bruenor, who laughed and threw it over his shoulder to smash against the stone wall of Gauntlgrym. With a wink, Bruenor reached behind the shield yet again to produce another, full to the brim, which he gave to Connerad.
“Ye best be sendin’ some Gutbusters with the teams heading back to the sunlight,” Bruenor said. “Still might be monsters in the tunnels.”
“Ye chose well in fillin’ yer seat when ye gived up yer throne,” Emerus said when Connerad had gone. “A good dwarf is that one.”
“His Da’s among the best Mithral Hall e’er knew,” Bruenor replied.
“Ye miss it?” Emerus asked after a while.
“Mithral Hall?”
“Aye, and bein’ king.”
Bruenor snorted and took a big gulp of his ale. “Nah, can’t be sayin’ that. Don’t ye get me wrong, if some orcs or drow took the place, I’d go straight back and kick ’em out, don’t ye doubt, for the place’s is e’er me home. But I’m likin’ the road.”
“But now ye’re here to stay.”
“Moradin called me back.”
Emerus nodded, a most serene expression coming over his face. “Aye,” he said, several times, for when he had sat on the Throne of the Dwarf Gods, he, too, had felt the infusion of strength and wisdom and ancient secrets, and so he understood.
“All me life I had Felbarr,” he said quietly. “Obould took the place and so we kicked him out, and ye know well that he’d come back again to all our misery.”
“And all our hope,” Bruenor reminded his friend.
“It pained me to watch ye sign that damned treaty in Garumn’s Gorge,” Emerus admitted. “I know it pained yerself, too.”
“Yerself agreed with the treaty …” Bruenor began.
“Aye,” Emerus cut him short. “Had to be done. And we had to hope. We could’no’ve fought them damned orcs without the full backin’ o’ Silverymoon and Sundabar, and they wanted no part o’ war.” He paused to gulp a swallow of ale then spat upon the ground. “Then they come roarin’ back blamin’ Bruenor for the new war,” he said with a disgusted shake of his hairy head. “Cowards, the lot!”
“Worse,” said Bruenor. “Politicians.”
Emerus got a loud chuckle out of that.
“Ye done right, me friend,” Emerus said. “In the first fight with Obould, back there in Garumn’s Gorge, and now again in yer new life. Ye done yer Da and Grandda and all the line o’ Battlehammer proud, and know that the name o’ Bruenor will e’er be toasted with reverence in Citadel Felbarr.” He lifted his flagon and Bruenor tapped it with his own.
“And in Mithral Hall,” Emerus went on. “And here in Gauntlgrym, don’t ye doubt.”
“And yerself?” Bruenor asked. “Ye missing Felbarr?”
“Was me home all me life,” said Emerus. “But no, I’m not missin’ it now. Wishin’ Parson Glaive was with me, but glad he’s holdin’ the throne in me place. Nah, now,” he said, looking around at the grand construction, listening to the fall of mallet and the crank of the turnstiles, looking back at the ancient and solid wall of Gauntlgrym, “now me old heart’s tellin’ me that I’ve come home, me friend. Truly home.”
Bruenor understood, for he had felt the same way when first he had ventured into these hallowed halls, when first he had sat upon the Throne of the Dwarf Gods. There was som
ething deeper here than even in Mithral Hall for him, some ancient murmur of magic that touched him to the core of his Delzoun soul. He recalled his elation when he had found Mithral Hall those decades and decades ago, marching in with the Companions of the Hall—indeed, culminating the adventure that gave the troupe its name. But this was different. Deeper and more solemn, and less parochial. This adventure to reclaim Gauntlgrym would be shared by all the Delzoun dwarves.
“We’re right to be here,” Emerus said with conviction.
“Ye didn’t see me kicking Connerad to the side and taking back me throne, did ye?” Bruenor agreed. “Aye, I’m knowin’ the same, me friend.”
Connerad came back over then, the look on his face showing that he had overheard that last comment.
“Bah, but who ye kickin’ where?” he asked.
“Yerself!”
“Weren’t yer throne to take back,” Connerad said. “Was me own to keep or to give.”
“Aye,” said Bruenor, and Emerus lifted his flagon and said, “King Connerad!” and Bruenor gladly joined in the toast.
“But I hear yer words,” Connerad said.
“Glad ye gived yer throne over?” Emerus asked, and Connerad smiled and nodded.
“Only wish me Da might’ve seen this place,” the young king said.
“Ye plannin’ to put yer butt on the throne?” Bruenor asked.
Connerad stared at him, seeming unsure.
“Aye, yerself’s more than worthy,” said Bruenor. “Ye’ll see. Go and look at it. Touch it and feel its power. But don’t ye sit on it until me and me friend Emerus come in and bear witness.”
“Ye’re sure?” Connerad asked.
“Sure that it’ll be akin to yer first time with a dwarf lass,” Emerus said with a laugh. “Ye’ll get off it a changed dwarf, and ye’ll know. Aye, but ye’ll know.
“Don’t tarry,” Connerad said, turning for the door.
“We’ll be right along,” said Bruenor.
“He’s a good lad,” Emerus noted as Connerad again left them. “Hard for me to call him that when he’s standing next to yerself, for ye’re the one looking so much like a dwarfling!”
“Aye, and good riddance to me old bones!” Bruenor said, toasting yet again, draining his flagon and throwing it, too, against the wall behind him.
Emerus did likewise, but grabbed Bruenor by the shoulder as the red-bearded dwarf started to rise. “I’m jealous of ye, Bruenor Battlehammer,” Emerus told him. “Ye’ll be the First King o’ Gauntlgrym in the new age.”
Bruenor stared at him, caught by surprise by the blunt words. He hadn’t given the disposition of Gauntlgrym much thought, not beyond waging the war to kick out the drow. There were three dwarf kings here, after all, though Bruenor and Emerus could surely lay claim above the call of Connerad. But Emerus was as old as Bruenor, and surely as distinguished, and so the claim now that Bruenor would get the throne struck the red-bearded dwarf curiously, and uncomfortably.
Had Emerus seen something on the Throne of the Dwarf Gods to incite that statement?
It was clear to Bruenor that Emerus believed his prediction, and Bruenor saw no reason to doubt the possibility that he would become the First King of Gauntlgrym.
But he and Emerus were wrong.
“IT’S HERE,” KIPPER said, and his old eyes sparkled at the thought. He reached into his pouch and carefully, with both hands, brought forth that dark gemstone. Kipper lifted the pocked sphere, which was almost as large as a human skull, up for the others to see.
“Are you certain?” Penelope asked breathlessly.
“I can feel it through the stone,” Kipper explained. “Just being near the gate excites the magical energies within the orb.”
“What gate?” asked Drizzt, standing with Catti-brie, and quite confused by the sudden change in the conversation. Penelope and Catti-brie had been chatting easily about the Bidderdoos and Longsaddle’s library, when Kipper had bounded over with his proclamation.
“Gates to connect dwarven homelands,” Catti-brie explained.
“There was one here, millennia ago,” Kipper insisted.
“Magical portals?” Drizzt asked. “So that one might walk from Gauntlgrym to Mithral Hall … instantly?”
“If Mithral Hall had one,” Penelope explained. “And if we’ve the stones to power the portals.” She reached into her own belt pouch, which was apparently one much like Regis had worn, a magical pouch of holding that could carry far more extradimensionally than its size and shape would indicate. She drew forth a large tome, bound in some gray leathery material, and locked with silver chains. “As Cattie-brie and I discussed back in Longsaddle,” Penelope said, “considerable thought should still be put into the wisdom of opening such magical portals anywhere near a city like Gauntlgrym, which is so well-known to the powers of Menzoberranzan.”
Cattie-brie nodded gravely, and when her eyes met Drizzt’s he could tell she had decided to proceed.
“Many hints in here about the ancient portals,” Penelope went on, patting the book. “And in the other tomes I’ve brought along.”
“I’m surprised you would bring such old and valuable books out of Longsaddle,” Drizzt replied.
“Shared extradimensional space,” Kipper explained. “The books are in a trunk in the Ivy Mansion, but Penelope can access them through her belt pouch. Quite a clever twist on simple bags of holding, don’t you agree?”
“A twist Kipper no doubt perfected,” Catti-brie noted slyly, and the old wizard grinned with pride.
“Well, if you have something like that already, could it not be used as a gate?” Drizzt asked. “Could I not crawl through Penelope’s pouch and out of the chest in your home?”
“No, no!” Kipper said. “This is not nearly powerful enough for such extradimensional walking. And the risks would be too severe, for the connection is not secured. You might fall into the Nine Hells or some other unpleasant place. Or were you to bring another bag of holding along … well … if your little friend Regis tried to crawl through, his belt pouch would tear a rift to the Astral Plane and he would be drifting and lost forever!”
“But as you can surmise, Kipper has spent many years mulling over extra dimensions and teleportation and the like,” Penelope said. “We have come to Gauntlgrym out of loyalty to our old friends of Mithral Hall, and loyalty to Bruenor and to yourself, and mostly to our beloved Catti-brie there, who lived among us for so many years. But we have also come with good fortune. The possibility that an ancient dwarven gate remains thrills us. Perhaps we will find it and learn from it. Perhaps we will build portals, even minor portals, to connect Mithral Hall and this reclaimed dwarven hall.”
She looked at Catti-brie and offered a little wink as she added, “Perhaps a door for Catti-brie to easily visit her adoptive father.”
“My hope has now been confirmed,” Kipper said, bringing the conversation back to his original interruption. He looked into the stone of power again. “There is a gate here, and the stone can sense it, and that will make finding it, and perhaps even finding another stone to power it, all the easier!”
Drizzt wasn’t about to play the contrarian, though he shared Penelope’s grave doubts. Perhaps not in the near future, but at some time, surely, the drow would likely find a way to use such a shortcut to attack yet again the Delzoun enclave.
But that was a fear for another day, Drizzt reminded himself.
“The dwarves will be securing the cavern and throne room for a few more days,” he told the others. “They will only gradually make their way forward from the throne room to the other chambers of this level. Wherever that gemstone might take you, Kipper, take care not to strike out beyond our forward perimeter. Gauntlgrym is full of enemies—drow, goblinkin, monstrous, animal, and even magical. You will go looking for your portal, but will more likely find yourself in a desperate fight or flight.”
“Agreed, Master Do’Urden,” Kipper replied. “But do prod your friend Bruenor, I beg.” He replaced the stone i
n his belt pouch and eagerly rubbed his wrinkled old hands together, even giving a small cackle to complete the picture of his giddy energy.
Drizzt was glad of the old wizard’s enthusiasm, but he wasn’t about to ignore the more immediate problem. Penelope had referred to Gauntlgrym as a reclaimed dwarven hall, but it was no such thing. And with a major noble House of Menzoberranzan dug into the lower levels, such a reality might take years to achieve, if it could be reclaimed at all
CHAPTER 9
Thinning the Faerzress
LIGHTNING FLASHED REPEATEDLY, REVEALING STROBING, STARTLING images of the great cavern that housed Menzoberranzan. On and on, it went, sizzling through the streets and boulevards, frying rothé as they tried to flee, sending dark elves tumbling desperately into alleyways.
At the top of the cavern, similar bolts, some white light, some red, some green, deflected off the thick stone bases of stalactites, illuminating the targets, demonic or drow.
“Impressive,” Kimmuriel said sarcastically from the window of Gromph’s Sorcere residence. “So chaos reigns supreme in Menzoberranzan. The priestesses must be thrilled, unless of course, that chaos blunts the ambitions of any in particular.”
“Order within the chaos,” Gromph corrected. “In the madness outside, none can gather in unison to strike back at Matron Mother Baenre.”
“How long can she hold the chaos from her own door?” the psionicist dared to ask. He turned away from the spectacle to regard Gromph of House Baenre as he uttered that warning.
Gromph didn’t seem upset at all by the suggestion, and reaching deeper, reaching into his student’s mind, Kimmuriel understood that the calm facade accurately reflected the calmness inside the archmage.
“There is always that danger when playing with demons,” Gromph said with a shrug.
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