Archmage

CHAPTER 1

Hundreds of dwarven crossbows were leveled atop the fallen logs of what used to be Dark Arrow Keep. A monstrous band approached: a score of the ugly orcs, a handful of goblins, and a frost giant.

And a dark elf named Drizzt Do’Urden.

“Lorgru,” Sinnafein explained to the dwarf kings. “Lorgru, who would have become the next King Obould had not Warlord Hartusk usurped the throne.”

“The retreating orcs flocked to him in the mountains, so said Drizzt,” Catti-brie put in, and Sinnafein, whose scouts had told her the same thing, nodded her agreement.

“Lorgru ain’t for shieldin’ the dogs from me boys,” King Harnoth proclaimed. “If he’s looking to take up the fight, Adbar’ll finish it for him!”

“Aye, but I’d like his ugly head on a pike outside our western gate,” Oretheo Spikes added, and other nearby dwarves nodded at that.

King Emerus and Bruenor exchanged concerned glances. They had known this wasn’t going to be easy from the first reports that the orcs were congregating around the deposed Lorgru in the Spine of the World.

Bruenor moved up to the central barricade and climbed atop the log. “Put up yer bows, boys,” he called down the line after a cursory scan of the incoming forces. “No threat to be found. Durned elf’d kill ’em all afore ye let yer first bolt fly, if it came to fightin’.”

The dwarves around him relaxed somewhat, but grumbled, too, more than a little disappointed that the meeting would most likely go off as planned.

Bruenor turned and held his hand up high. Drizzt responded in kind, and walked his unicorn mount, Andahar, around in front of the leading orcs, halting their progress.

“Ye with me?” Bruenor asked, turning around. The other three dwarf kings, Catti-brie, and Sinnafein of the elves moved to join him. Aleina Brightlance, who had been given the title and role as Emissary of Silverymoon and Everlund, rode forth as well.

Out from the other ranks rode Drizzt upon Andahar, along with an orc upon a snarling worg, a goblin shuffling fast along behind them, and the frost giant pacing them with its long strides.

“Who will speak for the Alliance of Luruar?” Drizzt asked, purposefully and pointedly evoking the alliance that had crumbled with the march of the Kingdom of Many-Arrows.

All turned to Bruenor.

“King Bruenor,” said Emerus Warcrown. He turned a sly eye upon his opponents, particularly upon Lorgru. “Aye, that Bruenor,” he explained to the visibly startled orc. “The one what signed the Treaty of Garumn’s Gorge with Obould the First them years and years ago.”

“I had thought King Bruenor long dead,” the orc leader replied.

“Well, ye thought wrong, I’m guessing,” Bruenor answered and stepped forward. “Is yerself speaking for them goblins and giants, too?”

“You are Bruenor?” Lorgru asked, incredulous, for surely the dwarf standing in front of him was very young.

“Don’t matter who I be,” the dwarf answered. “I’m speaking for ’em, and they’re agreeing, eh?” Behind him, the others all nodded.

That seemed to satisfy the orc, who nodded, though still wore a confused expression. “I speak for Many-Arrows,” he said.

“There ain’t no Many-Arrows,” King Harnoth said from behind, drawing winces from several of the others, Drizzt included.

“The orcs fleeing the field have returned to me,” Lorgru explained to Bruenor. “Never would I have sanctioned such a march against your people, or such a war. It is not the way of Obould!”

“And where’s yerself been this last year o’ fightin’?” Bruenor asked, suspicious.

“In the mountains, in exile,” Lorgru answered.

Drizzt looked at his red-bearded friend and nodded solemnly.

“My kingdom was stolen from me,” Lorgru continued, “by factions determined to return to the warlike ways of the orcs. I reject those ways! She”-he pointed to Sinnafein-“is alive and free by my choice, though I could have ordered her killed, legally, even by your own laws, for intruding upon my kingdom.”

All eyes went to Sinnafein.

“King Lorgru speaks truly,” Sinnafein confirmed. “He would have been within his rights to execute me, but he did not.”

“Are ye expectin’ cheers?” King Harnoth said with a growl, looking from Sinnafein to Lorgru.

“I expect nothing,” Lorgru replied. “I ask for a truce.”

“A truce? Now that we got yer dogs runnin’?” Harnoth argued. “A truce so that ye can put ’em all back together and come hunting dwarfs once more?”

“Bruenor speaks for us, King Harnoth,” Emerus Warcrown said, an edge of anger coming into his tone. Harnoth returned his angry stare, but Connerad Brawnanvil was quick to back up King Emerus, as was Aleina Brightlance.

“Bah, but I’m not needin’ ye,” Harnoth grumbled at length. “The boys o’ Adbar alone can finish the job.”

“Aye, but ye won’t,” Bruenor said in a tone that brooked no debate. The red-bearded dwarf spun on Lorgru. “A truce, ye’re wanting?”

The orc nodded.

“Ye want us to leave yerself and yer boys alone in the mountains, do ye?”

Another nod.

“Well ye hear me good, then, King Lorgru, or Obould, or whate’er name ye mean to put on yer ugly face. Yerself and yers ain’t welcome in the Silver Marches anymore. There’s no Kingdom of Many-Arrows, and any o’ yer boys that come out o’ the mountains south of this ruined keep’s north wall, or in the Lands Against The Wall, or anywhere else in the Silver Marches’ll be counted as raiders and treated as such. We’ll be watching ye, don’t ye doubt, and first fight’s last fight, for don’t ye doubt that we’ll be coming in to find ye.”

King Lorgru glanced around like a caged animal, a look that changed to unmistakably crestfallen, as if only then did he realize that the dreams of his ancestors were lost to him. There would be no resurrection of Dark Arrow Keep, no return to the relationships and treaties the orcs had known before the rise of Warlord Hartusk.

He wanted to argue, they could all see, and even started to rebut. But he bit back his argument and accepted Bruenor’s terms with a nod.

“Perhaps one day we will prove ourselves worthy of your trust,” he said.

“I trust an orc corpse,” said King Harnoth. “So there’s a start to an understanding.”

“Ye stay in yer holes,” Bruenor warned. “Ye stay clear o’ the Silver Marches. Or don’t ye doubt that we’ll hunt ye down, every one, and kill ye to death. Every one.”

King Lorgru nodded and held forth his hand, but Bruenor didn’t take it, and indeed, it seemed to all looking on that it took every ounce of control the fiery dwarf could manage to stop him from leaping out and murdering Lorgru then and there.

“What o’ yerself?” Bruenor demanded of the goblin.

The diminutive creature glanced around nervously. “We are done the war!” it shrieked, and cowered.

Bruenor’s gaze shifted to the frost giant, tall and proud, and clearly unbended by the weight of guilt or defeat.

“I am Hengredda of Starshine,” he said in his beautiful and resonant voice. He gave a little chuckle. “It seems that I am all that is left of Starshine.”

He shrugged, as if that was simply the accepted way of war, which to frost giants it surely was.

“I wish to go to Shining White and Jarl Fimmel Orelson,” the giant explained. “I wish to tell him that the war is ended.”

“And why would ye wish to do such a thing as that?” a skeptical Bruenor asked.

“So that Jarl Orelson ends his preparations to continue the war,” Hengredda said with surprising candor.

“Are ye sayin’ he’s meaning to come back with his boys?” Emerus Warcrown demanded.

The frost giant shrugged. “If there is war, Jarl Orelson will fight. If there is war no more, he will not.”

Bruenor turned back to regard the other dwarf kings before he responded, mostly seeking the approval of King Emerus, who was old and wise and had been through this many times before. When Emerus nodded, the red-bearded dwarf turned back to the frost giant.

“Ye go and tell Jarl Orelson what I telled Lorgru here,” Bruenor instructed. “He stays away and we’ll leave him-we’ll leave ye all-be. But if a dwarf o’ the Silver Marches falls to the blade of a frost giant, then tell your Jarl Orelson that we’ll be melting Shining White to a puddle, aye, and one red with giant blood, don’t ye doubt.”

“You boast loudly for such a little creature,” Hengredda remarked.

Drizzt, Catti-brie, and all the dwarves around gasped at that, expecting Bruenor to spring upon the giant and throttle him. King Harnoth even started forward threateningly, but Bruenor swung out an arm and held him back.

Bruenor just stood there and smiled, staring at Hengredda for a long, long while.

“Nothin’ worth sayin’ to the like o’ yerself,” said Bruenor. “I telled ye what was what, so do what ye want with it. But take yerself a good look at the field behind us, giant. At the big holes we’re filling with dead enemies. Ye might want to tell yer Jarl Orelson about that.”

The frost giant snorted derisively.

“And if yer sense of honor, or whatever stupid thing’s driving ye makes ye think ye’re wantin’ to fight me, then go and deliver the message to Shining White and come back,” Bruenor offered. “We’ll fight it out, me and yerself-just me and yerself. And when we’re done, me boys’ll dig a hole and put ye in it.”

“Brave words, dwarf,” the giant replied.

“Not just any dwarf,” King Emerus said, stepping forward. “King Bruenor Battlehammer, Eighth King of Mithral Hall, Tenth King of Mithral Hall, who slew Hartusk. So go and run yer errands, boy, and ye come back and play. Ye’ll get the chance to kill a legend, or think ye’ll get the chance, because we’re knowin’, and yerself should be too, that Bruenor’ll cut ye down bit by bit and spit in yer eye afore he finishes ye.”

Through it all, Bruenor never blinked, never changed his expression, never seemed anything but calm.

Hengredda, though, did blink. “Aye, I will! I will come back and kill a legend!” he said, but no one, not even Lorgru and the goblin standing beside him, believed him.

“Ye don’t come back,” Bruenor warned Lorgru. “And ye don’t get too many o’ yer dogs all in one place, or we’ll find ye and break ye. Now get on. Go to yer holes and stay there.”

Lorgru, looking thoroughly defeated, nodded his agreement and led the others away.

“We’ll watch for the giant,” Connerad assured Bruenor.

“He won’t be back,” Bruenor told him. He noted then the scowl of King Harnoth, off to the side and standing beside Emerus, so he moved over to the pair, with Connerad in tow.

“Ah, but we erred in lettin’ that dog go,” Harnoth insisted. “He’s an orc king and they’ll swarm about him, and so we’re to be knowin’ war soon enough.”

“No,” said Sinnafein, off to the side, and she, too, moved over to join the impromptu meeting. “Lorgru is not like Hartusk or the other war chiefs. He is the son of Obould, and traces his bloodline to the first Obould. He believes in that vision.”

“Then he shouldn’t’ve let his dogs come huntin’,” was all that Bruenor would say.

“King Harnoth wants to push into the mountains to hunt down the orcs,” Catti-brie explained to Drizzt, the two off to the side and watching the small gathering. “Bruenor won’t let him, and Emerus and Connerad back Bruenor. Harnoth may still go. He is outraged about the death of his brother and will never rest easy knowing the orcs are so close.”

Drizzt spent a long while staring at her, measuring her tone and the tenseness within her strong frame. “You agree with Harnoth,” he said.

Catti-brie matched his stare but didn’t respond.

“Because of the goddess,” Drizzt reasoned. “You think it our. . your duty to hunt down and kill the orcs, one and all.”

“We did not start this war.”

“But we ended it,” Drizzt replied. “Lorgru won’t come back.”

“What of his son?” Catti-brie asked. “Or his grandson? Or the next warlord who usurps the throne with visions of glory in his eyes?”

“Do you mean to kill every orc in all the world?”

Catti-brie just stared at him again, and Drizzt knew then that he and his wife would spend many hours on this topic in the coming days and months. Many unpleasant hours.

Drizzt turned back to the dwarves and nodded at Bruenor. “Do you think he’s told them yet?”

Even as he asked the question, King Harnoth cried out in dismay.

“He has now,” Catti-brie dryly replied.

Bruenor had confided his plans to the couple. He was going west with as many soldiers as the three dwarven citadels of the Silver Marches would afford him. Bruenor meant to reclaim Gauntlgrym from the drow and any other inhabitants who might have made the place a home.

Across the way, Harnoth had become quite animated, waving his arms and stomping in circles. Drizzt and Catti-brie went over to lend support to their dwarf friend.

“Why don’t ye just empty all the durned citadels and let the durned orcs come walking in?” Harnoth roared.

“Never said I’d empty any,” Bruenor calmly replied.

“Four thousand, he said,” King Emerus added solemnly, his demeanor cutting at Harnoth as much as his words. “We’ve twice that number and half again right here on the field. And we’ve all left worthy garrisons back behind us.”

“Four thousand!” said Harnoth. “That orc swine ye just sent walking’s got ten times that number! Twenty times that number!”

“And you’ve got Silverymoon and Everlund,” Aleina Brightlance remarked, all the dwarves turning to regard her with surprise-and in the case of all but fiery Harnoth, with gratitude.

“We’ll not be abandoning you,” Aleina vowed. “And we will rebuild Sundabar, do not doubt. The alliance will be stronger than ever, if the three dwarven citadels and the Moonwood elves so desire it.”

“Aye,” Bruenor, Emerus, and Connerad all said together, while Sinnafein nodded.

“My people will serve as your eyes in the north,” Sinnafein added. “If the orcs begin to stir, we will know, and you will know, and any march they might make will be hampered by the sting of elven arrows, do not doubt.”

“The dogs almost won this time,” King Harnoth warned. “And now we’d be down four thousand dwarves, and with Sundabar a shell o’ what she was, and with so many others dead-all o’ Nesmé dead! Who’ll stop ’em this time if they come calling?”

“They didn’t get into the halls afore, and they won’t next time, if there’s e’er to be a next time,” Bruenor insisted. “And now we’re knowin’ the threat and there are ways we can better prepare.”

“Some of us always knew, King Bruenor,” Harnoth said, and it was clearly meant as a jab at the dwarf who had signed the Treaty of Garumn’s Gorge.

“Are ye thinkin’ to drive us apart, King o’ Adbar?” King Emerus was quick to retort. “Cause aye, that’s what yer words’re doing now. And don’t ye doubt that Felbarr’ll be standin’ with Mithral Hall if ye keep on with it.”

“As will the cities of Silverymoon and Everlund,” Aleina added with an equally grim tone.

King Harnoth, young and full of pride, started to respond in an animated and angry fashion, but Oretheo Spikes put a hand on his shoulder to calm him, and when the young king snapped his head about to regard the Wilddwarf, Oretheo nodded and led him off to the side.

“He’s a stubborn one,” Catti-brie remarked.

“He lost his father not long ago, and his brother was slain in the war,” Drizzt reminded. “As were many of his most important advisers. He sits atop a throne now, alone and unsure. He knows that he erred many times in the last year, and that we saved him from certain doom.”

“Then he might be offerin’ some gratitude and a dose o’ well-earned humility, eh?” asked Bruenor.

Drizzt shrugged. “He will, but on his terms.”

“If Adbar refuses our plan, then yerself and meself’ll raise the army we’re needin’ to get yer quest done, me friend,” King Emerus promised.

“We’ll not be raising that number without Adbar,” Bruenor said.

“So we’ll go to Mirabar and find more allies-should be thinkin’ that anyway,” said Emerus. “Them boys are Delzoun, and so’re yer boys in Icewind Dale. We’ll get back Gauntlgrym, don’t ye doubt!”

“ ‘We’ll’?” Drizzt asked, catching on to Emerus’s hint.

“Much to talk about,” was all the King of Citadel Felbarr would say on that subject at that time.

Harnoth and Oretheo Spikes came back over then, the King of Adbar seeming much less animated.

“Me friend here thinks Adbar’s holding strong with two thousand less,” Harnoth explained. “So half yer force’ll be marchin’ under the banner o’ Citadel Adbar, King Bruenor.”

“No,” Bruenor immediately replied, even as the others began to smile and even cheer. All eyes turned sharply on the red-bearded dwarf with his surprising answer.

“No banners for Adbar, Felbarr, or Mithral Hall,” Bruenor explained. “As in the war we just won, we’re walkin’ under the flag o’ our Delzoun blood, the flag o’ Gauntlgrym!”

“Ain’t no flag o’ Gauntlgrym!” Harnoth protested.

“Then let’s make one,” Emerus Warcrown said with a wide grin. He held up his hand to Harnoth, and after only a slight hesitation, the young King of Adbar took that hand firmly in his own.

Bruenor, meanwhile, began producing flagons of ale from behind his magical shield, one for each of the four dwarf kings assembled on the field.

And so they toasted, “To Gauntlgrym!”

The work at the ruins of Dark Arrow Keep continued for several tendays, with the massive orc fortress being stripped down to a watchpost with only a couple of towers left standing. There had been a small debate about whether to dismantle the place or perhaps refit it more to accommodate dwarven sensibilities, but Bruenor had pointed out, rightly so, that leaving any semblance of Dark Arrow Keep intact might entice the orcs to try to reclaim it.

Reclaiming it, after all, would be a lot easier than rebuilding it from rubble.

So they ripped the rest of it down, except the meager watchtowers, and they carried the great logs to the river and floated them downstream where they could be caught at Mithral Hall and used as fuel for the hearths and forges.

The docks, too, were dismantled, as were the surrounding orc villages, now abandoned, erasing all remnants of the Kingdom of Many-Arrows from the Silver Marches. As summer turned to fall, the dwarves and their allies marched for their respective homes, with the three citadels pledged to meet throughout the winter months to plan the spring march to the west.

“What’s troubling you?” Catti-brie asked Regis on that journey to Mithral Hall. Regis had joined in the cheers and drinks and “huzzahs,” of course, but every passing day, Catti-brie had watched him, and had noted a cloud that often passed over his cherubic face.

“I’m weary, that’s all,” he said, and she knew he was lying. “It’s been a long and difficult year.”

“For all of us,” Catti-brie said. “But a year of victory, yes?”

Regis looked over at her, his seat on his pony far below the tall shoulders of Catti-brie’s spectral unicorn. His smile was genuine, though, as he quietly offered, “Huzzah for King Bruenor.”

But there was the cloud again, behind his eyes, and as he turned back to the road in front of them, Catti-brie figured it out.

“You’re not coming to Gauntlgrym with us,” she stated. In the shadows of his eyes, she didn’t have to ask.

“I have said no such thing,” Regis replied, but he didn’t look at her when he spoke.

“Nor did you deny it, even now.”

She watched the halfling’s face tighten, though he still would not look over and up at her.

“How long have you known?” Catti-brie asked a short while later, when it became apparent to her that Regis was simply not going to lead this conversation.

“If Bruenor was marching to war in Gauntlgrym, and Drizzt was in Cormyr, or the Bloodstone Lands perhaps, what would you do?” Regis asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Would you accompany Bruenor on his quest, this latest quest in a perhaps unending line of quests, or would you desire to find Drizzt once more and resume your life beside him?”

“Donnola Topolino,” Catti-brie realized then.

“My love for her is no less than yours for Drizzt,” Regis explained. “I left her to fulfill my vow, and because I knew my friend Drizzt needed me. And so I traveled from Aglarond halfway across Faerûn to Icewind Dale, and stood with you and the others as we found our friend near death.”

The woman nodded, her open, sympathetic, and inviting expression prompting him forward.

“And this war we have just won,” Regis explained. “It was important, and in truth a continuation of that which we had started those decades ago. I served as Steward of Mithral Hall in the days of the first Obould.”

“I remember well, and you served with great honor.”

“And so I came back to finish what we started, to complete the circle,” the halfling explained. “In both of these duties, I nearly died-I’m not afraid to die. I never was, and certainly am not after my time in the enchanted forest of Mielikki.”

“But you are afraid that you will never see your beloved Donnola again,” the woman reasoned.

“This is a dwarf war, the quest of the Delzoun brotherhood,” Regis tried to explain. “I’m not a dwarf. Drizzt has said that taking Gauntlgrym from the drow could take years, and then holding it will likely prove to be a task that will stretch for decades. At what point. .?” His voice trailed off, the question unasked.

“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 newcomers.

“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.