Night of the Hunter

CHAPTER 10

"Ca-ru-delly!” Penelope Harpell said with great enthusiasm and a loud clap of her hands when the five companions, led by Catti-brie, were escorted into her audience chamber.

“Eh?” Bruenor asked.

But Catti-brie was simply smiling in response at the affectionate nickname-one Catti-brie had earned in her initial meeting with Penelope a couple of years earlier. When asked her name in that first meeting, Catti-brie had nearly blurted the truth, then tried to change it with the name she had been given by her Bedine parents, and finally had settled on her alias, that of poor Delly Curtie. She moved swiftly across the room, catching Penelope, her mentor, in a great hug.

“I told you I would return,” she said.

“To tell me the truth of your tale, so you promised,” Penelope replied as they broke the embrace. The older woman looked past Catti-brie to her companions, and her expression turned to one of curiosity when her gaze settled on the dark elf.

“Drizzt Do’Urden?” she asked. “Truly?”

The drow bowed. “Well met, Lady Penelope,” he said.

“Truly, indeed,” said an old man as he came in the door. He walked around Drizzt, nodded and smiled to Catti-brie, then clapped the drow on the shoulder.

“Kipper Harpell,” Drizzt said, nodding. He didn’t really remember the man all that well, but the name was fresh in his thoughts, given Catti-brie’s tutelage of the current state of the Ivy Mansion as the group had neared the place.

“I was a young man when last you came through Longsaddle,” Kipper said.

“Aye, was half a century ago when last we seen ye,” answered Bruenor, moving up beside Drizzt and offering his hand to Kipper.

The old man looked at him curiously.

“Half a century?” he asked, staring doubtfully at the young dwarf, who could not be half that age.

“I was older then,” Bruenor said with a laugh.

“I was older still,” Wulfgar said. “In human years.”

Regis snorted and waved his hand dismissively at the other two. “I was dead!” he exclaimed.

Kipper turned to Penelope, but she wore a perplexed expression to match that of the old mage.

“I told you I had a tale to tell,” Catti-brie said to her.

The older woman considered her former student, then turned to regard Drizzt and the others, her gaze settling on Bruenor. “Older then, but wearing the same crown?” she asked, and when the dwarf smiled, she added, “The one-horned helm of King Bruenor Battlehammer of Mithral Hall?”

“Aye, she’s gettin’ it!” said the dwarf.

Penelope turned to the beautiful young woman with auburn hair standing beside her and said, “Catti-brie.”

Catti-brie nodded.

“Was she your mother, then?” Kipper asked Catti-brie. “Or your great-great-great grandmother at the least.”

Penelope grabbed Catti-brie’s arm and lifted it, pulling back the sleeve of her white gown to reveal the spellscar. She looked at Kipper and shook her head. “Catti-brie,” she reiterated.

“The Companions of the Hall,” Drizzt put in. “All of us. Once great friends to the Harpells of Longsaddle, who came to our aid in Mithral Hall in the Time of Troubles, when the drow returned.”

“I am too old for riddles,” Kipper complained.

“But are you too old for a fine tale?” Catti-brie asked.

Penelope’s husband Dowell entered the room then, his smile going wide when he noted the return of the woman called Delly Curtie. He looked around, happily at first, but his smile vanished when he regarded old Kipper, who stood with his arms crossed, a frown on his face, and tapping one shoe impatiently against the wooden floor.

“It seems that I have missed something,” Dowell said.

The door closed and all turned to see the foppish halfling leaning up against it. With a wide grin, Regis led the looks to the side of the room, where Wulfgar was already setting out an array of glasses, and inspecting the bottles of Penelope and Dowell’s private stock as he went.

Apparently noticing the dumbfounded stares upon him, Wulfgar turned and met them with a beaming smile. “What is a fine tale without an appropriate toasting beverage?” he asked, looking at Regis as he did.

“Ye’re gonna get me boy in trouble,” Bruenor whispered to the halfling.

“Count on it,” the halfling replied.

With a laugh, Penelope agreed, and she moved fast to clear enough of her desk for the large barbarian to bring over sufficient glasses and bottles. She settled back into her chair, Dowell and Kipper taking seats to flank her, and bade Catti-brie to spin her tale.

Even as the woman moved before the desk to begin, though, Penelope held up her hand to stop her. The Harpell leader then closed her eyes and whispered a spell-indeed, a spell referred to as the magical whisper. Soon after, there came a knock on the door. On Penelope’s signal, Regis opened it, and in came a line of younger Harpells, all bearing comfortable chairs for the guests.

“Do begin,” Penelope bade Catti-brie when the students were gone and the door closed once more.

A long while later, Penelope magically whispered once more, and soon after that, a grand dinner was brought in.

Through the meal, Catti-brie and the others continued their tale.

Long into the night, Drizzt finished. “And so we are here, with a dark road before us, and needing the friendship of the great Harpells of Longsaddle once more.

“For the sake o’ me Pwent,” Bruenor added.

Penelope looked to Dowell, and both deferred to Kipper.

“Already working on it,” replied the old mage, who had appeared asleep until the weight of the gazes had stirred him.

“He will have to be resurrected,” Kipper told Catti-brie around mid-morning of the next day. “I see no other way.”

The woman frowned and looked to the third person in the room, Penelope Harpell.

“There is no cure for vampirism,” Penelope said with a shrug. “None that I know of, at least.”

“Such a spell as resurrection is far beyond my abilities,” Catti-brie said.

“Far beyond all but a few-and it won’t come cheaply!” Kipper stated. “And I doubt your friend will survive it-you understand that, of course?”

Catti-brie nodded.

“Thibbledorf Pwent was old and in failing health at the time of his infection,” Kipper went on. “So you have told me. And many decades have passed since then. You will likely raise him from undeath only to deliver him to true death.”

“Better that,” Catti-brie said, and the others nodded.

“Likely, yes,” said Penelope, and she dropped a hand gently on Catti-brie’s forearm to comfort her.

“But what is the point?” Catti-brie asked. “If Pwent is doomed in any case, we can simply destroy him as is-”

“You would not wish to offer him the peace of alleviating his curse before he ventures to the netherworld?” Kipper asked.

There came a knock at the door and Penelope went to answer it.

“I see no choice,” Catti-brie answered. “How am I to procure the services of a properly skilled high priest? And one who will venture to Gauntlgrym?”

“Bring the vampire to the priest, when you find one,” Kipper said, and as he spoke, Wulfgar entered the room. “Ah, good,” Kipper said. “Do join us.”

Wulfgar took the seat beside Catti-brie. She looked at him curiously, but he could only shrug in response, clearly as perplexed as she as to why he had been summoned to this meeting.

“You have brought it?” Kipper asked.

Wulfgar seemed confused for a just a moment as Kipper reached his hand out, but then moved quickly to remove his silver horn and hand it over to the old mage.

“A brilliant item!” Kipper said, rolling it over in his hands, then casting a spell to examine it more closely. He focused on the line of small but exquisite gemstones set in the silver.

“From a dragon’s lair, you say,” Penelope prompted, taking the conversation while Kipper continued his examination.

“Icingdeath.”

“The dragon you and Drizzt killed many years ago.”

“A lifetime ago,” Wulfgar said with a grin.

“Have you used it?” Kipper asked.

“Yes-almost immediately after I found it,” Wulfgar answered, “in the dragon’s lair, on a hoard of treasure. Ice trolls had dogged me all the way to the treasure hoard and by then had surrounded me. I thought my new life near its end and blew the horn out of defiance and nothing more-well, perhaps I hoped its notes would bring the ice ceiling crashing down, affording me some chance against the odds, at least.”

“And the trumpet brought in allies,” Kipper said with a laugh. “Oh, how grand!”

“And have you used it since?” Penelope asked.

“Only once, to confirm …” Wulfgar answered sheepishly.

“It troubles you?” Penelope asked.

“He thinks he is disturbing the sleep of the dead, and his culture frowns upon that,” Kipper answered before Wulfgar could. “Is that correct, son?”

Wulfgar started to answer, but chuckled instead. “When I died, I was decades older than you are now, mage,” he said. “But yes, it is not my place to disturb the sleep of the dead.”

“Well, rest assured, friend, that you are doing no such thing,” Kipper said, and he blew the horn, a wheezing and broken note, but enough to enact the magic. Within a few heartbeats, the gems on the side of the silver horn sparkled and a trio of warriors appeared, each armed with either a pair of hand axes or an axe and sword. They danced around the room for a bit, unsure of what was required of them, it seemed, until Kipper cast another spell and dismissed them back to nothingness.

“It is a magic item, a tool,” the old mage assured Wulfgar as he handed back the horn.

“Like Guenhwyvar,” Wulfgar replied.

“Nay, the panther is much more than that,” Penelope said. “This is more akin to the whistle that summons Drizzt’s unicorn.”

“These are not the souls of the dead warriors,” Kipper assured him. “These are the magical manifestations of what the berserkers had been, physically, but rest easy that the souls who inhabited those bodies have long gone to Warrior’s Rest.” He looked at Penelope and nodded, “As I expected.”

“What am I missing here?” Catti-brie asked. “How is the horn relevant?”

“The magic of the horn is-or was-a spell meant to trap the soul,” Kipper answered. “Part of it, at least. There is much more imbued there that I do not understand, for it is a very ancient item, one long, long pre-dating the Spellplague or even the Time of Troubles, likely. But the victims of that magic, the warriors who have since passed on, were caught there through the spell I mentioned, and such a spell might well aid you in catching your vampire friend.”

“Trap his soul in a gemstone and bring the stone to a powerful high priest to finish the grim task,” Penelope offered.

“I do not know this spell,” said Catti-brie.

“No, and it is a powerful one,” Kipper said. “Perhaps beyond you, but I do not think so-with the help of a scroll, at least, and a gemstone worthy of containing such a treasure as a soul.”

“And you have such items,” Wulfgar assumed.

“We prepared many things for the Bidderdoos, just in case,” Penelope answered.

“Werewolves,” Catti-brie explained to her large friend.

“I remember him,” Wulfgar agreed with a nod.

“He left a legacy. In the forest.”

Penelope Harpell rose and offered Wulfgar her hand. “Come,” she bade him. “Let us leave Catti-brie and Kipper to their work. She has much to learn.”

When they had left the room, Catti-brie turned to the old mage with a smile. “I knew you would help.”

“The world is a dark place,” Kipper replied. “But when friends join hands, it lightens.”

Catti-brie nodded as she considered the generosity, and she wondered how much more the Harpells might offer when the Companions of the Hall finished their business in Gauntlgrym and turned their warrior eyes once more to the Silver Marches.

“Do you feel better about your … toy?” Penelope asked as she led Wulfgar away. He walked with her down many halls and through a few rooms, and finally, out into the grand garden in back of the Ivy Mansion.

“I do,” Wulfgar admitted. “I feared disturbing the sleep of the dead. It is not my place-”

“But you didn’t destroy the horn,” Penelope noted. “Or put it away.”

Wulfgar smiled at her, conceding the point. “It saved my life once,” he admitted.

“Yes, in a dragon’s lair, so you and your halfling friend before that, have told me,” said Penelope. “I would love to hear more about the fight.”

Wulfgar paused and looked down at her. “Were you once an adventurer? Have you known the thrill of battle?”

“Or of theft?” Penelope asked, and reached up to tug the silver horn.

“Proper pillaging!” Wulfgar corrected with a laugh.

“When I was younger, I found adventure,” the woman admitted. “In fact, it was on the wild road, in a steading full of hill giants, where I met Dowell and fell in love. In the midst of battle, no less.”

“He saved you?” Wulfgar asked slyly.

“Quite the opposite,” the woman replied, and she walked on down the garden path, moving between tall rows of high flowers and coming out into the full sunshine on the far end. “Dowell is quite skilled at his craft, but he was never much of an evoker, and giants are not the most receptive creatures to charm spells.”

“Ah, but Penelope was, apparently.”

The woman laughed. “He didn’t need them against my resolve!”

“His powers of persuasion must be great indeed to convince you to join this family,” Wulfgar remarked, and Penelope looked at him with a puzzled expression, as if she did not understand.

“I convinced him,” she corrected when she had sorted it out. “I am Penelope Harpell by birth, not marriage.”

It was Wulfgar’s turn to wear the puzzled expression.

“Dowell joined my clan and took my name,” she explained. “It was the least he could do after I pulled him from the grasp of the hill giant king-a hungry hill giant king, no less!”

Wulfgar laughed.

“I find your return to Toril the most curious tale among those of your group,” Penelope went on. “Catti-brie was bound by her goddess, Bruenor by his sense of friendship, the halfling by a need to prove his worth-be wary for him, for I suspect that his demands of his own courage will land him in dire straits in short order. But what of Wulfgar? You admitted that you did not immediately choose this path, yet here you are.”

“Bound by friendship, as with Bruenor, and including my friendship and debt to Bruenor as much as to Drizzt,” Wulfgar answered.

“You owed nothing, and that friendship was long past, by your own admission.” She stopped and looked up at Wulfgar intently, forcing him to look her in the eye.

After a long pause, he admitted, “Perhaps I fear death, after all.”

“A strange admission from one who has existed on the other side of life.”

“What is to be found in Warrior’s Rest?” he asked.

“Family, friends, comfort? Is that not what you expect?”

“Eternally.”

The way he said it tipped her off. “Eternal boredom, you mean.”

“I cannot say, but it matters not. If it is eternal, then it will wait, yes? And now I was presented with a grand adventure, another life of memories to make and a worthy band of friends to make them beside. Why would I not return?”

“You seem quite the opposite of Drizzt,” Penelope replied. “He could not let go of Catti-brie and his former life, and you seem eager to do so.”

Wulfgar pondered her words for a few moments, then slowly began shaking his head. “Nay, not that, but merely to expand that experience,” he explained. “More battles to fight, more women to love, more food to eat, and more spirits to drink.”

“So it is a grand game to you, then? Is there nothing more?”

“I know not,” Wulfgar admitted.

“So the aim of living is pleasure?”

“A fine goal!” Wulfgar said lightheartedly, but Penelope would not let it go so easily.

“There is a religion to support your theory,” she said, and Wulfgar’s expression immediately soured. “More a philosophy,” she quickly corrected. “But it presupposes the absence of just reward. It calls the gods false, relegating them to superior mortal beings posing as deities for the sake of their own enjoyment, and at the expense of the lesser rational beings who inhabit the world, and also, that they might control us.”

“You seem to know a lot about it.”

It was Penelope’s turn to laugh, “I have been called unconventional. I think it a badge of honor.”

Wulfgar stared at her intently. “You miss the open road and the thrill of adventure,” he stated.

“I am too old …” she started to reply, but his laughter cut her short.

“I have lived a century and a quarter!”

“You have the body of a young man.”

“I have the lust of a young man, but only because I have lived through the dullness of being an old man,” Wulfgar corrected. “I have passed through pain and grief-”

“And love?”

He didn’t deny it. He lifted Aegis-fang from over his shoulder and swung it easily at the end of one huge arm. “Every day, every experience,” he said with a nod. “Every thrill.”

“Like talking to an old lady in a sunlit garden?”

Wulfgar’s smile was wide and genuine, and his crystal blue eyes sparkled. “Not so old,” he said mischievously. “Perhaps one day, you and I will go kill some giants.”

Now Penelope was smiling, too, and that was her answer, and it was a sincere hope that such an event might come to pass.

“Truly, you remind me of a caged animal,” Regis said to Bruenor on the front deck of the Ivy Mansion one bright morning a few days later. Spring was in full bloom, the air light, the wind warm, and the road beckoned-and beckoned none more than the grumbling dwarf.

He paced back and forth, back and forth, thumping his heavy boots against the wooden porch. He paused for just a moment, to snort at the halfling, then went along again.

Just down the path from the pair stood Drizzt and Wulfgar, working their weapons slowly and methodically in mock battle, with Wulfgar asking questions of his old mentor every few twists. Regis thought he should go down there and further his own training-who better for him to learn from than Drizzt, after all?

“Long road ahead,” Bruenor remarked, passing the halfling by on one of his pacing lanes.

Regis nodded.

“Gauntlgrym-ah, wait till ye see it,” Bruenor went on. “We’ll catch us a Pwent and be on our way. Silverymoon, I say! Aye, we’ll find us a priest there to do the deed, and then we’ll set to chasing Obould and his dogs back into their holes!”

He continued on, muttering to himself as much as anything, for the notion of a “long road ahead” had sent Regis into some of his own ruminating. Yes, he’d travel to Gauntlgrym, but might that be the end of the journey for him? Should he choose to go south from there instead of east to the Silver Marches, he was fairly confident that he could find Doregardo and the Grinning Ponies early in the summer-with enough time to go back to Delthuntle and the waiting arms of his lovely Donnola.

The door to the mansion opened then, and Catti-brie came out, Penelope and Kipper beside her.

“If he fights off the first try, you might consider just killing him then and there,” Kipper was saying.

Drizzt and Wulfgar moved back to join them.

“ ’Ere now, what’s that?” Bruenor asked.

Catti-brie showed him a ring on her hand, golden and set with a black gemstone. “Stored within this ring is the spell we need to trap Pwent’s soul.” She rolled her hand, revealing a huge gemstone, red as blood.

“Ruby?” Drizzt asked.

“Sapphire,” Regis corrected, staring at the gem and licking his lips. “Phylactery,” Catti-brie corrected, and she tucked it away. “Ye said if it don’t work,” Bruenor said to Kipper. “Ye thinkin’ it might not, then?”

Old Kipper sucked in his breath. “It is a difficult spell-”

“Me girl can cast it!”

“Oh, indeed,” said Penelope. “The ring Kipper has loaned her holds the spell intact. But still, it is a difficult conjuration, and one an unwilling target can fight, sometimes successfully.”

“An unwilling dwarf,” Kipper added, “is never an easy target of any magical spell!”

“Nor an easy friend,” Regis quipped, drawing a glare from Bruenor.

“Kipper has shown me the spell-I have practiced,” Catti-brie said. “If the ring fails, I have this.” She reached under the fold of her white gown and produced a silver scroll tube.

But Kipper couldn’t help but shake his head. “Better to just destroy the vampire if he resists the magic,” he said. “Trap the Soul is difficult to enact-only a mage of great experience can do so without the scroll, and even with it … I fear that you are not ready.”

“Do not underestimate her,” Penelope put in, and put her hand on Catti-brie’s shoulder. “She has the favor of a goddess shining upon her, and is wiser in the ways of the world than her youthful appearance suggests.”

“Yes, yes, I know, I know,” Kipper said. “Well, to you all, then, a farewell and a fair road. I hope you find your lost friend.”

He bowed and went back inside, and the companions took turns bidding Penelope farewell, then started off down the hill for the gate to the Ivy Mansion, the road beyond and the trails beyond that.

“There are rumors of giants roaming the foothills of the Spine of the World,” Penelope called after them. Wulfgar grinned.

“Aye,” Wulfgar answered her. “We might have to see to that!”

“What was that about?” Catti-brie asked when they were on their way again.

“Adventure,” Wulfgar replied. “The same thing it is always about.”