Sea of Swords

EPILOGUE

They buried the elf who called herself Le'lorinel in the clay, in the cave complex, as near to the exit and the outside air and the starry night sky as possible.

Drizzt didn't help with the digging, for his vicious wound was far from healed, but he watched it, every moment. And when they had put the elf, Ellifain by her true name, in the cold ground and had covered her with damp and cold clay, Drizzt Do'Urden stood there, staring helplessly.

“It should not have been like this,” the drow said quietly to Catti-brie, who was standing beside him, supporting him.

“I heard that in yer voice,” the woman replied. “When ye telled me to save her.”

“And so I wish that you had.”

“Ye durn fool!” came a rocky voice from the side. “Get yerself healed quick so I can pound yer face!”

Drizzt turned to Bruenor, matching the dwarf's scowl.

“Ye think we'd've done that?” Bruenor demanded. “Do ye really? Ye think we'd've let ye die to save the one that killed ye?”

“You do not understand. .” Drizzt tried to explain, his lavender orbs wet with tears.

“And would ye have saved the damned elf instead of me?” the fiery dwarf bellowed. “Or instead of me girl? Ye say yes, elf, and I'll be wiping yer blood from me axe!”

The truth of that statement hit home to Drizzt, and he turned helplessly to Catti-brie.

“I would not have given her the potion,” the woman said definitively. “Ye caught me by surprise, to be sure, but I'd've been back to ye with the brew in a moment.”

Drizzt sighed and accepted the inevitable truth of that, but still, this whole thing seemed so very unfair to him, so very wrong. He had encountered Ellifain before this, and not so many years ago, in the Moonwood on his way back to the Underdark. The elf had come after him then with murderous rage, but her protective clan had held her back and had ushered Drizzt on his way. And Drizzt, though he knew that her anger was misplaced, could do nothing to persuade her or calm her.

And now this. She had come after him because of what his evil kin had done to her mother, to her family, to her.

Drizzt sighed at the irony of it all, his heart surely broken by this sad turn of fate. If Ellifain had revealed herself to him truly, he never would have found the strength to lift his blades against her, even if she came at him to kill him.

“I had no choice,” Drizzt said to Catti-brie, his voice barely a whisper.

“The elf killed herself,” the woman replied. Bruenor, coming over to join his friends, agreed wholeheartedly.

“She should be alive, and healing from those wounds she felt those decades ago,” the drow said.

To the side, Bruenor gave a loud snort. “Yerself's the one who should be alive,” the dwarf bellowed. “And so ye are.”

Drizzt looked at him and shrugged.

“Ye'd have gived the potion to me,” the dwarf insisted quietly, and Drizzt nodded.

“But it saddens me,” the drow explained.

“If it didn't, ye'd be less a friend of mine,” Bruenor assured him.

Catti-brie held Drizzt close and kissed him on the cheek.

He didn't look at her, though, just stood there staring at the new grave, his shoulders slumped with the weight of the world.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The five companions, along with Morik and Bellany, left Golden Cove a tenday later, when the weather broke clear.

They knew they were fighting time in trying to get out of the mountains, but with Bellany's magical help they made the main pass through the Spine of the World, leading north to Icewind Dale and south to Luskan, soon enough.

And there they parted ways, with Morik, Bellany, and Wulfgar heading south, and the other four turning north back for Ten-Towns.

Before they split apart, though, Wulfgar promised his friends that he would be home soon.

Home. Icewind Dale.

Spring was in full bloom before Wulfgar, Delly, and Colson came through Luskan again, heading north for Icewind Dale.

The family paid a visit to the Cutlass, to Arumn and Josi, and to Bellany and Morik, who had taken up together in Morik's apartment—one made more comfortable by far by the workings of the sorceress.

Wulfgar didn't stay long in Luskan, though, his wagon rolling out the front gate within two days. For the warrior, knowing again who he was, was indeed anxious to be home with his truest friends.

Delly, too, was anxious to see this new home, to raise Colson in the clear, crisp air of fabled Icewind Dale.

As night was settling over the land, the couple noted a blazing campfire in the distance, just off the road, and since there were farmhouses all around in this civilized region, they rolled up without fear.

They smelled the encampment's occupants before they could make out the individual forms, and though Delly whispered, “goblins,” Wulfgar knew better.

“Dwarves,” he corrected.

Since this particular group apparently hadn't bothered to set any sort of a sentry, Wulfgar and Delly moved right into their midst, near to the campfire, before any of the dwarves cried out in surprise or protest. After a moment's hesitation, with many vicious-looking, many-bladed, many-hooked weapons rising up in the air, the most unpleasant, smelly, and animated dwarf either of the humans had ever seen bounded up before them. He still wore his armor, though it was obvious that the camp had been set hours before, and what armor that was! Razor-sharp edges showed everywhere, along with many small spikes.

“Wulfie!” bellowed Thibbledorf Pwent, raucous leader of the famed Gutbuster Brigade of Mithral Hall. “I heared ye wasn't dead!” He gave a huge, gap-toothed grin as he finished and slugged Wulfgar hard. “Tougher than the stone, ain't ye?”

“Why are you here?” the surprised barbarian asked, not thrilled to see this particular old friend.

Wulfgar had lived beside Thibbledorf in Mithral Hall those years ago and had watched the amazing training of the famed Gutbusters, a group of wild and vicious thugs. One of Thibbledorf's infamous battle tactics was to leap onto a foe and begin shaking wildly, his nasty armor cutting the enemy to pieces.

“Going to Icewind Dale,” Thibbledorf explained. “Got to get to King Bruenor.”

Wulfgar started to ask for the dwarf to expand on that, but he held the words as the title Thibbledorf had just laid upon Bruenor's powerful shoulders hit him clearly.

“King?”

Thibbledorf lowered his eyes, a movement that had all the other Gutbusters, a dozen or so, leaping up and falling to one knee. All of them save the leader gave a deep, monotone intonation, a long and low hum.

“Praise Moradin in taking Gandalug Battlehammer,” Thibbledorf said solemnly. “The King of Mithral Hall is no more. The king before him is king again—Bruenor Battlehammer of the clan that bears his name. Long life and good beer to King Bruenor!”

He ended with a shout, and all the Gutbusters leaped up into the air. They resembled a field of bouncing rocks, punching their fists, most covered with spiked gauntlets, into the air.

“King Bruenor!” they all roared.

“What's it mean?” Delly whispered to Wulfgar.

“It means we should not get too comfortable in Ten-Towns,” the barbarian answered. “For we'll be on the road again, do not doubt. A long road to the east, to Mithral Hall.”

Delly looked around at the Gutbusters, who were dancing in couples, chanting “King Bruenor!” and ending each call with a shallow hop and a short run that brought each couple crashing together.

“Well, at least our own road north'll be safer now,” the woman remarked. “If a bit more fragrant.”

Wulfgar started to nod, but then saw Thibbledorf crash together forehead to forehead with one poor Gutbuster, laying the dwarf out cold. Thibbledorf shook his head to clear the dizziness, his lips flapping wildly. When he saw what he'd done, he howled all the louder and charged at another—who took up the challenge and roared and charged.

And went flying away into the peaceful land of sleeping Gutbusters.

Thibbledorf howled all the louder and hopped about, looking for a third victim.

“Safer? We shall see,” was all that Wulfgar could say to Delly.