“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
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. The primordial drew Dwardermey in.
Tsabrak blew a great sigh. “This will take us tendays,” he said. “I am exhausted already, as are you.”
“We must,” Matron Mother Zeerith replied. “In this duty, we will salvage the goodwill of the Spider Queen.”
High Priestess Kiriy held her tongue, unsure that the exercise of summoning the corpses from the distant battlefield and properly disposing of them would do any such thing. But they had to try, she knew, for she understood as her mother understood: Lady Lolth was not pleased with their failures in the Silver Marches.
Perhaps that was why the dark elves killed in that war were so disproportionately Xorlarrin warriors.
So now they would perform their tedious duty, in the hopes that they would garner some measure of forgiveness or clemency from the merciless Spider Queen. Such a task would consume them for hours each day, and was no inexpensive feat. Tsabrak had to destroy a valuable gemstone for each summoning.