“Pwent,” Bruenor said, trying hard to make sure his voice didn’t crack, for he hated to admit it, even to himself, but he sorely missed the battlerager.
“Aye, the Pwent!” said Athrogate. “When we fought them crawly things up by Cadderly’s place, when we fought the Ghost King, cursed be the name, ’twas the Pwent aside me. Might a king be knowin’ a better shield dwarf?”
“No,” Bruenor said without the slightest hesitation.
Athrogate nodded and let it go at that, managing a grin as he went back to packing up the camp.
Bruenor, too, went to his chores, feeling a bit lighter in the heart. The conversation with Athrogate had reminded him how sorely he missed Thibbledorf Pwent, and it occurred to the old dwarf king that he might have been kinder to Pwent in all those years of loyal service. How much had he taken the tough and loyal dwarf for granted!
He looked at Athrogate now in that light, and scolded himself for his sentimentality. He wasn’t Thibbledorf Pwent, Bruenor told himself. Thibbledorf Pwent would have died for him, would have happily thrown himself in the path of a spear flying for Bruenor’s chest. Bruenor remembered the look on Pwent’s face when he’d left his friend in Icewind Dale, the abject despair and helplessness at the realization that there had been no way for him to continue beside his king.
Athrogate would never, could never, wear such an expression. The dwarf was sincere enough in his expression of regret for the events at Gauntlgrym, and likely meant every word in his pledge of fealty to Bruenor-for that one mission. But he was no Thibbledorf Pwent. And if it came to that moment of crisis, that ultimate sacrifice, could Bruenor trust Athrogate to give his life for the cause? Or for his king?
Bruenor’s thoughts were interrupted by some movement off to the side of the camp, and through the trees, he saw Jarlaxle and Dahlia talking and pointing to the south.
“Eh, Athrogate,” he said when the other dwarf moved near him. When Athrogate looked his way, Bruenor nodded his chin toward the couple. “That elf there with Jarlaxle.”
“Dahlia.”
“Ye trust her?”
Athrogate came up beside Bruenor and replied, “Jarlaxle trusts her.”
“Ain’t what I asked.”
Athrogate sighed. “I’d be trustin’ her a lot more if she weren’t so damned mean with that stick o’ hers,” he admitted. When Bruenor looked at him curiously, he clarified. “Ah, but don’t ye doubt that she’s a mean one. That stick o’ hers breaks all different ways, into weapons I ain’t ne’er seen afore. She’s fast, and with both hands. Meself, I can swing me flails pretty good, left and right, but she’s more’n that. More akin to yer dark friend, in that her hands work as if they’re two different fighters, if ye get me meanin’.”
Bruenor’s expression grew even more puzzled. He had never noted anything like humility from Athrogate before.
“I fought yer friend, ye know,” Athrogate said. “In Luskan.”
“Aye. And what’re ye sayin’? That this one, this Dahlia, would be beating Drizzt square up?”
Athrogate didn’t answer outright, but his expression showed that he believed exactly that, or at least, that he harbored serious doubts about the outcome of such a fight.
“Bah!” Bruenor snorted. “So ye’re afraid o’ her?”
“Bah!” Athrogate snorted right back. “I ain’t afraid o’ no one. Just, I’d be thinking Dahlia less a threat if she weren’t so damned nasty.”
“Good for knowin’,” Bruenor said, and he lowered his voice when he noted Jarlaxle and Dahlia fast approaching.
“We are not alone,” Jarlaxle announced when he neared. “Others are about, likely seeking the same cave as we.”
“Bah, but how’d they be knowin’ about it?” Bruenor asked.
“The Ashmadai at least are all over the Crags, I’d bet,” Dahlia replied. “Sylora knows the approximate location of Gauntlgrym.”
“We’re nowhere near the mountain,” Bruenor replied, somewhat harshly. “Going in from the far side…”
Dahlia’s eyes narrowed for a just a moment, and Bruenor recognized that he’d hit on something there, which was confirmed when Dahlia turned to Jarlaxle.
“Sylora suspected I would go after the primordial, now that we know it’s awakening,” the drow explained. “That is why she sent Dahlia and the others to Luskan-to confirm, and to stop us.”
“By now, she knows that failed,” Dahlia said. “Szass Tam’s minions are possessed of various magical means of communication.”
“And she’d think yerself dead,” Athrogate reasoned.
“No more,” Bruenor replied, and again his voice was thick with suspicion. “If they’re here, they’re watching us, and they’re watching Dahlia.”
The elf woman nodded, but didn’t appear pleased by that prospect. That only put a smirk on Bruenor’s face.
“So ye’re a traitor now, and to be punished if they’re catching ye,” the dwarf reasoned.
“It gives you pleasure to say that?” Dahlia asked.
“Or ye’re a double-traitor,” Bruenor said. “And maked us think ye’d maked them think yerself was killed to death in the fight.”
“No,” Jarlaxle said before Dahlia could.
“No?” Bruenor echoed. He dropped the pack he was holding and drew his axe from off his back, slapping it across his open palm.
“Ye don’t want to be doin’ that,” Athrogate warned, his voice more filled with concern than any threat.
“Listen to your hairy friend, dwarf,” Dahlia said, and she sent her walking stick in an easy swing, which brought it across her open palm so that she was holding it similarly to Bruenor with his axe.
Bruenor did relax at that, mostly because a dark form slipped silently out from around a tree behind Dahlia.
“Lady, ye can’t help but expect a bit o’ suspicion, now can ye?” Bruenor replied, and smiled disarmingly. “Ye come to us for a fight, and now we’re to think yerself on our side?”
“Had I joined the fight in the Cutlass, your mission would have ended there, good dwarf,” the elf warrior replied. “And you can tell that to your drow friend who is standing behind me.”
Behind Dahlia, Drizzt stood up straight, and in front of her, Bruenor’s face twisted up at her bravado.
“Telled ye,” Athrogate muttered at Bruenor’s side.
It occurred to Bruenor then just how young this elf female was. He hadn’t really thought of that before, since everything had been such a jolt and a rush from the moment he and Drizzt had entered Luskan. But she showed it. She stood before a dwarf king, and with a legendary drow warrior behind her, and not a hint of worry showed on her face.
Only someone quite young could feel so… immortal.
She had never experienced loss, was Bruenor’s initial thought, and couldn’t comprehend its possibility.
He studied her more carefully for a few moments, though, and saw through the calm confidence just enough to realize that he was probably way off the mark with that last thought. More likely, Dahlia had experienced loss, great loss, and didn’t care if that was again a possibility. Perhaps her bravado even invited it.
Bruenor glanced at Athrogate, thinking the other dwarf’s warning about Dahlia quite prescient at that moment.
She was dangerous.
“If you’re all so anxious for a fight, you’ll find one soon enough,” Jarlaxle remarked, obviously trying to break the tension.
Despite her outward confidence, Dahlia wondered if she’d played her hand correctly. She stared at the dwarf a few moments longer, trying to rid herself of the nagging notion that the crusty old warrior saw right through her.
She dismissed that concern out of hand. Dahlia had no time for that.
She turned to find Drizzt leaning easily against a tree, his weapons sheathed, his forearms resting on them with his hands crossed in front of him.
“Do you share your friend’s concern?” she asked.
“The thought has occurred to me.”
“And has it found root?”
Drizzt looked past her to Bruenor before offering a smile and answering, simply, “No.”
Dahlia’s stare grew intense, and Drizzt matched it. Once again, as it had just been with Bruenor, it seemed to her as if one of her companions was trying to see right through her. But she had her footing back-thanks to Drizzt’s last answer. She eased her walking staff down beside her and leaned on it, but didn’t relent with her stare, didn’t blink, didn’t allow the legendary warrior, Drizzt, any sense that he’d gained the upper hand.