Harkle bit hard on his lip. He saw a mistake here, but had to consider the limitations of his spell. He had read the blind seer's poem, word by word, at least a score of times, committing it fully to memory. But that was privileged information, beyond the scope of his spell. The fog of fate facilitated what would be, but if Harkle used the information that the spell privately gave to him, then he might be altering fate. What that might mean, catastrophe or better conclusion, the wizard could only guess.
Cadderly nodded, not disagreeing with Drizzt's reasoning, but wondering where he might fit in all of this, wondering what role the visitors expected him to play.
"I expect it is a handmaiden," Drizzt went on. "An extraplanar being of the Abyss."
"You wish me to use my powers to confirm this," Cadderly reasoned. "Perhaps to bring forth the beast that you might bargain or battle for your father's soul."
"I understand the depth of my request," Drizzt said firmly. "A
yochlol is a powerful being …"
"I learned long ago not to fear evil," Cadderly calmly assured him.
"We have gold," Deudermont offered, thinking the price would be high.
Drizzt knew better. In the short time he had been with Cadderly, the drow understood the man's heart and motivations. Cadderly would not take gold, would take no payment at all. He was not surprised when Cadderly answered simply, "One soul is worth saving."
Chapter 14 THE FLUSTERED WIZARD
"Where's Deudermont?" Catti-brie asked of Harkle when the wizard stumbled into a small side room where the young woman was sitting with Drizzt.
"Oh, out and about, out and about," the distracted Harpell replied. There were two chairs in the room, both set before a large window that looked out over the majestic Snowflakes. Drizzt and Catti-brie occupied these, half-facing each other and half-looking out to the beautiful view. The dark elf reclined, his feet up on the window's wide sill. Harkle considered the scene for just a moment, then seemed to collect his wits and moved right between the two. He motioned Drizzt to take his feet away, then hopped up to sit on the window sill.
"Do join us," Catti-brie said with obvious sarcasm-obvious to Drizzt at least, for Harkle smiled dumbly.
"You were discussing the poem, of course," the wizard reasoned. It was partially true. Drizzt and Catti-brie were talking as much about the news that Bruenor had left Mithril Hall as about the all-important poem.
"Of course you were," Harkle said. "That is why I have come."
"Have you deciphered any more of the verse?" Drizzt asked, not too hopeful. The drow liked Harkle, but had learned not to expect too much from the wizard. Above all else, Harkle and his kin were unpredictable sorts, oftentimes of great help, as in the fight for Mithril Hall, and at other times more a detriment than an advantage.
Harkle recognized the drow's ambivalent tone, and he found that he wanted to prove himself at that moment, wanted to tell the drow all of the information in his magical journal, to recite the poem word by word, exactly as the seer had told it. Harkle bit back the words, though, fearful of the limitations of his spell and the potential consequences.
"We're thinking it's Baenre," Catti-brie said. "Whoever's holding the Baenre throne, I mean. 'Given to Lloth and by Lloth given, is what she said, and who better than the one sitting on Baenre's throne for the Spider Queen to give such a gift?"
Harkle nodded, letting Drizzt take up the thought, but believing that they were slipping off track.
"Catti-brie thinks that it is Baenre, but the seer spoke of the Abyss, and that makes me believe that Lloth has engaged a handmaiden," said Drizzt.
Harkle bit hard on his lip and nodded unconvincingly.
"Cadderly has an informant in the Abyss," Catti-brie added. "An imp, or something akin to that. He'll summon the beastie and try to find us a name."
"But I fear that my road …" Drizzt began.
"Our road," Catti-brie corrected, so firmly that Drizzt had to concede the point.
"I fear that our road will once again lead to Menzoberranzan," Drizzt said with a sigh. He didn't want to go back there, that much was obvious, but it was clear also that the ranger would charge headlong into the accursed city for the sake of a friend.
"Why there?" Harkle asked, his voice almost frantic. The wizard saw where the seer's poem had guided Drizzt, and knew that the second line, the one concerning Drizzt's father's ghost, had forced the ranger to think of Menzoberranzan as the source of it all. There were references in the poem to Menzoberranzan, but there was one word in particular that led Harkle to believe that the drow city was not their ultimate goal.
"We have already discussed that," Drizzt replied. "Menzoberranzan would seem to be the dark road the seer spoke of."
"You think it is a handmaiden?" Harkle asked Drizzt.
The drow half-nodded, half-shrugged.
"And you agree?" Harkle questioned Catti-brie.
"Might be that it is," Catti-brie replied. "Or might be a matron mother. That'd be me own guess."
"Aren't handmaidens female?" Harkle's question seemed irrelevant.
"All of Lloth's closest minions are female," Catti-brie replied. "That's why the Spider Queen's one to be fearin'," she added with a wink, trying to break some of the tension.
"As are all of the matron mothers," Harkle reasoned.
Drizzt looked to Catti-brie, neither of them quite understanding what the unpredictable wizard might be getting at.
Harkle flapped his arms suddenly, looking as if he was about to burst. He hopped down from the window, nearly overturning Drizzt in his chair. "She said he!" the flustered wizard cried. "The blind hag said he! The traitor to Lloth is sought by he who hates him most! " Harkle stopped and gave a great, exasperated sigh. Then there came a hissing sound and a line of gray smoke began wafting out of his pocket.
"Oh, by the gods," the wizard moaned.
Drizzt and Catti-brie both jumped to their feet, more because of the wizard's surprisingly acute reasoning than because of the present smoky spectacle.
"What foe, Drizzt?" Harkle pressed with all urgency, the wizard suddenly suspecting that his time was short.
"He," Catti-brie echoed over and over, trying to jog her memory. "Jarlaxle?"
" 'Who is most unshriven, " Harkle reminded her.
"Not the mercenary, then," said Drizzt, for he had come to the conclusion that Jarlaxle was not as evil as many. "Berg'inyon Baenre, perhaps. He has hated me since our days in the Academy."
"Think! Think! Think!" Harkle shouted as a great gout of smoke rose up from his pocket.
"What are you burning?" Catti-brie demanded, trying to pull the Harpell around so that she could better see. To her surprise and horror, her hand went right through the wizard's suddenly-less-than-corporeal form.
"Never mind that!" Harkle snapped at her. "Think, Drizzt
Do'Urden. What foe, who is most unshriven, who festers in the swirl of Abyss and hates you above all? What beast must be freed, that only you can free?" Harkle's voice seem to trail away as his form began to fade.
"I have exceeded the limits of my spell," the wizard tried to explain to his horrified companions. "And so I am out of it, I fear, sent away …"
Harkle's voice came back strong, unexpectedly. "What beast, Drizzt? What foe?" And then he was gone, simply gone, leaving Drizzt and Catti-brie standing and staring blankly in the small room.
That last call, as Harkle faded from view, reminded Drizzt of another time when he had heard such a distant cry.
"Errtu," the drow whispered breathlessly. He shook his head even as he spoke the obvious answer, for, though Harkle's reasoning seemed sound, it didn't make sense to Drizzt, not in the context of the poem.