E'kressa went into his spellcasting again, this time bringing forth lines on the opposite side of the parchment.
“Or this one,” he explained, holding the new image, one that looked very much like the old, up before Le'lorinel.
The elf took the parchment gently, staring at it wide-eyed.
“One is the mark of Clangeddin, covered by the mark of Dumathoin, the Keeper of Secrets Under the Mountain. The other is the mark of Moradin, similarly disguised.”
Le'lorinel nodded, turning the page over gently and reverently, like some sage studying the writings of some long-lost civilization.
“Far to the west, I believe,” the gnome explained before Le’lorinel could ask the question. “Waterdeep? Luskan? Somewhere in between? I can not be sure.”
“But you believe this to be the region?” the elf asked. “Did your divination tell you this, or is it a logical hunch, considering that Icewind Dale is immediately north of these places?”
E'kressa considered the words for a while, then merely shrugged. “Does it matter?”
Le'lorinel stared at him hard.
“Have you a better course to follow?” the gnome asked.
“I paid you well,” the elf reminded.
“And there, in your hands, you have the goods returned, tenfold,” the gnome asserted, so obviously pleased by his performance this day.
Le'lorinel looked down at the parchment, the lines of the intertwining symbols burned indelibly into the brown paper.
“I know not the immediate connection,” the gnome admitted. “I know not how this symbol, or the item holding it, will bring you to your obsession. But there lies the end of your road, so my spells have shown me. More than that, I do not know.”
“And will this end of the road prove fruitful to Le'lorinel?” the elf asked, despite the earlier discounting of such prophecy.
“This I have not seen,” the gnome replied smugly. “Shall I wager a guess?”
Le'lorinel, only then realizing the betrayal of emotions presented by merely asking the question, assumed a defensive posture. “Spare me,” the elf said.
“I could do it in rhyme,” the gnome offered with a superior smirk.
Le'lorinel thought to mention that a rhyme might be offered in return, a song actually, sung with eagerness as a delicate elven dagger removed a tongue from the mouth of a gloating gnome.
The elf said nothing, though, and the thought dissipated as the image on the parchment obscured all other notions.
Here it was, in Le'lorinel's hands, the destination of a lifetime's quest.
Given that, the elf had no anger left to offer.
Given that, the elf had too many questions to ponder, too many preparations to make, too many fears to overcome, and too many fantasies to entertain of seeing Drizzt Do'Urden, the imitation hero, revealed for the imposter he truly was.
* * * * * * * * *
Chogurugga lay back on five enormous pillows, stuffing great heaps of mutton into her fang-filled mouth. At eight and a half feet, the ogress wasn't very tall, but with legs the girth of ancient oaks and a round waist, she packed more than seven hundred pounds into her ample frame.
Many male attendants rushed about the central cavern, the largest in Golden Cove, keeping her fed and happy. Always they had been attentive of Chogurugga because of her unusual and exotic appearance. Her skin was light violet in color, not the normal yellow of her clan, perfectly complimenting her long and greasy bluish-black hair. Her eyes were caught somewhere between the skin and hair in hue, seeming deep purple or just a shade off true blue, depending on the lighting about her.
Chogurugga was indeed used to the twenty males of Clan Thump fawning over her, but since her new allegiance with the human pirates, an allegiance that had elevated the females of the clan to even higher stature, the males practically tripped over one another rushing to offer her food and fineries.
Except for Bloog, of course, the stern taskmaster of Golden Cove, the largest, meanest, ugliest ogre ever to walk these stretches of the Spine of the World. Many whispered that Bloog wasn't even a true ogre, that he had a bit of mountain giant blood in him, and since he stood closer to fifteen feet than to ten, with thick arms the size of Chogurugga's legs, it was a rumor not easily discounted.
Chogurugga, with the help of Sheila Kree, had become the brains of the ogre side of Golden Cove, but Bloog was the brawn, and, whenever he desired it to be so, the true boss. And he had become even meaner since Sheila Kree had come into their lives and had given to him a gift of tremendous power, a crafted warhammer that allowed Bloog to expand caverns with a single, mighty blow.
“Back again?” the ogress said when Sheila and Bellany strode into the cavern. “And what goodzies did yez bring fer Chogurugga this time?”
“A broken ship,” the pirate leader replied sarcastically. “Think ye might be eating that?”
Bloog's chuckle from the side of the room rumbled like distant thunder.
Chogurugga cast a glower his way. “Me got Bathunk now,” the female reminded. “Me no need Bloog.”
Bloog furrowed his brow, which made it stick out far beyond his deep-set eyes, a scowl that would have been comical had it not been coming from a beast that was a ton of muscle. Bathunk, Chogurugga and Bloog's vicious son, was becoming quite an issue between the couple of late. Normally in ogre society, when the son of a chieftain was growing as strong and as mean as the father, and that father was still young, the elder brute would beat the child down, and repeatedly, to secure his own place in the tribe. If that didn't work, the son would be killed, or put out at least. But this was no ordinary group of ogres, Clan Thump was a matriarchy instead of the more customary patriarchy, and Chogurugga would tolerate none of that behavior from Bloog— not with Bathunk, anyway.
“We barely hit open water when a familiar sight appeared on our horizon,” explained an obviously disgusted Bellany, who had no intention of witnessing another of Chogurugga and Bloog's legendary “Bathunk” battles.
“Chogurugga guesses three sails?” the ogress asked, taking the bait to change the subject and holding up four fingers.
Sheila Kree cast a disapproving glance Bellany's way—she didn't need to have the ogres' respect for her diminished in any way—then turned the same expression over Chogurugga. “He's a persistent one,” she admitted. “One day, he’ll even follow us to Golden Cove.”
Bloog chuckled again, and so did Chogurugga, both of them reveling in the thought of some fresh man-flesh.
Sheila Kree, though she surely wasn't in a smiling mood, joined in, but soon after motioned for Bellany to follow and headed out the exit on the opposite side of the room, to the tunnels leading to their quarters higher up in the mountain.
Sheila's room was not nearly as large as the chamber shared by the ogre leaders, but it was almost hedonistic in its furnishings, with ornate lamps throwing soft light into every nook along the uneven walls, and fine carpets piled so high that the women practically bounced along as they crossed the place.
“I grow weary o' that Deudermont,” Sheila said to the sorceress.
“He is likely hoping for that very thing,” Bellany replied. “Perhaps we'll grow weary enough to stop running, weary of the run enough to confront Sea Sprite on the open waters.”
Sheila looked at her most trusted companion, gave an agreeing smile, and nodded. Bellany was, in many ways, her better half, the crusty pirate knew. Always thinking, always looking ahead to the consequences, the wise and brilliant sorceress had been the greatest addition to Bloody Keel's crew in decades. Sheila trusted her implicitly—Bellany had been the very first to wear the brand once Sheila had decided to use the intricate design on the side of Aegis-fang's mithral head in that manner. Sheila even loved Bellany as her own sister, and, despite her overblown sense of pride, and the fact that she was always a bit too merciful and gentle-hearted toward their captives for Sheila's vicious tastes, Sheila knew better than to discount anything Bellany might say.