“Indeed,” another councilor agreed.
“And pray tell me what I said, exactly,” the woman answered, and her grin showed that she didn't fear any answers they might give. “I spoke to the fools knowingly about Drizzt and Catti-brie and Bruenor. Certainly, I am as versed on the subject as any wise person venturing to Icewind Dale would be. Did I not speak knowingly that the fools had done something stupid and had then been baited by the drow and his companions? No stretch of intelligence there, I would say.”
The councilors began murmuring among themselves and Regis stared hard at Jule, his smile showing his respect for her cunning, if nothing else. He could tell already that with her devastating posture and shapeliness, combined with more than a measure of cunning and careful preparedness out on the road, she would likely slip through these bonds unscathed.
And Regis, knew, too, whatever she might say, that this one, Jule Pepper, was the leader of the highwayman band.
“We will discuss this matter,” Cassius said soon after, the private conversations of the councilors escalating into heated debate, divisions becoming apparent.
Jule smiled knowingly at Cassius. “Then I am free to go?”
“You are invited to return to the room we have provided,” the older and more comprehending elderman replied, and he waved to the guards.
They came up on either side of Jule, who gave Cassius one last perfectly superior look and turned to leave, swaying her shoulders in exactly the right manner to again set off the sweat of the male councilors.
Regis grinned at it all, thoroughly impressed, but his smile dropped into an open-mouthed stare a moment later, as Jule completed her turn, as he noticed a curious marking on the back of her right shoulder, a brand the halfling surely recognized.
“Wait!” the halfling cried and he hopped up from his seat and ducked low to scramble under the table rather than take the time to go around it.
The guards and Jule stopped, all turning about to regard the sudden commotion.
“Turn back,” the halfling instructed. “Turn back!” He waved his hand at Jule as he spoke, and the woman just stared at him incredulously, her gaze shifting from curiosity to withering.
“Cassius, turn her back!” the halfling pleaded.
Cassius looked at him with no less incredulity than had Jule.
Regis didn't wait for him. The halfling ran up to Jule, grabbed her right arm and started pulling her around. She resisted for a moment, but the halfling, stronger than he appeared, gave a great tug that brought her around enough, briefly, to show the brand.
“There!” Regis said, poking an accusing finger.
Jule pulled away from him, but it was out now, the councilors all leaning in and Cassius coming forward, motioning for Jule to turn around, or for the guards to turn her if she didn't willingly comply.
With a disgusted shake of her head, the raven-haired woman finally turned.
Regis went up on a nearby chair to better see the brand, but he knew before the inspection that his keen eyes had not deceived him, that the brand on the woman's shoulder was of a design unique to Bruenor Battlehammer, and more than that, a marking Bruenor had used only once, on the side of Aegis-fang. Moreover, the brand was exactly the right size for the warhammer's marking, as if a heated Aegis-fang had been pressed against her skin.
Regis nearly swooned. “Where did you get that?” he asked.
“A rogue's mark,” Cassius remarked. “Common enough, I'd say, for any guild.”
“Not common,” Regis answered, shaking his head. “Not that mark.”
“You know it?” the elderman inquired.
“My friends will speak with her,” Regis answered. “At once.”
“When we are done with her,” Councilor Tamaroot insisted.
“At once,” Regis insisted, turning to face the man. “Else you, good Tamaroot, can explain to King Bruenor the delay when his adopted son's life may likely hang in the balance.”
That brought a myriad of murmurs in the room.
Jule Pepper just glared down at Regis, and he got the distinct feeling that she had little idea what he was talking about, little idea of the significance of the mark.
For her sake, the halfling knew, that better be the truth of it.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
A few nights later, Drizzt found Bruenor atop a quiet and dark place called Bruenor's Climb, in the small rocky valley the dwarves mined to the northeast of Brynn Shander, between Maer Dualdon and the lake called Lac Dinneshire. Bruenor always had such private places as this, wherever he was, and he always named them Bruenor's Climb, as much to warn any intruders as out of any personal pride.
This was the dwarfs spot for reflection, his quiet place where he could ponder things beyond the everyday trials and tribulations of his station in life. This was the one place where practical and earthy Bruenor, on dark nights, could let go of his bonds a bit, could let his spirit climb to some place higher than the imagination of a dwarf. This was where Bruenor could come to ponder the meaning of it all and the end of it all.
Drizzt had found Bruenor up on his personal climb back at Mithral Hall, looking very much the same as he did now, when the yochlol had taken Wulfgar, when they had all believed that his adopted son was dead.
Silent as the clouds flying beneath the stars, the drow walked up behind the dwarf and stood patiently.
“Ye'd think losin' him a second time would've been easier,” Bruenor remarked at length. “Especially since he'd been such an orc-kin afore he left us.”
“You do not know that you have lost him,” the drow reminded.
“Ain't no mark in the world like it,” Bruenor reasoned. “And the thief said she got it from a hammer's head.”
Indeed, Jule had willingly surrendered much information to the imposing friends when they had spoken with her right after the confrontation in the council hall. She'd admitted that the brand was intentional, a marking given by a woman ship's captain. When pressed, Jule had admitted that this woman, Sheila Kree, was a pirate and that this particular brand was reserved by her for those most trusted within her small band.
Drizzt felt great pity for his friend. He started to remark on the fact that Jule had stated that the only physically large members of the pirate band were a clan of ogres Sheila Kree kept for tacking and steering. Wulfgar had not fallen in with the dogs, apparently. The drow held back the remarks, though, because the other implication, a clear one if Wulfgar was not in league with the pirates, was even more dire.
“Ye think this dog Kree killed me boy?” Bruenor asked, his thoughts obviously rolling along the same logic. “Or do ye think it was someone else, some dog who then sold the hammer to this one?”
“I do not think Wulfgar is dead at all,” Drizzt stated without hesitation.
Bruenor turned a curious eye up at him.
“Wulfgar may have sold the hammer,” Drizzt remarked, and Bruenor's look became even more skeptical. “He denied his past when he ran away from us,” the drow reminded. “Perhaps relieving himself of that hammer was a further step along the road he saw before him.”
“Yeah, or maybe he just needed the coin,” Bruenor said with such sarcasm that Drizzt let his argument die silently.
In truth, the drow hadn't even convinced himself. He knew Wulfgar's bond with Aegis-fang, and knew the barbarian would no sooner willingly part with the warhammer than he would part with one of his own arms.
“Then a theft,” Drizzt said after a pause. “If Wulfgar went to Luskan or to Waterdeep, as we believe, then he would likely find himself in the company of thieves.”
“In the company of murderers,” Bruenor remarked, and he looked back up at the starry sky.
“We can not know,” Drizzt said to him quietly.
The dwarf merely shrugged, and when his shoulders came back down from that action, they seemed to Drizzt lower than ever.