There remain worries and fears, of course. Wulfgar is gone from us—I know not where—and I fear for his head, his heart, and his body. But I have accepted that his path was his own to choose, and that he, for the sake of all three—head, heart, and body—had to step away from us. I pray that our paths will cross again, that he will find his way home. I pray that some news of him will come to us, either calming our fears or setting us into action to recover him.
But I can be patient and convince myself of the best. For to brood upon my fears for him, I am defeating the entire purpose of my own life.
That I will not do.
There is too much beauty.
There are too many monsters and too manyrogues.
There is too much fun.
–drizztdo'urden
Chapter 1 BACK TO BACK
His long white hair rolled down Catti-brie's shoulder, tickling the front of her bare arm, and her own thick auburn hair cascaded down Drizzt's arm and chest.
The two sat back to back on the banks of Maer Dualdon, the largest lake in Icewind Dale, staring up at the hazy summer sky. Lazy white clouds drifted slowly overhead, their white fluffy lines sometimes cut in sharp contrast as one of many huge schinlook vultures coasted underneath. It was the clouds, not the many birds that were out this day, that held the attention of the couple.
“A knucklehead trout on the gaff,” Catti-brie said of one unusual cloud formation, a curving oblong before a trailing, thin line of white.
“How do you see that?” the dark elf protested with a laugh.
Catti-brie turned her head to regard her black-skinned, violet-eyed companion. “How do ye' not?” she asked. “It's as plain as the white line o' yer own eyebrows.”
Drizzt laughed again, but not so much at what the woman was saying, but rather, at how she was saying it. She was living with Bruenor's clan again in the dwarven mines just outside of Ten-Towns, and the mannerisms and accent of the rough-and-tumble dwarves were obviously again wearing off on her.
Drizzt turned his head a bit toward the woman, as well, his right eye barely a couple of inches from Catti-brie's. He saw the sparkle there—it was unmistakable—a look of contentment and happiness only now returning in the months since Wulfgar had left them, a look that seemed, in fact, even more intense than ever before.
Drizzt laughed and looked back up at the sky. “Your fish got away,” he announced, for the wind had blown the thin line away from the larger shape,
“It is a fish,” Catti-brie insisted petulantly—or at least, the woman made it sound as if she was being petulant.
Smiling, Drizzt didn't pursue the argument.
* * * * * * * * * * *
“Ye durn fool little one!” Bruenor Battlehammer grumbled and growled, spittle flying as his frustration increased. The dwarf stopped and stamped his hard boot ferociously on the ground, then smacked his one-horned helmet onto his head, his thick orange hair flying wildly from beneath the brim of the battered helm. “I'm here thinkin' I got a friend on the council, and there ye go, letting Kemp o' Targos go and spout the price without even a fight!”
Regis the halfling, thinner than he had been in years and favoring one arm from a ghastly wound he'd received on his last adventure with his friends, just shrugged and replied, “Kemp of Targos speaks only of the price of the ore for the fishermen.”
“And the fishermen buy a considerable portion of the ore!” Bruenor roared. “Why'd I put ye back on the council, Rumble-belly, if ye ain't to be making me life any easier?”
Regis gave a little smile at the tirade. He thought to remind Bruenor that the dwarf hadn't put him back on the council, that the folk of Lonelywood, needing a new representative since the last one had wound up in the belly of a yeti, had begged him to go, but he wisely kept the notion to himself.
“Fishermen,” the dwarf said, and he spat on the ground in front of Regis's hairy, unshod feet.
Again, the halfling merely smiled and sidestepped the mark. He knew Bruenor was more bellow than bite, and knew, too, that the dwarf would let this matter drop soon enough—as soon as the next crisis rolled down the road. Ever had Bruenor Battle-hammer been an excitable one.
The dwarf was still grumbling when the pair rounded a bend in the path to come in full view of Drizzt and Catti-brie, still sitting on the mossy bank, lost in their cloud-dreams and just enjoying each other's company. Regis sucked in his breath, thinking Bruenor might explode at the sight of his beloved adopted daughter in so intimate a position with Drizzt—or with anyone, for that matter—but Bruenor just shook his hairy head and stormed off the other way.
“Durned fool elf,” he was saying when Regis caught up to him. “Will ye just kiss the girl and be done with it?”
Regis's smile nearly took in his ears. “How do you know that he has not?” he remarked, for no better reason than to see the dwarfs cheeks turn as fiery red as his hair and beard.
And of course, Regis was quick to skitter far out of Bruenor's deadly grasp.
The dwarf just put his head down, muttering curses and stomping along. Regis could hardly believe that boots could make such thunder on a soft, mossy dirt path.
* * * * * * * *
The clamor in Brynn Shander's Council Hall was less of a surprise to Regis. He tried—he really did—to stay attentive to the proceedings, as Elderman Cassius, the highest-ranking leader in all of Ten-Towns, led the discussion through mostly procedural matters. Always before had the ten towns been ruled independently, or through a council comprised of one representative of each town, but so great had Cassius's service been to the region that he was no longer the representative of any single community, even that of Brynn Shander, the largest town by far and Cassius's home. Of course, that didn't sit well with Kemp of Targos, leader of the second city of Ten-Towns. He and Cassius had often been at odds, and with the elevation of Cassius and the appointment of a new councilor from Brynn Shander, Kemp felt outnumbered.
But Cassius had continued to rise above it all, and over the last few months even stubborn Kemp had grudgingly come to admit that the man was acting in a generally fair and impartial manner.
To the councilor from Lonelywood, though, the level of peace and community within the council hall in Brynn Shander only added to the tedium. The halfling loved a good debate and a good argument, especially when he was not a principal but could, rather, snipe in from the edges, fanning the emotions and the intensity.
Alas for the good old days!
Regis tried to stay awake—he really did—when the discussion became a matter of apportioning sections of the Maer Dualdon deepwaters to specific fishing vessels, to keep the lines untangled and keep the tempers out on the lake from flaring.
That rhetoric had been going on in Ten-Towns for decades, and Regis knew no rules would ever keep the boats apart out there on the cold waters of the large lake. Where the knucklehead were found, so the boats would go, whatever the rules. Knucklehead trout, perfect for scrimshaw and good eating besides, were the staple of the towns' economy, the lure that brought so many ruffians to Ten-Towns in search of fortune.
The rules established in this room so far from the banks of the three great lakes of Icewind Dale were no more than tools councilors could use to bolster subsequent tirades, when the rules had all been ignored.
By the time the halfling councilor from Lonelywood woke up, the discussion had shifted (thankfully) to more concrete matters, one that concerned Regis directly. In fact, the halfling only realized a moment later, the catalyst for opening his eyes had been Cassius's call to him.
“Pardon me for disturbing your sleep,” the Elderman of Ten-Towns quietly said to Regis.