Drizzt enjoyed this rare moment of vulnerability from the dwarf. A few times before, he had seen Bruenor drop his callous facade, back on the climb in Icewind Dale when the dwarf thought of Mithril Hall and the wondrous memories of his childhood.
“Aye, I’m proud,” Bruenor continued. “And I’m finding meself willing to follow his lead and trust in his choices.”
Drizzt could only agree, having come to the same conclusions many months before, when Wulfgar had united the peoples of Icewind Dale, barbarian and Ten-Towner alike, in a common defense against the harsh tundra winter. He still worried about bringing the young warrior into situations like the dockside of Luskan, for he knew that many of the finest persons in the Realms had paid dearly for their first encounters with the guilds and underground power structures of a city, and that Wulfgar’s deep compassion and unwavering code of honor could be manipulated against him.
But on the road, in the wild, Drizzt knew that he would never find a more valuable companion.
They encountered no further problems that day or night, and the next morning came upon the main road, the trading route from Waterdeep to Mirabar and passing Longsaddle on the way. No landmarks stood out to guide them, as Drizzt had anticipated, but because of his plan in keeping more to the east than the straight line southeast, their direction from here was clearly south.
Regis seemed much better this day and was anxious to see Longsaddle. He alone of the group had been to the home of the magic-using Harpell family and he looked forward to viewing the strange, and often outrageous, place again.
His excited chatting only heightened Wulfgar’s trepidations, though, for the barbarian’s distrust of the dark arts ran deep. Among Wulfgar’s people, wizards were viewed as cowards and evil tricksters.
“How long must we remain in this place?” he asked Bruenor and Drizzt, who, with the crags safely behind them, had come up to ride beside him on the wide road.
“Until we get some answers,” Bruenor answered. “Or until we figure a better place to go.” Wulfgar had to be satisfied with the answer.
Soon they passed some of the outlying farms, drawing curious stares from the men in the fields who leaned on their hoes and rakes to study the party. Shortly after the first of these encounters, they were met on the road by five armed men called Longriders, representing the outer watch of the town.
“Greetings, travelers,” said one politely. “Might we ask your intentions in these parts?”
“Ye might…” started Bruenor, but Drizzt stopped his sarcastic remark with an outstretched hand.
“We have come to see the Harpells,” Regis replied. “Our business does not concern your town, though we seek the wise counsel of the family in the mansion.”
“Well met, then,” answered the Longrider. “The hill of the Ivy Mansion is just a few miles farther down the road, before Longsaddle proper.” He stopped suddenly, noticing the drow. “We could escort you if you desire,” he offered, clearing his throat in an effort to politely hide his gawking at the black elf.
“It is not necessary,” said Drizzt. “I assure you that we can find the way, and that we mean no ill toward any of the people of Longsaddle.”
“Very well.” The Longrider stepped his mount aside and the companions continued on.
“Keep to the road, though,” he called after them. “Some of the farmers get anxious about people near the boundaries of their land.”
“They are kindly folk,” Regis explained to his companions as they moved down the road, “and they trust in their wizards.”
“Kindly, but wary,” Drizzt retorted, motioning to a distant field where the silhouette of a mounted man was barely visible on the far tree line. “We are being watched.”
“But not bothered,” Said Bruenor. “And that’s more than we can say about anywhere we’ve been yet!”
The hill of the Ivy Mansion comprised a small hillock sporting three buildings, two that resembled the low, wooden design of farmhouses. The third, though, was unlike anything the four companions had ever seen. Its walls turned at sharp angles every few feet, creating niches within niches, and dozens and dozens of spires sprouted from its many-angled roof, no two alike. A thousand windows were visible from this direction alone, some huge, others no bigger than an arrow slit.
No one design, no overall architectural plan or style, could be found here. The Harpells’ mansion was a collage of independent ideas and experiments in magical creation. But there was truly a beauty within the chaos, a sense of freedom that defied the term “structure” and carried with it a feeling of welcome.
A rail fence surrounded the hillock and the four friends approached curiously, if not excitedly. There was no gate, just an opening and the road continuing through. Seated on a stool inside the fence, staring blankly at the sky, was a fat, bearded man in a carmine robe.
He noticed their arrival with a start. “Who are you and what do you want?” he demanded bluntly, angered at the interruption of his meditation.
“Weary travelers,” replied Regis, “come to seek the wisdom of the reknowned Harpells.”
The man seemed unimpressed. “And?” he prompted.
Regis turned helplessly to Drizzt and Bruenor, but they could only answer him with shrugs of their own, not understanding what more was required of them. Bruenor started to move his pony out in front to reiterate the group’s intentions when another robed man came shuffling out of the mansion to join the first.
He had a few quiet words with the fat mage, then turned to the road. “Greetings,” he offered the companions. “Excuse poor Regweld, here—” he patted the fat mage’s shoulder “—for he has had an incredible run of bad luck with some experimenting—not that things will not turn out, mind you. They just might take some time.
“Regweld is really a fine wizard,” he continued, patting the shoulder again. “And his ideas for crossbreeding a horse and a frog are not without merit; never mind the explosion! Alchemy shops can be replaced!”
The friends sat atop their mounts, biting back their amazement at the rambling discourse. “Why, think of the advantages for crossing rivers!” the robed man cried. “But enough of that. I am Harkle. How might I assist you?”
“Harkle Harpell?” Regis snickered. The man bowed.
“Bruenor of Icewind Dale, I be,” Bruenor proclaimed when he had found his voice. “Me friends and meself have come hundreds of miles seeking the words of the wizards of Longsaddle…” He noticed that Harkle, distracted by the drow, wasn’t paying any attention to him. Drizzt had let his cowl slip back purposely to judge the reaction of the reputedly learned men of Longsaddle. The Longrider back on the road had been surprised, but not outraged, and Drizzt had to learn if the town in general would be more tolerant of his heritage.
“Fantastic,” muttered Harkle. “Simply unbelievable!” Regweld, too, had now noticed the black elf and seemed interested for the first time since the party had arrived.
“Are we to be allowed passage?” Drizzt asked.
“Oh, yes, please do come in,” replied Harkle, trying unsuccessfully to mask his excitement for the sake of etiquette.
Striding his horse out in front, Wulfgar started them up the road.
“Not that way,” said Harkle. “Not the road; of course, it is not really a road. Or it is, but you cannot get through.”
Wulfgar stopped his mount. “Be done with your foolery, wizard!” he demanded angrily, his years of distrust for practitioners of the magic arts boiling over in his frustration. “May we enter, or not?”