She looked around at the empty plain once more and sighed deeply. In her past life, she had been a formidable warrior, but even if she could recall those fighting skills and train her body to move as she had before, what strength and speed might a child know? Surely not enough to match blades with a skilled assassin, or even a novice warrior!
Catti-brie nodded, understanding the message Mielikki imparted to her through the coalescing lines of her own reasoning. She needed to hide. The goddess would protect her from the animals of Netheril’s dark night, but she could do little against the determined killers of Shade Enclave.
The thought had Catti-brie sitting upon the ground, staring up at the stars, her little mouth moving through various curses. She had left Iruladoon full of hope and determination, certain that she would find her friends and Drizzt, and that they together would triumph. Not a doubt had tugged at her as she had jumped into the light of reincarnation.
But now she understood the truth of it all. Would she even get back to Icewind Dale? Would she survive another fifteen years, and even if she did, would she find her way though this confusing and dangerous world?
And would Bruenor and Regis?
Suddenly the plan on which the three had embarked seemed a desperate ploy, a dive from a high cliff into shallow water.
“Mielikki guide me,” she whispered into the empty night.
Somewhere far off, a wolf howled.
But not for her, she understood. The world was wide, too wide, and she was but a tiny child in the midst of a vast and dangerous plain.
A tenday later, Catti-brie flew through the night in the form of a{font-size: 1.1em;5N3ordinaryeston owl once more. She drifted on unseen currents, soaring around the Desai encampment. Many milled around among the tents; there was a palpable tension in the air and an occasional shout of protest lifted above the din.
She flew up high, above the torchlight, and listened carefully, finally picking out the accents that were not Desai. Along with them, she heard Niraj.
Catti-brie swooped down toward the group in question, alighting on the peak of a nearby tent in full view of the gathered Desai leaders, her parents, and a small group of shades.
Shades!
In short order, she realized that they were speaking about her, about the incident that had left two of the Netherese agents dead at the entryway of a blasted tent.
“Ruqiah!” one of the Netherese agents demanded.
If any had been close enough, they might have been startled to hear an owl gasp.
Catti-brie scolded herself, reminding herself that if she was discovered, she would be doing no good for any of those Desai before her.
Kavita began to cry.
“She is dead,” Niraj wailed. “My beautiful little girl is dead! Struck by the rage of N’asr!” He spun away and grabbed his wife, hugging her close.
“You will come!” one of the shades said, and the burly tiefling took a step toward Niraj. Perched on the tent, Catti-brie had to fight the urge to revert to her human form and throw some magic-anything! — at the tiefling to back him away, but before she even had begun to wage that internal battle, a trio of Desai leaders, three proud warriors including the tribe’s sultan, intercepted the tiefling.
“His child is dead, Master Tremaine,” the sultan said. “Killed by the same stroke of lightning that slew your agents. What more would you ask of this man?”
“So you say,” the tiefling shade replied.
The sultan stepped back and swept his hand out to the side. “I will show you.”
The group of several Desai and the Netherese contingent moved away. Catti-brie waited a few moments to watch her parents, who remained behind and stood hugging and sobbing.
Or were they?
Catti-brie’s keen ears caught a whisper from Niraj to Kavita, telling her that she had played the ruse well.
The girl didn’t know what to make of this, of any of it. She set off into the night, fast catching up to the Netherese and the sultan, who were now out of the camp and moving to a small cemetery just off to the side.
The owl landed in a tree overlooking the group. Weariness seeped into Catti-brie’s frame. She could feel the magic of the spellscar growing thin, warning her to fly away. But she could not. Not then, for the Desai had begun exhuming one of the graves. In short order, they pulled out a small body, wrapped in swaddling clothes, tightly bound.
“Ruqiah,” the ruler explained, and he gently unwrapped the head scarf of the burial shroud, revealing a small girl, recently deceased.
Again the owl gasped; Catti-brie knew this girl, older than her by a couple of years. She had died several tendays before her battle with the Netherese.
“The grave was newly dug,” one of the Netherese shades confirmed for the others.
“Why did you seek this one? a long while to realize become stopped on” the sultan of the Desai asked. “What purpose might a little girl-”
“Silence!” Tremaine, the burly tiefling shade, demanded. He turned to his associates and they moved off and began whispering secretly-but not so, since Catti-brie’s owl hearing penetrated their circle.
She heard the name “Ulfbinder” and an agreement among them that whatever importance Ruqiah might have held was lost now, and the girl irrelevant.
Only then did Catti-brie come to fully appreciate what her people had just done for her. They had colluded to deceive the Netherese overlords, at great risk. They had come together as a tribe to protect her, and to protect Niraj and Kavita.
Overwhelmed by gratitude, by the love this act had shown to her and her family, Catti-brie could hardly find the strength to fly away. But she had to, she knew, for the magic of her shapeshifting dweomer was fast diminishing.
As she flew out of the camp, she entertained the thought of resuming her life with her parents-the Netherese thought that Ruqiah was dead, after all-but she knew that she would be putting all of the Desai into grave danger by doing so. If they came for Catti-brie and found her, they would destroy her-and everyone she loved.
Some distance away, she became a little girl once more. And she cried.
“They buried her,” Tremaine told Parise Ulfbinder when his scouting party returned to Shade Enclave.
“Along with Alpirs De’Noutess and Untaris?”
“They did not bury our dead. They wrapped them in cloth and put them out in the desert sun. They said they knew we would come for them.” The tiefling’s anger mounted with each word. “They should have brought them to us! Nay, they should not have dared to strike at them!”
“You said Alpirs and Untaris were killed by a lightning strike,” Lord Ulfbinder said calmly. “A burst of lightning from a storm that raged in the area.”
“We should punish them. We must punish them,” said Tremaine, running on as if his master had not spoken a word. “Grant me a force and I will lay waste to the tribe of Desai. Speak the word and I will kill them all!”
Parise Ulfbinder looked at the burly warrior incredulously, and shook his head slowly and deliberately.
“Get out of here,” he said quietly.
The tiefling smiled broadly.
“Not like that!” Lord Ulfbinder insisted. “Not to your coveted revenge! Remain in the city. Trouble yourself no more with the Desai. They are not your concern.”
“But lord-”
“Not your concern!” Ulfbinder said with a low growl. He shook his head in disgust and waved the feebleminded warrior away. The Desai were no minor tribe and it would take a sizable force to attack them. And to what end? Such an act would likely inspire a larger uprising, and that, in turn, would force Parise before the Netherese rulers to explain himself.