Masked as an elf—Drizzt was beginning to realize how easily the disguise now came to him—he made his way into the Spitting Camel and to the innkeeper’s desk. An incredibly skinny, leather-skinned man, who kept his back always to a wall and his head darting nervously in every direction, met him.
“Three friends,” Drizzt said gruffly. “A dwarf, a woman, and a golden-haired giant.”
“Up the stairs,” the man told him. “To the left. Two gold if you mean to stay the night.” He held out his bony hand.
“The dwarf already paid you,” Drizzt said grimly, starting away.
“For himself, the girl, and the big…” the innkeeper started, grabbing Drizzt by the shoulder. The look in Drizzt’s lavender eyes, though, stopped the innkeeper cold.
“He paid,” the frightened man stuttered. “I remember. He paid.”
Drizzt walked away without another word.
He found the two rooms on opposite sides of the corridor at the far end of the structure. He had meant to go straight in with Wulfgar and Bruenor and grab a short rest, hoping to be out on the street when night fully fell, when Entreri would likely be about. Drizzt found, instead, Catti-brie in her doorway, apparently waiting for him. She motioned him into her chamber and closed the door behind him.
Drizzt settled on the very edge of one of the two chairs in the center of the room, his foot tapping the floor in front of him.
Catti-brie studied him as she walked around to the other chair. She had known Drizzt for years but never had seen him so agitated.
“Ye seem as though ye mean to tear yerself into pieces,” she said.
Drizzt gave her a cold look, but Catti-brie laughed it away. “Do ye mean to strike me, then?”
That prompted the drow to settle back in his chair.
“And don’t ye be wearing that silly mask,” Catti-brie scolded.
Drizzt reached for the mask but hesitated.
“Take it off!” Catti-brie ordered, and the drow complied before he had time to reconsider.
“Ye came a bit grim in the street afore ye left,” Catti-brie remarked, her voice softening.
“We had to make certain,” Drizzt replied coldly. “I do not trust Sali Dalib.”
“Nor meself,” Catti-brie agreed, “but ye’re still grim, by me seeing.”
“You were the one with the witching magic,” Drizzt shot back, his tone defensive. “It was Catti-brie who showed herself grim then.”
Catti-brie shrugged. “A needed act,” she said. “An act I dropped when the merchant had gone. But yerself,” she said pointedly, leaning forward and placing a comforting hand on Drizzt’s knee. “Ye’re up for a fight.”
Drizzt started to jerk away but realized the truth of her observations and forced himself to relax under her friendly touch. He looked away, for, he found that he could not soften the sternness of his visage.
“What’s it about?” Catti-brie whispered.
Drizzt looked back to her then and remembered all the times he and she had shared back in Icewind Dale. In her sincere concern for him now, Drizzt recalled the first time they had met, when the smile of the girl—for she was then but a girl—had given the displaced and disheartened drow a renewed hope for his life among the surface dwellers.
Catti-brie knew more about him than anyone alive, about those things that were important to him, and made his stoic existence bearable. She alone recognized the fears that lay beneath his black skin, the insecurity masked by the skill of his sword arm.
“Entreri,” he answered softly.
“Ye mean to kill him?”
“I have to.”
Catti-brie sat back to consider the words. “If ye be killing Entreri to free Regis,” she said at length, “and to stop him from hurting anyone else, then me heart says it’s a good thing.” She leaned forward again, bringing her face close to Drizzt’s, “but if ye’re meaning to kill him to prove yerself or to deny what he is, then me heart cries.”
She could have slapped Drizzt and had the same effect. He sat up straight and cocked his head, his features twisted in angry denial. He let Catti-brie continue, for he could not dismiss the importance of the observant woman’s perceptions.
“Suren the world’s not fair, me friend. Suren by the measure of hearts, ye been wronged. But are ye after the assassin for yer own anger? Will killing Entreri cure the wrong?”
Drizzt did not answer, but his look turned stubbornly grim again.
“Look in the mirror, Drizzt Do’Urden,” Catti-brie said, “without the mask. Killin’ Entreri won’t change the color of his skin—or the color of yer own.”
Again Drizzt had been slapped, and this time it brought an undeniable ring of truth with it. He fell back in his chair, looking upon Catti-brie as he had never looked upon her before. Where had Bruenor’s little girl gone? Before him loomed a woman, beautiful and sensitive and laying bare his soul with a few words. They had shared much, it was true, but how could she know him so very well? And why had she taken the time?
“Ye’ve truer friends than ever ye’ll know,” Catti-brie said, “and not for the way ye twirl a sword. Ye’ve others who would call themselves friend if only they could get inside the length of yer arm—if only ye’d learn to look.”
Drizzt considered the words. He remembered the Sea Sprite and Captain Deudermont and the crew, standing behind him even when they knew his heritage.
“And if only ye’d ever learned to love,” Catti-brie continued, her voice barely audible. “Suren ye’ve let things slip past, Drizzt Do’Urden.”
Drizzt studied her intently, weighing the glimmer in her dark, saucerlike eyes. He tried to fathom what she was getting at, what personal message she was sending to him.
The door burst open suddenly, and Wulfgar bounded into the room, a smile stretching the length of his face and the eager look of adventure gleaming in his pale blue eyes. “Good that you are back,” he said to Drizzt. He moved behind Catti-brie and dropped an arm comfortably across her shoulders. “The night has come, and a bright moon peeks over the eastern rim. Time for the hunt!”
Catti-brie put her hand on Wulfgar’s and flashed him an adoring smile. Drizzt was glad they had found each other. They would grow together in a blessed and joyful life, rearing children that would no doubt be the envy of all the northland.
Catti-brie looked back to Drizzt. “Just for yer thoughts, me friend,” she said quietly, calmly. “Are ye more trapped by the way the world sees ye or by the way ye see the world seein’ ye?”
The tension eased out of Drizzt’s muscles. If Catti-brie was right in her observations, he would have a lot of thinking to do.
“Time to hunt!” Catti-brie cried, satisfied that she had gotten her point across. She rose beside Wulfgar and headed for the door, but she turned her head over her shoulder to face Drizzt one final time, giving him a look that told him that perhaps he should have asked for more from Catti-brie back in Icewind Dale, before Wulfgar had entered her life.
Drizzt sighed as they left the room and instinctively reached for the magical mask.
Instinctively? he wondered.
Drizzt dropped the thing suddenly and fell back in the chair in thought, clasping his hands behind his head. He glanced around, hoping, but the room had no mirror.
17. Impossible Loyalties
LaValle held his hand within the pouch for a long moment, teasing Pook. They were alone with the eunuchs, who didn’t count, in the central chamber of the top level. LaValle had promised his master a gift beyond even the news of the ruby pendant’s return, and Pook knew that the wizard would offer such a promise with great care. It was not wise to disappoint the guildmaster.