“There,” she said, nudging the wand toward the trees.
“So you trust in the merchant’s words and believe that wand?”
“I paid good gold for it.”
“Foolishly,” Drizzt muttered under his breath, but merely to lighten the mood. It had been his coin, after all.
He turned Andahar aside and began trotting off across the small field leading to the tree line. The wand, so the merchant had explained, was imbued with a dweomer to detect undead creatures, of which there had been no shortage of late in this area, since Sylora had created the vile Dread Ring.
Drizzt pulled Andahar to a stop and swung around to regard Dahlia directly, though she hardly seemed to note his glance, so intent was she upon the wand. “Why is this suddenly so important to you?” Drizzt asked.
A startled Dahlia looked up at him. She paused for a few heartbeats before responding, “You think that letting a vampire run free is the valiant act of a good citizen?”
“The forest is full of danger, with or without a vampire.”
“So Drizzt Do’Urden wishes to leave such a stone unturned?” Dahlia quipped. “And here I was under the impression that you were a hero.”
Drizzt put on a smirk, and was glad that Dahlia was verbally jousting in such a playful manner. There were times when Dahlia hinted that there could be much more between them, times when Drizzt dared hope that he could mold these new companions into a band worthy of his memories.
Dahlia’s expression changed abruptly.
“Indulge me,” Dahlia pleaded, in all seriousness.
“You think it’s your old companion?”
“Dor’crae?” Dahlia blurted, and her surprise was genuine, Drizzt could tell. “Hardly. I destroyed him, utterly and gladly! Don’t you remember?”
Drizzt did remember, of course. Dahlia had battled Dor’crae, the dying dwarves beside them. She had driven him from the antechamber, already mortally wounded, only to fly under the deluge of the water elementals re-entering the primordial pit in Gauntlgrym. Under the assault of the rushing, magical waters, the vampire had seemingly been obliterated.
So it wasn’t the thought of Dor’crae driving Dahlia, he then understood, and he suspected another angle to Dahlia’s desire to see this through. Perhaps she believed that this Effron creature, her son, was behind the attack.
He found that he couldn’t follow his own thoughts down that road, however, given the reminder of Dor’crae’s last moments-for indeed, how could Drizzt ever forget that awful moment when he had come across the pit and into the antechamber to find his friends dead or dying beside Gauntlgrym’s all-important lever?
“Then it cannot be him, and we should …” Drizzt started to say, but his eyes widened as he considered the scene at the lever immediately following the demise of Dor’crae. He recalled Bruenor’s last words to him, sweet and sad and forever echoing in his mind, of Bruenor fast dying, the light leaving his gray eyes, and of Thibbledorf Pwent …
Thibbledorf Pwent.
Drizzt thought of the torn tent in the goblin camp, the recognizable carnage. Vampire or battlerager, he and Dahlia had debated.
All of those nagging thoughts coalesced, and Drizzt had his answer. He was right in his guess, and so was Dahlia.
Without another word, he turned around and urged Andahar forward.
“Thank you,” she whispered in his ear, but she needn’t have, for if he had been alone, Drizzt would have taken this very same course.
They slowed when they entered the tree line, Drizzt picking his way carefully through the trees and tangled branches. They had barely entered the thicket when Dahlia’s wand glowed brighter and a wisp of blue-gray fog reached out from it, wafting into the forest before them.
“Well, that is interesting,” Drizzt remarked.
“Follow it,” Dahlia instructed.
The foggy coil continued to reach out before them like a rope, guiding their way through the trees. They came past a stand of oaks, and near what they thought to be a boulder.
Andahar pulled up suddenly and snorted, and Drizzt gasped in alarm, for it was no rock before them, but a large and strange beast, a blended concoction of magic run afoul.
Part bear. Part fowl.
“So we go north,” Afafrenfere remarked. “You know this place?”
Artemis Entreri tossed his full sack over the back of the saddle and leaped astride his nightmare. “Only an hour’s ride up the road,” he explained.
“Aye, and me friend here can run like no other,” Ambergris said. “But with me short legs, I’m thinkin’ I best be riding.”
Entreri nodded, then merely walked his mount away and said over his shoulder, “A pity you’ve got no horse then, or pig.”
Ambergris put her hands on her hips and stared up at the man. “It’ll be takin’ us longer to get there, then,” she said.
“No, it will take you longer,” Entreri corrected, and he kicked his mount into movement and leaped away, charging out Neverwinter’s northern gate.
Brother Afafrenfere snorted and chuckled helplessly.
“Aye,” Ambergris agreed. “If I had a better road afore me, I’d be walkin’ away.”
“Better than … what?” the monk asked. “Do we even know what adventure Drizzt might have planned for us?”
“We need to be keepin’ him close,” Ambergris explained. “Dahlia, and aye, that one, too,” she said, nodding toward the now-distant Entreri. “If Lord Draygo or Cavus Dun comes a’huntin’, I’ll be wantin’ the blades o’ them three between me and the shades.”
Afafrenfere considered her words for a few moments, then nodded and started toward the northern gate.
“Don’t ye outrun me,” the dwarf warned. “Or I’ll put a spell on ye and leave ye held and helpless in the forest.”
The reminder of the unexpected assault in the bowels of Gauntlgrym had Afafrenfere turning around, glowering at the dwarf. “That worked once,” he replied, “but not again. Never again.”
Ambergris laughed heartily as she came up beside him. “Best spell what e’er found ye, boy,” she said. “For now ye’ve got a finer life ahead o’ ye! A life of adventure, don’t ye doubt. A life o’ battle.”
“Aye, and probably a life of battling my own companions,” he said dryly, and Ambergris laughed all the harder.
That beast, an owlbear, didn’t rise up to meet them, and Drizzt calmed quickly, recognizing that it was quite dead.
“Well now,” Dahlia said, sliding down from the unicorn’s back to stand beside the slain behemoth. And it was a behemoth, as large as a great brown bear, but with the head and powerful beak of an owl atop those powerful ursine shoulders.
“Indeed,” Drizzt agreed as he slid down.
Dahlia bent low beside the beast, ruffling the fur-the bloody fur-around its neck. “I expect that we’ve found our vampire’s most recent kill.”
“A vampire killed an owlbear?” Drizzt asked skeptically and he, too, bent low and began inspecting the corpse, but not its neck.
“So you admit that it was a vampire?” As she asked, Dahlia used both hands to pull the beast’s thick fur aside, to reveal the canine puncture wounds.
“So it would seem,” Drizzt replied. “And yet-” He put his shoulder to the owlbear and nudged it over just a bit, then similarly parted the fur, to reveal a larger hole, a much deeper puncture. “I know this wound as well.”
“Do tell.”
“A helmet spike,” Drizzt could hardly get the words out. He thought again of the grisly scene beside the lever, thought of Pwent.
“Perhaps a vampire and a battlerager are working together?”
“A dwarf allied with a vampire?” Drizzt asked doubtfully. He had another explanation, but one he wasn’t ready to share.
“Athrogate traveled beside Dor’crae.”
“Athrogate is a mercenary,” Drizzt said, shaking his head. This wasn’t just any battlerager he was considering. “Battleragers are loyal soldiers, not mercenaries.”
Dahlia stood and pointed her wand toward the forest once more. The mist reappeared and snaked away through the trees.