She spent many heartbeats just trying to even out her breath, and then many more trying to figure out her course. She reflexively turned east, toward the Silver Marches, her home and Mithral Hall. Perhaps she could go to Clan Battlehammer with news of Drizzt Do’Urden, who had once been their favored guest. Perhaps she could rally them to assault the castle in another plane, to launch a daring rescue.
The dwarf laughed at the absurdity of it. Three of her companions, including Afafrenfere, were gone, and the other two …
Ambergris thought of Draygo Quick; she knew much of his reputation. In that reflection, it seemed to her that Entreri, Dahlia, and Afafrenfere had been the fortunate ones.
A page in her book had turned, Ambergris realized, and with that, she took a deep and steadying breath and left the past behind, ready to find a new road.
But her old escapades might not so quickly let her go. Cavus Dun wanted her, and had the resources to find her and kill her.
Sometime later, after expending all of her magical energies to close the worst of her many wounds, she looked out her window at the small seaport opening below her balcony.
Cavus Dun would find her here, and easily, for she would surely stand out among the lesser folk of this small community. And here, she would find no allies powerful enough to ward such attacks.
She thought of Luskan, of Beniago and Ship Kurth. He would welcome her back. Perhaps he would put her aboard another of Kurth’s merchant ships, out to sea. She found herself nodding. What better place for a fugitive dwarf to be?
The next day, Ambergris secured a pony and supplies and started out from Port Llast, traveling north.
Beginning the next chapter in a life gone mad.
Chapter 19
"Why’re ye walkin’?”Athrogate asked. “back and forth and back again. If ye’re meaning to dig a trench in the floor, get me a pick!”
“There’s something afoot,” Jarlaxle answered Athrogate.
“Well, have out with it, then,” Athrogate replied, waggling his fat toes as he placed his feet comfortably on the ottoman, grinning as if that movement was directly in response to Jarlaxle’s terminology.
“It will not much concern us,” Jarlaxle replied. “Other than the trade agreement, which seems secured now.”
“Eh?” Athrogate clearly hadn’t expected that answer.
“It is an interesting time,” Jarlaxle clarified. “I envy these Netherese lords in their endeavors and grand searches. Would that I had the time to join them!”
“Eh?” an even more confused Athrogate asked.
“Indeed,” said Jarlaxle. “And I know that if we remain here any longer, I will surely be drawn into Parise Ulfbinder’s work far more than I can afford. We will take our leave this very night.”
“Eh?” Athrogate asked again, now seeming alarmed and not very happy.
“Indeed,” was all that Jarlaxle would answer.
And that very night, Jarlaxle and Athrogate rode across the rolling ground of the region that had once been the great desert of Anauroch, Jarlaxle on his nightmare, Athrogate on his hellboar. Jarlaxle rejected Athrogate’s desire to find a proper shelter, and instead camped out on the open plain. The two sat across an open fire, Athrogate cooking some fine stew, their magical mounts standing around as sentries.
“Could’ve stayed,” Athrogate mumbled. He had been silent, but clearly annoyed, throughout the ride.
“There is something afoot,” Jarlaxle replied. “Something important.”
“Yeah, yeah, and it’d keep ye too busy and all that rot ye already said.”
“You understand that Parise Ulfbinder was watching us in our room, of course,” the drow replied.
“Eh?”
“That again? Yes, I assure you,” Jarlaxle said, and he tapped his eyepatch to reinforce the strength of his claim, for that magical item was well-known to protect against telepathic or clairvoyant intrusions. “Something important is afoot. Something connected to the Spellplague and the fall of the Weave.”
“Spellplague,” Athrogate muttered. “I keep hearing that name, but I ain’t much knowing what ye’re talkin’ about.”
“As subtle as the darkness,” the drow explained. “As quiet as the shadow. For some reason, with the fall of the Weave, we are bound to the Shadowfell and her dark minions.”
“Aye, seen too many o’ the damn shadow things. So what’re ye thinking’s happening, then?”
Jarlaxle shook his head. “Our friends of Shade Enclave might be making a move at domination.”
“Of?”
“Everything?” Jarlaxle asked as much as stated. “They are spending great energy in examining the old gods. Parise asked me if Drizzt might perhaps be a Chosen of Lolth.”
“Aye, he asked me a few things about that one, as well.”
That news surprised Jarlaxle. “When did you speak-?” he started to ask.
“When yerself went to him th’other day,” Athrogate answered. “He come to me right before yerself returned, wantin’ to know about that damned ranger.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“Unicorn lady, Mylickin’ or something-”
“Mielikki,” Jarlaxle corrected.
“Aye, that’s me thinking. Heard Drizzt claim as much.”
Jarlaxle nodded, but remained intrigued by the other theory, that Lolth secretly considered Drizzt her champion of chaos, and indeed, that rogue had lived up to the billing as far as the city of Menzoberranzan was concerned.
“So ye’re thinkin’ that them shadow lords’re studying the gods and them Chosen such to find some plan o’ attack against us all?”
Jarlaxle was impressed that Athrogate had gone so quickly to that reasoning, and he reminded himself that this particular dwarf was no fool, despite his nonsensical rhyming and frivolous laughter, particularly in matters of battle strategies.
“Be interestin’ to see where we might fit into such plans of domination, eh?” the dwarf added, and Jarlaxle nodded.
Interesting indeed.
“It seems that many are interested in the rogue Do’Urden of late,” Kimmuriel said to Jarlaxle a couple of days later, when Jarlaxle and Athrogate arrived in Luskan.
“Tiago?”
“He’s a persistent one.”
“Where is Drizzt?” Jarlaxle asked.
“In or around town, though laying low, I expect,” Kimmuriel replied. “His boat arrived back in port some time ago, and he was aboard, but where he and his friends have gone, we cannot be sure.”
Jarlaxle nodded. Keeping track of any band that included Artemis Entreri would not be easy, he knew.
“Do you think that the inquiries of this Parise Ulfbinder are in any way connected to Tiago’s pursuit of Drizzt?” Kimmuriel asked. “Is it possible that the Netherese lords are trying to create a back-channel to the direct markets in Menzoberranzan?”
Jarlaxle shook his head. “Our agreement is fairly thorough,” he reminded, and Kimmuriel, who had just negotiated that very contract could not disagree. “My sense is that Parise’s interest in Drizzt extends only so far as to use Drizzt as a symbol of something larger.”
Kimmuriel nodded as Jarlaxle spoke, revealing that he was of like mind. “There have been other inquiries by the Netherese,” he explained.
“Of Drizzt?”
“No, none that I know of, but of others who have elevated themselves amongst the ranks of the mortals of Faerun. Elminster, for one. It seems that our Netherese neighbors have taken a special interest in those who have distinguished themselves in the eyes of one god or another.”
“The Chosen,” Jarlaxle reasoned. “Or perhaps they hold an interest in the gods themselves.”
“And our duty in any such a conflict?” Kimmuriel asked.
“Profit.”
“And Menzoberranzan’s role?”
“That is more interesting,” Jarlaxle admitted, meaning that he couldn’t begin to figure it out.
“If you are correct in your assumptions regarding their interest in Drizzt, then likely Menzoberranzan will be able to pick sides as is most convenient, but if you are wrong.…”