We are possessed of reason. We are possessed of generosity. We are possessed of sympathy and empathy. We have within us a better nature, and it is one that cannot be confined by the constructed walls of anything short of the concept of heaven itself. Within the very logic of that better nature, a perfect life cannot be found in a world that is imperfect.
So we dare to seek. So we dare to change. Even knowing that we will not get to “heaven” in this life is no excuse to hide within the comfort of routine. For it is in that seeking, in that continual desire to improve ourselves and to improve the world around us, that we walk the road of enlightenment, that we eventually can approach the gods with heads bowed in humility, but with confidence that we did their work, that we tried to lift ourselves and our world to their lofty standards, the image of the ideal.
— Drizzt Do’Urden
CHAPTER 15
CONVERGENCE OF CRISES
Magical horses striding long, the fiery chariot cut a line of orange across the pre-dawn sky. Flames whipped in the driving wind, but for the riders they did not burn. Standing beside Lady Alustriel, Catti-brie felt that wind indeed, her auburn hair flying wildly behind her, but the bite of the breeze was mitigated by the warmth of Alustriel’s animated cart. She lost herself in that sensation, allowing the howl of the wind to deafen her thoughts as well. For a short time, she was free to just exist, under the last twinkling stars with all of her senses consumed by the extraordinary nature of the journey.
She didn’t see the approaching silver line of the Surbrin, and was only vaguely aware of a dip in altitude as Alustriel brought the conjured chariot down low over the water, and to a running stop on the ground outside the eastern door of Mithral Hall.
Few dwarves were out at that early hour, but those who were, mostly those standing guard along the northern wall, came running and cheering for the Lady of Silverymoon. For of course they knew it was she, whose chariot had graced them several times over the past few months.
Their cheering grew all the louder when they noted Alustriel’s passenger, the Princess of Mithral Hall.
“Well met,” more than one of the bearded folk greeted.
“King Bruenor’s not yet returned,” said one, a grizzled old sort, with one eye lost and patched over, and half his great black beard torn away. Catti-brie smiled as she recognized the fierce and fiercely loyal Shingles McRuff, who had come to Mithral Hall beside Torgar Hammerstriker. “Should be along any day.”
“And be knowin’ that ye’re all welcome, and that ye’ll find all the hospitality o’ Mithral Hall for yerself,” another dwarf offered.
“That is most generous,” said Alustriel. She turned and looked back to the east as she continued, “More of my people—wizards from Silverymoon—will be coming in throughout the morn, on all manner of flight, some self-propelled and some riding ebony flies, and two on broomsticks and another on a carpet. I pray your archers will not shoot them down.”
“Ebony flies?” Shingles replied. “Flying on bugs, ye mean?”
“Big bugs,” said Catti-brie.
“Would have to be.”
“We come armed with spells of creation, for we wish to see the bridge across the Surbrin opened and secure as soon as possible,” Alustriel explained. “For the sake of Mithral Hall and for all the goodly kingdoms of the Silver Marches.”
“More well met, then!” bellowed Shingles, and he led yet another cheer.
Catti-brie moved toward the back edge of the chariot, but Alustriel took her by the shoulder. “We can fly out to the west and seek King Bruenor,” she offered.
Catti-brie paused and looked that way, but shook her head and replied, “He will return presently, I’m sure.”
Catti-brie accepted Shingles’s offered hand, and let the dwarf ease her down to the ground. Shingles was quick to Alustriel, similarly helping her, and the Lady, though not injured as was Catti-brie, graciously accepted. She moved back from her cart and motioned for the others to follow.
Alustriel could have simply dismissed the flaming chariot and the horses made of magical fire. Dispelling her own magic was easy work, of course, and the fiery team and cart alike would have flared for an instant before they winked into blackness, a final puff of smoke drifting and dissipating into the air.
But Lady Alustriel had been using that particular spell for many years, and had put her own flavor into it, both in the construction of the cart and team and in the dismissal of the magic. Figuring that the dwarves could use a bit of spirit-lifting, the powerful wizardess performed her most impressive variation of the dispelling.
The horse team snorted and reared, flames shooting from swirling, fiery nostrils. As one, they leaped into the air, straight up, the cart lurching behind them. Some twenty feet off the ground, the many sinews of fire that held the form broke apart, orange tendrils soaring every which way, and as they reached their limits, exploded with deafening bangs, throwing showers of sparks far and wide.
The dwarves howled with glee, and Catti-brie, for all of her distress, couldn’t contain a giggle.
When it ended a few heartbeats later, their ears ringing with the echoes of the retorts, their eyes blinking against the sting of the brilliant flashes, Catti-brie offered an appreciative smile to her friend and driver.
“It was just the enchantment they needed,” she whispered, and Alustriel replied with a wink.
They went into Mithral Hall side-by-side.
Early the next morning, Shingles again found himself in the role of official greeter in the region east of the hall’s eastern gate, for it was he who first caught up with the six adventurers returning from the place Bruenor had named Gauntlgrym. The old Mirabarran dwarf had directed the watch overnight, and was sorting out assignments for the workday, both along the fortifications on the northern mountain spur and at the bridge. No stranger to the work of wizards, Shingles repeatedly warned his boys to stay well back when Alustriel’s gang came out to work their dweomers. When word came that King Bruenor and the others had returned, Shingles moved fast to the south to intercept them.
“Did ye find it, then, me king?” he asked excitedly, giving voice to the thoughts and whispers of all the others around him.
“Aye,” Bruenor replied, but in a tone surprisingly unenthusiastic. “We found something, though we’re not for knowing if it’s Gauntlgrym just yet.” He motioned to the large sack that Torgar carried, and the rolled tapestry slung over Cordio’s shoulder. “We’ve some things for Nanfoodle and me scholars to look over. We’ll get our answers.”
“Yer girl’s come home,” Shingles explained. “Lady Alustriel flew her in on that chariot o’ fire. And the Lady’s here, too, along with ten Silverymoon wizards, all come to work on the bridge.”
Bruenor, Drizzt, and Regis exchanged glances as Shingles finished.
“Me girl alone?” Bruenor asked.
“With the Lady.”
Bruenor stared at Shingles.
“Wulfgar’s not returned with ’em,” the old Mirabarran dwarf said. “Catti-brie said nothing of it, and I didn’t think it me place to ask.”
Bruenor looked to Drizzt.
“He is far west,” the drow said quietly, and Bruenor inadvertently glanced out that way then nodded.
“Get me to me girl,” Bruenor instructed as he started off at a swift pace for Mithral Hall’s eastern door.
They found Catti-brie, Lady Alustriel, and the Silverymoon wizards not far down the corridor inside, the lot of them having spent the night in the hall’s easternmost quarters. After a quick and polite greeting, Bruenor begged the Lady’s pardon, and Alustriel and her wizards quickly departed the hall, heading for the Surbrin bridge.