Cordio’s chanting anesthetized him. He looked at the casket, and he remembered Delly Curtie, the good woman who had been his wife, and who had done so well by Colson. He accepted his own failure and he moved past it. To honor Delly would be to serve Colson, and to make of himself a better man.
Delly forgave him, he knew in his heart, as he would forgive her if the situation had been reversed. That was all they could do in the end, really. Do their best, accept their mistakes, and go on to a better way.
He felt her spirit all around him, and in him. His mind scrolled through images of the woman, flashes of Delly’s smile, the tenderness on her face when they finished making love—a look, he knew without asking, that was reserved for him alone.
He recalled a moment when he had observed Delly dancing with Colson, unaware of his presence. In all the time he had known her, never had Wulfgar seen her so animated, so free, so full of life. It was as if, through Colson, and for just that moment, she had found a bit of her own childhood—or the childhood that harsh circumstances had never allowed her to truly experience. That had been Wulfgar’s rawest glance into the soul of Delly Curtie, more so even than in their lovemaking.
That was the image that lingered, the image he burned into his consciousness. Forever after, he decided, when he thought of Delly Curtie, he would first envision her dancing with Colson.
A wistful smile creased his face by the time Cordio stopped his chanting. It took Wulfgar a few moments to realize that everyone was looking at him.
“He asked if you wished to say a few words,” Drizzt quietly explained to Wulfgar.
Wulfgar nodded and looked around at the dwarves, and at Regis and Catti-brie.
“This is not where Delly Curtie would have chosen to be buried,” he said bluntly. “For all of her love for Clan Battlehammer, she was not fond of the tunnels. But she would be…she is honored that so fine a folk have done this for her.”
He looked at the casket and smiled again. “You deserved so much more than life ever offered to you. I am a better man for having known you, and I will carry you with me forever. Farewell, my wife and my love.”
He felt a hand clasp his own, and turned to see Catti-brie beside him. Drizzt put his hand over both of theirs, and Regis and Bruenor moved to join in.
Delly deserved better, Wulfgar thought, and I am not deserving of such friends as these.
The sun climbed into the bright blue sky across the Surbrin before them. To the north along the battlements, the hammers rang out, along with a chorus of dwarf voices, singing and whistling as they went about their important work. Across the Surbrin, too, many dwarves and humans were hard at work, strengthening the bridge abutments and pillars and bringing up many of the materials they’d need to properly construct the bridge that summer. For a strong hint of spring was surely in the air that fifth day of Ches, and behind the five friends, rivulets of water danced down the stony mountainside.
“It will be a short window, I am told,” Drizzt said to the others. “The river is not yet swollen with the spring melt, and so the ferry can cross. But once the melt is on in full, the pilots do not expect to execute many crossings. If you cross, you may not be able to get back until after the onset of Tarsakh, at least.”
“There is no choice in the matter,” said Wulfgar.
“It will take you tendays to get to Silverymoon and Sundabar and back anyway,” said Regis.
“Especially since my legs aren’t ready for running,” said Catti-brie. She smiled as she spoke to let the others know that there was no regret or bitterness in her off-handed comment.
“Well, we ain’t waitin’ for Ches to become an old man,” Bruenor grumbled. “If the weather’s holding, then we’re out for Gauntlgrym in days. I’m not for knowin’ how long that’s to take, but it’ll be tendays, I’m guessing. Might be the whole durned summer.”
Drizzt watched Wulfgar in particular, and noted the distance in the man’s blue eyes. Bruenor might as well have been talking about Menzoberranzan or Calimport for all Wulfgar seemed to note or to care. He looked outward—to Colson.
And farther, Drizzt knew. It didn’t matter to Wulfgar whether or not the Surbrin could be crossed again.
A few moments of silence slipped past, the five friends standing there in the morning sun. Drizzt knew that he should savor that moment, should burn it into his memory. Across from Bruenor, Regis shifted uneasily, and when Drizzt looked that way, he saw the halfling looking back at him, as if at a loss. Drizzt nodded at him and offered an accepting smile.
“The ferry docks,” said Catti-brie, turning their attention to the river, where the boat was being quickly off-loaded. “Our road awaits.”
Wulfgar nodded for her to lead on and make the arrangements, and with a curious glance at him, she did so, limping slightly and using Taulmaril as a crutch. As she went, Catti-brie kept glancing back, trying to decipher the curious scene. Wulfgar wore a serious expression as he spoke to the three, then he hugged each of them in turn. He ended with his hand firmly grasping Drizzt’s wrist, the drow similarly holding him, and the two staring long at each other, with respect and what seemed to Catti-brie to be solemn agreement.
She suspected what that might foretell, but she turned her attention back to the river and the ferry, and cast those suspicions aside.
“Come on, elf,” Bruenor said before Wulfgar had even caught up to Catti-brie at the ferry. “I’m wanting to get our maps in order for the trip. No time for wasting!”
Muttering to himself and rubbing his hands together, the dwarf moved back into the complex. Regis and Drizzt waited just a bit longer then turned and followed. They slowed in unison as they neared the open doors and the darkness of the corridor, and turned to look back to the river, and to the sun climbing into the sky beyond.
“Summer cannot come quickly enough for me,” said Regis.
Drizzt didn’t answer, but his expression wasn’t one of disagreement.
“Though I almost fear it,” Regis added, more quietly.
“Because the orcs will come?” asked Drizzt.
“Because others may not,” said Regis, and he tossed a glance at the departing duo, who had boarded the ferry and were looking to the east, and not back.
Again, Drizzt didn’t disagree. Bruenor was too preoccupied to see it, perhaps, but Regis’s fears had confirmed Drizzt’s suspicions about Wulfgar.
“Pwent’s going with us,” Bruenor announced to Drizzt and Regis when they caught up to him in his audience chamber later that day. As he spoke, he reached down to the side of his stone throne, lifted a pack, and tossed it to Drizzt.
“Just you three?” Regis asked, but he bit off the question as Bruenor reached down again and brought up a second pack, and tossed it the halfling’s way.
Regis gave a little squeak and managed to get out of the way. The pack didn’t hit the floor, though, for Drizzt snapped out his hand and plucked it from the air. The drow kept his arm extended, holding the pack out to the startled halfling.
“I’m needin’ a sneak. Yerself’s a sneak,” Bruenor explained. “Besides, ye’re the only one who’s been into the place.”
“Into the place?”
“Ye fell in the hole.”
“I was only in there for a few moments!” Regis protested. “I didn’t see anything other than the wag—”
“That makes yerself the expert,” stated Bruenor.
Regis looked to Drizzt for help, but the drow just stood there holding out the satchel. With a look back to Bruenor and his unrelenting grin, the halfling gave a resigned sigh and took the pack.