“In the lead!” said Pwent, heading that way at once.
“Good guess on the door,” Bruenor said to Cordio, and he patted the cleric on the shoulder before he and Torgar started off after the battlerager.
“It wasn’t a guess,” Drizzt said under his breath, so that only Regis could hear. And Cordio, for the dwarf glanced back at Drizzt—his expression seeming rather sour, Regis thought—then moved off after his king, muttering, “Wouldn’t need pavers this far down.”
Regis looked from him to Drizzt, his expression begging answers.
“It was a free-standing house, and not a reinforced cave dwelling,” Drizzt explained.
Regis glanced around. “You think there are others, separating the exit tunnels?”
“Probably.”
“And what does that mean? There were many free-standing houses in the bowels of Mirabar. Not so uncommon a thing in underground cities.”
“True enough,” Drizzt agreed. “Menzoberranzan is comprised of many similar structures.”
“Cordio’s expression spoke of some significance,” the halfling remarked. “If this type of structure is to be expected, then why did he wear a frown?”
“Did you note the fireplace?” Drizzt asked.
“Dwarven,” Regis replied.
“Perhaps.”
“What’s wrong?”
“The fireplace was not a cooking pit, primarily,” Drizzt explained. “It was designed to throw heat into the room.”
Regis shrugged, not understanding.
“We are far enough underground so that the temperature hardly varies,” Drizzt informed him, and started off after the others.
Regis paused for just a moment, and glanced back at the revealed structure.
“Should we search this area more completely?” the halfling asked.
“Follow Bruenor,” Drizzt replied. “We will have our answers soon enough.”
They kept their questions unspoken as they hurried to join up with the four dwarves, which took some time, for the excited Bruenor led them down the tunnel at a hurried pace.
The tunnel widened considerably soon after, breaking into what seemed to be a series of parallel tracks of varying widths continuing in the same general direction. Bruenor moved without hesitation down the centermost of them, but they found it to be a moot choice anyway, since the tunnels interconnected at many junctures. What they soon discerned was that this wasn’t so much a series of tunnels as a singular pathway, broken up by pillars, columns, and other structures.
At one such interval, they came upon a low entrance, capped diagonally by a structure that had obviously been made by skilled masons, for the bricks could still be seen, and they held fast despite the passage of centuries and the apparent collapse of the building, which had sent it crashing to the side into another wall.
“Could be a shaft, pitched for a fast descent,” Bruenor remarked.
“It’s a building that tipped,” Cordio argued, and Bruenor snorted and waved his hand dismissively.
But Torgar, who had moved closer, said, “Aye, it is.” He paused and looked up. “And one that fell a long way. Or slid.”
“And how’re ye knowin’ that?” Bruenor asked, and there was no mistaking the hint of defiance. He was catching on, obviously, that things weren’t unfolding the way he’d anticipated.
Torgar was already motioning them over, and began pointing out the closest corner of the structure, where the edge of the bricks had been rounded, but not by tools.
“We see this in Mirabar all the time,” Torgar explained, running a fat thumb over the corner. “Wind wore it round. This place was under the sky, not under the rock.”
“There’s wind in some tunnels,” said Bruenor. “Currents and such blowin’ down strong from above.”
Torgar remained unconvinced. “This building was up above,” he said, shaking his head, “for years and years afore it fell under.”
“Bah!” Bruenor snorted. “Ye’re guessin’.”
“Might be that Gauntlgrym had an aboveground market,” Cordio interjected.
Drizzt looked at Regis and rolled his eyes, and as the dwarves moved off, the halfling grabbed Drizzt by the sleeve and held him back.
“You don’t believe that Gauntlgrym had an aboveground market?” he asked.
“Gauntlgrym?” Drizzt echoed skeptically.
“You don’t believe?”
“More than the market of this place was above ground, I fear,” said Drizzt. “Much more. And Cordio and Torgar see it, too.”
“But not Bruenor,” said Regis.
“It will be a blow to him. One he is not ready to accept.”
“You think this whole place was a city above ground?” Regis stated. “A city that sank into the tundra?”
“Let us follow the dwarves. We will learn what we will learn.”
The tunnels continued on for a few hundred more feet, but the group came to a solid blockage, one that sealed off all of the nearby corridors. Torgar tapped on that wall repeatedly with a small hammer, listening for echoes, and after inspecting it at several points in all the tunnels, announced to the troop, “There’s a big open area behind it. I’m knowin’ it.”
“Forges?” Bruenor asked hopefully.
Torgar could only shrug. “Only one way we’re goin’ to find out, me king.”
So they set their camp right there, down the main tunnel at the base of the wall, and while Drizzt and Regis went back up the tunnel some distance to keep watch back near the wider areas, the four dwarves devised their plans for safely excavating. Soon after they had shared their next meal, the sound of hammers rang out against the stone, none more urgent than Bruenor’s own.
CHAPTER 12
NESMÉ’S PRIDE
I had hoped to find the woman before we crossed the last expanse to Nesmé,” Wulfgar remarked to Catti-brie. Their caravan had stopped to re-supply at a nondescript, unnamed cluster of houses still a couple of days’ travel from their destination, and the last such scheduled stop on their journey.
“There are still more settlements,” Catti-brie reminded him, for indeed, the drivers had told them that they would pass more secluded lodges in the next two days.
“The houses of hunters and loners,” Wulfgar replied. “No places appropriate for Cottie to remain with Colson.”
“Unless all the refugees remained together and decided to begin their own community.”
Wulfgar replied with a knowing smile, a reflection of Catti-brie’s own feelings on the subject, to be sure. She knew as Wulfgar knew that they would find Cottie Cooperson and Colson in Nesmé.
“Two days,” Catti-brie said. “In two days, you will have Colson in your arms once more. Where she belongs.”
Wulfgar’s grim expression, even a little wince, caught her by surprise.
“We have heard of no tragedies along the road,” Catti-brie added. “If the caravan bearing Cottie and the others had been attacked, word would have already spread through these outposts. Since we are so close, we can say with confidence that Cottie and Colson reached Nesmé safely.”
“Still, I have no love of the place,” he said, “and no desire to see the likes of Galen Firth or his prideful companions ever again.”
Catti-brie moved closer and put her hand on Wulfgar’s shoulder. “We will collect the child and be gone,” she said. “Quickly and with few words. We come with the backing of Mithral Hall, and to Mithral Hall we will return with your child.”
Wulfgar’s face was unreadable, though that, of course, only reaf-firmed Catti-brie’s suspicions that something was amiss.
The caravan rolled out of the village before the next dawn, wheels creaking against the uneven strain of the perpetually muddy ground. As they continued west, the Trollmoors, the fetid swamp of so many unpleasant beasts, seemed to creep up toward them from the south. But the drivers and those more familiar with the region appeared unconcerned, and were happy to explain, often, that things had quieted since the rout of the trolls by Alustriel’s Knights in Silver and the brave Riders of Nesmé.