“Not if he knew what you were doing to his daughter,” Catti-brie said as Drizzt wrapped her in a hug and tumbled down to the bed with her.
“If Marchion Elastul will not grant me entrance, I will walk past his gates and along my road,” Drizzt was saying when Catti-brie entered Bruenor’s chambers later on that night.
Regis was there as well, along with Torgar Hammerstriker and his Mirabarran companion, Shingles McRuff.
“He’s a stubborn one,” Shingles agreed with Drizzt after giving a nod to Catti-brie. “But ye’ve a longer road by far.”
“Oh?” Catti-brie asked.
“He’s for Icewind Dale,” Bruenor explained. “Him and Rumblebelly.”
Catti-brie stepped back at the surprising news and looked to Drizzt for an explanation.
“Me own decision,” Bruenor said. “We’re hearing that Wulfgar’s settled back there, so I’m thinking that Drizzt and Rumblebelly might be looking in on him.”
Catti-brie considered it for a few moments then nodded her agreement. She and Drizzt had discussed a journey to Icewind Dale to see their old friend. Word had come to Mithral Hall not long after the signing of the Treaty of Garumn’s Gorge that Wulfgar was well and back in Icewind Dale, and Catti-brie and Drizzt had immediately begun plotting how they might go to him.
But they had delayed, for Wulfgar’s sake. He didn’t need to see them together. He had left Mithral Hall to start anew, and it wouldn’t be fair for them to remind him of the life he could have had with Catti-brie.
“I will be back in Mithral Hall before your return,” Drizzt promised her.
“Maybe,” Catti-brie replied, but with an accepting smile.
“Both of our roads are fraught with adventure,” Drizzt said.
“And neither of us would have it any other way,” Catti-brie agreed. “I expect that’s why we’re in love.”
“Ye’re knowing that other people are in the room, I’m guessin’,” Bruenor said rather gruffly, and the two looked at the dwarf to see him shaking his head and rolling his eyes.
CHAPTER 5
THE GREATER OF TWO EVILS
W ith a sigh, Bellany Tundash rolled over to the side, away from her lover. You ask too many questions, and always at the wrong moments,” she complained.
The small man, Morik by name, scrambled over to sit beside her on the edge of the bed. They looked like two cut of the same cloth, petite and dark-haired, only Bellany’s eyes shone with a mischievousness and luster that had been lacking from Morik’s dark orbs of late. “I take an interest in your life,” he explained. “I find the Hosttower of the Arcane…fascinating.”
“You’re looking for a way to rob it, you mean.”
Morik laughed, paused and considered the possibility, then shook his head at the absurdity of the thought and remembered why he was there. “I can undo any trap ever made,” he boasted. “Except those of trickster wizards. Those traps, I leave alone.”
“Well, every door has one,” Bellany teased, and she poked Morik hard in the chest. “Ones that would freeze you, ones that would melt you…”
“Ah, so if I just open two doors simultaneously….”
“Ones that would jolt you so forcefully you would bite out that feisty tongue!” Bellany was quick to add.
In response, Morik leaned over, nibbled her ear and gave her a little lick, drawing a soft moan.
“Then do tell me all the knowledge that I need to keep it,” he whispered.
Bellany laughed and pulled away. “This is not about you at all,” she replied. “This is about that smelly dwarf. Everything seems to be about him of late.”
Morik rested back on his elbows. “He is insistent,” he admitted.
“Then kill him.”
Morik’s laugh was one of incredulity.
“Then I will kill him—or get one of the overwizards to do it. Valindra…Yes, she hates ugly things and hates dwarves most of all. She will kill the little fellow.”
Morik’s expression grew deadly serious, so much so that Bellany didn’t chuckle at her own clever remark and instead quieted and looked back at him in all seriousness.
“The dwarf is not the problem,” Morik explained, “though I’ve heard he’s devastating in battle.”
“More boast than display, I wager,” said Bellany. “Has he even fought anyone since his arrival in Luskan?”
Again Morik stopped her with a serious frown. “I know who it is he serves,” he said. “And know that he wouldn’t serve them if his exploits and proficiency were anything less than his reputation. I warn you because I care for you. The dwarf and his masters are not to be taken lightly, not to be threatened, and not to be ignored.”
“It sounds as if I should indeed inform Valindra,” said Bellany.
“If you do, I will be dead in short order. And so will you.”
“And so will Valindra, I suppose, if you’re correct in your terror-filled assessment. Do you really believe the high captains, any or all together, are of more than a pittance of concern to the Hosttower?”
“This has nothing to do with the high captains,” Morik assured her.
“The dwarf has been seen with the son of Rethnor.”
Morik shook his head.
“Then who?” she demanded. “Who are these mysterious ringleaders who seek information about the Hosttower? And if they are a threat, then why should I answer any of your questions?”
“Enemies of some within the tower, I would guess,” Morik calmly answered. “Though not necessarily enemies of the tower, if you can see the distinction.”
“Enemies of mine, perhaps.”
“No,” Morik answered. “Be glad you have my ear, and I yours.” As he said it, Morik leaned in and bit Bellany on the ear softly. “I will warn you if anything is to come of this.”
“Enemies of my friends,” the woman said, pulling away forcefully, and for the first time, there seemed no playfulness in her tone.
“You have few friends in the Hosttower,” Morik reminded her. “That’s why you come down here so often.”
“Perhaps down here, I simply feel superior.”
“To me?” Morik asked with feigned pain. “Am I just an object of lust for you?”
“In your prayers.”
Morik nodded and smiled lewdly.
“But you still haven’t given me any reason to help you,” Bellany replied. “Other than to forestall your own impending death, I mean.”
“You wound me with every word.”
“It’s a talent. Now answer.”
“Because the Hosttower does not recruit from outside the Hosttower, other than acolytes,” said Morik. “Think about it. You have spent the better part of a decade in the Hosttower, and yet you are very low in the hierarchy.”
“Wizards tend to stay for many, many years. We’re a patient lot, else we would not be wizards.”
“True, and those who come in with some heritage of power behind their name—Dornegal of Baldur’s Gate, Raurym of Mirabar—tend to fill all the vacancies that arise higher up the chain of power. But were the Hosttower to suffer many losses all at once….”
Bellany smirked at him, but her sour expression couldn’t hide the sparkle of intrigue in her dark eyes.
“Besides, you’ll help me because I know the truth of Montague Gale, who didn’t die in an accident of alchemy.”
Bellany narrowed her eyes. “Perhaps I should have eliminated the only witness,” she said, but there was no real threat in her voice. She and Morik competed on many levels—in their lovemaking most of all—but try as either might to deny the truth of their relationship, they both knew they were more than lovers; they were in love.