The words stung Drizzt profoundly. He recalled his last angry encounter with Wulfgar, over the barbarian's treatment of Catti-brie those seven years before in Mithral Hall. They had fought viciously with Drizzt emerging as victor. And he recalled his first fight against Wulfgar, when Bruenor had captured the lad and brought him into the dwarven clan in Icewind Dale after the barbarians had tried to raid Ten Towns. Bruenor had charged Drizzt with training Wulfgar as a fighter, and those first lessons between the two had proven especially painful for the young and overly proud barbarian. But that was not the encounter to which Drizzt was now referring.
"I mean the first time that we fought together side by
side against a real enemy," he explained.
Wulfgar's eyes narrowed as he considered the memory, a glimpse at his friendship with Drizzt from many years ago.
"Biggrin and the verbeeg," Drizzt reminded. "You and I and Guenhwyvar charging headlong into a lair full of giants."
The anger melted from Wulfgar's face. He managed a rare smile and nodded.
"A tough one was Biggrin," Drizzt went on. "How many times did we hit the behemoth? It took a final throw from you to drive the dagger-"
"That was a long time ago," Wulfgar interrupted. He couldn't manage to maintain the smile, but at least he did not sink right back into the explosive anger. Wulfgar again found a more even keel, much like his detached, almost ambivalent attitude when they had first started out on this journey.
"But you do remember?" Drizzt pressed, his grin growing across his black face, that telltale twinkle in his lavender eyes.
"Why …" Wulfgar started to ask, but stopped short and sat studying his friend. He hadn't seen Drizzt in such a mood in a long, long time, even well before his fateful fight with the handmaiden of the demon queen Lolth back in Mithral Hall. This was a flash of Drizzt from the days before the quest to reclaim the dwarven kingdom, an image of the drow in those times when Wulfgar honestly feared that Drizzt's recklessness would soon put him and the drow in a situation from which they could not escape.
Wulfgar liked the image.
"We have some giants readying to waylay travelers on the road," the drow said. "Our pace will be slower out of the dale, now that we have agreed to accompany
Master Camlaine. It seems to me that a side journey to deal with these dangerous marauders might be in order."
It was the first hint of an eager sparkle in Wulfgar's eye that Drizzt had seen since they had been reunited in the ice cave after the defeat of Errtu.
"Have you spoken with the others?" the barbarian asked.
"Just me and you," Drizzt explained. "And Guenhwyvar, of course. She would not appreciate being left out of this fun."
The pair left camp long after sunset, waiting for Catti-brie, Regis, and Bruenor to fall asleep. With the drow leading, having no difficulty in seeing under the starry tundra sky, they went straight back to the point where the giant and the wagon tracks intersected. There, Drizzt reached into a pouch and produced the onyx panther figurine, placing it reverently on the ground. "Come to me, Guenhwyvar," he called softly.
A mist came up, swirling about the figurine, growing thicker and thicker, flowing and swirling and taking the shape of the great panther. Thicker and thicker, and then it was no mist circling the onyx likeness, but the panther herself. Guenhwyvar looked up at Drizzt with eyes showing an intelligence far beyond that indicated by her feline form.
Drizzt pointed down to the giant track, and Guenhwyvar, understanding, led them away.
She knew as soon as she opened her eyes that something was amiss. The camp was quiet, the two merchant guards sitting on the bench of the wagon, talking softly.
Catti-brie shifted up to her elbows to better survey the scene. The fire had burned low but was still bright enough to cast shadows from the bedrolls. Closest lay Regis, curled in a ball so near to the fire that Catti-brie was amazed the little fellow hadn't gone up in flames. The mound that was Bruenor lay just a bit further back, right where Catti-brie had said good night to her adoptive father. The woman sat up, then got to one knee, craning her neck, but she could not locate two particular forms among the sleeping.
She started for Bruenor, but changed her mind and went to Regis instead. The halfling always seemed to know….
A gentle shake only made him groan and roll tighter into a ball. A rougher shake and a call of his name only had him spitting curses and tightening even more.
Catti-brie kicked him in the rump.
"Hey!" he protested loudly, coming up suddenly.
"Where'd they go to?" the woman asked.
"What're ye about, girl?" came Bruenor's sleepy voice, the dwarf awakened by Regis's call.
"Drizzt and Wulfgar have gone out from camp," she explained, then turned her penetrating gaze back over Regis.
The halfling squirmed under the scrutiny. "Why would I know?" he argued, but Catti-brie didn't blink. Regis looked to Bruenor for support, but found the half-dressed dwarf ambling over, seeming every bit as perturbed as Catti-brie, and apparently ready, like the woman, to direct his ire the halfling's way.
"Drizzt said that they would return to us, and the caravan, tomorrow, or perhaps the day after that," the halfling admitted.
"And where'd they go off to?" Catti-brie demanded.
Regis shrugged, but Catti-brie had him by the collar, hoisting him to his feet before he ever finished the motion. "Are ye meanin' to play this game again?" she asked.
"To find Kierstaad and apologize, I would guess," the halfling said. "He deserves as much."
"Good enough if the boy's got an apology in his heart," Bruenor remarked. Seemingly satisfied with that, the dwarf turned back for his bedroll.
Catti-brie, though, stood holding Regis roughly and shaking her head. "He's not got it in him," she said, drawing the dwarf back into the conversation. "Not now, and that's not where they're off to." She moved closer to Regis as she spoke, but did let go of him. "Ye need to tell me," she said calmly. "Ye can't be playin' this game. If we're to travel half the length o' Faerun together, then we're needing a bit o' trust, and that ye're not earning."
"They went after the giants," Regis blurted. He couldn't believe that he had said it, but neither could he deny the logic of Catti-brie's argument nor the plaintive look in her beautiful eyes.
"Bah!" Bruenor snorted, stomping his bare foot— and
slamming it so hard that it sounded as if he was wearing boots. "By the brains of a pointed-headed ore-cousin! Why didn't ye tell us sooner?"
"Because you would have made me go," Regis argued, but his voice lost its angry edge when Catti-brie moved right in front of his face.
"Ye always seem to be knowing too much and tellin' too little," she growled. "As when Drizzt left Mithral Hall."
"I listen," Regis replied with a helpless shrug.
"Get dressed," Catti-brie instructed Regis, who just looked back at her incredulously.
"Ye heard her!" Bruenor roared.
"You want to go out there?" the halfling asked, pointing to the black emptiness that was the nighttime tundra. "Now?"
"Won't be the first time I pulled that durned elf from the mouth of a tundra yeti," the dwarf snorted, heading for his bedroll.
"Giants," Regis corrected.
"Even worse, then!" Bruenor roared louder, waking the rest of the camp.
"But we cannot leave," Regis protested, motioning to the three merchants and their guardsmen. "We promised to guard them. What if the giants come in behind us?"
That brought a concerned look to the faces of the five members of the merchant team, but Catti-brie didn't blink at the ridiculous thought. She just kept looking hard at Regis, and at his possessions, including the new unicorn-headed mace one of Bruenor's smithies had forged for him, a beautiful mithral and black steel item with blue sapphires set for the eyes.