Both Drizzt and Catti-brie had become quite proficient at riding horses on their trip from Mithril Hall to Waterdeep. But that had been six years before, and the only thing the companions had ridden since then were waves. By the time the caravan got around the western edge of the Spine of the World, five days out from Luskan, the two had settled back into the rhythm, though both had painful sores on their legs and buttocks.
They were at the lead, far ahead of the caravan when they reached the dale. Reached the dale!
Drizzt was about to call for Catti-brie to slow up, but she, as awestruck as the drow, was pulling tight her reigns before he ever began the command.
They were home, truly home, within a hundred miles of the place where they had first met and where their lives and their most important friendships had been shaped and forged. All the memories washed over them at that moment as they looked across the windswept tundra, heard that forlorn moan, the incessant call of the winds blowing off the glaciers to the north and east. The icewind that gave the dale its name.
Catti-brie wanted to say something to Drizzt, something profound and meaningful, and he fostered the same desires. Neither could find the words. They were too overwhelmed by simply seeing the spectacle of Icewind Dale again.
“Come along,” Drizzt said finally. The drow looked back over his shoulder, to see the six wagons of the caravan gaining ground, then looked ahead, to the beautiful and wonderful emptiness that was Icewind Dale. Kelvin’s Cairn was not in sight, was still too far away, but it would not be long.
Suddenly the drow desperately wanted to see that mountain again! How many hours and days had he spent on the side of that rocky place?
How many times had he sat upon the barren stones of Kelvin’s Cairn, looking at the stars and at the twinkling campfires of the distant barbarian encampments?
He started to tell Catti-brie to begin moving, but again, the woman seemed to share his thoughts, for she set her mount off and running before he could get his own horse moving.
Something else struck Drizzt Do’Urden then, another memory of Icewind Dale, a warning from his ranger sensibilities that this was not a safe place. Turning the final corner around the Spine of the World had put them truly in the wilderness again, where fierce tundra yeti and tribes of wild goblins roamed. He didn’t want to steal the moment from Catti-brie, not yet, but he hoped that she was sharing his thoughts once again.
Unwary people did not survive long in the unforgiving land called Icewind Dale.
They met up with no trouble that day or the next, and were on the road early before the dawn, making great progress. The mud from the spring thaw had dried and the ground was solid and flat beneath them, the wagon wheels turning easily.
The sun came up in their faces, stinging their eyes, particularly Drizzt’s lavender orbs, designed by heredity for the lightless Underdark. Even after more than two decades on the surface, after six years of sailing the bright waters of the Sea of Swords, Drizzt’s sensitive eyes had not fully adjusted to the surface light. He didn’t mind the sting, though, reveled in it, greeting the bright dawn with a smile, using the light as a reminder of how far he had come.
Later that morning, when the sun climbed high in the clear southeastern sky and the horizon before them became distinct and perfectly clear, they caught what Drizzt claimed to be their first true sight of the area that had been their home, a single flash that Drizzt decided had to be a reflection of the sun off the crystalline snow topping Kelvin’s Cairn.
Catti-brie was not so sure of that. Kelvin’s Cairn was not so high, and they were still two days of hard riding away. She didn’t express any doubts, though, hoping that the drow was right. She wanted to be home!
As did Drizzt, and their pace quickened, became so great that they left the wagons even farther behind. Finally, reason and a terse call from the driver of the lead wagon reminding them of their duty, slowed them down. The pair exchanged knowing smiles.
“Soon,” Drizzt promised.
The pace was still swift, for a short while. Then, Drizzt began to slow his horse, glancing all around, sniffing the air.
That was all the warning Catti-brie needed. She brought her horse to a trot and scanned the ground.
Everything seemed unremarkable to Drizzt. The ground was flat, brown and gray, and unbroken. He could see nothing unusual, and could hear nothing save the clip-clop of hooves on the hard ground and the moan of the wind. He could smell nothing other than the wet scent that Icewind Dale’s summer wind always carried. But that did not allow the drow to sit easier on his mount. No signs, but that was the way with monsters in the dale.
“What do ye know?” Catti-brie whispered finally.
Drizzt continued to look about. There was about a hundred yards between them and the wagons, and the distance was fast closing. Still, Drizzt’s eyes told him nothing, nor did his keen ears, nor even his sense of smell. But that sixth warrior sense knew better, knew that he and Catti-brie had missed something, had passed something by.
Drizzt took the onyx figurine from his pouch and softly called to Guenhwyvar. As the mist grew and the panther took shape, the drow motioned for Catti-brie to ready her bow, which she was already doing, and then to circle back toward the wagons, flanking right while he flanked out to the left.
The young woman nodded. The hairs on the back of her neck were tingling, her warrior instincts yelling at her to be ready. She had an arrow on Taulmaril, holding the weapons easily in one hand while her other guided the horse.
Guenhwyvar came onto the tundra with her ears flat, knowing from both the secretive tone of Drizzt’s call and her own incredible senses that enemies were about. The cat looked right to Catti-brie, then left to Drizzt, then padded silently up the middle, ready to spring to the aid of either.
Noticing the movement of his point guards, and then the presence of the panther, the lead driver slowed his wagon, then called for a general halt. Drizzt held high a scimitar, showing his agreement with the stop.
Now far to the right, Catti-brie was the first to spot an enemy. It was deep into the soil, just the top of its shaggy brown head visible, poking from a hole. A tundra yeti, the fiercest hunter of Icewind Dale. Shaggy brown in the summer, snow white in the winter, tundra yetis were known to be masters of camouflage. Catti-brie nodded at that assessment, almost in appreciation of their skills. She and Drizzt, no novices, had walked their mounts right past the beasts, oblivious to the danger. This was Icewind Dale, the young woman promptly reminded herself. Merciless and unforgiving of the smallest error.
But the error this time was the yeti’s, Catti-brie decided grimly, lifting her bow. Off streaked an arrow, hitting the unsuspecting beast right in the back of the head. It lurched forward, rebounded back violently, then slumped dead in its hole.
A split second later, the very ground seemed to explode as half a dozen yetis leaped up from similar trenches. They were powerful, shaggy beasts, looking like a cross between a human and a bear-and indeed, the lore of Icewind Dale’s barbarian tribes claimed that they were exactly that!
Back behind Drizzt and Catti-brie, right in the middle of the flanking pair, Guenhwyvar hit one beast in full stride. She knocked it back into its hole, the panther’s momentum carrying her in right behind it.
The yeti grabbed on with all its might, thinking to squeeze the life from the cat, but Guenhwyvar’s powerful rear legs raked at the beast and held it at bay.
Meanwhile, Drizzt went into a full gallop, racing right beside one spinning yeti and double slashing at it with his scimitars as he held fast to his mount with his strong legs.
The bloodied beast fell away, roaring and howling in protest, and Drizzt, bearing down on a second yeti, paid it no more heed. This second yeti was ready for him, and even worse, it was ready for his horse. Yetis had been known to stop a horse at full charge, breaking the animal’s neck in the process.
Drizzt couldn’t risk that. He angled his charge to the left of the yeti, then lifted his left leg over the saddle and dropped from his speeding mount into a run, his enchanted anklets allowing him to get his feet under him in but a few speedy strides.
He went by the surprised yeti in a wild, slashing blur, scoring several wicked hits before he was too far away to strike. Drizzt kept running, knowing that the yeti, far from finished, had turned in pursuit. When he had put enough ground between himself and the beast, he turned back, angling for another swift pass.
Then Catti-brie, too, went into a full gallop, using her legs to hold herself steady and she leaned low in the saddle, taking a bead on the next closest beast.
She fired, and missed, but had another arrow up and ready in an instant and fired again, taking the yeti in the hip.
The beast flailed at the arrow and spun in a circle, taking another arrow, and then another in the chest as it came around to face the closing woman. Still it was standing, stubbornly, as Catti-brie came upon it. Ready to improvise, the woman hooked Taulmaril over the horn of her saddle and in one flashing motion, drew out Khazid’hea, her fabulous sword.
Catti-brie rambled past, swiping hard in a downward arc, the fine edge of Khazid’hea caving in the dying beast’s skull, finishing the grim task. Down went the beast, its brain spilling from its skull onto the brown plain.
Catti-brie went right by the dying thing, replaced her sword and fired off her fifth shot with Taulmaril, this one popping into the shoulder of the next beast in line, dropping its arm lifeless to its side. Looking past the wounded yeti, Catti-brie saw the last of the yetis, which were closest to the lead wagons. In the distance she also noted the other caravan guards, a dozen sturdy fighters, riding hard to catch up to the battle.
“This fight’s our own,” the woman said quietly, determinedly, and as she closed on the wounded yeti, she hooked Taulmaril over the horn of her saddle and once more drew out Khazid’hea.
Still down in the tight hole, Guenhwyvar found her mighty claws gave her the advantage. The yeti tried to bite, but the panther was quicker, her neck more flexible. Guenhwyvar angled under the yeti’s chin, her jaws snapping onto the shaggy neck. Her claws kept up their raking motions, kept the yeti’s considerable weapons at bay, while the deadly jaws clamped tight and suffocated the beast.
The panther came out of the hole as soon as the yeti had stopped its fighting. Guenhwyvar looked left and right, to Drizzt and Catti-brie. She issued a roar and raced right, where the situation seemed far more dangerous.
Drizzt was charging at the yeti he had wounded, but pulled up short, forcing the yeti, which had been ready to meet the charge, to overcompensate. It leaned too far forward. The drow’s scimitars cut fast and hard, ripping into the yeti’s hands, severing several of the beast’s fingers.
The yeti howled and pulled in its arms. Drizzt, so impossibly quick, chased them back, snapping Twinkle into the yeti’s upper arm, and scoring a hit down low, at the beast’s waist, with his other blade. Then Drizzt went deftly out to the side, out of range before the beast could counter.
The yeti was not a stupid thing, not where combat was concerned, and it understood that it was overmatched. It turned to flee, long and loping strides that could outrun almost any man, or any elf.
But Drizzt wore the enchanted anklets, and he paced the beast easily. He was behind it and then beside it, scoring hit after hit, turning the dirty, shaggy coat bright red with spilling blood. The ranger knew the truth of tundra yetis, knew that they were not simple animal hunters. They were vicious monsters that murdered for sport as well as for food.
So he continued to pace it, would not let it flee, easily dodging the feeble attempts the beast made to strike at him, and scoring his own brutal hits repeatedly. Finally, the yeti pulled up and turned in a final, desperate rush.
Drizzt, too, charged, scimitars extended, one taking the yeti in the throat, the other in the belly.
Agile Drizzt came out the other side, right under the stumbling yeti’s reaching arm. The drow skidded to a stop and banged his blades hard against the yeti’s back, but the beast was already on the way down, already defeated. It fell headlong into the dirt.
Now it became a race between Catti-brie and the one remaining uninjured enemy to get to the yeti she had wounded in the arm.
Catti-brie won that race, and slashed hard as the yeti reached for her with its one working arm. Khazid’hea, fine-edged Khazid’hea, took that arm off cleanly, severing it at the shoulder.
The yeti went into a crazed dance, spinning all about and then toppling to the ground, its lifeblood gushing forth.
Catti-brie rushed away from it, not wanting to get caught up in that frenzied thrashing, and knowing that the fight was not yet won. She turned just in time to meet the charge of the last yeti, extending her sword and bracing herself.
The beast came straight in, arms out wide and extended.
Khazid’hea went right through its chest, but still its strong arms grasped Catti-brie’s shoulders and its momentum barreled her over backward.
As she flew and fell, Catti-brie realized the danger of a five hundred pound yeti coming down atop her. Then, suddenly, she was still falling, but the yeti was gone, simply gone, its momentum reversed by the flying Guenhwyvar.
Catti-brie hit the ground hard, managed to roll to absorb some of the force, and then came back to her feet.
The fight was over, though, with Guenhwyvar’s strong jaws clamped tight on the throat of the already dead yeti.
Catti-brie looked up from the cat, into the stare of blank amazement splayed across the faces of the other caravan guards.
Six dead tundra yetis in a matter of minutes.
Catti-brie couldn’t restrain a smile, nor could Drizzt as he came up to join her, as the men turned their horses away, shaking their heads in disbelief.
According to Cadderly, Drizzt’s reputation as a fighter had gotten them onto the caravan in the first place, and now, the pair realized, that reputation would spread wide among the merchants of Luskan. Would spread wide, as would the clear acceptance of this most unusual drow elf.
*****
Soon after, the friends were back on their mounts and back in the lead.
“Three for me,” Catti-brie remarked offhandedly.
Drizzt’s lavender orbs narrowed as he considered her. He understood the game, had played it often with Wulfgar and even more so with Bruenor, during the days of their exploits.
“Two and a half,” Drizzt corrected, remembering the panther’s role in killing the last of the beasts.
Catti-brie did the math quickly in her head and then decided that there was no harm in giving the drow the argument, though she believed that the last yeti was dead before Guenhwyvar ever got to it. “Two and a half,” she replied, “but only two for yerself!”
Drizzt couldn’t suppress a chuckle.
“And only one and a half for the cat!” Catti-brie added with a superior snap of her fingers.
Guenhwyvar, loping along beside the horses, issued a growl, and both Catti-brie and Drizzt burst out in laughter, figuring that the too-intelligent panther had understood every word.
The caravan continued into Icewind Dale without further incident, arriving ahead of schedule in Bryn Shander, the primary marketplace in the dale and the largest of the ten towns that gave this region of the dale its name. Bryn Shander was a walled city, built upon low hills and circular in design. It was located near to the exact center of the triangle created by the three lakes of Maer Dualdon, Lac Dinneshere, and Redwaters. Bryn Shander was the only town of the ten without a fishing fleet, the staple of Ten-Towns’ economy, and yet it was the most thriving of the cities, the home of the craftsmen and the merchants, the hub of politics in all the region.
Drizzt’s welcome there was not friendly, even after he was formally introduced to the gate guards, and one of them admitted that he remembered the drow ranger from when he was a boy. Catti-brie was well received, though, quite well, particularly because her father had returned to the dale and all in the city were anxious for the precious metals to begin their flow from the dwarven mines.
Because his time of work for the caravan merchants was ended, Drizzt would not have even entered Bryn Shander. He meant to turn instead straight north for the dwarven valley. Before they could settle up with the caravan leaders inside the city gates, though, the companions were informed that Cassius, the Spokesman of Bryn Shander had requested an audience with Catti-brie.
Though she was dirty from the long ride and wanted nothing more than to fall into a comfortable bed, Catti-brie could not refuse, but she insisted that Drizzt accompany her.
*****
“It went well,” the young woman remarked, later that day, when she and Drizzt left the spokesman’s mansion.
Drizzt didn’t disagree. Indeed it had gone better than Drizzt had expected, for Cassius remembered Drizzt Do’Urden well, and had greeted the drow with an unexpected smile. And now Drizzt was walking openly down the streets of Bryn Shander, suffering many curious looks, but no open hostility. Many, particularly the children, pointed and whispered, and Drizzt’s keen ears caught words such as “ranger” and “warrior” more than once, always spoken with respect.
It was good to be home, so good that Drizzt almost forgot the desperate search that had brought him here. For a short while at least, the drow didn’t have to think of Errtu and the crystal shard.
Before they reached the gate, another of Bryn Shander’s residents came running up to them, hollering their names.
“Regis!” Catti-brie shouted, turning to see the three-and-a-half-foot halfling. His curly brown hair was bobbing, as was his ample belly as he huffed along.
“You were leaving without even a visit!” the halfling cried, finally catching up to the pair. He was immediately scooped up in a tight hug by a speechless Catti-brie. “No ‘well met’ for your old friend?” Regis asked, falling back to his feet.
“We thought you would be with Bruenor,” Drizzt explained honestly, and Regis was not offended, for the explanation was simple and truly believable. Surely if Drizzt and Catti-brie had known that the halfling was in Bryn Shander, they would have gone straight to see him.
“I split my time between the mines and the city,” Regis explained. “Somebody has to serve as ambassador between the merchants and that surly father of yours!”
Catti-brie gave him another hug.
“We have dined with Cassius,” Drizzt explained. “It seems that not much has changed in Ten-Towns.”
“Except for many of the people. You know the way of the dale. Most don’t stay long, or don’t live long.”
“Cassius still rules in Bryn Shander,” Drizzt remarked.
“And Jensin Brent speaks still for Caer-Dineval,” Regis reported happily. That was good news for the companions, for Jensin Brent was among the heroes of the battle for Icewind Dale against Akar Kessel and the crystal shard. He was among the most reasonable politicians either of them had ever known.
“The good with the bad,” Regis went on, “for Kemp remains in Targos.”
“Tough old orc-kin,” Catti-brie replied quietly.
“Tougher than ever,” Regis said. “Berkthgar has returned as well.”
Drizzt and Catti-brie nodded. Both had heard rumors to that effect.
“He’s running with Revjak and the Tribe of the Elk,” the half-ling explained. “We hear little from them.”
His tone told the pair that there was more to that tale.
“Bruenor paid Revjak a visit,” Regis admitted. “It did not go well.”
Drizzt knew Revjak, understood the wise man’s soul. He knew Berkthgar, too, and it didn’t take the drow long to surmise the source of the apparent problems.
“Berkthgar’s never truly forgiven Bruenor,” Regis said.
“Not the hammer again,” said an exasperated Catti-brie.
Regis could offer no explanations, but Drizzt resolved then and there to pay the barbarians a visit of his own. Berkthgar was a noble and powerful warrior, but he could be a stubborn one, and the drow suspected that his old friend Revjak might be needing some support.
But that was business for another day. Drizzt and Catti-brie spent the night with Regis in his Bryn Shander residence, and then the three were out bright and early the next day, setting a swift pace due north for the dwarven mines.
They arrived before midday, and as they came down into the valley, an anxious Catti-brie, who had grown up in this very place, took the lead from Regis. The young woman needed no guide in this familiar setting. She went straight to the common entrance to the dwarven complex and went in without hesitation, stooping to get under the low frame so easily that it seemed as if she had never been away from the place.
She verily ran along the dimly lit corridors, pausing briefly with every dwarf she encountered-bearded folk whose faces inevitably beamed when they recognized that Catti-brie and Drizzt had returned. Conversations were polite, but very short, a well-wish from the dwarf, an inquiry by Catti-brie or Drizzt about where they might find Bruenor.
At last they came to the room where Bruenor was reportedly at work. They heard the hammer banging within; the dwarf was forging, a rare event over the last decade, since the creation of Aegis-fang.
Catti-brie cracked open the door. Bruenor had his back to her but she knew that it was him by the sturdy set of his shoulders, the wild red hair, and the helmet with one horn broken away. With the sound of his hammer and the roaring fire just to the side of him, he did not hear them enter.
The three walked right up to the oblivious dwarf and Catti-brie tapped him on the shoulder. He half-turned, hardly glancing her way.
“Get ye gone!” the dwarf grumbled. “Can’t ye see I’m fixin’ . . .”
Bruenor’s words fell away in a profound swallow. He continued to stare straight ahead for a long moment as if he was afraid to look, afraid that the quick glimpse had deceived him.
Then the red-bearded dwarf did turn, and he nearly swooned at the sight of his daughter returned, and of his best friend, come home to him after six long years. He dropped his hammer right on top of his own foot, but he didn’t seem to notice as he shuffled over a step and wrapped both Catti-brie and Drizzt in a hug so tight that they thought the powerful dwarf would surely snap their spines.
Gradually, Bruenor let Drizzt slip out of that hug, and he wrapped Catti-brie all the tighter, mumbling, “me girl,” over and over again.
Drizzt took the opportunity to bring in Guenhwyvar from her astral home, and as soon as the dwarf finally sorted himself out from Catti-brie, the panther buried him, knocking him prone and standing triumphantly above him.
“Get the durned cat off o’ me!” Bruenor roared, to which Guenhwyvar casually licked him full in the face.
“Oh, ye stupid cat,” the dwarf complained, but there was no anger in Bruenor’s voice. How could he possibly be angry with his two, no three, friends returned?
And how could that anger, if there had been any, have held up against the howls of laughter from Drizzt, Catti-brie, and Regis. A defeated Bruenor looked up to the cat, and it seemed to him as if Guenhwyvar was smiling.
The five companions spent the remainder of that day, long into the night, trading tales. Bruenor and Regis had little to say, other than to quickly retell their decision to leave Mithril Hall in Gandalug’s hands and return to Icewind Dale.
Bruenor couldn’t fully explain that choice-his choice, for Regis merely had followed along-but Drizzt could. When Bruenor’s grief over the loss of Wulfgar and his elation about the victory over the dark elves had finally dissipated, Bruenor had gotten restless, as had Catti-brie and Drizzt. The red-bearded dwarf was old, past two hundred, but not too old by the standards of the dwarven folk. He was not yet ready to settle down and live happily ever after. With Gandalug back in Mithril Hall, Bruenor, for once, could forget about responsibilities and consider his own feelings.
For their part, Drizzt and Catti-brie had much more to talk about, recounting tales of their pirate-chasing along the Sword Coast with Captain Deudermont. Bruenor, too, had sailed with the captain, though Regis did not know the man.
And the two had so many tales to tell! One battle after another-thrilling chases, music playing, and Catti-brie always straining to decipher the enemy’s insignia from her high perch. When they got to the events of the last few weeks, though, Drizzt ended the recounting abruptly.
“And so it went,” the drow said. “But even such times can become a hollow enjoyment. We both knew that it was time to come home, to find you two.”
“How’d ye know where to find us?” he asked.
Drizzt stuttered over his answer for just a moment. “Why, that was how we knew it was time to come home,” he lied. “We heard in Luskan that some dwarves had come through the city, returning to Icewind Dale. The rumors said that Bruenor Battle-hammer was among them.”
Bruenor nodded, though he knew that his friend was not telling him the truth, or at least, not all of it. Bruenor’s party had purposely avoided Luskan, and though the people there certainly knew of the march, the dwarves had not “come through the city,” as Drizzt had just claimed. The red-bearded dwarf said nothing, though, for he held faith that Drizzt would tell him the complete truth in good time.
He suspected that his friends had some monumental secret, and the dwarf figured that he knew what it was. How ironic, Bruenor privately considered, for a dwarf to have a drow elf for a son-in-law!
The group went quiet for a while, Drizzt and Catti-brie’s tales having been told in full, at least, as in full as they were apparently going to be told at this sitting. Regis went out into the hall and returned in a moment with news that the sun was high in the eastern sky.
“Good food and warm beds!” Bruenor proclaimed, and so off they went, Drizzt dismissing Guenhwyvar and promising to recall the cat as soon as she was rested.
After the short sleep, they were back together-except for Regis, who considered anything less than ten hours too short- talking and smiling. Drizzt and Catti-brie revealed nothing new about the last few weeks of their adventure, though, and Bruenor didn’t press the point, holding faith in his dear friend and his daughter.
For that brief moment, at least, all the world seemed bright and carefree.