Over a ridge, they saw the icebergs and shifting floes floating about in the dark waters of the Sea of Moving Ice. Logic told them that they should be nearing their goal, but all of them feared that Stumpet would keep moving, would pick her way across those treacherous expanses, from floe to floe, up and down the conical bergs. Crenshinibon was known to produce towers; another of the artifact’s names was Cryshal-Tirith, which literally translated from elvish meant “crystal tower.” A ridge blocked their view of the actual shoreline, but surely any tower before the sea would have been visible to them by this time.
Stumpet, seeming oblivious to it all, continued her march to the sea. She came over the ridge first, the friends rushing to keep close behind, when a barrage of icy snowballs assailed them all.
Drizzt went into a flurry, cut left and right, ducking and slapping away at the hurled missiles with his scimitars. Regis and Catti-brie fell flat to the ground, but the two dwarves, particularly poor Stumpet, who just continued her walking, got pummeled. Bloody welts rose on the priestess’s face and she staggered more than once.
Catti-brie, recovered from the shock, put her feet under her and rushed ahead, tackling Stumpet and falling over her protectively.
The barrage stopped as abruptly as it had begun.
Drizzt had the onyx figurine on the ground in front of him, quietly calling in his panther ally. He saw the enemy then, they all did, though none of them knew what to make of the creatures. They came as ghosts, slipping from the white ice onto the still-brown shore so smoothly that they seemed part of the land. They were humanoid, bipedal, large and strong and covered in shaggy white hair.
“I’d be mean too, if I was that ugly,” Bruenor remarked, moving close to Drizzt so they could calculate their next move.
“You are,” Regis said from his prone position.
Neither the drow nor the dwarf had the time or compunction to respond to the halfling. More and more enemies came off the icy sea-flanking left and right-two score, three, and still they came.
“I’m thinking we might want to turn about,” Bruenor remarked.
Drizzt hated that thought, but it seemed their only choice. He and his friends could dole out considerable damage, had battled many mighty enemies, but no less than a hundred of these creatures faced them now. They were obviously not stupid beasts, moving in an organized and cunning fashion.
Guenhwyvar was there then, beside her master, ready to spring.
“Perhaps we can scare them off,” Drizzt whispered to Bruenor, and with a word, he sent the cat springing away, a powerful rush straight ahead.
A hail of iceballs slapped against the panther’s black sides, and even those creatures directly in Guenhwyvar’s line did not retreat, did not waver at all. Two of them were buried where they stood, but a host of others closed in, whacking at the cat with heavy clubs. Soon it was Guenhwyvar who was in full retreat.
Catti-brie, meanwhile, had climbed up from Stumpet-who immediately rose and resumed her march until Regis likewise tackled her-and strung Taulmaril. She quickly surveyed the scene and sent fly an arrow, putting the bolt right between the wide-spread legs of the largest creature to the left of her. Again, the merciful Catti-brie wanted only to scare the things away, and was surprised by the savage response. The creature didn’t flinch, as though it didn’t care whether it lived or died, and it responded, as did a score of creatures near to it, by hurling iceballs at the woman.
Catti-brie dove and rolled, but got hit several times. One strike on the temple nearly knocked her senseless. She came up in a short run, getting to the side of Drizzt, Bruenor, and the returned panther.
“I’m thinking that our road just turned the other way,” she remarked, rubbing the bruise on her forehead.
“A true warrior knows when to turn away,” Drizzt agreed, but his eyes continued to scan the icebergs on the dark sea, looking for some hint of Cryshal-Tirith, some hint that Errtu was nearby.
“Would someone please tell that to the damned dwarf!” called a flustered Regis, holding fast to one of Stumpet’s sturdy legs. The entranced priestess merely walked along with him, dragging him across the tundra.
All about them, the creatures continued to flank, passing those nasty iceballs down the line for another barrage-one that the companions suspected would be accompanied by a wild charge.
They had to leave, but had not the time to drag Stumpet along with them. If she would not turn with them, surely she would be killed.
*****
“You sent them out!” Errtu roared accusingly at the crystal shard as it hovered in midair in the highest room of the Cryshal-Tirith. From the scrying mirror, the mighty balor watched his minions, the taers, as they blocked the passage of Drizzt Do’Urden, something Errtu most certainly did not desire.
“Admit it!” the fiend bellowed.
You take dangerous chances concerning the rogue drow, came the telepathic reply. I cannot allow that.
“The taers are mine to command!” Errtu screamed. The fiend knew that he merely had to think of his responses and the sentient crystal shard would “hear” them, but Errtu needed to hear the sound of his own roar at that grim time, had to vent his outrage verbally.
“No matter,” the fiend decided a moment later. “Drizzt Do’Urden is no small foe. He and his companions will chase off the taers. You have not stopped him!”
They are unthinking tools, came Crenshinibon’s casual and confident reply. They obey my command, and will fight to the death. Drizzt Do’Urden is stopped.
Errtu didn’t doubt the declaration. Crenshinibon, though it had certainly been weakened by its joust with the antimagic sapphire, was strong enough to dominate the stupid taers. And those creatures, more than a hundred in number, were too strong and too numerous for Drizzt and his friends to defeat. They might escape-the fleet-footed drow at least-but Stumpet was doomed, as was Bruenor Battlehammer and the chubby halfling.
Errtu considered swooping out of his tower then, or of using his magical abilities to get to that beach, to face off with the drow then and there.
Crenshinibon read his thoughts easily and the image in the scrying mirror disappeared as did Errtu’s magical teleportation options, for the balor wasn’t even sure of where that particular beach might be. He could take wing, of course, and he had a general idea of where Stumpet would make the Sea of Moving Ice, but he realized that by the time he arrived, Drizzt Do’Urden would likely be dead.
The fiend turned angrily on the crystal shard, and Crenshinibon met his rage with a stream of soothing thoughts, of promises of greater power and glory.
The sentient artifact didn’t comprehend the level of Errtu’s hatred, didn’t understand that the fiend’s most important reason for coming to the Prime Material Plane was to exact revenge on Drizzt Do’Urden.
Errtu, impotent and confused, stalked from the room.
*****
“We cannot leave Stumpet,” Catti-brie said, and of course, Drizzt and Bruenor agreed.
“Hit at them hard,” the drow instructed. “Shoot your arrows to kill.”
Even as he spoke the words, the iceball volley slapped in. Poor
Stumpet got hit repeatedly; Regis took one in the head and let go of the dwarf. She continued her slow walk until three missiles hit her simultaneously, dropping her to the ground.
Catti-brie killed two taers in rapid succession, then rushed after Drizzt, Bruenor and Guenhwyvar as they charged to form a defensive ring about Stumpet and Regis. The taers were out of iceballs then, and on they came, fearlessly, brandishing clubs and howling like the north wind.
“There’s only a hunnerd o’ the durned things!” Bruenor blustered, hoisting his axe.
“And four of us!” yelled Catti-brie.
“Five,” Regis corrected, stubbornly pulling himself to his feet.
Guenhwyvar roared. Catti-brie fired, killing yet another.
Take me in hand! came a desperate plea from Khazid’hea.
The woman sent off another arrow, and then the creatures were too close. She dropped her precious bow and drew out the eager Khazid’hea.
Drizzt cut in front of her, double-slashing a taer across the throat, falling into a spin to his knees and thrusting ahead with Twinkle, driving the curving blade deep into a creature’s belly. His other scimitar slashed horizontally behind him, tripping up the next beast as it bore down on Catti-brie.
Her downward chop sent the sharp-edged Khazid’hea right through the thing’s skull and halfway down its neck. But Catti-brie had to tear her sword free immediately, and Drizzt had to get back to his feet and go into yet another scrambling maneuver, for the throng swarmed about them, closing off any escape.
They knew they were doomed ... until they heard the unified cry of “Tempus!”
Revjak and his twenty-five warriors came hard into the taer ranks, their huge weapons cutting a swath through the lines of surprised shaggy beasts.
Regis yelled out to their reinforcements, but was silenced by a taer club that slammed him on the shoulder, knocking the breath from him and sending him flying to the ground. Three of the creatures towered over him, ready to smash him down.
A flying Guenhwyvar slammed into them sidelong, the panther spinning about with all four paws raking wildly. A fourth taer slipped by the embattled three, seeking the prone halfling and the unconscious dwarven female lying beside him.
It met a growling Bruenor, or more particularly, Bruenor’s chopping axe.
Dazed, Regis was glad to see the boots of Bruenor as the sturdy dwarf straddled him.
Now Drizzt and Catti-brie worked side by side, the two friends who had been together, fighting together, for so many years.
Catti-brie caught the club of one taer in her free hand and sent Khazid’hea in a short arc, severing the creature’s other arm just below the shoulder. To her surprise and horror, though, the taer continued to press forward, and another creature came in right beside it, on Catti-brie’s left. Struggling to keep her grip firm on the first creature’s club, and with her sword all the way on the other side, the woman had no practical defense against the newcomer.
She screamed in defiance and slashed again with her sword, angling higher this time, cutting halfway through the neck of the creature she held. As she moved, Catti-brie closed her eyes, not wanting to see the incoming club.
Drizzt’s scimitar came across and under Khazid’hea’s high cut, the drow lurching violently to get his blade all the way past Catti-brie to intercept the club. The parry was perfect, as a surprised Catti-brie realized when she opened her eyes.
The woman didn’t hesitate. Drizzt had to go back to the two taers he was battling, but his desperate parry had given Catti-brie the moment she needed. She twisted wildly to face this second taer, cutting her blade the rest of the way through the dead and falling creature’s neck, and then using its momentum as it pulled free to thrust it straight ahead, right into this newest foe’s chest.
The taer fell back, but two others took its place.
As the ground around Bruenor filled with piled bodies and severed limbs, the dwarf accepted hit after hit from the taer’s clubs, belting the beasts with his mighty axe in exchange.
“Six!” he yelled as his axe dove into the sloped forehead of yet another creature, but his call was shortened as yet another beast slammed him in the back.
That one hurt, truly hurt, but Bruenor knew that he had to ignore the pain. Gasping as he turned, he launched his axe in a two-handed semicircle, chopping it deep into the side of the taer as if the creature were a tree.
The taer flew sidelong as the axe barreled in, then stood twisted over the blade, dying fast.
Bruenor heard the roar behind him and was glad to know that Guenhwyvar had untangled herself once more and was protecting his back.
Then he heard another cry, a call to the barbarian god, as Revjak and his warriors joined up with the companions. Now the ring about Regis and Stumpet was secured; now the defense was sturdy enough for Guenhwyvar to go out into the taer ranks, a muscled black ball of devastation. Drizzt and Catti-brie cut through the first line and then charged into the second.
In a matter of mere minutes, every taer was dead or downed with injuries too grievous for it to continue the battle, even though Crenshinibon’s commands went on, unabated in their relentless brainwashing assault.
Stumpet had recovered enough by then to get back to her feet and to stubbornly resume her march.
Drizzt, down on one knee, trying to catch his breath, called to Revjak, and the barbarian immediately ordered two of his strongest men to surround the dwarf and lift her off the ground. Stumpet offered no resistance, just held steady, staring blankly ahead, her feet pumping futilely in the empty air.
The smile Drizzt and Revjak exchanged was cut short, though, by a familiar voice.
“Treason!” roared Berkthgar as he and his warriors, more than twice the number Revjak had brought out, surrounded the group.
“This keeps gettin’ better and better,” Catti-brie said dryly.
“The laws, Revjak!” Berkthgar blustered. “You knew them and you disobeyed!”
“To leave Bruenor and his fellows to die?” Revjak asked incredulously, showing no fear, though it seemed to the companions that battle might soon be joined once more. “Never would I follow such a command,” Revjak went on confidently. The warriors with him, many of them nursing wounds from the taer fight, were unified in their agreement.
“Some of our people do not forget the friendship shown to us by Bruenor and Catti-brie, by Drizzt Do’Urden and all the others,” the older man finished.
“Some of us do not forget the war with Bruenor’s folk and the folk of Ten-Towns,” Berkthgar retorted, and his warriors bristled.
“I’ve heared enough,” Catti-brie whispered, and before Drizzt could stop her, she stalked across the open ground to stand right before the huge and imposing barbarian.
“Suren, ye’ve diminished,” Catti-brie said defiantly.
Calls behind the barbarian leader hinted that he should slap the impertinent woman aside. Good sense held Berkthgar in check. For, not only was Catti-brie a formidable opponent, as he had learned personally back in Settlestone when she had defeated him in private combat, but she was backed by Drizzt and by Bruenor, neither of whom the barbarian wanted to face. If he put a hand on Catti-brie, Berkthgar understood that the only thing that would keep the drow ranger off of him would be Bruenor, beating Drizzt to the attack.
“All the respect I once had for ye,” Catti-brie went on, and Berkthgar was surprised by the sudden change in her tone and the direction of her words. “Ye were the rightful leader after Wulfgar,” she said sincerely. “By deed and by wisdom. Without yer guidance, the tribe would have been lost so far away in Settlestone.”
“Where we did not belong!” Berkthgar was quick to respond.
“Agreed,” said Catti-brie, again catching the man off guard, cutting inside the direction of his ire. “Ye did right in returning to the dale and to yer god, but not to the ancient enemies. Think on the truth o’ me father, Berkthgar, and on the truth o’ Drizzt.”
“Both killers of my kin.”
“Only when yer kin came to kill,” Catti-brie said, not backing down an inch. “What cowards would they be if they did not defend their home and kin! Do ye begrudge them for fightin’ better than yer own?”
Berkthgar’s breath came in short, angry puffs. Drizzt saw it and was quick to join Catti-brie. He had heard the quiet conversation, every word, and he knew where to take it up from there.
“I know what you did,” the drow said. Berkthgar stiffened, thinking the words to be an accusation.
“To gain control of the united tribe you had to discredit he who came before you. But I warn you, for the good of all in the dale, do not get caught up in your own half-truths. The name of Berkthgar is spoken of reverently in Mithril Hall, in Silverymoon, in Longsaddle and Nesme, even in Ten-Towns and the dwarven mines. Your exploits in Keeper’s Dale will not be forgotten, though you seem to choose to forget the alliance and the good that Bruenor’s folk have done. Look to Revjak now-we owe him our lives-and decide, Berkthgar, what course is best for you and your people.”
Berkthgar was quiet then, and both Catti-brie and Drizzt knew that to be a good thing. He was not a stupid man, though often he let his emotions cloud his judgment. He did look at Revjak, and at the resolute warriors standing behind the older man, a bit battered, certainly outnumbered, and yet showing no fear. The most important point to the huge barbarian was that neither Drizzt nor Catti-brie was denying his claim of leadership. They were willing to work with him, so it seemed, and Catti-brie had even publicly compared him favorably to Wulfgar!
“And let the hammer stay with Bruenor, where it rightfully belongs,” Catti-brie dared to press, as if she was reading Berkthgar’s every thought. “Yer own sword is the weapon of yer tribe now; its legend’ll be no less than Aegis-fang’s if Berkthgar chooses wisely.”
That was bait that Berkthgar could not ignore. He visibly relaxed, so did the men following his every word, and Drizzt recognized that they had just passed an important test.
“You were wise in following Bruenor and his companions,” Berkthgar said loudly to Revjak, as much an apology as anybody had ever heard the proud barbarian offer.
“And you were wrong in denying our friendship with Bruenor,” Revjak replied. Drizzt and Catti-brie both tensed, wondering if Revjak had pushed a bit too hard, too fast.
But Berkthgar took no offense. He didn’t respond to the charge. The barbarian didn’t show that he agreed, but neither did he become defensive.
“Return with us now,” he bade Revjak.
Revjak looked to Drizzt, then to Bruenor, knowing that they still needed his help. It was two of his men, after all, who were still holding Stumpet up in the air.
Berkthgar looked first to Revjak, then followed his gaze to Bruenor, and then looked past the dwarf and to the coast looming not so far away. “You are going out onto the Sea of Moving Ice?”
A frustrated Bruenor gave Stumpet a sidelong glance. “So it’d seem,” the dwarf admitted.
“We cannot accompany you,” Berkthgar said flatly. “And this is no choice of mine, but an edict of our ancestors. No tribesman may venture out onto the floating land.”
Revjak had to nod his agreement. It was indeed an ancient edict, one put in for practicality because there was little to be gained and much to lose in venturing out onto the dangerous ice floes, the land of the white bear and the great whales.
“We would not ask for you to go,” Drizzt quickly put in, and his companions seemed surprised by that. They were going off to fight a balor and all of his devious minions, and an army of powerful barbarians might come in handy! But Drizzt knew that Berkthgar would not go against that ancient rule, and he did not want Revjak to split any further from the leader, did not want to jeopardize the healing that had begun here. Also, none of Revjak’s warriors had been killed against the taers, but that would not likely hold true if they followed Drizzt all the way to Errtu. Drizzt Do’Urden had enough blood on his hands already. For the drow ranger, this was a private battle. He would have preferred it to be him against Errtu, one against one, but he knew that Errtu would not be alone, and he could not deny his closest friends the chance to stand beside him as he would stand beside them.
“But ye admit that yer folk owe this much, at least, to Bruenor?” Catti-brie had to ask.
Again Berkthgar didn’t openly answer, but his silence, his lack of protest, was all the confirmation that the woman needed to hear.
The companions bandaged up their bruises as well as possible, bid their farewells, and thanked the barbarians. Revjak’s men put Stumpet down then, and she resumed her march. The companions plodded off after her.
The Tribe of the Elk turned south in a unified march, Berkthgar and Revjak walking side by side.
*****
Sometime later, Kierstaad came upon the scene of a hundred taer bodies bloating in the afternoon sun. It didn’t take the wily young barbarian long to figure out what had happened. Obviously the barbarians with his father had joined in the fight beside Bruenor’s group, and so many different prints were to be found that Kierstaad understood that another group-certainly one led by Berkthgar-had also come upon the scene.
Kierstaad looked to the south, wondering if his father had been escorted back to the encampment as a prisoner. He almost turned then and ran off in pursuit, but the other tracks-the ones of two dwarves, a drow, a woman, a halfling and a hunting cat-compelled him to the north.
Aegis-fang in hand, the young barbarian picked his way down to the cold coast and then out onto the broken trail of ice floes. He was breaking the ancient edicts of his people, he knew, but he dismissed that. In his mind and in his heart, he was following the footsteps of Wulfgar.