Catti-brie saw Regis stumbling his way over the ridge to the left of the cone. She saw Drizzt and Bruenor, leaning heavily on each other for support as they exited the cave. And she saw Kierstaad, being carried over the shoulder of ...
Stumpet, with her spells of healing, had done much to bolster the woman, and so the dwarf was surprised when Catti-brie gave a stifled yelp and fell down her knees. The dwarven priestess looked to her with concern, then followed her blank stare across the way, recognizing the source immediately.
“Hey,” Stumpet said, scratching her stubbly face, “is that . . .” “Wulfgar,” Catti-brie breathed.
Regis joined the four at the edge of the iceberg, and was similarly knocked off his feet when he saw who it was that they had rescued from the clutches of evil Errtu. The halfling squeaked repeatedly and launched himself into the barbarian’s arms, and Wulfgar, on the slick ice and with Kierstaad on his shoulder, pitched over backward, nearly cracking his head.
The huge man didn’t mind, though. Errtu and his wicked minions were gone and now was the time for celebration!
Almost.
Drizzt searched frantically along the stretch of the iceberg in front of the cave entrance, cursing himself repeatedly for losing faith in himself and his friends. He questioned Regis, then called out to Catti-brie and Stumpet, but none of them had seen it.
The figurine that allowed the drow to call to Guenhwyvar was gone, swallowed up in the dark sea.
With Drizzt in such a fit, Bruenor surveyed the situation and quickly took command, setting the friends to work. The first order of business was to get Catti-brie and Stumpet back to them-and fast, for Drizzt, Bruenor, and Wulfgar were wet and fast freezing, and Kierstaad needed immediate attention from the cleric.
On the ice floe, Stumpet pulled a grappling hook and heavy line from her pack, and, with the practiced throw of a seasoned climber, put the hook on the iceberg barely ten feet from her companions. Bruenor secured it quickly, then went beside Wulfgar, who was already pulling hard to bring the floating ice to shore, and pulling all the harder as he looked upon Catti-brie, his love, the woman who was to be his wife all those years ago.
Drizzt was of little help. He knelt over the edge of the iceberg, put his scimitars into the water to try and illuminate it. “I need some protection so I can go down there!” the drow called to Stumpet, who was pulling on her end of the rope and trying to offer some words of comfort to the pained ranger.
Regis, standing beside Drizzt, shook his head knowingly. The halfling had put out a line of his own, weighted at the end. He had fifty feet of cord into the water and still had not felt bottom. Even if Stumpet could enact a spell to keep Drizzt warm and to allow him to breathe underwater, he could not go that deep for very long, and could not hope to find the black figurine in the dark water.
Catti-brie and Bruenor exchanged a quick hug at the shoreline-Stumpet went right to work on Kierstaad-and then the woman and Wulfgar squared off uncomfortably.
Truly the barbarian looked ragged, his blond hair flying wildly, his beard down to his chest, and a hollow look in his eyes. He was still huge, still so well-muscled, but a slackness had come into his limbs, more a loss of spirit than of girth, Catti-brie knew.
But it was Wulfgar, and whatever scars Errtu had put on him seemed irrelevant to the woman at that moment.
Wulfgar’s heart pounded in his still-massive chest. Catti-brie did not look so different at all. A bit thicker perhaps, but that sparkle remained in her deep blue eyes, that love of life and adventure, that spirit that could not be tamed.
“I thought ye ...” Catti-brie began, but she stopped and took a deep, steadying breath. “I never once forgot ye.”
Wulfgar grabbed her up in his arms, pulling her tight to him. He tried to talk to her, to explain that only thoughts of her had kept him alive during his ordeal. But he couldn’t find the words, not a one, and so he just held her as tight as he could and they both let the tears come.
It was a heartwarming sight for Bruenor, for Regis, for Stumpet, and for Drizzt, though the drow could not take the moment to consider and enjoy it. Guenhwyvar was gone from him, a loss as great as the loss of his father, as the loss of Wulfgar. Guenhwyvar had been his companion for so many years, often his only companion, his one true friend.
He could not say goodbye to her.
It was Kierstaad, coming out of his stupor with the help of some dwarven healing magic, who broke the spell. The barbarian understood the trouble they were still in, especially with the sky growing thick with moisture and with the short day fast on the wane. It was colder out here than on the tundra, much colder, and they had little materials to set and maintain a fire.
Kierstaad knew a different way to shelter them. Still on the ground, propped on his elbows, he took up the call from Bruenor and began directing the movements. Using Khazid’hea, Catti-brie cut out blocks of ice, and the others piled them as instructed, soon building a domelike structure-an ice hut.
Not a moment too soon, for the dwarven priestess was out of spells and the cold was creeping back into the companions. Soon after, the sky opened up, unleashing a driving sleet, and then later, a fierce snowstorm.
But inside the shelter, the companions were safe and warm.
Except for Drizzt. Without Guenhwyvar, the drow felt as if he would never be warm again.
*****
The next dawn was dim and gray, the air even colder than the previous, freezing night. Even worse, the friends found that they were trapped, stranded, for the night winds had shifted the ice that gave this sea its appropriate name and their berg was too far from any others for them to get across.
Kierstaad, feeling much better, climbed to the top of the conical tip and took up his horn, blowing wildly.
But the only answer came in the form of echoes, bouncing back across the flatness of the dark sea from the numerous other ice mountains.
Drizzt spent the morning in prayer, to Mielikki and to Gwaeron Windstrom, seeking guidance from them, asking them to return to him his panther, his precious friend. He wanted Guenhwyvar to lift out of the sea, back into his arms, and prayed for just that, but Drizzt knew that it didn’t work that way.
Then he had an idea. He didn’t know if it was god-inspired or one of his own, and he didn’t care. He went to Regis first, Regis who had carved so very many wonderful objects with the bone of knucklehead trout, Regis who had created the very unicorn that hung around Drizzt’s neck.
The halfling cut an appropriate-sized block of ice and went to work, while Drizzt went to the back side of the iceberg, as far from the others as possible, and began to call.
Two hours later, the drow returned, a young seal flopping along behind him, a newfound friend. As a ranger, Drizzt knew animals, knew how to communicate with them in rudimentary terms, and knew which movements would frighten them, and which would give them confidence. He was pleased upon his return to see that Catti-brie and Bruenor, using a bow and a hastily-strung, makeshift net, had caught some fish, and the drow was quick to proffer one and toss it to the seal.
“Hey!” Bruenor howled in protest, and then the dwarf’s face brightened. “Yeah,” he said, rubbing his hands briskly together as he thought he understood the drow’s intent, “fatten the thing up.”
Drizzt’s ensuing scowl, as serious as the drow had ever been, ended that train of thought.
The drow went to Regis next, and was amazed and thrilled by the halfling’s work. Where there once had been an unremarkable block of ice there was now a near likeness, in size and shape, of the onyx figurine.
“If I had more time,” Regis started to say, but Drizzt stopped him with a wave of his hand. This would suffice.
And so they began training the seal. Drizzt tossed the ice statue into the water, yelled, “Guen!” and Regis rushed to the edge of the iceberg and scooped out the figurine in the same net Bruenor had put together for fishing. When Regis turned net and statue over to Drizzt, the drow rewarded him with one of the fish. They repeated it over and over, and finally, Drizzt put the net in the seal’s mouth, tossed the figurine into the water and yelled, “Guen!”
Sure enough, the clever creature snorted and plunged in, quickly retrieving the halfling’s sculpture. Drizzt glanced around at his friends, daring a smile of hope as he tossed a fish to the eager seal.
They went at it for more than twenty minutes, with each successive throw going farther out into the black water. Every time, the seal retrieved it perfectly, and every time, was rewarded by excitement and, more importantly, by a fish.
Then they needed a break, for the seal was tired and was no longer hungry.
The next few hours were terminally long for poor Drizzt. He sat in the ice hut, warming with his friends, while the others talked, mostly to Wulfgar, trying to bring the barbarian back to the world of the living.
It was painfully obvious to them all, especially to Wulfgar, that he had a long, long road yet to travel.
During that time, Kierstaad would occasionally go out onto the iceberg and blare his horn. The young barbarian was growing quite concerned, for if they were drifting away at all, it was farther out from the shore, and there seemed no way to navigate back to their homes. They could catch their fish, the dwarven priestess and the ice hut could do much to keep them warm, but out on the Sea of Moving Ice was no way to spend Icewind Dale’s winter! Eventually, Kierstaad knew, a blizzard would catch up to them, burying them in their hut while they slept, or a hungry white bear would come calling.
Drizzt was back to his work with the seal that afternoon, ending by having Regis distract the seal, while the drow splashed the water and called out, pretending to toss in the statue.
In leaped the seal, excitedly, but that lasted only a few moments, and finally, the frustrated creature clambered back onto the iceberg, barking in protest.
Drizzt did not reward it.
The drow kept the seal inside the ice hut that night and most of the next morning. He needed the creature to be hungry, very hungry, for he knew that they were running out of time. He could only hope that the iceberg hadn’t drifted too far from the statue.
After a couple of throws, the drow used the same distractions and sent the seal in on a futile hunt. A few minutes passed, and when it seemed as if the seal was growing frustrated, Drizzt secretly slipped the figurine into the water.
The happy seal spotted it and brought it out, and was rewarded.
“It doesn’t sink,” Regis remarked, guessing the problem. “We have to get the seal used to diving for it.” Following the logic, they weighed down the statue with Stumpet’s grappling hook, which was easily bent by Wulfgar. Drizzt was careful on the next couple of throws, making sure that the seal could follow the statue’s descent. The cunning animal performed perfectly, gliding under the dark water, out of sight, and returning with the figurine in the net every time.
They tried the ruse again, distracting the seal, while Drizzt slapped the water, and all of them held their breath when the seal went far under.
It surfaced many, many yards from the iceberg, barked to Drizzt and then disappeared again. This happened many times.
And then the seal came up right near the iceberg, leaping with joy up beside the drow, its mission complete.
With Guenhwyvar’s figurine in the net.
The friends took up a huge cheer, and Kierstaad blew furiously on his horn. This time, the young barbarian’s call was answered by more than echoes. Kierstaad looked to the others hopefully, then blew again.
Drifting through the misty sea came a single boat, Berkthgar standing tall atop its prow while a host of both dwarves and barbarians pulled with all their strength.
Kierstaad responded once more, and then handed his horn over to Wulfgar, who blew the strongest and clearest note ever heard in Icewind Dale.
From out on the dark water, Berkthgar looked upon him, and so did Revjak. It was a moment of confusion and then elation, even for proud Berkthgar.
* * * * *
On the night of their return to the dwarven mines, Drizzt retired with mixed emotions. He was so glad, impossibly thrilled, to have Wulfgar back at his side, and to have come away from an encounter with such powerful enemies with all of his friends, Guenhwyvar included, virtually unharmed.
But the drow could not help thinking about his father. For months he had pursued this course in the belief that it would lead to Zaknafein. He had built the fantasy of being with his father and mentor once more, and though he did not for a moment begrudge the fact that Errtu’s prisoner was Wulfgar and not Zaknafein, he could not easily let go of those fantasies.
He went to sleep troubled, and in that sleep, the drow dreamed.
He was awakened in his room by a ghostly presence. He went for his scimitars, but then stopped abruptly and fell back on his bed, recognizing the spirit of Zaknafein.
“My son,” the ghost said to him, and Zaknafein was smiling warmly, a proud father, a contented spirit. “All is well with me, better than you can imagine.”
Drizzt couldn’t find the words to reply, but his expression asked every question in his heart anyway.
“An old priest called me,” Zaknafein explained. “He said that you needed to know. Fare well, my son. Keep close to your friends and to your memories, and know in your heart that we will meet again.”
With that, the ghost was gone.
Drizzt remembered it all vividly the next morning, and he was indeed comforted. Logic told him that it had been a dream-until he realized that the ghost had been speaking to him in the drow tongue, and until he realized that the old priest Zaknafein had referred to could only be Cadderly.
Drizzt had already decided that he would be going back to the Spirit Soaring after the winter, bearing the crystal shard- securely tucked into the shielding coffer-as he had promised.
As the days went by and the memory of his ghostly encounter did not fade, the drow ranger found true peace, for he came to understand and to believe that it had been no dream.
*****
“They offered me the tribe,” Wulfgar said to Drizzt. It was a crisp wintry morning outside the dwarven mines, more than two months after their return from the Sea of Moving Ice.
Drizzt considered the not-unexpected news and the healthier condition of his returned friend. Then he shook his head- Wulfgar had not yet recovered, and should not take on the burden of such responsibility.
“I refused,” Wulfgar admitted.
“Not yet,” Drizzt said comfortingly.
Wulfgar looked to the blue sky, the same color as his eyes, which were shining again after six years of darkness. “Not ever,” he corrected. “That is not my place.”
Drizzt wasn’t sure that he agreed. He wondered how much of Wulfgar’s refusal was fostered by the overwhelming adjustment the barbarian was trying to make. Even the simplest things in this life seemed unfamiliar to poor Wulfgar. He was awkward with everyone, especially Catti-brie, though Bruenor and Drizzt had little doubt that the spark was rekindling between the two.
“I will guide Berkthgar, though,” Wulfgar went on. “And will accept no hostility between his people, my people, and the folk of Icewind Dale. We each have enough real enemies without creating more!”
Drizzt didn’t argue that point.
“Do you love her?” Wulfgar asked suddenly, and the drow was off his guard.
“Of course I do,” Drizzt responded truthfully. “As I love you, and Bruenor, and Regis.”
“I would not interfere-” Wulfgar started to say, but he was stopped by Drizzt’s chuckle.
“The choice is neither mine nor yours,” the drow explained, “but Catti-brie’s. Remember what you had, my friend, and remember what you, in your foolishness, nearly lost.”
Wulfgar looked long and hard at his dear friend, determined to heed that wise advice. Catti-brie’s life was Catti-brie’s to decide and whatever, or whomever, she chose, Wulfgar would always be among friends.
The winter would be long and cold, thick with snow and mercifully uneventful. Things would not be the same between the friends, could never be after all they had experienced, but they would be together again, in heart and in soul. Let no man, and no fiend, ever try to separate them again!
*****
It was one of those perfect spring nights in Icewind Dale, not too cold, but with enough of a breeze to keep the skin tingling. The stars were bright and thick. Drizzt couldn’t tell where the night sky ended and the dark tundra began. And it didn’t matter to him, Bruenor or Regis. Guenhwyvar was similarly content, prowling about on the lower rocks of Bruenor’s Climb.
“They’re friends again,” Bruenor explained, speaking of Catti-brie and Wulfgar. “He’s needin’ her now, and she’s helping to get him back.”
“You do not forget six years of torment at the hands of a fiend like Errtu in short order,” Regis agreed.
Drizzt smiled widely, thinking that his friends had found their place together once more. That notion, of course, led the drow to wonder about his own place.
“I believe that I can catch up with Deudermont in Luskan,” he said suddenly, unexpectedly. “If not there, then certainly in Waterdeep.”
“Ye durned elf, what’re ye runnin’ from this time?” the dwarf pressed.
Drizzt turned to regard him and laughed aloud. “I am not running from anything, good dwarf,” the drow replied. “But I must, on my word and for the good of all, deliver the crystal shard to Cadderly at the Spirit Soaring, in faraway Carradoon.”
“Me girl said that place was south o’ Sundabar,” Bruenor protested, thinking he had caught the drow in a lie. “Ye ain’t for sailin’ there!”
“Far south of Sundabar,” Drizzt agreed, “but closer to Baldur’s Gate than to Waterdeep. The Sea Sprite runs swiftly; Deudermont can get me much nearer to Cadderly.”
Bruenor’s bluster was defeated by the simple logic. “Durned elf,” the dwarf muttered. “I’m not much for goin’ back on a durned boat! But if we must ...”
Drizzt looked hard at the dwarf. “You are coming?”
“You think we would stay?” Regis replied, and when Drizzt turned his startled gaze on the halfling, Regis promptly reminded him that it was he, and not Drizzt, who had captured Crenshinibon.
“Of course they’re goin’,” came a familiar voice from the darkness some distance below. “As are we!”
A moment later, Catti-brie and Wulfgar walked up the steep path to join their friends.
Drizzt looked to them all, one by one, then turned away to regard the stars.
“All my life, I have been searching for a home,” the drow said quietly. “All my life, I have been wanting more than that which was offered to me, more than Menzoberranzan, more than friends who stood beside me out of personal gain. I always thought home to be a place, and indeed it is, but not in any physical sense. It is a place in here,” Drizzt said, putting a hand to his heart and turning back to look upon his companions. “It is a feeling given by true friends.
“I know this now, and know that I am home.”
“But ye’re off to Carradoon,” Catti-brie said softly.
“And so’re we!” Bruenor bellowed.
Drizzt smiled at them, laughed aloud. “If circumstances will not allow me to remain at home,” the ranger said firmly, “then I will simply take my home with me!”
From somewhere not so far away, Guenhwyvar roared. They would be out on the road, all six, before the next dawn.