Streams Of Silver (23 page)

Now Silverymoon, a city founded and structured on tenets of individuality and fairness, where peoples of all races found welcome if they came in goodwill, had shunned him. All races, it seemed, except for the dark elves.

The inevitability of Drizzt’s life as an outcast had never before been so clearly laid out before him. No other city, not even a remote village, in all the Realms could offer him a home, or an existence anywhere but on the fringes of its civilization. The severe limitations of his options, and even more so, of his future hopes for change, appalled him.

He stood now under the stars, looking up at them with the same profound level of love and awe as any of his surface cousins had ever felt, but sincerely reconsidering his decision to leave the underworld.

Had he gone against a divine plan, crossed the boundaries of
some natural order? Perhaps he should have accepted his lot in life and remained in the dark city, among his own kind.

A twinkle in the night sky brought him out of his introspection. A star above him pulsed and grew, already beyond normal proportions. Its light bathed the area around Drizzt in a soft glow, and still the star pulsed.

Then the enchanting light was gone, and standing before Drizzt was a woman, her hair shining silver and her sparkling eyes holding years of experience and wisdom within the luster of eternal youth. She was tall, taller than Drizzt, and straight, wearing a gown of the finest silk and a high crown of gold and gems.

She looked upon him with sincere sympathy, as if she could read his every thought and understood completely the jumble of emotions that he himself had yet to sort through.

“Peace, Drizzt Do’Urden,” she said in a voice that chimed like sweet music. “I am Alustriel, High Lady of Silverymoon.”

Drizzt studied her more closely, though her manner and beauty left him no doubts as to her claim. “You know of me?” he asked.

“Many by now have heard of the Companions of the Hall, for that is the name Harkle Harpell has put upon your troupe. A dwarf in search of his ancient home is not so rare in the Realms, but a drow elf walking beside him certainly catches the notice of all those he passes.”

She swallowed hard and looked deeply into his lavender eyes. “It was I who denied you passage into the city,” she admitted.

“Then why come to me now?” Drizzt asked, more in curiosity than in anger, unable to reconcile that act of rejection with the person who now stood before him. Alustriel’s fairness and tolerance were well known throughout the northland, though Drizzt had begun to wonder how exaggerated the stories must be after his encounter at the guard
post. But now that he saw the high lady, wearing her honest compassion openly, he could not disbelieve the tales.

“I felt I must explain,” she replied.

“You need not justify your decision.”

“But I must,” said Alustriel. “For myself and my home as much as for you. The rejection has hurt you more than you admit.” She moved closer to him.

“It pained me as well,” she said softly,

“Then why?” Drizzt demanded, his anger slipping through his calm facade. “If you know of me, then you know as well that I carry no threat to your people.”

She ran her cool hand across his cheek. “Perceptions,” she explained. “There are elements at work in the north that make perceptions vital at this time, sometimes even overruling what is just. A sacrifice has been forced upon you.”

“A sacrifice that has become all too familiar to me.”

“I know,” Alustriel whispered. “We learned from Nesmé that you had been turned away, a scenario that you commonly face.”

“I expect it,” Drizzt said coldly.

“But not here,” Alustriel retorted. “You did not expect it from Silverymoon, nor should you have.”

Her sensitivity touched Drizzt. His anger died away as he awaited her explanation, certain now that the woman had good cause for her actions.

“There are many forces at work here that do not concern you, and should not,” she began. “Threats of war and secret alliances; rumors and suspicions that have no basis in fact, nor would make any sense to reasonable people. I am no great friend to the merchants, though they freely pass through Silverymoon. They fear our ideas and ideals as a threat to their structures of power, as well they should. They are very powerful, and would see Silverymoon more akin to their own views.

“But enough of this talk. As I said, it does not concern you. All that I ask you to understand is that, as leader of my city, I am forced at times to act for the overall good, whatever the cost to an individual.”

“You fear the lies and suspicions that might befall you if a black elf walks freely in Silverymoon?” Drizzt sighed incredulously. “Simply allowing a drow to walk among your people would implicate you in some devious alliance with the underworld?”

“You are not just any drow elf,”’ Alustriel explained. “You are Drizzt Do’Urden, a name that is destined to be heard throughout the Realms. For now, though, you are a drow who is fast becoming visible to the northern rulers, and initially at least, they will not understand that you have forsaken your people.

“And this tale gets more complicated, it seems,” Alustriel continued. “Know you that I have two sisters?”

Drizzt shook his head.

“Storm, a bard of reknown, and Dove Falconhand, a ranger. Both have taken an interest in the name of Drizzt Do’Urden— Storm as a growing legend in need of proper song, and Dove … I have yet to discern her motives. You have become a hero to her, I think, the epitome of those qualities that she, as a fellow ranger, strives to perfect. She came into the city just this morn, and knew of your impending arrival.

“Dove is many years younger than I,” Alustriel went on. “And not so wise in the politics of the world.”

“She might have sought me out,” Drizzt reasoned, seeing the implications that Alustriel feared.

“She will, eventually,” the lady answered. “But I cannot allow it now, not in Silverymoon.” Alustriel stared at him intently, her gaze hinting at deeper and more personal emotions. “And more so, I myself would have sought audience with you, as I do now.”

The implications of such a meeting within the city seemed obvious to Drizzt in light of the political struggles that Alustriel had hinted at. “Another time, another place perhaps,” he queried. “Would it bother you so much?”

She replied with a smile. “Not at all.”

Satisfaction and trepidation descended upon Drizzt all at once. He looked back to the stars, wondering if he would ever completely discover the truth about his decision to come to the surface world, or if his life would forever remain a tumult of dangled hope and shattered expectations.

They stood in silence for several moments before Alustriel spoke again.

“You came for the Vault of Sages,” she said, “to discover if anything in there spoke of Mithral Hall.”

“I urged the dwarf to go in,” Drizzt answered. “But he is a stubborn one.”

“I assumed as much,” laughed Alustriel. “But I did not want my actions to interfere with your most noble quest. I have perused the vault myself. You cannot imagine its size! You would not have known where to begin your search of the thousands of volumes that line the walls. But I know the vault as well as anyone alive. I have learned things that would have taken you and your friends tendays to find. But truthfully, very little has been written about Mithral Hall, and nothing at all that gives more than a passing hint about the general area where it lies.”

“Then perhaps we are the better for being turned away.”

Alustriel blushed in embarrassment, though Drizzt meant no sarcasm in his observation. “My guards have informed me that you plan to move on to Sundabar,” the lady said.

“True,” answered Drizzt, “and from there to Citadel Adbar if need be.”

“I advise you against this course,” said Alustriel. “From everything that I could find in the vault, and from my own
knowledge of the legends of the days when treasures flowed from Mithral Hall, my guess is that it lies in the west, not the east.”

“We have come from the west, and our trail, seeking those with knowledge of the silvery halls, has led us continually eastward,” Drizzt countered. “Beyond Silverymoon, the only hopes we have are Helm and Harbromm, both in the east.”

“Helm may have something to tell you,” Alustriel agreed. “But you will learn little from King Harbromm and the dwarves of Adbar. They themselves undertook the quest to find the ancient homeland of Bruenor’s kin just a few years ago, and they passed through Silverymoon on their journey—heading west. But they never found the place, and returned home convinced that it was either destroyed and buried deep in some unmarked mountain, or that it had never existed and was simply the ruse of southern merchants dealing their goods in the northland.”

“You do not offer much hope,” Drizzt remarked.

“But I do,” Alustriel countered “To the west of here, less than a day’s march, along an unmarked path running north from the Rauvin, lies the Herald’s Holdfast, an ancient bastion of accumulated knowledge. The herald, Old Night, can guide you, if anyone can in this day. I have informed him of your coming and he has agreed to sit with you, though he has not entertained visitors for decades, other than myself and a few select scholars.”

“We are in your debt,” said Drizzt, bowing low.

“Do not hope for too much,” Alustriel warned. “Mithral Hall came and went in the knowledge of this world in the flash of an eye. Barely three generations of dwarves ever mined the place, though I grant you that a dwarven generation is a considerable amount of time, and they were not so open with their trade. Only rarely did they allow anyone to their mines, if the tales are true. They brought out their works in the dark of night
and fed them through a secret and intricate chain of dwarven agents to be brought to market.”

“They protected themselves well from the greed of the outside world,” Drizzt observed.

“But their demise came from within the mines,” said Alustriel. “An unknown danger that may lurk there still, you are aware.”

Drizzt nodded.

“And still you choose to go?”

“I care not for the treasures, though if they are indeed as splendid as Bruenor describes, then I would wish to look upon them. But this is the dwarf’s search, his great adventure, and I would be a sorry friend indeed if I did not help him to see it through.”

“Hardly could that label be mantled upon your neck, Drizzt Do’Urden,” Alustriel said. She pulled a small vial from a fold in her gown. “Take this with you,” she instructed.

“What is it?”

“A potion of remembrance,” Alustriel explained. “Give it to the dwarf when the answers to your search seem near at hand. But beware, its powers are strong! Bruenor will walk for a time in the memories of his distant past as well as the experiences of his present.

“And these,” she said, producing a small pouch from the same fold and handing it to Drizzt, “are for all of you. Unguent to help wounds to heal, and biscuits that refresh a weary traveler.”

“My thanks and the thanks of my friends,” said Drizzt.

“In light of the terrible injustice that I have forced upon you, they are little recompense.”

“But the concern of their giver was no small gift,” Drizzt replied. He looked straight into her eyes, holding her with his intensity. “You have renewed my hope, Lady of Silverymoon.
You have reminded me that there is indeed reward for those who follow the path of conscience, a treasure far greater than the material baubles that too often come to unjust men.”

“There is, indeed,” she agreed. “And your future will show you many more, proud ranger. But now the night is half gone and you must rest. Fear not, for you are watched this night. Farewell, Drizzt Do’Urden, and may the road before you be swift and clear.”

With a wave of her hand, she faded into the starlight, leaving Drizzt to wonder if he had dreamed the whole encounter. But then her final words drifted down to him on the gentle breeze. “Farewell, and keep heart, Drizzt Do’Urden. Your honor and courage do not go unnoticed!”

Drizzt stood silently for a long while. He bent low and picked a wildflower from the riverbank, rolling it over between his fingers and wondering if he and the Lady of Silverymoon might indeed meet again on more accommodating terms. And where such a meeting might lead.

Then he tossed the flower into the Rauvin.

“Let events take their own course,” he said resolutely, looking back to the camp and his closest friends. “I need no fantasies to belittle the great treasures that I already possess.” He took a deep breath to blow away the remnants of his self-pity.

And with his faith restored, the stoic ranger went to sleep.

rizzt had little trouble convincing Bruenor to reverse their course and head back to the west. While the dwarf was anxious to get to Sundabar and find out what Helm might know, the possibility of valuable information less than a day away set him off and running.

As to how he had come by the information, Drizzt offered little explanation, saying only that he had met up with a lone traveler on the road to Silverymoon during the night. Though the story sounded contrived to them, his friends, respecting his privacy and trusting him fully, did not question him about it. When they ate breakfast, though, Regis hoped that more information would be forthcoming, for the biscuits that this traveler had given to Drizzt were truly delicious and incredibly refreshing. After only a few bites, the halfling felt as if he had spent a tenday at rest. And the magic salve immediately healed Wulfgar’s injured leg and back, and he walked without a cane for the first time since they had left the Evermoors.

Wulfgar suspected that Drizzt’s encounter had involved someone of great importance long before the drow revealed the marvelous gifts. For the drow’s inner glow of optimism, the knowing sparkle in his eyes that reflected the indomitable spirit that had kept him going through trials that would have crushed most men, had returned, fully and dramatically. The barbarian didn’t need to know the identity of the person; he was just glad that his friend had come through the depression.

When they moved out later that morning, they seemed more a party just beginning an adventure than a road-weary band. Whistling and talking, they followed the flow of the Rauvin on its westerly course. For all of the close calls, they had come through the brutal march relatively unscathed and it appeared, had made good progress toward their goal. The summer sun shone down upon them and all the pieces of the puzzle of Mithral Hall seemed to be within their grasp.

They could not have guessed that murderous eyes were upon them.

From the foothills north of the Rauvin, high above the travelers, the golem sensed the drow elf’s passing. Following the tug of magic spells of seeking that Dendybar had bestowed upon it, Bok soon looked down upon the band as they moved across the trail. Without hesitation the monster obeyed its directives and started out to find Sydney.

Bok tossed aside a boulder that lay in its path, then climbed over another that was too big to move, not understanding the advantages of simply walking around the stones. Bok’s path was clearly set and the monster refused to deviate from that course by an inch.

“He is a big one!” chuckled one of the guards at the post on the Rauvin when he saw Bok across the clearing. Even as the words left his mouth, though, the guard realized the impending danger—that this was no ordinary traveler!

Courageously, he rushed out to meet the golem head on, his sword drawn and his companion close behind.

Transfixed by his goal, Bok paid no heed to their warnings.

“Hold where you are!” the soldier commanded one final time as Bok covered the last few feet between them.

The golem did not know emotion, so it bore no anger toward the guards as they struck. They stood to block the way, though, and Bok swatted them aside without a second thought, the incredible force of its magically strong arms blasting through their parrying defenses and launching them through the air. Without even a pause, the golem continued on to the river and did not slow, disappearing under the rushing waters.

Alarms rang out in the city, for the soldiers at the gate across the river saw the spectacle at the guard post. The huge gates were drawn tight and secured as the Knights of Silver watched the Rauvin for the reappearance of the monster.

Bok kept its line straight across the bottom of the river, plowing through the silt and mud and easily holding its course against the mighty push of the currents. When the monster re-emerged directly across from the guard post, the knights lining the city gate gasped in disbelief but held their stations, grim-faced and weapons ready.

The gate was farther up the Rauvin from the angle of Bok’s chosen path. The golem continued on to the city wall, but didn’t alter its course to bring it to the gate.

It punched a hole in the wall and walked right through.

Entreri paced anxiously in his room at the Inn of the Wayward Sages, near the center of the city, “They should have come by now,” he snapped at Sydney, sitting on the bed and tightening the bonds that held Catti-brie.

Before Sydney could respond, a ball of flame appeared in the center of the room, not a real fire, but the image of flames, illusionary, like something burning in that particular spot on another plane. The fires writhed and transformed into the apparition of a robed man.

“Morkai!” Sydney gasped.

“My greetings,” replied the specter. “And the greetings of Dendybar the Mottled.”

Entreri slipped back into the corner of the room, wary if the thing. Catti-brie, helpless in her bonds, sat very still.

Sydney, versed in the subtleties of conjuring, knew that the otherworldly being was under Dendybar’s control, and she was not afraid. “Why has my master bid you to come here?” she asked boldly.

“I bear news,” replied the specter. “The party you seek was turned into the Evermoors a tenday ago, to the south of Nesmé.”

Sydney bit her lip in anticipation of the specter’s next revelation, but Morkai fell silent and waited as well.

“And where are they now?” Sydney pressed impatiently.

Morkai smiled. “Twice I have been asked, but not yet compelled!” The flames puffed again and the specter was gone.

“The Evermoors,” said Entreri. “That would explain their delay.”

Sydney nodded her agreement absently, for she had other things on her mind. “Not yet compelled,” she whispered to herself, echoing the specter’s parting words. Disturbing questions nagged at her. Why had Dendybar waited a tenday to send Morkai with the news? And why couldn’t the wizard have forced the specter to reveal more recent activity of the drow’s party? Sydney knew the dangers and limitations of summoning, and understood the tremendous drain of the act on a wizard’s power. Dendybar had conjured Morkai at least three times
recently—once when the drow’s party had first entered Luskan, and at least twice since she and her companions had set out in pursuit. Had Dendybar abandoned all caution in his obsession with the Crystal Shard? Sydney sensed that the mottled wizard’s hold over Morkai had lessened greatly, and she hoped that Dendybar would be prudent with any future summonings, at least until he had fully rested.

“Tendays could pass before they arrive!” Entreri spat, considering the news. “If ever they do.”

“You may be right,” agreed Sydney. “They might have fallen in the moors.”

“And if they have?”

“Then we go in after them,” Sydney said without hesitation.

Entreri studied her for a few moments. “The prize you seek must be great indeed,” he said.

“I have my duty, and I shall not fail my master,” she replied sharply. “Bok will find them even if they lay at the bottom of the deepest bog!”

“We must decide our course soon,” Entreri insisted. He turned his evil glare on Catti-brie. “I grow weary of watching this one.”

“Nor do I trust her,” Sydney agreed. “Though she shall prove useful when we meet with the dwarf. Three more days we will wait. After that we go back to Nesmé, and into the Evermoors if we must.”

Entreri nodded his reluctant approval of the plan. “Did you hear?” he hissed at Catti-brie. “You have three more days to live, unless your friends arrive. If they are dead in the moors, we have no need of you.”

Catti-brie showed no emotion throughout the entire conversation, determined not to let Entreri gain any advantage by learning of her weakness, or strength. She had faith that her friends were not dead. The likes of Bruenor Battlehammer
and Drizzt Do’Urden were not destined to die in an unmarked grave in some desolate fen. And Catti-brie would never accept that Wulfgar was dead until the proof was irrefutable. Holding to her faith, her duty to her friends was to maintain a blank facade. She knew that she was winning her personal battle, that the paralyzing fear Entreri held over her lessened every day. She would be ready to act when the time came. She just had to make certain that Entreri and Sydney didn’t realize it.

She had noted that the labors of the road, and his new companions, were affecting the assassin. Entreri revealed more emotion, more desperation, every day to get this job over and done. Was it possible that he might make a mistake?

“It has come!” echoed a cry from the hallway, and all three started reflexively, then recognized the voice as Jierdan’s, who had been watching the Vault of Sages. A second later, the door burst in and the soldier scrambled into the room, his breathing ragged.

“The dwarf?” Sydney asked, grabbing Jierdan to steady him.

“No!” Jierdan cried. “The golem! Bok has entered Silvery-moon! They have it trapped down by the west gate. A wizard was summoned.”

“Damn!” Sydney spat and she started from the room. Entreri moved to follow her, grabbing Jierdan’s arm and yanking him around, bringing them face to face.

“Stay with the girl,” the assassin ordered.

Jierdan glared at him. “She is your problem.”

Entreri easily could have killed the soldier right there, Catti-brie noted, hoping that Jierdan had read the assassin’s deadly look as clearly as she.

“Do as you are told!” Sydney screamed at Jierdan, ending further argument. She and Entreri left, the assassin slamming the door behind them.

“He would have killed you,” Catti-brie told Jierdan when Entreri and Sydney had gone. “You know that.”

“Silence,” Jierdan growled. “I’ve had enough of your vile words!” He approached her threateningly, fists clenched at his sides.

“Strike me, then,” Catti-brie challenged, knowing that even if he did, his code as a soldier would not allow him to continue such an assault on a helpless foe. “Though in truth I be yer only friend on this cursed road!”

Jierdan stopped his advance. “Friend?” he balked.

“As close as ye’ll find out here,” Catti-brie replied. “Ye’re a prisoner here suren as I be.” She recognized the vulnerability of this proud man, who had been reduced to servitude by the arrogance of Sydney and Entreri, and drove her point home hard. “They mean to kill ye, ye know that now, and even if ye escape the blade, ye’ll have nowhere to go. Ye’ve abandoned yer fellows in Luskan, and the wizard in the tower’d put ye to a bad end if ye ever went back there, anyway!”

Jierdan tensed in frustrated rage, but did not lash out.

“Me friends are close by,” Catti-brie continued despite the warning signs. “They be living still, I know, and we’ll be meeting them any day. That’ll be our time, soldier, to live or to die. For meself, I see a chance. Whether me friends win or I be bargained over, me life’ll be me own. But for yerself, the road looks dark indeed! If me friends win, they’ll cut ye down, and if yer mates win …” She let the grim possibilities hang unspoken for a few moments to let Jierdan weigh them fully.

“When they get what they seek, they’ll need ye no more,” she said grimly. She noted his trembling, not of fear, but of rage, and pushed him past the edge of control. “They may let ye live,” she said, snidely. “Might that they be needin’ a lackey!”