The Last Threshold

Drizzt stopped short and glanced around, ensuring that they were alone and would not be overheard.

“Jarlaxle recommended that we spend the rest of the season or more,” Drizzt admitted.

“Sounds like a good reason to turn around and leave,” Entreri replied.

“There are powerful forces seeking us—seeking me, at least—and they will find you, as well,” Drizzt admitted.

“Draygo Quick,” Dahlia reasoned.

“That is one.”

“What do you know?” Entreri insisted.

“The drow from Gauntlgrym,” Drizzt admitted. “They have come to realize my identity, I am told.”

“Wonderful,” Entreri muttered.

“What does this mean?” asked Dahlia.

“It means, welcome to your new home,” said the dour assassin.

“When the trail grows cold, Jarlaxle will inform us,” Drizzt said. “And there are worse places to live. Is there somewhere you would rather be?”

The pointed question elicited a curious response from Entreri: a shrug that came as an admission that indeed, this place was likely as good as any other.

“We have made some enemies, it would seem,” Dahlia admitted. “Draygo Quick, Szass Tam, and now these dark elves. Is there a corner of the world far enough removed.”

“If there is, we have now found it,” Entreri remarked.

They drank for free that night, for Drizzt was recognized in the tavern, and their table was often visited by Bryn Shander citizens, offering drinks, or even a stay at their home if the trio were looking for accommodations, and asking Drizzt for stories of the long-ago days.

“To see a drow so welcomed,” Entreri said sarcastically in one of the few moments when the three found themselves alone. “Truly touching.”

“Stokely,” Drizzt reasoned. “Apparently, our dwarf friends returned to Ten-Towns from Gauntlgrym with tales of heroism that were well-received. And I notice that you haven’t refused the free food or drink.”

“Free? I earn it by tolerating their insufferable intrusions,” Entreri said. “I haven’t killed any of them yet, so I deserve the food—and it is quite possible that the drink will prevent me from murdering any in the near future.”

“If our time here is to be no more than a constant recitation of the heroics of Drizzt, then I will head back to Luskan and take my chances with Draygo Quick,” Dahlia put in, drawing laughter from both Drizzt and Entreri—but Drizzt’s mirth dissipated quickly when he looked at the woman, peering at him over the rim of her upraised mug, and realized that there was no small measure of truth in her joke.

“Tomorrow we go to the captain of the town guard and sign on,” Drizzt said, changing the subject. “With our mounts, we can easily serve as scouts and couriers to the other communities. Who will outride us? Who will outfight us? We will find many nights such as this in all of the communities, I am sure. Not so hard a life.”

Entreri lifted his glass in toast to that, though his expression showed it to be as much of a mocking gesture as any serious agreement. Drizzt accepted and welcomed that, however, knowing it to be the best he could expect from that one, and seeing that there really was a measure of acceptance in the assassin. Clearly, Entreri wasn’t planning on leaving anytime soon.

Where the dour assassin was concerned, Drizzt took his victories where he could find them.

The innkeeper offered them a pair of complimentary rooms for the night, and promised to find lodging for them thereafter, though they’d have to pay—it was the busy season in Ten-Towns, after all. Drizzt graciously accepted the generous offer, and went back to his conversation with the others, when a complimentary dinner showed up at the table, to the cheers of all in the tavern.

“Insufferable,” Entreri muttered, but Drizzt noted that Entreri ate quite eagerly.

They hadn’t finished the meal before the next interruption, a middle-aged woman moving up to the table and fixing a grin on Drizzt.

“Ah, but you’ve heard the rumors, then,” she said.

“Rumors?” Dahlia asked. She looked to Drizzt as she spoke, and he had no answers for her.

He looked at the woman more closely, a flicker of recognition in his eyes as he agreed, “Rumors?”

“About the forest, and the witch,” she replied.

Drizzt’s eyes widened. “I know you,” he mumbled, though he couldn’t remember the woman’s name.

“My da was Lathan, who’s been to the wood.”

“Tulula!” Drizzt said. “Tulula Obridock!”

“Aye, but it’s Hoerneson now,” she said. “And well met again to you, Drizzt Do’Urden.”

“What forest?” asked Dahlia. “What rumors?”

Again Drizzt felt her gaze upon him, but he could only shrug in reply, preferring to answer the second question and not the first.

“Iruladoon,” Tulula answered. “A magical forest, ’tis said to be, appearing at its whim, so they speak.”

“What is she talking about?” Entreri asked.

“Ruled by an auburn-haired witch and a halfling who lives by the lake,” Tulula said.

Entreri and Dahlia turned directly on Drizzt, who sat staring at Tulula and seeming not to even draw breath at that point, clearly overwhelmed.

“Catti-brie,” Entreri remarked quietly, nodding.

“The barbarian tribes have spoken of it of late,” Tulula confirmed. “Seems my da wasn’t so crazy, and more than a few of the folk have apologized for their jokes about crazy Lathan Obridock, and sure that they owed it to me!”

Drizzt ran his fingers through his hair. He didn’t know where to begin, or what to think, even! He scrutinized Tulula and suspected, feared, that this was no more than a woman holding on desperately to her father’s reputation. Did he dare allow his hopes to soar yet again?

“Ah, but the crazy Lady Hoerneson’s captured you, has she?” said another patron, coming over and draping an arm affectionately across Tulula’s shoulders.

“Bah for your own bluster, Rummy Hoerneson,” she said.

“Your husband?” Drizzt asked.

“His brother,” Rummy corrected. “As soon as I heard you were back in town, I knew Tulula would run to you.”

“These rumors …” Drizzt started to ask.

“Nonsense and nothing more,” said Rummy.

“Three have seen it!” Tulula protested.

“Three took your coins to say they’ve seen it, you mean,” Rummy countered.

“They were speaking of it before ever did I see them,” Tulula protested.

“Because they knew you would come running, purse in hand,” Rummy said with a great laugh. “You’ve been looking for that forest since your da passed, and who can blame you? But a band of drunken barbarians looking for more to drink isn’t anything to send this poor drow here swimming across Dinneshere!”

“What tribe?” Drizzt asked.

“Oh, don’t you think it!” Rummy Hoerneson cried.

“Elk,” Tulula explained. “Tribe of the Elk. They’re following the herd back into the foothills, and came through to market. They’d be fair high up in the Spine of the World by now, I’m thinking.”

Not even considering the movement, Drizzt reflexively turned his head to the southeast, for he knew well the route and destination of the caribou herds.

“Have you ever seen it?” he asked the woman.

“Went across Dinneshere only the one time with yourself, and again a few years later, when my da passed.” She shook her head. “Never seen it.”

“None ever seen it,” Rummy grumbled.

“Catti-brie,” Dahlia said, her tone terse, and she almost spat out the last part of the thought, aiming her venom at Drizzt, “long dead.”

Drizzt swung his head around to regard her.

“Right?” she asked.

Drizzt just stared.

“You cannot even say it?” Dahlia asked incredulously.

Entreri gave a little laugh and Drizzt glared at him.

The tension growing thick around them, Tulula and Rummy offered quick salutations to Drizzt and his friends, welcoming them to Ten-Towns, then promptly hustled away.

“So, when do we head out to find the Tribe of the Elk?” Entreri asked when they were alone, and Drizzt glared all the harder—to no discernible effect.

“We are going, you know,” Entreri said to Dahlia. “Or he is, at least.”

Dahlia’s glower more than matched the one Drizzt wore.

The drow relented and sat back. “Two of my friends were lost to me, many years ago,” he began to explain.

“Your lover and a friend, you mean,” said Dahlia.

Drizzt nodded, but corrected, “My wife. And yes, a friend. They were taken from us in an extraordinary manner—”

“I know the story,” Dahlia said, biting through each word as it escaped her lips, and never blinking.

“You brought us to this forsaken land to chase a ghost?” Entreri asked, still seeming more amused than concerned.

“I have heard nothing of Iruladoon for many years until this very meeting,” Drizzt protested. “Not in many years. Not since before I first ventured to Gauntlgrym.”

“But you mean to go now,” Dahlia said. She stood up and headed for the door, leaving Drizzt to stare blankly, overwhelmed and confused by the reaction.

“You truly are an idiot,” Artemis Entreri said, laughing still some more.

Drizzt rose and started to follow Dahlia, and heard Entreri remark, “As you are about to prove yet again,” as he moved away. That gave the drow pause, but only for a moment, and he hustled out the door.

Dahlia stood on the street with her back to him, her arms crossed over her chest as if she were chilly, though the night was quite warm. Drizzt moved up behind her and gently touched her shoulder.

“Dahlia,” he said, or started to say, for she wheeled around and slapped him hard across the face.

“Why?” he managed to ask before her right arm swung again, and this time, the agile and strong Drizzt caught her by the wrist.

Across came her slapping left hook, and Drizzt caught that one, too.

“Dahlia,” he pleaded.

She head-butted him, her forehead smashing into his nose, and as he staggered back, letting go of her wrists. She kicked up at him, aiming for his groin. He managed to turn his hip in and catch the foot on his thigh, but still it stung.

Dahlia pursued—in the moonlight, he could see tears streaking her cheeks.

A form rushed past Drizzt and intervened as Artemis Entreri cut off her advance and held her back, trying futilely to calm her.

“Fine, then, we’ll go find your ghost!” Dahlia said. “And oh, but you can hug your dear dead Catti-brie, and would that her corpse freezes your heart forevermore!”

Drizzt held one arm out to the side helplessly, his other hand pinching his bleeding nose, as he tried vainly to begin to understand this outburst.

“Well, we leave in the morning, then,” Entreri said, glancing back as he bulled Dahlia away. “A wonderful summer journey, I expect!”