The Last Threshold

Dahlia rode with Entreri upon the nightmare that next morning, leading the way back to Kelvin’s Cairn to retrieve their other companions.

Chapter 27: Scrimshaw and Quiet Dreams

THE SIX COMPANIONS MOVED OUT OF BRYN SHANDER’S EASTERN GATE THE next morning, traveling the Eastway, a fairly smooth and straight cobblestoned road running from the main city of Ten-Towns to the easternmost of the area’s communities, aptly named Easthaven. Ambergris drove the small wagon they had rented, Afafrenfere and Effron on the bench seat at her side, while Drizzt led the way upon Andahar, with Entreri and, notably, Dahlia following astride Entreri’s nightmare.

They anticipated an easy day’s ride to Easthaven, some dozen miles away, and understood that their road would grow more perilous and difficult after that, after they forded the swollen channel that ran between the two lakes of Lac Dinneshere and Redwaters. They wouldn’t take the wagon past Easthaven, for the tundra beyond would undoubtedly prove too muddy, and Drizzt even hinted that Andahar and the nightmare might not fare well plodding around the unstable ground.

They spent only one very short night in the town of Easthaven, renting just a single room where they could store their supplies and take a short nap. They’d learned in that town that there was a ferry to take them from the town docks to the banks of Lac Dinneshere opposite the river, but alas, the captain would only offer the service before dawn.

“Too much fishin’ to get done early in the morning,” he explained.

So they were out before the dawn, the dark mound of Kelvin’s Cairn looming before them as they boarded the wide and shallow boat tied to Easthaven’s dock. The mountain shifted behind Drizzt’s left shoulder as the ferry caught the morning breeze and glided to the east. The morning sun was just beginning to peek over the flat plain stretching before them when the ferry dropped its long gangplank, and the six companions walked off the boat to the eastern bank of Lac Dinneshere.

“We’re going all the way to them mountains?” Ambergris asked, pointing to the south, to the Spine of the World range, the snow-capped peaks shining brilliantly in the dawn’s light.

“Eventually,” said Drizzt, and that surprising answer had all eyes turning his way. The drow guided those looks the other way, to the north along the large lake’s shoreline.

“The Tribe of the Elk?” Dahlia asked. “Were you not seeking them to keep your pretty dreams of Catti-brie alive?”

Her tone had Entreri rolling his eyes, Afafrenfere and Effron looking on incredulously, and Ambergris sucking in her breath as if expecting an outburst to follow.

“Aye, and they be in the foothills, so ye said,” the dwarf added, and she put a bit of jollity in her voice, something that was not lost on Drizzt.

He smiled appreciatively at the dwarf and nodded. “They will be in or around the foothills for a month or more,” he explained. “But we seek them to confirm rumors, or their place in those rumors, at least.” He looked back to the north again and nodded. “We can confirm a lot more in a day or so.”

“Yer forest is up there?”

“So he hopes,” Dahlia muttered.

Drizzt started off to the north along the shore, Ambergris and Afafrenfere moving close behind. Effron lingered, staying within earshot of Entreri and Dahlia.

“Why are we following him, then?” Entreri asked. “Let him chase his ghosts while we figure out if this place, Ten-Towns, is worth the trouble of getting here. Good enough to hide out with the drow chasing us, perhaps, but how long a wait—”

“No,” Dahlia interrupted, and she started north along the shore as well. “I want to witness this. I want to see Drizzt find his ghosts, or surrender his hope. He owes me that much at least.”

“Ah, true love,” Entreri said wistfully to Effron as he walked past the twisted warlock.

Effron stood there staring for some time, trying to figure out what was happening, before he set off in pursuit.

The drow and drider caravan entered the southern end of the pass through the Spine of the World, moving steadily northward. When they had first started out from Gauntlgrym, Tiago Baenre had pushed them hard, eager to find his victory. But when they had learned of Drizzt’s move to the north, Ravel Xorlarrin had counseled Tiago to relax, and to set a steady and careful pace. Icewind Dale was not a large region, and was fully bordered by mostly impassable mountains and the unnavigable Sea of Moving Ice.

There was nowhere for Drizzt Do’Urden to run.

Riding Byok, his magnificent lizard, Tiago looked around at his band and took comfort. They were only thirty strong, but Tiago had little doubt that they could destroy all of Ten-Towns if the communities joined together to support Drizzt—though from everything he had learned of the place, that seemed quite unlikely. Ravel had brought his most powerful spellspinners, the same seven who had helped him develop his lightning web enchantment. Ravel was the youngest of the group, but they showed great loyalty to him.

And Jearth, weapons master of House Xorlarrin, had brought along his most experienced and skilled warriors, to say nothing of Yerrininae and the five powerful driders, including his consort, who flanked the procession.

Tiago regarded Saribel, riding a lizard not far from him, and her fellow priestesses. None of them were very old, he realized, and none as accomplished in their particular field as the spellspinners or the warriors. Still, Tiago found himself holding faith in this group—surely Matron Mother Zeerith Xorlarrin had eagerly enlisted her family in this hunt, with two of her children and her House weapons master riding along.

And all for Tiago’s benefit. Drizzt was his trophy to claim, and the Xorlarrins knew it. For while Drizzt’s head would bring glory to Tiago, the more important potential for Zeerith was the continued support of the Baenres as the Xorlarrins solidified their hold on Gauntlgrym as a sister city to Menzoberranzan.

No doubt many of the replacements now moving through the Underdark tunnels to bolster the force at Gauntlgrym were, in fact, Baenres or Baenre agents.

As he considered that, as he realized the bond that was strengthening between the two families, Tiago found his gaze lingering on Saribel. He had grown fond of this one, he realized, and she had learned to please him.

With his new weapon and shield, Vidrinath and Orbcress, and certainly with the head of Drizzt Do’Urden, Tiago had come to think his ascent to the position of weapons master in House Baenre would come quickly, likely immediately upon his return to the city. Even Anzdrel wouldn’t be foolish enough to oppose him.

But now he was thinking that perhaps that wasn’t the best course before him. Surely male drow would fare better in Gauntlgrym than in Menzoberranzan, for House Xorlarrin had always afforded their males positions of great power and influence compared to the other Houses.

Perhaps Tiago would serve House Baenre better, and serve himself better, if he remained in Gauntlgrym.

He veered Byok to the side toward Saribel, the other priestesses fading back when his intent to engage the Xorlarrin became obvious.

“I do not enjoy the World Above,” she said as he approached. “I feel ever vulnerable here, with no walls in close and no ceiling preventing attacks from above.” As she spoke, she glanced up at the towering mountain walls, and she shuddered, obviously imagining some archer up there, or a giant ready to drop rocks on them.

“Our prize is well worth the trouble,” Tiago assured her.

“Your prize, you mean.”

Tiago grinned at her. “Will you not share in my glory?”

“We are your raiding party, at your command.”

“And you are no more than that?”

She looked at him curiously.

“My lover?” he asked.

“So is Berellip,” she replied, referring to her older sister. “So are most of the females in Gauntlgrym, and a fair number in Menzoberranzan, I expect.”

Tiago laughed and shrugged, but didn’t argue the point. “Yes,” he said, “but none of them, not even Berellip, could find the gain you will discover from this journey. Consider the glory I will know when I have returned with the head of Drizzt Do’Urden. My path before me will be my own to choose.”

“Weapons master of House Baenre,” she said. Tiago shook his head, but Saribel pressed on, “That has been the rumor since before we set out for Gauntlgrym.”

“House Baenre will stake a strong position in your matron mother’s desired Xorlarrin city,” he replied. “Perhaps I will embody that position.”

Saribel tried to remain calm, but her eyes widened, giving her hopes away.

“Perhaps I will take a Xorlarrin noble as my wife, joining our families in an alliance that will further both our aims,” Tiago said.

“Berellip would be the obvious choice,” Saribel said.

“My choice,” Tiago emphasized, “would not be Berellip.”

Saribel swallowed hard. “What are you—?”

“We will be married, our families will be joined,” Tiago stated plainly.

“What?” came a question from the side, and the two turned to find Ravel listening in.

“You do not approve … brother?” Tiago said.

Ravel sat upon his invisible floating disc looking back at the Baenre, his expression shifting as he digested the startling news. Gradually a grin came to dominate his face—no doubt, Tiago realized, Ravel was going through the same thought process he had just realized, and coming to the same conclusion.

“Ah, brother,” Ravel said at length. “It is good to be out on the hunt with you!”

“Particularly when our prey is cornered,” Tiago replied.

“Well, hardly be callin’ it a forest,” Ambergris said, trudging through the scraggly trees above the small, dilapidated cabin on the banks of Lac Dinneshere. “Ye sure this be the place, then?”

The dwarf stopped talking and pulled up short when she regarded Dahlia and Drizzt, the drow crouched on one knee, staring down intently at his hand. No, not at his hand, she realized, but at something he held.

“What is it?” Dahlia asked.

Drizzt looked up at her, his expression blank, and he only shook his head, as if confused, as if he couldn’t find any words at that moment.

Ambergris and Entreri arrived then, from different directions.

Drizzt closed his hand and rolled his fingers, gradually finding the strength to rise.

“What is it?” Entreri asked this time.

Drizzt looked at him, then over Entreri’s shoulder, down at Effron and Afafrenfere, who were on the small dock before the old cabin.

“Drizzt?” Dahlia prompted.

“Scrimshaw,” he answered, his voice hollow.

Dahlia reached for the hand, but Drizzt pulled it away quickly and defensively. His movement surprised her, and startled the other two as well.

Drizzt took a deep breath and brought his hand up, unfolding his fingers to reveal a small statuette depicting a woman holding a very distinctive bow, the same bow, it appeared, as the one currently draped over Drizzt’s shoulder.

“Regis’s work,” Artemis Entreri said.

“Is that her?” Dahlia asked loudly, drowning out the assassin.