The Halfling’s Gem (20 page)

“Yer kingdom awaits,” Catti-brie reminded him, more to dispel his guilt than to soften his belief in where he truly
belonged—a belief that the young woman wholeheartedly shared. “Yer kin from Icewind Dale’ll be here in a month, the army from Adbar in two.”

“Aye, but we can’t be going to the halls till the winter’s past.”

Catti-brie looked around for some way to deflect the sinking conversation. “Ye’ll wear it well,” she said cheerfully, indicating the bejeweled crown.

“Which?” Bruenor retorted, a sharp edge to his tongue.

Catti-brie looked at the dented helm, pitiful beside the glorious one, and nearly snorted aloud. But she turned to Bruenor before she commented, and the stern look stamped upon the dwarf’s face as he studied the old helmet told her that Bruenor had not asked in jest. At that moment, Catti-brie realized, Bruenor saw the one-horned helmet as infinitely more precious than the crown he was destined to wear.

“They’re halfway to Calimport,” Catti-brie remarked, sympathizing with the dwarf’s desires. “Maybe more.”

“Aye, and few boats’ll be leaving Waterdeep with the winter coming on,” Bruenor muttered grimly, echoing the same arguments Catti-brie had leveled on him during his second morning in the Ivy Mansion, when he had first mentioned his desire to go after his friends.

“We’ve a million preparations before us,” said Catti-brie, stubbornly holding her cheerful tone. “Suren the winter’ll pass quickly, and we’ll get the halls in time for Drizzt and Wulfgar and Regis’s return.”

Bruenor’s visage did not soften. His eyes locked on the broken helmet, but his mind wandered beyond the vision, back to the fateful scene at Garumn’s Gorge. He had at least made peace with Regis before they were separated …

Bruenor’s recollections blew away from him suddenly. He
snapped a wry glance upon Catti-brie. “Ye think they might be back in time for the fighting?”

Catti-brie shrugged “If they put right back out,” she replied, curious at the question, for she knew that Bruenor had more in mind than fighting beside Drizzt and Wulfgar in the battle for Mithral Hall. “They can be coverin’ many miles over the southland—even in the winter.”

Bruenor bounced off the bed and rushed for the door, scooping up the one-horned helmet and fitting it to his head as he went.

“Middle o’ the night?” Catti-brie gawked after him. She jumped up and followed him into the hall.

Bruenor never slowed. He marched straight to Harkle Harpell’s door and banged on it loudly enough to wake everyone in that wing of the house. “Harkle!” he roared.

Catti-brie knew better than to even try to calm him. She just shrugged apologetically to each curious head that popped into the hall to take a look.

Finally, Harkle, clad only in a nightshirt and ball-tipped cap, and holding a candle, opened his door.

Bruenor shoved himself into the room, Catti-brie in tow. “Can ye make me a chariot?” the dwarf demanded.

“A what?” Harkle yawned, trying futilely to brush his sleep away. “A chariot?”

“A chariot!” Bruenor growled. “Of fire. Like the Lady Alustriel bringed me here in! A chariot of fire!”

“Well,” Harkle stammered. “I have never—”

“Can ye do it?” Bruenor roared, having no patience now for unfocused blabbering.

“Yes … uh, maybe,” Harkle proclaimed as confidently as he could. “Actually, that spell is Alustriel’s specialty. No one here has ever …” He stopped, feeling Bruenor’s frustrated glare
boring into him. The dwarf stood straight-legged, one bare heel grinding into the floor, and his gnarled arms crossed over his chest, the stubby fingers of one hand tapping an impatient rhythm on his knotted biceps.

“I shall speak to the lady in the morning,” Harkle assured him. “I am certain—”

“Alustriel’s still here?” Bruenor interrupted

“Why, yes,” Harkle replied. “She stayed on a few extra—”

“Where is she?” Bruenor demanded.

“Down the hall.”

“Which room?”

“I shall take you to her in the morn—” Harkle began.

Bruenor grabbed the front of the wizard’s nightshirt and brought him down to a dwarf’s eye level. Bruenor proved the stronger even with his nose, for the long, pointy thing pressed Harkle’s nose flat against one of his cheeks. Bruenor’s eyes did not blink, and he spoke each word of his question slowly and distinctly, just the way he wanted the answer. “Which room?”

“Green door, beside the bannister.” Harkle gulped.

Bruenor gave the wizard a goodhearted wink and let him go. The dwarf turned right past Catti-brie, returning her amused smile with a determined shake of his head, and burst into the hall.

“Oh, he should not disturb the Lady Alustriel at this late hour!” Harkle protested.

Catti-brie could not help but laugh. “So stop him yerself!

Harkle listened to the dwarf’s heavy footsteps resounding down the hall; Bruenor’s bare feet thudded on the wooden floor like bouncing stones. “No,” Harkle answered her offer, his smile widening to match her own. “I think not.”

Abruptly awakened in the night, the Lady Alustriel appeared
no less beautiful, her silvery mane somehow mystically connected to the soft glow of the evening. Bruenor composed himself when he saw the lady, remembering her station and his manners.

“Uh, begging the lady’s pardon,” he stammered, suddenly very embarrassed by his actions.

“It is late, good King Bruenor,” Alustriel said politely, an amused smile on her face as she viewed the dwarf, dressed only in his nightshirt and broken helmet. “What might have brought you to my door at this hour?”

“What with all that’s going on about, I did not even know ye were still in Longsaddle,” Bruenor explained.

“I would have come to see you before I left,” Alustriel replied, her tone still cordial. “No need to disturb your sleep—or mine.”

“Me thoughts weren’t for good-byes,” Bruenor said. “I be needing a favor.”

“Urgently?”

Bruenor nodded emphatically. “A favor I should’ve asked afore we e’er got here.”

Alustriel led him into her room and closed the door behind them, realizing the seriousness of the dwarf’s business.

“I need another one of them chariots,” said Bruenor. “To take me to the south.”

“You mean to catch your friends and aid in the search for the halfling,” Alustriel reasoned.

“Aye, I know me place.”

“But I cannot accompany you,” Alustriel said. “I have a realm to rule; it is not my place to journey unannounced to other kingdoms.”

“I wouldn’t be askin’ ye to go,” replied Bruenor.

“Then who will drive the team? You have no experience with such magic.”

Bruenor thought for just a moment. “Harkle’ll take me!” he blurted.

Alustriel couldn’t hide a smirk as she thought of the possibilities for disaster. Harkle, like so many of his Harpell kin, usually hurt himself when spellcasting. The lady knew that she would not sway the dwarf, but she felt it her duty to point out all of the weaknesses of his plan.

“Calimport is a long way indeed,” she told him. “The trip there on the chariot will be speedy, but the return could take many months. Will not the true king of Mithral Hall lead the gathering armies in the fight for his throne?”

“He will,” Bruenor replied, “if it be possible. But me place’s with me friends. I owe them at least that!”

“You risk much.”

“No more than they’ve risked for me—many the times.”

Alustriel opened the door. “Very well,” she said, “and my respect on your decision. You will prove a noble king, Bruenor Battlehammer.”

The dwarf, for one of the few times in his life, blushed.

“Now go and rest,” said Alustriel. “I will see what I may learn this night. Meet me on the south slope of Harpell Hill before the break of dawn.”

Bruenor nodded eagerly and found his way back to his room. For the first time since he had come to Longsaddle, he slept peacefully.

Under the lightening sky of predawn, Bruenor and Harkle met Alustriel at the appointed spot. Harkle had eagerly agreed to the journey; he had always wanted a crack at driving one of Lady Alustriel’s famed chariots. He seemed out of place
next to the battle-charged dwarf, though, wearing his wizard’s robe—tucked into leather hip boots—and an oddly shaped silver helmet with fluffy white fur wings and a visor that kept flopping down over his eyes.

Alustriel had not slept the rest of that night. She had been busy staring into the crystal ball the Harpells had provided her, probing distant planes in search of clues to the whereabouts of Bruenor’s friends. She had learned much in that short time and had even made a connection to the dead mage Morkai in the spirit world to garner further information.

And what she had learned disturbed her more than a little.

She stood now, components in hand and awaiting the break of dawn, quietly facing the east. As the first rays of the sun peeked over the horizon, she swept them into her grasp and executed the spell. Minutes later, a flaming chariot and two fiery horses appeared on the hillside, magically suspended an inch from the ground. The licks of their flames sent tiny streams of smoke rising from the bedewed grass.

“To Calimport!” Harkle proclaimed, rushing over to the enchanted carriage.

“Nay,” Alustriel corrected. Bruenor turned a confused glance on her.

“Your friends are not yet in the Empire of the Sands,” the lady explained. “They are at sea and will find grave danger this day. Set your course to the southwest, to the sea, then true south with the coast in sight.” She tossed a heart-shaped locket to Bruenor. The dwarf fumbled it open and found a picture of Drizzt Do’Urden inside.

“The locket will warm when you approach the ship that carries your friends,” Alustriel said. “I created it many tendays ago, that I might have known if your group approached Silverymoon on your return from Mithral Hall.” She avoided Bruenor’s probing
gaze, knowing the myriad of questions that must have been going through the dwarf’s mind. Quietly, almost as if embarrassed, she added, “I should like it returned.”

Bruenor kept his sly remarks to himself. He knew of the growing connection between Lady Alustriel and Drizzt. It became clearer and clearer every day. “Ye’ll get it back,” he assured her. He scooped the locket up in his fist and moved to join Harkle.

“Tarry not,” Alustriel told them. “Their need is pressing this day!”

“Wait!” came a call from the hill. All three turned to see Catti-brie, fully outfitted for the road, with Taulmaril, the magical bow of Anariel that she had recovered from the ruins of Mithral Hall, slung easily over her shoulder. She ran down to the back of the chariot. “Ye weren’t meaning to leave me so?” she asked Bruenor.

Bruenor couldn’t look her in the eye. He had indeed meant to leave without so much as a good-bye to his daughter. “Bah!” he snorted. “Ye’d have only tried to stop me going!”

“Never I would!” Catti-brie growled right back at him. “Me thinkin’s that yer doing right. But ye’d do righter if ye’d move over and make room for me!”

Bruenor shook his head emphatically.

“I’ve as much the right as yerself!” Catti-brie protested.

“Bah!” Bruenor snorted again. “Drizzt and Rumblebelly are me truest friends!”

“And mine!”

“And Wulfgar’s been akin to a son to me!” Bruenor shot back, thinking he had won the round.

“And a mite bit more than that to me,” Catti-brie retorted, “if he gets back from the South!” Catti-brie didn’t even need to remind Bruenor that she had been the one who introduced him
to Drizzt. She had defeated all of the dwarf’s arguments. “Move aside, Bruenor Battlehammer, and make room! I’ve as much at stake as yerself, and I’m meaning to come along!”

“Who’ll be seeing to the armies?” Bruenor asked.

“The Harpells’ll put them up. They won’t be marching to the halls until we’re back, or until the spring at least.”

“But if both of you go and do not return,” Harkle interjected, letting the thought hang over them for a moment. “You are the only ones who know the way.”

Bruenor saw Catti-brie’s crestfallen look and realized how deeply she desired to join him on his quest. And he knew she was right in coming, for she had as much at stake in the chase across the southland as he. He thought for a moment, suddenly shifting to Catti-brie’s side in the debate. “The lady knows the way,” he said, indicating Alustriel.

Alustriel nodded. “I do,” she replied. “And I would gladly show the armies to the halls. But the chariot will carry only two riders.”

Bruenor’s sigh was as loud as Catti-brie’s. He shrugged helplessly at his daughter. “Better that ye stay,” he said softly. “I’ll bring’em back for ye.”

Catti-brie wouldn’t let it go so easily. “When the fighting starts,” she said, “and suren it will, would ye rather ye had Harkle and his spells beside ye, or me and me bow?”

Bruenor glanced casually at Harkle and immediately saw the young woman’s logic. The wizard stood at the reins of the chariot, trying to find some way to keep the visor of his helmet up on his brow. Finally Harkle gave up and just tilted his head back far enough so he could see under the visor.

“Here, ye dropped a piece of it,” Bruenor said to him. “That’s why it won’t stay up!”

Harkle turned and saw Bruenor pointing to the ground off
the back of the chariot. He shuffled around beside Bruenor and bent over, trying to see what the dwarf was pointing at.