falsely, and fewer still could tell tales so aligned, separated by miles and decades.”
“Ye think they saw her?”
“I think they saw something. Something interesting.”
Bruenor growled and shoved a table over onto its side. “I should’ve come here, elf! Those years ago, when first we lost me girl. We sent that rat Jarlaxle on the hunt, but it was me own road to be walkin’.”
“And even Jarlaxle, with resources beyond any we could imagine, found no trail at all,” Drizzt reminded him. “We know not the truth or fancy of this forest called Iruladoon, my friend, and could not have found it in time in any case. You did as your station demanded, through two wars that would have grown to engulf the whole of the Silver Marches had wise King Bruenor not been there to end them. The whole of the North owes you its gratitude. We have seen the world beyond that land we once called home, and it’s a dark place indeed.”
Bruenor considered the words for a few heartbeats then nodded. “Bah!” he snorted, just because. “And I’m for seeing Gauntlgrym afore me old bones surrender to the years.” He indicated some maps on the far side of the floor. “One o’ them, I’m thinking, elf. One o’ them.”
“When’re ye thinking to be on the road?” Thibbledorf Pwent asked, and there was something in his voice that caught Drizzt off guard.
“It has to be soon, very soon,” the drow replied, studying Pwent through every word.
Always before, the battlerager had shown eagerness, a fanatical need, even, to march beside his King Bruenor. On many occasions, particularly their infrequent visits to Luskan, Bruenor had looked for ways to avoid taking Pwent along. The dirty dwarf was always a sight, of course, and always drew attention, and in the pirate-run City of Sails, such notice was not always a welcomed thing.
But there was something else in Pwent’s eye, in his posture, and in the timbre of his voice when he asked the question.
“We’ll be going right this day, then,” said Bruenor and he began rolling a parchment to stuff it back into his oversized pack.
Drizzt nodded and moved to help, but again he watched the hesitating battlerager.
“What do ye know?” Bruenor finally asked Pwent, noticing that the dwarf didn’t move to help with the packing.
“Ah, me king …” Pwent replied, voice full of regret.
“I telled ye not to call me—“Bruenor started to scold him, but Drizzt put his hand on Bruenor’s shoulder.
The drow locked stares with Pwent for a long while, then silently nodded his understanding. “He’s not coming,” Drizzt explained.
“Eh? What’re ye saying?” Bruenor looked at Drizzt with puzzlement, but the drow deflected his gaze to Pwent.
“Ah, me king,” the battlerager said again. “I’m fearin’ that I can’no go. Me old knees.…” He sighed, his face long, like a dog that couldn’t head out on the hunt.
Thibbledorf Pwent wasn’t as old as ancient Bruenor Battlehammer, but the years, and thousands of particularly violent fights, had not been kind to the battlerager. The journey to Icewind Dale had taken a lot out of him, though of course Pwent had never complained. Pwent never complained at all, unless he was being excluded from a fight or an adventure, or told to take a bath.
Bruenor turned his stunned expression back to Drizzt, but the drow just nodded his agreement, for both knew that Thibbledorf Pwent would never have made such a claim unless he knew in his old heart that he simply couldn’t make the journey, that he had reached the end of his adventuring days.
“Bah, but ye’re just a child!” Bruenor said, more to boost the spirits of his friend than to try to change his mind.
“Ah, me king, forgive me,” Pwent said.
Bruenor considered him for a moment, then walked over and crushed Pwent in a great hug. “Ye been the best guard, the best friend an old dwarf could e’er know,” Bruenor said. “Ye been with me through it all, ye been, and how could ye even be thinking that ye’re needin’ me forgiving? I’m the one what’s should be asking! For all yer life—”
“No!” Pwent interrupted. “No! It’s been me joy, me king. It’s been me joy. And this isn’t how it’s supposed to end. Been waiting for that one great fight, that last fight. To die for me king …”
“Better in me own heart that ye live for me, ye dolt,” said Bruenor.
“So you mean to live out your days here in the dale?” Drizzt asked. “With Stokely and