her, knew that whatever arguments he might present, she would defeat them, or simply ignore them.
"I'm going with ye, all the way," Catti-brie said, no compromise in her firm tone. "And me thinkin's that Deudermont and Harkle, and maybe a few o' the others're coming along, too. And just ye try to stop us, Drizzt Do'Urden!"
Drizzt began to reply, but changed his mind. Why bother? He would never talk his friends into letting him walk this dark course alone. Never.
He looked back out to the dark sea and to the moon and stars, his thoughts drifting back to Zaknafein and the "golden ring," the witch had held out to him.
"It will take at least two weeks to get back to port," he lamented.
"Three, if the wind doesn't come up strong," Catti-brie put in, her focus never leaving the all-important parchment.
Not so far away, on the main deck just below the rail of the poop deck, Harkle Harpell rubbed his hands eagerly. He shared Drizzt's lament that all of this would take so very long, and had no stomach for another two or three weeks of rolling about on the empty water.
"The fog of fate," he mouthed quietly, thinking of his new, powerful spell, the enchantment that had brought him out to the Sea Sprite in the first place. The opportunity seemed perfect for him to energize his new spell once more.
Chapter 11 BREWING STORM
Revjak's smile widened nearly enough to take in his ears when he saw that the rumors were true, that Bruenor Battlehammer had returned to Icewind Dale. The two had lived side by side for the first forty years of Revjak's life, but during that time the barbarian had little experience with Bruenor, other than as enemies. But then Wulfgar had united the nomadic tribes and cast them into the war as allies of the folk of Ten-Towns and the dwarves of Clan Battlehammer against evil Akar Kessel and his goblinoid minions.
On that occasion, less than a decade before, Revjak had come to appreciate the strength and fortitude of Bruenor and of all the dwarves. In the few weeks that had followed, before Bruenor and Wulfgar had set out to find Mithril Hall, Revjak had spent many days with Bruenor and had forged a fast friendship. Bruenor was going to leave, but the rest of Clan Battlehammer would remain in Icewind Dale until Mithril Hall was found, and Revjak had taken on the responsibility of tightening the friendship between the giant barbarians and the diminutive dwarves. He had done
such a fine job that many of his people, Berkthgar included, had opted to go south with Clan Battlehammer to join in the fight to reclaim Mithril Hall, and there they had stayed for several years.
It seemed to wise Revjak that Berkthgar had forgotten all of that, for when the giant warrior entered the tent to join in the meeting with Bruenor and Stumpet, his face was locked in a deep and unrelenting scowl.
"Sit, Berkthgar," Revjak bade the man, motioning to a spot beside him.
Berkthgar held out his hand, indicating that he would remain standing. He was trying to be imposing, Revjak knew, towering over the seated dwarves. If hardy Bruenor was bothered at all, though, he didn't show it. He reclined comfortably on the thick blanket of piled skins so that he did not have to crook his neck to look up at the standing Berkthgar.
"Ye're still looking like yer last meal didn't taste so good," the dwarf remarked to Berkthgar.
"Why has a king come so far from his kingdom?" Berkthgar retorted.
"No more a king," Bruenor corrected. "I gived that back to me great-great-great-great grandfather."
Revjak looked at the dwarf curiously. "Gandalug?" he asked, remembering the improbable story Berkthgar had told him of how Bruenor's ancestor, the original Patron of Clan Battlehammer and the founder of Mithril Hall, had returned from the dead as a prisoner of the drow elves.
"The same," Stumpet answered.
"Yerself can call me prince," Bruenor said to Berkthgar, who huffed and looked away.
"Thus you have returned to Icewind Dale," Revjak intervened, before the discussion could turn ugly. It seemed to the barbarian leader that Bruenor did not appreciate the level of antipathy Berkthgar had cultivated for the dwarves-either that, or Bruenor simply didn't care. "You're here to visit?"
"To stay," Bruenor corrected. "The mines are being opened as we sit here talkin'. Cleaning out the things that've crawled in and fixing the supports. We'll be taking ore in a week and hammering out goods the day after that."