doubt."
“I don’t,” Drizzt agreed.
Another horn blew, this one to the south, and Drizzt noted that Bruenor swallowed hard at this one, the muster call from the Knights in Silver.
Drizzt, too, breathed a long sigh.
“Me girl’s with ’em,” Bruenor remarked. “Let’s go and say our goodbyes . . .” His voice trailed off and the sturdy dwarf bit back a chortle.
He looked up at Drizzt and nodded, and the two started off. They found Catti-brie with Wulfgar and Regis a few moments later, Aleina and Brother Afafrenfere standing off to the side, waiting patiently. Bruenor began pulling flagons of ale out from behind his shield the moment he arrived, handing them around to the other four, then lifting his own up high.
“To the Companions of the Hall,” the dwarf said in a strong and loud voice—loud enough so that many nearby turned to regard the gathering of the five friends. “If ne’er we’re to meet again, then know in yer hearts that few’ve knowed a friendship as deep.”
Regis winced at that, and it seemed to Drizzt as if he was on the verge of breaking, perhaps renouncing his intended journey to Aglarond. “We’ll meet again,” Drizzt said to assure them all, particularly the halfling, though in truth, he doubted his own words.
“Aye, in this world or the next,” Catti-brie confidently added. Drizzt noted that this time both Wulfgar and Regis winced. He understood.
They toasted and drank, toasted some more and drank some more, though the horns to muster were growing more frequent and more urgent in the south. Finally Aleina Brightlance walked over. “We are off,” she told Wulfgar and Regis.
Hugs and kisses, and the five left, all with tears in their eyes. When he hugged Drizzt, Regis whispered, “I have to go” into the drow’s ear, as if asking permission.
“I know,” the drow said.
And so they did, moving down the riverbank to the south with the soldiers of Silverymoon and Everlund, leaving Drizzt and Catti-brie and Bruenor to contemplate their long road ahead without the pair.
CHAPTER 2
WALKING THE NETHER PLANES
M atron Mother Zeerith Xorlarrin joined hands with her mighty nephew, the wizard Tsabrak, and began her spellcasting. Similarly, the wizard launched into his own casting, the two twining their magical energies into a unique spell, both arcane and divine.
Across the altar in the primordial chamber of Q’Xorlarrin, High Priestess Kiriy, Zeerith’s oldest daughter, held her breath in anticipation. She had never seen this ritual performed before, though she was well versed in necromancy.
“Dwardermey,” Tsabrak whispered a long while later, evoking the name of one of the fallen drow in the Silver Marches.
“Dwardermey,” Matron Mother Zeerith echoed, and they both repeated the call many times.
The body came from inside the stone block altar itself, facial features forming within the stone, and growing, rising. Then it was separate from the altar, the body of a slain dark elf, torn by swords and axes. “Kiriy!” Matron Mother Zeerith said sharply, and the high priestess realized that she was taking too long. She put aside her astonishment and launched into a simple spell to animate the dead.
A few moments later, the corpse of Dwardermey Xorlarrin sat up on the altar, then stiffly shifted to the side, legs hanging over the altar slab. High Priestess Kiriy looked to Matron Mother Zeerith, who nodded, and so Kiriy commanded the zombie to stand and walk. The unthinking zombie did walk, directly away from the high priestess, as ordered. It did not pause when it reached the lip of the primordial’s pit. It made not a sound when it pitched over the edge, tumbling through the swirl of the trapped water elementals to land on the lava skin of the godlike beast. The primordial drew Dwardermey in.
Tsabrak blew a great sigh. “This will take us tendays,” he said. “I am exhausted already, as are you.”
“We must,” Matron Mother Zeerith replied. “In this duty, we
“I don’t,” Drizzt agreed.
Another horn blew, this one to the south, and Drizzt noted that Bruenor swallowed hard at this one, the muster call from the Knights in Silver.
Drizzt, too, breathed a long sigh.
“Me girl’s with ’em,” Bruenor remarked. “Let’s go and say our goodbyes . . .” His voice trailed off and the sturdy dwarf bit back a chortle.
He looked up at Drizzt and nodded, and the two started off. They found Catti-brie with Wulfgar and Regis a few moments later, Aleina and Brother Afafrenfere standing off to the side, waiting patiently. Bruenor began pulling flagons of ale out from behind his shield the moment he arrived, handing them around to the other four, then lifting his own up high.
“To the Companions of the Hall,” the dwarf said in a strong and loud voice—loud enough so that many nearby turned to regard the gathering of the five friends. “If ne’er we’re to meet again, then know in yer hearts that few’ve knowed a friendship as deep.”
Regis winced at that, and it seemed to Drizzt as if he was on the verge of breaking, perhaps renouncing his intended journey to Aglarond. “We’ll meet again,” Drizzt said to assure them all, particularly the halfling, though in truth, he doubted his own words.
“Aye, in this world or the next,” Catti-brie confidently added. Drizzt noted that this time both Wulfgar and Regis winced. He understood.
They toasted and drank, toasted some more and drank some more, though the horns to muster were growing more frequent and more urgent in the south. Finally Aleina Brightlance walked over. “We are off,” she told Wulfgar and Regis.
Hugs and kisses, and the five left, all with tears in their eyes. When he hugged Drizzt, Regis whispered, “I have to go” into the drow’s ear, as if asking permission.
“I know,” the drow said.
And so they did, moving down the riverbank to the south with the soldiers of Silverymoon and Everlund, leaving Drizzt and Catti-brie and Bruenor to contemplate their long road ahead without the pair.
CHAPTER 2
WALKING THE NETHER PLANES
M atron Mother Zeerith Xorlarrin joined hands with her mighty nephew, the wizard Tsabrak, and began her spellcasting. Similarly, the wizard launched into his own casting, the two twining their magical energies into a unique spell, both arcane and divine.
Across the altar in the primordial chamber of Q’Xorlarrin, High Priestess Kiriy, Zeerith’s oldest daughter, held her breath in anticipation. She had never seen this ritual performed before, though she was well versed in necromancy.
“Dwardermey,” Tsabrak whispered a long while later, evoking the name of one of the fallen drow in the Silver Marches.
“Dwardermey,” Matron Mother Zeerith echoed, and they both repeated the call many times.
The body came from inside the stone block altar itself, facial features forming within the stone, and growing, rising. Then it was separate from the altar, the body of a slain dark elf, torn by swords and axes. “Kiriy!” Matron Mother Zeerith said sharply, and the high priestess realized that she was taking too long. She put aside her astonishment and launched into a simple spell to animate the dead.
A few moments later, the corpse of Dwardermey Xorlarrin sat up on the altar, then stiffly shifted to the side, legs hanging over the altar slab. High Priestess Kiriy looked to Matron Mother Zeerith, who nodded, and so Kiriy commanded the zombie to stand and walk. The unthinking zombie did walk, directly away from the high priestess, as ordered. It did not pause when it reached the lip of the primordial’s pit. It made not a sound when it pitched over the edge, tumbling through the swirl of the trapped water elementals to land on the lava skin of the godlike beast. The primordial drew Dwardermey in.
Tsabrak blew a great sigh. “This will take us tendays,” he said. “I am exhausted already, as are you.”
“We must,” Matron Mother Zeerith replied. “In this duty, we
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