Agatha, and the other images, disappear from sight, Wulfgar followed the sound of her grunt and finally sorted out the layout of the dome. He readied Aegis-fang for the killing throw.
“Let it end!” Drizzt shouted at him as he passed, slappingWulfgar on the backside with the flat of Twinkle to remind him of their mission and their promise.
Wulfgar turned to look at him, but the agile drow was already out into the dark night. Wulfgar turned back to see Agatha, her teeth bared and hands clenched, rise up on her feet.
“Pardon our intrusion,” he said politely, bowing low—low enough to follow his friend outside to safety. He sprinted along the dark path to catch up to Twinkle’s blue glow.
Then came the banshee’s third keen, chasing them down the path. Drizzt was beyond its painful range, but its sting caught up to Wulfgar and knocked him off balance. Blindly, with the smug smile suddenly wiped from his face, he stumbled forward.
Drizzt turned and tried to catch him, but the huge man bowled the drow over and continued on.
Face first into a tree.
Before Drizzt could get over to help, Wulfgar was up again and running, too scared and embarrassed, to even groan.
Behind them, Agatha wailed helplessly.
When the first of Agatha’s keens wafted on the night winds the mile or so to Conyberry, the villagers knew that Drizzt and Wulfgar had found her lair. All of them, even the children, had gathered outside of their houses and listened intently as two more wails had rolled through the night air. And now, most perplexing, came the banshee’s continual, mournful cries.
“So much fer them strangers,” chuckled one man.
“Nah, ye’re wrong,” said the old woman, recognizing the subtle shift in Agatha’s tones. “Them’s wails of losing. They beat her! They did, and got away!”
The others sat quietly, studying Agatha’s cries, and soonrealized the truth of the old woman’s observations. They looked at each other incredulously.
“What’d they call themselves?” asked one man.
“Wulfgar,” offered another. “And Drizzt Do’Urden. I heared o’ them before.”
hey were back to the main road before dawn, thundering to the west, to the coast and the city of Waterdeep. With the visit to Malchor and the business with Agatha out of the way, Drizzt and Wulfgar once again focused their thoughts on the road ahead, and they remembered the peril their halfling friend faced if they failed in the rescue. Their mounts, aided by Malchor’s enchanted horseshoes, sped along at a tremendous clip. All the landscape seemed only a blur as it rolled by.
They did not break when dawn came behind them, nor did they stop for a meal as the sun climbed overhead.
“We will have all the rest we need when we board ship and sail to the south,” Drizzt told Wulfgar.
The barbarian, determined that Regis would be saved, needed no prompting.
The dark of night came again, and the thunder of the hooves continued unbroken. Then, when the second morning foundtheir backs, a salty breeze filled the air and the high towers of Waterdeep, the City of Splendors, appeared on the western horizon. The two riders stopped atop the high cliff that formed the fabulous settlement’s eastern border. If Wulfgar had been stunned earlier that year when he had first looked upon Luskan, five hundred miles up the coast, he now was stricken dumb. For Waterdeep, the jewel of the North, the greatest port in all the Realms, was fully ten times the size of Luskan. Even within its high wall, it sprawled out lazily and endlessly down the coast, with towers and spires reaching high into the sea mist to the edges of the companions’ vision.
“How many live here?” Wulfgar gasped at Drizzt.
“A hundred of your tribes could find shelter within the city,” the drow explained. He noted Wulfgar’s anxiety with concern of his own. Cities were beyond the experiences of the young man, and the time Wulfgar had ventured into Luskan had nearly ended in disaster.
“Let it end!” Drizzt shouted at him as he passed, slappingWulfgar on the backside with the flat of Twinkle to remind him of their mission and their promise.
Wulfgar turned to look at him, but the agile drow was already out into the dark night. Wulfgar turned back to see Agatha, her teeth bared and hands clenched, rise up on her feet.
“Pardon our intrusion,” he said politely, bowing low—low enough to follow his friend outside to safety. He sprinted along the dark path to catch up to Twinkle’s blue glow.
Then came the banshee’s third keen, chasing them down the path. Drizzt was beyond its painful range, but its sting caught up to Wulfgar and knocked him off balance. Blindly, with the smug smile suddenly wiped from his face, he stumbled forward.
Drizzt turned and tried to catch him, but the huge man bowled the drow over and continued on.
Face first into a tree.
Before Drizzt could get over to help, Wulfgar was up again and running, too scared and embarrassed, to even groan.
Behind them, Agatha wailed helplessly.
When the first of Agatha’s keens wafted on the night winds the mile or so to Conyberry, the villagers knew that Drizzt and Wulfgar had found her lair. All of them, even the children, had gathered outside of their houses and listened intently as two more wails had rolled through the night air. And now, most perplexing, came the banshee’s continual, mournful cries.
“So much fer them strangers,” chuckled one man.
“Nah, ye’re wrong,” said the old woman, recognizing the subtle shift in Agatha’s tones. “Them’s wails of losing. They beat her! They did, and got away!”
The others sat quietly, studying Agatha’s cries, and soonrealized the truth of the old woman’s observations. They looked at each other incredulously.
“What’d they call themselves?” asked one man.
“Wulfgar,” offered another. “And Drizzt Do’Urden. I heared o’ them before.”
hey were back to the main road before dawn, thundering to the west, to the coast and the city of Waterdeep. With the visit to Malchor and the business with Agatha out of the way, Drizzt and Wulfgar once again focused their thoughts on the road ahead, and they remembered the peril their halfling friend faced if they failed in the rescue. Their mounts, aided by Malchor’s enchanted horseshoes, sped along at a tremendous clip. All the landscape seemed only a blur as it rolled by.
They did not break when dawn came behind them, nor did they stop for a meal as the sun climbed overhead.
“We will have all the rest we need when we board ship and sail to the south,” Drizzt told Wulfgar.
The barbarian, determined that Regis would be saved, needed no prompting.
The dark of night came again, and the thunder of the hooves continued unbroken. Then, when the second morning foundtheir backs, a salty breeze filled the air and the high towers of Waterdeep, the City of Splendors, appeared on the western horizon. The two riders stopped atop the high cliff that formed the fabulous settlement’s eastern border. If Wulfgar had been stunned earlier that year when he had first looked upon Luskan, five hundred miles up the coast, he now was stricken dumb. For Waterdeep, the jewel of the North, the greatest port in all the Realms, was fully ten times the size of Luskan. Even within its high wall, it sprawled out lazily and endlessly down the coast, with towers and spires reaching high into the sea mist to the edges of the companions’ vision.
“How many live here?” Wulfgar gasped at Drizzt.
“A hundred of your tribes could find shelter within the city,” the drow explained. He noted Wulfgar’s anxiety with concern of his own. Cities were beyond the experiences of the young man, and the time Wulfgar had ventured into Luskan had nearly ended in disaster.
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