The Ghost King
CHAPTER 6

THE POLITICS OF ENGAGEMENT
It was the last thing Bruenor Battlehammer wanted to hear just then. "Obould's angry," Nanfoodle the gnome explained. "He thinks we're to blame for the strange madness of magic, and the silence of his god."
"Yeah, we're always to blame in that one's rock-head," Bruenor grumbled back. He looked at the door leading to the corridor to Garumn's Gorge and the Hall's eastern exit, hoping to see Drizzt. Morning had done nothing to help Catti-brie or Regis. The halfling had thrashed himself to utter exhaustion and since languished in restless misery.
"Obould's emissary - " Nanfoodle started to say.
"I got no time for him!" Bruenor shouted.
Across the way, several dwarves observed the uncharacteristic outburst. Among them was General Banak Brawnanvil, who watched from his chair. He'd lost the use of his lower body in the long-ago first battle with Obould's emerging hordes.
"I got no time!" Bruenor yelled again, though somewhat apologetically. "Me girl's got to go! And Rumblebelly, too!"
"I will accompany Drizzt," Nanfoodle offered.
"The Nine Hells and a tenth for luck ye will!" Bruenor roared at him. "I ain't for leaving me girl!"
"But ye're the king," one of the dwarves cried.
"And the whole world is going mad," Nanfoodle answered.
Bruenor simmered, on the edge of an explosion. "No," he said finally, and with a nod to the gnome, who had become one of his most trusted and reliable advisors, he walked across the room to stand before Banak.
"No," Bruenor said again. "I ain't the king. Not now."
A couple of dwarves gasped, but Banak Brawnanvil nodded solemnly, accepting the responsibility he knew to be coming.
"Ye've ruled the place before," said Bruenor. "And I'm knowin' ye can do it again. Been too long since I seen the road."
"Ye save yer girl," the old general replied.
"Can't give ye Rumblebelly to help ye this time," Bruenor went on, "but the gnome here's clever enough." He looked back at Nanfoodle, who couldn't help but smile at the unexpected compliment and the trust Bruenor showed in him.
"We've many good hands," Banak agreed.
"Now don't ye be startin' another war with Obould," Bruenor instructed. "Not without me here to swat a few o' his dogs."
"Never."
Bruenor clapped his friend on the shoulder, turned, and started to walk away. A large part of him knew that his responsibilities lay there, where Clan Battlehammer looked to him to lead, particularly in that suddenly troubling time. But a larger part of him denied that. He was the king of Mithral Hall, indeed, but he was the father of Catti-brie and the friend of Regis, as well.
And little else seemed to matter at that dark moment.
He found Drizzt at Garumn's Gorge, along with as smelly and dirty a dwarf as had ever been known.
"Ready to go, me king!" Thibbledorf Pwent greeted him with enthusiasm. The grisly dwarf hopped to attention, his creased battle armor, all sharpened plates and jagged spikes, creaking and squealing with the sudden motion.
Bruenor looked at the drow, who just closed his eyes, long ago having quit arguing with the likes of the battlerager.
"Ready to go?" Bruenor asked. "With war brewing here?"
Pwent's eyes flared a bit at that hopeful possibility, but he resolutely shook his head. "Me place is with me king!"
"Brawnanvil's the Steward o' Mithral Hall while I'm gone."
A flash of confusion in the dwarf's eyes couldn't take hold. "With me King Bruenor!" Pwent argued. "If ye're for the road, Pwent and his boys're for the road!"
At that proclamation, a great cheer came up and several nearby doors banged open. The famed Gutbuster Brigade poured into the wide corridor.
"Oh no, no," Bruenor scolded. "No, ye ain't!"
"But me king!" twenty Gutbusters cried in unison.
"I ain't taking the best brigade Faerun's e'er known away from Steward Brawnanvil in this troubled time," said Bruenor. "No, but I can't." He looked Pwent straight in the eye. "None o' ye. Ain't got room in the wagon, neither."
"Bah! We'll run with ye!" Pwent insisted.
"We're goin' on magical shoes and we ain't got no magical boots for the lot of ye to keep up," Bruenor explained. "I ain't doubtin' that ye'd all run till ye drop dead, but that'd be the end of it. No, me friend, yer place is here, in case that Obould thinks it's time again for war." He gave a great sigh and looked to Drizzt for support, muttering, "Me own place is here."
"And you'll be back here swiftly," the drow promised. "Your place now is on the road with me, with Catti-brie and Regis. We've no time for foolishness, I warn. Our wagon is waiting."
"Me king!" Pwent cried. He waved his brigade away, but hustled after Drizzt and Bruenor as they quickly moved to the tunnels that would take them to their troubled friends.
In the end, only four of them left Mithral Hall in the wagon pulled by a team of the best mules that could be found. It wasn't Pwent who stayed behind, but Regis.
The poor halfling wouldn't stop thrashing, fending off monsters that none of them could see, and with all the fury and desperation of a halfling standing on the edge of the pit of the Abyss itself. He couldn't eat. He couldn't drink. He wouldn't stop swinging and kicking and biting for a moment, and no words reached his ears to any effect. Only through the efforts of a number of attendants were the dwarves able to get any nourishment into him at all, something that could never have been done on a bouncing wagon moving through the wilds.
Bruenor argued taking him anyway, to the point of hoarseness, but in the end, it was Drizzt who said, "Enough!" and led the frustrated Bruenor away.
"Even if the magic holds, even if the wagon survives," Drizzt said, "it will be a tenday and more to Spirit Soaring and an equal time back. He'll not survive."
They left Regis in a stupor of exhaustion, a broken thing.
"He may recover with the passage of time," Drizzt explained as they hustled along the tunnels and across the great gorge. "He was not touched directly by the magic, as was Catti-brie."
"He's daft, elf!"
"And as I said, it may not hold. Your priests will reach him - " Drizzt paused and skidded to a stop " - or I will."
"What do ye know, elf?" Bruenor demanded.
"Go and ready the wagon," Drizzt instructed, "but wait for me."
He turned and sprinted back the way they'd come, all the way to Regis's room, where he burst in and dashed to the small coffer atop the dresser. With trembling hands, Drizzt pulled forth the ruby pendant.
"What're ye about?" asked Cordio Muffinhead, a priest of high repute, who stood beside the halfling.
Drizzt held up the pendant, the enchanting ruby spinning enticingly in the torchlight. "I have an idea. Pray, wake the little one, but hold him steady, all of you."
They looked at the drow curiously, but so many years together had taught them to trust Drizzt Do'Urden, and they did as he bade them.
Regis came awake thrashing, his legs moving as if he were trying to run away from some unseen monster.
Drizzt moved his face very close to the halfling, calling to him, but Regis gave no sign of hearing his old friend.
The drow brought forth the ruby pendant and set it spinning right before Regis's eyes. The sparkles drew Drizzt inside, so alluring and calming, and a short while later, within the depths of the ruby, he found Regis.
"Drizzt,"the halfling said aloud, and also in Drizzt's mind. "Help me."
Drizzt got only the slightest glimpse of the visions tormenting Regis. He found himself in a land of shadow - the very Plane of Shadow, perhaps, or some other lower plane - with dark and ominous creatures coming at him from every side, clawing at him, open maws full of sharpened teeth biting at his face. Clawed hands slashed at him along the periphery of his vision, always just a moment ahead of him. Instinctively, Drizzt's free hand went to a scimitar belted at his hip and he cried out and began to draw it forth.
Something hit him hard, throwing him aside, right over the bed he couldn't see. It sent him tumbling to a floor he couldn't see.
In the distance, Drizzt heard the clatter of something bouncing across the stone floor and knew it to be the ruby pendant. He felt a burning sensation in his forearm and closed his eyes tightly to grimace away the pain. When he opened his eyes again, he was back in the room, Cordio standing over him. He looked at his arm to see a trickle of blood where it had caught against his half-drawn scimitar as he tumbled.
"What - ?" he started to ask the dwarf.
"Apologies, elf," said Cordio, "but I had to ram ye. Ye was seein' monsters like the little one there, and drawing yer blade ..."
"Say no more, good dwarf," Drizzt replied, pulling himself up to a sitting position and bringing his injured arm in front of him, pressing hard to try to stem the flow of blood.
"Get me a bandage!" Cordio yelled to the others, who were hard at work holding down the thrashing Regis.
"He's in there," Drizzt explained as Cordio wrapped his arm. "I found him. He called out for help."
"Yeah, that we heared."
"He's seeing monsters - shadowy things - in a horrible place."
Another dwarf came over and handed the ruby pendant to Cordio, who presented it to Drizzt, but the drow held up his hand.
"Keep it," Drizzt explained. "You might find a way to use it to reach him, but do take care."
"Oh, I'll be having a team o' Gutbusters ready to knock me down in that case," Cordio assured him.
"More than that," said Drizzt. "Take care that you can escape the place where Regis now resides." He looked with great sympathy at his poor halfling friend, for the first time truly appreciating the horror Regis felt with every waking moment.
Drizzt caught up to Bruenor in the eastern halls. The king sat on the bench of a fabulous wagon of burnished wood and solid wheels, with a sub-carriage that featured several strong springs of an alloy Nanfoodle had concocted, almost as strong as iron, but not nearly as brittle. The wagon showed true craftsmanship and pride, a fitting representation of the art and skill of Mithral Hall.
The vehicle wasn't yet finished, though, for the dwarves had planned an enclosed bed and perhaps an extension bed for cargo behind, with a greater harness that would allow a team of six or eight. But upon Bruenor's call for urgency, they had cut the work short and fitted low wooden walls and a tailgate quickly. They had brought out their finest team of mules, young and strong, fitting them with magical horseshoes that would allow them to move at a swift pace throughout the entirety of a day.
"I found Regis in his nightmares," Drizzt explained, climbing up beside his friend. "I used the ruby on him, as he did with Catti-brie."
"Ye durned fool!"
Drizzt shook his head. "With all caution," he assured his companion.
"I'm seein' that," Bruenor said dryly, staring at the drow's bandaged arm.
"I found him and he saw me, but only briefly. He is living in the realm of nightmares, Bruenor, and though I tried to pull him back with me, I could not begin to gain ground. Instead, he pulled me in with him, a place that would overwhelm me as it has him. But there is hope, I believe." He sighed and mouthed the name they had attached to that hope, "Cadderly." That notion made Bruenor drive the team on with more urgency as they rolled out of Mithral Hall's eastern gate, turning fast for the southwest.
Pwent moved up to ride on the seat with Bruenor. Drizzt ran scout along their flanks, though he often had to climb aboard the wagon and catch his breath, for it rolled along without the need to rest the mules. Through it all, Catti-brie sat quietly in the back, seeing nothing that they could see, hearing nothing that they could hear, lost and alone.
* * * * *
"Ye're knowin' them well," Athrogate congratulated Jarlaxle later that day when the pair, lying on top of a grassy knoll, spied the wagon rambling down the road from the northeast.
Jarlaxle's expression showed no such confidence, for he had been caught completely by surprise at the quick progress the wagon had already made; he hadn't expected to see Bruenor's party until the next morning.
"They'll drive the mules to exhaustion in a day," he mumbled, shaking his head.
Off in the distance, a dark figure moved among the shadows, and Jarlaxle knew it to be Drizzt.
"Running hard for their hurt friend," Athrogate remarked.
"There is no power greater than the bonds they share, my friend," said the drow. He finished with a cough to clear his throat, and to banish the wistfulness from his tone. But not quickly enough, he realized when he glanced at Athrogate, to keep the dwarf from staring at him incredulously.
"Their sentiments are their weakness," Jarlaxle said, trying to be convincing. "And I know how to exploit that weakness."
"Uh-huh," said Athrogate, then he gave a great "Bwahaha!"
Jarlaxle could only smile.
"We goin' down there, or we just following?"
Jarlaxle thought about it for a moment, then surprised himself and the dwarf by hopping up from the grass and brushing himself off.
* * * * *
"Stuttgard o' the Stone Hills?" Bruenor asked when the wagon rolled around a bend in the road to reveal the dwarf standing in their way. "I thought ye was stayin' in Mithral ..." he called as he eased the wagon to a stop before the dwarf. His voice trailed off as he noted the dwarf's impressive weapons, a pair of glassteel morningstars bobbing behind his sturdy shoulders. Suspicion filled Bruenor's expression, for Stuttgard had shown no such armament in Mithral Hall. His suspicion only grew as he considered how far along the road he was already - for Stuttgard to have arrived meant that the dwarf must have departed Mithral Hall immediately after meeting with Bruenor.
"Nah, but well met again, King Bruenor," Athrogate replied.
"What're ye about, dwarf?" Bruenor asked. Beside Bruenor, Pwent stood flexing his knees, ready to fight.
A growl from the side turned them all to look that way, and up on a branch in the lone tree overlooking the road perched Guenhwyvar, tamping her paws as if she meant to spring down upon the dwarf.
"Peace, good king," Athrogate said, patting his hands calmly in the air before him. "I ain't no enemy."
"Nor are you Stuttgard of the Stone Hills," came a call from farther along the road, behind Athrogate and ahead of the wagon.
Bruenor and Pwent looked past Stuttgard and nodded, though they couldn't see their drow companion. Stuttgard glanced over his shoulder, knowing it to be Drizzt, though the drow was too concealed in the brush to be seen.
"I should have recognized you at Bruenor's court," Drizzt called.
"It's me morningstars," Stuttgard explained. "I'm lookin' bigger with them, so I'm told. Bwahaha! Been a lot o' years since we crossed weapons, eh Drizzt Do'Urden?"
"Who is he?" Bruenor called to Drizzt, then he looked straight at the dwarf in the road and said, "Who are ye?"
"Where is he?" Drizzt called out in answer, drawing looks of surprise from both Bruenor and Pwent.
"He's right in front o' us, ye blind elf!" Pwent called out.
"Not him," Drizzt replied. "Not ... Stuttgard."
"Ah, but suren me heart's to fall, for me worthy drow me name can't recall," said the dwarf in the road.
"Where is who?" Bruenor demanded of Drizzt, anger and impatience mounting
"He means me," another voice answered. On the side of the road opposite Guenhwyvar stood Jarlaxle.
"Oh, by Moradin's itchy arse," grumbled Bruenor. "Scratched it, he did, and this one fell out."
"A pleasure to see you again as well, King Bruenor," Jarlaxle said with a bow.
Drizzt came out of the brush then, moving toward the group. The drow had no weapons drawn - indeed, he leaned his bow over his shoulder as he went.
"What is it, me king?" Pwent asked, glancing nervously from the dwarf to Jarlaxle. "What?"
"Not a fight," Bruenor assured him and disappointed him at the same time. "Not yet a fight."
"Never that," Jarlaxle added as he moved beside his companion.
"Bah!" Pwent snorted.
"What's this about?" Bruenor demanded.
Athrogate grumbled as Drizzt walked by, and gave a lamenting shake of his head, his braided beard rattling as its small beads bounced.
"Athrogate," Drizzt whispered as he passed, and the dwarf howled in laughter.
"Ye're knowin' him?" asked Bruenor.
"I told you about him. From Luskan." He looked at Jarlaxle. "Eight years ago."
The drow mercenary bowed. "A sad day for many."
"But not for you and yours."
"I told you then and I tell you now, Drizzt Do'Urden. The fall of Luskan, and of Captain Deudermont, was not the doing of Bregan D'aerthe. I would have been as happy dealing with him - "
"He never would have dealt with the likes of you and your mercenaries," Drizzt interrupted.
Jarlaxle didn't finish his thought, just held his hands out wide, conceding the point.
"And what's this about?" Bruenor demanded again. "We heard of your plight - of Catti-brie's," Jarlaxle explained. "The right road is to Cadderly, so I had my friend here go in - "
"And lie to us," said Drizzt.
"It seemed prudent in the moment," Jarlaxle admitted. "But the right road is to Cadderly. You know that."
"I don't know anything where Jarlaxle is concerned," Drizzt shot back, even as Bruenor nodded. "If this is all you claim, then why would you meet us out here on the road?"
"Needin' a ride, not to doubt," Pwent said, and his bracers screeched as they slid together when he crossed his burly arms over his chest.
"Hardly that," the drow replied, "though I would welcome the company." He paused and looked at the mules then, obviously surprised at how fresh they appeared, given that they had already traveled farther than most teams would go in two days.
"Magical hooves," Drizzt remarked. "They can cover six days in one."
Jarlaxle nodded.
"Now he's wanting a ride," Pwent remarked, and Jarlaxle did laugh at that, but shook his head.
"Nay, good dwarf, not a ride," the drow explained. "But there is something I would ask of you."
"Surprising," Drizzt said dryly.
"I am in need of Cadderly, too, for an entirely different reason," Jarlaxle explained. "And he will be in need of me, or will be glad that I am there, when he learns of it. Unfortunately, my last visit with the mighty priest did not fare so well, and he requested that I not return."
"And ye're thinking that he'll let ye in if ye're with us," Bruenor reasoned, and Jarlaxle bowed.
"Bah!" snorted the dwarf king. "Ye better have more to say than that."
"Much more," Jarlaxle replied, looking more at Drizzt than Bruenor. "And I will tell you all of it. But it is a long tale, and we should not tarry, for the sake of your wife."
"Don't ye be pretendin' that ye care about me girl!" Bruenor shouted, and Jarlaxle retreated a step.
Drizzt saw something then, though Bruenor was too upset to catch it. True pain flashed in Jarlaxle's dark eyes; he did care. Drizzt thought back to the time Jarlaxle had allowed him, with Catti-brie and Artemis Entreri, to escape from Menzoberranzan, one of the many times Jarlaxle had let him walk away. Drizzt tried to put it all in the context of the current situation, to reveal the possible motives behind Jarlaxle's actions. Was he lying, or was he speaking the truth?
Drizzt felt it the latter, and that realization surprised him. "What're ye thinking, elf?" Bruenor asked him.
"I would like to hear the story," Drizzt replied, his gaze never leaving Jarlaxle. "But hear it as we travel along the road."
Jarlaxle nudged Athrogate, and the dwarf produced his boar figurine at the same time that Jarlaxle reached into his pouch for the obsidian nightmare. A moment later, their mounts materialized and Bruenor's mules flattened their ears and backed nervously away.
"What in the Nine Hells?" Bruenor muttered, working hard to control the team.
On a signal from Jarlaxle, Athrogate guided his boar to the side of the wagon, to take up a position in the rear.
"I want one o' them!" Thibbledorf Pwent said, his eyes wide with adoration as the fiery demon boar trotted past. "Oh, me king!"
Jarlaxle reined his nightmare aside and moved it to walk beside the wagon. Drizzt scrambled over that side to sit on the rail nearest him. Then he called to Guenhwyvar.
The panther knew her place. She leaped down from the tree, took a few running strides past Athrogate, and leaped into the wagon bed, curling up defensively around the seated Catti-brie.
"It is a long road," Drizzt remarked.
"It is a long tale," Jarlaxle replied.
"Tell it slowly then, and fully."
The wagon wasn't moving, and both Drizzt and Jarlaxle looked at Bruenor, the dwarf staring back at them with dark eyes full of doubt.
"Ye sure about this, elf?" he asked Drizzt.
"No," Drizzt answered, but then he looked at Jarlaxle, shook his head, and changed his mind. "To Spirit Soaring," he said.
"With hope," Jarlaxle added.
Drizzt turned his gaze to Catti-brie, who sat calmly, fully withdrawn from the world around her.