The Silent Blade
Chapter 22 SAVING GRACE

 
Regis gasped and groaned in agony, squirming just a bit, which only made things worse for the poor halfling. Every movement made the spear shaft quiver, sending waves of burning pain through his body.
Bruenor brushed aside any soft emotions and blinked away any tears, realizing that he would be doing his grievously injured friend no favors by showing any sympathy at all. "Do it quick," he said to Drizzt. The dwarf knelt down over Regis, setting himself firmly, pressing the halfling by the shoulders and putting one knee on his back to hold him perfectly still.
Drizzt wasn't sure how to proceed. The spear was barbed, that much he recognized, but to push it all the way through and out the other side seemed too brutal a technique for Regis to possibly survive. Yet, how could Drizzt cut the spear quickly enough and smoothly enough so that Regis did not have to endure such unbearable agony? Even a minor shift in the long shaft had the halfling groaning in pain. What might the jarring of the shaft being hacked by a scimitar do to him?
"Take it in both yer hands," Catti-brie instructed. "One hand on the wound, t'other on the spear, right above where ye want the thing broken."
Drizzt looked at her and saw that she had Taulmaril in hand again, an arrow readied. He looked from the bow to the spear and understood her intent. While he doubted the potential of such a technique, he simply had no other answers. He gripped the spear shaft tightly just above the entry wound, then again two handsbreadths up. He looked to Bruenor, who secured his hold on Regis even more-drawing another whimper from the poor halfling-and nodded grimly.
Drizzt then nodded to Catti-brie who bent low, lining up her shot and the angle of the arrow after it passed through, so that it would not hit one of her friends. If she was not perfect, she realized, or even if she simply was not lucky, the arrow might deflect badly, and then they'd have another seriously wounded companion lying on the deck beside Regis. With that thought in mind Catti-brie relaxed her bowstring a bit, but then Regis whimpered again, and she understood that her poor little friend was fast running out of time.
She drew back, took perfect aim, and left fly, the blinding, lightning-streaking arrow sizzling right through the shaft cleanly, and soaring into, and through the opposite deck wall and off across the river.
Drizzt, stunned by the sudden flash even though he had expected the shot, held in place for just a moment. After allowing his senses to catch up with the scene he handed the broken piece of the shaft to Bumpo.
"Lift him gently," the drow instructed Bruenor, who did so, raising the halfling's injured shoulder slowly from the deck.
Then, with a plaintive and helpless look to all about, the drow grasped the remaining piece of shaft firmly and began to push.
Regis howled and screamed and wriggled too much for sympathetic Drizzt to continue. At a loss, he let go of the shaft and held his hands out helplessly to Bruenor.
"The ruby pendant," Catti-brie remarked suddenly, dropping to her knees beside her friends. "We'll get him thinking of better things." She moved quickly as Bruenor lifted the groaning Regis a bit higher, reaching into the front of the halfling's shirt and pulling forth the dazzling ruby pendant.
"Watch it close," Catti-brie said to Regis several times. She held the gemstone, spinning alluringly at the end of its chain before the halfling's half-closed eyes. Regis's head started to droop, but Catti-brie grabbed him by the chin and forced him steady.
"Ye remember the party after we rescued ye from Pook?" she asked calmly, forcing a wide smile across her face.
Gradually she brought him into her words with more coaxing, more reminding of that enjoyable affair, one in which Regis had become quite intoxicated. And intoxicated was what the halfling seemed to be now. He was groaning no more, his gaze locked on the spinning gemstone.
"Ah, but didn't ye have the fun of it in the pillowed room?" the woman said, speaking of the harem in Pook's house. "We thought ye'd never come forth!" As she spoke, she looked to Drizzt and nodded. The drow took up the remaining piece of embedded shaft once more and, with a look to Bruenor to make certain that the dwarf had Regis properly secured and braced, he slowly began to push.
Regis winced as the rest of the wide-bladed head tore through the front of his shoulder but offered no real resistance and no screaming. Drizzt soon had the spear fully extracted.
It came out with a gush of blood, and both Drizzt and Bruenor had to work fast and furiously to stem the flow. Even then, as they lay Regis gently on his back, they saw his arm discoloring.
"He's bleeding inside," Bruenor said through gritted teeth. "We'll be taking the arm off if we can't fix it!"
Drizzt didn't respond, just went back to work on his small friend, moving aside the bandages and trying to reach his nimble fingers right into the wound to pinch the blood flow.
Catti-brie kept up her soothing talk, doing a marvelous job of distracting the halfling, concentrating so fully on the task before her that she managed to minimize her nervous glances Drizzt's way.
Had Regis seen the drow's face the spell of the ruby pendant might have shattered. For Drizzt understood the trouble here and understood that his little friend was in real danger. He couldn't stop the flow. Bruenor's drastic measure of amputating the arm might be necessary, and even that, Drizzt understood, would likely kill the halfling.
"Ye got it?" Bruenor asked again and again. "Ye got it?"
Drizzt grimaced, looking pointedly at Bruenor's already bloodstained axe blade, and went at his work more determinedly. Finally, he relaxed his grip on the vein just a bit, easing, easing, breathing a bit easier as he lessened the pressure and felt no more blood spurting from the tear.
"I'm taking the damned arm!" Bruenor declared, misinterpreting Drizzt's resigned look.
The drow held up his hand and shook his head. "It is stemmed," he announced.
"But for how long?" Catti-brie asked, genuinely concerned.
Again Drizzt shook his head helplessly.
"We should be going," Bumpo Thunderpuncher remarked, seeing that the commotion about Regis had subsided. "Them goblins might not be far."
"Not yet," Drizzt insisted. "We cannot move him until we're sure the wound will not reopen."
Bumpo gave a concerned look to his brother. Then both of them glanced nervously at their thrice-removed cousins.
But Drizzt was right, of course, and Regis could not be immediately moved. All three friends stayed close to him; Catti-brie kept the ruby pendant in hand, should its calming hypnosis prove necessary. For the time being, though, Regis knew nothing at all, nothing beyond the relieving blackness of unconsciousness.
"You are nervous," Kimmuriel Oblodra remarked, obviously taking great pleasure in seeing the normally unshakable Jarlaxle pacing the floor.
Jarlaxle stopped and stared at the psionicist incredulously. "Nonsense," he insisted. "Baeltimazifas performed his impersonation of Pasha Basadoni perfectly."
It was true enough. At the important meeting that same morning, the doppleganger had impersonated Pasha Basadoni perfectly, no small feat considering that the man was dead and Baeltimazifas could not probe his mind for the subtle details. Of course, his role in the meeting was minor-hindered, so Sharlotta had explained to the other guildmasters, by the fact that he was very old and not in good health. Pasha Wroning had been convinced by the doppelganger's performance. With the powerful Wroning satisfied, Domo Quillilo of the wererats and the younger and more nervous leaders of the Rakers could hardly protest. Calm had returned to Calimport's streets, and all, as far as the others were concerned, was as it had been.
"He told the other guildmasters that which they desired to hear," Kimmuriel said.
"And so we shall do the same with Drizzt and his friends," Jarlaxle assured the psionicist.
"Ah, but you know that the target this time is more dangerous," said the ever-observant Kimmuriel. "More alert, and more ... drow."
Jarlaxle stopped and stared hard at the Oblodran, then laughed aloud, admitting his edginess. "Ever has it proven interesting where Drizzt Do'Urden is concerned," he explained. "This one has again and again outrun, outsmarted, or merely out-lucked the most powerful enemies one can imagine. And look at him," he added, motioning to the magical reflective pool Rai'gy had left in place. "Still he survives, nay, thrives. Matron Baenre herself wanted to make a trophy of that one's head, and she, not he, has passed from this world."
"We do not desire his death," Kimmuriel reminded. "Though that, too, might prove quite profitable."
Jarlaxle shook his head fiercely. "Never that," he said determinedly.
Kimmuriel spent a long while studying the mercenary leader. "Could it be that you have come to like this outcast?" he asked. "That is the way of Jarlaxle, is it not?"
Jarlaxle laughed again. " 'Respect' would be a better word."
"He would never join Bregan D'aerthe," the psionicist reminded.
"Not knowingly," the opportunistic mercenary replied. "Not knowingly."
Kimmuriel didn't press the point but rather motioned to the reflective pool excitedly. "Pray that Baeltimazifas lives up to his fees," he said.
Jarlaxle, who had witnessed the catastrophe of many futile attempts against the likes of Drizzt Do'Urden, certainly was praying.
Artemis Entreri entered the room then, as Jarlaxle had bade him. He took one look at the two dark elves, then moved cautiously to the side of the reflecting pool-and his eyes widened when he saw the image displayed within, the image of his greatest adversary.
"Why are you so surprised?" Jarlaxle asked. "I told you I can deliver to you that which you most desire."
Entreri worked hard to keep his breathing steady, not wanting the mercenary to draw too much enjoyment from his obvious excitement. He recognized the truth of it all now, that Jarlaxle-damned Jarlaxle!- had been right. There in the pool stood the source of Entreri's apathy, the symbol that his life had been a lie. There stood the one challenge yet facing the master assassin, the one remaining uneasiness that so prevented him from enjoying his present life.
Right there, Drizzt Do'Urden. Entreri looked back at Jarlaxle and nodded.
The mercenary, hardly surprised, merely smiled.
Regis squirmed and groaned, resisting Catti-brie's attempts with the pendant this time, for as the emergency had dictated, she had not begun the charming process until after Drizzt's fingers were already working furiously inside the halfling's torn shoulder.
Bruenor, his axe right beside him, did well to hold the halfling steady, but Drizzt kept growling and shaking his head in frustration. The wound had reopened, and badly, and this time the nimble-fingered drow could not possibly close it.
"Take the damned arm!" Drizzt finally cried in ultimate frustration, falling back, his own arm soaked in blood. The four dwarves behind him gave a unified groan, but Bruenor, always steady and reliable, understood the truth and moved methodically for his axe.
Catti-brie continued to talk to Regis, but he was no longer listening to her or to anything, his consciousness long flown.
Bruenor leveled the axe, lining up the stroke. Cattibrie, having no logical arguments, understanding that they had to stem the bleeding even if that meant cut-ting off the arm and cauterizing the wound with fire, hesitantly extended the torn arm.
"Take it," Drizzt instructed, and the four dwarves groaned again.
Bruenor spat in his hands and took up the axe, but doubt crossed his face as he looked down at his poor little friend.
"Take it!" Drizzt demanded.
Bruenor lifted the axe and brought it down again slowly, lining up the hit.
"Take it!" Catti-brie said.
"Do not!" came a voice from the side, and all the friends turned to see two men walking toward them.
"Cadderly!" Catti-brie cried, and so it seemed to be. So surprised and pleased was she, and was Drizzt, that neither noticed that the man seemed older than the last time they had seen him, though they knew the priest was not aging, but was rather growing more youthful as his health returned. The great effort of raising the magical Spirit Soaring library from the rubble had taken its toll on the young man.
Cadderly nodded to his companion, who rushed over to Regis. "Good it is that beside you we arrived," the other priest said, a curious comment and in a dialect that none of the others had heard before.
They didn't question him about it, though, not with their friend Cadderly standing beside him, and certainly not while he bent over and began a quiet chant over the prone halfling.
"My associate, Arrabel, will see to the wound," Cadderly explained. "Truly I am surprised to see you out here so far from home."
"Coming to see yerself," Bruenor explained.
"Well, turn about," Baeltimazifas, in the guise of Cadderly, said dramatically, exactly as Jarlaxle had instructed. "I will welcome you indeed in a grand manner, when you arrive at the Spirit Soaring, but your road now is in the other direction, for you've a friend in dire need."
"Wulfgar," Catti-brie breathed, and the others were surely thinking the same.
Cadderly nodded. "He tried to follow your course, it would seem, and has come into a small hamlet east of Baldur's Gate. The downstream currents will take you there quickly."
"What hamlet?" Bumpo asked.
The doppleganger shrugged, having no name. "Four buildings behind a bluff and trees. I know not its name."
"That'd be Yogerville," Donat insisted, and Bumpo nodded his agreement.
"Get ye there in a day," the dwarf captain told Drizzt.
The drow looked questioningly to Cadderly.
"It would take me a day to pray for such a spell of transport," the phony priest explained. "And even then I could take but one of you along."
Regis groaned then, drawing the attention of all, and to the companions' amazement and absolute joy the halfling sat up, looking much better already, and even managed to flex the fingers at the end of his torn arm.
Beside him, Rai'gy, in the uncomfortable mantle of a human, smiled and silently thanked Lady Lolth for being so very understanding.
"He can travel, and immediately," the doppleganger explained. "Now be off. Your friend is in dire need. It would seem that his temper has angered the farmers, and they have him prisoner and plan to hang him. You have time to save him, for they'll not act until their leader returns, but be off at once."
Drizzt nodded, then reached down and took his pouch from Regis's belt. "Will you join us?" he asked, and even then, eager Catti-brie, Bruenor, Regis, and the dwarves began readying the boat for departure. Drizzt and Cadderly's associate moved out of the craft to join the priest.
"No," the doppleganger replied, perfectly mimicking Cadderly's voice, according to the imp who had supplied the strange, creature with most of the details and insights. "You'll not need me, and I have other urgent matters to attend."
Drizzt nodded and handed the pouch over. "Take care with it," he explained. "It has the ability to call in would-be allies."
"I will be back in the Spirit Soaring in a matter of minutes," the doppleganger replied.
Drizzt paused at that curious comment-hadn't Cadderly just proclaimed that he needed a day to memorize a spell of transport?
"Word of recall," Rai'gy, picking up the uneasiness, put in quickly. "Get us home to the Spirit Soaring will the spell, but not to any other place."
"Come on, elf!" Bruenor cried. "Me boy's waiting."
"Go," Cadderly bade Drizzt, taking the pouch and in the same movement, putting his hand on Drizzt's shoulder and turning him back to the boat, pushing him gently along. "Go at once. You've not a moment to spare."
Silent alarms continued to ring out in Drizzt's head, but he had no time then to stop and consider them. Bottom Feeder was already sliding back out into the river, the four crew working to turn her about. With a nimble leap Drizzt joined them, then turned back to see Cadderly waving and smiling, his associate already in the throes of spellcasting. Before the craft had gone very far the friends watched the pair dissipate into the wind.
"Why didn't the durned fool just take one of us to me boy now?" Bruenor asked.
"Why not, indeed?" Drizzt replied, staring back at the empty spot and wondering.
Wondering.
Bright and early the next morning, Bottom Feeder put in against the bank a couple hundred yards short of Yogerville and the four friends, including Regis, who was feeling much better, leaped ashore.
They had all agreed that the dwarves would remain with the boat, and also, on the suggestion of Drizzt, had decided that Bruenor, Regis, and Catti-brie would go in to speak with the townsfolk alone while the ranger circumvented the hamlet, getting a full lay of the region.
The three were greeted by friendly farm folk, by wide smiles, and then, when asked about Wulfgar, by expressions of confusion.
"Ye thinking that we'd forget one of that description?" one old woman asked with a cackle.
The three friends looked at each other with confusion.
"Donat picked the wrong town," Bruenor said with a great sigh.
Drizzt harbored troubling thoughts. A magical spell had obviously brought Cadderly to him and his companions, but if Wulfgar was in such dire need, why hadn't the cleric just gone to him first instead? He could explain it, of course, considering that Regis was in more dire peril, but why hadn't Cadderly gone to one, while his associate went to the other? Again, logical explanations were there. Perhaps the priests had only one spell that could bring them to one place and had been forced to choose. Yet there was something else nagging at Drizzt, and he simply could not place it.
But then he understood his inner turmoil. How had Cadderly even known to look for Wulfgar, a man he had never met and had only heard about briefly?
"Just good fortune," he told himself, trying logically to trace Cadderly's process, one that had obviously brought him onto Drizzt's trail, and there he had discovered Wulfgar, not so far behind. Luck alone had informed the priest of whom this great man might be.
Still, there seemed holes in that logic, but ones that Drizzt hoped might be filled in by Wulfgar when at last they managed to rescue him. With all that in mind Drizzt made his way around the back side of the hamlet, moving behind the blocking ridge south of the town, out of sight of his friends and their surprising exchange with the townsfolk, who honestly had no idea who Wulfgar might be.
But Drizzt could have guessed as much anyway when he came around that ridgeline, to see a crystalline tower, an image of Crenshinibon, sparkling in the morning light.