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  in the opposite direction. “Too anxious,” the elf quietly chided, easing the sword and dagger back into their respective sheaths.

  With a last look at the pair as they walked away, Le'lorinel gave a laugh and turned back toward the apartment, resuming the march down the road for Drizzt Do'Urden.

  * * * * * * * * * *

  Walking the other way down Dollemand Street, Drizzt and Catti-brie didn't even notice Le'lorinel as the elf spun on them, thinking them to be a threat. Had Drizzt not been wearing the hood of his cloak, his distinctive long, thick white hair might have marked him clearly for the vengeful elf.

  The couple's strides were no less eager than Le'lorinel's, carrying them in the opposite direction, to a meeting with Morik the Rogue and news of Wulfgar. They found the rogue in the appointed place, a back table in Arumn Gardpeck's Cutlass. He smiled at their approach and lifted his foaming mug of beer in toast to them.

  “Ye've got our information, then?” Catti-brie asked, sliding into a seat opposite the rogue.

  “As much as can be found,” Morik replied. His smile dimmed and he lifted the bag of coins Drizzt had given him to the table. “You might want to take some of it back,” Morik admitted, pushing it out toward the pair.

  “We shall see,” Drizzt said, pushing it right back.

  Morik shrugged but didn't reach for the bag. “Not much to be learned of Sheila Kree,” he began. “I will be honest with you in saying that I'm not overly fond of even asking anyone about her. The only ones who truly know about her are her many commanders, all of them women, and none of them fond of men. Men who go asking too much about Kree usually wind up dead or running, and I have no desire for either course.”

  “But ye said ye did learn a bit,” the eager Catti-brie prompted.

  Morik nodded and took a long draw on his beer. “It's been rumored that she operates her own private, secret port somewhere north of Luskan, probably nestled in one of the many coves along the end of the Spine of the World. That would make sense, since she's rarely seen in Luskan of late and has never been known to sail the waters to the south. I don't think her ship has ever been seen in Waterdeep.”

  Drizzt looked at Catti-brie, the two sharing silent agreement. They had chased pirates with Deudermont for some time, mostly to the south off the docks of Waterdeep, and neither had ever heard of the pirate, Kree.

  “What's her ship's name?” Catti-brie asked.

  “Bloody Keel,” Morik replied. “Well-earned name. Sheila takes great enjoyment in keelhauling her victims.” He shuddered visibly and took another drink. “That is all I have,” he finished, and he again pushed the bag of coins back toward Drizzt.

  “And more than I expected,” the drow replied, pushing it right back. This time, after a quick pause and a confirming look, Morik took it up and slipped it away.

  “There is one more thing,” the rogue said as the couple stood to leave. “From all reports, Sheila has not been seen much of late. It may well be that she is in hiding, knowing Deudermont to be after her.”

  “With her reputation and Wulfgar's hammer, don't ye think she'd try to take Sea Sprite on?” Catti-brie asked.

  Morik laughed aloud before she ever finished asking the question. “Kree's no fool, and one would have to be a fool to go against Sea Sprite on the open waters. Sea Sprite's got one purpose in being out there, and she and her crew do that task with perfect efficiency. Kree might have the warhammer, but Deudermont's got Robillard, and a nasty one he is! And Deudermont's got Wulfgar. No, Kree's laying low, and wise to be doing so. That might well work to your advantage, though.”

  He paused, making sure he had their attention, which he most certainly did.

  “Kree knows the waters north of here better than anyone,” Morik explained. “Better than Deudermont, certainly, who spends most of his time to the south. If she's in hiding the good captain will have a hard time finding her. I think it likely that Sea Sprite has many voyages ahead before they ever catch sight of Bloody Keel.”

  Again, Drizzt and Catti-brie exchanged curious looks. “Perhaps we should stay put in the city if we wish to find Wulfgar,” the drow offered.

  “Sea Sprite doesn't put in to Luskan much anymore,” Morik interjected. “The ship's wizard is not so fond of the Hosttower of the Arcane.”

  “And Captain Deudermont has sullied his good name somewhat, has he not?” Catti-brie asked.

  Morik's expression showed surprise. “Deudermont and his crew have been the greatest pirate hunters along the Sword Coast for longer than the memories of the eldest elves,” he said.

  “In freeing yerself and Wulfgar, I mean,” Catti-brie clarified with an unintentional smirk. “We're hearing his action at Prisoner's Carnival wasn't looked on with favor by the magistrates.”

  “Idiots all,” Morik mumbled. “But yes, Deudermont's reputation took a blow that day—the day he acted in the name of justice and not politics. He would have been better off personally in letting them kill us, but. .”

  “To his credit, he did not,” Drizzt finished for him.

  “Deudermont never liked the carnival,” Catti-brie remarked.

  “So it's likely that the captain has found a more favorable berth for his ship,” Morik went on. “Waterdeep, I'd guess, since that's where he is best known—and known to keep a fairly fabulous house.”

  Drizzt looked to Catti-brie yet again. “We can be there in a tenday,” he suggested, and the woman nodded her agreement.

  “Well met, Morik, and thank you for your time,” the drow said. He bowed and turned to leave.

  “You are described in the same manner as a paladin might be, dark elf,” Morik remarked, turning both friends back to him one last time. “Righteous and self-righteous. Does it not harm your reputation to do business with the likes of Morik the Rogue?”

  Drizzt offered a smile that somehow managed to be warm, self-deprecating, and to show the ridiculousness of Morik's statement clearly, all at once. “You were a friend of Wulfgar's, by all I have heard. I name Wulfgar among my most trusted of companions.”

  “The Wulfgar you knew, or the one I knew?” Morik asked. “Perhaps they are not one and the same.”

  “Perhaps they are,” Drizzt replied, and he bowed again, as did Catti-brie, and the pair departed.

  * * * * * * * * * * *

  Le'lorinel entered the small room at the back of the tavern tentatively, hands on dagger and sword. A woman—Sheila Kree's representative, Le'lorinel believed—sat across the room, not behind any desk, but simply against the wall, out in the open. Flanking her were two huge guards, brutes Le'lorinel figured had more than human blood running through their veins— a bit of orc, perhaps even ogre.

  “Do come in,” the woman said in a friendly and casual manner.

  She held up her hands to show the elf that she had no weapon. “You requested an audience, and so you have found one.”

  Le'lorinel relaxed, just a bit, one hand slipping down from the weapon hilt. A glance to the left and the right showed that no one was concealed in the small and sparsely furnished room, so the elf took a stride forward.

  The right cross came out of nowhere, a heavy slug that caught the unsuspecting elf on the side of the jaw.

  Only the far wall kept the staggering Le'lorinel from falling to the floor. The elf struggled against waves of dizziness and disorientation, fighting to find some center of balance.

  The third guard, the largest of the trio, came visible, the concealing enchantment dispelled with the attack. Smiling evilly through a couple of crooked yellow teeth, the brute waded in with another heavy punch, this one blowing the air out of the stunned elf s lungs.

  Le'lorinel went for dagger and sword, but the third punch, an uppercut, connected squarely under the elf's chin, lifting Le'lorinel into the air. The last thing Le'lorinel saw was the approach of the other two, one of them with its huge fists wrapped in chains.

  A downward chop caught the elf on the side of the head, bringing a myriad of flashing explosions.
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  All went black.

  * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  “Information is not so high a price to pay,” Val-Doussen said dramatically—as he said everything dramatically—waving his arms so that his voluminous sleeves seemed more like a raven's wings. “Is it so much that I ask of you?”

  Drizzt dropped his head and ran his fingers through his thick white hair, glancing sidelong at Catti-brie as he did. The two had come to the Hosttower of the Arcane, Luskan's wizards guild, in hopes that they would find a mage traveling to Ten-Towns, one who might deliver a message to Bruenor. They knew the dwarf to be terribly worried, and the things they'd learned concerning Wulfgar, while not confirming that he was alive, certainly pointed in that positive direction. They'd been directed to this black-robed eccentric, Val-Doussen, who'd been planning a trip to Icewind Dale for several tendays. They didn't think they were asking much of the wizard, though they were prepared to pay him, if necessary, but then the silver-haired and bearded wizard had taken a huge interest in Drizzt, particularly in the drow's origins.

  He would deliver the information to Bruenor, as requested, but only if Drizzt would give him a dissertation on the dark elf society of Menzoberranzan.

  “I have not the time,” Drizzt said, yet again. “I am bound for the south, for Waterdeep.”

  “Might that our wizardly friend here can take us to Waterdeep in a hurry,” Catti-brie put in on sudden inspiration, as Val-Doussen began to nervously tug at his beard.

  Across the room, the other mage in attendance, one of the guild's leaders by the name of Cannabere, began waving his arms frantically, warding off the suggestion with a look of the purest alarm on his craggy old features.

  “Well, well,” Val-Doussen said, picking up on Catti-brie's suggestion. “Yes, that would require a bit of effort, but it can be I done. For a price, of course, and a substantial one at that. Yes, let me think … I take you two to Waterdeep in exchange for a thousand gold coins and two days of tales of Menzoberranzan. Yes, yes, that might do well. And of course, I'll then go to Ten-Towns, as I had planned, and speak with Bruenor—but that for yet another day of dark elven tales.”

  He looked up at Drizzt, bright-eyed with eagerness, but the drow merely shook his head.

  “I've no tales to tell,” Drizzt remarked. “I left before I knew |much of the place. In truth, I'm certain that many others, likely yourself included, know more of Menzoberranzan than I.”

  Val-Doussen's expression became a pout. “One day of stories, then, and I shall take your letter to Bruenor.”

  “No tales of Menzoberranzan,” Drizzt replied firmly. He Reached under the folds of his cloak and pulled forth the letter he'd prepared for Bruenor. “I will pay you twenty gold pieces— and that is a great sum for this small favor—for you to deliver this to a councilor in Brynn Shander, where you are going anyway, with the request that he relay it to Regis of Lonelywood.”

  “Small favor?” Val-Doussen asked dramatically.

  “We have spent more time discussing this issue than it will take you to carry through with my request,” Drizzt replied.

  “I will have my stories!” the wizard insisted.

  “From someone else,” Drizzt answered. He rose to leave, Catti-brie right behind.

  The couple nearly made it to the door before Cannabere called out, “He will do it.”

  Drizzt turned to regard the guildmaster, then the huffing Val-Doussen.

  Cannabere looked to the flustered mage, as well, then nodded toward Drizzt. With a great sigh, Val-Doussen went over and took the note. As he began to hold out his hand for the payment, Cannabere added, “As a favor to you, Drizzt Do'Urden, and with our thanks for your work with Sea Sprite. “

  Val-Doussen grumbled again, but he snapped up the note in his hand and spun away.

  “Perhaps I will weave a tale or two for you when we meet again,” Drizzt said to placate him, as the wizard stormed from the room.

  The drow looked to the guildmaster, who merely bowed politely, and Drizzt and Catti-brie went on their way, bound for Luskan's southern gate and the road to Waterdeep.

  * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  Tight cords dug deep lines into Le'lorinel's wrists as the elf sat upright on a hard, high, straight-backed wooden chair. A leather band even went about Le’lorinel's neck, holding the elf firmly in place, forcing a grimace.

  One eye didn't open all the way, bloated and bruised from the beating, and both shoulders ached and showed purplish bruises, for the elf was no longer wearing a tunic, was no longer wearing many clothes at all.

  As the elf's eyes adjusted, Le'lorinel noted that the same four — three brutish guards and a brown-haired woman of medium build — remained in the room. The guards were standing to the side, the woman sitting directly across the way, staring hard at the prisoner.

  “My Lady is not fond of having people inquiring about her in public,” the woman remarked, her eyes roaming Le'lorinel's finely muscled frame.

  “Your lady can not distinguish between friend and foe,” Le'lorinel, ever defiant, replied.

  “Some things are difficult to distinguish,” the woman agreed, and she smiled as she continued her scan.

  Le'lorinel gave a derisive snicker, and the woman nodded to the side. A brutish guard was beside the prisoner in a moment, offering a vicious smack across the face.

  “Your attitude will get you killed,” the woman calmly stated.

  Now it was Le'lorinel's turn to stare hard.

  “You have been all around Luskan asking about Sheila Kree,” the woman went on after a few moments. “What is it about? Are you with the authorities? With that wretch Deudermont perhaps?”

  “I am alone, and without friends west of Silverymoon,” Le'lorinel replied with equal calm.

  “But with the name of a hoped-for contact you carelessly utter to anyone who will listen.”

  “Not so,” the elf answered. “I spoke of Kree only to the one group, and only because I believed they could lead me to her.”

  Again the woman nodded, and again the brute smacked Le'lorinel across the face.

  “Sheila Kree,” the woman corrected.

  Le'lorinel didn't audibly respond but did give a slight, deferential nod.

  “You should explain, then, here and now, and parse your words carefully,” the woman explained. “Why do you so seek out my boss?”

  “On the directions of a seer,” Le'lorinel admitted. “The one who created the sketch for me.”

  As the elf finished, the woman lifted the parchment that held the symbol of Aegis-fang, the symbol that had become so connected to Sheila Kree's pirate band.

  “I come in search of another, a dangerous foe, and one who will seek out Kr—Sheila Kree,” Le'lorinel explained. “I know not the time nor the place, but by the words of the seer, I will complete my quest to do battle with this rogue when I am in the company of Sheila Kree, if it is indeed Sheila Kree who now holds the weapon bearing that insignia.”

  “A dangerous foe?” the woman slyly asked. “Captain Deudermont, perhaps?”

  “Drizzt Do'Urden,” Le'lorinel stated clearly, seeing no reason to hide the truth—especially since any ill-considered words now could prove disastrous for the quest and for the elf's very life. “A dark elf, and friend to the one who once owned that weapon.”

  “A drow?” the woman asked skeptically, showing no obvious recognition of the strange name.

  “Indeed,” Le'lorinel said with a huff. “Hero of the northland. Beloved by many in Icewind Dale—and other locales.”

  The woman's expression became curious, as if she might have heard of such a drow, but she merely shrugged it away. “And he seeks Sheila Kree?” she asked.

  It was Le’lorinel's turn to shrug—had the tight binding allowed for such a movement. “I know only what the seer told to me and have traveled many hundreds of miles to find the vision fulfilled. I intend to kill this dark elf”

  “And what, then, of any relationship you begin with my boss?” the woman
asked. “Is she merely a pawn for your quest?”

  “She. . her home, or fortress, or ship, or wherever it is she resides, is merely my destination, yes,” Le'lorinel admitted. “As of now, I have no relationship with your captain. Whether that situation changes or not will likely have more to do with her than with me, since. .” The elf stopped and glanced at the bindings.

  The woman spent a long while studying the elf and considering the strange tale, then nodded again to her brutish guards, offering a subtle, yet clear signal to them.

  One moved fast for Le'lorinel, drawing a long, jagged knife. The elf thought that doom had come, but then the brute stepped behind the chair and cut the wrist bindings. Another of the brutish guards came out of the shadows at the side of the room, bearing Le'lorinel's clothing and belongings, except for the weapons and the enchanted ring.

  Le'lorinel looked to the woman, trying hard to ignore the disappointed scowls of the three brutes, and noted that she was wearing the ring—the ring Le'lorinel so desperately needed to win a battle against Drizzt Do'Urden.

  “Give back the weapons, as well,” the woman instructed the guards, and all three paused and stared at her incredulously— or perhaps just stupidly.

  “The road to Sheila Kree is fraught with danger,” the woman explained. “You will likely need your blades. Do not disappoint me in this journey, and perhaps you will live long enough to tell your tale to Sheila Kree, though whether she listens to it in full or merely kills you for the fun of it, only time will tell.”

  Le'lorinel had to be satisfied with that. The elf gathered up the clothes and dressed, trying hard not to rush, trying hard to remain indignant toward the rude guards all the while.

  Soon they, all five, were on the road, out of Luskan's north gate.

  Chapter 10 DAMN THE WINTER

  From Drizzt,” Cassius explained, handing the parchment over to Regis. “Delivered by a most unfriendly fellow from Luskan. A wizard of great importance, by his own measure, at least.”