Sea of Swords pod-4 Page 7

  Regis was no less flustered, but he tried to look beyond the impressive woman's obvious physical allure, taking even greater interest in Jule's manipulative cunning. She was one to be wary of, the halfling knew, and still, he could not deny he had more than a little curiosity about exploring this interesting creature more fully.

  “May I ask why I am being held here against my choice and free will?” the woman remarked a moment later, after the group had settled again, with one even tugging at his collar, as if to let some heat out of his burning body.

  Cassius snorted and waved a dismissive hand her way. “For crimes against Ten-Towns, obviously,” he replied.

  “List them then,” Jule demanded. “I have done nothing.”

  “Your band—” Cassius started to respond.

  “I have no band,” Jule interrupted, her eyes flashing and narrowing. “I was on my way to Ten-Towns when I happened to cross paths with those rogues. I knew not who they were or why they were in that place at that time, but their fire was warm and their food acceptable, and any company seemed better than the murmuring of that endless wind.”

  “Ridiculous!” one of the councilors asserted. “You were speaking with them knowingly when the terrified pair returned to you—on the word of Drizzt Do'Urden himself, and I have come to trust in that dark elf!”

  “Indeed,” another councilor agreed.

  “And pray tell me what I said, exactly,” the woman answered, and her grin showed that she didn't fear any answers they might give. “I spoke to the fools knowingly about Drizzt and Catti-brie and Bruenor. Certainly, I am as versed on the subject as any wise person venturing to Icewind Dale would be. Did I not speak knowingly that the fools had done something stupid and had then been baited by the drow and his companions? No stretch of intelligence there, I would say.”

  The councilors began murmuring among themselves and Regis stared hard at Jule, his smile showing his respect for her cunning, if nothing else. He could tell already that with her devastating posture and shapeliness, combined with more than a measure of cunning and careful preparedness out on the road, she would likely slip through these bonds unscathed.

  And Regis, knew, too, whatever she might say, that this one, Jule Pepper, was the leader of the highwayman band.

  “We will discuss this matter,” Cassius said soon after, the private conversations of the councilors escalating into heated debate, divisions becoming apparent.

  Jule smiled knowingly at Cassius. “Then I am free to go?”

  “You are invited to return to the room we have provided,” the older and more comprehending elderman replied, and he waved to the guards.

  They came up on either side of Jule, who gave Cassius one last perfectly superior look and turned to leave, swaying her shoulders in exactly the right manner to again set off the sweat of the male councilors.

  Regis grinned at it all, thoroughly impressed, but his smile dropped into an open-mouthed stare a moment later, as Jule completed her turn, as he noticed a curious marking on the back of her right shoulder, a brand the halfling surely recognized.

  “Wait!” the halfling cried and he hopped up from his seat and ducked low to scramble under the table rather than take the time to go around it.

  The guards and Jule stopped, all turning about to regard the sudden commotion.

  “Turn back,” the halfling instructed. “Turn back!” He waved his hand at Jule as he spoke, and the woman just stared at him incredulously, her gaze shifting from curiosity to withering.

  “Cassius, turn her back!” the halfling pleaded.

  Cassius looked at him with no less incredulity than had Jule.

  Regis didn't wait for him. The halfling ran up to Jule, grabbed her right arm and started pulling her around. She resisted for a moment, but the halfling, stronger than he appeared, gave a great tug that brought her around enough, briefly, to show the brand.

  “There!” Regis said, poking an accusing finger.

  Jule pulled away from him, but it was out now, the councilors all leaning in and Cassius coming forward, motioning for Jule to turn around, or for the guards to turn her if she didn't willingly comply.

  With a disgusted shake of her head, the raven-haired woman finally turned.

  Regis went up on a nearby chair to better see the brand, but he knew before the inspection that his keen eyes had not deceived him, that the brand on the woman's shoulder was of a design unique to Bruenor Battlehammer, and more than that, a marking Bruenor had used only once, on the side of Aegis-fang. Moreover, the brand was exactly the right size for the warhammer's marking, as if a heated Aegis-fang had been pressed against her skin.

  Regis nearly swooned. “Where did you get that?” he asked.

  “A rogue's mark,” Cassius remarked. “Common enough, I'd say, for any guild.”

  “Not common,” Regis answered, shaking his head. “Not that mark.”

  “You know it?” the elderman inquired.

  “My friends will speak with her,” Regis answered. “At once.”

  “When we are done with her,” Councilor Tamaroot insisted.

  “At once,” Regis insisted, turning to face the man. “Else you, good Tamaroot, can explain to King Bruenor the delay when his adopted son's life may likely hang in the balance.”

  That brought a myriad of murmurs in the room.

  Jule Pepper just glared down at Regis, and he got the distinct feeling that she had little idea what he was talking about, little idea of the significance of the mark.

  For her sake, the halfling knew, that better be the truth of it.

  * * * * * * * * * * * *

  A few nights later, Drizzt found Bruenor atop a quiet and dark place called Bruenor's Climb, in the small rocky valley the dwarves mined to the northeast of Brynn Shander, between Maer Dualdon and the lake called Lac Dinneshire. Bruenor always had such private places as this, wherever he was, and he always named them Bruenor's Climb, as much to warn any intruders as out of any personal pride.

  This was the dwarfs spot for reflection, his quiet place where he could ponder things beyond the everyday trials and tribulations of his station in life. This was the one place where practical and earthy Bruenor, on dark nights, could let go of his bonds a bit, could let his spirit climb to some place higher than the imagination of a dwarf. This was where Bruenor could come to ponder the meaning of it all and the end of it all.

  Drizzt had found Bruenor up on his personal climb back at Mithral Hall, looking very much the same as he did now, when the yochlol had taken Wulfgar, when they had all believed that his adopted son was dead.

  Silent as the clouds flying beneath the stars, the drow walked up behind the dwarf and stood patiently.

  “Ye'd think losin' him a second time would've been easier,” Bruenor remarked at length. “Especially since he'd been such an orc-kin afore he left us.”

  “You do not know that you have lost him,” the drow reminded.

  “Ain't no mark in the world like it,” Bruenor reasoned. “And the thief said she got it from a hammer's head.”

  Indeed, Jule had willingly surrendered much information to the imposing friends when they had spoken with her right after the confrontation in the council hall. She'd admitted that the brand was intentional, a marking given by a woman ship's captain. When pressed, Jule had admitted that this woman, Sheila Kree, was a pirate and that this particular brand was reserved by her for those most trusted within her small band.

  Drizzt felt great pity for his friend. He started to remark on the fact that Jule had stated that the only physically large members of the pirate band were a clan of ogres Sheila Kree kept for tacking and steering. Wulfgar had not fallen in with the dogs, apparently. The drow held back the remarks, though, because the other implication, a clear one if Wulfgar was not in league with the pirates, was even more dire.

  “Ye think this dog Kree killed me boy?” Bruenor asked, his thoughts obviously rolling along the same logic. “Or do ye think it was someone else, some dog who then sold t
he hammer to this one?”

  “I do not think Wulfgar is dead at all,” Drizzt stated without hesitation.

  Bruenor turned a curious eye up at him.

  “Wulfgar may have sold the hammer,” Drizzt remarked, and Bruenor's look became even more skeptical. “He denied his past when he ran away from us,” the drow reminded. “Perhaps relieving himself of that hammer was a further step along the road he saw before him.”

  “Yeah, or maybe he just needed the coin,” Bruenor said with such sarcasm that Drizzt let his argument die silently.

  In truth, the drow hadn't even convinced himself. He knew Wulfgar's bond with Aegis-fang, and knew the barbarian would no sooner willingly part with the warhammer than he would part with one of his own arms.

  “Then a theft,” Drizzt said after a pause. “If Wulfgar went to Luskan or to Waterdeep, as we believe, then he would likely find himself in the company of thieves.”

  “In the company of murderers,” Bruenor remarked, and he looked back up at the starry sky.

  “We can not know,” Drizzt said to him quietly.

  The dwarf merely shrugged, and when his shoulders came back down from that action, they seemed to Drizzt lower than ever.

  The very next morning dark clouds rumbled up from the south off the winds of the Spine of the World, threatening to deluge the region with a torrent of rain that would turn the thawed ground into a quagmire. Still, Drizzt and Catti-brie set out from Ten-Towns, running fast for Luskan. Running fast for answers all four of the friends needed desperately to hear.

  Chapter 5 THE HONESTY OF LOVE

  Wulfgar was the first off Sea Sprite when the pirate hunter returned to her berth at Waterdeep's long wharf. The barbarian leaped down to the dock before the ship had even been properly tied in, and his stride as he headed for shore was long and determined.

  “Will you take him back out?” Robillard asked Deudermont, the two of them standing amidships, watching Wulfgar's departure.

  “Your tone indicates to me that you do not wish me to,” the captain answered, and he turned to face his trusted wizard friend.

  Robillard shrugged.

  “Because he interfered with your plan of attack?” Deudermont asked.

  “Because he jeopardized the safety of the crew with his rash actions,” the wizard replied, but there was little venom in his voice, just practicality. “I know you feel a debt to this one, Captain, though for what reason I cannot fathom. But Wulfgar is not Drizzt or Catti-brie. Those two were disciplined and understood how to play a role as part of our crew. This one is more like. . more like Harkle Harpell, I say! He finds a course and runs down it without regard to the consequences for those he leaves behind. Yes, we fought two successful engagements on this venture, sank a pirate, and brought another one in—”

  “And captured two crews nearly intact,” Deudermont added.

  “Still,” the wizard argued, “in both of those fights, we walked a line of disaster.” He knew he really didn't have to convince Deudermont, knew the captain understood as well as he did that Wulfgar's actions had been less than exemplary.

  “We always walk that line,” Deudermont said.

  “Too close to the edge this time,” the wizard insisted. “And with a long fall beside us.”

  “You do not wish me to invite Wulfgar back.”

  Again came the wizard's noncommittal shrug. “I wish to see the Wulfgar who took Sea Sprite through her trials at the Pirate Isles those years ago,” Robillard explained. “I wish to fight beside the Wulfgar who made himself so valuable a member of the Companions of the Hall, or whatever that gang of Drizzt Do'Urden's was called. The Wulfgar who fought to reclaim Mithral Hall and who gave his life, so it had seemed, to save his friends when the dark elves attacked the dwarf kingdom. All these tales I have heard of this magnificent barbarian warrior, and yet the Wulfgar I have known is a man consorting with thieves the likes of Morik the Rogue, the Wulfgar who was indicted for trying to assassinate you.”

  “He had no part in that,” Deudermont insisted, but the captain did wince even in denial, for the memory of the poison and of the Prisoner's Carnival was a painful one.

  Deudermont had lost much in granting Wulfgar his reprieve from the vicious magistrate that day in Luskan. By association, by his generosity to those the magistrates believed were truly not deserving, Deudermont had sullied Sea Sprite's reputation with the leaders of that important northern port. For Deudermont had stolen their show, had granted so unexpected a pardon, and all of that without any real proof that Wulfgar had not been involved in the attempt on his life.

  “Perhaps not,” Robillard admitted. “And Wulfgar's character on this voyage, whatever his shortcomings, has borne out your decision to grant the pardon, I admit. But his discretion on the open waters has not borne out your decision to take him aboard Sea Sprite”

  Captain Deudermont let the wizard's honest and fair words sink in for a long while. Robillard could be a crotchety and judgmental sort, a curmudgeon in the extreme, and a merciless one concerning those he believed had brought their doom upon themselves. In this case, though, his words rang of honest truth, of simple and undeniable observation. That truth stung Deudermont. When he'd encountered Wulfgar in Luskan, a bouncer in a seedy tavern, he recognized the big man's fall from glory and had tried to entice Wulfgar away from that life. Wulfgar had denied him outright, had even refused to admit his own true identity to the captain. Then came the assassination attempt, with Wulfgar indicted while Deudermont lay unconscious and near death.

  The captain still wasn't sure why he'd denied the magistrate his murderous fun at Prisoner's Carnival that day, why he'd gone with his gut instinct against the common belief and a fair amount of circumstantial evidence, as well. Even after that display of mercy and trust, Wulfgar had shown little gratitude or friendship.

  Deudermont had been pained when they parted outside of Luskan's gate that day of the reprieve, when Wulfgar had again refused him his offer to sail with Sea Sprite. The captain had been fond of the man once and considered himself a good friend of Drizzt and Catti-brie, who had sailed with him honorably those years after Wulfgar's fall. Yes, he had dearly wanted to help Wulfgar climb back to grace, and so Deudermont had been overjoyed when Wulfgar had arrived in Waterdeep, at this same long wharf, a woman and child in tow, announcing that he wished to sail with Deudermont, that he was searching for his lost warhammer.

  Deudermont had correctly read that as something much more, had known then as he did now that Wulfgar was searching for more than his lost weapon, that he was searching for his former self.

  But Robillard's observations had been on the mark, as well. While Wulfgar had not been a problem in any way during the routine tendays of patrolling, in the two battles Sect Sprite had fought, the barbarian had not performed well. Courageously? Yes. Devastating to the enemy? Yes. But Wulfgar, wild and vicious, had not been part of the crew, had not allowed the more conventional and less risky tactics of using Robillard's wizardry to force submission from afar, the chance to work. Deudermont wasn't sure why Wulfgar had gone into this battle rage. The seasoned captain understood the inner heat of battle, the ferocious surge that any man needed to overcome his logical fears, but Wulfgar's explosions of rage seemed something beyond even that, seemed the stuff of barbarian legend — and not a legend that shone favorably on the future of Sea Sprite.

  “I will speak with him before we sail,” Deudermont offered.

  “You already have,” the wizard reminded.

  Deudermont looked to him and gave a slight shrug. “Then I will again,” he said.

  Robillard's eyes narrowed.

  “And if that is not effective, we will put Wulfgar to duty on the tiller,” the captain explained before Robillard could begin his obviously forthcoming stream of complaints, “below decks and away from the fighting.”

  “Our steering crew is second to none,” Robillard did say.

  “And they will appreciate Wulfgar's unparalleled strength when executing th
e tightest of turns.”

  Robillard snorted, hardly seeming convinced. “He will probably ram us into the next pirate in line,” the wizard grumbled quietly as he walked away.

  Despite the gravity of the situation, Deudermont could not suppress a chuckle as he watched Robillard's typical, grumbling departure.

  * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  Wulfgar's surprise when he burst through the door to find Delly waiting for him was complete and overwhelming. He knew the woman, surely, with her slightly crooked smile and her light brown eyes, and yet he hardly recognized her. Wulfgar had known Delly as a barmaid living in squalor and as a traveling companion on a long and dirty road. Now, in the beautiful house of Captain Deudermont, with all his attendants and resources behind her, she hardly seemed the same person.

  Before, she had almost always kept her dark brown hair pinned up, mostly because of the abundant lice she encountered in the Cutlass, but now her hair hung about her shoulders luxuriously, silken and shining and seeming darker. That, of course, only made her light brown eyes—remarkable eyes, Wulfgar realized—shine all the brighter. Before, Delly had worn plain and almost formless clothing, simple smocks and shifts, that had made her thin limbs seem spindly But now she was dressed in a formed blue dress with a low-cut white blouse.

  It occurred to the barbarian, just briefly (for other things were suddenly flooding his thoughts!) how much an advantage the wealthy women of Faerыn held over the peasant women in terms of beauty. When first he and Delly had arrived, Deudermont had thrown a party for many of Waterdeep's society folk. Delly had felt so out of place, and so had Wulfgar, but for the woman, it was much worse, as her meager resources for beauty had been called to attention at every turn.

  Not so now, Wulfgar understood. If Deudermont held another of his many parties on this stay in port, then Delly Curtie would shine more beautifully than any woman there!

  Wulfgar could hardly find his breath. He had always thought Delly comely, even pretty, and her beauty had only increased for him in their time on the road from Luskan, as he had come to appreciate the depth of the woman even more. Now, combining that honest respect and love with this physical image proved too much for the barbarian who had spent the last three months at sea.