A commotion outside caught their attention, and they noted some men going past the house, the four Rethnor thugs in tow, and in chains. None had died, and Catti-brie had healed them all-even the one Regis had stabbed in the back was walking again.
“Will they hang the thieves?” he asked.
“They will put them to work, likely,” Catti-brie replied. “Hands are always needed up here, you remember.”
Regis nodded. In Luskan, back in the days of old, these thieves would have been brought to Prisoner’s Carnival, publicly tortured and, quite likely, heinously executed. At the very least, they would have spent years in a dungeon cell, and with their hands severed. But upline-height: IBruenor didon here in Ten-Towns, serious crimes were most often punished by hard labor.
Regis smiled at the thought-in so many ways, this frontier region on the edge of the wilds seemed so much more civilized than the supposedly great cities of Faerun. The hardships of pressing danger created a cleaner relationship between the folk here, where coin mattered less than assistance, gold less than food, and a helping hand more than a magistrate’s whip.
It was good to be home.
Bruenor leaned on the wagon, gazing anxiously to the mountains just north of his position, at the low clouds that covered their tops. It was the last caravan of the year destined for Icewind Dale, now sitting idle on the road just outside of Luskan. The dwarf had signed on as a guard, but the lead driver had offered him no coin.
“Not sure we’re even to get through,” the driver had explained.
Now, looking at the gray clouds obscuring the mountain tops, those words echoed keenly in Bruenor’s mind. He knew what those clouds meant. He felt the bite in the air. Elient, the ninth month, had given way to Marpenoth, and while that tenth month was also named “Leaffall” in much of the Realms, in Icewind Dale, the leaves of the few trees were surely long fallen and long dead, and soon to be, if not already, buried under the first snows of winter.
“A rider!” he heard, drawing him back to the present scene. He moved out from the wagon and looked up the northern road to witness the approach of the scout the caravan’s lead driver had sent ahead.
The man rode to the lead wagon and quietly conferred with a small group up there. One removed his hat and slapped it in anger against the wagon, and Bruenor knew then that he had missed his chance.
The lead driver climbed up on the wagon and called for all to gather near. Bruenor went along, but he already knew what was coming, for he understood the ways of Icewind Dale as well as any man alive, understood the season and recognized those clouds.
The window of time had been small for this last caravan. The window had closed.
“Break them down!” the lead driver ordered.
Amidst the groans and complaints, the workers went about their tasks, re-ordering the goods for the return to the stocks in Luskan, sorting the wagons of each High Captain affiliate and such. Through the din, Bruenor made his way to the lead driver, who was still conversing with the returned scout.
“Ain’t no way through?” the dwarf asked.
“Snow’s already waist deep to an ogre, and falling fast,” said the scout.
“The pass is closed,” the lead driver agreed.
“I got to get me to Ten-Towns,” said Bruenor.
The two men just looked at him and shrugged.
“You might find a wizard in Luskan to send you,” said the scout. “No mount, except one that’s flying, will carry you through.”
The dwarf did well to hide his frustration-it wasn’t the fault of these two, after all, and the lead driver had been quite generous in allowing Bruenor to sign on after he had fully complemented the caravan guard.
But what was Bruenor to do? He had no coin, and wizards certainly would not come cheap.line-height: IBruenor didon
“I got nowhere to go,” he muttered.
“Most’ll put up at One-Eyed Jax,” said the scout. “What’s your captain affiliation?”
“Me what?”
“What Ship are you with?”
“He’s not of Luskan,” the lead driver explained.
The scout nodded. “Well, if you’ve the coin, I’d suggest One-Eyed Jax. Only safe inn in Luskan for one who’s not of Luskan. And you might find an affiliation. Ship Kurth’s the strongest of the lot, but the most demanding, and they might not let you go so easily in the spring.”
Bruenor waved his hand wildly, silencing the man. He had no intention of gaining any affiliation with one of the High Captains of Luskan, and indeed, after viewing the city on his quick pass through there, had no intention of going back into the place. He looked to the east instead, to the scattered cottages and farmhouses, some inhabited but many in ruins.
“One might put you up,” the lead driver said, following his gaze and reading his thoughts.
The dwarf hardly heard him, lost in thought. He knew that the pass would be closed through the rest of the year and into early 1484. Winter came early north of the Spine of the World, and when it set its grip, there was no way to press through.
The dwarf considered abandoning his present road. Mirabar wasn’t so far-he could likely get there before the snows settled deep down here south of the mountains. He mused that he could reveal himself to the leaders of that city, and perhaps they would offer him magical assistance into Icewind Dale.
He shook his head. He wasn’t ready to reveal himself. He knew his place now, as a Companion of the Hall and not as the king of Mithral Hall, and he wasn’t about to complicate, perhaps even compromise, the mission he had embarked upon when he had left Iruladoon by bringing such notice to himself.
But the spring equinox was less than six months away, and the passes were closed. They would remain so through the rest of the year, of course, and into the next. Travel in Icewind Dale in the first month of Hammer was always impossible, and so too for the first half of Alturiak at least, sometimes even into the third month, Ches. No caravans would head that way at least until the end of the fourth month, long past Bruenor’s appointed rendezvous.
But the snows would lessen in Alturiak, Bruenor thought, nodding. It was a treacherous time to be out and about in the dale, of course, with mud pits deeper than a hill giant, and water half-frozen or full-frozen-you wouldn’t know until you tried to venture across. And while the trail might seem clear on a bright morning, late winter storms often blew through with little warning, and sometimes dropped several feet of snow.
The dwarf shook his head and spat on the ground, then stomped off for the farmhouses to see if he could find lodging for the winter.
Regis pushed through the door with an armload of kindling, dropping the wood by the hearth and rushing back to secure the door against the blowing snow. Winter had come on in typical fury, and just getting to his woodshed and back had exhausted the halfling.
He turned back for the hearth, tossing his cloak aside, and nearly jumped out of his boots when he noticed the tall figure standing in the doorway in his previous existence momentBruenor didon to the kitchen.
“I’ve started a fine broth for you,” Catti-brie explained. “To warm your bones.”
“When did you return? How did you return?” Regis exclaimed in response. The woman had left him just a few days before the storm on her way to Brynn Shander.
“The goddess protects me,” Catti-brie said with a wink.
“Good, then you go get the wood from now on,” Regis replied.
“I can cast a spell to keep the cold from your bones,” Catti-brie promised.
“Too late.”
The woman matched Regis’s wide smile, but hers could not hold.
“What word?” Regis asked, for she had gone out scouting.
“No word,” she replied. “Drizzt has not been seen, and his name is spoken without affection.”
“That demon incident,” Regis remarked, for Catti-brie had told him the tale of the battle at Brynn Shander’s western gate. Apparently Drizzt and some companions had passed through the town and headed out to the east, not to be seen again. Soon after, a great demon had arrived at Bryn Shander, seeking Drizzt, had attacked the town, and only the heroics of another drow, Tiago by name, and his band of warriors and wizards and a few half-drow, half-spider creatures, had saved the day. The story was jumbled, for the incidents had occurred many years before, when Regis was just a toddler in Eiverbreen’s lean-to. Ten-Towns was a place where people came and went, and where more died than were born, and so few even remembered the fight at Bryn Shander’s gate, even with the plaque set out on the spot where the great demon had been destroyed.