Drizzt had expected as much. “We have come to settle a score,” he said without any hesitation.
“What enemies might the likes of yerselves have in Conyberry?” asked the voice.
“In your fair town?” Drizzt balked. “Nay, our fight is with a foe common to you.”
Some shuffling came from above, and then two men, bows in hand, appeared at the corner of the farmhouse. Both Drizzt and Wulfgar knew that still more sets of eyes—and no doubt more bows—were trained upon them from the roof, and possibly from their flanks. For simple farmers, these folk were apparently well organized for defense.
“A common foe?” one of the men at the corner—the same who had spoken earlier from the roof—asked Drizzt. “Surely we’ve seen none of yer likes before, elf, nor of yer giant friend!”
Wulfgar brought Aegis-fang down from his shoulder, drawing some uneasy shuffling from the roof. “Never have we come through your fair town,” he replied sternly, not thrilled with being called a giant.
Drizzt quickly interjected. “A friend of ours was slain near here, down a dark path in the wood. We were told that you could guide us.”
Suddenly the door of the farmhouse burst open and a wrinkled old woman popped her head out. “Hey, then, what do ye want with the ghost in the wood?” she snapped angrily. “Not fer to both’ring those that leaves her to peace!”
Drizzt and Wulfgar glanced at each other, perplexed by the old woman’s unexpected attitude. But the man at the corner apparently felt the same way.
“Yeah, leave Agatha be,” he said.
“Go away!” added an unseen man from the roof.
Wulfgar, fearing that these people might be under some evil enchantment, gripped his war hammer more tightly, but Drizzt sensed something else in their voices.
“I had been told that the ghost, this Agatha, was an evil spirit,” Drizzt told them calmly. “Might I have heard wrong? For goodly folk defend her.”
“Bah, evil! What be evil?” snapped the old woman, thrusting her wrinkled face and shell of a body closer to Wulfgar. The barbarian took a prudent step back, though the woman’s bent frame barely reached his navel.
“The ghost defends her home,” added the man at the corner. “And woe to those who go there!”
“Woe!” screamed the old woman, pushing closer still and poking a bony finger into Wulfgar’s huge chest.
Wulfgar had heard enough. “Back!” he roared mightily at the woman. He slapped Aegis-fang across his free hand, a sudden rush of blood swelling his bulging arms and shoulders. The woman screamed and vanished into the house, slamming the door in terror.
“A pity,” Drizzt whispered, fully understanding what Wulfgar had set into motion. The drow dove headlong to the side, turning into a roll, as an arrow from the roof cracked into the ground where he had been standing.
Wulfgar, too, started into motion, expecting an arrow. Instead, he saw the dark form of a man leaping down at him from the rooftop. With a single hand the mighty barbarian caught the would-be assailant in midair and held him at bay, his boots fully three feet off the ground.
At that same instant, Drizzt came out of his roll and into position in front of the two men at the corner, a scimitar poised at each of their throats. They hadn’t even had time to draw their bowstrings back. To their further horror, they now recognized Drizzt for what he was, but even if his skin had been as pale as that of his surface cousins, the fire in his eyes would have taken their strength from them.
A few long seconds passed, the only movement being the visible shaking of the three trapped farmers.
“An unfortunate misunderstanding,” Drizzt said to the men. He stepped back and sheathed his scimitars. “Let him down,” he said to Wulfgar. “Gently!” the dark elf added quickly.
Wulfgar eased the man to the ground, but the terrified farmer fell to the dirt anyway, looking up at the huge barbarian in awe and fear.
Wulfgar kept the grimace on his face—just to keep the farmer cowed.
The farmhouse door sprang open again, and the little old woman appeared, this time sheepishly. “Ye won’t be killing poor Agatha, will ye?” she pleaded.
“Sure that she’s no harm beyond her own door,” added the man at the corner, his voice quaking with each syllable.
Drizzt looked to Wulfgar. “Nay,” the barbarian said. “We shall visit Agatha and settle our business with her. But be assured that we’ll not harm her.”
“Tell us the way,” Drizzt asked.
The two men at the corner looked at each other and hesitated.
“Now!” Wulfgar roared at the man on the ground.
“To the tangle of birch!” the man replied immediately. “The path’s right there, running back to the east! Twists and turns, it does, but clear of brush!”
“Farewell, Conyberry,” Drizzt said politely, bowing low. “Would that we could remain a while and dispel your fears of us, but we have much to do and a long road ahead.” He and Wulfgar hopped into their saddles and spun their mounts away.
“But wait!” the old woman called after them. Their mounts reared as Drizzt and Wulfgar looked back over their shoulders. “Tell us, ye fearless—or ye stupid warriors,” she implored them, “who might ye be?”
“Wulfgar, son of Beornegar!” the barbarian shouted back, trying to keep an air of humility, though his chest puffed out in pride. “And Drizzt Do’Urden!”
“Names I have heard!” one of the farmers cried out in sudden recognition.
“And names you shall hear again!” Wulfgar promised. He paused a moment as Drizzt moved on, then turned to catch his friend.
Drizzt wasn’t sure that it was wise to be proclaiming their identities, and consequently revealing their location, with Artemis Entreri looking back for them. But when he saw the broad and proud smile on Wulfgar’s face, he kept his concerns to himself and let Wulfgar have his fun.
Soon after the lights of Conyberry had faded to dots behind them, Wulfgar turned more serious. “They did not seem evil,” he said to Drizzt, “yet they protect the banshee, and have even named the thing! We may have left a darkness behind us.”
“Not a darkness,” Drizzt replied. “Conyberry is as it appears: a humble farming village of good and honest folk.”
“But Agatha,” Wulfgar protested.
“A hundred similar villages line this countryside,” Drizzt explained. “Many unnamed, and all unnoticed by the lords of the land. Yet all of the villages, and even the Lords of Waterdeep, I would guess, have heard of Conyberry and the ghost of Neverwinter Wood.”
“Agatha brings them fame,” Wulfgar concluded.
“And a measure of protection, no doubt,” added Drizzt.
“For what bandit would lay out along the road to Conyberry with a ghost haunting the land?” Wulfgar laughed. “Still, it seems a strange marriage.”
“But not our business,” Drizzt said, stopping his horse. “The tangle the man spoke of.” He pointed to a copse of twisted birch trees. Behind it, Neverwinter Wood loomed dark and mysterious.
Wulfgar’s horse flattened its ears. “We are close,” the barbarian said, slipping from the saddle. They tethered their mounts and started into the tangle, Drizzt as silent as a cat, but Wulfgar, too big for the tightness of the trees, crunching with every step.
“Do you mean to kill the thing?” he asked Drizzt.
“Only if we must,” the drow replied. “We are here for the mask alone, and we have given our word to the people of Conyberry.”
“I do not believe that Agatha will willingly hand us her treasures,” Wulfgar reminded Drizzt. He broke through the last line of birch trees and stood beside the drow at the dark entrance to the thick oaks of the forest.
“Be silent now,” Drizzt whispered. He drew Twinkle and let its quiet blue gleam lead them into the gloom.