Thibbledorf Pwent immediately set his Gutbusters into a liaison mode, working the direct trails between the two camps.
It tormented Pwent to stay so far south and wait, but he did his job, though he continually sent scouting parties to the north and northeast, searching for some sign of his beloved, and absent, king. It remained foremost in his thoughts that Bruenor wouldn't have ordered the establishment of advanced camps unless he believed they might be needed.
That only made the waiting all the more unsettling.
"He truly is a druid?" Tarathiel asked, hardly believing his ears as a pair of his clan reported the news to him that Pikel's spells were not some trick, that the dwarf did indeed seem to have druidic magic about him.
Beside him, Innovindil could hardly contain her grin. She was truly enjoying these unexpected guests, and indeed, she had been spending quite a bit of time with Ivan, the surly one, who was about as perfectly dwarflike as any dwarf she had ever seen. She and Ivan had swapped many fine tales over the past few days, and though he remained a prisoner it was fairly obvious that Innovindil's contact with Ivan had brightened his mood and lessened the trouble he was causing.
Still, Tarathiel thought her a fool for bothering.
"He prays, sincerely so, to Mielikki," said one of the observers, "and there can be no doubt of his magical abilities, many of which could not be replicated by any cleric of a dwarf god.”
"It makes little sense," Tarathiel remarked.
"Pikel Bouldershoulder makes little sense," said the other, "but he is what he appears to be, by all that we can discern. He is a woodland priest, a 'Doo-dad, as he himself puts it."
"How powerful is his magic?" asked Tarathiel, who had always held druids in great respect.
The two observers looked at each other, their expressions showing clearly that this was a question they had feared.
"It is difficult to discern," said the first. "Pikel's magic is … sporadic.”
Tarathiel looked at him curiously.
"He seems to throw it as he needs it," the other tried to explain. "Minor dweomers, mostly, though every now and again he seems possessed of a quite potent spell, one that would only be expected of a high-ranking druid, their equivalent of a high priest."
"It seems almost as if he has caught the goddess's fancy," said the first. "As if Mielikki, or one of her minions, has taken a direct interest in him and is watching over him."
Tarathiel paused a moment to digest the information, then said, "You still have not answered my question."
"He is no more dangerous than his brother, certainly," the first replied. "Surely no threat to us or to the Moonwood."
"You are certain?"
"We are," answered the second.
"Perhaps it is time for you to speak with the dwarves," Innovindil offered.
Tarathiel paused again, thinking. "Do you think Sunrise will bear
him?" he asked.
"To Montolio's grove?"
Tarathiel nodded. "Let us see if the image of Mielikki's symbol will look kindly upon this 'Doo-dad' dwarf."
PART 3 WHERE ONE ROAD ENDS
I have come to view my journey through life as the convergence of three roads. First is the simple physical path, through my training in House Do'Urden, to Melee-Magthere, the drow school for warriors, and my continued tutelage under my father, Zaknafein. It was he who prepared me for the challenges, he who taught me the movements to transcend the basics of the drow martial art, indeed to think creatively about any fight. Zaknafein's technique was more about training one's muscles to respond, quickly and in perfect harmony, to the calls of the mind, and even more importantly, the calls of the imagination.
Improvisation, not rote responses, is what separates a warrior from a weapons master.
The road of that physical journey out of Menzoberranzan, through the wilds of the Underdark, along the mountainous trails that led me to Montolio, and from there to Icewind Dale and the loved ones I now share, has intertwined often with the second road. They are inevitably linked.
For the second road was the emotional path, the growth I have come to find in understanding and appreciation, not only of what I desire to be and to have, but of the needs of others, and the acceptance that their way of looking at the world may not coincide with my own. My second road started in confusion as the world of Menzoberranzan came clear to me and made little sense to my views. Again it was Zaknafein who crystallized the beginning steps of this road, as he showed me that there was indeed truth in that which I knew in my heart—but could not quite accept in my thoughts, perhaps—to be true. I credit Catti-brie, above all others, with furthering this journey. From the beginning, she knew to look past the reputation of my heritage and judge me for my actions and my heart, and that was such a freeing experience for me that I could not help but accept the philosophy and embrace it. In doing so I have come to appreciate so many people of various races and various cultures and various viewpoints. From each I learn, and in learning, with such an open mind, I grow.
Now, after all these adventurous years, I have come to understand that there is indeed a third road. For a long time, I thought it an extension of the second, but now I view this path as independent. It is a subtle distinction, perhaps, but not so in importance.
This third journey began the day I was born, as it does for all reasoning beings. It lay somewhat dormant for me for many years, buried beneath the demands of Menzoberranzan and my own innate understanding that the other two paths had to be sorted before the door to this third could truly open.
I opened that door in the home of Montolio deBrouchee, in Mooshie's Grove, when I found Mielikki, when I discovered that which was in my heart and soul. That was the first step on the spiritual road, the path more of mystery than of experience, more of questions than of answers, more of faith and hope than of realization. It is the road that opens only when the needed steps have been taken along the other two. It is the path that requires the shortest steps, perhaps, but is surely the most difficult, at least at first. If the three paths are each divergent and many-forked at their beginning, and indeed, along the way—the physical is usually determined by need, the emotional by want, the spiritual—?
It is not so clear a way, and I fear that for many it never becomes so.
For myself, I know that I am on the right path, but not because I have yet found the answers. I know my way is true because I have found the questions, specifically how, why, and where.
How did I, did anyone, get here? Was it by a course of natural occurrences, or the designs of a creator or creators, or are they indeed one and the same?
In either case, why am I here? Is there indeed even a reason, or is it all pure chance and randomness?
And perhaps the most important question to any reasoning being, where will my journey take me when I have shrugged off this mortal coil?
I view this last and most important road as ultimately private. These are questions that cannot be answered to me by anyone other than me. I see many people, most people, finding their «answers» in the sermons of others. Words sanctified by age or the perceivedwisdom of authors who provide a comfortable ending to their spiritual journey, provide answers to truly troubling questions. No, not an ending, but a pause, awaiting the resumption once this present experience of life as we know it ends.