Hero by R. A. Salvatore
“Done with what?”
Drizzt spat on the floor. He knew now that this was all a deception. All of it! The magical forest, the resurrection of lost friends, the return of Entreri, even—all of it! A demonic trick to utterly break him.
Catti-brie backed to the door, Guenhwyvar in front of her, protecting her.
Drizzt dropped his scimitar and reached for her plaintively.
But then he got hit by a gigantic, magically summoned disembodied hand, which appeared in the air beside him and punched him in the side, sending him flying to the floor.
Catti-brie chanted and the rug beneath Drizzt came alive and enwrapped him, rolling him around with ease, coiling over him.
He didn’t resist. He didn’t try to wriggle out before the fabric tightened around him. He wanted to simply die.
And Guenhwyvar was there in front of him. Guen! Beautiful Guen, his oldest friend, her ears back, her fangs revealed in a long and angry growl.
Drizzt couldn’t move, couldn’t even shift his face against the press of the animated carpet. He saw Catti-brie come into view behind the panther. He saw the blood on her neck.
He saw the tears glistening on her cheeks.
“Know me love, and aye, but I do love ye—or might that I did!—that if ye e’er lift yer blade or yer hand against me again …”
She seemed as if she could barely speak and was trembling so badly that Drizzt thought she might simply fall over. She slapped her hand to her neck again and Drizzt thought of the poison.
“If e’er,” she said through gritted teeth. “Aye, but I’ll be th’end o’ ye. Don’t ye doubt …”
She gasped and stumbled out of the room, Guenhwyvar following.
Perhaps Drizzt could have extracted himself from the carpet then, but he didn’t even try. He hoped it would squeeze tighter, hoped it would squeeze the life out of him.
BACK IN HOUSE Baenre, Yvonnel sweated and gasped for breath, overcome with …
She fell back, astonished by her own feelings.
She had sent Drizzt to this place, had placed a suggestion that would play upon the Abyssal madness in his mind to launch him into a murderous rage against Catti-brie—not for the reasons Yvonnel had told her idiot aunts, though. Not completely at least. With Catti-brie dead and Drizzt broken, Yvonnel would find him and take him away.
And he would be hers, and what a plaything he would prove!
But now, with this scene playing in front of her, Yvonnel was surprised to discover that she could feel no disappointment at the unexpected outcome.
Indeed, she was overcome with relief.
Despite the devious Yvonnel’s mighty enchantment, despite the Abyssal madness swirling in his broken mind, Drizzt couldn’t bring himself to do it.
Was it possible that he loved something more than he loved his own life?
Was that possible for anyone?
If Drizzt had killed Catti-brie in that moment, Yvonnel only then realized to her utter astonishment, she wouldn’t really want him as anything more than a temporary distraction. But now … There was more to this than any desire she might have for the unconventional rogue. The implications reached deeper than anything Drizzt might or might not ever do. But how?
She wasn’t sure. She searched her memories, the seemingly endless memories of Matron Mother Yvonnel the Eternal, and could find no suitable answer to the puzzle that was Drizzt Do’Urden.
The mighty witch of Menzoberranzan waved the image out of the scrying pool, turning the water still and dark.
She leaned on her folded arms on the edge of the stoup and closed her eyes, reaching back into her thoughts and deeper into the memories of her namesake to find an answer, some answer, any answer.
But she only knew what she felt.
A long while later, she lifted her head to stare into the empty water. She brought her hand forth to stir it, to see the ripples.
“You didn’t kill her,” the confused and intrigued and thrilled Yvonnel whispered to the empty room. “You magnificent heretic, you didn’t kill her.”
CHAPTER 7
A Pirate’s Life
RELIEF FLOODED THROUGH REGIS. THE SPARKLE HE HAD SEEN WAS not the flicker of a silver scale in the moonlight but the magical beacon, thin though it was, that Wigglefingers had placed on the bottom of the small rowboat before Regis and Wulfgar had rowed out.
The halfling was still a hundred feet down, rising slowly, his bag full of oysters, and he had to continually remind himself to keep his patience on the ascent, to let his body properly adjust as he drifted up through the dark water. He didn’t like these night dives. Big things swam in the Sea of Fallen Stars, with big teeth and bigger appetites than a tiny halfling might sate.
Still, common sense told him that the assertions of Morada Topolino’s waterborne soldiers were surely correct, and the sea would be much worse in daylight hours, when the little boat could be spotted from far away. Pirates had been thick about the region of late, and even absent the arrival of those who specifically sailed these waters to plunder, any larger boat might see this craft, obviously the base for a deep-diver, as too lucrative and easy a hit to pass up. Regis was diving for a particular type of deepwater oyster, a small shelled mollusk from which pearls could be coaxed, and in this case, a certain near-perfect grade of pink pearl that was greatly prized by spellcasters for its lack of impurities, making it a fine receptacle for a particularly useful dweomer.
The pink pearls had always been somewhat rare, but in recent years, new supplies had become almost nonexistent, save the occasional lucky find by the more conventional divers of Delthuntle, if those happening upon such a treasure even understood its value! As soon as Regis had returned to Morada Topolino, Wigglefingers had wasted little time in convincing Donnola that this fine fellow, with his partial genasi heritage, should get right back into the water.
Truly, Regis didn’t mind, except for the uneasiness of the night diving. He felt free in the water, even with the memories of Ebonsoul’s specter, which he had uncovered in these very waters, still fresh in his mind. All Regis had to do was remind himself that he was helping Donnola and Morada Topolino, and he would willingly return to the deep.
He broke water right beside the boat and called out to Wulfgar, who appeared at the side almost immediately, hushing him.
“What do you know?” Regis whispered, handing up his bag of oysters.
Wulfgar took them then reached down, grasped Regis’s hand, and easily hoisted him into the boat. His barbarian friend remained in a crouch, pointing to starboard.
“Pirates?” Regis asked, noting the single lantern, and more worryingly, the lack of running lanterns, on some vessel out there on the open water, not too far away. The silhouette showed it to be a sloop, and a small one at that. Regis nodded—though he couldn’t be certain from this distance and in the night, he had seen this type of vessel before, one designed for speed and agility, tucking in tight to the rocky coast in shallow, shoal-filled waters.
“Running dark if not,” Wulfgar replied. “Might be a merchant caught out later than expected, and as fearful of pirates as are we. Might be a Delthuntle patrol out hunting.”
Regis shook his head at that last suggestion. Any patrol from Delthuntle, a heavily armed warship and likely with several wizards on board, would burn bright her lanterns, both to offer help to anyone caught out this far and also to send any pirates scurrying away.
Regis spent a long while staring at the distant lantern, then up at the stars to mark its bearing. “She’ll be passing close by,” he whispered.
Wulfgar nodded. “We can move aside far enough and quietly enough so they’ll not notice us.”
Regis noted that the big man wasn’t making any move for the oars.
“Unless, of course,” Wulfgar added, and Regis could see his wide smile in the moonlight, “we want them to notice us.”
DONNOLA LOOKED AT the timepiece in the parlor of Morada Topolino and grimaced, an expression not unnoticed by the other half
“They were bound for a reef far out,” Wigglefingers reminded her. “They’ll not likely return until dawn is near.”
Donnola turned and glared at him.
“Are you to be like this every time Spider goes out?” the mage asked. “He knows the coast as well as any.”
“He has been gone years!”
“And he spent many years in those waters. Grandfather Pericolo discovered his talents and brought him into the family precisely because he could deep dive for pearls.” The wizard gave a little chuckle. “It was Pericolo who named him Spider—he once confided in me that he should have called that one Fish instead.”
“The coast has changed since last he was here,” Donnola reminded him, referring to the great floods that had occurred during the time of the Sundering.
“It isn’t like you to lack such faith in one of your soldiers,” Wigglefingers pointed out, and Donnola gave him a helpless, guilty shrug.
“Because you still love him, of course,” the mage said.
She shrugged again. There was no denying it.
“Grandmother … Donnola,” he said, his tone changing as he went from the formal title to her given name. He came close and offered a hug, which Donnola accepted. “Spider is a most resourceful water rat. Did he not steal Ebonsoul’s dagger? Would anyone else have survived that encounter with the specter in the deep ocean trench?”
“His name is Regis,” the Grandmother of Morada Topolino corrected.
“Not to me,” said Wigglefingers. “To me, he’ll always be that annoying little Spider, chased by danger and bearing great treasures.”
Donnola pushed the mage back to arms’ length and studied him carefully, surprised to learn how much this grumbling wizard actually cared for Regis.
“He’ll be back, trouble in tow,” Wigglefingers said with a grin and a shrug.
“And treasures in hand,” Donnola agreed.
REGIS STAYED LOW under the water, swimming fast. Back on the small rowboat, Wulfgar had lit a lantern and now, predictably, the pirate sloop was gliding in and running dark, speeding for the kill.
From its sails, Regis figured there would be no more than a dozen pirates on the small sloop. He had estimated the boat’s size at no more than twenty feet.
He hoped he was right, and only now, under the water, about to engage, did it occur to him how disastrous this whole thing would turn out if he was wrong. A thirty-foot sloop could carry thirty armed men, easily. The speedy coast-runners he had known, on the other hand, with a small hold and minimal cabin, were usually crewed by no more than twelve, and more often half that number.
The halfling came up for air, peering into the darkness, trying to reassure himself. He spotted the silhouette directly ahead of him, and saw the sparkles of water splashing up from its prow as its closed fast.
Regis maneuvered to glance at Wulfgar’s light. The timing had to be perfect, with the barbarian dousing the beacon to slow the pirate—if it was a pirate!—so that it didn’t simply speed past the bobbing Regis. Were that to happen, Wulfgar might be shot dead off the deck of the rowboat before he had a chance to fight back.
Back under the water Regis went, his whole body working gracefully to propel him along.
He came up again soon after, glancing at Wulfgar just in time to see the light go out, then back at the sloop, so much closer now. And the halfling breathed a sigh of relief. It was a small coast-runner, a twenty-footer, if that. But Regis grimaced as well. This one wasn’t interested in taking prisoners, it seemed. In the moonlight, Regis noted a pair of archers at the forward rails, bows already leveled and bent.
Regis chewed his lip. Wulfgar had trusted him.
Was that trust misplaced, after all?
The halfling shook the dark thought away and scolded himself for his weakness. He and Wulfgar could do this.
He could do this.
He went lower in the water, drawing his dagger and setting it firmly between his clamped teeth while he adjusted his position just to the side. With the light extinguished, the sloop had indeed slowed, and more pirates appeared at the forward rails, peering and pointing, while others worked furiously to turn the sails and keep her steady and slow.
The boat glided past, and Regis was fast to her side, coming out of the water like a leaping dolphin, high enough to catch the port rail halfway between the tiller and the mast. Now he earned his nickname as he pulled himself up slowly, peering over. A pair of crewmen worked the tiller, a third standing at the stern and peering out left, right, and behind the boat. To Regis’s left, a trio leaned out from the rail beside the jib. A fourth, the archer on the port side, visible up front, held his bow at the ready.
The halfling realized his error. Because of the sails, he couldn’t see let alone get to both archers. He carefully lowered himself back along the side. He could not. Wulfgar would have to find a way.
“Here now!” he heard a cry, and before any more doubts could give him pause, the halfling went up fast, throwing himself up onto the rail and drawing his hand crossbow in one fluid motion.
Away went the dart. The archer on the forward port rail jerked, gave a small cry of pain, and looked back at his fellows curiously, just as the men at the tiller gave a howl.
The archer, poisoned with drow-styled venom, simply tumbled over the rail to be run over by the boat. But Regis heard the other one let fly, and heard, too, a cry of pain from farther ahead.
From Wulfgar.
Regis almost went back over the side and dived deep, staying down for a long, long time. But instead he whispered, “Trust him.”
Regis spit the three-bladed dagger back into his hand. He dropped his hand crossbow, which fell to the length of the chain on his vest. Then he drew out his fine rapier just in time to parry the sword from the nearest man to his left.
Regis rolled his blade over that weapon fast, and riposted with a straight thrust that brought a grunt and stumbling retreat, and he nodded as the man tangled with the next two pirates in line. The halfling couldn’t pursue, though, knowing there were three behind him—and then a fourth, leaping at him from between the jib and the mainsail.
Purely on instinct, a simple reaction out of stark terror, Regis yelped, ducked, and released one of the side blades of his magical dagger into his hand. Hardly aiming, hardly thinking, he threw the living serpent at the man. Just as the pirate reached for him, the serpent caught around his neck and the specter appeared. If he thought about it, Regis might have known great relief, but all he could do was gasp in horror as the pirate was yanked back the way he had come, through the gap in the sails and more. His feet never touched the deck as he back-flipped over the starboard rail and splashed into the water where the specter of the dagger would surely finish him.
“Shoot him again!” came a cry from behind the jib, but it was followed by a profound grunt—which drew a sigh of relief from the halfling—and the sounds of three men stumbling and tumbling, the heavy weight of Wulfgar’s hammer throw blasting the archer from the rail and hurling him back into his companions.
With pirates coming at him from both sides, Regis skipped across and used his diminutive size to scramble fast under the mainsail. He found three pirates there, all in a jumble, including the broken archer who had felt the weight of Aegis-fang. He couldn’t discern one target from the other in the mess of torsos and limbs, but it didn’t much matter as he stabbed down repeatedly with his rapier.
The sloop tilted as the large barbarian leaped from the rowboat, and the shocked and terrified calls of the remaining trio Regis had left on the other side of the sails told the halfling that his mighty friend had come aboard ready to fight.
THE BROKEN ARROW in his left shoulder sent waves of pain coursing through Wulfgar, but that only angered him as the pirate ship glided in closer. He let fly Aegis-fang, taking out the archer and the men behind him. Then he gathered his strength in a crouch and launched himself from the small boat to the rail of the approaching vessel. He caught
He caught the first by the shirt with his right hand and flung the man far overboard, then called to Tempus and brought his warhammer back to his grasp. The next pirate in line, turning with a gaff hook, opened wide his eyes in surprise, sucked in his breath, and dropped his arms low as if in surrender.
But too late, and Aegis-fang swept across from Wulfgar’s left to right, spinning the man over the rail.
The sloop lurched and Wulfgar nearly lost his footing. The remaining pirate on the port side fell back. Another pirate was down against the taffrail, hands clawing at his own throat, a ghostly apparition leering over his shoulder as it pulled on the magical garrote of Regis’s cruel dagger.
“Surrender, I say!” Regis yelled from the other side, where he battled the remaining two who had been aft. The pirate in front of Wulfgar dropped his weapon and fell to his knees, pleading for mercy.
Wulfgar laid him low with a heavy slug in the face as he rushed past, scrambling all the way to the tiller and over it, crossing behind the mainsail.
“Surrender!” he heard Regis yell again, and now he could see his friend, or at least, he could locate the halfling behind the man and woman who had rushed up to confront him.
“Yes, do!” Wulfgar agreed.
When the startled woman spun around, Wulfgar met her with a tremendous uppercut that lifted her right from the deck and into the mainsail, where she slumped, quite unconscious, into the slack canvas.
The remaining pirate dropped his weapon.
“Do you have them?” a frantic Regis asked.
Before Wulfgar could even respond, the halfling leaped past him and stuck his rapier at the apparition that was choking the life out of the man at the taffrail, destroying it and leaving the man gasping and limp below the rail. Then he leaped out into the night, disappearing into the sea.