R. Salvatore - Night of the Hunter

“I’m not much liking this,” Amber remarked, and the dwarf priestess lifted her holy symbol.

“Get used to it,” Effron replied without humor, and indeed, with a clear warning in his tone that he would not much appreciate any attempts the dwarf might make to drive his new pets away. The twisted warlock looked to Entreri and bade him, “Lead on.”

Entreri’s eyes never left the warlock, or his two new pets. The assassin moved in front of his latest kill and retrieved the obsidian nightmare statuette. He could not summon his mount again, so soon after the fight, so he tucked the figurine away into his pouch and waited for Dahlia and the others to catch up.

“Ye keep yer beasties far back,” Amber ordered Effron as she and Afafrenfere fell into line behind Dahlia and Entreri. “I’m only tellin’ ye once.”

Effron only gave a cynical little laugh.

Despite the protests of the dwarf, and the clear uneasiness of the others, when they made camp that night, the zombie yetis stood guard. Indeed, Effron kept the beasts beside them all the way through the mountain pass and onto the rolling hills south of the Spine of the World, only releasing them back into death when the towers of Luskan came into sight, for even in that scurvy town, such monstrous undead guards would not likely find a warm welcome.

They made their way to the city outskirts north of the River Mirar, where a group of the city garrison stood guard at the north gate.

“What business have you in the City of Sails?” asked one. He looked at Dahlia as he spoke, but with apparent lust, not recognition. She had been a fugitive in Luskan, of course, and quite high in profile, having murdered one of the high captains and taken his enchanted cloak, which she now wore openly.

But none of the group seemed to recognize her, or any of them, reminding them of the benefit of their multi-year sleep. They had gone to Icewind Dale as fugitives, with many powerful enemies in pursuit, but now nearly two decades had passed.

“Passing through,” Amber replied, and she moved in close and offered a handshake, cleverly slipping a gold coin into the guard’s hand as he accepted her grip. “Or might be stayin’, or might be signing on with a ship. Who’s to say?”

The guard nodded and glanced back over his shoulder, pointing to a structure not far down the road. “One-Eyed Jax,” he said. “That’d be the place for you.”

“One-Eyed Jax?” Entreri echoed suspiciously, holding out his arm to bar any others from walking past him.

“Aye, a fine inn and a common room for postings, ship or caravan,” the guard replied.

“Jax?” the assassin pressed.

“That’s what he said,” Amber interjected, but Entreri ignored her. “The proprietor?”

“Aye, that’d be a shortened version of his name,” the guard replied hesitantly.

“Jarlaxle!” Ambergris blurted, catching on.

The guard and his companions all blanched and looked around nervously, for such was clearly not a name to be spoken openly and loudly in Luskan!

Entreri moved back, signaling his group around him. “We go around the city,” he told them quietly.

“Been wantin’ a warm bed,” Amber argued.

“No.”

“Bah, but I’ll meet ye on th’other side after one good night!” the dwarf bargained.

“No,” Entreri flatly answered and he pointedly turned away from the guard and mouthed silently to his companions, “Would you so quickly tell all the world that we have returned to the land of the living?”

That gave Amber, and the others, pause. Entreri moved them away, motioning for the guard to remain behind.

“You don’t believe we can trust Jarlaxle?” Dahlia asked quietly when they were off to the side.

Entreri snorted as if the question itself was perfectly ridiculous.

“He saved us,” Dahlia reminded him.

Entreri snorted again. “Yet another reason for me to hate him.”

“We were statues, we three,” Afafrenfere put in, indicating himself, Entreri, and Dahlia, all three who had been turned to stone by a medusa in the dark environs of the Shadowfell, in the House of Lord Draygo Quick. “Trapped forever in nothingness, unable to even go on to our afterlife.”

“Sounds like heaven,” Entreri said dryly. “We go around the city, all of us, and not another word.”

“Are you deigning to speak for the whole group now?” Dahlia asked.

“As you did in going to battle against Drizzt, you mean?” Entreri quickly retorted, and the woman backed off.

The dwarf, the monk, and Effron exchanged glances.

“Well, lead on then, ye dolt,” Amber said. “Next city in line-Port Llast if she’s still standing. I’m in need of a beer and a bed, don’t ye doubt!”

“And a bath,” Afafrenfere added.

“Don’t ye get all stupid,” grumbled the dwarf, and with a farewell nod to the confused Luskan guard, the band turned east, around the city, and moved off down the road.

A ray of morning sunlight peeked in through the window and tickled Catti-brie’s senses. She slowly came out of her wonderful night’s sleep. She was naked, but huddled under piles of blankets and delightfully warm-and warmer still as memories of the previous night flooded through her.

She reached back behind her at that warm thought, feeling for her companion, but he was not there. Surprised, Catti-brie moved up to her elbows and peeked out from under the edge of the blankets.

Drizzt was across the room, near the hearth, the flames shining off his ebon skin, orange highlighted reflections showing in his long white hair. He, too, was quite naked, and Catti-brie took the moment to admire his form, the grace of his movements as he tossed another log onto the fire. It bounced around the half-consumed faggots within and settled too near to the front, and she heard Drizzt’s sigh as he considered it. She thought he would reach for the poker, but he did not. Indeed, he moved the small iron screen farther off to the side and reached in with his bare hand to retrieve the log, which had not caught yet, though tiny sparks could already be seen within the folds of the bark.

Drizzt laid that log aside and turned back to the low-burning fire, bending low, then instinctively jumping back as one burning log popped, sending a spray of sparks up the chimney.

Catti-brie muffled her laugh with the blankets, not wanting Drizzt to know that she was spying on him. She pulled the blankets down from in front of her face, though, her mouth hanging wide open, when Drizzt reached into the fire to rearrange the smoldering logs within. He grabbed one glowing log, flames erupting all around his forearm, with hardly a wince, and reset it upon the others.

Apparently satisfied with his handiwork, he retrieved the new log he had set aside and carefully placed it on the others. He stood, brushed his hands together, and replaced the screen.

“How?” Catti-brie asked from the bed and Drizzt turned to regard her. The woman’s gaze moved across the small room, to the far wall where Drizzt had hung his sword belt. She noted the gem-encrusted, black cat-shaped pommel of the scimitar Icingdeath, which she knew could offer Drizzt such protection from the bite of fire. Had he grown so attuned to the blade that it could lend him such even when he was not carrying it?

“Good morning!” he greeted. “And oh, it is a fine one, though the stubborn wind of winter’s end bites hard this day. The others are off to gather mounts and supplies.”

“How did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“You reached into the fire. It should have curled the flesh from your finger bones!”

Drizzt came over to the bed and sat beside her, lifting his left hand to reveal a ring, made wholly of ruby, a sparkling red band around his finger.