R. Salvatore - Night of the Hunter

“Aye,” Wulfgar agreed. “And for some, it seems, it takes the second turn around to understand the joy of it.”

Both Regis and Catti-brie looked at him curiously, and looked at each other, each offering a shrug.

“I loved you, you know,” Wulfgar said, and Catti-brie’s expression turned to one of sympathy and sadness.

“Oh no,” Regis whispered under his breath.

“Honestly, and with all my heart,” said Wulfgar.

“Wulfgar …” she started to reply, her eyes scanning as if searching for some way to stop this course.

But Wulfgar pressed on. “I just wanted you to know that.”

“I do-I did,” she assured him, and she took his hand and stared into his eyes, and he into hers, and a great grin spread over his face.

“My heart does not ache,” he said.

Catti-brie looked at Regis again, neither having an answer.

Wulfgar burst out laughing.

“Am I missing a finer tale than the one Bruenor is telling again?” Drizzt asked, moving up to the table.

“No,” Catti-brie said.

“You are missing an apology, my friend,” Wulfgar said.

Drizzt moved to the chair opposite Catti-brie. “An apology?”

“I was simply telling your wife that my love for her was honest and true,” Wulfgar said matter-of-factly.

“And it still is, then?” asked Drizzt.

Wulfgar laughed again, heartily, without the slightest hint of sarcasm or regret to be found.

“Aye,” he said. “Aye! How could it not be?”

Drizzt didn’t blink.

“Look at her!” Wulfgar cried. “As beautiful as the sunrise, as warm as the sunset, with the promise of peace close behind. Would you have me lie to you and tell you that I have no love for fair Catti-brie? Would that make it easier for you to travel the road beside me?”

“Yes,” Catti-brie said, at the same instant that Drizzt emphatically answered, “No!”

Drizzt and Catti-brie turned to each other, both appearing as if they had been slapped with a cold, wet towel.

“I’ll tell no lies to make our journey more comfortable,” Wulfgar said. “Of course I love her. I always have and I always will.”

“Wulfgar …” Catti-brie started to reply, but he spoke right past her.

“And I’ll always love him, fool dwarf, who gave me a life with mercy he ever denies he possesses. And you,” he added, looking to Regis. “Once I traveled to the end of Faerûn to find you, and I would do so again, with a song on my lips, and should I die trying, then know I died well!”

He turned to Drizzt and held up his huge hand, and Drizzt took it.

“And you, my brother, my friend,” Wulfgar said. “Do you fear my love for your wife?”

Drizzt stared into Wulfgar’s eyes for a long time, and gradually his lips curled into a confident smile. “No.”

“I would never betray you,” Wulfgar said.

Drizzt nodded.

“Never,” Wulfgar said again. He glanced over at Catti-brie. “Nor would she, of course, but then, you know that.” Drizzt nodded.

“You spoke of a second time around,” Catti-brie said, drawing their attention. “What have you learned?”

Wulfgar grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips for a gentle kiss. “My friend,” he said, “I have learned to smile.”

Catti-brie looked to Drizzt, and to Regis, the three passing around a grin none could quite decipher.

“And now if you will grant me your pardon,” Wulfgar said, hoisting himself to his feet with great effort, and clearly, he had offered more than a few huzzahs and heigh-hos of his own through Bruenor’s continuing tale. He nodded his chin to the far corner of the room, and following that motion, the friends noted a dwarf lass staring back at him.

“A pretty thing and I’ve always wondered,” Wulfgar said with a laugh.

“Truly?” Regis said.

Wulfgar straightened his shirt and pants, turned back to the halfling, and winked. “You only live once, eh?”

He sauntered away.

Regis gave a little snort, shaking his head.

“Go and watch over him,” Catti-brie bade the halfling, but as Regis started to stand, Drizzt put a hand out to stop him.

“What do you know?” Catti-brie asked him.

Drizzt was still staring at the departing barbarian. “I know that he is content. His heart is full.”

Catti-brie started to argue, but stopped before a single word had come forth. She looked back at Wulfgar, noting the unmistakable lightness of his step.

“He completed his journey the first time,” Catti-brie remarked, as much to herself as to the others, thinking those words would solve any riddle here. But when she turned back, she found the other two both staring at her to elaborate.

“He was married, with children,” she explained.

“Grandchildren,” Regis added. “All gone now.”

“So he lived by the rules and traditions,” said Catti-brie. “He did his duty to his people and to his god.”

“And now?” Drizzt asked.

Catti-brie looked back at Wulfgar, who was dancing with the young dwarf lass by then. “Now, he will play,” she said.

“It’s all a game to him,” Regis said, nodding as he reasoned it out. “Time borrowed from the calendar of the gods for pleasure and adventure, beyond what any man could ask or expect or hope to know.”

“He is free,” Catti-brie said as if only then understanding it.

Drizzt looked at the big man, and found, to his surprise, that he envied Wulfgar at that moment. But that moment passed, and instead the drow determined that he would learn from his large friend.

For in looking at Wulfgar, Drizzt couldn’t deny the light, the joy, which surrounded the man like a halo sent from the gods. With a burst of heartfelt laughter, Drizzt lifted his hand and snapped his fingers, gaining the attention of a dwarf handing out flagons.

Why not, indeed?

"Driders,” the soldier reported. “A trio at least, holed up in the rear chamber of the former chapel.”

Matron Mother Quenthel looked to Gromph.

“Melarni,” he confirmed.

Quenthel Baenre looked to Vadalma Tlabbar, one of the other three matron mothers who had accompanied her this day. Vadalma had ruled her fanatically devout House, Faen Tlabbar, for less than a century, but in that time had earned herself an amazing reputation for sadism and promiscuity. She would copulate with anything or kill anything, so it was said, and sometimes at the same time.

And Vadalma was always plotting, Matron Mother Quenthel knew, much like Vadalma’s dead mother, Ghenni’tiroth. Yes, like her. The memories of Yvonnel, given to Quenthel by the illithid, explicitly warned of the fanatical Tlabbars.

“Should I have them killed then?” Matron Mother Quenthel asked her three escorts.

“Yes,” Matron Miz’ri Mizzrym of the Fifth House answered immediately, drawing a laugh from Zeerith Xorlarrin. Miz’ri pointedly looked to Vadalma as she answered.

Miz’ri had heard the rumors, too, the others understood, for by all whispered accounts, a quiet alliance was being forged. House Faen Tlabbar and House Melarn, considered the two most fanatical in their devotion to the Spider Queen but each taking their rituals and practices in different directions, were hardly friendly with each other. Their priestesses at Arach-Tinilith argued constantly, sometimes violently, over the proper ways to show their love of Lady Lolth. Still, despite the disputes, the quiet whispers about Menzoberranzan now hinted that Matron Vadalma had recently been approached by agents for House Melarn, offering a truce of sorts.

It made sense, as these four matrons understood all too well. With House Xorlarrin leaving, there would be a major opening on the Ruling Council, and every House below Xorlarrin would vie for that coveted position. Perhaps House Melarn would go to war with House Mizzrym, the Fifth House, then ascend to the fourth rank as House Faen Tlabbar, House Melarn’s secret ally in their endeavors against Miz’ri’s family, climbed into the vacant third spot.