R. Salvatore - The Companions

Catti-brie repeatedly reminded herself of that dark reality, but then she saw the brown, bald head of Niraj come out of the tent, and before she even realized it, she had dipped her wings and circled lower.

She caught herself and fought back, truly heartbroken. The feeling only intensified when the raven-haired Kavita came out beside Niraj.

He draped his arm around her casually, affectionately, and the two turned to stare out to the north, Kavita shading her eyes against the morning glare.

They were looking toward Shade Enclave, Catti-brie realized. They were thinking of their daughter. As with every morning, she sincerely believed.

The eagle circled lower, but tried to stay behind the couple, that Catti-brie might hear their conversation without distracting them.

“She is well,” she heard Niraj assert, and he hugged Kavita closer.

A second cry demanded Catti-attention, from a tribesman who had noted her, soaring just above the tops of the tent poles. She couldn’t stay, she knew-the farmers would treat her as a threat to the livestock.

She swooped across the encampment, issuing a loud shriek as she closed in on Niraj and Kavita. They swung around, eyes going wide as the large eagle bore down upon them.

Catti-brie dipped her wings one after the other, then broke fast to her right and pumped her wings, gaining speed and height. She heard Kavita gasp, “Ruqiah?”

Catti-brie was satisfied with that. She had to be, for she could offer no more than the hint, for their sakes and for her own. She raced out across the desert, flying west, quickly leaving the Desai encampment far behind.

She doubted she would ever look upon it, ever look upon Niraj and Kavita, again.

When she landed in a sheltered dell, her magic exhausted, she came back to human form with tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Try harder,” Lady Avelyere led them at a great pace o, seekingon implored her warlock friend.

“Lady, I have nothing more to offer,” the older man said with a wheezing laugh. “I have used every spell at my disposal. The corpse will not speak to me!”

“Pry her spirit back from the netherworld then,” the woman argued.

“Look at the wounds! It would just fall over dead again, in short order.”

“Do it anyway,” Lady Avelyere coldly ordered.

“You should hire a priest,” the dark magic-user replied.

“I already have,” the woman assured him. Lady Avelyere had gone after the corpse with her own spells, to no avail. She could get no communication at all from the curled and charred body. Then the priestess had come-at no small expense-and that woman, too, could only shake her head, unable to communicate with the deceased. And when that had failed, the priestess had tried unsuccessfully to resurrect the charred corpse. Resurrection was among the most powerful spells in the repertoire of any priest, and indeed, very few could even try to perform such a divinely brilliant dweomer. It was not a spell expected to fail, and yet it had, and failed miserably, not a movement or flicker of life within the charred corpse.

“The corpse has been warded,” the priestess had claimed. “Consecrated and mightily blessed.” Lady Avelyere had implored her to try again, but she would have no part of it and had abruptly departed. Indeed, the priestess had gone further than her personal refusal, so Lady Avelyere had learned, for no other priest would subsequently come to her call and perform any rituals over this particular corpse.

And now this man, Derenek the Dark, known throughout Shade Enclave for his expertise in the handling of undead, had proven similarly useless.

“And what did the priest say?” Derenek inquired.

“Priestess,” Lady Avelyere corrected, but otherwise just stared at the body and did not elaborate or answer.

“Sanctified?” the warlock abrie’s

sked. “This body has been powerfully warded against desecration.”

“Ruqiah’s spells,” Lady Avelyere said sourly.

“Or Ruqiah herself,” came an unexpected voice from the door, and the diviner and the warlock turned to see Lord Parise Ulfbinder enter the room. “On that a Chosen of a god would be so protected in death, correct?”

“Of course, Lord Ulfbinder,” Derenek said deferentially, and he bowed low.

“Stay with her,” Lady Avelyere instructed the necromancer. “Find a way.”

“I have attempted all of the appropriate spells, Lady,” Derenek replied.

“Then try them again!” Lady Avelyere demanded. “And again after that! I will have my answers.” She moved from the room, collecting the grinning Lord Ulfbinder in her wake.

“Terribly smelly,” he remarked when they were out of the chamber.

“That is not Ruqiah,” Lady Avelyere insisted.

“But you agree that she would be so protected from desecration.”

“No,” the woman reflexively responded, though she quickly changed it to, “Yes, but it is not her!”

?” she asked5N3 enemieson“ How do you know?”

“I have seen this ruse before. It would seem to be the way of the Desai. They used a dead child to hide the truth of Ruqiah those years ago.” She offered a derisive snort. “And that, too, was a death supposedly caused by a random stroke of lightning.”

“The bolt that hit the warehouse was no coincidence,” Parise agreed.

“Nor was it suicide,” Lady Avelyere insisted. “She would not do that. What goodly goddess would accept such a thing?”

“If her purpose was greater than her life,” Parise remarked leadingly, “would she not willingly sacrifice herself for the greater good?”

“We were no threat to that.”

“But how could she know that?”

“She should know none of it!” Lady Avelyere insisted. “Not that I discovered the truth of Ruq-Catti-brie, or that she had divulged any hint of the coming rendezvous under my magical influence.”

“If you think her ignorant of it all, then why would she kill herself? Or why would she create such an elaborate ruse? Isn’t this more likely a tragic accident, then? Perhaps not a coincidence, but a miscalculation by the confused young woman? And if she had somehow unwound the mental webbing of Lady Avelyere, is it not as likely that she would kill herself rather than jeopardize the entire purpose of her return to Toril? She had been reborn precisely for that reason, so you declared.”

“She had,” Lady Avelyere admitted. She paused and glanced back at the door to the room, trying to sort it all out. She couldn’t deny Parise’s reasoning; whether this was a fake suicide or an actual one, in either case, it would have to have been precipitated by Catti-brie discovering her own breach of secrecy.

“That is not Ruqiah,” she stated flatly a moment later. She turned and faced Parise directly, her expression set, strong and determined. “She has tried to trick us, and has set out from Shade Enclave.”

Parise shrugged, not ready to argue the point.

“And I will find her,” Lady Avelyere vowed.

“I certainly won’t dissuade you from trying,” said Parise. “If the goddesses Lolth and Mielikki wish to do battle over the soul of Drizzt Do’Urden, I would dearly love to bear witness.”

“And you shall,” Lady Avelyere promised. “And if she survives that trial, know that our little Ruqiah will answer to me.”

Summer had begun to blossom in the Silver Marches, lines of cherry trees lining the banks of the great rivers, their petals all fluffy and white.

The image struck a tender chord in Catti-brie’s heart, reminding her of days long past, of times long lost, and for a moment, the first in a long time, the woman was free of the emotional burden. For a moment, just a few heartbeats, Catti-brie was able to move her fears and regrets for Niraj and Kavita into the back of her mind and bask in the promise of the Companions of the Hall, of her father Bruenor and friend Regis, and most of all, in the arms of Drizzt.