R. Salvatore: The Collected Stories, The Legend of Drizzt

“Bah, but you employ me to find fish, not throw water,” Addadearber replied. “I suffer your pittance of coin that I might glimpse your beauty, but there are limits to even your considerable charms.”

Ashelia’s forced grin and subdued chuckle revealed that the woman knew sarcasm when she heard it-yet another reason the old wizard was so fond of her.

Ashelia’s confidence in Boneyard was not misplaced. The seasoned sailor knew the condition of the boat from the feel of the tiller and the tug of the sails, and though she had to work hard to keep Boneyard moving along her desired course, they made the secret inlet and the quiet lagoon quite comfortably-and would have, even if Ashelia had not kept poor Spragan and Lathan bailing all the way.

Not many people knew about that place-just a few of Caer-Dineval’s fishermen, and Roundabout, of course, who knew the wilderness around the three lakes better than anyone in Ten-Towns. A solitary dock stuck out from the lagoon beach, with a single-roomed cottage behind it, and that in front of a small but thick forest. That alone was a remarkable thing, for most of Lac Dinneshere was bordered by rocky bluffs and barren tundra. But the bluffs both north and south were a bit higher than usual, shielding the wood. The forest, second in size in Icewind Dale only to Lonelywood on the banks of Maer Dualdon far to the west, like the dock and cabin, was a well-kept secret.

Larson’s Boneyard glided in easily under Ashelia’s skilled hand, with Lathan and Spragan stumbling around to secure the ropes.

“Water’s not deep,” Ashelia explained.

“I can see the bottom!” Spragan confirmed.

“Even if she fills, she’s not for sinking here, so we can patch her and bail her, and get back out in short order,” said Ashelia. “Tools, tar, and planks in the cabin.”

“A resourceful lot, you fisherfolk,” Addadearber congratulated her.

“Not all,” Ashelia replied. “But them that ain’t are dead, or soon to be. Lac Dinneshere’s not forgivin’ to fools.”

With Addadearber’s magical assistance heating some tar and blowing aside water in the hold so that Ashelia could set the patch plank in place, it didn’t take long to make the minor repair, but since the sun was low in the west, they decided to stay the rest of the day and that night ashore.

“Pick some good ones for our supper,” the captain told her young crewmembers. “Then bail her down below the patch so we can see if she’s holding and go out and get us firewood for the night.”

She left the two young men to their tasks and moved to the dock and the shore, to find the wizard and the ranger staring into the forest, perplexed.

“What do ye know, then?” she asked.

“It’s a good season,” Roundabout replied, indicating the forest. As she followed his gaze, Ashelia understood what he meant. The wood looked thicker and more vibrant than she remembered, and the air was full of the scent of flowering plants and the sounds of forest life.

Ashelia wore the most puzzled look of all. “Was here in the autumn,” she explained. “Something’s different. It’s bigger.”

“A trick of the Spellplague?” Addadearber posited. “Some magic gone awry, perhaps.”

“Everything is about magic with you, wizard,” Roundabout said, drawing an arc of one of Addadearber’s bushy eyebrows. “It was a good winter, full of snow, and the melt has been consistent,” the ranger added. “Even here in the dale, life finds a way to flourish.”

“Because we’re a resourceful lot,” Ashelia added and started for the cabin, the other two moving in her wake.

And none of them were convinced by Roundabout’s argument that nothing unusual was going on, the ranger least of all. They could feel it, like a heartbeat in the ground beneath their feet. They could smell it and could hear it, a vibrancy in the air.

They did a bit of cleaning-the ranger scooped out the fire pit-and organized the cabin’s small table and chairs, and claimed a piece of the floor for their respective beds. Lathan and Spragan joined them shortly, arms laden with fish, knucklehead trout mostly, but with an assortment of blues and spotted bass for variety.

“Seems to be holding,” Lathan reported.

Roundabout tossed him an axe he had found leaning against one wall.

“Enough for cooking and for keeping us warm through the night,” Ashelia instructed, and the two young sailors set out.

“I should get me a couple of those,” Addadearber remarked as they left.

“They can be helpful,” Ashelia agreed.

“More trouble than they’re worth,” the ranger said, and when the other two gave him amused looks, he added, “And no, I am not letting them ruin my meal with their no doubt impressive cooking skills.” He scooped up the largest of the fish, pulled a knife from his belt, and went outside to clean the thing.

With a waggle of his fingers, Addadearber animated a second fish and danced it out the door behind the ranger.

“Ye’re holding faith in yer magic, then,” said Ashelia. “Not many others’re doing the same.”

“Minor dweomers,” the wizard explained. “We cannot simply cease with our spellcasting, else we’ll never retrieve our skills when the Weave repairs.”

“If,” Ashelia corrected.

Addadearber conceded the point with a shrug. “And if it does not, we must adapt to whatever magic remains, or evolves. I employ my spells every day, and often. As magic shifts, I will watch and I will learn, while my less courageous colleagues will find themselves far behind me.”

“And Addadearber will take over the world!” Ashelia said, grinning widely. “Or Icewind Dale, at the least. Are ye worthy o’ that kingdom, wizard?”

“What ill have I done to deserve it?” Addadearber replied.

“My fingers are freezing. I can barely hold the thing!” Lathan complained, swinging the axe at the end of one arm.

“I’ll take it,” Spragan was quick to reply, but all he received in answer was a scowl.

“I’m older. You just collect the kindli-” Lathan stopped short, confused when he glanced to his left to see that Spragan was no longer beside him on the trail, that the trail itself was no longer the same as he remembered. He stood beside a stand of birch, but didn’t remember passing it. “Spragan?”

No answer.

Lathan looked all around, and the ground behind seemed strangely unfamiliar, though he had just crossed. When he turned back to look ahead, he saw a copse of thick trees crowded in front of him, with no sign of the trail.

“Spragan!” he called more loudly. He moved off quickly in one direction for a short bit then back the other way, then back the way he had come.

“Spragan!”

“What?” his younger friend answered from right beside him, so suddenly Lathan nearly swung the axe at him.

“What’s the matter?” Spragan asked.

Lathan shook his head. “Let’s get done and get out of here.”

Spragan looked at him as though he had no idea what Lathan might be talking about, but he shrugged and indicated a nearby hillside where several older trees had shed their branches. “Kindling,” he announced, and started away.

Lathan took a deep breath and berated himself for showing such irrational cowardice in front of the younger boy. He took up the axe with grim determination, sighted a nearby young elm, and decided that a bit of exercise and axe-swinging might be just what he needed to settle his nerves.

He hoisted the axe in both his hands, wringing the cold out of them, as he strode purposefully toward his goal. As he neared, he glanced back to make sure that Spragan remained in sight.

He couldn’t see his friend. He couldn’t even seem to locate the hillside Spragan had indicated, though he hadn’t traveled more than a dozen steps.