Robert Salvatore - The Halfling’s Gem

“And get these ships untangled!” Deudermont roared.

He turned to face Drizzt and Wulfgar, now only a few feet from the plank. “Let us retire to my cabin,” he said calmly. “We should talk.”

Drizzt and Wulfgar did not answer. They went with the captain silently, absorbing the curious, fearful, and outraged stares that followed them.

Deudermont stopped halfway across the deck, joining a group of his crew as they looked to the south, past Pinochet’s burning ship, to a small rowboat pulling hard in their direction.

“The driver of the fiery chariot that rushed across the sky,” one of the crewman explained.

“He took down that ship!” another exclaimed, pointing to the wreckage of Pinochet’s flagship, now listing badly and soon to sink. “And sent the third one running!”

“Then a friend of ours, he is indeed!” the captain replied.

“And of ours,” Drizzt added, turning all eyes back upon him. Even Wulfgar looked curiously at his companion. He had heard the cry to Moradin, but had not dared to hope that it was indeed Bruenor Battlehammer rushing to their aid.

“A red-bearded dwarf, if my guess is correct,” Drizzt continued. “And with him, a young woman.”

Wulfgar’s jaw dropped open. “Bruenor?” he managed to whisper. “Catti-brie?”

Drizzt shrugged. “That is my guess.”

“We shall know soon enough,” Deudermont assured them. He instructed his crewmen to bring the passengers of the rowboat to his cabin as soon as they came aboard, then he led Drizzt and Wulfgar away, knowing that on the deck the drow would prove a distraction to his crew. And at this time, with the ships fouled, they had important work to complete.

“What do you mean to do with us?” Wulfgar demanded when Deudermont shut the cabin door. “We fought for—”

Deudermont stopped the growing tirade with a calming smile. “You certainly did,” he acknowledged. “I only wish that I had such mighty sailors on every voyage south. Surely then the pirates would flee whenever the Sea Sprite broke the horizon!”

Wulfgar eased back from his defensive posture.

“My deception was not intended to bring harm,” Drizzt said somberly. “And only my appearance was a lie. I require passage to the south to rescue a friend—that much remains true.”

Deudermont nodded, but before he could answer, a knock came on the door and a sailor peeked in. “Beggin’ yer pardon,” he began.

“What is it?” asked Deudermont.

“We follow yer every step, Captain, ye know that,” the sailor stammered. “But we thought we should let ye know our feeling’s on the elf.”

Deudermont considered the sailor, and then Drizzt, for a moment. He had always been proud of his crew; most of the men had been together for many years, but he seriously wondered how they would come through this dilemma.

“Go on,” he prompted, stubbornly holding his trust in his men.

“Well, we know he’s a drow,” the sailor began, “and we know what that means.” He paused, weighing his next words carefully. Drizzt held his breath in anticipation; he had been down this route before.

“But them two, they pulled us through a bad jam there,” the sailor blurted all of a sudden. “We wouldn’t a gotten through without ‘em!”

“So you want them to remain aboard?” Deudermont asked, a smile growing across his face. His crew had come through once again.

“Aye!” the sailor replied heartily. “To a man! And we’re proud to have ‘em!”

Another sailor, the one who had challenged Drizzt at the plank just a few minutes before, poked his head in. “I was scared, that’s all,” he apologized to Drizzt.

Overwhelmed, Drizzt hadn’t found his breath yet. He nodded his acceptance of the apology.

“See ye on deck, then,” said the second sailor, and he disappeared out the door.

“We just thought ye should know,” the first sailor told Deudermont, and then he, too, was gone.

“They are a fine crew,” Deudermont said to Drizzt and Wulfgar when the door had closed.

“And what are your thoughts?” Wulfgar had to ask.

“I judge a man—elf—by his character, not his appearance,” Deudermont declared. “And on that subject, keep the mask off, Drizzt Do’Urden. You are a far handsomer sort without it!”

“Not many would share that observation,” Drizzt replied.

“On the Sea Sprite, they would!” roared the captain. “Now, the battle is won, but there is much to be done. I suspect that your strength would be appreciated at the prow, mighty barbarian. We have to get these ships unfouled and moving before that third pirate comes back with more of his friends!

“And you,” he said to Drizzt with a sneaky smile. “I would think that no one could keep a shipload of prisoners in line better than you.”

Drizzt pulled the mask off his head and tucked it in his pack. “There are advantages to the color of my skin,” he agreed, shaking the gnarls out of his white locks. He turned with Wulfgar to leave, but the door burst in before them.

“Nice blade, elf!” said Bruenor Battlehammer, standing in a puddle of seawater. He tossed the magical scimitar to Drizzt. “Find a name for it, will ye? Blade like that be needing’ a name. Good for a cook at a pig roastin’!”

“Or a dwarf hunting dragons,” Drizzt remarked. He held the scimitar reverently, remembering again the first time he had seen it, lying in the dead dragon’s horde. Then he gave it a new home in the scabbard that had held his normal blade, thinking his old one a fitting companion for Twinkle.

Bruenor walked up to his drow friend and clasped his wrist firmly. “When I saw yer eyes lookin’ out at me from the gorge,” the dwarf began softly, fighting back a choke that threatened to break his voice apart, “suren then I knew that me other friends would be safe.”

“But they are not,” Drizzt replied. “Regis is in dire peril.”

Bruenor winked. “We’ll get him back, elf! No stinkin’ assassin’s going to put an end to Rumblebelly!” He clenched the drow’s arm tightly one final time and turned to Wulfgar, the lad he had ushered into manhood.

Wulfgar wanted to speak but could find no path for the words beyond the lump in his throat. Unlike Drizzt, the barbarian had no idea that Bruenor might still be alive, and seeing his dear mentor, the dwarf who had become as a father to him, back from the grave and standing before him was simply too much for him to digest. He grabbed Bruenor by the shoulders just as the dwarf was about to say something, and hoisted him up, locking him in a great bear hug.

It took Bruenor a few seconds of wiggling to get loose enough to draw breath. “If ye’d squeezed the dragon like that,” the dwarf coughed, “I wouldn’t’ve had to ride it down the gorge!”

Catti-brie walked through the door, soaking wet, with her auburn hair matted to her neck and shoulders. Behind her came Pinochet, drenched and humbled.

Her eyes first found the gaze of Drizzt, locking the drow in a silent moment of emotion that went deeper than simple friendship. “Well met,” she whispered. “Good it is to look upon Drizzt Do’Urden again. Me heart’s been with ye all along.”

Drizzt cast her a casual smile and turned his lavender eyes away. “Somehow I knew that you would join our quest before it was through,” he said. “Well met, then, and welcome along.”

Catti-brie’s gaze drifted past the drow to Wulfgar. Twice she had been separated from the man, and both times when they again had met, Catti-brie was reminded how much she had come to love him.

Wulfgar saw her, too. Droplets of seawater sparkled on her face, but they paled next to the shine of her smile. The barbarian, his stare never leaving Catti-brie, eased Bruenor back to the floor.