THE JOURNEY HOME
ERE YE GO, ELF,” ATHROGATE SAID TO DRIZZT AS THEY WALKED THE STREETS of Luskan. He handed over a folded cloak, which Drizzt immediately identified as a drow piwafwi, a most useful garment for concealment and protection. “Jarlaxle telled me to give it to ye, and to tell ye to use it.”
“Use it?”
“Aye,” Athrogate said. “Ye got some powerful enemies huntin’ ye, I’m hearin’. So use it, and get yerself long gone from Luskan in short order.”
Drizzt stopped and turned to regard the dwarf directly. By his side, Effron, too, paused at that news.
“Where?” Effron asked.
Athrogate shrugged. “Back to Mithral Hall, mayhaps?”
Effron looked to Drizzt.
“Jarlaxle thinks I … we, should be gone from Luskan?” Drizzt asked the dwarf.
“Good advice,” Athrogate replied. “Ye met some drow in Gauntlgrym, and them drow’ve figured out who ye be.”
Drizzt sucked in his breath. “House Baenre,” he muttered.
“What does it mean?” Effron asked.
“It means that you and I should part ways here, for your own sake,” said Drizzt.
“Nah,” Athrogate interjected. “They’re knowin’ yer friends, and they’ll be findin’ yer friends if not yerself. Jarlaxle tells me to tell ye to stick together, all of ye.” As he finished, he nodded his hairy chin beyond Drizzt, who turned around to see Ambergris bounding toward him, her whole face smiling. She rushed up and threw a great hug over Drizzt, then gave one to Effron as well.
Then she embraced Athrogate, and it was apparent to the other two that these two had come to know each other quite well, and quite intimately. They broke the hug and shared a tremendous kiss, all sloppy and loud, full of fun and full of lust, as only dwarves could do.
“Ye got the caravan schedules?” Athrogate asked when they broke the embrace.
“Aye, north, south, and east, and a boat or two putting out soon enough,” Ambergris replied, looking to her two returned friends as she spoke.
“A boat might be a fine choice,” Athrogate offered with a shrug.
But Drizzt shook his head. “Caravans north?” he asked Ambergris, then added, “Icewind Dale?”
“Aye,” Ambergris said, “that’d be the place north the drivers been speakin’ of.”
Drizzt looked to Athrogate. “Jarlaxle is sure of this pursuit?”
“Get ye gone, elf,” the dwarf warned.
Drizzt nodded and tried to make sense of these sudden changes that had found him so unexpectedly. He had resigned himself to a life as Draygo Quick’s prisoner, and likely to die there in the Shadowfell, in the room that had become his own world. And now he was free, and Guenhwyvar was returned to him.
But was he really free? House Baenre might soon make him wish that he was back in Draygo Quick’s custody!
“Icewind Dale,” he decided, for somehow it seemed the right choice to him, the place where he belonged. Few knew the ways of that tundra land better than Drizzt Do’Urden, though he hadn’t been there for any length of time in a century and more. But yes, Icewind Dale. He felt a twinge of nostalgia at the thought, and felt at that moment as if he were going home.
Though Drizzt knew in his heart that no place without Catti-brie, Bruenor, Regis, and Wulfgar could ever truly be his home.
“Good ’nough, then,” said Ambergris. “Wagons for Icewind Dale rolling with the dawn, and I’m thinkin’ they’ll be glad to take along the four o’ us for guarding.”
“The three of ye,” Athrogate corrected. “I got me duties here in Luskan. But aye, they’ll take ye, and they’ll be glad of it.” He reached into a side pocket of his vest and produced several parchments, then riffled through them and handed the appropriate writ to Drizzt. “Ship Kurth’s recommending ye,” he explained with a wink. “Whether ye take a boat or a wagon, we got yer imprimatur. Now put on yer durned cloak and get ye gone!”
There really was little more to say, Drizzt realized. “Extend my gratitude to Jarlaxle,” he told the dwarf. “I had surrendered hope and he gave it back to me, and that is no small thing. Tell him that I hope our paths cross again, and not too many tendays from now. I would hear the tale of how you both survived the fall in Gauntlgrym, and I am confident that Jarlaxle has a hundred more tales to tell me of your exploits since that long-ago day.”
“A hunnerd?” Athrogate said incredulously. “Nah, elf, a thousand! A thousand thousand, I tell ye! Bwahahaha!”
For some reason, given what Drizzt knew of Jarlaxle, that didn’t sound like much of an exaggeration.