“Well, hardly be callin’ it a forest,” Ambergris said, trudging through the scraggly trees above the small, dilapidated cabin on the banks of Lac Dinneshere. “Ye sure this be the place, then?”
The dwarf stopped talking and pulled up short when she regarded Dahlia and Drizzt, the drow crouched on one knee, staring down intently at his hand. No, not at his hand, she realized, but at something he held.
“What is it?” Dahlia asked.
Drizzt looked up at her, his expression blank, and he only shook his head, as if confused, as if he couldn’t find any words at that moment.
Ambergris and Entreri arrived then, from different directions.
Drizzt closed his hand and rolled his fingers, gradually finding the strength to rise.
“What is it?” Entreri asked this time.
Drizzt looked at him, then over Entreri’s shoulder, down at Effron and Afafrenfere, who were on the small dock before the old cabin.
“Drizzt?” Dahlia prompted.
“Scrimshaw,” he answered, his voice hollow.
Dahlia reached for the hand, but Drizzt pulled it away quickly and defensively. His movement surprised her, and startled the other two as well.
Drizzt took a deep breath and brought his hand up, unfolding his fingers to reveal a small statuette depicting a woman holding a very distinctive bow, the same bow, it appeared, as the one currently draped over Drizzt’s shoulder.
“Regis’s work,” Artemis Entreri said.
“Is that her?” Dahlia asked loudly, drowning out the assassin.
Drizzt stared at her blankly, hesitant to answer.
“Catti-brie?” she pressed. “Your beloved Catti-brie?”
“How’d it get out here?” Ambergris asked, looking all around. “Few been here in many years, I’m guessing.”
“None, more likely,” said Dahlia, staring still at Drizzt, her expression reflecting a deep and obvious discontent.
“Except when the forest is here, perhaps,” Artemis Entreri said, and Drizzt took another deep breath, feeling as if he might simply topple over—or wondering if Dahlia might leap over and throttle him, given her expression.
“It is likely nothing more than coincidence,” Drizzt said.
Artemis Entreri walked over and reached for the statue, but Drizzt kept it away.
“The foot,” Entreri said. “The right foot. Should I have to tell this to you?”
Drizzt slowly upturned the scrimshaw, looked at its underside, the clutched it tightly against his heart.
“The ‘R’ of Regis,” Entreri explained to the others.
“And how’re ye knowin’ that?” Ambergris asked.
“I have a long history with that one,” the assassin chuckled.
Drizzt locked stares with him. “What does it mean?”
Entreri shrugged and held out his hand, and this time, Drizzt handed the statue over. Entreri studied it closely. “It’s been lying out here for a long time,” he said.
“And there’s no forest to be seen,” Dahlia added, rather unkindly.
“And the day’s gettin’ long,” Ambergris remarked, looking back across the lake to the setting sun. “At least we’ll be sleeping under a proper roof this night, eh?” She glanced down at the lakeside cottage. “Such as it is.”
In reply, Drizzt rolled his pack off his back and let if fall to the ground.
Ambergris looked down at it, then back up to the stone-faced drow. “Like I was sayin’,” she said. “Another fine night out under the stars.”
Drizzt camped right there, sleeping on the very spot where he had found the figurine. None of his five companions went to the cottage, but rather surrounded him with their own bedrolls.
“Chasing ghosts,” Dahlia muttered to Entreri much later on, the two sitting off to the side, looking back at Drizzt. The night was not cold and the fire long out, but the half-moon had already passed overhead and they could see the drow clearly. He lay back on his bedroll, looking up at the multitude of stars shining over Lac Dinneshere. He still clutched the figurine, rolling it over in his nimble fingers.
“Chasing her, you mean.”
Dahlia turned on him.
“You can’t rightly blame him, can you?” Entreri went on against that stare. “These were his friends, his family. We’ve all chased our ghosts.”
“To kill them, not to make love to them,” Dahlia said and looked back at the drow.
Entreri smiled at her obvious jealousy, but wisely said nothing more.
At first he thought it Andahar’s barding, sweet bells ringing in the night, but as Drizzt opened his eyes, he came to understand that it was something more subtle and more powerful all at the same time, with all the forest around him resonating in a gentle and overwhelming melody.
All the forest around him …
When he had fallen asleep, he had done so watching the night sky and a multitude of stars, but now, from the same place, Drizzt could barely make out any such twinkling lights through the dense canopy above him.
He sat up straight, glancing all around, trying to make sense of it.
He was near a small pond that had not been there. He was near a small and well-tended cottage that had not been there, set against a low hill of hedgerows and flowers and a vegetable garden that had not been there. He pulled himself to his feet and considered his companions, all sleeping nearby, with one notable exception.
Drizzt moved to Dahlia and stirred her. “Where is Entreri?” he asked.
The elf woman rubbed a sleepy eye. “What?” she asked generally, her mind not catching up to the moment. She rubbed her eyes again and sat up, considered Drizzt somewhat blankly. “What is that music?” she asked, and then she looked around.
And then her eyes popped open wide indeed!
Artemis Entreri walked into view then and both regarded him curiously as he shrugged helplessly.
“No singer,” he said, helplessly shaking his head. “Just a song.”
He ended with a yawn, and eased back down to the ground.
“How far did you search?” Drizzt asked, but he too couldn’t suppress a yawn as he fought through the words, for a great weariness came rushing over him then.
He looked at Dahlia, but she had slumped back to the ground and seemed fast asleep.
Magic—powerful magic, Drizzt knew, for elves were generally immune to such dweomers of sleep and weariness. Drow, as well, and yet Drizzt found himself on his knees. He looked around, and tried to fight it.
His head was on Dahlia’s strong belly then, though he really wasn’t aware of the movement that had put him to the ground. All he knew was the song, filling his ears with sweetness, filling his heart with warmth, filling his eyes with the sandman’s pinch.
Dreams of Catti-brie danced in his thoughts.