For at least one of them, Belwar, the celebration was shortlived. Their god was back with them, it seemed, and their magic was returning, but what did that mean for the drow of Menzoberranzan? the most honored burrow warden wondered. Was the Spider Queen, too, returned? And the powers of the drow wizards as well?
Before all of this had begun, the gnomes had come to believe, and not without reason, that the drow were planning for war. With the onset of this chaotic time, that war had not come, but that was reasonable, Belwar knew, since the drow were more dependent on magic than were the gnomes. If things were indeed aright once more, as the arrival of Entemoch seemed to indicate,
then Blingdenstone might soon be threatened.
Chapter 13 REPAIRING THE DAMAGE
'Delicately!' Fret whispered harshly, watching Drizzt's hands as the drow scraped and chipped away the dried salve around the neck of the panther figurine. 'Oh, do be careful!'
Of course Drizzt was being careful! As careful as the drow had ever been in any task. As important as the figurine appeared to be to Fret, it was a hundred times more important to Drizzt, who treasured and loved his panther companion. Never had the drow taken on a more critical task, not with his wits or his weapons. Now he used the delicate tool Fret had given him, a slender silver rod with a flattened and slightly hooked end.
Another piece of salve fell away—almost a half inch along the side of the panther's neck was clear of the stuff. And clear of any crack, Drizzt noted hopefully. So perfectly had the salve bonded the onyx figurine that not a line could be seen where the break had been.
Drizzt sublimated his excitement, understanding that it would inevitably lead him to rush in his work. He had to take his time. The circumference of the figurine's neck was no more than a few inches, but Drizzt fully expected, and Fret had agreed with the estimate,
that he would spend the entire morning at his work.
The drow ranger moved back from the figurine so that Fret could see the cleared area. The tidy dwarf nodded to Drizzt after viewing it, even smiled hopefully. Fret trusted in Lady Alustriel's magic and her ability to mend a tragedy.
With a pat on Drizzt's shoulder, the dwarf moved aside and Drizzt went back to work, slowly and delicately, one tiny fleck at a time.
By noon, the neck was clear of salve. Drizzt turned the figurine over in his hands, studying the area where the break had been, seeing no indication, neither a crack nor any residue from the salve, that the figurine had been damaged. He clasped the item by the head and, after a deep, steadying breath, dared to hold it aloft, with all the pressure of its weight centered on the area of the cut.
It held fast. Drizzt shook his hand, daring it to break apart, but it did not.
'The bonding will be as strong as any other area on the item,' Fret assured the drow. 'Take heart that the figurine is whole once more.»
'Agreed,' Drizzt replied, 'but what of its magic?'
Fret had no answer.
'The real challenge will be in sending Guenhwyvar home to the Astral Plane,' the drow went on.
'Or in calling the panther back,' Fret added.
That notion stung Drizzt. The tidy dwarf was right, he knew. He might be able to open a tunnel to allow Guenhwyvar to return home, only to have the panther lost to him forever. Still, Drizzt entertained no thoughts of keeping the cat beside him. Guenhwyvar's condition had stabilized—apparently the panther could indeed remain on the Material Plane indefinitely—but the great cat was not in good health or good spirits. While she seemed no longer in danger of dying, Guenhwyvar roamed about in a state of perpetual exhaustion, muscles slack along her once sleek sides, eyes often closed as the panther tried to find desperately needed sleep.
'Better to dismiss Guenhwyvar to her home,' Drizzt said determinedly. 'Surely my life will be diminished if I cannot recall Guenhwyvar, but better that than the life Guenhwyvar must now endure.»
They went together, the figurine in hand, to Drizzt's room. As usual, Guenhwyvar lay on the rug in front of the hearth, absorbing the heat of the glowing embers. Drizzt didn't hesitate. He marched
right up before the panther—who lifted her head sluggishly to regard him—and placed the figurine on the floor before her.
'Lady Alustriel, and good Fret here, have come to our aid, Guenhwyvar,' Drizzt announced. His voice quivered a bit as he tried to continue, as the realization hit him that this might be the last time he ever saw the panther.
Guenhwyvar sensed that discomfort and, with great effort, managed to sit up, putting her head in line with kneeling Drizzt's face.
'Go home, my friend,' Drizzt whispered, 'go home.»
The panther hesitated, eyeing the drow intently, as if trying to discern the source of Drizzt's obvious unease. Guenhwyvar, too, got the feeling—from Drizzt and not from the figurine, which seemed whole to the panther once more—that this might be a final parting of dear friends.
But the cat had no control in the matter. In her exhausted state, Guenhwyvar could not have ignored the call of the magic if she tried. Shakily, the cat got to her feet and paced about the figurine.
Drizzt was both thrilled and scared when Guenhwyvar's form began to melt away into gray mist, then into nothing at all.
When the cat was gone, Drizzt scooped up the figurine, taking heart that he felt no warmth coming from it, that apparently whatever had gone wrong the last time he tried to send Guenhwyvar home was not happening again. He realized suddenly how foolish he had been, and looked at Fret, his violet orbs wide with shock.
'What is it?' the tidy dwarf asked.
'I have not Catti-brie's sword!' Drizzt whispered harshly. 'If the path is not clear to the Astral Plane…»
'The magic is right once more,' Fret replied at once, patting his hand soothingly in the air, 'in the figurine and in all the world about us. The magic is right once more.»
Drizzt held the figurine close. He had no idea of where Catti-brie might be, and knew she had her sword with her. All he could do, then, was sit tight, wait, and hope.
*****
Bruenor sat on his throne, Regis beside him, and the halfling looking much more excited than the dwarf king. Regis had already seen the guests that would soon be announced to Bruenor, and
curious Regis was always happy to see the extraordinary Harpells of Longsaddle. Four of them had come to Mithril Hall, four wizards who might play an important role in defending the dwarven complex—if they didn't inadvertently take the place down instead.
Such were the risks of dealing with the Harpells.
The four stumbled into the throne room, nearly running down the poor dwarf who had first entered to announce them. There was Harkle, of course, wearing a bandage about his face, for his eyes were already in Mithril Hall. Guiding him was fat Regweld, who had ridden into the outer hall on a curious mount, the front of which resembled a horse and the back of which had hind legs and a back end more akin to a frog. Regweld had appropriately named the thing Puddlejumper.
The third Harpell Bruenor and Regis did not know, and the wizard did not offer his name. He merely growled low and nodded in their direction.
'I am Bella don DelRoy Harpell,' announced the fourth, a short and quite beautiful young woman, except that her eyes did not look in the same direction. Both orbs were green, but one shined with a fierce inner light, while the other was dulled over and grayish. With Bella, though, that seemed to only add to her appearance, to give her fine features a somewhat exotic look.
Bruenor recognized one of the given names, and understood that Bella was probably the leader of this group. 'Daughter of Del-Roy, leader of Longsaddle?' the dwarf asked, to which the petite woman dipped low in a bow, so low that her bright blond mane nearly swept the floor.
'Greetings from Longsaddle, Eighth King of Mithril Hall,' Bella said politely. 'Your call was not unheeded.»
