'Revjak calls me friend,' Drizzt went on. 'When I left the dale those years ago, I named Revjak among those I would truly miss.'
'Revjak is an old man,' Berkthgar said evenly.
'Revjak speaks for the tribe.'
'No!' Berkthgar's response came fast and sharp. Then he quickly calmed and his smile told Drizzt that the denial was true. 'No more does Revjak speak for the tribe,' Berkthgar went on.
'Berkthgar, then?' Drizzt asked.
The huge barbarian nodded, smiling still. 'I have returned to lead my people,' he said. 'Away from the errors of Wulfgar and
Revjak, back to the ways we once knew, when we were free, when we answered to no one but our own and our god.'
Drizzt thought on that for a moment. The proud young man was truly deluding himself, the drow realized, for those old times that Berkthgar spoke of so reverently were not as carefree and wonderful as the huge man apparently believed. Those years were marked by war, usually between tribes competing for food that was often scarce. Barbarians starved to death and froze to death, and often wound up as meals for tundra yeti, or for the great white bears that also followed the reindeer herd along the coast of the Sea of Moving Ice.
That was the danger of nostalgia, Drizzt realized. One often remembered the good of the past while forgetting the troubles.
'Then Berkthgar speaks for the tribes,' Drizzt agreed. 'Will he lead them to despair? To war?'
'War is not always despair,' the barbarian said coolly. 'And do you forget so soon that following the course of Wulfgar led us to war with your own people?'
Drizzt had no response to that statement. It hadn't happened exactly like that, of course. The drow war was far more an accident of chance than of anything Wulfgar had done. But still, the words were true enough, at least from Berkthgar's stilted perspective.
'And before that, Wulfgar's course led the tribes to war in helping to reclaim the throne for your ungrateful friend,' Berkthgar pressed.
Drizzt glared hard at Berkthgar. Again the man's words were true, if stilted, and the drow realized that there was no practical response he could offer to sway Berkthgar.
They both noticed then that the speck on the tundra was larger now as Kierstaad approached.
'We have found the clean air of the tundra again,' Berkthgar proclaimed before the lad arrived. 'We have returned to the old ways, the better ways, and those do not allow for friendship with drow elves.'
'Berkthgar forgets much,' Drizzt replied.
'Berkthgar remembers much,' the giant barbarian answered, and walked away.
'You would do well to consider the good that Wulfgar did for your people,' Drizzt called after him. 'Perhaps Settlestone was not
the place for the tribe, but Icewind Dale is an unforgiving land, a land where allies are the most valuable assets for any man.'
Berkthgar didn't slow. He came up to Kierstaad and walked right past the young man. Kierstaad turned and watched him for a short time, the young man quickly deciphering what had just happened. Then Kierstaad turned back to Drizzt and, recognizing the drow, sprinted over to stand before him.
'Well met, Kierstaad,' Drizzt said. 'The years have done you well.'
Kierstaad straightened a bit at that remark, thrilled to have Drizzt Do'Urden say anything complimentary to him. Kierstaad was just a boy of twelve when Drizzt left Mithril Hall, and so he did not know the drow very well. He knew of Drizzt, though, the legendary warrior. Once Drizzt and Catti-brie had come to Hengorot, the mead hall in Settlestone, and Drizzt had leaped upon the table, giving a speech that called for a strengthened alliance between the dwarves and the barbarians. By all the old ways that Berkthgar so often spoke of, no drow elf should have been allowed in Hengorot, and certainly none would have been shown any respect. But the mead hall showed respect to Drizzt Do'Urden that day, a testament to the drow's battle prowess.
Kierstaad could not forget, too, the stories his father had told him of Drizzt. In one particularly vicious battle with the folk of Ten-Towns, the barbarian warriors invading Ten-Towns were badly beaten, in no small part because of Drizzt Do'Urden. After that fight, the ranks of the barbarians were greatly diminished. With winter coming on, it seemed that many hardships would befall those who had survived the war, particularly the very young and the very old, for there simply were not enough hunters left alive to provide for all.
But the fresh carcasses of reindeer had been found along the trail as the nomadic barbarians had moved west with the herd, killed cleanly and left for the tribe. The work of Drizzt Do'Urden, Revjak and many of the elders agreed, the drow who had defended Ten-Towns against the barbarians. Revjak had never forgotten the significance of that act of kindness, nor had many of the older barbarians.
'Well met, to you,' Kierstaad replied. 'It is good that you have returned.'
'Not everyone agrees with that view,' Drizzt remarked.
Kierstaad snorted and shrugged noncommittally. 'I am sure that Bruenor is glad to see the likes of Drizzt Do'Urden again,' he said.
'And of Catti-brie,' Drizzt added. 'For she returned at my side.'
Again the young man nodded and Drizzt could tell that he wanted to say something more profound than the polite conversation. He kept looking back over his shoulder, though, to the departing form of Berkthgar, his leader. His loyalties were obviously split.
Finally, Kierstaad sighed and turned to face the drow directly, the internal battle decided. 'Many remember the truth of Drizzt Do'Urden,' he said.
'And of Bruenor Battlehammer?'
Kierstaad nodded. 'Berkthgar leads the tribe, by right of deed, but not all agree with his every word.'
'Then let us hope that Berkthgar soon remembers that truth,' Drizzt replied.
Kierstaad glanced back one more time, to see that Berkthgar had stopped and had turned to regard him. The young barbarian understood then what was expected of him, and he gave a quick nod to Drizzt, not even offering a parting word, and ran off to join the giant man.
Drizzt spent a long time considering the implications of that sight, the young man blindly running to Berkthgar's will, though he did not share many of his leader's views. Then Drizzt considered his own course. He had meant to go back to the encampment for a word with Revjak, but that seemed a useless, even dangerous proposition now.
Now that Berkthgar spoke for the tribe.
*****
While Drizzt was running north of Kelvin's Cairn, another traveler was traversing the tundra to the south of the mountain. Stumpet Rakingclaw rambled on, her back bent for the weight of her huge pack, her eyes focused on that singular goal: the towering peaks of the Spine of the World.
Crenshinibon, hanging through a loop on the dwarf's belt, was silent and pleased. The artifact had invaded Stumpet's dreams
every night. Its communications with the dwarf had been more subtle than was usual for the domineering artifact, for Crenshinibon held a healthy respect for this one, both dwarf and priestess of a goodly god. Gradually, over the weeks, Crenshinibon had worn away Stumpet's resistance, had slowly convinced the dwarf that this was not a foolishly dangerous trek, but rather a challenge to be met and conquered.
And so Stumpet had come out the previous day, striding determinedly to the south, weapon in hand and ready to meet any monsters, ready to climb any mountain.
She wasn't yet near the mountains, about halfway from Redwaters, the southernmost of the three lakes. Crenshinibon planned to remain silent. The artifact was a work of the ages and a few days meant nothing to it. When they got to the mountains, the wilderness, the artifact would find a more suitable wielder.
But then, unexpectedly, the crystal shard sensed a presence, powerful and familiar.
A tanar'ri.
Stumpet stopped her run a moment later, her face screwed up with curiosity as she considered the item on her belt. She felt the vibrations from it, as though it was a living thing. As she studied the item, she recognized those vibrations as a call.
'What then?' the dwarf asked, lifting the crystal shard from the loop. 'What're ye about?'
