Bob Salvatore - The Halfling's Gem Read online

  The Halfling's Gem

  "He left this," Pellman continued, handing the tiny pouch to Wulfgar." And

  bade me to tell you that he will await your arrival in Calimport."

  Wulfgar held the pouch tentatively, as if expecting it to explode in his

  face.

  "Our thanks," Drizzt told Pellman. "We will tell our associate that you

  performed the task admirably."

  Pellman nodded and bowed, turning away as he did so, to return to his

  duties.

  Drizzt led Wulfgar off to the side, out of plain view. Seeing the

  barbarian's paling look, he took the tiny pouch and gingerly loosened the draw

  string, holding it as far away as possible. With a shrug to Wulfgar, who had

  moved a cautious step away, Drizzt brought the pouch down to his belt level and

  peeked in.

  Wulfgar moved closer, curious and concerned when he saw Drizzt's shoulders

  droop. The drow looked to him in helpless resignation and inverted the pouch,

  revealing its contents.

  A halfling's finger.

  THE ICEWIND DALE TRILOGY

  Book One: The Crystal Shard

  Book Two: Streams of Silver

  Book Three: The Halfling's Gem

  To my sister Susan,

  who'll never know how

  much her support has meant

  to me over the last few years.

  Prelude

  Maps

  Book 1: Halfway to Everywhere

  Chapter 1 Tower of Twilight

  Chapter 2 A Thousand Thousand Little Candles

  Chapter 3 Conyberry's Pride

  Chapter 4 The City of Splendors

  Chapter 5 Ashes

  Chapter 6 Baldur's Gate

  Epilogue

  Book 2: Allies

  Chapter 7 Stirrings

  Chapter 8 A Plain Brown Wrapper

  Chapter 9 Fiery Riddles

  Chapter 10 The Weight of a Kings Mantle

  Chapter 11 Hot Winds

  Chapter 12 Comrades

  Chapter 13 Paying the Piper

  Chapter 14 Dancing Snakes

  Chapter 15 The Guide

  Epilogue

  Book 3: Desert Empires

  Chapter 16 Never a Fouler Place

  Chapter 17 Impossible Loyalties

  Chapter 18 Double Talker

  Chapter 19 Tricks and Traps

  Chapter 20 Black and White

  Chapter 21 Where No Sun Shines

  Chapter 22 The Rift

  Chapter 23 If Ever You Loved Catti-brie

  Chapter 24 Interplanar Goo

  Chapter 25 A Walk in the Sun

  Epilogue

  Prelude

  The wizard looked down upon the young woman with uncertainty. Her back was

  to him; he could see the thick mane of her auburn locks flowing around her

  shoulders, rich and vibrant. But the wizard knew, too, the sadness that was in

  her eyes. So young she was, barely more than a child, and so beautifully

  innocent.

  Yet this beautiful child had put a sword through the heart of his beloved

  Sydney.

  Harkle Harpell brushed away the unwanted memories of his dead love and

  started down the hill. "A fine day," he said cheerily when he reached the young

  woman.

  "Do ye think they've made the tower?" Catti-brie asked him, her gaze never

  leaving the southern horizon.

  Harkle shrugged. "Soon, if not yet." He studied Catti-brie and could find no

  anger against her for her actions. She had killed Sydney, it was true, but

  Harkle knew just by looking at her that necessity, not malice, had guided her

  sword arm. And now he could only pity her.

  "How are you?" Harkle stammered, amazed at the courage she had shown in

  light of the terrible events that had befallen her and her friends.

  Catti-brie nodded and turned to the wizard. Surely there was sorrow edging

  her deep blue eyes, but mostly they burned with a stubborn resolve that chased

  away any hints of weakness. She had lost Bruenor, the dwarf who had adopted her

  and had reared her as his own since the earliest days of her childhood. And

  Catti-brie's other friends even now were caught in the middle of a desperate

  chase with an assassin across the southland.

  "How quickly things have changed," Harkle whispered under his breath,

  feeling sympathy for the young woman. He remembered a time, just a few weeks

  earlier, when Bruenor Battlehammer and his small company had come through

  Longsaddle in their quest to find Mithril Hall, the dwarf's lost homeland. That

  had been a jovial meeting of tales exchanged and promises of future friendships

  with the Harpell clan. None of them could have known that a second party, led by

  an evil assassin, and by Harkle's own Sydney, held Catti-brie hostage and was

  gathering to pursue the company. Bruenor had found Mithril Hall, and had fallen

  there.

  And Sydney, the female mage that Harkle had so dearly loved, had played a

  part in the dwarf's death.

  Harkle took a deep breath to steady himself. "Bruenor will be avenged," he

  said with a grimace.

  Catti-brie kissed him on the cheek and started back up the hill toward the

  Ivy Mansion. She understood the wizard's sincere pain, and she truly admired his

  decision to help her fulfill her vow to return to Mithril Hall and reclaim it

  for Clan Battlehammer.

  But for Harkle, there had been no other choice. The Sydney that he had loved

  was a facade, a sugar coating to a power-crazed, unfeeling monster. And he

  himself had played a part in the disaster, unwittingly revealing to Sydney the

  whereabouts of Bruenor's party.

  Harkle watched Catti-brie go, the weight of troubles slowing her stride. He

  could harbor no resentment toward her - Sydney had brought about the

  circumstances of her own death, and Catti-brie had no choice but to play them

  out. The wizard turned his gaze southward. He, too, wondered and worried for the

  drow elf and the huge barbarian lad. They had slumped back into Longsaddle just

  three days before, a sorrow-filled and weary band in desperate need of rest.

  There could be no rest, though, not now, for the wicked assassin had escaped

  with the last of their group, Regis the halfling, in tow.

  So much had happened in those few weeks; Harkle's entire world had been

  turned upside down by an odd mixture of heroes from a distant, forlorn land

  called Icewind Dale, and by a beautiful young woman who could not be blamed.

  And by the lie that was his deepest love.

  Harkle fell back on the grass and watched the puffy clouds of late summer

  meander across the sky.

  * * *

  Beyond the clouds, where the stars shone eternally, Guenhwyvar, the entity

  of the panther, paced excitedly. Many days had passed since the cat's master,

  the drow elf named Drizzt Do'Urden, had summoned it to the material plane.

  Guenhwyvar was sensitive to the onyx figurine that served as a link to its

  master and that other world; the panther could sense the tingle from that

  far-off place even when its master merely touched the statuette.

  But Guenhwyvar hadn
't felt that link to Drizzt in some time, and the cat was

  nervous now, somehow understanding in its otherworldly intelligence that the

  drow no longer possessed the figurine. Guenhwyvar remembered the time before

  Drizzt, when another drow, an evil drow, had been its master. Though in essence

  an animal, Guenhwyvar possessed dignity, a quality that its original master had

  stolen away.

  Guenhwyvar remembered those times when it had been forced to perform cruel,

  cowardly acts against helpless foes for the sake of its master's pleasure.

  But things had been very different since Drizzt Do'Urden came to possess the

  figurine. Here was a being of conscience and integrity, and an honest bond of

  love had developed between Guenhwyvar and Drizzt.

  The cat slumped against a star-trimmed tree and issued a low growl that

  observers to this astral spectacle might have taken as a resigned sigh.

  Deeper still would the cat's sigh have been if it knew that Artemis Entreri,

  the killer, now possessed the figurine.

  Book 1:

  Halfway to Everywhere

  1

  Tower of Twilight

  "A day and more we have lost," the barbarian grumbled, reining in his horse

  and looking back over his shoulder. The lower rim of the sun had just dipped

  below the horizon. "The assassin moves away from us even now!"

  "We do well to trust in Harkle's advice," replied Drizzt Do'Urden, the dark

  elf. "He would not have led us astray." With the sunshine fading, Drizzt dropped

  the cowl of his black cloak back onto his shoulders and shook free the locks of

  his stark white hair.

  Wulfgar pointed to some tall pines. "That must be the grove Harkle Harpell

  spoke of," he said, "yet I see no tower, nor signs that any structure was ever

  built in this forsaken area."

  His lavender eyes more at home in the deepening gloom, Drizzt peered ahead

  intently, trying to find some evidence to dispute his young friend. Surely this

  was the place that Harkle had indicated, for a short distance ahead of them lay

  the small pond, and beyond that the thick boughs of Neverwinter Wood. "Take

  heart," he reminded Wulfgar. "The wizard called patience the greatest aid in

  finding the home of Malchor. We have been here but an hour."

  "The road grows ever longer," the barbarian mumbled, unaware that the drow's

  keen ears did not miss a word. There was merit in Wulfgar's complaints, Drizzt

  knew, for the tale of a farmer in Longsaddle - that of a dark, cloaked man and a

  halfling on a single horse - put the assassin fully ten days ahead of them, and

  moving swiftly.

  But Drizzt had faced Entreri before and understood the enormity of the

  challenge before him. He wanted as much assistance as he could get in rescuing

  Regis from the deadly man's clutches. By the farmer's words, Regis was still

  alive, and Drizzt was certain that Entreri did not mean to harm the halfling

  before getting to Calimport.

  Harkle Harpell would not have sent them to this place without good reason.

  "Do we put up for the night?" asked Wulfgar. "By my word, we'd ride back to

  the road and to the south. Entreri's horse carries two and may have tired by

  now. We can gain on him if we ride through the night."

  Drizzt smiled at his friend. "They have passed through the city of Waterdeep

  by now," he explained. "Entreri has acquired new horses, at the least." Drizzt

  let the issue drop at that, keeping his deeper fears, that the assassin had

  taken to the sea, to himself.

  "Then to wait is even more folly!" Wulfgar was quick to argue.

  But as the barbarian spoke, his horse, a horse raised by Harpells, snorted

  and moved to the small pond, pawing the air above the water as though searching

  for a place to step. A moment later, the last of the sun dipped under the

  western horizon and the daylight faded away. And in the magical dimness of

  twilight, an enchanted tower phased into view before them on the little island

  in the pond, its every point twinkling like starlight, and its many twisting

  spires reaching up into the evening sky. Emerald green it was, and mystically

  inviting, as if sprites and faeries had lent a hand to its creation.

  And across the water, right below the hoof of Wulfgar's horse, appeared a

  shining bridge of green light.

  Drizzt slipped from his mount. "The Tower of Twilight," he said to Wulfgar,

  as though he had seen the obvious logic from the start. He swept his arm out

  toward the structure, inviting his friend to lead them in.

  But Wulfgar was stunned at the appearance of the tower. He clutched the

  reins of his horse even tighter, causing the beast to rear up and flatten its

  ears against its head.

  "I thought you had overcome your suspicions of magic," said Drizzt

  sarcastically. Truly Wulfgar, like all the barbarians of Icewind Dale, had been

  raised with the belief that wizards were weakling tricksters and not to be

  trusted. His people, proud warriors of the tundra, regarded strength of arm, not

  skill in the black arts of wizardry, as the measure of a true man. But in their

  many weeks on the road, Drizzt had seen Wulfgar overcome his upbringing and

  develop a tolerance, even a curiosity, for the practices of wizardry.

  With a flex of his massive muscles, Wulfgar brought his horse under control.

  "I have," he answered through gritted teeth. He slid from his seat. "It is

  Harpells that worry me!"

  Drizzt's smirk widened across his face as he suddenly came to understand his

  friend's trepidations. He himself, who had been raised amidst many of the most

  powerful and frightening sorcerers in all the Realms, had shaken his head in

  disbelief many times when they were guests of the eccentric family in

  Longsaddle. The Harpells had a unique - and often disastrous - way of viewing

  the world, though no evil festered in their hearts, and they wove their magic in

  accord with their own perspectives - usually against the presumed logic of

  rational men.

  "Malchor is unlike his kin," Drizzt assured Wulfgar. "He does not reside in

  the Ivy Mansion and has played advisor to kings of the northland."

  "He is a Harpell," Wulfgar stated with a finality that Drizzt could not

  dispute. With another shake of his head and a deep breath to steady himself,

  Wulfgar grabbed his horse's bridle and started out across the bridge. Drizzt,

  still smiling, was quick to follow.

  "Harpell," Wulfgar muttered again after they had crossed to the island and

  made a complete circuit of the structure.

  The tower had no door.

  "Patience," Drizzt reminded him.

  They did not have to wait long, though, for a few seconds later they heard a

  bolt being thrown, and then the creak of a door opening. A moment later, a boy

  barely into his teens walked right through the green stone of the wall, like

  some translucent specter, and moved toward them.

  Wulfgar grunted and brought Aegis-fang, his mighty war hammer, down off his

  shoulder. Drizzt grasped the barbarian's arm to stay him, fearing that his weary

  friend might strike in sheer frustration before they could determine the lad's

  intentions.

  When the boy reached them, they could see clearly that he was flesh and

&nbsp
; blood, not some otherworldly specter, and Wulfgar relaxed his grip. The youth

  bowed low to them and motioned for them to follow.

  "Malchor?" asked Drizzt.

  The boy did not answer, but he motioned again and started back toward the

  tower.

  "I would have thought you to be older, if Malchor you be," Drizzt said,

  falling into step behind the boy.

  "What of the horses?" Wulfgar asked.

  Still the boy continued silently toward the tower.

  Drizzt looked at Wulfgar and shrugged. "Bring them in, then, and let our

  mute friend worry about them!" the dark elf said.

  They found one section of the wall - at least - to be an illusion, masking a

  door that led them into a wide, circular chamber that was the tower's lowest

  level. Stalls lining one wall showed that they had done right in bringing the

  horses, and they tethered the beasts quickly and rushed to catch up to the

  youth. The boy had not slowed and had entered another doorway.

  "Hold for us," Drizzt called, stepping through the portal, but he found no

  guide inside. He had entered a dimly lit corridor that rose gently and arced

  around as it rose, apparently tracing the circumference of the tower. "Only one

  way to go," he told Wulfgar, who came in behind him, and they started off.

  Drizzt figured that they had done one complete circle and were up to the

  second level - ten feet at least - when they found the boy waiting for them

  beside a darkened sidepassage that fell back toward the center of the structure.

  The lad ignored this passage, though, and started off higher into the tower

  along the main arcing corridor.

  Wulfgar had run out of patience for such cryptic games. His only concern was

  that Entreri and Regis were running farther away every second. He stepped by

  Drizzt and grabbed the boy's shoulder, spinning him about. "Are you Malchor?" he

  demanded bluntly.

  The boy blanched at the giant man's gruff tone but did not reply.

  "Leave him," Drizzt said. "He is not Malchor. I am sure. We will find the

  master of the tower soon enough." He looked to the frightened boy. "True?"

  The boy gave a quick nod and started off again.

  "Soon," Drizzt reiterated to quiet Wulfgar's growl. He prudently stepped by

  the barbarian, putting himself between Wulfgar and the guide.

  "Harpell," Wulfgar groaned at his back.