Read Online Gauntlgrym by R.A. Salvatore - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: R.A. Salvatore
Ads: Link
Jarlaxle in Luskan a few years previous had rekindled great hopes and great pains. Immediately after the loss of Catti-brie and Regis, both Drizzt and Bruenor had enlisted the worldly Jarlaxle to find them, at any cost. The passage of seven decades and more hadn’t deterred the clever dark elf, apparently, or perhaps it had just been dumb luck, but Jarlaxle had stumbled upon a legend that was growing in the northwestern corner of Faerûn, the legend of a magical forest inhabited by a beautiful witch who apparently quite strikingly resembled the human daughter of King Bruenor Battlehammer.
The hunt had led Drizzt, Bruenor, and Pwent to Roundabout the ranger, in the small mountain village of Auckney, and he had directed them to Lac Dinneshere, one of the three lakes about which were scattered the communities that gave Ten-Towns its name.
Drizzt looked at Lathan, whose story verified what the old ranger in Auckney had said, but where was the forest? Icewind Dale had changed little in the last century. Ten-Towns had not grown—in fact, it seemed to Drizzt that there were less people in each of the towns than had been there when he’d called the place home.
“Are ye even listening to me, then?” Tulula scolded, her tone telling the daydreaming Drizzt that she had asked that question several times already.
“Just thinking,” he apologized. “So they and others searched for the forest, but nothing was ever found? Not a trace, nor a hint?”
Tulula shrugged. “Rumors,” she said. “And when I was a young girl, one boat came in with the crew all atwitter. Do ye remember that, Da?”
“Barley Farhook’s boat,” Lathan said, nodding. “Aye, and Spragan wanted to put right out, he did, after all them years where folk snickered at our own tale.Aye, and we did go out, a few boats, but there was nothing to be found here, and they laughed at us again.”
“Where are your crewmates now?” Drizzt asked.
“Bah, all dead,” Lathan replied. “Addadearber taken in the Spellplague, Ashelia’s boat taken by the lake with Spragan aboard her, too. All gone, many years ago.”
Drizzt scanned the ruined cottage and the vale behind it, trying to figure out if there was anything left to do. He hadn’t expected to find anything, of course—the world was full of wild tales of the most unusual sort, especially in the sixty-six years since the Spellplague had descended upon Faerûn, since the death of Mystra and the great turmoil and tribulations that had shaken the foundation of civilization itself.
Then again, the world was full of actual surprises, as well.
“You got enough?” Tulula asked, glancing back across the lake. “We’ve a long ride home and you promised we’d be back in Caer-Dineval tomorrow.”
Drizzt hesitated a bit, helplessly scanning the horizon, then he nodded. “Help your father back into the wagon,” he told her. “We’ll be away soon.”
The drow trotted off to the cottage and poked about it for a bit, then moved up into the scraggly wood, hardly a forest, crunching through the dried pine needles of seasons past. He looked for clues, any clue: the hint of a door on a hillside, a patch of ground that once might have been a pond, the hint of music in the windy air.…
From the side of one hillock, he looked back to see Tulula in the open wagon, her father beside her. She waved to Drizzt, ready to depart.
He moved about a bit more, hoping against all reason that he would find something, anything, to give him hope that this place—Iruladoon, Roundie had called it—had once been the forest as described to him, that the caretaker had been Regis and the marvelous witch, Catti-brie. He thought of his return to Kelvin’s Cairn, and dreaded telling Bruenor that their journey to Icewind Dale had been for naught.
Where might they go now? Did old Bruenor have any more roads left in him?
“Come along then!” Tulula called from the wagon, and reluctantly the drow started down, his keen eyes still
The hunt had led Drizzt, Bruenor, and Pwent to Roundabout the ranger, in the small mountain village of Auckney, and he had directed them to Lac Dinneshere, one of the three lakes about which were scattered the communities that gave Ten-Towns its name.
Drizzt looked at Lathan, whose story verified what the old ranger in Auckney had said, but where was the forest? Icewind Dale had changed little in the last century. Ten-Towns had not grown—in fact, it seemed to Drizzt that there were less people in each of the towns than had been there when he’d called the place home.
“Are ye even listening to me, then?” Tulula scolded, her tone telling the daydreaming Drizzt that she had asked that question several times already.
“Just thinking,” he apologized. “So they and others searched for the forest, but nothing was ever found? Not a trace, nor a hint?”
Tulula shrugged. “Rumors,” she said. “And when I was a young girl, one boat came in with the crew all atwitter. Do ye remember that, Da?”
“Barley Farhook’s boat,” Lathan said, nodding. “Aye, and Spragan wanted to put right out, he did, after all them years where folk snickered at our own tale.Aye, and we did go out, a few boats, but there was nothing to be found here, and they laughed at us again.”
“Where are your crewmates now?” Drizzt asked.
“Bah, all dead,” Lathan replied. “Addadearber taken in the Spellplague, Ashelia’s boat taken by the lake with Spragan aboard her, too. All gone, many years ago.”
Drizzt scanned the ruined cottage and the vale behind it, trying to figure out if there was anything left to do. He hadn’t expected to find anything, of course—the world was full of wild tales of the most unusual sort, especially in the sixty-six years since the Spellplague had descended upon Faerûn, since the death of Mystra and the great turmoil and tribulations that had shaken the foundation of civilization itself.
Then again, the world was full of actual surprises, as well.
“You got enough?” Tulula asked, glancing back across the lake. “We’ve a long ride home and you promised we’d be back in Caer-Dineval tomorrow.”
Drizzt hesitated a bit, helplessly scanning the horizon, then he nodded. “Help your father back into the wagon,” he told her. “We’ll be away soon.”
The drow trotted off to the cottage and poked about it for a bit, then moved up into the scraggly wood, hardly a forest, crunching through the dried pine needles of seasons past. He looked for clues, any clue: the hint of a door on a hillside, a patch of ground that once might have been a pond, the hint of music in the windy air.…
From the side of one hillock, he looked back to see Tulula in the open wagon, her father beside her. She waved to Drizzt, ready to depart.
He moved about a bit more, hoping against all reason that he would find something, anything, to give him hope that this place—Iruladoon, Roundie had called it—had once been the forest as described to him, that the caretaker had been Regis and the marvelous witch, Catti-brie. He thought of his return to Kelvin’s Cairn, and dreaded telling Bruenor that their journey to Icewind Dale had been for naught.
Where might they go now? Did old Bruenor have any more roads left in him?
“Come along then!” Tulula called from the wagon, and reluctantly the drow started down, his keen eyes still
Similar Books
