Read Online The Halfling’s Gem by R. A. Salvatore - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: R. A. Salvatore
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Wulfgar’s physical stature. Nearly seven feet tall, with corded muscles that thickened every year, Wulfgar strode down Dock Street with the easy air of sincere confidence.
Aegis-fang bouncing casually on one shoulder. Even among the greatest warriors in the Realms, this young man would stand out.
“For once, it seems that I am not the target of the stares,” said Drizzt.
“Take off the mask, drow,” Wulfgar replied, his face reddening with a rush of blood. “And take their eyes from me!”
“I would, but for Regis,” Drizzt answered with a wink.
The Mermaid’s Arms was no different from any other of the multitude of taverns that laced this section of Waterdeep. Shouts and cheers drifted out of the place, on air heavily scented with cheap ale and wine. A group of rowdies, pushing and shoving each other and throwing curses to the men they called friends, had gathered in front of the door.
Drizzt looked at Wulfgar with concern. The only other time the young man had been in such a place—at the Cutlass in Luskan—Wulfgar had torn apart the tavern, and most of its patrons, in a brawl. Clinging to ideals of honor and courage, Wulfgar was out of place in the unprincipled world of city taverns.
Orlpar came out of the Mermaid’s Arms then and siftedadeptly through the rowdy crowd. “Deudermont is at the bar,” he whispered out of the corner of his mouth. He passed Drizzt and Wulfgar and appeared to take no notice of them. “Tall; blue jacket and yellow beard,” added Orlpar.
Wulfgar started to respond, but Drizzt kept him moving forward, understanding Orlpar’s preference for secrecy.
The crowd parted as Drizzt and Wulfgar strode through, all their stares squarely on Wulfgar. “Bungo’ll have ’im,” one of them whispered when the two companions had moved into the bar.
“Be worth the watchin’, though,” chuckled another.
The drow’s keen ears caught the conversation, and he looked again at his huge friend, noting how Wulfgar’s size always seemed to single the barbarian out for such trouble.
The inside of the Mermaid’s Arms offered no surprises. The air hung thick with the smoke of exotic weeds and the stench of stale ale. A few drunken sailors lay facedown on tables or sat propped against walls while others stumbled about, spilling their drinks—often on more sober patrons, who responded by shoving the offenders to the floor. Wulfgar wondered how many of these men had missed the sailing of their ships. Would they stagger about in here until their coin ran out, only then to be dropped into the street to face the coming winter penniless and without shelter?
“Twice I have seen the bowels of a city,” Wulfgar whispered to Drizzt. “And both times I have been reminded of the pleasures of the open road!”
“The goblins and the dragons?” Drizzt retorted lightheartedly, leading Wulfgar to an empty table near the bar.
“A far lot better than this,” Wulfgar remarked.
A serving wench was upon them before they had even sat down. “What’s yer pleasure?” she asked absently, having long ago lost interest in the patrons she served.
“Water,” Wulfgar answered gruffly.
“And wine,” Drizzt quickly added, handing over a gold piece to dispel the woman’s sudden scowl.
“That must be Deudermont,” Wulfgar said, deflecting any forthcoming scolding concerning his treatment of the wench. He pointed to a tall man leaning over the bar rail.
Drizzt rose at once, thinking it prudent to be done with their business and out of the tavern as quickly as possible. “Hold the table,” he told Wulfgar
Captain Deudermont was not the average patron of the Mermaid’s Arms. Tall and straight, he was a refined man accustomed to dining with lords and ladies. But as with all of the ship captains who put into Waterdeep Harbor, especially on the day of their departures, Deudermont spent most of his time ashore, keeping a watchful eye on his valued crew and trying to prevent them from winding up in
Aegis-fang bouncing casually on one shoulder. Even among the greatest warriors in the Realms, this young man would stand out.
“For once, it seems that I am not the target of the stares,” said Drizzt.
“Take off the mask, drow,” Wulfgar replied, his face reddening with a rush of blood. “And take their eyes from me!”
“I would, but for Regis,” Drizzt answered with a wink.
The Mermaid’s Arms was no different from any other of the multitude of taverns that laced this section of Waterdeep. Shouts and cheers drifted out of the place, on air heavily scented with cheap ale and wine. A group of rowdies, pushing and shoving each other and throwing curses to the men they called friends, had gathered in front of the door.
Drizzt looked at Wulfgar with concern. The only other time the young man had been in such a place—at the Cutlass in Luskan—Wulfgar had torn apart the tavern, and most of its patrons, in a brawl. Clinging to ideals of honor and courage, Wulfgar was out of place in the unprincipled world of city taverns.
Orlpar came out of the Mermaid’s Arms then and siftedadeptly through the rowdy crowd. “Deudermont is at the bar,” he whispered out of the corner of his mouth. He passed Drizzt and Wulfgar and appeared to take no notice of them. “Tall; blue jacket and yellow beard,” added Orlpar.
Wulfgar started to respond, but Drizzt kept him moving forward, understanding Orlpar’s preference for secrecy.
The crowd parted as Drizzt and Wulfgar strode through, all their stares squarely on Wulfgar. “Bungo’ll have ’im,” one of them whispered when the two companions had moved into the bar.
“Be worth the watchin’, though,” chuckled another.
The drow’s keen ears caught the conversation, and he looked again at his huge friend, noting how Wulfgar’s size always seemed to single the barbarian out for such trouble.
The inside of the Mermaid’s Arms offered no surprises. The air hung thick with the smoke of exotic weeds and the stench of stale ale. A few drunken sailors lay facedown on tables or sat propped against walls while others stumbled about, spilling their drinks—often on more sober patrons, who responded by shoving the offenders to the floor. Wulfgar wondered how many of these men had missed the sailing of their ships. Would they stagger about in here until their coin ran out, only then to be dropped into the street to face the coming winter penniless and without shelter?
“Twice I have seen the bowels of a city,” Wulfgar whispered to Drizzt. “And both times I have been reminded of the pleasures of the open road!”
“The goblins and the dragons?” Drizzt retorted lightheartedly, leading Wulfgar to an empty table near the bar.
“A far lot better than this,” Wulfgar remarked.
A serving wench was upon them before they had even sat down. “What’s yer pleasure?” she asked absently, having long ago lost interest in the patrons she served.
“Water,” Wulfgar answered gruffly.
“And wine,” Drizzt quickly added, handing over a gold piece to dispel the woman’s sudden scowl.
“That must be Deudermont,” Wulfgar said, deflecting any forthcoming scolding concerning his treatment of the wench. He pointed to a tall man leaning over the bar rail.
Drizzt rose at once, thinking it prudent to be done with their business and out of the tavern as quickly as possible. “Hold the table,” he told Wulfgar
Captain Deudermont was not the average patron of the Mermaid’s Arms. Tall and straight, he was a refined man accustomed to dining with lords and ladies. But as with all of the ship captains who put into Waterdeep Harbor, especially on the day of their departures, Deudermont spent most of his time ashore, keeping a watchful eye on his valued crew and trying to prevent them from winding up in
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