Drizzt stopped short and glanced around, ensuring that they were alone and would not be overheard.
“Jarlaxle recommended that we spend the rest of the season or more,” Drizzt admitted.
“Sounds like a good reason to turn around and leave,” Entreri replied.
“There are powerful forces seeking us—seeking me, at least—and they will find you, as well,” Drizzt admitted.
“Draygo Quick,” Dahlia reasoned.
“That is one.”
“What do you know?” Entreri insisted.
“The drow from Gauntlgrym,” Drizzt admitted. “They have come to realize my identity, I am told.”
“Wonderful,” Entreri muttered.
“What does this mean?” asked Dahlia.
“It means, welcome to your new home,” said the dour assassin.
“When the trail grows cold, Jarlaxle will inform us,” Drizzt said. “And there are worse places to live. Is there somewhere you would rather be?”
The pointed question elicited a curious response from Entreri: a shrug that came as an admission that indeed, this place was likely as good as any other.
“We have made some enemies, it would seem,” Dahlia admitted. “Draygo Quick, Szass Tam, and now these dark elves. Is there a corner of the world far enough removed.”
“If there is, we have now found it,” Entreri remarked.
They drank for free that night, for Drizzt was recognized in the tavern, and their table was often visited by Bryn Shander citizens, offering drinks, or even a stay at their home if the trio were looking for accommodations, and asking Drizzt for stories of the long-ago days.
“To see a drow so welcomed,” Entreri said sarcastically in one of the few moments when the three found themselves alone. “Truly touching.”
“Stokely,” Drizzt reasoned. “Apparently, our dwarf friends returned to Ten-Towns from Gauntlgrym with tales of heroism that were well-received. And I notice that you haven’t refused the free food or drink.”
“Free? I earn it by tolerating their insufferable intrusions,” Entreri said. “I haven’t killed any of them yet, so I deserve the food—and it is quite possible that the drink will prevent me from murdering any in the near future.”
“If our time here is to be no more than a constant recitation of the heroics of Drizzt, then I will head back to Luskan and take my chances with Draygo Quick,” Dahlia put in, drawing laughter from both Drizzt and Entreri—but Drizzt’s mirth dissipated quickly when he looked at the woman, peering at him over the rim of her upraised mug, and realized that there was no small measure of truth in her joke.
“Tomorrow we go to the captain of the town guard and sign on,” Drizzt said, changing the subject. “With our mounts, we can easily serve as scouts and couriers to the other communities. Who will outride us? Who will outfight us? We will find many nights such as this in all of the communities, I am sure. Not so hard a life.”
Entreri lifted his glass in toast to that, though his expression showed it to be as much of a mocking gesture as any serious agreement. Drizzt accepted and welcomed that, however, knowing it to be the best he could expect from that one, and seeing that there really was a measure of acceptance in the assassin. Clearly, Entreri wasn’t planning on leaving anytime soon.
Where the dour assassin was concerned, Drizzt took his victories where he could find them.
The innkeeper offered them a pair of complimentary rooms for the night, and promised to find lodging for them thereafter, though they’d have to pay—it was the busy season in Ten-Towns, after all. Drizzt graciously accepted the generous offer, and went back to his conversation with the others, when a complimentary dinner showed up at the table, to the cheers of all in the tavern.
“Insufferable,” Entreri muttered, but Drizzt noted that Entreri ate quite eagerly.
They hadn’t finished the meal before the next interruption, a middle-aged woman moving up to the table and fixing a grin on Drizzt.
“Ah, but you’ve heard the rumors, then,” she said.
“Rumors?” Dahlia asked. She looked to Drizzt as she spoke, and he had no answers for her.
He looked at the woman more closely, a flicker of recognition in his eyes as he agreed, “Rumors?”
“About the forest, and the witch,” she replied.
Drizzt’s eyes widened. “I know you,” he mumbled, though he couldn’t remember the woman’s name.
“My da was Lathan, who’s been to the wood.”
“Tulula!” Drizzt said. “Tulula Obridock!”
“Aye, but it’s Hoerneson now,” she said. “And well met again to you, Drizzt Do’Urden.”
“What forest?” asked Dahlia. “What rumors?”
Again Drizzt felt her gaze upon him, but he could only shrug in reply, preferring to answer the second question and not the first.
“Iruladoon,” Tulula answered. “A magical forest, ’tis said to be, appearing at its whim, so they speak.”
“What is she talking about?” Entreri asked.
“Ruled by an auburn-haired witch and a halfling who lives by the lake,” Tulula said.
Entreri and Dahlia turned directly on Drizzt, who sat staring at Tulula and seeming not to even draw breath at that point, clearly overwhelmed.
“Catti-brie,” Entreri remarked quietly, nodding.
“The barbarian tribes have spoken of it of late,” Tulula confirmed. “Seems my da wasn’t so crazy, and more than a few of the folk have apologized for their jokes about crazy Lathan Obridock, and sure that they owed it to me!”
Drizzt ran his fingers through his hair. He didn’t know where to begin, or what to think, even! He scrutinized Tulula and suspected, feared, that this was no more than a woman holding on desperately to her father’s reputation. Did he dare allow his hopes to soar yet again?