He spotted his dropped scimitar, Icingdeath, on the slope just up above him, and climbed to his feet to retrieve it.
Such waves of pain washed over him that he nearly fell back to the ground. As he recovered, he settled his weight onto his right foot and glanced down at his left leg, noting a bulge against the leather at mid-calf. Drizzt swallowed hard, amazed that he was upright at all, for in the fall, he had surely broken the bone in his shin.
Slowly he put his foot back to the ground and eased some weight onto it. Again the waves of pain assaulted him. He looked around for a splint, but heard Dahlia’s approach and realized that he had no time.
He scrambled for his scimitar, retrieved it, and spun around to watch the woman’s determined approach, her weapons swinging easily at her sides.
“You were supposed to win,” she said through gritted teeth, tears streaming down her angry face. “In so many ways have you disappointed me!”
Her words didn’t make any sense to Drizzt, and he could barely keep his eyes focused on her. He knew that she was coming closer, ever closer. He knew that he couldn’t begin to fight her now. He had no speed and no balance, and the pain …
She was so close.
A dark form rushed by, carrying Dahlia with it off to the side.
“Enough!” Drizzt heard, Artemis Entreri’s voice. He followed the sound to see the two of them, and only then realized that he was sitting once more, and was only looking out of one eye now, as the other was covered with the blood pouring from the wound on his forehead.
Dahlia struggled against the man, but Entreri held her back, talking to her, though Drizzt could not hear the words. But Entreri remained insistent—even in his desperate and dazed state, Drizzt could recognize that—and he pushed Dahlia away, step-by-step.
“Farewell,” Drizzt heard him call back, and then something around them leaving Icewind Dale.
Drizzt couldn’t be sure. His face was in the dirt by that time, and all he heard was his own pulse, pounding in his head, images both real and imagined intertwining in a place far removed from consciousness.
EPILOGUE
THE STARS REACHED DOWN TO HIM, LIKE SO MANY TIMES BEFORE IN THIS enchanted place.
He was on Bruenor’s Climb, though he didn’t know how he had arrived there. Guenhwyvar was beside him, leaning against him, supporting his shattered leg, but he didn’t remember calling to her.
Of all the places Drizzt had ever traveled, none had felt more comforting than here. Perhaps it had been the company he had so often found up here, but even without Bruenor beside him, this place, this lone peak rising above the flat, dark tundra, had ever brought a spiritual sustenance to Drizzt Do’Urden. Up here, he felt small and mortal, but at the same time, felt confident that he was part of something much larger, of something eternal.
On Bruenor’s Climb, the stars reached down to him, or he lifted up among them, floating free of his physical restraints, his spirit rising and soaring among the celestial spheres. He could hear the sound of the great clockwork up here, could feel the celestial winds in his face and could melt into the ether.
It was a place of the deepest meditation for Drizzt, a place where he understood the great cycle of life and death.
A place that seemed fitting now, as the blood continued to flow from the wound in his forehead.
Ambergris stood with her hands on her hips, looking this way and that, fully perplexed. She turned to Afafrenfere, who could only shrug.
They saw the blood, the signs of the tumble, the signs of the fight, as Entreri had explained to them when he had returned to the camp, a thoroughly shaken Dahlia in his grasp.
But Drizzt was not here.
His leg was broken, Entreri had said, and his head bleeding badly, and indeed, the three of them, the dwarf, the monk, and Effron, easily located the spot where Drizzt had last stood against Dahlia simply by the amount of blood on the ground.
But he wasn’t there, and there was no trail leading from that place, not a line of blood nor drag marks one would expect from a person with a shattered leg.
“Someone found him first,” Effron offered.
“Someone flying, then,” Afafrenfere replied, holding up his hands helplessly as he stood near the lone set of tracks in the snow leading from this place, the path of Entreri and Dahlia that had so easily led them out from their camp.
All three looked up, as if expecting a great bird or a dragon to descend upon them.
“Not hurtin’ as bad as Entreri thinked,” Ambergris surmised. “He’s a ranger, then, and with no small skill.”