The Crystal Shard (13 page)

"Stop yer hammerin', boy," came a gruff voice behind him.

Wulfgar spun on his heel. He had been so engrossed in his work that he hadn't heard Bruenor enter. An involuntary smile of relief widened across his face. But he caught the show of weakness quickly and repainted a stern mask.

Bruenor regarded the young barbarian's great height and girth and the scraggly beginnings of a blond beard upon the golden skin of his face. "I can't rightly be callin' ye 'boy' anymore," the dwarf conceded.

"You have the right to call me whatever you wish," retorted Wulfgar. "I am your slave."

"Ye've a spirit as wild as the tundra," Bruenor said, smiling. "Ye've ne'er been, nor will ye ever be, a slave to any dwarf or man!"

Wulfgar was caught off guard by the dwarf's uncharacteristic compliment. He tried to reply but could find no words.

"Never have I seen ye as a slave, boy," Bruenor continued. "Ye served me to pay for the crimes of yer people, and I taught ye much in return. Now put yer hammer away." He paused for a moment to consider Wulfgar's fine workmanship.

"Yer a good smith, with a good feel for the stone, but ye don't belong in a dwarf's cave. It's time ye felt the sun on yer face again."

"Freedom?" Wulfgar whispered.

"Get the notion outa yer head!" Bruenor snapped. He pointed a stubby finger at the barbarian and growled threateningly. "Yer mine 'til the last days of fall, don't ye forget that!"

Wulfgar had to bite his lip to stem a laugh. As always, the dwarf's awkward combination of compassion and borderline rage had confused him and kept him off balance. It no longer came as a shock, though. Four years at Bruenor's side had taught him to expect – and disregard – the sudden outbursts of gruffness.

"Finish up whatever ye got here to do," Bruenor instructed. "I take ye out to meet yer teacher tomorrow morning, and, by yer vow, ye'll heed to him as ye would to me!"

Wulfgar grimaced at the thought of servitude to yet another, but he had accepted his indenture to Bruenor unconditionally for a period of five years and a day, and he would not dishonor himself by going back on his oath. He nodded his consent.

"I won't be seein' much more o' ye," Bruenor continued, "so I'll have yer oath now that ye'll never again raise a weapon against the people o' Ten-Towns."

Wulfgar set himself firmly. "That you may not have," he replied boldly. "When I have fulfilled the terms you set before me, I shall leave here a man of free will!"

"Fair enough," Bruenor conceded, Wulfgar's stubborn pride actually enhancing the dwarf's respect for him. He paused for a moment to look over the proud young warrior and found himself pleased at his own part in Wulfgar's growth.

"Ye broke that stinkin' pole o' yers on me head," Bruenor began tentatively. He cleared his throat. This final order of business made the tough dwarf uncomfortable. He wasn't quite sure of how he could get through it without appearing sentimental and foolish. "Winter'll be fast upon ye after yer term to me is ended. I can't rightly send ye out into the wild without a weapon" He reached back into the hallway quickly and grabbed the warhammer.

"Aegis-fang," he said gruffly as he tossed it to Wulfgar. "I'll place no bonds on yer will, but I'll have yer oath, for me own good conscience, that ye'll never raise this weapon against the people o' Ten-Tbwns!"

As soon as his hands closed around the adamantite handle, Wulfgar sensed the worth of the magical warhammer. The diamond-filled runes caught the glow of the forge and sent a myriad of reflections dancing about the room. The barbarians of Wulfgar's tribe had always prided themselves on the fine weapons they kept, even measuring the worth of a man by the quality of his spear or sword, but Wulfgar had never seen anything to match the exquisite detail and sheer strength of Aegis-fang. It balanced so well in his huge hands and its height and weight fit him so perfectly that he felt as if he had been born to wield this weapon. He told himself at once that he would pray for many nights to the gods of fate for delivering this prize unto him. Certainly they deserved his thanks.

As did Bruenor.

"You have my word," Wulfgar stammered, so overcome by the magnificent gift that he could hardly speak. He steadied himself so that he could say more, but by the time he was able to pull his gaze from the magnificent hammer, Bruenor was gone.

The dwarf stomped through the long corridors toward his private chambers, mumbling curses at his weakness, and hoping that none of his kin came upon him. With a cautious look around, he wiped the moisture from his gray eyes.

13

As the Wielder Bids

"Gather together your people and go, Biggrin," the wizard told the enormous frost giant that stood before him in Cryshal-Tirith's throne room. "Remember that you represent the army of Akar Kessell. You are the first group to go into the area, and secrecy is the key to our victory! Do not fail me! I shall be watching over your every move."

"We'll not fail ye, master," the giant responded. "The lair'll be set and readied for your coming!"

"I have faith in you," Kessell assured the huge commander. "Now be off."

The frost giant lifted the blanketed mirror that Kessell had given it, gave one final bow to its master, and walked out of the room.

"You should not have sent them," hissed Errtu, who had been standing invisibly beside the throne during the conversation. "The verbeeg and their frost giant leader will be easy to mark in a community of humans and dwarves."

"Biggrin is a wise leader," Kessell shot back, angered at the demon's impertinence. "The giant is cunning enough to keep troops out of sight!"

"Yet the humans would have been better suited for this mission, as Crenshinibon has shown you."

"I am the leader!" screamed Kessell. He pulled the crystal shard out from under his robes and waved it menacingly at Errtu, leaning forward in an attempt to emphasize the threat.

"Crenshinibon advises, but I decide! Do not forget your place, mighty demon. I am the wielder of the shard, and I shall not tolerate your questioning my every move."

Errtu's blood-red eyes narrowed dangerously, and Kessell straightened back in his throne, suddenly reconsidering the wisdom of threatening the demon. But Errtu calmed quickly, accepting the minor inconveniences of Kessell's foolish outbursts for the long term gains it stood to make.

"Crenshinibon has existed since the dawn of the world," the demon rasped, making one final point. "It has orchestrated a thousand campaigns much grander than the one you are about to undertake. Perhaps you would be wise to give more credence to its advice."

Kessell twitched nervously. The shard had indeed counseled him to use the humans he would soon command in the first excursion into the region. He had been able to create a dozen excuses to validate his choice of sending the giants, but in truth, he had sent Biggrin's people more to illustrate his undeniable command to himself, to the shard, and to the impertinent demon, than for any possible military gains.

"I shall follow Crenshinibon's advice when I deem it appropriate," he told Errtu. He pulled a, second crystal, an exact duplicate of Crenshinibon and the crystal he had used to raise this tower, out from one of the many pockets of his robe. "Take this to the appropriate spot and perform the ceremony of raising," he instructed. "I shall join you through a mirror door when all is ready."

"You wish to raise a second Cryshal-Tirith while the first still stands?" Errtu balked. "The drain on the relic shall be enormous!"

"Silence!" Kessell ordered, trembling visibly. "Go and perform the ceremony! Let the shard remain my concern!"

Errtu took the replica of the relic and bowed low. Without a further word, the demon stalked out of the room. It understood that Kessell was foolishly demonstrating his control over the shard at the expense of proper restraint and wise military tactics. The wizard did not have the capacity or the experience to orchestrate this campaign, yet the shard continued to back him.

Errtu had made a secret offer to it to dispose of Kessell and take over as wielder. But Crenshinibon had refused the demon. It preferred the demonstrations that Kessell demanded of it to appease his own insecurities over the constant struggle of control it would face against the powerful demon.

*****

Though he walked among giants and trolls, the proud barbarian king's stature was not diminished. He strode defiantly through the iron door of the black tower and pushed through the wretched troll guards with a threatening growl. He hated this place of sorcery and had decided to ignore the calling when the singular spinet of the tower appeared on the horizon like an icy finger risen from the flat ground. Yet in the end he could not resist the summons of the master of Cryshal-Tirith.

Heafstaag hated the wizard. By all measures of a tribesman Akar Kessell was weak, using tricks and demonic callings to do the work of muscle. And Heafstaag hated him even more because he could not refute the power, that the wizard commanded.

The barbarian king threw aside the dangling, beaded strands that sectioned off Akar Kessell's private audience hall on the tower's second level. The wizard reclined on a huge, satin pillow in the middle of the room, his long, painted fingernails tapping impatiently on the floor. Several nude slave girls, their minds bent and broken under the shard's domination, waited on every whim of the shard's wielder.

It angered Heafstaag to see women enslaved to such a puny, pitiful shell of a man. He considered, and not for the first time, a sudden charge, burying his great axe deep into the wizard's skull. But the room was filled with strategically located screens and pillars, and the barbarian knew, even if he refused to believe that the wizard's will could deny his rage, that Kessell's pet demon wouldn't be far from its master.

"So good that you could join me, noble Heafstaag," said Kessell in a calm, disarming way.

Errtu and Crenshinibon were close at hand. He felt quite secure, even in the presence of the rugged barbarian king. He fondled one of the slaves absently, showing off his absolute rule.

"Really, you should have come sooner. Already many of my forces are assembled; the first group of scouts has already departed."

He leaned forward toward the barbarian to emphasize his point. "If I can find no room for your people in my plans," he said with an evil snicker, "then I shall have no need for your people at all."

Heafstaag didn't flinch or change his expression in the least.

"Come now, mighty king," the wizard crooned, "sit and share in the riches of my table."

Heafstaag clung to his pride and remained unmoving.

"Very well!" snapped Kessell. He clenched his fist and uttered a command word. "To whom do you owe your fealty?" he demanded.

Heafstaag's body went rigid. "To Akar Kessell!" he responded, to his own repulsion.

"And tell me again who it is that commands the tribes of the tundra."

"They follow me," Heafstaag replied, "and I follow Akar Kessell. Akar Kessell commands the tribes of the tundra!"

The wizard released his fist, and the barbarian king slumped back.

"I take little joy in doing that to you," said Kessell, rubbing a burr in one of his painted nails. "Do not make me do it again." He pulled a scroll out from behind the satin pillow and tossed it to the floor. "Sit before me," he instructed Heafstaag. "Tell me again of your defeat."

Heafstaag took his place on the floor in front of his master and unrolled the parchment.

It was a map of Ten-Towns.

14

Lavender Eyes

Bruenor had regained his dour visage by the time he called on Wulfgar the following morning. Still, it touched the dwarf deeply, though he was able to hide the fact, to see Aegis-fang casually slung over the young barbarian's shoulder as if it had always been there – and always belonged there.

Wulfgar, too, was wearing a sullen mask. He passed it off as anger at being put into the service of another, but if he had examined his emotions more closely, he would have recognized that he was truly saddened about separating from the dwarf.

Catti-brie was waiting for them at the junction of the final passage that led to the open air.

"Sure that you're a sour pair this fine morning!" she said as they approached. "But not to mind, the sun will put a smile on your faces."

"You seemed pleased at this parting," Wulfgar answered, a bit perturbed though the sparkle in his eyes at the sight of the girl belied his anger. "You know, of course, that I am to leave the dwarven town this day?"

Catti-brie waved her hand nonchalantly. "You will be back soon enough," She smiled.

"And be happy for your going! Consider the lessons you will soon learn needed if you're ever to reach your goals."

Bruenor turned toward the barbarian. Wulfgar had never spoken with him about what lay ahead after the term of indenture, and the dwarf, though he meant to prepare Wulfgar as well as he could, hadn't honestly come to terms with Wulfgar's resolve to leave.

Wulfgar scowled at the girl, showing her beyond doubt that their discussion of the unfulfilled vow was a private matter. Of her own discretion, Catti-brie hadn't intended to discuss the issue any further anyway. She simply enjoyed teasing some emotion out of Wulfgar. Catti-brie recognized the fire that burned in the proud young man. She saw it whenever he looked upon Bruenor, his mentor whether he would admit it or not. And she marked it whenever Wulfgar looked at her.

"I am Wulfgar, son of Beornegar," he boasted proudly, throwing back his broad shoulders and straightening his firm jaw. "I have grown among the Tribe of the Elk, the finest warriors in all of Icewind Dale! I know nothing of this tutor, but he will be hard-pressed indeed to teach me anything of the ways of battle!"

Catti-brie exchanged a knowing smile with Bruenor as the dwarf and Wulfgar passed her.

"Farewell, Wulfgar, son of Beornegar," she called after them. "When next we meet, I'll mark well your lessons of humility!"

Wulfgar looked back and scowled again, but Catti-brie's wide smile diminished not at all.

The two left the darkness of the mines shortly after dawn, traveling down through the rocky valley to the appointed spot where they were to meet the drow. It was a cloudless, warm summer day, the blue of the sky paled by the morning haze. Wulfgar stretched high into the air, reaching to the limits of his long muscles. His people were meant to live in the wide expanses of the open tundra, and he was relieved to be out of the stifling closeness of the dwarven-made caverns.

Drizzt Do'Urden was at the spot waiting for them when they arrived. The drow leaned against the shadowed side of a boulder, seeking relief from the glare of the sun. The hood of his cloak was pulled low in front of his face as further protection. Drizzt considered it the curse of his heritage that no matter how many years he remained among the surface dwellers his body would never fully adapt to the sunlight.

He held himself motionless, though he was fully aware of the approach of Bruenor and Wulfgar. Let them make the first moves, he thought, wanting to Judge now the boy would react to the new situation.

Curious about the mysterious figure who was to be his new teacher and master, Wulfgar boldly walked over and stood directly in front of the drow. Drizzt watched him approach from under the shadows of his cowl, amazed at the graceful interplay of the huge man's corded muscles. The drow had originally planned to humor Bruenor in his outrageous request for a short while, then make some excuse and be on his way. But as he noted the smooth flow and spring of the barbarian's long strides, an ease unusual in someone his size, Drizzt found himself growing interested in the challenge of developing the young man's seemingly limitless potential.

Drizzt realized that the most painful part of meeting this man, as it was with everyone he met, would be Wulfgar's initial reaction to him. Anxious to get it over with, he pulled back his hood and squarely faced the barbarian.

Wulfgar's eyes widened in horror and disgust. "A dark elf!" he cried incredulously.

"Sorcerous dog!" He turned on Bruenor as though he had been betrayed. "Surely you can not ask this of me! I have no need nor desire to learn the magical deceits of his decrepit race!"

"He'll teach ye to fight – no more," Bruenor said. The dwarf had expected this. He wasn't worried in the least, fully aware, as was Catti-brie, that Drizzt would teach the overly proud young man some needed humility.

Wulfgar snorted defiantly. "What can I learn of fighting from a weakling elf? My people are bred as true warriors!" He eyed Drizzt with open contempt. "Not trickster dogs like his kind!"

Drizzt calmly looked to Bruenor for permission to begin the day's lesson. The dwarf smirked at the barbarian's ignorance and nodded his consent.

In an eyeblink, the two scimitars leaped from their sheaths and challenged the barbarian.

Instinctively, Wulfgar raised his warhammer to strike.

But Drizzt was the quicker. The flat sides of his weapons slapped in rapid succession against Wulfgar's cheeks, drawing thin streaks of blood. Even as the barbarian moved to counter, Drizzt spun one of the deadly blades in a declining arc, its razor edge diving at the back of Wulfgar's knee. Wulfgar managed to slip his leg out of the way, but the action, as Drizzt had anticipated, put him off-balance. The drow casually slipped the scimitars back into their leather scabbards as his foot slammed into the barbarian's stomach, sending him sprawling into the dust, the magical hammer flying from his hands.

"Now that ye understand each other," declared Bruenor, trying to hide his amusement for the sake of Wulfgar's fragile ego, "I'll be leavin' ye." He looked questioningly at Drizzt to make sure that the drow was comfortable with the situation.

"Give me a few weeks," Drizzt answered with a wink, returning the dwarf's smile.

Bruenor turned back to Wulfgar, who had retrieved Aegis-fang and was resting on one knee, eyeing the elf with blank amazement. "Heed his words, boy," the dwarf instructed one last time. "Or he'll cut ye into pieces small enough for a vulture's gullet!"

*****

For the first time in nearly five years, Wulfgar looked out beyond the borders of Ten-Towns to the open stretch of Icewind Dale that spread wide before him. He and the drow had spent the remainder of their first day together hiking down the length of the valley and around the eastern spurs of Kelvin's Cairn. Here, just above the base of the northern side of the mountain, was the shallow cave where Drizzt made his home.

Sparsely furnished with a few skins and some cooking pots, the cave had no luxuries to speak of. But it served the unpretentious drow ranger well, allowing him the privacy and seclusion that he preferred above the taunts and threats of the humans. To Wulfgar, whose people rarely stayed in any place longer than a single night, the, cave itself seemed a luxury.

As dusk began to settle over the tundra, Drizzt, in the comfortable shadows deeper in the cave, stirred from his short nap. Wulfgar was pleased that the drow had trusted him enough to sleep easily, so obviously vulnerable, on their first day together. This, coupled with the beating Drizzt had given him earlier, had caused Wulfgar to question his initial outrage at the sight of a dark elf.

"Do we begin our sessions this night, then?" Drizzt asked.

"You are the master," Wulfgar said bitterly. "I am only the slave."

"No more a slave than I," replied Drizzt. Wulfgar turned to him curiously.

"We are both indebted to the dwarf," Drizzt explained. "I owe him my life many times over and thus have agreed to teach you my skill in battle. You follow an oath that you made to him in exchange for your life. Thus you are obliged to learn what I have to teach. I am no man's master, nor would I ever want to be."

Wulfgar turned back to the tundra. He didn't fully trust Drizzt yet, though he couldn't figure out what ulterior motives the drow could possibly be pursuing with the friendly facade.

"We fulfill our debts to Bruenor together," said Drizzt. He empathized with the emotions Wulfgar was feeling as the young man gazed out over the plains of his homeland for the first time in years. "Enjoy this night, barbarian. Go about as you please and remember again the feel of the wind on your face. We shall begin at the fall of tomorrow's night." He left then to allow Wulfgar the privacy he desired.

Wulfgar could not deny that he appreciated the respect the drow had shown him.

*****

During the daytime, Drizzt rested in the cool shadows of the cave while Wulfgar acclimated himself to the new area and hunted for their supper.

By night, they fought.

Drizzt pressed the young barbarian relentlessly, slapping him with the flat of a scimitar every time he opened a gap in his defenses. The exchanges often escalated dangerously, for Wulfgar was a proud warrior and grew enraged and frustrated at the drow's superiority. This only put the barbarian at a further disadvantage, for in his rage all semblance of discipline flew from him. Drizzt was ever quick to point this out with a series of slaps and twists that ultimately left Wulfgar sprawled on the ground.

To his credit, though, Drizzt never taunted the barbarian or tried to humiliate him. The drow went about his task methodically, understanding that the first order of business was to sharpen the barbarian's reflexes and teach him some concern for defense.

Drizzt was truly impressed with Wulfgar's raw ability. The incredible potential of the young warrior staggered him. At first he feared that Wulfgar's stubborn pride and bitterness would render him untrainable, but the barbarian had risen to the challenge. Recognizing the benefits he could reap from one as adept with weapons as Drizzt, Wulfgar listened attentively. His pride, instead of limiting him into believing that he was already a mighty warrior and needed no further instruction, pushed him to grab at every advantage he could find that would help him to achieve his ambitious goals. By the end of the first week, during those times he could control his volatile temper, he was already able to deflect many of Drizzt's cunning attacks.

Drizzt said little during that first week, though he would occasionally compliment the barbarian about a good parry or counter, or more generally on the improvement Wulfgar was showing in such a short time. Wulfgar found himself eagerly anticipating the drow's remarks whenever he executed an especially difficult maneuver, and dreading the inevitable slap whenever he foolishly left himself vulnerable.

The young barbarian's respect for Drizzt continued to grow. Something about the drow, living without complaint in stoic solitude, touched Wulfgar's sense of honor. He couldn't yet guess why Drizzt had chosen such an existence, but he was certain from what he had already seen of the drow that it had something to do with principles.

By the middle of the second week, Wulfgar was in complete control of Aegis-fang, twisting its handle and head deftly to block against the two whirring scimitars, and responding with cautiously measured thrusts of his own.

Drizzt could see the subtle change taking place as the barbarian stopped reacting after the fact to the scimitars' deft cuts and thrusts and began recognizing his own vulnerable areas and anticipating the next attack.

When he became convinced that Wulfgar's defenses were sufficiently strengthened, Drizzt began the lessons of attack. The drow knew that his style of offense would not be the most effective mode for Wulfgar. The barbarian could use his unrivaled strength more effectively than deceptive feints and twists. Wulfgar's people were naturally aggressive fighters, and striking came more easily to them than parrying. The mighty barbarian could fell a giant with a single, well-placed blow.

All that he had left to learn was patience.

*****

Early one dark, moonless night, as he prepared himself for the evening's lesson, Wulfgar noticed the flare of a campfire far out on the plain. He watched, mesmerized, as several others sprang suddenly into sight, wondering if it might even be the fires of his own tribe.

Drizzt silently approached, unnoticed by the engrossed barbarian. The drow's keen eyes had noted the stirrings of the distant camp long before the firelight had grown strong enough for Wulfgar to see. "Your people have survived," he said to comfort the young man.