He wasn't dead. Following Donbago's directions, after Jeddith had recovered his wits from the fall, Catti-brie and Regis found his brother behind some brush not far from the tower. His head was bloody and aching. They wrapped some bandages tight around the wound and tried to make him as comfortable as possible, but it became obvious that the dazed and delirious man would need to see a healer, and soon.

"He's alive," Catti-brie announced to the man as she and Regis ushered him back to where Donbago sat propped against the tower.

Tears streamed down Donbago's face. "Me thanks," he said over and over again. "Whoever ye are, me thanks for me brother's life and me own."

"Another one's alive inside the tower," Bruenor announced, coming out. "Ye finally waked up, eh?" he asked Donbago, who was nodding appreciatively.

"And we got one o' them stupid half-ogries alive," Bruenor added. "Ugly thing."

"We have to get this one to a healer, and quick," Catti-brie explained as she and Regis managed to ease the half-conscious Jeddith down beside his brother.

"Auckney," Donbago insisted. "Ye got to get us to Auckney."

Drizzt came through the door and heard the man clearly. He and Catti-brie exchanged curious glances, knowing the name well from the tale Delly Curtie had told them of Wulfgar and the baby.

"How far a journey is Auckney?" the drow asked Donbago.

The man turned to regard Drizzt, and his eyes popped open wide. He seemed as if he would just fall over.

"He gets that a lot," Regis quipped, patting Donbago's shoulder. "He'll forgive you."

"Drow?" Donbago asked, trying to turn to regard Regis, but seeming unable to tear his eyes from the spectacle of a dark elf.

"Good drow," Regis explained. "You'll get to like him after a while."

"Bah, an elf's an elf!" Bruenor snorted.

"Yer pardon, good drow," Donbago stammered, obviously at a loss, his emotions torn between the fact that this group had just saved his life and his brother's, and all he'd ever known about the race of evil dark elves.

"No pardon is needed," Drizzt replied, "but an answer would be appreciated."

Donbago considered the statement for a few moments, then bobbed his head repeatedly. "Auckney," he echoed. "A few days and no more, if the weather holds."

"A few days if it don't," said Bruenor. "Good enough then. We got two to carry and a half-ogrie to drag along by the crotch."

"I think the brute can walk," Drizzt remarked. "He's a bit heavy to drag."

Drizzt fashioned a pair of litters out of blankets and sticks he retrieved from nearby, and the group left soon after. As it turned out, the half-ogre wasn't too badly wounded. That was a good thing, for while Bruenor could drag along Jeddith, the drow's injured shoulder would not allow him the strength to pull the other litter. They made the prisoner do it, with Catti-brie walking right behind, Taulmaril strung and ready, an arrow set to its string.

The weather did hold, and the ragged band, battered as they were, made strong headway, arriving at the outskirts of Auckney in less than three days.

* * * * * * * * * *

Wulfgar blinked repeatedly as the multicolored bubbles popped and dissipated in the air around him. Never fond of, and not very familiar with the ways of magic, the barbarian had to spend a long while reorienting himself to his new surroundings, for no longer was he in the grand city of Waterdeep, One structure, a uniquely designed tower whose branching arms made it look like a living tree, confirmed to Wulfgar that he was in Luskan now, as Robillard had promised.

"I see doubt clearly etched upon your face," the wizard remarked sourly. "I thought we had agreed - "

"You agreed," Wulfgar interrupted, "with yourself."

"You do not believe this to be the best course for you, then?" Robillard asked skeptically. "You would prefer the company of Delly Curtie back in the safety of Waterdeep, back in the security of a blacksmith's shop?"

The words surely stung the barbarian, but it was Robillard's condescending tone that really made Wulfgar want to throttle the skinny man. He didn't look at the wizard, fearing that he would simply spit in Robillard's face. He wasn't really afraid of a fight with the formidable wizard, not when he was this close, but if one did ensue and he did break Robillard in half, he'd have a long walk indeed back to Waterdeep.

"I will not go through this again with you, Wulfgar of Icewind Dale," Robillard remarked. "Or Wulfgar of Waterdeep, or Wulfgar of wherever you think Wulfgar should be from. I have offered you more than you deserve from me already, and more than I would normally offer to one such as you. I must be in a fine and generous mood this day."

Wulfgar scowled at him, but that only made Robillard laugh aloud.

"You are in the exact center of the city," Robillard went on. "Through the south gate lies the road to Waterdeep and Delly, and your job as a smith. Through the north gate, the road back to your friends and what I believe to be your true home. I suspect that you'll find the south road an easier journey by far than the north, Wulfgar son of Beornegar."

Wulfgar didn't respond, didn't even return the measuring stare Robillard was now casting over him. He knew which road the wizard believed he should take,

"I have always found those who take the easier road, when they know they should be walking the more difficult one, to be cowards," Robillard remarked. "Haven't you?"

"It is not as easy as you make it sound," Wulfgar replied quietly.

"It is likely far more difficult than ever I could imagine," the wizard said. For the first time, Wulfgar detected a bit of sympathy in his voice. "I know nothing of that which you have endured, nothing of the pains that have so weakened your heart. But I know who you were, and know who you now are, and I can say with more than a little confidence that you are better off walking into darkness and dying than trying to hide behind the embers of a smithy's hearth.

"Those are your choices," the wizard finished. "Farewell, wherever you fare!" With that Robillard began waving his arms again, casting another spell.

Wulfgar, distracted and looking to the north, didn't notice until it was too late. He turned to see the multicolored bubbles already filling the air around the vanishing wizard. A sack appeared where the wizard had been standing, along with a large axelike bardiche. It was a rather unwieldy weapon, but one that resembled the great warhammer in design and style of fighting, at least, and one that could deal tremendous damage. He knew without even looking that the sack likely contained supplies for the road.

Wulfgar was alone, as much so as he had ever been, standing in the exact center of Luskan, and he remembered then that he was not supposed to be in this place. He was an outlaw in Luskan, or had been. He could only hope that the magistrates and the guards did not have so long a memory.

But which way to go, the barbarian wondered. He turned several circles. It was all too confusing, all too frightening, and Robillard's dire words haunted him with every turn.

Wulfgar of Icewind Dale exited Luskan's northern gate soon after, trudging off alone into the cold wilderness.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

It was under the glare of one surprised and horrified expression after another that the friends made their way through the small village of Auckney and into the castle of Lord Feringal and Lady Meralda. Donbago, well enough to walk easily by that time, guided them in and warded away any who grabbed at weapons at the sight of the half-ogre, to say nothing of the dark elf.

Donbago talked them through a mob of soldiers led by a growling gnome guard at the door. The gnome put the others into efficient motion, helping Donbago scurry poor delirious Jeddith off to the healer and dragging the half-ogre down into the dungeons, beating the brute with every step.

The fierce gnome, Liam Woodgate, then led the five to an inner room and introduced them to an old, hawkish-looking man named Temigast.

"Drizzt Do'Urden," Temigast echoed, nodding with recognition as he spoke the name. "The ranger of Ten-Towns, I have heard. And you, good dwarf, are you not the King of Mithral Hall?"

"Was once and will be again, if me friends here don't get me killed to death," Bruenor replied.

"Might we meet with yer lord and lady?" Catti-brie asked. While Regis and Bruenor looked at her curiously, Drizzt, who also wanted to get a glimpse of this woman who had mothered the child Wulfgar was now raising as his own, smiled.

"Liam will show you to a place where you can properly clean and dress for your audience," Steward Temigast explained. "When you are ready, the audience with the Lord and Lady of Auckney will be arranged."

While Bruenor barely splashed some of the water over him, grumbling that he looked good enough for anyone, Drizzt and Regis thoroughly washed. In another room, Catti-brie not only took a most welcomed soapy bath, but then spent a long while trying on many of the gorgeous gowns that Lady Meralda had sent down to her.

Soon after, the four were in the grand audience hall of Castle Auck, standing before Lord Feringal, a man in his thirties with curly black hair and a thick, dark goatee, and Lady Meralda, younger and an undeniably beautiful woman, with raven hair and creamy skin and a smile that brightened the whole of the huge room.

And while the Lord of Auckney was scowling almost continually, Meralda's smile didn't dissipate for a moment.

"I suppose that you now desire a reward," asked the third in attendance, a shrewish, heavyset woman seated to Feringal's left and just a bit behind, which, in the tradition of the region, marked her as Feringal's sister.

Behind the four road-weary companions, Steward Temigast cleared his throat.

"Ye thinking ye got enough gold for us to even notice?" Bruenor growled back at her.

"We have no need of coin," Drizzt interjected, trying to keep things calm. Bruenor had just suffered a bath, after all, and that always put the already surly dwarf into an even more foul mood. "We came here merely to return Donbago and two wounded men to their homes, as well as to deliver the prisoner. We would ask, though, that if you garner any information from the brute that might concern a certain notorious pirate by the name of Sheila Kree, you would pass it along. It is Kree we are hunting."

"Of course we will share with ye whatever we might learn," the Lady Meralda replied, cutting short her husband, whatever he meant to say. "And more. Whatever ye're needing, we're owing."

Drizzt didn't miss the scowl from the woman at the side, and he knew it to be both her general surliness and the somewhat common manner in which the Lady of Auckney spoke.

"Ye can stay the winter through, if ye so choose," Meralda went on.

Feringal looked at her, at first with surprise, but then in agreement.

"We might find an empty house about the town for - " the woman behind started to say.

"We will put them up right here in the castle, Priscilla," the Lady of Auckney declared.

"I hardly think - " Priscilla started to argue.

"In yer own room if I hear another word from ye," Meralda said, and she threw a wink at the four friends.

"Feri!" Priscilla roared.

"Shut up, dear sister," said Feringal, in an exasperated tone that showed the friends clearly that he often had to extend such sentiments his troublesome sister's way. "Do not embarrass us before our most distinguished guests - guests who rescued three of my loyal soldiers and avenged our losses at the hands of the beastly ogres."

"Guests who've got tales to tell of faraway lands and dragon's hoards," Meralda added with a gleam in her green eyes.

"Only the night, I fear," said Drizzt. "Our road will be winding and long, no doubt. We are determined to find and punish the pirate Kree before the spring thaw - before she can put her ship back out into the safety of the open seas and bring more mischief to the waters off Luskan."

Meralda's disappointment was obvious, but Feringal nodded, seeming to hardly care whether they stayed or left.

The Lord and Lady of Auckney put on a splendid feast that night in honor of the heroes, and Donbago was able to attend as well, bringing with him the welcomed news that both his brother and the other man were faring better and seemed as if they would recover.

They ate (Bruenor and Regis more than all the others combined!) and they laughed. The companions, with so many miles beneath their weathered and well-worn boots, told tales of faraway lands as Lady Meralda had desired.

Much later, Catti-brie managed to toss a wink and nod to Drizzt, guiding him into a small side room where they could be alone. They fell onto a couch, side by side, beneath a bright tapestry cheaply sketched but with rich colors.

"Ye think we should tell her about the babe?" Catti-brie asked, her hand settling on Drizzt's slender, strong forearm.

"That would only bring her pain, after the initial relief, I fear," the drow replied. "One day, perhaps, but not now."

"Oh, ye must join us!" Meralda interrupted, coming through the door to stand beside the pair. "King Bruenor is telling the best o' tales, one of a dark dragon that stole his kingdom."

"One we're knowing all too well," Catti-brie replied with a smile.

"But it would be impolite not to hear it again," said Drizzt, rising. He took Catti-brie's hand and pulled her up, and the two started past Meralda.

"So do ye think ye'll find him?" the Lady of Auckney asked as they walked by.

The pair stopped and turned as one to regard her.

"The other one of yer group," Meralda explained. "The one who went to reclaim Mithral Hall with ye, by the dwarf's own words." She paused and stared hard at both of them. "The one ye call Wulfgar."

Drizzt and Catti-brie stood silent for a moment, the woman so obviously on the edge of her nerves here, biting her lip and looking to the drow for a cue.

"It is our hope to find him, and find him whole," Drizzt answered quietly, trying not to involve the whole room in this conversation.

"I've an interest . . ."

"We know all about it," Catti-brie interjected.

Lady Meralda stood very straight, obviously fighting to keep herself from swaying.

"The child grows strong and safe," Drizzt assured her.

"And what did they name her?"

"Colson."

"Meralda sighed and steadied herself. A sadness showed in her green eyes, but she managed a smile a moment later. "Come," she said quietly. "Let us go and hear the dwarf's tale."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"The prisoner will be hung as soon as we find a rope strong enough to hold it," Lord Feringal assured the group early the next morning, when they had gathered at the foyer of Castle Auckney, preparing to leave.

"The beast fancies itself a strong one," the man went on with a snicker. "But how it whimpered last night!"

Drizzt winced, as did Catti-brie and Regis, but Bruenor merely nodded.

"The brute was indeed part of a larger band," Feringal explained "Perhaps pirates, though the stupid creature didn't seem to understand the word."

"Perhaps Kree," the drow said. "Do you have any idea where the raiding band came from?"

"South coast of the mountain spur," Feringal answered. "We could not get the ogre to admit it openly, but we believe it knows something of Minster Gorge. It will be a difficult hike in winter, with the passes likely full of snow."

"Difficult, but one worth taking," Drizzt replied.

Lady Meralda entered the room then, seeming no less beautiful in the early morning light than she had the night before. She regarded Drizzt and Catti-brie each in turn, offering a grateful smile.

And both the woman and the drow noted, too, that Feringal couldn't hide his scowl at the silent exchange. The wounds here were still too raw, and Feringal had obviously recognized Wulfgar's name from Bruenor's tale the night before, and that recognition had pained him greatly.

No doubt, the frustrated Lord of Auckney had taken that anger out on the half-ogre prisoner.

The four friends left Castle Auckney and the kingdom that same morning, though clouds had gathered in the east. There was no fanfare, no cheers for the departing heroes.

Just Lady Meralda, standing atop the parapet between the gate towers, wrapped in a heavy fur coat, watching them go.

Even from that distance, Drizzt and Catti-brie could see the mixture of pain and hope in her green eyes.

Part 4

THE HUNT FOR MEANING

heweather was terrible, the cold biting at my fingers, the ice crusting my eyes until it pained me to see. Every pass was fraught with danger - an avalanche waiting to happen, a monster ready to spring. Every night was spent in the knowledge that we might get buried within whatever shelter we found (if we were even lucky enough to find shelter), unable to claw our way out, certain to die.

Not only was I in mortal danger, but so were my dearest friends.

Never in my life have I been more filled with joy.

For a purpose guided our steps, every one through the deep and driving snow. Our goal was clear, our course correct. In traversing the snowy mountains in pursuit of the pirate Kree and the warhammer Aegis-fang, we were standing for what we believed in, were following our hearts and our spirits.

Though many would seek short cuts to the truth, there is no way around the simplest of tenets: hardship begets achievement and achievement begets joy - true joy, and the sense of accomplishment that defines who we are as thinking beings. Often have I heard people lament that if only they had the wealth of the king, then theycould be truly happy, and I take care not to argue the point, though I know they are surely wrong. There is a truth I will grant that, for the poorest, some measure of wealth can allow for some measure of happiness, but beyond filling the basic needs, the path to joy is not paved in gold, particularly in gold unearned.

Hardly that! The path to joy is paved in a sense of confidence and self-worth, a feeling that we have made the world a little bit better, perhaps, or that we fought on for our beliefs despite adversity. In my travels with Captain Deudermont, I dined with many of the wealthiest families of Waterdeep. I broke bread with many of the children of the very rich. Deudermont himself was among that group, his father being a prominent landowner in Waterdeep's southern district. Many of the current crop of young aristocrats would do well to hold Captain Deudermont up as an example, for he was unwilling to rest on the laurels of the previous generation. He spotted, very young, the entrapment of wealth without earning. And so the good captain decided at a young age the course of his own life, an existence following his heart and trying very hard to make the waters of the Sword Coast a better place for decent and honest sailors.

Captain Deudermont might die young because of that choice to serve, as I might because of my own, as Catti-brie might beside me. But the simple truth of it is that, had I remained in Menzoberranzan those decades ago, or had I chosen to remain safe and sound in Ten-Towns or Mithral Hall at this time, I would already, in so many ways, be dead.

No, give me the road and the dangers, give me the hope that I am striding purposefully for that which is right, give me the sense of accomplishment, and I will know joy.

So deep has my conviction become that I can say with confidence that even if Catti-brie were to die on the road beside me, /' would not backtrack to that safer place. For I know that her heart is much as my own on this matter. I know that she will - that she must - pursue those endeavors, however dangerous, that point her in the direction of her heart and her conscience.

Perhaps that is the result of being raised by dwarves, for no race on all of Toril better understands this simple truth of happiness better than the growling, grumbling, bearded folk. Dwarf kings are almost always among the most active of the clan, the first to fight and the first to work. The first to envision a mighty underground fortress and the first to clear away the clay that blocks the cavern in which it will stand. The tough, hard-working dwarves long ago learned the value of accomplishment versus luxury, long ago came to understand that there are riches of spirit more valuable by far than gold - though they do love their gold!

So I find myself in the cold, windblown snow, and the treacherous passes surrounded by enemies, on our way to do battle with an undeniably formidable foe.

Could the sun shine any brighter?