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politely changed the subject.
"The housing for your horses is in that building," he said, pointing to one of the low, wooden
structures. "The underbridge will get you there. I must attend to another matter now. Perhaps we can
meet later in the tavern."
Wulfgar, not completely understanding Harkle's directions, stepped lightly onto the first wooden
planks of the bridge, and was promptly thrown backward by some unseen force.
"I said the underbridge," cried Harkle, pointing under the bridge. "You cannot cross the river this way
by the overbridge; that is used for the way back! Stops any arguments in crossing." he explained.
Wulfgar had his doubts about a bridge he could not see, but he didn't want to appear cowardly before
his friends and the wizard. He moved beside the bridge's ascending arc and gingerly moved his foot out
under the wooden structure, feeling for the invisible crossing. There was only the air, and the unseen rush
of water just below his foot, and he hesitated.
"Go on," coaxed Harkle.
Wulfgar plunged ahead, setting himself for a fall into the water. But to his absolute surprise, he did not
fall down.
He fell up!
"Whoa!" the barbarian cried out as he thunked into the bottom of the bridge, headfirst. He lay there for
a long moment, unable to get his bearings, flat on his back against the bottom of the bridge, looking
down instead of up.
"You see!" screeched the wizard. "The underbridge!"
Drizzt moved next, leaping into the enchanted area with an easy tumble, and landing lightly on his feet
beside his friend.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"The road, my friend," groaned Wulfgar. "I long for the road, and the orcs. It is safer."
Drizzt helped him struggle to his feet, for the barbarian's mind argued every inch of the way against
standing upside-down under a bridge, with an invisible stream rushing above his head.
Bruenor, too, had his reservations, but a taunt from the halfling moved him along, and soon the
companions rolled back onto the grass of the natural world on the other bank of the stream. Two
buildings stood before them, and they moved to the smaller, the one Harkle had indicated.
A blue-robed woman met them at the door. "Four?" she asked rhetorically. "You really should have
sent word ahead."
"Harkle sent us," Regis explained. "We are not from these lands. Forgive our ignorance of your
customs."
"Very well, then," huffed the woman. "Come along in. We are actually unusually unbusy for this time
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of the year. I am sure that I have room for your horses." She led them into the structure's main room, a
square chamber. All four walls were lined, floor to ceiling, with small cages, just big enough for a cat-
sized horse to stretch its legs. Many were occupied, their nameplates indicating that they were reserved
for particular members of the Harpell clan, but the woman found four empty ones all together and put the
companions' horses inside.
"You may get them whenever you desire," she explained, handing each of them a key to the cage of
his particular mount. She paused when she got to Drizzt, studying his handsome features. "Who have we
here?" she asked, not losing her calm monotone. "I had not heard of your arrival, but I am sure that many
will desire an audience with you before you go! We have never seen one of your kind."
Drizzt nodded and did not reply, growing increasingly uncomfortable with this new type of attention.
Somehow it seemed to degrade him even more than the threats of ignorant peasants. He understood the
curiosity, though, and figured that he owed the wizards a few hours of conversation, at least.
The Fuzzy Quarterstaff, on the back side of the Ivy Mansion, filled a circular chamber. The bar sat in
the middle, like the hub of a wheel, and inside its wide perimeter was another room, an enclosed kitchen
area. A hairy man with huge arms and a bald head wiped his rag endlessly along the shiny surface of the
bar, more to pass the time than to clean any spills.
Off to the rear, on a raised stage, musical instruments played themselves, guided by the jerking
gyrations of a white-haired, wand-wielding wizard in black pants and a black waistcoat. Whenever the
instruments hit a crescendo, the wizard pointed his wand and snapped the fingers of his free hand, and a
burst of colored sparks erupted from each of the four corners of the stage.
The companions took a table within sight of the entertaining wizard. They had their pick of location,
for as far as they could tell, they were the only patrons in the room. The tables, too, were circular, made
of fine wood and sporting a many-faceted, huge green gemstone on a silver pedestal as a centerpiece.
"A stranger place I never heared of," grumbled Bruenor, uncomfortable since the underbridge, but
resigned to the necessity of speaking with the Harpells.
"Nor I," said the barbarian. "And may we leave it soon."
"You are both stuck in the small chambers of your minds," Regis scolded. "This is a place to enjoy -
and you know that no danger lurks here." He winked as his gaze fell upon Wulfgar. "Nothing serious,
anyway."
"Longsaddle offers us a much needed rest," Drizzt added. "Here, we can lay the course of our next trek
in safety and take back to the road refreshed. It was two weeks from the dale to Luskan, and nearly
another to here, without reprieve. Weariness draws away the edge and takes the advantage from a skilled
warrior." He looked particularly at Wulfgar as he finished the thought. "A tired man will make mistakes.
And mistakes in the wild are, more often than not, fatal."
"So let us relax arid enjoy the hospitality of the Harpells," said Regis.
"Agreed," said Bruenor, glancing around, "but just a short rest. And where in the nine hells might the
barmaid be, or do ye have to get to it yerself for food and drink?"
"If you want something, then just ask," came a voice from the center of the table. Wulfgar and Bruenor
both leaped to their feet, on guard. Drizzt noted the flare of light within the green gem and studied the
object, immediately guessing the setup. He looked back over his shoulder at the barkeep, who stood
beside a similar gemstone.
"A scrying device," the drow explained to his friends, though they, by now, had come to the same
understanding and felt very foolish standing in the middle of an empty tavern with their weapons in their
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hands.
Regis had his head down, his shoulders rolling with his sobs of laughter.
"Bah! Ye knew all along!" Bruenor growled at him. "Ye've been takin' a bit of fun at our cost,
Rumblebelly," the dwarf warned. "For meself, I'm wondering how much longer our road holds room for
ye."
Regis looked up at the glare of his dwarven friend, matching it suddenly with a firm stare of his own.
"We have walked and ridden more than four hundred miles together!" he retorted. "Through cold winds
and orc raids, brawls and battles with ghosts. Allow me my pleasure for a short while, good dwarf. If you [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]