Gauntlgrym (Neverwinter #1)(78)

He felt more at ease then, his senses telling him that whatever had passed nearby had moved off. He started to relax, just a bit.

Bruenor’s scream abruptly ended that respite.

Drizzt sprinted to the shallow cave serving as their encampment, Guenhwyvar close behind. By the time the drow reached the entrance, his scimitars were in hand, and he came up fast, ready to rush in and fight beside his friend.

But Bruenor wasn’t fighting. Far from it. He had his back up against the rear wall of the cave, his open hands out before him as if in surrender. He was breathing shallowly, gasping almost, and his face was locked somewhere between fear and.…

And what? Drizzt wondered.

“Bruenor?” he whispered, for though he too could sense something in there, as he had outside, some chill and otherworldly presence, he saw nothing that could so terrify the dwarf.

Bruenor didn’t seem to even register his presence.

“Bruenor?” he asked again, more loudly.

“They want me help,” the dwarf explained. “And I can’no’ know what help they’re wanting!”

“They?”

“Don’t ye see ’em, elf?” Bruenor asked.

Drizzt squinted and peered more closely into the dimly lit cave.

“Ghosts,” Bruenor whispered. “Dwarf ghosts. Askin’ me to help.”

“Help with what?”

“I’m a bearded gnome if I know.” Bruenor’s voice trailed off as he finished that thought, a confused look coming over him.

Then his eyes widened so much Drizzt thought they would pop out of their sockets.

“Elf,” Bruenor muttered as if he had to force the sound past a huge lump in his throat. “Elf,” he said again, and Drizzt noticed that he was leaning more heavily on the stone wall then, and recognized that if the wall hadn’t been there, Bruenor would have likely fallen over. Beside Drizzt, Guenhwyvar growled and crouched again, clearly agitated.

Bruenor gasped for breath. Drizzt drew his blades and waded in, moving across the floor in practiced steps, each leaving him more than ready to strike hard if need be. Bruenor was mouthing something then, but he couldn’t hear until he came right up near his friend.

“Gauntlgrym,” Bruenor whispered.

Drizzt’s eyes widened, as well. “What?”

“Ghosts,” Bruenor sputtered. “Gauntlgrym’s ghosts. Asking for me help. Talking of a beast waking up once more.”

Drizzt looked all around. He felt the chill, surely, but he saw and heard nothing. “Ask them where,” he told Bruenor. “Perhaps they can guide us.”

But Bruenor began shaking his head, and he even stood up straight once more, and it wasn’t until Drizzt saw that motion that he came to realize that the sensation had passed, that the ghosts were gone.

“Gauntlgrym’s ghosts,” Bruenor said, his voice still very shaky.

“Did they tell you that? Or are you guessing?”

“They telled me, elf. It’s real.”

Those words struck Drizzt curiously, particularly coming from Bruenor, who had led him on a merry chase for Gauntlgrym for decades. But as he thought about it, he understood Bruenor’s surprise, for even when one believes strongly in something, the actual confirmation comes most often as a shock.

Bruenor looked away for a moment, staring off into the distance, then blinked his eyes as if some revelation had just come over him. “The beast, elf,” he said.

“What beast?”

“It’s wakin’ up … again.”

The emphasis on that last word was purposeful, Drizzt knew, but he still didn’t quite get where Bruenor might be going.

“And when it woke up last time, Neverwinter went away,” Bruenor clarified.

“The volcano?” Drizzt asked, and Bruenor kept nodding as if it was all coming clear to him.

“Aye, that’s it. That’s the beast.”

“They told you that?”

“No,” Bruenor readily admitted. “But that’s it.”

“You can’t know that.”

But Bruenor kept nodding. “Ye feel the earth moving beneath yer feet,” he said. “Ye seen the mountain growin’. It’s waking up. The beast. The beast o’ Gauntlgrym.” He looked Drizzt directly in the eye and nodded. “And they’re askin’ for me help, elf, and so they’re to get it, or I’m a bearded gnome!”

He nodded with even more determination then rushed for his pack, fumbling with his maps. “And now we’re knowing the general area o’ the place! It’s real, elf! Gauntlgrym is real!”

“So we’re going to go there?” Drizzt asked, and Bruenor looked at him as if the answer was so obvious that Drizzt must have lost his mind to even ask.

“And stop a volcano?” Drizzt explained.

Bruenor’s jaw hung open and he stopped fumbling with his maps.

After all, how did one stop a volcano?





ALL ROADS LEAD TO LUSKAN


WITH A PILE OF SMALL, SMOOTH STONES BESIDE HIM, BRUENOR WENT TO work. One by one, he pulled the parchment maps from his pack, gently unrolling them and placing them on the mossy ground, securing each corner with a stone.

He tried to categorize them by region first, searching for the ones that seemed to place Gauntlgrym nearest the volcano that had erupted. The dwarf leaned back, kneeling, scratched his head repeatedly, and kept thinking about those ghosts that had come to him, pleading for his help.