He snapped his scowl at Sali Dalib. “As you delay! You will take us to the guildhouse of Pasha Pook,” he reiterated, more insistently, “and then you are dismissed.”

“Pook? Oh, Pook,” the merchant beamed. “Sali Dalib know dis man, yes, yes. Everybody know Pook. Yes, yes, I take you dere, den I go.”

Drizzt replaced the mask but kept the stern visage. “If you or your little companion try to flee,” he promised so calmly that neither the merchant nor his assistant doubted his words for a moment, “I will hunt you down and kill you.”

The drow’s three friends exchanged confused shrugs and concerned glances. They felt confident that they knew Drizzt to his soul, but so grim was his tone that even they wondered how much of his promise was an idle threat.

It took more than an hour for them to twist and wind their way through the maze that was Calimport, to the dismay of the friends, who wanted nothing more than to be off the streets and away from the fetid stench. Finally, to their relief, Sali Dalib turned a final corner, to Rogues Circle, and pointed to the unremarkable wooden structure at its end: Pasha Pook’s guildhouse.

“Dere be de Pook,” Sali Dalib said. “Now, Sali Dalib take his camels and be gone, back to Memnon.”

The friends were not so quick to be rid of the wily merchant. “More to me guessin’ that Sali Dalib be heading for Pook to sell some tales o’ four friends,” Bruenor growled.

“Well, we’ve a way beyond that,” said Catti-brie. She shot Drizzt a sly wink, then moved up to the curious and frightened merchant, reaching into her pack as she went.

Her look went suddenly grim, so wickedly intense that Sali Dalib jerked back when her hand came up to his forehead. “Hold yer place!” Catti-brie snapped at him harshly, and he had no resistance to the power of her tone. She had a powder, a flourlike substance, in her pack. Reciting some gibberish that sounded like an arcane chant, she traced a scimitar on Sali Dalib’s forehead. The merchant tried to protest but couldn’t find his tongue for his terror.

“Now, for the little one,” Catti-brie said, turning to Sali Dalib’s goblin assistant. The goblin squeaked and tried to dash away, but Wulfgar caught it in one hand and held it out to Catti-brie, squeezing tighter and tighter until the thing stopped wiggling.

Catti-brie performed the ceremony again then turned to Drizzt. “They be linked to yer spirit now,” she said. “Do ye feel them?”

Drizzt, understanding the bluff, nodded grimly and slowly drew his two scimitars.

Sali Dalib paled and nearly toppled over, but Bruenor, moving closer to watch his daughter’s games, was quick to prop the terrified man up.

“Ah, let them go, then. Me witchin’s through,” Catti-brie told both Wulfgar and Bruenor. “The drow’ll feel yer presence now,” she hissed at Sali Dalib and his goblin. “He’ll know when ye’re about and when ye’ve gone. If ye stay in the city, and if ye’ve thoughts o’ going to Pook, the drow’ll know, and he’ll follow yer feel—hunt ye down.” She paused a moment, wanting the two to fully comprehend the horror they faced.

“And he’ll kill ye slow.”

“Take yer lumpy horses, then, and be gone!” Bruenor roared. “If I be seein’ yer stinkin’ faces again, the drow’ll have to get in line for his cuts!”

Before the dwarf had even finished, Sali Dalib and the goblin had collected their camels and were off, away from Rogues Circle and back toward the northern end of the city.

“Them two’re for the desert,” Bruenor laughed when they had gone. “Fine tricks, me girl.”

Drizzt pointed to the sign of an inn, the Spitting Camel, halfway down the lane. “Get us rooms,” he told his friends. “I will follow them to make certain they do indeed leave the city.”

“Wastin’ yer time,” Bruenor called after him. “The girl’s got ‘em running, or I’m a bearded gnome!”

Drizzt had already started padding silently into the maze of Caliport’s streets.

Wulfgar, caught unawares by her uncharacteristic trickery and still not quite sure what had just happened, eyed Catti-brie carefully. Bruenor didn’t miss his apprehensive look.

“Take note, boy,” the dwarf taunted. “Suren the girl’s got herself a nasty streak ye’ll not want turned on yerself!”

Playing through for the sake of Bruenor’s enjoyment, Catti-brie glared at the big barbarian and narrowed her eyes, causing Wulfgar to back off a cautious step. “Witchin’ magic,” she cackled. “Tells me when yer eyes be filled with the likings of another woman!” She turned slowly, not releasing him from her stare until she had taken three steps down the lane toward the inn Drizzt had indicated.

Bruenor reached high and slapped Wulfgar on the back as he started after Catti-brie. “Fine lass,” he remarked to Wulfgar. “Just don’t be gettin’ her mad!”

Wulfgar shook the confusion out of his head and forced out a laugh, reminding himself that Catti-brie’s “magic” had been only a dupe to frighten the merchant.

But Catti-brie’s glare as she had carried out the deception, and the sheer strength of her intensity, followed him as he walked down Rogues Circle. Both a shudder and a sweet tingle spread down his spine.

Half the sun had fallen below the western horizon before Drizzt returned to Rogues Circle. He had followed Sali Dalib and his assistant far out into the Calim Desert, though the merchant’s frantic pace gave no indications that he had any intentions of turning back to Calimport. Drizzt simply wouldn’t take the chance; they were too close to finding Regis and too close to Entreri.

Masked as an elf—Drizzt was beginning to realize how easily the disguise now came to him—he made his way into the Spitting Camel and to the innkeeper’s desk. An incredibly skinny, leather-skinned man, who kept his back always to a wall and his head darting nervously in every direction, met him.

“Three friends,” Drizzt said gruffly. “A dwarf, a woman, and a golden-haired giant.”

“Up the stairs,” the man told him. “To the left. Two gold if you mean to stay the night.” He held out his bony hand.

“The dwarf already paid you,” Drizzt said grimly, starting away.

“For himself, the girl, and the big…” the innkeeper started, grabbing Drizzt by the shoulder. The look in Drizzt’s lavender eyes, though, stopped the innkeeper cold.

“He paid,” the frightened man stuttered. “I remember. He paid.”

Drizzt walked away without another word.

He found the two rooms on opposite sides of the corridor at the far end of the structure. He had meant to go straight in with Wulfgar and Bruenor and grab a short rest, hoping to be out on the street when night fully fell, when Entreri would likely be about. Drizzt found, instead, Catti-brie in her doorway, apparently waiting for him. She motioned him into her chamber and closed the door behind him.

Drizzt settled on the very edge of one of the two chairs in the center of the room, his foot tapping the floor in front of him.

Catti-brie studied him as she walked around to the other chair. She had known Drizzt for years but never had seen him so agitated.

“Ye seem as though ye mean to tear yerself into pieces,” she said.

Drizzt gave her a cold look, but Catti-brie laughed it away. “Do ye mean to strike me, then?”

That prompted the drow to settle back in his chair.

“And don’t ye be wearing that silly mask,” Catti-brie scolded.

Drizzt reached for the mask but hesitated.

“Take it off!” Catti-brie ordered, and the drow complied before he had time to reconsider.

“Ye came a bit grim in the street afore ye left,” Catti-brie remarked, her voice softening.

“We had to make certain,” Drizzt replied coldly. “I do not trust Sali Dalib.”