“Nor meself,” Catti-brie agreed, “but ye’re still grim, by me seeing.”

“You were the one with the witching magic,” Drizzt shot back, his tone defensive. “It was Catti-brie who showed herself grim then.”

Catti-brie shrugged. “A needed act,” she said. “An act I dropped when the merchant had gone. But yerself,” she said pointedly, leaning forward and placing a comforting hand on Drizzt’s knee. “Ye’re up for a fight.”

Drizzt started to jerk away but realized the truth of her observations and forced himself to relax under her friendly touch. He looked away, for, he found that he could not soften the sternness of his visage.

“What’s it about?” Catti-brie whispered.

Drizzt looked back to her then and remembered all the times he and she had shared back in Icewind Dale. In her sincere concern for him now, Drizzt recalled the first time they had met, when the smile of the girl—for she was then but a girl—had given the displaced and disheartened drow a renewed hope for his life among the surface dwellers.

Catti-brie knew more about him than anyone alive, about those things that were important to him, and made his stoic existence bearable. She alone recognized the fears that lay beneath his black skin, the insecurity masked by the skill of his sword arm.

“Entreri,” he answered softly.

“Ye mean to kill him?”

“I have to.”

Catti-brie sat back to consider the words. “If ye be killing Entreri to free Regis,” she said at length, “and to stop him from hurting anyone else, then me heart says it’s a good thing.” She leaned forward again, bringing her face close to Drizzt’s, “but if ye’re meaning to kill him to prove yerself or to deny what he is, then me heart cries.”

She could have slapped Drizzt and had the same effect. He sat up straight and cocked his head, his features twisted in angry denial. He let Catti-brie continue, for he could not dismiss the importance of the observant woman’s perceptions.

“Suren the world’s not fair, me friend. Suren by the measure of hearts, ye been wronged. But are ye after the assassin for yer own anger? Will killing Entreri cure the wrong?”

Drizzt did not answer, but his look turned stubbornly grim again.

“Look in the mirror, Drizzt Do’Urden,” Catti-brie said, “without the mask. Killin’ Entreri won’t change the color of his skin—or the color of yer own.”

Again Drizzt had been slapped, and this time it brought an undeniable ring of truth with it. He fell back in his chair, looking upon Catti-brie as he had never looked upon her before. Where had Bruenor’s little girl gone? Before him loomed a woman, beautiful and sensitive and laying bare his soul with a few words. They had shared much, it was true, but how could she know him so very well? And why had she taken the time?

“Ye’ve truer friends than ever ye’ll know,” Catti-brie said, “and not for the way ye twirl a sword. Ye’ve others who would call themselves friend if only they could get inside the length of yer arm—if only ye’d learn to look.”

Drizzt considered the words. He remembered the Sea Sprite and Captain Deudermont and the crew, standing behind him even when they knew his heritage.

“And if only ye’d ever learned to love,” Catti-brie continued, her voice barely audible. “Suren ye’ve let things slip past, Drizzt Do’Urden.”

Drizzt studied her intently, weighing the glimmer in her dark, saucerlike eyes. He tried to fathom what she was getting at, what personal message she was sending to him.

The door burst open suddenly, and Wulfgar bounded into the room, a smile stretching the length of his face and the eager look of adventure gleaming in his pale blue eyes. “Good that you are back,” he said to Drizzt. He moved behind Catti-brie and dropped an arm comfortably across her shoulders. “The night has come, and a bright moon peeks over the eastern rim. Time for the hunt!”

Catti-brie put her hand on Wulfgar’s and flashed him an adoring smile. Drizzt was glad they had found each other. They would grow together in a blessed and joyful life, rearing children that would no doubt be the envy of all the northland.

Catti-brie looked back to Drizzt. “Just for yer thoughts, me friend,” she said quietly, calmly. “Are ye more trapped by the way the world sees ye or by the way ye see the world seein’ ye?”

The tension eased out of Drizzt’s muscles. If Catti-brie was right in her observations, he would have a lot of thinking to do.

“Time to hunt!” Catti-brie cried, satisfied that she had gotten her point across. She rose beside Wulfgar and headed for the door, but she turned her head over her shoulder to face Drizzt one final time, giving him a look that told him that perhaps he should have asked for more from Catti-brie back in Icewind Dale, before Wulfgar had entered her life.

Drizzt sighed as they left the room and instinctively reached for the magical mask.

Instinctively? he wondered.

Drizzt dropped the thing suddenly and fell back in the chair in thought, clasping his hands behind his head. He glanced around, hoping, but the room had no mirror.

17. Impossible Loyalties

LaValle held his hand within the pouch for a long moment, teasing Pook. They were alone with the eunuchs, who didn’t count, in the central chamber of the top level. LaValle had promised his master a gift beyond even the news of the ruby pendant’s return, and Pook knew that the wizard would offer such a promise with great care. It was not wise to disappoint the guildmaster.

LaValle had great confidence in his gift and had no trepidations about his grand claims. He slid it out and presented it to Pook, smiling broadly as he did so.

Pook lost his breath, and sweat thickened on his palms at the onyx statuette’s touch. “Magnificent,” he muttered, overwhelmed. “Never have I seen such craftsmanship, such detail. One could almost pet the thing!”

“One can,” LaValle whispered under his breath. The wizard did not want to let on to all of the gift’s properties at once, however, so he replied, “I am pleased that you are pleased.”

“Where did you get it?”

LaValle shifted uneasily. “That is not important,” he answered. “It is for you, Master, given with all of my loyalty.” He quickly moved the conversation along to prevent Pook from pressing the point. “The workmanship of the statuette is but a fraction of its value,” he teased, drawing a curious look from Pook.

“You have heard of such figurines,” LaValle went on, satisfied that the time to overwhelm the guildmaster had come once again. “They can be magical companions to their owners.”

Pook’s hands verily trembled at the thought. “This,” he stammered excitedly, “this might bring the panther to life?”

LaValle’s sly smile answered the question.

“How? When might I—”

“Whenever you desire,” LaValle answered.

“Should we prepare a cage?” Pook asked.

“No need.”

“But at least until the panther understands who its master—”

“You possess the figurine,” LaValle interrupted. “The creature you summon is wholly yours. It will follow your every command exactly as you desire.”

Pook clutched the statuette close to his chest. He could hardly believe his fortune. The great cats were his first and foremost love, and to have in his possession one with such obedience, an extension of his own will, thrilled him as he had never been thrilled before.

“Now,” he said. “I want to call the cat now. Tell me the words.”

LaValle took the statue and placed it on the floor, then whispered into Pook’s ear, taking care that his own uttering of the cat’s name didn’t summon Guenhwyvar and ruin the moment for Pook.

“Guenhwyvar,” Pook called softly. Nothing happened at first, but both Pook and LaValle could sense the link being completed to the distant entity.

“Come to me, Guenhwyvar!” Pook commanded.

His voice rolled through the tunnel gate in the Planes of existence, down the dark corridor to the Astral Plane, the home of the entity of the panther. Guenhwyvar awakened to the summons. Cautiously the cat found the path.