Hunched and uncomplaining, the Ghost King Cadderly circled the ruins of Spirit Soaring that night. And every night, forevermore.

It was all a blur, all a swirl, an overriding grayness that defied lucidity. Flashes of images, most of them terrifying, stabbed at her sensibilities and jolted her from memory to memory, to senses of the life she had known.

It was all an ungraspable blur.

But then Catti-brie saw a dot within that sea of movement, a focal point, like the end of a rope reaching out to her through the fog. In her mind and with her hand she reached out for that point of clarity and to her surprise, she touched it. It was firm and smooth, the purest ivory.

The clouds swirled out, retreating from that point, and Catti-brie saw with her eyes clearly then, and in the present, for the first time in tendays. She looked to her lifeline, a single horn. She followed it.

A unicorn.

“Mielikki,” she breathed.

Her heart pounded. She tried to fight through the confusion, to sort out all that had transpired.

The strand of the Weave! She remembered the strand of the Weave touching her and wounding her.

It was still there, inside of her. The gray clouds roiled at the edges of her focus.

“Mielikki,” she said again, knowing beyond doubt that it was she, the goddess, who stood before her.

The unicorn bowed and went down on its front knees, inviting her.

Catti-brie’s heart beat furiously; she thought it would jump out of her chest. Tears filled her eyes as she tried to deny what was coming next, and she silently begged to delay.

The unicorn looked at her, great sympathy in its large dark eyes. Then it stood once more and backed away a step.

“Give me this one night,” Catti-brie whispered.

She rushed out of the room and padded on bare feet to the next door in Mithral Hall, the one she knew so well, the one she shared with Drizzt.

He lay on the bed in fitful sleep when she entered the room, and she released the bindings of her magical garment and let it drop to the floor as she slid in beside him.

He started, and turned, and Catti-brie met him with a passionate kiss. They fell together, overwhelmed, and hade love until they collapsed into each other’s arms.

Drizzt’s sleep was more profound then, and when she heard the soft tap of the unicorn’s horn on the closed door, Catti-brie understood that Mielikki was compelling him to slumber.

And calling her to her destiny.

She slid out from under Drizzt’s arm, raised up on one elbow, and kissed him on the ear. “I will always love you, Drizzt Do’Urden,” she said. “My life was full and without regret because I knew you and was completed by you. Sleep well, my love.”

She slipped out of the bed and reached for her magical blouse. But she stopped and shook her head, moving instead to her dresser. There she found clothes Alustriel of Silverymoon had given to her: a white, layered gown full of pleats and folds, but sleeveless and low-cut, and with no even hemline. It was a wrap designed to flow with her every movement, and to enhance, not hide, her beauty of form.

She took a hooded black cloak and threw it over her shoulders, and gave a twirl to see it trailing.

She went out on bare feet. She didn’t need shoes any more.

The unicorn was waiting, but offered no protest as Catti-brie quietly led it down the dim corridor, to a door not far away. Within lay Regis, tormented, emaciated, hanging on to life by a thread and by the near-continual efforts of the loyal priests of Mithral Hall, one of whom sat in a chair near the halfling’s bed, deep in slumber.

Catti-brie didn’t have to undo the bindings holding Regis’s arms and legs, for there was much she would leave behind. Regis broke free of his fleshy coil then, and the woman, his guide and companion, gently lifted him into her arms. He started to groan, but she whispered to him softly, and with the magic of Mielikki filling her breath, the halfling calmed.

Out in the hall, the unicorn went down to its knees and Catti-brie sat sidesaddle upon its back. They started down the corridor.

A cry from a familiar voice awakened Drizzt, its panic so at odds with the wonderful, lingering warmth of the previous night.

But if Bruenor’s frantic call didn’t fully break the sleepy spell, the image that came into focus, at the same time Drizzt became aware of the sensations of his touch, surely did.

Catti-brie was there with him, in his bed, her eyes closed and a look of serenity on her face, as if she was asleep.

But she wasn’t asleep.

Drizzt sat bolt upright, gagging and choking, eyes wide, hands trembling.

“Catti,” he cried. “Catti, no!” He fell over her, so cool and still, and lifted her unresponsive form to him. “No, no, come back to me.”

“Elf!” Bruenor shrieked again—shrieked and not yelled. Never before had Drizzt heard such a keen from the stoic and level-headed dwarf. “Oh, by the gods, elf!”

Drizzt lowered Catti-brie to the bed. He didn’t know whether to touch her, to kiss her, to try to breathe life into her. He didn’t know what to do, but Bruenor’s third cry had him rolling out of bed and stumbling through his door.

He burst out into the hall, naked and sweating, and nearly ran over Bruenor, who was shaking and stumbling down the corridor, and carrying in his arms the lifeless form of Regis.

“Oh, elf.”

“Bruenor, Catti-brie….” Drizzt stammered, but Bruenor interrupted him.

“She’s on the damned horse with Rumblebelly!”

Drizzt looked at him dumbfounded, and Bruenor nodded his chin down the corridor and stumbled toward the nearest connecting hallway. Drizzt supported him and pulled him along, and together they turned the corner. There ahead of them, they saw the vision that had accounted for no small part of Bruenor’s frantic cry.

A unicorn carried Catti-brie, riding sidesaddle and cradling Regis in her arms. Not the equine creature or the woman looked back, despite the commotion of pursuit and drow and dwarf calling out to them.

The corridor turned sharply again, but the unicorn did not.

It walked right into the stone and was gone.

Drizzt and Bruenor stumbled to a halt, gasping and stuttering over words that would not come.

Behind them came a commotion as other dwarves reacted to the cries of their king, and Jarlaxle, too, ran up to the horrified pair. Many cries went up for Regis, lying dead in Bruenor’s arms, for the halfling who had served well as steward of Mithral Hall and as a close advisor to their greatest king.

Jarlaxle offered his cloak to Drizzt, but had to put it on the ranger, who was out of his mind with terror and pain. Finally, Drizzt focused on Jarlaxle, grabbing the mercenary by the folds of his shirt and running him up against a wall.

“Find her!” Drizzt begged, against all logic, for he knew where the woman lay, still and cold. “You must find her! I’ll do anything you demand … all the riches in the world!”

“Mithral Hall and everything in it!” Bruenor yelled.

Jarlaxle tried to calm the ranger and Bruenor. He nodded and he patted Drizzt’s shoulder, though of course he had no idea where to begin, or what precisely he would be looking for—Catti-brie’s soul?

Their promises of fealty and riches rang strangely discordant to Jarlaxle at that moment. He would find her, or would try, at least. Of that, he had no doubt.

But to Jarlaxle’s surprise, he had no intention of taking a copper for his efforts, and wanted no promise of fealty from Drizzt Do’Urden. Maybe something else compelled him then.