“Have ye seen the caravan, then?” came the quickly familiar question soon after the pair stepped off the Upstream Span and into the city proper.

“Luskan’s caravan north to Ten-Towns?” Regis asked.

The man looked at him incredulously, so much so that Regis’s heart sank.

“Waterdeep’s,” he corrected the halfling. “A caravan’s coming, don’t ye know? And a great fleet of ships with food and warm clothes, and grain for the fields and pigs for the barn! Have ye seen it, boy?”

“Boy?” Regis echoed, but the man was too lost in his rambling to notice and pause for even a breath.

“Have ye seen the caravan? Oh, but she’s to be a big one, they’re saying! Enough food for to fill our bellies through the summer and the winter next. And all from Lord Brambleberry’s people, they’re saying.”

All around the old man, people nodded and attempted, at least, to cheer a bit, though the sound was surely pathetic.

Barely three blocks into the city and still a long way from the market, Drizzt had seen enough. He turned Regis around and made for Dalath’s Span, the remaining usable bridges across the Mirar, the closest to the harbor and the Red Dragon.

When at last they arrived at Deudermont’s “palace,” the companions found warm greetings and wide smiles. The guards ushered them right to the inner chambers, where Deudermont and Robillard met with a surly red-bearded dwarf Drizzt remembered from the Mirabarran contingent at the battle of the Hosttower.

“If we’re interrupting…” Drizzt started to apologize, but Deudermont cut him short, leaping up from his seat and saying, “Nonsense! It’s a good day in Luskan when Drizzt and Regis return.”

“And Luskan’s needing some good days,” the dwarf remarked.

“And some meetings are better off interrupted,” Robillard mumbled.

The dwarf turned on him sharply, drawing a smirk and a shrug from the cynical wizard.

“Aye,” the dwarf said, “and some meetings go on longer than all what’s needed saying’s been said.”

“Beautifully if confusedly expressed,” said Robillard.

“Ah, but it might be a wizard’s addled brain’s what’s needing unrattling,” said the dwarf. “A good shake—”

“A flaming dwarf….” Robillard added.

The dwarf growled and Deudermont sidled between the two. “Tell your fellows that their help through the winter was most appreciated,” he said to the dwarf. “And when the first caravan arrives from the Silver Marches, we hope you will find your way to more generosity.”

“Aye, soon as our own bellies ain’t growling,” the dwarf agreed, and with a final glare at Robillard and a tip of his wide-brimmed hat to Drizzt and Regis, he took his leave.

“It’s good you have returned,” Deudermont said, moving over to offer a handshake to his two friends. “I trust the Icewind Dale winter was no more harsh than what we suffered here.”

“The city is battered,” said Drizzt.

“And hungry,” Regis added.

“Every priest in Luskan toils away throughout every day in prayers to their gods, creating food and drink,” Deudermont said. “But their efforts are not nearly enough. Over at the Shield, the Mirabarrans tightened their belts considerably through the months, rationing their supplies, for they alone in Luskan had storehouses properly prepared for the winter.”

“Not alone,” Robillard corrected, and there was no missing the edge in his tone.

Deudermont conceded the point with a nod. “Some of the high captains seem to have avenues of securing food. All praise to Suljack, who has funneled good meat through this palace to the citizens, even to those who were not of his Ship.”

“He’s an idiot,” said Robillard.

“He is a fine example to the other four,” Deudermont quickly argued. “He puts Luskan above Ship, and alone among them, it seems, is wise enough to understand that the fate of Luskan will ultimately determine the fate of their private little empires.”

“You have to act, and quickly,” said Drizzt. “Or Luskan will not survive.”

Deudermont nodded his agreement with every word. “A flotilla has left Waterdeep, and a great caravan winds its way up from the south, both laden with food and grain, and with soldiers to aid in calming the city. The lords of Waterdeep have rallied around the work of the late Lord Brambleberry, that his efforts will not be in vain.”

“They don’t want one of their own to look as stupid as the whispers make him out to be,” Robillard clarified, and even Drizzt couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Expect too much from the flotilla and caravan at your peril,” the wizard warned Deudermont. “They’re laden well with food, no doubt, but a few dozen sellswords would be a dozen or two more than I’ll be willing to wager they’ve offered. They have a way of looking more generous than they actually are, these lords.”

Deudermont didn’t bother to argue the point. “They will both arrive within the next couple of tendays, say the scouts. I secured a promise of extra food from our dwarf friend Argithas of Mirabar. The Mirabarrans agreed to accelerate their tithing to the city in anticipation of the re-supply, though their storehouses are near empty. Mirabar has stood strong with me through the winter—I would bid you to relay our gratitude to Marchion Elastul when you return to the Silver Marches.”

Drizzt nodded.

“What choice did they have?” Robillard asked. “We’re the only acre of sanity left in Luskan!”

“The caravans—” said Deudermont.

“Are a temporary reprieve.”

Deudermont shook his head. “We will use the example of Suljack to enlist the other four,” he reasoned. “They will end their foolish warring and support the city or their people will turn against them, as the whole of the city turned against Arklem Greeth.”

“The people on the streets appear desperate,” said Regis, and Deudermont nodded.

“The times are hard,” he replied. “The relief of summer will allow them to look beyond their misery and seek long-term solutions to the ills of the city. Those solutions lie with me and not with the high captains, unless those old seadogs are smart enough to understand the needs of the city beyond their own narrow streets.”

“They’re not,” Robillard assured him. “And we’d do well to climb on Sea Sprite and sail back to Waterdeep.”

“I would go without food for a winter and more if only I heard a word of encouragement from Robillard,” Deudermont remarked with a heavy sigh.

The wizard snickered, threw his arm across the back of his chair, and turned away.

“Enough of our misery,” Deudermont said. “Tell me of Icewind Dale, and of Wulfgar. Did you find him?”

Drizzt’s smile surely answered before the drow began to recant his tale of the journey.

CHAPTER 28

PRESSURE

T he small bit of water they had put in the pot bubbled and steamed away, its aroma eliciting many licks of anticipation. The dark meat, twenty pounds of basted perfection, glistened from the surface burns of fast cooking, for not a one of the band of highwaymen was willing to wait the hours to properly prepare the unexpected feast.

The moment the cook announced it was done, the group began tearing at it eagerly, ripping off large chunks and shoving them into hungry mouths so that their cheeks bulged like rodents storing food for the winter. Every now and then one or another paused just long enough to lift a toast to Ship Rethnor, who had supplied them so well. And all that the generous son of the recently-deceased high captain had asked for in return was that the band waylay a caravan, and with all proceeds of the theft going to the highwaymen.

“They give us food for taking food,” one rogue observed with a chuckle.

“And give us help in taking it,” another agreed, indicating a small keg of particularly effective poison.

So they cheered and they ate, and they laughed and cheered some more for the son of Ship Rethnor.