The Two Swords

22. INNER VOICES

Ye must do this, Delly Curtie told herself over and over again, every step of the way through the dwarven complex. As sure as she was that what she was doing was for the best - for everyone involved - Delly needed constant reminders and assurances, even from herself.
Ye cannot stay here, not a minute longer.
Bah, but she's not yer child anyway, ye silly woman!
It's for his own good more'n yer own, and she's a better woman than ye'd ever be!
Over and over, the woman played out all the rationalizations, a litany that kept her putting one foot in front of the other as she neared the closed door to Catti-brie's private room. Colson stirred and gave a little cry, and Delly hugged the girl tighter against her and offered a comforting coo.
She came up to the door and pressed her ear, then hearing nothing, pushed it open just a bit, paused, and listened again. She heard Catti-brie's rhythmic breathing. The woman had returned exhausted a short while before from the audience chamber, announcing that she needed some sleep.
Delly moved into the room. Her first emotions upon seeing Catti-brie swirled within her, a combination of anger and jealousy, and a desperate feeling of inferiority that gnawed at her belly.
No, ye put it all aside! Delly silently determined, and she forced herself closer to the bed.
She felt the doubts crawling up within her with every step, a cacophony of voices telling her to hold on to Colson and never let go. She looked down on Catti-brie as the woman lay there on her back, her thick auburn hair framing her face in such a manner as to make her appear small, almost childlike. Delly couldn't deny her beauty, the softness of her skin, the richness of her every feature. Catti-brie had lived a good life, but a difficult one, and yet, she seemed somehow physically untouched by the hardships - except for her current injury, of course. For all her battles and swordfights, not a blemish was to be found on the woman's face. For a brief moment, Delly wanted to claw her.
A very brief moment, and Delly drew a deep breath and reminded herself that her own nastiness was more a negative measure of herself than any measure of Catti-brie.
"The woman's not ever shown ye an angry look nor offered ye a harsh word," Delly quietly reminded herself.
Delly looked to Colson, then back to Catti-brie.
"She'll make ye a fine mother," she whispered to the baby.
She bent low, or started to, then straightened and hugged Colson close and kissed her atop the head.
Ye got to do this, Delly Curtie! Ye cannot be stealing Wulfgar's child!
But that was the thing of it, she realized. Wulfgar's child? Why was Colson anymore Wulfgar's child than Delly Curtie's? Wulfgar had taken the babe from Meralda of Auckney at Meralda's desperate request, but since Delly had joined up with him and Colson in Luskan, she, not Wulfgar, had been more the parent by far. Wulfgar had been off in search of Aegis-fang, and in search of himself. Wulfgar had been out for days at a time battling orcs. And all the while, Delly had held Colson close, had fed her and rocked her to sleep, had taught her to play and even to stand.
Another thought came to her then, bolstering her maternal uprising. Even with Colson in his care and Delly gone, would Wulfgar stop fighting? Of course not. And would Catti-brie abandon her warrior ways after her wounds healed?
Of course not.
Where did that leave Colson?
Delly nearly cried out at the desperate thought. She spun away from the bed and staggered a step toward the door.
You are entitled to the child, and to a life of your own making, said the voice in her head.
Delly kissed Colson again and stepped boldly across the room, thinking to walk away without looking back.
Should everything good happen to her? the voice asked, and the reference to Catti-brie was as clear to Delly as if it was her own inner voice speaking.
You give and give of yourself, but your own good intentions bring to you desperation, said the voice.
Aye, and empty tunnels o' dark stone, and not a one to share me thoughts, Delly answered, not even aware that she was having a conversation with another sentient being.
She reached the door then, but paused, compelled to look to the side. Catti-brie's gear was piled on a small bench, her armor and weapons covered by her worn traveling cloak. One thing in particular caught Delly's eye and held it. Peeking out from under the cloak was a sword hilt, fabulous in design and gleaming beyond anything Delly had ever seen. More beautiful than the shiniest dwarf-cut gem, more precious than a dragon's mound of gold. Before she even knew what she was doing, Delly Curtie slipped Colson down to the side, balancing her on one hip, and took a fast step over and with her free hand drew the sword out from under the cloak and out of its scabbard at the same time.
She instantly knew that the blade was hers and no one else's. She instantly realized that with such a weapon, she and Colson could make their way in a troubled world and that all would be right.
Khazid'hea, the sentient and hungry sword, was always promising such things.
* * * * *
She opened her eyes to see a comforting face staring back at her, crystal blue orbs full of softness and concern. Before she even fully registered who it was and where she was, Catti-brie lifted her hand to stroke Wulfgar's cheek.
"You will sleep your life away," the big man said.
Catti-brie rubbed her eyes and yawned, then allowed him to help her sit up in her bed.
"Might as well be sleeping," she said. "I'm not doing much good to anyone."
"You're healing so that you can join in the fight. That's no small thing."
Catti-brie accepted the rationale without argument. Of course she was frustrated by her infirmity. She hated the thought of Wulfgar and Bruenor, and even Regis, standing out there on the battle line while she slumbered in safety.
"How goes it in the east?" she asked.
"The weather has held and the ferry is functional. Dwarves have come across from Felbarr, bearing supplies and material for the wall. The orcs strike at us every day, of course, but with the help of the Moonwood elves, they have been easily repelled. They have not come on in force, yet, though we do not know why."
"Because they know we'll slaughter them all across the mountains."
Wulfgar's nod showed that he did not disagree. "We hold good ground, and each passing hour strengthens our defenses. The scouts do not report a massing of orcs. We believe that they too are digging in along the ground they have gained."
"It'll be a winter of hard work, then, and not much fighting."
"Readying for a spring of blood, no doubt."
Catti-brie nodded, confident that she'd be more than ready to go back out into the fighting when the weather turned warm.
"The refugees from the northern settlements are leaving even now," Wulfgar went on.
"The way out is safe enough to risk that?"
"We've got the riverbank for a mile and more to the south, and we've put the ferry out of throwing range of any giants. They'll be safe enough - likely the first of them are already across."
"How clear is it up there?" Catti-brie asked, not even trying to hold the concern out of her voice.
"Very. Perhaps too much so," Wulfgar answered, misreading her concern, and he paused, apparently catching on. "You wonder if Drizzt will find his way to us," he said.
"Or if we can find our way to him."
Wulfgar sat on the edge of the bed and stared at Catti-brie for a long, long while.
"Not so long ago you told me he wasn't dead," he reminded. "You have to hold onto that."
"And if I cannot?" the woman admitted, lowering her eyes for even voicing such a fear.
Wulfgar cupped her chin with his huge hand and tilted her head back so that she had to look him in the eye. "Then hold on to your memories of him, though I do not believe he is dead," he insisted. "Better to have loved . .."
Catti-brie looked away.
After a moment of confusion, Wulfgar turned her back yet again. "It is better to have loved him and lost him than never to have known him at all," he stated, reciting one of the oldest litanies in all corners of the Realms. "You were lovers; there is nothing more special than that."
Telltale tears welled in Catti-brie's deep blue eyes.
"You ... you told me ..." Wulfgar stammered. "You said that in your years on the boat with Captain Deudermont.. ."
"I didn't tell you anything," she replied. "I let you assume."
"But. . ."
Wulfgar paused, replaying that conversation he and Catti-brie had shared during their trials out on the battle line with Banak. He had asked her pointedly about whether or not she and Drizzt had become more than friends, and indeed she had not answered directly, other than to refer to the fact that they had been traveling as companions for six long years.
"Why?" Wulfgar finally asked.
"Because I'm thinking myself the fool for not," Catti-brie said. "Oh, but we came close. We just never .. . I'm not wanting to talk about this."
"You wanted to see how I would react if I believed that you and Drizzt were lovers," Wulfgar said, and it was a statement not a question, indicating that he had it all figured out.
"I'll not deny that."
"To see if Wulfgar had healed from his torment in the Abyss? To see if I had overcome the demons of my upbringing?"
"Don't you get all angry," Catti-brie said to him. "Maybe it was to see if Wulfgar was deserving of a wife like Delly."
"You think I still love you?"
"As a brother would love a sister."
"Or more?"
"I had to know."
"Why?"
The simple question had Catti-brie rocking back in her bed. "Because I know it's farther along with me and Drizzt," she said after only a brief pause. "Because I know how I feel now, and nothing's to change that, and I wanted to know how it would affect yourself, above all."
"Why?"
"Because I'd not break up our group," Catti-brie answered. "Because we five have forged something here I'm not wanting to lose, however I'm feeling about Drizzt."
Wulfgar spent a long while staring at her, and the woman began to squirm under that scrutiny.
"Well, what're you thinking?"
"I'm thinking that you sound less like a dwarf every day," he answered with a wry grin. "In accent, I mean, but you sound more like a dwarf every day in spirit. It's Bruenor who's cursed us both, I see. Perhaps we are both too pragmatic for our own good."
"How can you say that?"
"Six years beside a man you love and you're not lovers?"
"He's not a man, and there's the rub."
"Only if your dwarven practicality makes it a rub."
Catti-brie couldn't deny his tone or his smile, and it infected her soon enough. The two shared a laugh, then, self-deprecating for both.
"We've got to find him," Wulfgar said at length. "For all our sakes, Drizzt must come back to us."
"I'll be up and about soon enough, and out we'll go," Catti-brie agreed, and as she spoke, she glanced across the way at her belongings, at the weathered traveling cloak and the dark wood of Taulmaril peeking our from under it.
At the scabbard that once held Khazid'hea.
"What is it?" Wulfgar asked, noticing the sudden frown that crossed the woman's face.
Catti-brie led his gaze with a pointing finger. "My sword," she whispered.
Wulfgar rose and crossed to the pile, pulling off the cloak and quickly confirming that, indeed, the sword was gone,
"Who could have taken it?" he asked. "Who would have?"
While Wulfgar's look was one of confusion and curiosity, Catti-brie's expression was much more grave. For she understood the power of the sentient sword, and she knew that the person who pulled Khazid'hea free of its scabbard had gotten more than he'd bargained for.
Much more.
"We have to find it, and we have to find it quickly," she said.
* * * * *
It is not for you, came the voice in Delly's head as she moved toward the waiting ferry. All around her dwarves worked the stone, smoothing the path from the door to the river and building their defenses up on the mountain spur. Most of the human refugees were already aboard the ferry, though the dwarf pilot had made it quite clear that the raft wouldn't put out for another few minutes.
Delly didn't know how to answer that voice in her head, a voice she thought her own.
"Not for me?" she asked aloud, quietly enough to not draw too much attention. She masked the ridiculous conversation even more by turning to Colson and acting as if she was speaking to the toddler.
Are ye daft enough to think ye should go back into the mines and live yer life with the dwarfs, then? Delly asked herself.
The world is wider than Mithral Hall and the lands across the Surbrin, came an unexpected answer.
Delly moved off to the side, behind the screen of a lean-to one of the dwarves had put together for the workers to take breaks out of the cold wind. She set Colson on a chair and started to set her pack down - when she realized that the second voice wasn't coming from in her head at all, but from the pack. Gingerly, Delly unwrapped Khazid'hea and once the bare metal of the hilt was in her hand that voice rang all the more clearly.
We are not crossing the river. We go north.
"So the sword's got a mind of its own, does it?" Delly asked, seeming more amused than concerned. "Oh, but ye'll bring me a pretty bit o' coin in Silverymoon, won't ye?"
Her smile went away as her arm came out, drifting slowly and inexorably forward so that Khazid'hea's tip slid toward Colson.
Delly tried to scream, but found that she could not, found that her throat had suddenly constricted. Her horror melted almost immediately, however, and she began to see the beauty of it all. Yes, with a flick of her hand she could take the life from Colson. With a mere movement, she could play as a god might.
A wicked smile crossed Delly's face. Colson looked at her curiously, then reached up for the blade.
The girl nicked her finger on that wickedly sharp tip, and began to cry, but Delly hardly heard her.
Neither did Delly strike, though she had more than a little notion to do just that. But an image before her, the bit of Colson's bright red blood on the sword, on her sword, held her in place.
It would be so easy to kill the girl. You cannot deny me.
"Cursed blade," Delly breathed.
Speak aloud again and the girl loses her throat, the sentient sword promised. We go north.
"You - " Delly started to say, but she bit the word off in horror. You would have me try to get out of here to the north with a child in tow? she silently asked. We'd not get past the perimeter.
Leave the child.
Delly gasped.
Move! the sword demanded, and never in all her life had Delly Curtie heard such a dominating command. Rationally, she knew that she could just throw the sword to the ground and run away, and yet, she couldn't do it. She didn't know why, she just could not do it.
She found her breathing hard to come by. A multitude of pleas swirled through her thoughts, but they wound in on themselves, for she had no real answer to the commands of Khazid'hea. She was shaking her head in denial, but she was indeed stepping away from Colson.
A nearby voice broke her from her torment momentarily, and Delly surely recognized that particular wail. She spun to see Cottie Cooperson moving toward the ferry, where the pilot was barking for everyone to hurry aboard.
We cannot leave her, Delly pleaded with the sword.
Her throat... so tender... Khazid'hea teased.
They will find the child and come for us. They will know that I did not cross the Surbrin.
When no rebuttal came back at her, Delly knew she had the evil sword's attention. She didn't really form any cogent sentences then, just rambled through a series of images and thoughts so that the weapon would get the general idea.
A moment later, Khazid'hea wrapped and tucked under her arm, Delly ran for the ferry. She didn't explain much to Cottie when she arrived and handed Colson to the troubled woman, but then she really didn't have to explain anything to Cottie, who was too wrapped up in the feel and smell of Colson to hear her anyway.
Delly waited right there, until the pilot finally shouted down at her, "Away we go, woman. Get yerself aboard!"
"What're ye about?" asked one of the other passengers, a man who often sat beside Cottie.
Delly looked at Colson, tears welling in her eyes.
She had a fleeting thought to tear out the toddler's throat.
She looked up at the pilot and shook her head, and as the dwarf tossed the ferry ropes aside, freeing the craft into the river, Delly stumbled off the other way, glancing back often.
But ten steps away, she didn't bother to even look back again, for her eyes were forward, to the north and the promises that Khazid'hea silently imparted, promises that had no shape and no definition, just a general feeling of elation.
So caught was Delly Curtie by the power of Khazid'hea that she gave Colson not another thought as she worked her way through the workers and the guards, stone by stone, until she was running free north along the riverbank.
* * * * *
"Halt!" cried an elf, and a dwarf sentry beside him echoed the shout. "Stop yer running and be counted!" the dwarf cried.
More than one elf lifted a bow toward the fleeing figure, and dwarven crossbows went up as well. More shouts ensued, but the figure was out of range by then, and gradually the bows began to lower.
"What do ye know?" Ivan Bouldershoulder asked the dwarf sentry who had shouted out. Behind him, Pikel lifted his hand to the sky and began to chatter excitedly. The dwarf sentry pointed far to the north along the riverbank, where the figure continued to run away.
"Someone run out, or might that it was an orc scout," the dwarf replied.
"That was no orc," said the elf bowman beside them. "A human, I believe, and female."
"Elfie eyes," the dwarf sentry whispered to Ivan, and he gave an exaggerated wink.
"Or might be half-orc," Ivan reasoned. "Half-orc scout might've wandered in with the others from the northern towns. Ye best be tightening the watch."
The elf nodded, as did the dwarf, but when Ivan started to continue his line of thought, he got grabbed by the shoulder and roughly tugged back.
"What're ye about?" he asked Pikel, and he stopped and stared at his brother.
Pikel held tight to Ivan's shoulder, but he was not looking at his brother. He stared off blankly, and had Ivan not seen that druidic trick before, he would have thought his brother had completely lost his mind.
"Ye're looking through a bird's eyes again, ain't ye?" Ivan asked and put his hands on his hips. "Ye durned doo-dad, ye know that's always making ye dizzier than usual."
As if on cue, Pikel swayed, and Ivan reached out and steadied him. Pikel's eyes popped open wide, and turned and stare at his brother.
"Ye back?" Ivan asked.
"Uh-oh," said Pikel.
"Uh-oh? Ye durned fool, what'd ye see?"
Pikel stepped up and pressed his face against the side of Ivan's head, then whispered excitedly in Ivan's ear.
And Ivan's eyes went wider than those of his brother. For Pikel had been watching through the eyes of a bird, and that bird, on his bidding, had taken a closer look at the fleeing figure.
"Ye're sure?" Ivan asked.
"Uh huh."
"Wulfgar's Delly?"
"Uh huh!"
Ivan grabbed Pikel and tugged him forward, shoving him out toward the north. "Get a bird watching for us, then. We gotta go!"
"What're ye about?" the dwarf sentry asked.
"Where are you going?" echoed the elf archer.
"Go send the word to Bruenor," Ivan shouted. "Catch that ferry and search the tunnels, and find Wulfgar!"
"What?" dwarf and elf asked together.
"Me and me brother'll be back soon enough. No time for arguing. Go tell Bruenor!"
The dwarf sentry sprinted off to the south, and the Bouldershoulder brothers ran to the north, heedless of the shouts that followed them from the many surprised sentries.