Free The Halfling’s Gem by R. A. Salvatore Page A

offered by the sea.
    “I should like to return,” Wulfgar said, following his friend’s gaze to the now distant city.
    “To settle a score with a drunken ruffian and his wretched friends,” Drizzt concluded.
    Wulfgar laughed but stopped abruptly when Drizzt wheeled on him.
    “To what end?” Drizzt asked. “Would you then replace him as the champion of the Mermaid’s Arms?”
    “That is a life I do not envy,” Wulfgar replied, chuckling again, though this time uncomfortably.
    “Then leave it to Bungo,” Drizzt said, turning back to the glow of the city.
    Again Wulfgar’s smile faded.
    Seconds, minutes perhaps, slipped by, the only sound the slapping of the waves against the prow of the
Sea Sprite
. On an impulse, Drizzt slid Twinkle from its sheath. The crafted scimitar came to life in his hand, the blade glowing in the starlight that had given Twinkle its name and its enchantment.
    “The weapon fits you well,” Wulfgar remarked.
    “A fine companion,” Drizzt acknowledged, examining the intricate designs etched along the curving blade. He remembered another magical scimitar he had once possessed, a blade he had found in the lair of a dragon that he and Wulfgar had slain. That blade, too, had been a fine companion. Wrought of ice magic, the scimitar was forged as a bane to creatures of fire,impervious, along with its wielder, to their flames. It had served Drizzt well, even saving him from the certain and painful death of a demon’s fire.
    Drizzt cast his gaze back to Wulfgar. “I was thinking of our first dragon,” he explained to the barbarian’s questioning look. “You and I alone in the ice cave against the likes of Icingdeath, an able foe.”
    “He would have had us,” Wulfgar added, “had it not been for the luck of that huge icicle hanging above the dragon’s back.”
    “Luck?” Drizzt replied. “Perhaps. But more often, I dare to say, luck is simply the advantage a true warrior gains in executing the correct course of action.”
    Wulfgar took the compliment in stride; he had been the one to dislodge the pointed icicle, killing the dragon.
    “A pity I do not have the scimitar I plundered from Icingdeath’s lair to serve as a companion for Twinkle,” Drizzt remarked.
    “True enough,” replied Wulfgar, smiling as he remembered his early adventures beside the drow. “But, alas, that one went over Garumn’s Gorge with Bruenor.”
    Drizzt paused and blinked as if cold water had been thrown in his face. A sudden image flooded through his mind, its implications both hopeful and frightening. The image of Bruenor Battlehammer drifting slowly down into the depths of the gorge on the back of a burning dragon.
    A burning dragon!
    It was the first time Wulfgar had ever noted a tremble in the voice of his normally composed friend, when Drizzt rasped out, “Bruenor had my blade?”

he room was empty, the fire burning low. The figure knew that there were gray dwarves, duergar, in the side chamber, through the partly opened door, but he had to chance it. This section of the complex was too full of the scum for him to continue along the tunnels without his disguise.
    He slipped in from the main corridor and tiptoed past the side door to get to the hearth. He knelt before it and laid his fine mithral axe at his side The glow of the embers made him flinch instinctively, though he felt no pain as he dipped his finger into the ash.
    He heard the side door swing open a few seconds later and rubbed a final handful of the ash over his face, hoping that he had properly covered his telltale red beard and the pale flesh of his long nose ail the length to its tip.
    “What ye be doin’?” came a croak behind him.
    The ash-covered dwarf blew into the embers, and a smallflame came to life. “Bit o’ chill,” he answered. “Be needin’ rest” He rose and turned, lifting the mithral axe beside him.
    Two gray dwarves walked across the room to stand before him, their weapons securely sheathed. “Who ye be?”