CIVILIZATION'S MELT

Atenday and a half," Regis complained as he and Drizzt made their way down the trail south of Bryn Shander.

"These storms can arrive anytime for the next two months," Drizzt replied. "Neither of us wants another two months in Ten-Towns." As he finished, he cast a sidelong glance at his companion to note the expected wistfulness in Regis's large eyes. It had not been a bad winter in Ten-Towns for the two of them, though the snow fell deep and the wind blew hard all those months. Still, strong too were the fires in the common rooms, and the many friendly conversations overwhelmed the wintry wind.

But as the winter waned, Drizzt had grown increasingly impatient. His business with Wulfgar was done, and he was satisfied that he would see his barbarian friend again, in better times.

He wanted to go home. His heart ached for Catti-brie, and though the situation had seemed stable, he couldn't help but fear for his friend Bruenor, living as he was under the shadow of twenty thousand orcs.

The drow ranger set a strong pace down the uneven trail, where mud had refrozen and melted many times over the past few days. Patches of snow had clung stubbornly to the ground, behind every rock and filling every crevice. It was indeed early to be making such a journey through the Spine of the World, but Drizzt knew that to wait was to walk through deeper and more stubborn mud.

Over the months, Icewind Dale had filled their sensibilities again, rekindling old memories and experiences, and bringing forth many of the lessons their years there had taught them. They wouldn't lose their way among familiar landmarks. They wouldn't be caught unaware by tundra yetis or bands of goblins.

As Regis had feared, they awoke the next morning to find the air filled with snow, but Drizzt didn't lead the way to a cave.

"It will not be a strong storm," he assured the halfling repeatedly as they trudged along, and through good instinct or simply good fortune, his prediction proved correct.

Within a few days, they had made the trail through the Spine of the World, and soon after they entered the pass, the wind diminished considerably and not even the long shadows of the tall mountains to either side of them could cover the signs that spring fast approached.

"Do you think we'll meet the Luskar caravan?" Regis asked more than once, for his belt pouches bulged with scrimshaw and he was eager to get first pickings from the Luskar goods.

"Too early," Drizzt always answered, but as they crossed the miles through the mountain range, every step bringing them closer to the warming breezes of spring, his tone became more hopeful with each response. After all, in addition to the welcome sound of new voices and the luxuries such a caravan might offer, a strong and early showing by Luskan in Icewind Dale would go a long way toward calming Drizzt's anxieties about the depth and endurance of Deudermont's victory.

As they neared the southern end of the mountain pass, the trail widened and broke off in several directions.

"To Auckney, and Colson," Drizzt explained to Regis as they crossed one trail climbing up to the west. "Two days of marching," he answered in response to the halfling's questioning gaze. "Two days there and two days back."

"Straight to Luskan, then, for some sales and some food for the road east," Regis replied. "Or is it possible that we might find a former Hosttower associate - or Robillard, yes Robillard!  -  to fly us home on a magical chariot?"

Drizzt chuckled in reply, and wished it were so. "We will arrive back at Mithral Hall in good time," he said, "if you can stride longer with those short legs."

On they went, down out of the foothills, and soon after breaking camp one brilliant morning, they came over a rocky rise in sight of the City of Sails.

Their hearts didn't lift.

Smoke hung low and thick over Luskan, and even from a distance, the companions could see that large swaths of the city were still but blackened husks. It had not been a kind winter in Deudermont's city, if indeed it remained Deudermont's city.

Regis didn't complain as Drizzt picked up their pace, almost trotting down the winding road. They passed many farms north of the city but noted surprisingly little activity, though the melt had progressed enough south of the Spine of the World for the early preparations of spring planting to begin. When it became apparent that they wouldn't make the city that day, Drizzt veered off the road and led Regis to the door of one such farmhouse. He rapped loudly, and when the door swung open, the woman noted the black skin of her unexpected and hardly typical guest, and she jumped in surprise and gave a little yelp.

"Drizzt Do'Urden, at your service," Drizzt said with a polite bow. "Back from Ten-Towns in Icewind Dale to visit my good friend Captain Deudermont."

The woman seemed to ease considerably, for surely anyone that close to Luskan had heard of Drizzt Do'Urden even before his exploits beside Deudermont in throwing down Arklem Greeth.

"If it's shelter ye're seeking, then put up in the barn," she said.

"The barn would be most hospitable," said Drizzt, 'but truly it's more good conversation and news of Luskan that would do we weary travelers good."

"Bah, but what news? News o' yer friend the governor?"

Drizzt couldn't suppress a smile at hearing Deudermont still referred to as governor. He nodded his assent.

"What's to tell, then?" asked the woman. "He gets his cheers, but don't he? And oh, but that one can wag a pretty tongue. A great feeder o' the pig, none's doubting."

"But...?" Drizzt prompted, catching the prissy sarcasm sharpening her voice.

"But not so much for feedin' them that's feedin' the pigs, eh?" she said. "And not so quick with the grain we're needin' for the fields."

Drizzt looked south toward Luskan.

"I'm sure the captain will see to it as soon as he is able," Regis offered.

"Which?" the woman asked, and Regis realized that his use of Deudermont's old title had been taken to mean one of Luskan's high captains, and that inadvertent misunderstanding, given the woman's suddenly hopeful tone, had hinted to both Regis and Drizzt that Deudermont had not yet established control over those five.

"So, are ye to be stayin'?" the woman asked after a lengthy silence.

"Aye, the barn," Drizzt replied, turning to face her again and putting on a supremely pleasant and cheery expression as he did.

The pair were out the next morning before the cock crowed, trotting fast down the road all the way to Luskan's North Gate - Luskan'sunguarded North Gate, they realized to their surprise. The ironclad door was neither locked nor barred, and not a voice of protest came at them from either of the towers flanking it as they pushed it open and crossed into the city.

"To the Cutlass, or the Red Dragon?" Regis asked, moving to the wide stone stairway of the Upstream Span bridge, which opened up into the northern section of the city wherein lay Deudermont's makeshift palace. But Drizzt shook his head and marched straight down the span, crossing the Mirar with Regis skipping at his heels.

"The market," he explained. "The level of activity there will tell us much of Luskan's winter before we rendezvous with Deudermont."

"I think we've already seen too much of it," Regis muttered.

Glancing left and right, it was hard for Drizzt to argue the sentiment. The city was a battered place, with many buildings crumbling, many more burned out, and with haggard folk covered in dirty layers of rags milling about the streets. The unmistakable look of hunger played on their dark faces, the profound hopelessness that could only be stamped by months of misery.

"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.

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