"In this world, there's real and make-believe.
This seems real to me…"
Andra had never experienced anything even close to extra-planar travel. The minute she pressed the button, she (and Drizzt, she assumed and hoped) was sucked into a world devoid of touch and sound. She felt like she was being condensed into the size of a marble. She squeezed her eyes shut against the pressure, and when she was able to open them, saw that she was in something like a swirling blue tunnel. She looked down and saw the fuzzy, silvery outline of what must be her feet, but her mind didn't register them being attached to her. She couldn't make herself move…what the heck was going on!
Breath was so hard to come by; it felt as if a thousand tons were pressing down on her chest, her shoulders, her head. She had to get out—had to move, or she'd be stuck in this living nightmare forever…She tried to call out, but could produce no sound. Then she was falling, all semblance of balance lost. She felt no impact, since there seemed to be no ground… But she felt herself slipping away from whatever flimsy reality there was in this place. There was nothing to grab on to, though! Where would she go if she fell?
Through the mindless panic, she felt a rough tug, as if she were being pulled at, towed back to the tangible by some unseen line. She shut her eyes again, wishing for it all to be over, needing it to end. And why couldn't she freakin breathe? The line carried her away…there was a bright blue and white explosion of light, the feeling of being stretched over infinite spaces…and she fell out of touch with all rational thought.
….
Andra was awakened by her own gasps, as she sucked in the precious oxygen so fast she choked on it. She coughed several times, one hand clutching her throat as she searched desperately for air. She was on her knees, one hand planted on the ground to hold her up. There was an arm around her heaving shoulders-Drizzt's, she assumed.
When she'd more or less caught her breath, she sat back, supported by the dark elf's ready arms. She breathed deeply over and over, eyes frantically wide. Drizzt sighed looking more than a bit shaken himself. "Magga cammara, kid…I wish you would have waited for me," he snapped, but without much conviction. Andra could only growl in annoyance, closing her eyes, and collapse against him until her breathing gradually returned to normal.
After several minutes, she leaned away from him, rubbing her hands over her face. "You're alright?" Drizzt asked, to which she nodded.
"Yeah. Sorry." He stood and helped her to her feet. Breathlessly, she added, "Thanks for pulling me out..."
"What in the Nine Hells were you thinking?" He cut her off, shaking her by the arms. His grip was far from gentle.
She drew back, trying to make him let go. All of a sudden he was incredulous and exasperated and mad as a demon. "Wull, I…I didn't know what it—"
"Exactly," Drizzt scolded, interrupting. He finally let go, releasing her with a small shove. "You never never activate a magical item, Cosain, unless you know for sure what it will do! What on land or sea were you thinking about?"
"I-I don't know; I wasn't!" she shrieked back, scared to the point of anger.
Drizzt stopped. He watched Andra's eyes stare at him like he was a stranger. She was scared of him. His momentum stolen, Drizzt turned away, putting one hand to his forehead. His pitch-black fingers ran through his stark white hair.
"I'm sorry…I'm sorry—please."
He sighed wearily, dropping his hand to hook it on his belt. He still kept his back to her. After a moment he turned his head and mumbled, more softly, "Ok. It's alright…You didn't know." He turned to her and placed his hands on her shoulders, looking into her eyes for emphasis. "But you must always remember: before any kind of action, first investigate the situation. Always remember. You can't just go jumping straight into it like a…a battle-crazed dwarf." Andra gave a little laugh. Drizzt shook his head and replied with a half-smile, more out of vast relief than anything else.
"Alright...It's alright. Just...don't forget." He lightly patted her back as he turned and started away. "We should get started. Best to travel when the sun is low." Andra nodded immediately, determined not to screw anything else up. From now on she'd do exactly what he told her—nothing else. Only what he wanted.
Taking a look at her surroundings for the first time, she was instantly taken aback. It was a forest…looked like any old forest—but then it didn't. It was…bright. Rustic. Pure. It was like she'd been deposited right in the middle of a wondrous dream. But as a grin warmed her face, she knew that wasn't the case. She'd been deposited in Faerun.
Would that she could fly! She wanted to soar—her spirit was doing just that. They were in a small clearing, a wide spot on a reddish-brown dirt path. Trees like monuments towered on each side of the path, pine needles on every branch. Everything was gloriously lit up with the fire of sunrise. She looked back to Drizzt and saw him stroking Charon's black muzzle; apparently he had traveled with them as well. But the horse was on edge, pawing the ground and whinnying. Drizzt spoke softly to calm him, clicking his tongue, and led him gently to the side of the path. Another horse, a chestnut-colored beauty, waited there, tied to a tree.
Drizzt untied the brown horse and tied Charon in its place. A feed-bag was tied to the tree where he could reach it, and a large bucket of water sat on the ground. Returning with the new mount, Drizzt explained, "Remember how you felt in the tunnel? Imagine how it affects a horse—an easily scared creature with less reasoning. Charon hates the transfer," he added, flashing his crooked smile. "But I've arranged someone to come for him once we've gone.
After Drizzt transferred both his gear and hers onto the new horse, she was more than ready to get going, on to whatever mortal peril awaited her next. This time, Andra mounted the horse mostly by herself, only using Drizzt's hand for balance. He climbed up after her, clicked his tongue and kicked the horse into motion, and they started down the wide, much-trodden road.
"So…how far are we from where?" Andra still gazed at the scenery as they went along at a steady trot.
"We're about half a day away from the nearest city: Iasair."
"What'll we do there?"
"Rest. Lunch. You've not even had breakfast yet. Oh—on that note, you probably should…" He rummaged around in the saddlebag for a moment and produced bread and dried meat, a serving for the both of them. Andra finished it quickly; she'd always been a fast eater. It tasted…less than what she'd thought it would. She always thought of beef jerky when she heard the words 'dried meat.' And, as we all know, jerky is bliss.
"How long will we be on the road?"
"A week, if all goes right."
"…Why? What wouldn't go right?"
Drizzt grunted, tousling his hair to get it out of his eyes. "Do you always ask so many questions?"
"Yeah. Hey, what's Iasair like?"
Drizzt pinched the bridge of his nose, bowing his head with a sigh.
...
They reached the city a few hours after noon, and Andra was secretly relieved beyond belief. She had no idea that simply riding would take so much out of a person. All you did was ride! You were spared the trouble of carrying your own weight—it should be easier. But you did have to constantly shift your center of balance and keep your back straight and heck a saddle was only made for one person. They came within sight of the city long before they reached it—a cruel twist of irony. Apparently setting sights on something in no way meant that you were getting close to it.
Finally, they seemed to be getting somewhere. But when they were still far enough away as to be dots on the horizon, Drizzt stopped the horse. Andy watched in confusion as he twisted around in the saddle, rummaging in the saddlebag for something. Apparently he couldn't find it, or so Andra gathered from the annoyed way he was muttering to himself. "…couldn't have left it…Alright, now where in the heck—oh, here." He turned back around with something in his hand.
Andra's eyes widened as she recognized the plain wooden mask. She watched in surprise as he pushed back his hair and placed it over his face, adjusting the string behind his pointed ears. The magic took effect almost immediately. The mask seemed to sink into his skin, flexing to the form of his face. At the same time, it changed color, changing his black skin into a pale brown complexion. His hair shifted as well, fading into a rich dark brown. It now stretched well past his shoulders.
He ran his fingers through his new mane, struggling to flip it over his shoulders. The sweat from riding all day made it stick to his neck. "Gah…I hate it this long." Then he noticed the way Andra was staring at him. His eyes were expectant, almost to the point of challenging, but his voice ran under the shroud of an innocent question. "What?"
She shook her head a little. "I thought you hated using that."
Drizzt shrugged. "Well. Robert thought so." He took up the reins again, kicking the horse forward. "At any rate—I am now a wood elf. My name is Kandren Dulra. It is much easier to walk through a city when the townsfolk aren't chasing you with pitchforks. "
"Pitchforks…" she mouthed silently, then asked aloud, "Why; haven't you ever been here before?"
Drizzt went on, ignoring the question as if she hadn't spoken. "And you are now my apprentice. Your name is Kiryana Cosain—just because of the irony. And because if I forget and call you Cosain, it won't ruin our cover. I found you as a child in the little farming village of Aisenfield, orphaned as a result of an orc raid you were too young to remember, but you've only just now become old enough to start an apprenticeship. We're in the business of bards and are traveling in search of material suitable enough to send to the great library in the Snowflake Mountains."
She gasped and her voice chimed in brightly, "Cadderly's library!" She smiled, quite pleased with herself for having gotten it right.
Drizzt turned her shoulder and looked her in the eye to make sure she was paying close attention. "You must play this role at all times. Never once let yourself reveal who you—or me for that matter—really are."
Andra looked down, now wearing the thinking crease in between her eyebrows. Now how was she expected to remember all that? But, because he wanted her to, she answered, "Uh…yeah. I'm all over it." Drizzt bit his lip, understandably doubtful.
Andra sighed, struggling to memorize her cover story. But she kept having to think: Why did she need one? Meanwhile, what the heck about the mask? But now they were within earshot of other passing travelers, so she couldn't ask anything else. She shook her head and dropped it, resigning to ask about the mask later. But then he looked down at her and winked with a small smile—and as all fellow readers know, all doubt was swept away when Drizzt smiled.
They came upon the opening in the city wall, two massive wood-and-iron doors that swung inward. They were wide open now, allowing free passage of travelers passing both in and out, all of them on horses or driving wagons. Guards were posted below and sentinels paced the wall above. Drizzt and Andra passed through the gate unhindered, but more than a few people they passed gave them funny looks. Andy whispered uneasily, "What're they lookin at?"
He thought on it for a moment, then winced in realization. "Gah, you're dressed like you're from another world," he groaned. "We'll have to buy you new clothes to wear while we're in towns…For now, use this." He took his cloak from his shoulders and wrapped it around her—and she again reveled in the scent of the surprisingly soft cloth.
The city inside actually met the stereotype image of fantasy-towns Andy had gotten from reading Salvatore. Houses of wood planks and stone blocks lined a packed-dirt road. There was no cobblestone; Andy assumed that pavement was just for large cities like Silverymoon. The street was alive and crawling with a moderate amount of traffic. Pedestrians went back and forth on the sides of the road, most of them women carrying groceries or tugging small children by the hands. There were voices and the bustling sound of people. Men and women stood talking to each other or to shopkeepers as the cart-pullers haggled prices. There was a powdery feel of dust in the air from the road and miscellaneous smells from every direction. No exhaust fumes. No cigarette smoke, but the unpleasant underlying suggestion of sewage coming from unseen gutters. There were beggars. There were people who shouted at each other along with the ones who laughed. But the overall sensation was bright and bustling enough to ignore the negative undertones.
Andy didn't get how Drizzt could keep track of where he was going, but apparently he was having no trouble. So he must have been here before. He steered them down several different streets and they made their way into a sort of cul-de-sac type of place. The road formed a giant doughnut, with mostly houses rimming the outside and places of business occupying the doughnut-hole. Drizzt stopped near the middle of the circle, pulling up in front of an inn, complete with stables. He dismounted first and then held out a hand for Andra.
She shook her head, pushing his hand away. Drizzt withdrew and watched as she swung one leg over and jumped down, much like she'd tried earlier, but this time without falling flat on her back. She hopped back when she hit the ground, took a moment to look at her feet in surprise, and then spun on her heel. Fists on her hips, she gave him a smug smile.
Drizzt answered with a chuckle, flashing that crooked grin of his. "Oh yes, you've dismounted. Magnificent. A wonder the passersby aren't throwing gold and roses."
Andra gave a nod. "Yep. Don't see how they can restrain themselves." Drizzt shook his head and chuckled, rolling his eyes. A stableboy approached them and Drizzt handed over the reins to the horse, after unloading his and Andra's bags. He handed the girl's to her and placed a hand on her back to guide her inside.
The moment they entered, Andra's eyes glowed with delight. It was (amazingly) just like what she'd expected. Half of it was taken up by the bar, where several aging bear-covered men laughed heartily with each other. Andy could only imagine what tales of adventures past they were trading. On the other side of the inn were more patrons seated at circular tables around a fireplace that would roar at night. Andy stopped for a moment, frozen in the act of staring at a raised platform in the corner—was that for singing? Oh, she could only imagine this place at night...a crowd of people gathered together, laughing, dancing by firelight to the loudest, sweetest, rustic music of the bards…
Drizzt glanced back, rolling his eyes when he saw her frozen in awe. He grabbed her by the hood of her—well, his cloak—and yanked her along. She squeaked in surprise and had to hop backwards until she could turn the right way around.
….
"Alright," Drizzt announced, swinging open the door to their rented room. Andy followed him through and shut the door. She moved to one of the two beds and slung her bag on it, huffing a bit. That thing was heavy normally, not to mention while going up stairs.
As Andy sat cross-legged on the bed, Drizzt put his own bag down and started rifling through it. "You'll have to wait here while I go out for the clothes…" He paused, glancing up uneasily, but went right back to digging in his bag. Finally he produced a small object and tossed it to her. Startled, she barely caught it: a sheathed sword about a foot and a half long. Andra looked back up at him in alarm, mouth already open to form a protest. She didn't know the first thing about using a sword! You can't learn swordsmanship from just reading about it.
Drizzt cut her off before she could get a word out. "It's only just in case."
Andy gazed uneasily at the sword, sliding it from its sheath. "Wull…Just in case what?"
He paused for a minute. "In case. I have to meet someone, so I'll be back late—you stay here. You can order food downstairs—I recommend the house special. If there's one thing you'll like about this world, it's definitely the food." He winked with a smile and tossed her a small pouch, which she opened to find some weird-looking coins she took to be money. She looked up and suddenly he was right beside her, locking her eyes to make sure she listened. "You mustn't go outside alone, cosain. Stay here."
With that he swept out of the room, door closing in his wake. Andra shook her head at the door incredulously. "In case what?" This was nonsense! What was with these crazy mood swings of his? "Hey wait—who're you meeting that's gonna take all day to talk to?" She called, receiving no answer, though he obviously had to have heard her.
Andy stood up, balling her fists at her side and stomping one foot. "I call shenanigans!"
"I walk a lonely road:
The only road that I have ever known.
Don't know where it goes,
But it's only me and I walk alone."
He came out into the dusty street, which was a lot less populated now that the midday traffic rush was dying down. Ignoring the gnawing uneasiness at leaving the girl alone, he forced himself away from the inn and toward the stables. He'd have to try and make his business fast, even though meeting with the streettiers seldom was. They made you pry and squeeze every drop of information out of them, and all the while you had to be careful not to give anything away about yourself. But Drizzt liked meeting with them. Even if they were among the dirtiest weasels that ever crawled a city. Playing their battles of wit kept his mind sharp. Plus, he always came out on top—which was not a feat that came easily to him anymore, it seemed.
The stable boys had done well by the horse. Drizzt had come to hope for that kind of quality work from this particular inn; he knew the owners well and they had several other taverns established in bigger towns. Quality people. He took the horse, flipping a coin into the hands of the nearest stablehand, and mounted once he was back on the street. He left with an inner battle against the urge to glance back. She would be fine…
At least, she would be fine until he got back. Because when he did, she would have questions for him. Why was he guarding her, why was she here, all those wonderful freakin soul-searchers that are of course so easy to answer. Soon enough, the new would wear off, and then she would wonder at the purpose behind it all. Drizzt cringed at the thought—his ulterior motives. He wasn't there to save her. He was there to shove her into a nightmare. They would place all the hopes and expectations on her. They would bow her young shoulders with the weight of half a world and plead with her not to break. And he would be the one to bring her to it. All the while the little fox believed him to be rescuing her. He had to be Lolth-loved for such lies.
Drizzt closed his eyes, face locked in a grimace, one hand running through his fake brown hair. He left it there, fake elven hand covering half his fake, scowling elven face. She had asked him what cosain meant. He was a liar about that too. She had no idea…She would be the one to defend them all. They asked so much and gave her no choice. Because there could be no choice. There was no choice left for any of them.
Suddenly an alarmed horse's neigh tore him from his thoughts. His horse. The stallion bucked under him, nearly throwing him out of the saddle, in the face of a wagon fast advancing on them from the other side of the road. With a gasp and cry of surprise, he clutched onto the saddle with his legs and scrambled for the reins, trying to pull his horse to the side. The wagon's horses sped head-on toward him, no sign of stopping.
He barely got back into his side of the road on time. He looked back, panting, staring wide-eyed over his should at the passing wagon. It'd had to go up on two wheels to steer around him; he'd been way into their lane. The driver was still screaming some odd obscenities at him from the growing distance.
He turned forward, shaking his head, just sheerly amazed. How the heck did one go about being so stupid? He ran a hand through his shaggy elf-hair to get it back over his shoulder; that little episode had sent it flying. Man. What a stupid way to die that would've been. And then where would Andra be…?
That thought struck him as fast and hard as that wagon would have.
From then on, he endeavored to keep Andra far from his mind. He didn't have to think about it right now—those were problems for later. Right now, he was meeting with the streettiers. The solitude helped clear his mind. Right now, he was responsible only for Drizzt. If he wanted, he could pull a hit on the blasted mafia and only worry about getting his own self out. And if he failed he still needn't worry too much; it was just him. He wasn't a guardian and he didn't have a cosain—right now. This was his ranger life. Freedom. Sure. No one there to hurt—and no one to share in his own.
He forced the thoughts away. He was close; he needed all his wits about him.
Drizzt turned into a shaded alleyway tucked into a corner between several abandoned buildings, so small it was nearly impossible to spot unless you were looking for it. He drew his hood over his face—for here, it was actually a disadvantage to look like a surface elf. He would be much safer here as a drow, but he didn't remove the magical mask. The path wound around many turns and he turned several more corners, leaving behind the bright streets for a labyrinth of closing stone walls and dim gutters. The pathways were at first deserted, but as he got farther in, they were littered sparsely with shady, cloaked, weasely-looking figures that moved about jumpily, ducking their heads as Drizzt's horse passed by. There were silent haggards in increasing numbers, moving about solemnly or slumped against the walls. The sun seemed to be gradually retreating behind him.
Finally, Drizzt turned at a sort of intersection alleys and the path opened up, revealing a tiny, sad plaza crammed with rotting wooden shacks that pressed on each other and against the walls. Those were either for living in or for selling stolen goods; mainly that meant booze. It stank like wet dirt, sewage, and alcohol. Melancholy figures draped in unraveling rags drifted past like phantoms, some of them murmuring to each other in hushed whispers. One felt like they had to whisper in here, even if what they said wasn't a secret—which rarely happened here. The atmosphere was muffled in a veil of hopelessness—but that was only the first layer. Underneath there was a feeling of vibration and hostility. Drizzt imagined a million dust-covered time bombs sitting as grey relics in grey shadows.
He dismounted his horse, leading it by the reins, his boots slapping on the damp dirt floor. He glanced to the side with narrowed as one of the cloaked weasels shoved past him, making out like he was angry or as if the close quarters were forcing him to squeeze by. Drizzt nearly let him pass. Right as the haggard was nearly home free, probably already counting up how much beer he could buy with his newly stolen coin, a hand shot out and caught him by the arm.
The man—a very poor excuse for one—let out a grunt and tugged roughly, but Drizzt's grip didn't break. He murmured quietly and evenly, "Good sir cutpurse, I would suggest that you either learn some originality or limit your work to those lacking in intelligence." Drizzt suddenly held up a small leather pouch—his own pouch—and broke a small, derisive smile. "That blasted trick's so old it ain't even worth criticizing."
The thief's eyes widened. He'd been bested at his own trade—and worse, he'd gotten himself caught. But instead of a dagger to his ribs, as per norm around here, he suddenly found a pair of reins being pressed into his hand. The thief stared from sunken eye sockets, his many wrinkles deepening as he gaped in astonishment.
Drizzt started walking, tossing a last comment over his shoulder. "Anyway. I think a horse is a much better payday than my coinpurse. Don't you?"
As Drizzt walked away, eyes forward and low under his hood, he listened closely. Before he'd walked even five steps, he heard the sounds of scuffling and grunting as a fight broke out behind him. Heh...naturally. If there's one thing you do not want to be, it is in the thieves' plaza while in possession valuable item. That horse was a very valuable item.
Drizzt cracked a mischievous grin and kept on walking.
The haggard was pounced by at least five or more of his fellow scoundrels—while the horse was swiftly led away by another, smarter thief who used the distraction to his advantage. And that one stuck out somewhat, looking out of place in the alleys. He sported a large body frame, an old veteran's visage, and a jagged scar over his left eye. He was smart, though. He escaped with the horse, while all the others erupted in a brawl over a prize which was no longer there.
"Why does it rain, rain, rain
Down on Utopia?
Why does it have to kill the ideal of who we are?
Why does it rain, rain, rain
Down on Utopia?
How will the lights die down, telling us who we are?"
True to his word, he returned hours later, loaded down like a pack-mule with her new wardrobe, to find her sitting cross-legged on the table under the window. Her face was turned outward toward the city, over which twilight was descending. Drizzt glanced at her and paused for a second, then shook his head and dumped his armload on her bed.
He glanced back at the girl, who still hadn't looked at him or spoken. Drizzt's brow furrowed. What in the Nine was she doing now? While her back was turned, though, he took the opportunity to slip a small leather-wrapped parcel out from under the pile of cloth. He quickly shoved it into his own bag and went back to sorting the clothes as if nothing had happened.
"Drizzt?" Her voice was quiet. She didn't turn away from the window.
"Yes."
"In case what?"
He stopped sorting through the clothes, raising his head. After a moment he said, "I gave you a sword, Andra. We all carry them around here—those who can afford one. Nearly all the time. Why do you think that is?"
She turned around at last. His face was stone again. Ugh. That was why she hadn't looked at him in the first place—there was always the underlying fear that the foreign, cold statue-face would be there. Andra opened her mouth as if to answer, but couldn't come up with anything.
She didn't have to though, because Drizzt answered himself promptly, "For defense." To her confused look, he huffed a sigh, shifting his own gaze out the window. "You seem to be under the impression that you can't be hurt here. That you've traveled far from…danger, I guess. But there are criminals and murderers in Faerun, too."
"I get it, ok. What'd you buy?" Andra slid down from the table and pointedly starting rummaging around in the pile of clothes, acting as if the serious atmosphere they'd created didn't even exist.
But Drizzt wouldn't allow her to ignore it. He continued as if she hadn't spoken. "Cosain. Here you can be hurt in just as many ways as your own world. It's not a written story; Robert's not there as our omnipresent shield. To think so is childish, impossible. Anything can happen to anyone, even a main char—."
"Alright. I understand," she snapped, looking up sharply. Drizzt stopped, frozen at the sight of her viper-like eyes. "I know there's badness everywhere. Duh. Stranger danger. I guess I just don't like it."
"What does that mean?" he asked, his voice a monotone.
Andy huffed in aggravation, giving him that incredulous look that meant 'it-should-be-obvious.' "Means I wish there were places without it. Doesn't everybody? Maybe I want to keep it a mystery if this world is anything like mine."
Drizzt shook his head, staring with growing wonder, silent. Finally, he only shrugged. "You asked." Slowly, a very small sympathetic smile broke through. Yeah, sure. 'I'm sorry but I told you so.' He chuckled once, softly. "Weren't expecting that for an answer, hm?"
Andra drew back, eyes fading quickly from angry to desperately apologetic. Drizzt's heart sank. The child was back. Worse, she ended the conversation—was sorry she started it. That…that wasn't how it should have ended. It wasn't finished; they hadn't worked anything out yet.
He'd pushed too far too soon, he realized. And he hated leaving things undone like that—unsaid. But it was worth it. It was worth it if for no other reason than to see something in her that wasn't bred of delusion or stereotype or blasted self-absorbed dreaming… And now he knew: It was possible for her to grow. It was also possible for her to be mad at him when she knew more—hadn't he predicted that? Maturity was buried in her. By her. She could grow. And when she grew…magga cammara, his cosain would be brilliant.
He couldn't get at it right now, and he hated that. He hated waiting. The future, however, held many promises. She would be valiant, standing, strong—nothing she dreamed of but everything she wanted…
Drizzt suddenly broke into an irrepressible smile, so relieved and refreshed and determined that Andra could only blink at him in confusion. He shook his head, brushing a hand over her shoulder, and chuckled, "Ah, cosain…you and me, kid—we're going places." Then he just turned back to the clothes pile, picking up several random garments and handing them over. "Try these on, see if they fit right. I really had no idea what size you are."
Andra took the clothes dumbly without hesitation, nodding. "Yeah," she was quick to reply. She took the bundle of cloth to the adjoining bathroom and shut the door softly, as if afraid to touch things too hard.
Smile quickly fading, Drizzt blew a sigh, running his hand through his hair. Was she going to be like that for long? Probably…maybe even longer now. Maybe that marvelous flash of anger would shame her into suppressing it. Drizzt cringed at the possibility. And what—magga cammara—what on land or sea had he just told her? What "places" was he talking about so jovially? He'd just set her up for grandeur. 'Places…'
He leaned against the wall beside the table and window, looking out over the city. It wasn't quite dark yet, just enough light for one more hour. Already he could pick out the beginnings of the nighttime-crowd. The thieves, the drunkards. The beggars in the ditches. The former would wait until the respectable men had gone home to their waiting wives, and then the streets would show hidden colors. There were just as many ruffians as decent citizens (if there was such a term). But the overall sensation was dark and ominous enough to overlook the redeeming undertones.
"Go places," he said. He made it sound like they were headed for grandeur and adventure—just what she wanted. He had actually smiled at the thought of what they would find down this badger hole! And now: realization, striking with its full crushing weight. By the stones…what great new lies had he fed to her now?
….
Andra was thrilled with her new wardrobe. Most of them fit fine; the rest were too big. She loved the way she looked in them. They were simple and served only practical purposes—none of fashion—but Andra liked it that way. She had never liked fashion. She spent a while longer than it should have taken her to just try them on, because she had to stop for a few minutes and spin around in front of the mirror every time she changed. The best was an outfit that looked fit for a ranger: it was a form-fitting leather torso that went over a brown, long-sleeved shirt with those flowing kind of poofy-sleeves that shrunk at the wrists. No elastic—she loved that. Everything was real leather—and the boots; oh, they were among the best.
She now had her own cloak. It was different from the rest—he must have given some thought to the design. It was a beautiful rich brown, heavy but light enough not to be a burden. The neck and cowl—aw, she loved having a cowl—was lined in golden-brown fur that looked like it was from a deer or something like that. It was Andra's favorite piece.
When she emerged, dressed in regular shorts and a t-shirt from her own bag, Drizzt was already asleep in one of the beds. He'd left a lantern—yes, a lantern—burning on the table that was between the two beds. Andra moved as quietly as she could, putting the clothes away into two separate piles. She didn't know how they planned on taking all of it with them. But she only had three new outfits total, and then the cloak and boots, because she'd only be wearing them in towns. They could always buy new things as needed when they passed through cities.
Unsettlement returned with those thoughts. Her alias ran through her mind: Kiryana Cosain, making her feel like some kind of…actress. And that wasn't as pretty a thing to be as it sounded. She didn't like her role. No—that wasn't it. She would love to be a bard's apprentice. What she didn't like was the having of a role—the necessity to be undercover.
Why? She moved to the window, sitting on the table underneath, and tried looking out at the nighttime street. The glare from the lantern was small and warm; ordinarily it would be cozy, but not when it was screwing up your window view. Andra glanced down at the light, looking for the little tab thing that was supposed to be on the side of it. She found it alright; smirking to herself, she turned it fully to the right, expecting the flame to die down. Instead, it leapt up with a small whoosh, clearly making a target of her eyebrows. "Ohgeeze!" She jerked back with a jolt and hissed through her teeth, fumbling around the dial until she finally was able to turn it the other way. The flame shrank submissively, sulking that it hadn't burned off some hair.
Finally the lamp was out. Andra shook her head, grinding her teeth a little. Forgetting the reason she'd turned the lamp down in the first place, she left her seat on the table and went to her bed before she ended up burning the whole freakin place down. She moved painfully slow, trying to avoid the bed's creaks as she settled underneath the blankets. She rested her head on the down-stuffed pillow, ignoring the scratches on a straw-stuffed blanket, and fell asleep feeling that her world was finally new.
"I can't get close if you're not there;
I can't get inside if there's no soul to bear.
I can't fix you…I can't save you…
It's something you'll have to do.
When you find you…
Come back to me."
There were voices. She was adrift in a swirl of unsorted visions, rare flashes of clarity among blind tumult—and voices. Familiar sounds calling an old name…her name. But it sounded foreign…it wasn't Andra, or Cosain, or even Kiryana. They called her Andy. It was a name from another world. An old world. A place she'd left behind.
They kept calling at her, things like "Wake up…come back…do you hear me?" Honestly, she couldn't tell if she did hear them. Who was 'them' anyway? And why were they pulling at her again? She was back in the astral tunnel, floating and paralyzed, blind and lost. And suffocating…but when she gasped for breath, she found herself fully capable of taking in air.
She had a body this time; she felt it move with her breathing. Not the tunnel. Her eyes opened; a blurry world swirled just on the fringes of vision. Bright light assaulted her eyes and she shut them immediately. The voices rose in excitement. As feeling seeped into her limbs, she was aware of a hand in hers, gripping so hard it hurt. She squirmed her fingers around, but that only seemed to make the hand hold tighter. There were so many voices…two or three of them sounded familiar, but the others were strange and foreign and monotonous.
"Stop—she's coming around. Any more and we'll lose the progress." In response, something sharp was pulled out of the skin of her arm, pinching painfully. She opened her eyes again, squinting against the light. Ever-moving faces stared down at her, mouths covered in green paper masks, with paper hairnets on their heads. Doctors? What were they doing to her? Panic gripped her; she didn't remember any of this. She did remember that she had been asleep though and she latched onto that, hoping that it could all be some dream. It sure was fuzzy enough to be a dream…
"She's—she's awake!" A shrill voice came from the side. It was one of the familiar ones. She turned that way and saw more masked faces. Three looked so familiar it was maddening…she should know them. She had to know them…but she couldn't place any of them. Two, a middle-aged man and woman, clung to each other. Tears streamed down the woman's face and her eyes—that's all Andy could see, because of the mask—were intensely, desperately hopeful. The man's shone with tears as well, but he was holding them back. Holding the tears back…just like…he had taught her…
But when she saw the third set of eyes, her panic was quelled. She locked onto the face, that of a very young man—no more than a teenager. She knew those eyes. Out of her vague stupor, Andra's lips formed a smile. She wasn't even aware that she was speaking until she heard her own faint voice. "Ay, you…don't I know you…?"
The young eyes—purple eyes—were lit afire with broken happiness. He nodded vigorously, and she noticed a few strings of long hair escaping his hairnet. "Yes Andy, oh of course you know me! Please you have to come back okay? You know me and so you know that I need you to come back."
Andra's tiny smile spread. Yes, she knew who that was. He had always been there for her, even when he wasn't. Her hope, her guardian. The mask made him look different, but she knew those eyes. Those were the eyes of her the one being in who kept her hanging on. She closed her eyes and whispered joyously, "Drizzt…"
The young man froze. The light drained slowly from his eyes, leaving behind crushing, empty despair. "No…no, no!" Andra's eyes opened again, quickly this time. "Andy, no, that's not me, please, Andy, you know me! Don't you know me!" He came forward, grabbing at her arm. It was his hand she held, and it tightened all the more. She felt one of her knuckles pop. Andra's smile fled. What was wrong with him? It was him, wasn't it? The eyes, the eyes were the tell…Who else had those eyes?
"Drizzt…what's wrong?" she whispered. Behind him, the woman was sobbing into her husband's chest.
"Nurse, get them out of here." One of the voices ordered.
In obedience, one of the strangers came to usher them out the door. But he had to call another to help him, because the young man was struggling viciously to stay by her side. "No! Let me stay, I can talk to her—I have to keep talking to her! She hears me!" He reached for her, calling out in agony with a voice broken by sobs. "No…no...please, I have to stay; she…She hears me…"
His hand was torn from hers, and right afterwards—maybe as a result—the vision began to melt away. She slipped back into the dark inner confusion, his beautiful voice echoing as the last sound she heard.
"Please, Andra, WAKE UP! Don't you KNOW me!"
She fell away into blackness.
….
She jolted upright, covered in sweat and gasping for breath. Her wide eyes took in the setting: an old-fashioned room of an inn, bathed in the darkness of pre-dawn. She was back…she was safe in Faerun. It had been a dream…she refused to believe it was as real as it had seemed. Oh, it was so real…people say that about every dream, but really in the background you always know you're asleep. She hadn't felt that this time; it was like she really was there. But that was impossible…it was only a dream…
She'd been awakened by her own squeal of fear; it wasn't loud enough to be called a scream. But it apparently was loud enough to wake her companion. Drizzt was sitting up in the next bed, rubbing his face and groaning sleepily. "Andra…" he whispered, shaking off the sleep. He sounded annoyed. "What is it?"
"Uh…oh—nothin," she whispered. She took a slow breath, rubbing her eyes. "A dream I guess…" But she felt wetness under her fingers. Appalled, she swiped the tears away before Drizzt could see.
Drizzt did see. He didn't say anything. But instead of just going back to sleep like he'd meant to, he instead pushed off his blankets and got up. He came over and kneeled beside her bed. Andra glanced up briefly, making like she was only rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. But heck, her cover was blown. She looked down at the bed, unable to meet his eyes. He must think she was such a stupid child.
But she felt his hand on her shoulder, and it was just like any other hand but for her sight, and his soft voice said, "You're alright now, huh?"
She nodded, squeezing her eyes shut. "Yeah," she whispered.
He shook his head, voice rising to just above a whisper, as he moved his arm around her shoulders. He was so gentle now, like a big brother or a father. Not at all the face of stone. "You don't have to say so if you're not. I don't…I dunno why in the Nine you think you have to… But Cosain, you can rest now. You're in a new place…It—it's not a perfect place, so...neither do you have to be. Alright?"
"Yeah. Alright."
Drizzt didn't for once second believe that it was alright, but with nothing left to say, he was forced to drop the unresolved problem. "…Alright." He patted her once on the back as he stood, going back to his bed. He really hated to leave things undone. But what the heck else was there to do? He returned to his bed, trying to ignore the aggravating gnawing feeling, and struggled back into sleep. Unlike Robert's version of Faerun, elves slept just like everybody else.
But Andra stayed up for a long while, unmoving. She looked for a long while at Drizzt's sleeping form, his back turned to her. Finally, she lay down and slept.
"And everything, it will surely change, even if I tell you
I won't go away today.
Will you think that you're all alone, when no one's there to hold your hand?
When all you know seems so far away
And everything is temporary, rest your head;
I'm permanent."
They stood on a small hillock breaking the otherwise level path, eyes to the horizon and the wide dirt road that flew forever on. The pair together formed a single speck under the early morning sky, unacknowledged by the cool, gentle breeze that flowed in its own paths around them. The sat in the saddle and could gaze out for miles; the hills in the distance were gold.
Andra sat again in Drizzt saddle, astride yet another new horse. That morning they had risen early, and after a rushed (for some reason) breakfast in the tavern, saddled up and set out. Andra had asked where the old horse went—Drizzt told her he sold it. He had done little else, aside from rushing her through the morning, which had been silent between them except for his sparse pragmatic instructions. In the business, he'd kept her mind occupied. All thoughts of last night's horrible, foreign nightmare had flown in fear of morning light. She was in a new life, thinking about new things, wearing new clothes—all dressed up in her Kiryana costume as she went out to face the new world that didn't know her name. It was a lonely feeling, and sad in a strange way, but a refreshing one. Like standing under this sky.
He had been robotic and distracted all morning, seeming absorbed in his own thoughts. But now, as he stopped the horse with no explanation on the little overlooking hill, it didn't seem to matter that it was an odd thing to do. It was at least break in his weird, distant mood—and at most, it opened and opportunity to break the silence.
But he didn't say anything. He only stared at the distance with eyes that stayed very far away. Finally, Andra was fed up with patience. If she didn't break the glassy silence, no one would, and they would never get at the profound unspokens underneath. She asked, "Why'd you stop?"
For another annoying moment, he was silent still, then without looking at her he mumbled, "I needed to tell you…" He stopped again, shaking his head. Man, was that annoying. And just when she'd thought they were getting started.
Drizzt suddenly sighed in aggravation and moved to get down from the horse. Once down he held out a hand for Andra, and she took it with no word of protest, fearing to end the almost-conversation they were trying to start. Drizzt ran a hand through his hair, stopping at his forehead, and then suddenly shoved the mask off his face and over his head. As the mask clattered to the ground, his features changed back into his familiar ebon skin and white hair. Andra was glad for the change.
Andra was staring at him impatiently. He couldn't say silent for long, not under those eyes. He shook his head, looking down, and muttered, "I hate this for you. I…am sorry, I guess." His fingers absently entwined with the horse's thick black mane.
Andra shook her head, not understanding but denying anyway. She could tell how those words felt; she spoke connotation. "I love it here. What do you mean 'sorry'?"
He did look up then, into her eyes. His expression was doubting, his tone dry. "You love it here?"
She nodded right away. Then, it was her turn to turn her eyes down. What was it with her and eye-to-eye contact? Like she was afraid of it or something. But she talked, at least. "When I was…eh, back there…I knew it was the inferior world. I did. Every time something gimp happened, I would think: This wouldn't be a problem in Faerun. I'd say something weird, you know, and people looked at me funny—with their gimp stupid eyebrow raised up and all—when they did I would think…I mean…"
Drizzt felt his heart sink as she stopped suddenly, looking up at him with her mouth still open, like she really wanted to say it, but just…she didn't. "What?" he asked, a bit too earnestly, because she looked down again, mumbling something about 'nevermind.' So he tried again, voice gentler, as understanding as he could make it. "Andra, what?"
"Fine. I'd think: Drizzt would understand."
The drow paused, wondering if he should be surprised. He decided no, he wasn't. Of course she would think that; it's what she wanted him to be, and she didn't know him. Drizzt exhaled slowly, what might have been a very quiet sigh. "It is not what you imagined. I am not."
She looked up quickly, head already shaking, ready to assure him—no, this was a dream come true, she was so grateful to him for saving her, all that good stuff. But she stopped. That telltale little crease formed between her eyebrows: the thinking crease.
Drizzt met her eyes with a knowing gaze. "I know it isn't. Nothing can be, though. Reality doesn't know our dreams, and neither would it bend to them if it did."
Andra shook her head helplessly, trying to make herself say anything at all, for this was a moment where words most mattered. Surely she would know the perfect words—later, when it didn't matter. But for now, it was alright. Drizzt had words.
"Cosain," he began uncomfortably, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "I'm not going to promise anything I can't guarantee. I don't…I don't want to be a liar… Listen, maybe things will be alright in the end. I can't see the blasted future. Maybe all we do will end up vain."
She suddenly found a voice, small though it may be. "Some things are worth it."
Drizzt nodded absently, staring out at the road yet again with his hands in his pockets. He leaned against the horse and talked without looking. That was borderline annoying, even though it was supposed to be all spiritual: gazing out into the distance and all while you talked in riddles. "One thing, though. I can give you one promise—guaranteed—and Llolth love me if I'm not going to."
He turned, meeting her wide eyes with a deep and liquid stare. "I will always…try. To be there, and help where I can. And I can promise, too, that it…it may not be enough." Again he looked away.
Andra stared wide-eyed for many moments, until he began to worry that he'd said too much, too fast—again. Or handled it wrong. He looked back hesitantly, fearing her silence.
But then she finally piped up, a bit shakily. "This is a permanent offer?"
Drizzt's slight smile was relieved. He gave a breathy laugh. "Doubtless."
"Lifetime warranty? No fine print?"
He blinked, smile gone. "A…'warranty'?" He didn't know that word.
"Nothin." Andra smiled wryly—what a beautiful little mischievous smile that kid had. "I'll try too, then. I mean, you know. Always." Then she whistled a bit and added, "Long as you don't make a habit out o' random spirit-speeches like that one."
At that, Drizzt suddenly burst into unrestrained, uncontrollable laughter. Pure laughter—healing laughter. And while Andra was laughing at his randomness, and asking why the heck he was so weird, it only made him laugh harder. It was actually a good time to make one of his random mood changes. He only scooped up the magic mask and climbed back onto the horse. "C-come on…" he chuckled, trying to talk around lingering laughter, and held a hand out to her. She took hold.
"Ack—!" Andra yelped as he suddenly jerked hard on her arm. He swung her into the saddle, exaggerating an effort-exertion-growl as if she weighed a ton. "Yahh, there ya go. Magga cammara, go a little lighter on the breakfast, perhaps?" Andra laughed and smacked his knee playfully.
"Forward, then, Cosain! We'll make the halls within the night."
"The night, are you—wait really?"
"Well. If we break none and canter the whole way."
"Kay…what's a 'canter'?"
"Hyah!" He kicked the horse into motion. The sorrel mare whinnied and dove forward into full speed, cantering, soaring down the forever-stretched road towards the distant hills of gold.
A trail of dust rose behind them, set afire by the early copper light, and Andra's screams of laughter reverberated distantly over the open spaces.
….
Boots of tattered leather crunched the ground, slowly bringing their wearer directly into the lingering cloud of red dust. Behind, the hooves of a brown stallion followed, as its new owner tugged at its reins. The man stared out towards the same golden hills, but there was no wistfulness in his eyes—no uncertainty, no wonder. He knew what that road held. He was a veteran of it.
There was no mystery to this one, no low cowl to cover his ominous face, no flowing cloak to sway about his ankles—none of that. He was a rugged man perhaps in his late forties, with tired wrinkles around his eyes and a bright brown beard dusting his strong jaw. A very old, broken scar stretched from his brow to the edge of his nose: the remainder of a blow that had taken his left eye. He was definitely not rich. Far from it—he was a haggard. But this strange specimen looked far better suited to the untamed forest or canyon than to any street alleyway. He was old for a streettier, not matched well with the job. His bull chest and broad shoulders made a weasel-type thief the last thing you would think of. He was dressed in leather tunics and tucked his traveling pants into his boots—like a ranger. Or a lumberjack. He must have something to do with wood…
He was out here today because of his difference. All the other thieves of Iasair were wise, when stolen from, to shut their mouths and try to steal things quietly back later. Not old Cedric—of course not. Besides…he'd take anything to get away from the alleys. Those ackled ole holes of stench and gloom…Any excuse would do. Even a weak one, like retrieving a stolen artifact from a certain skinny-headed little wood elf.
They had taken his most—his only prized possession and were traveling fast away, having long gone from his sight, leaving nothing but this dispersing trail of dirt in the air. But despite the advantage in ground they were gaining, the old wanderer didn't follow right away. He was lingering, reveling, for the first time in years, in the feel of the open road. His oldest friend. His loyal companion.
Cedric Runsin breathed deep of dusty air, closing his tired brown eyes, and felt the sun warm his beard once more. "Ahh…old friend…How long it has been." he sighed in a rumbly, warming voice, placing his fists on his hips. It was good to be home. He grinned wide, the first genuine, vibrant smile he'd had in years. "I have missed you, open road."
After a few more moments to bask in the rekindling sense of a new developing venture, the rustic old stranger mounted the horse. Crazy he was, maybe. But dagnabbit if he wasn't going to have fun with it. His blade would finally drink again—he would have his quarry. When Kandren Dulra had entered Cedric's humble gutter, on appointment, he expected it to be a routine information exchange. His price was fair, of course! More than fair. It was more than any other was willing to take. The elf had protested hotly, but accepted it. Now the gruff streettier knew why; Kandren had taken back some compensation when ole Cedric wasn't looking. Thought he'd get away, too. Fool elf.
Cedric kicked the horse hard, driving it forward at a sure and steady gallop. He had all the time in the world. His hourglass was plenty full. And pity that weaselin' little skinny-headed elf brat when the sand ran out.
OITHER'S NOTEL!
*Disclaimer: I own nothing except Andra and Cedric, Drizzt belongs to R. A. Salvatore and Forgotten Realms, etc etc
*Disclaimer numbah two: The lyrics aren't mine, they're from the following songs in order: "Let Me Go" by Three Doors Down, "Boulevard of Broken Dreams" by Green Day, "Utopia" by Within Temptation, "Come Back to Me" by David Cook, and "Permanent" also by David Cook. Lots of lyric headings this time.
So, it wasn't as eventful as I'd have liked. Eh...I plot as I go. So I tried to set things up for a more action-y chapter next time, but I really need some motivation and possibly inspiration, so feedback is appreciated. =] Thanks to the ones who've been reading!^^