Catti-Brie looked up as her father stepped into the chamber Drizzt was resting in.
He had a stubborn frown on his face, and she knew even before he spoke that neither of them was going to like what he said next.
"Mebbe I wasn't seein' what I thought I was seein'." His voice was gruff with the discomfort of admitting he could have been wrong. "Th' elf was screamin' and I thought the boy did it." He looked down at their unconscious friend. One of his calloused dwarven hands reached to rest on his human daughter's shoulders.
"I shouldn't have hit him," she said. "Drizzt screams now, when we're tryin' to get the dagger out." She sat in silence for a moment. "Maybe he's tellin' the truth. Maybe the woman really can take it out."
Bruenor shook his head, more in confusion than denial. "I ain't trustin' either one of them, but something has to get done."
Catti-Brie rose to her feet. "Lets go get her. We have to do something."
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Brionne tried digesting everything he had learned in the past few moments. Drizzt lived. The thought gave him more relief than he would have thought possible a week before. He had to assume that if he, Drizzt, and the hunter lived, that Nala lived as well.
The dagger. He wracked his brain, trying to remember everything he had ever seen or heard of such a thing. It had rules, he knew that. All man's-magic had rules. The dagger goes in. The slaver takes it out. Was it the specific person, or could anyone remove it if the conditions were right? What would the slaver want the condition to be?
He tried to understand the strange folk who had questioned him. Drizzt's friends, or so they claimed, were a strange lot; at first violent and angry, then willing to listen. The parting words sent a shiver through him. Magical interrogation. Could it be worse than the collar? Would his mind, the one part of him that had never been defiled, the one place he had as a refuge, be ravished and laid bare?
A short scuff in the pitch black darkness sent a spear of fear through him. He pulled himself upright; preparing to face whatever was to come. A hand touched his arm and he jumped. A tight grip kept him from falling over. The person's head rested on his shoulder for a moment, and he knew. The hair was straight like his, the form slight, like his.
"Nala." He tried to say against the gag. She hugged tight around his shoulders. Blind fingers searched up his neck and along his jaw. Her touch brushed over the swelling around his eye and he hissed at the sharp pain. His mouth was so dry, his jaw so tired. He turned his head, putting the knot of the gag at Nala's fingertips.
As she worked the knot, he tried to formulate a plan. Should we try to run? The thought was daunting. He didn't know anything of the passages here, and had heard the voices of guards, in addition to the two he had seen... The people were friends of Drizzt, but still the idea of fleeing and leaving him here left Brionne feeling pained.
A scream, heart-wrenching and primal, echoed through the caves. The pair of runaways froze, eyes wide in the perfect darkness, listening as it faded. The rope gag fell loose around his head, and he spit it out.
Drizzt. Part of him marveled that they took his word and made the hunter try to remove the blade. All of him despaired that it had not worked.
Nala started working on the bindings behind his back, but he shook her off. "They will be back soon."
She put a hand on his back to steady him, and kept working. He shrugged again, pulling the knot from her fingers.
"Nala, we cannot be a threat when they come back." She kept working. "They'll hurt you." She kept working. "They'll hurt me."
Her hands stilled. She leaned in and rested her head against the back of his shoulder. "Just stay with me." He whispered. "It will be alright." Even to himself, little hope could be heard in his voice.
Torchlight flickered beyond the small chamber, coming closer.
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The hunter, back in her makeshift cell, finally resigned herself to the fact that there would be no easy snatch and grab here. The friends of the Fey would be coming with magical interrogation for her soon, and her sham would fall to pieces. The fact that they had believed the slave enough to force her to try pulling the dagger out showed that he had wormed his way into their confidences, at least a little bit.
He really was a magnificent creature, she mused as she reached down, slipping the tiniest of blades from the top of her boot. It was less than an inch long, had a blunted side instead of a handle, and was sharp as a natural weapon could be. The Fey's screams had brought her no pleasure. This was not victory. This was not the culmination of a hunt done well.
Working with careful haste, she sawed through the ropes that held her wrists. The position was awkward, but still took her only moments.
She stretched in the darkness, relishing her reacquired freedom. Now, all that was left to do was to evade these strange people and get her bearings. From there she could decide to recapture the slaves or to send to Relder for more reinforcements.
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Catti-Brie, Bruenor by her side, left the leather-clad huntress tied in her chamber and went to go visit the young man. She felt tired, in her heart, and in her body. The woman had not been able to pull the dagger as the man had promised, but she couldn't even muster true anger at him.
Alustriel's departure felt like it had been days ago, instead of only hours. Drizzt was weaker after the failed attempt at pulling the dagger. Come back to us. It had become her silent mantra, her prayer to whatever gods may be watching over them. Let him come back to us.
She just wanted to talk with the man again, to tell him what had happened, to see if he could think of any other way the dagger could be removed.
They turned the corner into the man's chamber, and the first thing she saw was the rope he had been gagged with hanging loose around his shoulders, his mouth free to cast spells. Her bow was in her hands before she even thought about it; an arrow nocked and pulled back to her cheek.
Blue eyes met silver; the blue filled with pain and anger, the silver with pain and fear.
"Please," he begged her, all trace of pride or arrogance gone now. "Please, I thought it could work." He shifted his body and she saw that he was shielding something, or rather someone, behind him; the girl who should have been in the other chamber.
He thinks I'm here to kill him, Catti-Brie thought in shock. Her second coherent thought was, and he has no spells to cast or he would have used them as we came in.
She lowered the bow. "We didn't come for your head." She said, resigned. She stepped around the young man, reaching for the girl's arm. The dark-haired woman clung to the man's back, a soft whimper in her throat.
"Please." The man began again. "Please, for pity's sake, leave her be." He turned his shoulder, trying to separate the two.
"We are no threat to you." He said, desperation and sorrow in his voice.
Catti-Brie stepped back. "Fine." She sighed, unable to meet his eyes. The sight of his bruised eye filled her with guilt.
"He weakens." The young man's voice was soft, and they both knew who he spoke of. With reluctance, she nodded.
"It has to come out or he will die."
"We know that." Bruenor grumbled. "Now tell us how."
The young man hung his head low with exhaustion as he thought. The girl behind him clung to his back, seeming terrified of being even an inch away from him. Their loyalty to each other touched Catti-Brie.
"A rule," the young man muttered. "There has to be a rule. When would a slaver want the blade to be removed? Under what conditions?" His head snapped up. "Bind him." His voice was so sure, so confident. His eyes glittered with what may have been madness. "It is all I can think of. It must be right."