“No,” said Grimsmal, shaking his head as he looked knowingly at Obould. “The whispers are true, then. King Obould’s war is over.”

The chieftain wisely kept his tone flat and non-judgmental, but Dukka’s wide eyes betrayed the general’s shock, albeit briefly.

“We pause to see how many roads are open to us,” Obould explained.

“Roads to victory?” asked General Dukka.

“Victory in ways you cannot yet imagine,” said Obould, and he wagged his large head and showed a confident and toothy grin. For greater effect, he brought one of his huge fists up on the table before him, and clenched it tightly so that the muscles of his bare forearm bulged and twisted to proportions that pointedly reminded the other orcs of the superiority of this creature. Grimsmal was large by orc standards, and a mighty warrior, which was how he had attained the leadership of his warrior tribe, of course. But even he blanched before the spectacle of Obould’s sheer power. Truly it seemed that if the orc king had been holding a block of granite in that hand, he would have easily ground it to dust.

No less overpowering was Obould’s expression of supreme confidence and power, heightened by his disciplined detachment to Kna’s writhing and purring at his side.

Grimsmal and General Dukka left that meeting having no idea what Obould was planning, but having no doubt of Obould’s certainty in that plan. Obould watched them go with a knowing smile that the two would not plot against him. The orc king grabbed Kna and yanked her around before him, deciding that it was time to celebrate.

The body was frozen solid, and Wulfgar and Drizzt could not bend Delly’s arms back down against her. Tenderly, Wulfgar took the blankets from his pack and wrapped them around her, keeping her face exposed to the last, as if he wanted her to see his sincere remorse and sorrow.

“She did not deserve this,” Wulfgar said, standing straight and staring down at the poor woman. He looked at Drizzt, who stood with Guenhwyvar at his side, one hand on the tuft at the back of the panther’s neck. “She had her life in Luskan before I arrived to steal her from it.”

“She chose the road with you.”

“Foolishly,” Wulfgar replied with a self-deprecating laugh and sigh.

Drizzt shrugged as if the point was moot, which of course it was. “Many roads end suddenly, in the wilds and also in the alleyways of Luskan. There is no way of truly knowing where a road will lead until it is walked.”

“Her trust in me was misplaced, I fear.”

“You did not bring her out here to die,” said Drizzt. “Nor did you drive her from the safety of Mithral Hall.”

“I did not hear her calls for help. She told me that she could not suffer the dwarven tunnels, but I would not hear.”

“And her way was clear across the Surbrin, had that been the route she truly wanted. You are no more to blame for this than is Catti-brie, who did not anticipate the reach of that wicked sword.”

The mention of Catti-brie jolted Wulfgar a bit, for he knew that she felt the weight of guilt indeed about Khazid’hea’s apparent role in Delly Curtie’s tragic death.

“Sometimes what is, just is,” said Drizzt. “An accident, a cruel twist of fate, a conjunction of forces that could not have been anticipated.”

Wulfgar nodded, and it seemed as if a great weight had been lifted from his broad shoulders. “She did not deserve this,” he said again.

“Nor did Dagnabbit, nor did Dagna, nor did Tarathiel, and so many others, like those who took Colson across the Surbrin,” said Drizzt. “It is the tragedy of war, the inevitability of armies crashing together, the legacy of orcs and dwarves and elves and humans alike. Many roads end suddenly—it is a reality of which we should all be aware—and Delly could just as easily have fallen to a thief in the dark of Luskan’s night, or have been caught in the middle of a brawl in the Cutlass. We know for certain only one thing, my friend, that we will one day share in Delly’s fate. If we walk our roads solely to avoid such an inevitability, if we step with too much caution and concern…”

“Then we should just as well lie under the snow and let the cold find our bones,” Wulfgar finished. He nodded with every word, assuring Drizzt that he needn’t worry about the weight of harsh reality bending Wulfgar low.

“You will go for Colson?” Drizzt asked.

“How could I not? You speak of our responsibility to ourselves in choosing our roads with courage and acceptance, yet there remains our responsibility to others. Mine is to Colson. It is the pact I willingly accepted when I took her from Meralda of Auckney. Even if I were assured that she was safe with the goodly refugees who crossed the Surbrin, I could not abandon my promise to Colson’s mother, nor to the girl.

“For yourself there is Gauntlgrym?” Wulfgar asked. “Beside Bruenor?”

“That is his expectation, and my duty to him, yes.”

Wulfgar gave a nod and scanned the horizon.

“Perhaps Bruenor is right, and Gauntlgrym will show us an end to this war,” said Drizzt.

“There will be another war close behind,” Wulfgar said with a helpless shrug and chuckle. “It is the way of things.”

“Biggrin,” Drizzt said, drawing a smile from his large friend.

“Indeed,” said Wulfgar. “If we cannot change the way of things, then we are wise to enjoy the journey.”

“You knew that I would duck, yes?”

Wulfgar shrugged. “I figured that if you did not, it was—”

“—the way of things,” Drizzt finished with him.

They shared a laugh and Wulfgar looked down at Delly once more, his face somber. “I will miss her. She was so much more than she appeared. A fine companion and mother. Her road was difficult for all her days, but she oft found within herself a sense of hope and even joy. My life is lessened with her passing. There is a hole within me that will not be easily filled.”

“Which cannot be filled,” Drizzt corrected. “That is the thing of loss. And so you will go on, and you will take solace in your memories of Delly, in the good things you shared. You will see her in Colson, though the girl was not of her womb. You will feel her beside you on occasion, and though the sadness will ever remain, it will settle behind treasured memories.”

Wulfgar bent down and gently slid his arms beneath Delly and lifted her. It didn’t appear as if he was holding a body, for the frozen form did not bend at all. But he hugged her close to his chest and moisture filled his bright blue eyes.

“Do you now hate Obould as much as I do?” Drizzt asked.

Wulfgar didn’t reply, but the answer that came fast into his thoughts surprised him. Obould was just a name to him, not even a symbol on which he could focus his inner turmoil. Somehow he had moved past rage and into acceptance.

It is what it is, he thought, echoing Drizzt’s earlier sentiments, and Obould diminished to become a circumstance, one of many. An orc, a thief, a dragon, a demon, an assassin from Calimport—it did not matter.

“It was good to fight beside you again,” Wulfgar said, and in such a tone as to give Drizzt pause, for the words sounded more like a farewell than anything else.

Drizzt sent Guenhwyvar out to the point, and side-by-side, he and Wulfgar began their trek back to Mithral Hall, with Wulfgar holding Delly close all the way.