Maestro by R. A. Salvatore Read Free Book Online Page A

tendays,” the woman explained.
    “You had something heavy to lift?” Jarlaxle quipped. He understood the magic of that belt, which offered great physical strength to the wearer.
    “To study it in Luskan,” Catti-brie replied with a laugh.
    Jarlaxle shook his head, hardly believing the sight in front of his eyes.
    “He said he was a friend of King Bruenor’s, loyal to the last,” Cattibrie reminded. “He took the oath of kith’n kin more solemnly than any, so the whispers say.”
    “You mean to make such a girdle for Bruenor?” the mercenary asked. “You are capable of making such a girdle?” Clear excitement filled Jarlaxle’s voice with that second question, as if he were seeing some real possibilities.
    But Catti-brie laughed those away. “Someday, perhaps,” she said. “But no, a girdle of this quality is rare and filled with an older magic I fear broken by the Spellplague.”
    “The Spellplague is gone.”
    “But the Weave is not fully regained, and the Art of the time before is . . . well, this is our trial in trying to rebuild the Hosttower.”
    Jarlaxle conceded that and preceded Catti-brie into the Forge room, where Athrogate stood waiting by the Great Forge of Gauntlgrym.
    How his face brightened when Catti-brie handed him back his magical girdle, which he wasted no time in securing about his ample waist.
    “And for me?” Catti-brie asked.
    “Already in the oven,” the dwarf explained. “Ye got yer spells ready?”
    Catti-brie nodded and motioned to the glowing oven, and Athrogate gathered up his tongs, set the heavy leather apron over his head, and leaned in.
    Jarlaxle watched it all from behind, and his curiosity only heightened when the dwarf pulled forth, and quickly dipped in the water trough, a mithral piece, octagonal and about the size of Jarlaxle’s palm.
    Athrogate drew it back out and held it up in front of Catti-brie’s eyes, the woman already deep in spellcasting. A blue mist curled out of the sleeves of her multicolored, shimmering blouse.
    Jarlaxle edged closer, trying to get a better look. “A belt buckle?” he whispered under his breath. He noted a carving on its face of a bow, and one that looked like a tiny image of Taulmaril the Heartseeker, once Catti-brie’s bow, but now carried by Drizzt.
    Catti-brie finished her spell and raised her hand to touch the item, and when she did a blue spark burst forth, sizzling in the air, and the woman fell back.
    “Supposed to do that, is it?” Athrogate asked.
    “I hope,” Catti-brie said with a laugh. She bit it back quickly, though, and turned to Jarlaxle. “If you tell him, you and I will have a problem,” she warned.
    “Tell him? Tell who? And tell him what?”
    The woman smiled and nodded. “Good,” she said, and took the buckle from Athrogate and dropped it into her pouch.
    “Did you get the rest?”
    “The blood? Aye. Amber’s got it. She’ll get it to ye shortly.”
    “The blood?” Jarlaxle asked.
    “The less you know, the better the chances that we will remain friends,” Catti-brie pointedly told him. She pointed to the other end of the room, where the solemn procession of dwarves had begun. The trio fell in with them as they made their way to the highest level of the complex. They found Drizzt in the throne room, then went with him to find King Bruenor in his upper war room, not far away. He was meeting with Ragged Dain, Oretheo Spikes, the Fellhammer sisters, and the other dwarf commanders around a table set with a detailed map of the complex. “Ah, time for a ceremony, then,” Bruenor said upon seeing them.
    Catti-brie held up her hand. “Not just yet, me Da,” she replied. “Might we be speakin’ with ye?”
    Bruenor glanced all around and nodded. “Aye.”
    “Alone?” Catti-brie asked.
    Bruenor glanced around again. “It is about the hall, then?”
    The woman nodded.
    “Then here and now,” Bruenor said, motioning for the other dwarves to rest easy. “Any word o’ the hall is a word for