Haze and I followed, reaching the island just as Joen completed her lap of the structure. “No door,” she said, but she was still smiling.
“You think it’s magically hidden, maybe?” I asked.
“Oi, I sure hope so!” Joen said.
“You like magic,” I noted.
Joen nodded enthusiastically.
“A bit too much, I think,” I said, looking up at the seemingly impenetrable tower.
She scoffed and said, “Hey, this was all your idea. And besides, ain’t no such thing as liking something too much.”
“That, my dear girl,” said a voice, “is simply not true.”
A man strode out from the wall—directly through the wall, not through some concealed door—as if he were some sort of apparition, some ghost. Joen jumped a bit, startled. Her eyes went wide, her mouth dropped open, and I thought she was about to scream.
She laughed instead, a deep, heartfelt, truly joyous laugh. Something about it seemed weird to me—unlike her.
“Charming,” the man said with a mysterious smile. He stood tall, with neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper hair. His clothing was plain—simple breeches and a tunic—but it looked finely tailored and probably expensive.
“You would be Malchor Harpell,” I said. “I’m Maimun, and this is Joen. We’ve been looking for you.”
“Obviously,” he said. “Those who aren’t looking for me rarely find me. It’s one of the many benefits of living in a mystical tower, you see. The question, then, is not whether you are looking for me, it is why you are looking for me.”
Joen skipped lightly over to the tall man. “We need some help,” she said, her voice rising and falling as if in song. “Someone said you can help us, and we need some help.”
She seemed way too giddy. “Joen …,” I started to say.
Malchor Harpell laughed. “Well, that begs two questions: what do you need help with, and who told you I could help you?”
“Drizzt Do’Urden,” I answered.
“If you need help with him, I cannot assist you,” he said, his voice suddenly darker, and Joen abruptly stopped laughing.
“No,” I said, looking at Joen, who seemed at once angry and confused. “It was Drizzt who sent us.”
“Drizzt sent you,” Joen said, blinking and rubbing her eyes. “I never met him, though. I just followed along.” She looked up at the tower, the magnificent structure rising to catch the very last rays of the sun, and the very first light of the stars, twinkling in the night sky. “Oi, but I’m glad I did!”
“Joen, what’s wrong with you?” I snapped.
She shook her head, but it was Malchor Harpell who answered, “That was me.” He winked and passed a single finger in front of Joen’s face. Joen blinked back and shook her head as though she had just awakened from a deep sleep. “The bridge doesn’t last all night, I’m afraid, and you seemed … cautious.”
“Was that some kind of sp—?” Joen started, but seemed afraid to say the word “spell.” A chill ran down my spine, but Joen seemed no worse for wear.
“If Drizzt sent you,” Malchor Harpell went on, “then surely you can tell me who he travels with.”
“Wulfgar,” I said. “A giant man of the North. And a dwarf called Bruenor, and a woman named Catti-brie. Oh, and there’s a halfling, what’s his name? Regis, I think.”
Malchor nodded. “And what did he think I could do for you?”
“Information,” I said. “About this.”
I unfastened the top few buttons of my shirt, reached in and withdrew the magical stone from its pouch. It was heavy, perfectly smooth, and black. I held it up for Malchor to see.
The wizard’s eyes widened.
“It’s the Stone of—,” I began.
“I know what it is,” he said, quickly regaining his composure. “May I?” He held out his hand to take it, but I hesitated.
Malchor took a step back and waved his hand to indicate the sparkling emerald tower.
“Where are my manners?” he said. “Please, come inside and be welcome.”
He reached out to the shimmering wall and traced the vague outline of a door. Even before he finished, a door appeared in the place he’d outlined, emerging into being and swinging open at the same time.
Joen stepped back one step. I stepped back two.
“A friend sent you to me,” the wizard said. “If you need information, you must let me examine the object.”
“You just said you know what it is,” I said.
“I also know it is bound to its bearer,” he replied, “so there is no point in my stealing it. As I said, if you need information, you must trust me.”
“Oi, if he wanted to just take it, he could have, you know?” Joen piped in, taking two steps toward the door. “I mean, look at this place, right? If he can make this, you think you can stop him?”
“Wise words, if a bit misguided,” Malchor said. “I helped create the tower, ’tis true, but I did not make it alone. Please …”
He motioned to the door again, and Joen brushed past me to step into the dim green light beyond, winking at me as she passed. I thought of the spell that had made her giddy and adventurous. Was she under its influence again? And if so, why wasn’t I?
“You could take the stone from me any time you want to,” I said, and the wizard nodded. “But you want me to hand it to you.”
“I am not your enemy, young Maimun.”
“How do you know my name?”
“I know many things, many things that may help you, but first.…” He held out his hand.
I thought for a moment, then placed the stone in his palm.
“Good,” he said. “Now, let us go in out of this chill wind and brewing storm. You can tell me your tale, and I will see if I can help you.”
Malchor turned and walked back into the tower before I could finish.
I gently grabbed Haze’s mane, expecting resistance from the horse, but she walked through the shimmering door ahead of me. I followed quickly.
I found myself in a mostly empty circular stone room. There were two other exits: a large wooden door and an open archway leading to a stone staircase. The door had disappeared behind me even as I stepped through it. Malchor stood at the archway and Joen skipped over to him.
“What of Haze?” I asked, finishing my previous thought.
“A fine name for a fine horse,” Malchor said. “She’ll find her own way to the stables, I think.”
“Stables?” I asked, looking around doubtfully. “The tower’s not that big.”
“It’s bigger than you think,” Malchor assured me with a sly wink.
Haze let out a soft snort and walked to the wooden doors, which swung open at her approach.
“She’ll find fresh food and a soft bed of hay awaiting her,” Malchor said. “Now, come, let us find more comfortable surroundings for ourselves.” He turned and walked to the stairs, Joen right behind him.
I followed them up what seemed a dozen sets of winding stairs, past doors open and closed, rooms and side passages, until finally we entered Malchor Harpell’s great hall. The room seemed at once huge and cozy. The table was grand, stretching a dozen yards, but there were only three chairs, all set neatly around one end of the table. Malchor took one chair, motioning for Joen and me to take the others.
“Now, you can tell me your tale in full,” he said. “And when you’re finished, we will have a meal and discuss what comes next.”
Back at the village, Tessa had set us a wonderful meal—cozy, friendly, with plenty of good food and good conversation. It had been a welcome break from a rough road.
But it paled in comparison to the feast laid out by Malchor Harpell. The meal covered only a small portion of his great table, but the food was piled high, and though we pulled hungrily from the pile, it never seemed to diminish. The whole crew of Sea Sprite could have eaten here without trouble until they were full to bursting.
Joen and I, for our part, stuffed ourselves. Malchor ate as well, th
ough not nearly so much. He could feast like this every day if he wanted to, I supposed, but we travelers had eaten only dry bread and salted meats for the last tenday and a half.
Malchor kept silent throughout the meal, and neither Joen nor I took enough time between bites to say much. After what seemed hours, I pushed my chair back from the table, full and satisfied. A few moments later, Joen followed suit.
Malchor stared at us for a long while. I wondered whether he was waiting for something, waiting for me to speak up. But I had no idea what to say, so I stayed quiet.
“I can help you,” Malchor said at last, taking the stone from a pocket and placing it on the table. “I do have some information and a good idea where you could find more.”
“That’s great,” I said, beaming.
Joen put her hand on my shoulder and opened her mouth to give congratulations, but only a belch came out. Her hand shot to her mouth and she blushed, but the wizard didn’t seem to notice.
“However, information is a valuable thing,” he continued.
“We have no coin to pay you,” I replied.
“No, but we have this, eh?” Joen said, pulling the sparkling sapphire from her pocket and placing it on the table.
“I don’t care to put a merchant’s price on knowledge,” Malchor said. “I seek something else.”
“And what is that?” I asked.
“Two things: First, trust. You’ve already demonstrated that by turning over the stone when I asked. But second, and more important, discipline.”
I waited for him to continue, but he said nothing. “I don’t understand,” I said at last.
“I’ll explain, then. I require first that you trust in me, that you believe I can and will help you.”
“We do trust that,” I said. “Drizzt trusts you, so I trust you.”
“That you trust the dark elf is wise of you,” he said. “But as I said, the second price is more important.”
“Discipline,” I said. “What kind of discipline?”
“The kind of discipline it takes to resist asking that very question,” he replied.
“I’ve traveled up and down the Sword Coast, fighting all sorts of monsters. I’m bound to that stone magically. And you don’t think I deserve some information about it?”
“I don’t think you’re ready for it, no,” the wizard said. “You’re a child, Maimun, and I am deeply sorry for whatever has caused you to come into contact with an artifact of this immense importance. How it bound itself to you, at your age, is a question I will puzzle over for some time, I’m sure. Now, if you do not trust my judgment, take the stone back and leave. Otherwise, follow me.”
The wizard rose to his feet. With some difficulty, I rose too, and Joen did likewise.
“I didn’t come here to—”
The wizard turned on me and I almost choked trying to stop talking. His eyes were so cold, but when I took a deep breath, his expression warmed and he said, “Discipline,” once more.
“Discipline,” Joen repeated, and I wasn’t sure if she was making fun of me or Malchor Harpell. For her sake, I hoped it was me. The wizard didn’t even notice.
We climbed two more sets of stairs, crossed through an ornate set of double doors, and went down a long, winding, narrow passage. The whole way, no one spoke a word. The only sound was the clomp of our booted feet on the hard stone.
Finally we stopped at a single plain wooden door. Malchor pushed it open, revealing a large circular chamber with a low-ceiling and the walls lined with bookshelves. Two more doors, also plain wood, opened out from the room, one to the left, the other to the right. In the center of the room stood a strange contraption that I could not identify, but that looked sort of like an ornate pillar.
“Welcome to the Martial Hall,” Malchor said, striding purposefully into the room. Joen and I followed. “Herein you will prove your discipline.”
“How?” I asked, but Malchor motioned for me to be silent.
“Maimun, please come stand over here,” Malchor said, motioning me toward one of the doors. “And you, young lady, stand on the opposite side of the room.”
We complied, and Malchor walked back to the middle of the room.
“These books contain many secrets of mental discipline and martial prowess. Meditation and sword fighting, willpower and open-hand combat—all the tools you will need to become warriors are within. And this”—he rested his hand on the odd contraption in the room’s center, a tall pillar made of several circular stone pieces stacked upon each other, each with many stone protrusions—“will be your sparring partner.”
Malchor walked from the pillar to one of the doors and continued, “The doors each lead to a small bedchamber. These will be your quarters for as long as you stay here.”
“And how long is that, eh?” Joen asked.
“Until the last snows of winter have receded and the land is in the full bloom of spring,” he replied.
“Not so long,” Joen said. “We can handle that, I think.”
“Seems long to me,” I grumbled.
“Until the land blooms … next year,” Malchor finished.
My words caught in my throat.
“If you can stay here for a year and a month learning what I have to teach you, you might just survive what is ahead for you.” He turned to face me directly. “You must release your arrogance, your impertinence. It will only hold you back. Force your ego down into yourself, hold it at bay, and you will have proven your discipline sufficient, and I shall answer your questions.” He walked back to the threshold of the door we’d entered from. “I have to know if you carry the stone, or if the stone carries you.”
That sent a chill down my spine, but still I said, “We can’t stay a year.”
“Oi, why can’t we?” Joen asked. “Warm beds, good food, a roof over our heads? This place is a paradise! I could stay here forever, you know?”
I looked at the wizard and asked in as low a voice as I could, hoping Joen wouldn’t hear, “Are you making her say that?”
“Oi, what?” she said. She’d heard me and was not happy.
Malchor smiled and shook his head, and I believed him.
Glancing between Joen and Malchor, I could hardly find words. “But, we’re going to … we have to …”
“To destroy the Stone of Tymora”—Malchor held up the fist-sized object—“an artifact of no minor power, and thus a task of no small difficulty.” He tossed it to me, and I caught it easily. “And tell me, where do you plan to go from here?”
I pondered a moment. “I’ll find Drizzt,” I said finally. “He’ll help me.”
“Drizzt Do’Urden is currently engaged in preparations for a war,” Malchor said. “He’ll be too distracted with his own troubles to offer you help. I am the only one who can help you now.”
I thought a long while, trying to find some alternative, some way out. But Malchor was right. This was the only place I knew to look. If I got nothing from Malchor, I would have no direction at all. And somehow, I doubted the luck imparted by the mystical artifact would aid me much in finding the means to destroy it.
After several long moments, I nodded my assent.
“It’s settled then,” Malchor said. Across the room from me, Joen was practically beaming. She’d never had a home at all, I realized. An orphan child, the closest thing to a home she’d ever known were those ships she’d crewed. Then again, I hadn’t had a true home since my time back in the High Forest with Elbeth, which had ended when I was but six years old.
“You’ll find clean clothes and weapons waiting for you in your bedrooms,” Malchor said. “You will not leave this room and its adjoining areas except when I gather you for meals.”
Joen’s smile disappeared in a flash.
“Discipline,” he reminded. She grimaced, but nodded.
Malchor gave a curt bow and spun on his heel. The door slammed shut behind him.
“Oi, he wasn’t serious about not being able to leave this room except for meals, was
he?” Joen asked me.
It was going to be a long year.
Part Two
THE SENTINELS
“So ye got yerself stuck on land fer a year?” the pirate captain asked. “Sounds like a prison sentence, yar?”
Most of the pirates had taken seats on the soft sand. Weapons had long since been put away. I perched on a rock, sitting above the crowd, speaking down to them as though I were the smallest person in the crowd. My own cutlass—rather, the one I’d stolen from one of the pirates—lay across my lap.
The only person still standing was the pirate captain himself. Despite his wooden leg, he stood tall and firm as I spoke.
“More like a boarding school,” I said.
“It could’ve been worse, then, eh?” the captain offered.
“Yeah, I could have been stuck here for a year.”
“Aye, that’d be worse by far!” he said. “It be summer now, but ye should see th’ place in th’ winter!”
“How far north are we?” I asked. “I was adrift for a while before you picked me up.”
“And asleep for a good while after that,” the pirate agreed. “The shore across the narrows, tha’ be near Neverwinter Wood. So we’re pretty near th’ same latitude as yer Tower o’ Twilight.”
“Well, I didn’t get much view of the weather that year, winter or otherwise. Actually, I didn’t get much view other than the inside of those two rooms, plus the great hall where we took our meals.”
“Aye,” the captain said, “and ye learnt all about fighting a dummy!”
The whole crew got a long and hearty laugh out of that one.
“Can I get back to my story now?” I asked finally.
“O’ course, me boy. But I’ve a fair wager I know how it ends.”
CHAPTER NINE
Malchor Harpell had called them kuo-toa, but I could only think of them as a shark’s worst nightmare.
They stood on two legs, like a man, and had two arms and a head, but that was where any resemblance was overwhelmed by the sheer alienness, the disturbing wrongness of the growling fish-men. Their heads were massive—way too big for their squat but sturdy bodies. Their eyes might have been a beautiful shade of blue on a human, but on them, the orbs were bulging, slimy, wet things the size of dinner plates that goggled from the creatures’ green-scaled heads. Their huge mouths, in the shape of an upside down U, were so packed with bony fangs that were so long and sharp the kuo-toa couldn’t close their mouths. The sound the creatures made was like water going down a drain.
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