"I promise," she said.
The girl very slowly and deliberately repositioned the moss in the palm of her hand and began to cast her spell. She mumbled a simple arcane phrase under her breath, nearly tongue-tied by words that at any other time she could have delivered with practiced ease.
Don't often have to cast with a dragon threatening to eat you, she thought as she finished the spell.
The pale green glow of moss transformed into a brighter white glow, like that of a torch, emanating from the glove on Lynaelle's hand. She held it there for a moment, fearful that the dragon might devour her despite her obedience, but when the beast simply blinked in the glow of the magical light, Lynaelle breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Then she turned her attention back to the passage.
Grabbing onto the side of the tunnel, she pulled herself up and stood just inside the opening. With her glowing glove thrust out in front of her, Lynaelle peered deeper into the depths of the passage.
The glitter of many sparkling things shone back at her, and she gasped softly.
The tunnel was not long, perhaps ten paces, and it opened into another chamber, that one also rimed in ice, at the far end. The brilliant shine of coins, jewels, and precious works of art reflected Lynaelle's light.
As Torixileos had promised, an orc lay at the far end of the tunnel, near where the passage opened into the treasure chamber. The creature was sprawled out on its stomach, facing away from Lynaelle. It wore thick fur like armor wrapped around its torso and limbs, kept snug against its body with tied straps of leather. Its back rose and fell softly with each breath. It was alive, but not moving.
Lynaelle wasn't sure whether to draw her dagger or use magic to kill the thing. She hesitated to move closer, unsure of the orc's condition.
"Drag it here so that I may eat it, then bring me my treasure," Torixileos said from behind her. "Now."
Shivering in apprehension, Lynaelle felt trapped between the dangers both behind and in front of her.
The dragon was by far the more terrifying threat, though, so she began to creep closer to the orc, her dagger held defensively in front of herself. She had never been very good with it, carrying the weapon only because Ambriel had insisted she have something else with which to defend herself when magic wasn't an option. Still, her fingers twitched with the desire to let loose with her spells, to sling a magical missile at the orc from a safe distance.
"Stop wasting time," the dragon growled, his voice reverberating down the passage. "I want my treasure!"
Lynaelle jumped at the sound, nearly cracking her head on the roof of the tunnel. The orc groaned softly, making her freeze in her tracks.
"Why can't you just breathe on it and kill it from there?" she asked timidly, cocking her head slightly to one side without taking her eyes off the humanoid. "Then I can get your treasure much more easily."
"Because it cannot-because I do not wish it!" the dragon roared, his chilling breath wafting over Lynaelle's back and making her jump again. "Now obey me, or I shall eat you! Hurry!"
Shaking her head miserably, Lynaelle took another tentative step closer to the orc. She clutched the dagger in a death grip, and she could see the blade trembling from her own fear. Then she took another step, and another. She was within two paces of the orc. She took a deep breath and steeled herself to lunge down for the killing blow, planning to grab the creature by its unruly green hair and yank her dagger sharply across its throat.
As she braced herself and prayed to Mystra for the courage to follow through, Lynaelle took another look at the treasure just beyond the orc, stalling.
What she saw amazed her. True to every tale of dragons the girl had ever heard, riches were scattered in every corner of the chamber. Coins spilled out of overflowing chests and formed huge, ice-caked piles all across the floor. Gems and jewelry sparkled everywhere, embedded in thick blocks of the frozen stuff. And everywhere that Lynaelle looked, artifacts of gold, silver, and adamantine were scattered, many of them coated in a crystal-clear sheen. Everything glinted in the light of Lynaelle's spell, sparkling and shining brightly. Even the chests, coated as they were in thick layers of ice, reflected the girl's illumination.
A low growl from behind her snapped Lynaelle out of her brief distraction, and she knew she could hesitate no longer. She took a final step toward the orc, her dagger still thrust out threateningly. When nothing happened, she nudged the orc with the toe of her boot.
The creature groaned softly and stirred.
"Stop it," the orc mumbled softly, barely loud enough for the girl to hear.
Startled, Lynaelle retreated a step, holding her dagger in front of herself with both hands.
"Kill it now, before it wakes up!" Torixileos roared from the far end.
Lynaelle glanced back toward the entrance to the tunnel and saw one of the dragon's forelegs shoved down the passage, its claws extended, grasping for her. She yelped in alarm and darted forward, terrified of being impaled on one of the deadly talons. In her haste, the half-elf stumbled over one of the orc's legs and went sprawling, landing next to the creature in a heap. Her gloved hand-the one with the magical light still emanating from it- hit the floor of the tunnel right next to the orc's face.
The glare of her spell made it flinch back, and it opened one eye to look at her. The other, she saw, was swollen shut. A gash across its forehead leaked dark blood.
Lynaelle shrieked once and jerked her hand away, scrambling on hands and knees to get beyond the orc. Abject terror lent her speed, but not grace. She slipped and skidded along the frozen floor, barely making any headway.
Behind the girl, the dragon's claw withdrew, replaced by the glaring eye of the beast again. As the orc lifted its head and peered around groggily, Lynaelle moved herself into a seated position with her feet closest to the orc's head. She raised one booted foot, aiming it at the humanoid's face, ready to kick it unconscious again.
"Yes," Torixileos gloated, watching. "Bring the thief to me! Shove it to me so that I may eat it!"
Lynaelle drew her foot back, prepared to pummel the orc, her heart thudding sharply in her chest. Terror was giving her strength. She thought she might just drive the orc down the tunnel to the waiting dragon with one powerful kick.
"Wait," the orc said weakly, looking at her with its one good eye. "I'm not the thief."
Lynaelle froze.
At the far end of the tunnel, Torixileos roared in fury and began to reach in with his clawed foreleg once more.
"What?" the girl said, taken aback.
"The… white," the orc panted, barely able to keep its head up,"… is the thief. My treasure… not his."
The orc sagged down again, unconscious once more. Lynaelle sat back, stunned.
How? she thought. So much treasure has to belong to a dragon. Then a realization hit the girl.
The ice.
Seeing that Torixileos had withdrawn his claws once more and that she didn't have much time, Lynaelle stood awkwardly and took hold of the orc by its collar.
She could hear the dragon drawing in a deep breath, and terror of what she knew was to come drove her.
Dragging the humanoid along the floor, thankful for the slick coating of ice there, Lynaelle scrambled desperately into the treasure chamber. Slipping and sliding, she pulled her counterpart around the corner of the tunnel, out of the direct line of fire, and lay down next to it, against the wall.
As the first arctic blast of the dragon's deadly breath came roaring down the tunnel, Lynaelle took hold of the orc and pulled it atop herself, shielding her body as best as she could from the chilling waves of cold. When the unconscious form was protecting her as much as possible, the girl buried her face in her cloak, hiding away from the frigid tempest that erupted in the cavern.
Even with the orc shielding her, Lynaelle thought she would freeze to death right then and there. Numbing cold washed over her, making her skin and bones ache. She groaned from the pain, her sound muffled by the cloak she wore. Finally, after a mom
ent, the worst of the chill subsided, and she began to listen.
At first, there was nothing but the sound of the orc's breathing. Then she heard the dragon speak.
"Little morsel?"
Lynaelle held very still, holding her breath.
"Little morsel, I know you're in there. I can smell you. Come out, or I will breathe again."
Lynaelle was about to shout, "No!" at the dragon, to tell him to go away, but another sound from beyond the treasure chamber stopped her. It was another voice.
"Torixileos! You would dare?"
The voice was different than the white dragon's, but no less powerful. Smooth and warm like honey, it gave Lynaelle a sudden sense of comfort, like Ambriel's voice used to do.
Torixileos roared again, much louder than ever before, but the dragon's anger was dwarfed by a second roar. The two sounds together threatened to shake the mountain apart, and Lynaelle had to cover her ears with her hands to keep from crying out in anguish. The girl felt several intense thumps, felt the stone floor of the chamber beneath her bounce, and there was silence.
She waited a long time before crawling out from beneath the orc.
Very carefully, the girl examined the creature she had rescued from the white dragon, then she took off her pack and dug inside it until she found a small vial. Propping the orc's head into her lap, Lynaelle unstop-pered the vial and poured a little of the contents into the creature's mouth. It coughed and spluttered a bit, but swallowed most of the potion. Lynaelle carefully administered the rest of the healing draught, making sure nothing spilled.
After a few moments, the orc opened its eyes-both eyes, for the swelling had reduced considerably-and looked at her.
"Hello," the orc said. "Who are you?"
"I'm Lynaelle. Who are you? You're no orc, that's for sure."
The orc smiled.
"True enough," it said, sitting up and standing. "My name is Starglimmer."
Then, right before Lynaelle's eyes, the orc began to change. Its form shifted, bulged, grew larger yet sleeker. Its features transformed into a reptilian face, all shiny in the girl's magical light. The change had taken only a few heartbeats, but where the orc had stood previously, a silvery dragon, not much taller than Lynaelle herself, held himself proudly.
"Do I have you to thank for saving me from Torixileos and protecting my treasure?" the silver asked, his voice a slightly higher and softer version of the mysterious tones Lynaelle had heard challenging the white.
"I did nothing," Lynaelle said softly, shyly. "Only tried to save myself. Something else seems to have arrived and chased the white dragon away. I heard a second voice."
"That would be Mother," Starglimmer said, "coming to check on me. Torixileos wouldn't stick around if she's here. Come on," the dragon added, moving toward the tunnel.
Lynaelle followed the creature, too overwhelmed to speak.
Out beyond the tunnel leading to the treasure, the main chamber was empty, and as the pair moved toward the domed room with the ice shaft, a great form, larger even than Torixileos, dropped through the ceiling and landed elegantly.
"Mother!" Starglimmer said, rushing toward the much larger dragon, a silver that gleamed like a finely tempered blade in the eerie blue glow. "What happened?"
"Torixileos won't be bothering you ever again," the larger dragon said, and it was, indeed, the honeyed voice Lynaelle had heard before. The sound made the girl want to cry with joy, so comforting it was. "What happened?"
"Torixileos was here when I returned from a jaunt," Starglimmer said. "I had been out hunting with the orcs, hoping to catch wind of any raids they were planning. He caught me by surprise, and I barely managed to slip into a place too small for him to follow before I passed out."
"You should be more careful," the larger dragon admonished. "You're only barely old enough to be out on your own."
"I know," Starglimmer replied, and Lynaelle could hear embarrassment in the tone of his voice.
"Now," the mother said, looking down at Lynaelle, "Who is this?"
Lynaelle blushed as both of the wyrms regarded her.
"I'm Lynaelle Dawnmantle, a humble wizard on her way to Silverymoon."
"Then you are just as foolish as my son, here," the huge silver said. "No one should be using the pass this time of year, especially not young girls unescorted. How did you end up in here?"
"I was captured by Torixileos and brought here to help him recover 'his' treasure." When the larger dragon cocked her head sideways at that last comment, Lynaelle hurriedly added, "He told me that Starglimmer was actually an orc thief, but I didn't believe him."
"And how did you know, Lynaelle Dawnmantle?" the massive dragon asked, her voice rumbling, though it sounded to the girl as though there was appreciation in the creature's words. "How did you figure out that he was not what he seemed?"
"Just a guess, really," the half-elf replied. "No orc planning to thieve a dragon's treasure would haul the entire hoard deeper into the tunnels and freeze it there. But I didn't realize that Starglimmer wasn't really an orc until I began to wonder why Torixileos needed me to help him kill it. Why didn't the dragon just blast it with his icy breath? Once the 'ore' told me that Torixileos was actually the thief, I began to understand-that treasure definitely belongs to a dragon, not an orc.
"I remembered my teacher, Ambriel, telling me once that silver dragons often take on the form of humans and other people to interact with them. And like white dragons, silvers are at home in the cold. The cold can't hurt you, and you very easily could have protected your treasure by freezing it. An orc couldn't survive Torixileos' breath, but a silver dragon disguised as one could. I figured it out just in time."
"Very clever, little Lynaelle," the larger dragon said, seeming to smile. "And if this Ambriel you speak of is who I think he is, then he would know the truth of the matter about silvers."
Lynaelle's eyes widened slightly and she asked, "You know my teacher?"
"I believe I do. We were friends once, many years ago. We studied magic together at the Lady's College, where I still spend time, interacting with the students and teachers. I have not seen Ambriel in a long time. When next you see him, you must tell him that Symarra Brightmoon sends greetings."
In a very quiet, awestruck voice, Lynaelle swallowed and said, "I have a book for you, a gift from Ambriel."
STANDARD DELVING PROCEDURE
Lisa Smedman
7 Eleint, the Year of Wild Magic (1372 DR)
Frivaldi strode up to the door. It was massive, made of solid iron, its hinges bolted into the rough stone wall of the tunnel. Its handle was a simple lever. The keyhole under it was shield-shaped. Under the rust that mottled the door's surface, he could see a raised symbol: a curved hunting horn with a six-pointed star above and below it.
"You were right," he called back over his shoulder. "It's the Sign of the Realm, just where you said it would be."
Durin, several paces behind in the darkened tunnel, grunted.
"Oh come on,' Durin," Frivaldi exclaimed. "You've got to be just a little bit excited. Nobody's been through this door in more than seven thousand years. We'll be the first dwarves to set foot in Torunn's Forge since it fell to the goblins. Smile a little!"
"We're not inside yet."
Frivaldi waggled his fingers and said, "Easy as splitting slate. I've yet to meet a lock that was my match."
"You, who became a Delver just eight months ago. This is only your second delve."
"My third," Frivaldi corrected.
"If it was your one hundred and third delve, it might impress me."
Frivaldi shrugged off the snide comment. Durin never lost an opportunity to remind him how young he was-probably because Durin was so old. The veteran Delver was a hundred and ninety-seven, well past his prime. His weathered face had a diagonal scar that carved a valley through his eyebrow, nose, and cheek, and the joints of his fingers were knobby with age. His hair-what remained of it-was steel-gray. His beard, which hung in a single bra
id tossed over one shoulder with its tip dragging on the ground behind him, was as white as quartz.
Frivaldi's beard, as dark and curly as lichen, had sprouted only the year before. He'd been a late bloomer, celebrating his coming of age at twenty-seven-two years later than most dwarves. He didn't appreciate being reminded of that fact.
He flipped his long, unruly hair out of his eyes and turned back to the door. He squatted and blew dust out of the lock-and blinked furiously as it stung his eyes. Ignoring Durin's chuckle, Frivaldi twisted the magical ring on the forefinger of his right hand, causing a prong to spring from the plain iron band. He inserted it in the lock.
Durin interrupted with a cough.
"What?" Frivaldi asked, irritated.
Closing his eyes, he probed the lock's interior with the prong and located its first pin.
"Standard delving procedure for doors," Durin said, "is 'LLOST: Listen, LOok, Search for Traps.' You looked, but did not listen."
"For what?" Frivaldi twisted the prong but the pin didn't shift. Seven thousand years of rust had frozen the lock's workings. "This door's a palm's width thick, at least. There could be a dragon on the other side and I wouldn't hear it."
"Nor did you search for traps," Durin continued.
"It's been thousands of years," Frivaldi muttered. "Any traps are going to be frozen with rust."
He could hear Durin moving away, retreating around the bend of the tunnel. Standard delving procedure, Durin called it, backing it up with a quote from the Delver's Tome: "When facing a potential danger, one member of the delving pair should remain in a position of safety, thus ensuring that a report can be delivered to the Order in case of calamity." But Frivaldi suspected the exaggerated caution was rooted in Durin's age. The longer the beard, the more fearful a dwarf became of tripping over it.
Frivaldi felt the rust holding the pin give a little, and gave the prong a sharp wrench. The prong bent. Cursing, he retracted it back into his ring. From around the corner, Durin continued to scold. "There may be a ward. When I delved the Halls of Haunghdannar…"
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