by Ed Greenwood
Overhead, the moon rode high above dark, ragged, racing clouds that streamed across the stars like tattered banners. Where the moonlight fell between the clouds, it laid bright white strips across the field.
Narm lay drowsily watching the clouds, Shandril asleep on his shoulder. The two of them were buried in a warm haystack, only their shoulders and heads protruding. Beside Narm's face lay Shandril's hair, a swirling mass that smelled faintly of spices. Baergasra had given her some bathing spices to ruin her scent for dogs-and worse things-the Zhents might use to track her.
To his left, Narm could just see the alert shadow that was Delg sitting watch. The dwarf sat with his blanket held over the ready axe in his lap, thereby preventing moongleams from betraying their presence to a watcher in the night. Despite Delg's caution, the deep, rhythmic snores of Mirt the Moneylender-once Mirt the Merciless, mighty Lord of Waterdeep-could tell anyone in this corner of Faerun right where they were.
To Narm's left, something moved. It was Delg, creeping silently as a cat to peer into the night nearby. He seemed to see nothing amiss, because after a few moments, he turned and looked toward the haystack. His eyes met Narm's. The dwarf nodded and withdrew to his post as silently as he had left it
Narm thought the dwarf's face looked bitter and drawn in the moonlight Usually Delg seemed lit by a fierce fire from within, his face like a smithy door, spitting surly sparks with energy to spare. Not now. He looked like a ruined farmer Narm had once seen-beaten, bereft of hope.
The dwarf stared out across the moonlit field again, beaked nose pointing like an accusing finger into the night. Then something cold and wise crept slowly up Narm s spine, and with sudden certainty he knew the look Delg wore. He looked like a man about to leave his friends behind forever and go down into the darkness that does not end.
For all their differences, dwarves and men do look like brothers when their faces wear the same hopeless expression. Delg looked like a man who knew he was about to die.
Ten
A Hard And Stony Place
The Realms hold many a hard and stony place-and the worst of it is, some of them come well furnished with wizards.
Glarthlyn of Silverymoon, Sage Shadows in the Firelight, Year of Dark Frost
Ahead, the land was rising. "The Stonelands " Mirt announced unnecessarily.
Delg squinted up at him. "It may come as a great surprise to you, large and mighty one, but I'd managed to puzzle that out for myself already."
Mirt sketched a florid bow. "The wits of the dwarves are keen, and the fame of their workings resounds from the Spine of the World to the peaks of the Dustwall."
Delg made a rude sound in reply. The fire-blackened pans he carried clanked slightly as he clambered to the top of a ridge to get a better view ahead.
In the distance, like a row of old and gray teeth, a line of crumbling stone cliffs rose out of the mottled greenery of the forest. The edge of the Stonelands. Between that line and where they now stood stretched a wide expanse of gently rolling pastureland. Down its center, the road that linked Cormyr with Tilverton lay like a dark snake basking in the sun. The Moonsea Ride, it was called. Soldiers of Cormyr kept the brush cleared on either side of the road; a long, long walk across open ground lay between them and the Stonelands.
Delg turned to Mirt- "How d'you propose to get unseen across that? Wait for dark I suppose-or have you some hidden magic at the ready?"
Mirt grinned easily, then lazily reached out one stout, hairy arm to haul the dwarf back from the crest of the ridge. "I've as little liking as ye do for waiting about while foes on our trail grow nearer, friend Delg. Sit ye down for a breath or two, and I'll show ye my hidden magic."
The old merchant wheezed as he bent over and fished in the open top of one of his large, flopping leather boots, dragging a leathern cord into view. It was loosely knotted around his leg; Mirt grunted, drew the knot open, and then pulled on the line. A wrinkled, seemingly empty sack came up front the depths of his boot. "A gift from a lady," he announced with dignity, shaking the hand-sized thing to rid it of folds and wrinkling his nose at the boot smell it gave off. He was not alone in this reaction.
Then the Old Wolf opened the bags drawstring and plunged his hand in, drawing forth a gown of shimmering, flame-red silk. with a bodice of linked gold chains.
Hastily the old merchant thrust the garment out of view again, chuckling. "Sorry-wrong handful," he explained as Shandril lifted an eyebrow and the other two grinned delightedly The next thing he drew up was a mesh sack, holding a large bottle filled with something dark. The mesh bag and the bottle both seemed too large to have come out of the wrinkled sack-which still looked and hung as if empty.
Delg's eyes fixed on the bottle and fit tip. "Amberjack! Now that's worth dragging around one of these magical sacks for."
Mirt had already made it vanish into the depths of the bag again and was feeling around, his arm thrust into the small sack up to the shoulder. Shandril could see that it wasn't half deep enough to swallow the Old Wolfs arm but…
"Ah!" Mirt said in triumph, and drew forth a large bundle of russet cloth, mottled with green, orange, and silver threads that confused the eyes, making one's gaze involuntarily slide away from it The old adventurer set the bundle carefully on the ground and undid its tied ends, unfolding it to reveal what looked like a stack of shallow, silvery glass bowls inside. With the air of a tavern show wizard, he fanned these curved pieces of glass as one does a hand of cards; they looked like plates or masks to Shandril.
Delg snorted in sudden recognition. "Priests' regalia of Leira," he said. "May I remind you, mighty Lord, that the lady of the Mists numbers few priests among her faithful? Well hardly pass unnoticed."
Mirt bowed. "True, but the nasty spells Leirans are known to favor will keep most folk-even Zhents-from bothering us, and we certainly won't be recognized. These all-concealing robes-aye, put it on atop all ye wear, lass; over the head it goes-can shift about to fit the wearer, and even be commanded to hold their shape over emptiness, to conceal the true form and stature beneath. I carry half a dozen about, for-er, the proper occasions."
He showed them how to don the featureless glass masks, pull the cowls over their heads, settle the mantles on their shoulders and chests, and do up the loose, dangling sashes that went on last. Unfamiliar in his own robes, face hidden under unmoving mirrored glass, the merchant laid a hand on the glass orb that adorned his mantle. He seemed suddenly taller.
"Ye do the same, Delg," his voice came to them, hollow through the mask. "Increase yer height, enough so no one will think 'dwarf' when they see you. Shan, the magic works by yer will, when ye touch the orb; make yerself taller-and yer shoulders greater, to hide yer womanly front. That's it good… These robes were hard to get, mind, so hurl no spellfire unless ye are sore beset." He turned, rummaged in the bag, and suddenly a staff, topped with a multihued, ever-changing orb, was in his hand.
Shandril only had an instant to stare in wonder at its flowing, lazily changing colors before the old merchant swung away, stuffed the bag into his belt, and led the way up over the ridge with a slow, measured stride.
"Keep with me," his muffled voice came back to then, "Brothers of the Mists. In a half-circle, behind me, as is fitting. We go north this day, as the Lady's weird bids us."
Delg fell in behind and to the left and gestured for Narm and Shandril to walk beside him, to the old merchant's right. Matching the old man's stride, they marched slowly down the grassy slopes to the road, the orb-topped staff borne before them, its swirling hues shifting and brightening.
Narm wondered if the goddess Leira would be angered at this false use of her regalia, and bring some capricious doom down on them. Or would this deception delight her?
The young mage looked to either side, but the road seemed empty of life for as far as he could see in either direction. Yet he could feel the sudden weight of cold, unfriendly eyes regarding them from somewhere-and knew by the way her heat] moved beside him that Shandril
felt the scrutiny too.
The uplifted orb flashed and pulsed ahead of them. Mirt said, "Ah! The lady leads us on." He strode right across the road, heading for the cliffs beyond.
The ground around them was rising now, with rocks rearing out of the grass. There was not a bird in the sky or a beast to be seen anywhere, but the strong feeling of being watched persisted until Mirt led them into the ferny gloom of a little gully that pierced the cliffs.
The orb on the staff suddenly darkened. Mirt regarded it with satisfaction. "Whoever they are," he said, "they're not using magic to send eyes around corners after us… They could see us only when we crossed the open road. Right-get this stuff off, all of ye: haste is what matters now."
After a few frantic minutes of unstrapping and wriggling out from under cloth, Mirt had stuffed the bundles back in the bag, and the bag was restored to its carrying place in Mirt's boot. Delg eyed it suspiciously as it slid out of sight, and said, "How many more tricks do you carry, Mirt? And are all of them as helpful as that one?"
"Many, and of course," Mirt answered smoothly. "Now let's be on-no trails are to be trusted in the Stonelands, and it's a ways yet to the gate 1 know of."
They scrambled warily along the gully. Mirt in the lead. Delg muttered from the rear, "If it's not betraying too much to tell us, just where are we heading?"
"Irondrake Rock," Mirt said, and Delg nodded.
"I've seen it," he said simply as they struggled up to the head of the gully and peered about. Bare shoulders of rock rose all around them in a confusing, broken landscape of rising ridges and plunging ravines. Scrub trees, gnarled and stunted, thrust branches in all directions, and the land ahead was a patchwork of greenery and rocky heights.
Death could lurk anywhere in a land like this, Shandril thought-and be at your elbow before you saw it. She felt strangely weak and very vulnerable, like a deer surrounded by hunters. She drew a little closer to Narm, who put an arm around her, as if knowing tier thoughts.
Delg, seeking any signs of pursuit, was looking suspiciously back the way they'd come. After a long moment, he sniffed, shook his head, turned to follow Mirt over the first ridge, and executed a precarious scramble down the other side into the concealing thickets of the next ravine.
Wary as they were, none of them saw the skull that floated along behind them, for it was cloaked in magics that made it invisible. The lich lord's cold gaze was bent steadily on the small band-in particular, on the slim form of the maid among them. Nightfall approached slowly as the day went on-too slowly, it seemed. Iliph Thraun was getting hungry again.
The day wore on in an endless struggle up and down treacherous slopes and breakneck ravines. Everywhere around the travelers rose the crags and outcrops that gave the Stonelands their name. The Lord of Waterdeep, the dwarf, the bearer of spellfire, and the young mage who'd married her struggled through the broken lands, scraping and bruising elbows and knees on the ever-present rocks.
As they went, Mirt spoke seldom-no surprise, for he was wheezing and puffing like an old and indignant goat. When he did break silence. it was always to cheer them with tales of skeletal trolls, monstrous ettins and hobgoblins, and sly, cruel-fingered goblins who lurked in the Stonelands, dragging intruders down in ambushes or stonefall traps and feeding on them.
"Do you mind belting up, merchant?" Narm asked at last, exasperated. The young mage was white to the lips from fear, and he cast involuntary glances at every bush and shadow as they walked.
Mirt chuckled and clapped him on the back, a mighty blow that nearly sent the mage sprawling. "Ah, stop me vitals, lad," he rumbled, "but it's good to see some spirit in ye at last."
Delg squinted up at the fat merchant. "Speaking of 'spirit in you,' I recall seeing that bottle of amberjack in your bag-and wondering what else it might be hiding from us, too. Berduskan dark, perhaps? Or have you a little winter wine?"
Mirt chuckled. "I once had a considerable cellar in here, aye-but traveling 's thirsty work, and most of the stock's gone now. Moreover, friend Delg, this is not the sort of country one should try legging it through with a few skins of wine on board. Falling and breaking bones is easy enough when sober."
"A lecture on morals and practicality from Mirt the Moneylender?" Delg put his hands to his open mouth in mock amazement.
"Stow it, little one," Mirt suggested in kindly tones, then led the way along the winding, snakelike crest of a ridge that headed west, on into the seemingly endless maze of rocky heights and tree-cloaked ravines.
As the group climbed and clambered on, Shandril's fingers went numb from clawing at too many rocks, and she felt a growing weakness-an emptiness-inside. What was wrong with her? She sighed, drawing an anxious look from Narm, which she put off with a smile. Scratching at a scrape on her arm, Shandril wondered how much more of this punishing travel she'd be able to last through.
Overhead, the sun had passed its height, and was beginning the long slide toward sunset. As she squinted at it, Narm voiced the thought that had just come into her own mind.
"I'm not liking the idea of camping in this, somewhere on the side of a rockfall," Narm said to Mirt. "How much farther is it to this gate of yours?"
"If we keep on steadily," Mirt told him gravely, "we should reach it just before nightfall."
Narm rolled his eyes. "Nightfall," he said. "Of course." The old merchant-as usual, Delg reflected sourly proved to be right. The sun was low and the depths of the ravines shrouded in purple shadows when Mirt pointed to a tiny spur of rock in the distance. "Irondrake," he said simply, and hastened on. Despite the chill breezes of twilight, they were all sweating as they clambered up, over, down and through seemingly endless rocks.
Narm could well believe what he'd heard of brigands evading armies of Cormyr in this tortured land; half a hundred men could be waiting on the other side of every ridge, and you'd never know it until y-
Suddenly wary, Norm swallowed and suspiciously checked the terrain around them.
Delg, who was climbing in his wake, grunted. "About time you started being scared, lad," the dwarf said. His tones told Narm the dwarf had just deemed him not quite a complete idiot-but still damned-before-all-the-gods close. The young mage sighed and looked at Shandril. The sight of her always cheered him.
As it happened, there weren't a hundred armed brigands waiting around the next ridge. Instead, a grassy meadow opened out in front of them, rising steeply up to tumbled rocks at the base of a lance like pinnacle of stone. The fire of sunset blazed down one side of this rocky spire.
"Irondrake Rock," Mirt announced as if he'd just put it there himself. "Named for a great wyrm that once laired here."
'Once?" Delg asked suspiciously.
Mirt chuckled and pointed a thick finger at the base of The toothlike spire of stone. "Its grotto lies there, if ye've a mind for fool-headed poking about. Perhaps, if it'd make ye sleep easier, Shan'll hurl a little spellfire in there-and singe whatever calls it home now."
The dwarf squinted up at the stone spire. Save for the calls of birds in the trees below and behind them, all was quiet around it. The tall grass of the meadow, studded with weeds and wildflowers, looked as if nothing had disturbed it all this season. Even so, Delg didn't care much for the way stony walls rose on either side of them to hem the meadow in, forming a great funnel that lead only upward to the Rock. But he could see no sign of danger. Yet.
Grumbling into his beard, Delg led the way up through the thick grass toward the rocky spire. "Where's this gate of yours, then?"
Mirt grimaced. "At the very top-of course."
"You'd need the luck of the gods to get to it in winter," Delg replied, staring up at the crumbling flanks of Irondrake Rock.
Shandril followed his gaze, and swallowed. She'd have to climb that? She turned to Narm and found in his face the same growing alarm she felt. Without thinking, they threw comforting arms about each other.
"Last light," Delg said sourly. "Little as I like camping anywhere in these lands, we'd never ge
t more than halfway up before it'd be too dark to climb-even without the two lovejays, here." He cocked his head at Narm and Shandril. "they looked back at him with identical expressions that told Delg he might have problems getting them to climb Irondrake Rock even in full sun, and with a whole day to do it
Delg turned back to Mirt. "Where exactly does this gate of yours take us, anyway?"
"A certain place in the High Forest, south of Stone Stand," Mirt replied, his eyes on the cliffs around them.
"Shall we look at the cave?"
Delg nodded. "After I've looked around behind the Rock first, and had a bit of a peer at those ledges above us, too-or we may find ourselves attacked both in front and behind." He strode on through the grass.
"What a cheery fellow," Mirt observed in the fluting, jolly tones of an effete courtier. Shandril stifled a laugh. As the merchant strode forward, twilight laid deepening gloom on the meadow. Night came down swiftly on the Stonelands; before Delg had returned to them, it was fully dark. "A fire?" he asked, stumping up to Mirt. "You know better than I how dangerous that is here."
The old merchant adventurer shrugged. "In the cave, well need light and can have it. Out here-well, it could be seen a long way." He rummaged in his magical sack for a moment and drew forth a stout, iron-caged lantern. Opening one of its glass panes, he sniffed, pronounced it "full" with a satisfied air, and extended it to Delg with a grand flourish.
The dwarf sighed, took it, and extended his other hand. "Another?" he snapped, looking from Mirt to his empty palm.
It was Mirt's turn to sigh. He rummaged in his bag for a long time and finally held up-another lamp, identical to the first. It came to Delg accompanied by Mirt's triumphant smile.
The dwarf merely snorted, thrust both lanterns into Narm's grasp with a terse, "Here-hold these. No dropping," and extended his empty hands again. "Flint and steel?"