She had noted that the labors of the road, and his new companions, were affecting the assassin. Entreri revealed more emotion, more desperation, every day to get this job over and done. Was it possible that he might make a mistake?
"It has come!" echoed a cry from the hallway, and all three started reflexively, then recognized the voice as Jierdan's, who had been watching the Vault of Sages. A second later, the door burst in and the soldier scrambled into the room, his breathing ragged.
"The dwarf?" Sydney asked, grabbing Jierdan to steady him.
"No!" Jierdan cried. "The golem! Bok has entered Silverymoon! They have it trapped down by the west gate. A wizard was summoned."
"Damn!" Sydney spat and she started from the room. Entreri moved to follow her, grabbing Jierdan's arm and yanking him around, bringing them face to face.
"Stay with the girl," the assassin ordered.
Jierdan glared at him. "She is your problem."
Entreri easily could have killed the soldier right there, Catti-brie noted, hoping that Jierdan had read the assassin's deadly look as clearly as she.
"Do as you are told!" Sydney screamed at Jierdan, ending further argument. She and Entreri left, the assassin slamming the door behind them.
"He would have killed you," Catti-brie told Jierdan when Entreri and Sydney had gone. "You know that."
"Silence," Jierdan growled. "I've had enough of your vile words!" He approached her threateningly, fists clenched at his sides.
"Strike me, then," Catti-brie challenged, knowing that even if he did, his code as a soldier would not allow him to continue such an assault on a helpless foe. "Although in truth I be yer only friend on this cursed road!"
Jierdan stopped his advance. "Friend?" he balked.
"As close as ye'll find out here," Catti-brie replied. "Ye're a prisoner here suren as I be." She recognized the vulnerability of this proud man, who had been reduced to servitude by the arrogance of Sydney and Entreri, and drove her point home hard. "They mean to kill ye, ye know that now, and even if ye escape the blade, yell have nowhere to go. Ye've abandoned yer fellows in Luskan, and the wizard in the tower'd put ye to a bad end if ye ever went back there, anyway!"
Jierdan tensed in frustrated rage, but did not lash out.
"Me friends are close by," Catti-brie continued despite the warning signs. "They be living still, I know, and we'll be meeting them any day. That'll be our tine, soldier, to live or to die. For meself, I see a chance. Whether me friends win or I be bargained over, me life'll be me own. But for yerself, the road looks dark indeed! If me friends win, they'll cut ye down, and if yer mates win. . . " She let the grim possibilities hang unspoken for a few moments to let Jierdan weigh them fully.
"When they get what they seek, they'll need ye no more," she said grimly. She noted his trembling, not of fear, but of rage, and pushed him past the edge of control. "They may let ye live," she said, snidely. "Might that they be needin' a lackey!"
He did strike her then, just once, and recoiled.
Catti-brie accepted the blow without complaint, even smiling through the pain, though she was careful to hide her satisfaction. Jierdan's loss of self-restraint proved to her that the continual disrespect Sydney, and especially Entreri, had shown for him had fueled the flames of discontent to the verge of explosion.
She knew, too, that when Entreri returned and saw the bruise Jierdan had given her, those fires would burn even brighter.
Sydney and Entreri rushed through the streets of Silverymoon, following the obvious sounds of commotion. When they reached the wall, they found Bok encapsulated in a sphere of glowing green lights. Riderless horses paced about to the groans of a dozen injured soldiers, and one old man, the wizard, stood before the globe of light, scratching his beard and studying the trapped golem. A Knight of Silver of considerable rank stood impatiently beside him, twitching nervously and clasping the pommel of his sheathed sword tightly.
"Destroy the thing and be done with it," Sydney heard the knight say to the wizard.
"Oh, no!" exclaimed the wizard. "But it is marvelous!"
"Do you mean to hold it here forever?" the knight snapped back. "Just look around -"
"Your pardon, good sirs," Sydney interrupted. "I am Sydney, of the Hosttower of the Arcane in Luskan. Perhaps I may be of some help."
"Well met," said the wizard. "I am Mizzen of the Second School of Knowledge. Know you the possessor of this magnificent creature?"
"Bok is mine," she admitted.
The knight stared at her, amazed that a woman, or anyone for that matter, controlled the monster that had knocked aside some of his finest warriors and taken down a section of the city wall. "The price shall be high, Sydney of Luskan," he snarled.
"The Hosttower shall make amends," she agreed. "Now would you release the golem to my control?" she asked the wizard. "Bok will obey me."
"Nay!" snapped the knight. "I'll not have the thing turned loose again."
"Calm, Gavin," Mizzen said to him. He turned to Sydney. "I should like to study the golem, if I may. Truly the finest construction I have ever witnessed, with strength beyond the expectations of the books of creation."
"I am sorry," Sydney answered, "but my time is short. I have many roads yet to travel. Name the price of the damage wrought by the golem and I shall relay it to my master, on my word as a member of the Hosttower."
"You'll pay now," argued the guard.
Again Mizzen silenced him. "Excuse Gavin's anger," he said to Sydney. He surveyed the area. "Perhaps we might strike a bargain. None seem to have been seriously injured."
"Three men have been carried away!" Gavin rebutted. "And at least one horse is lame and will have to be destroyed!"
Mizzen waved his hand as if to belittle the claims. "They will heal," he said. "They will heal. And the wall needed repairs anyway." He looked at Sydney and scratched his beard again. "Here is my offer, and a fairer one you'll not hear! Give me the golem for one night, just one, and I shall amend the damage it has wreaked. Just one night."
"And you'll not disassemble Bok," Sydney stated.
"Not even the head?" Mizzen begged.
"Not even the head," Sydney insisted. "And I shall come for the golem at the first light of dawn."
Mizzen scratched his beard again. "A marvellous work," he mumbled, peering into the magical prison. "Agreed!"
"If that monster -" Gavin began angrily.
"Oh, where is your sense of adventure, Gavin?" Mizzen shot back before the knight could even finish his warning. "Remember the precepts of our town, man. We are here to learn. If you only understood the potential of such a creation!"
They started away from Sydney, paying her no more mind, the wizard still rambling into Gavin's ear. Entreri slipped from the shadows of a nearby building to Sydney's side.
"Why did the thing come?" he asked her.
She shook her head. "There can be only one answer."
"The drow?"
"Yes," she said. "Bok must have followed them into the city."
"Unlikely," reasoned Entreri, "though the golem might have seen them. If Bok came crashing through behind the drow and his valiant friends, they would have been down here at the battle, helping to fend it off."
"Then they might be out there still."
"Or perhaps they were leaving the city when Bok saw them," said Entreri. "I will make inquiries with the guards at the gate. Fear not, our prey is close at hand!"
They arrived back at the room a couple of hours later. From the guards at the gate they had learned of the drow's party being turned away and now they were anxious to retrieve Bok and be on their way.
Sydney started a string of instructions to Jierdan concerning their departure in the morning, but what grabbed Entreri's immediate attention was Catti-brie's bruised eye. He moved over to check her bonds and, satisfied that they were intact, spun on Jierdan with his dagger drawn.
Sydney, quickly surmising the situation, cut him off. "Not now!" she demanded. "Our rewards are at
hand. We cannot afford this!"
Entreri chuckled evilly and slid the dagger away. "We will yet discuss this," he promised Jierdan with a snarl. "Do not touch the girl again."
Perfect, Catti-brie thought. From Jierdan's perspective, the assassin might as well have said outright that he meant to kill him.
More fuel for the flames.
When she retrieved the golem from Mizzen the next morning, Sydney's suspicions that Bok had seen the drow's party were confirmed. They set out from Silverymoon at once, Bok leading them down the same trail Bruenor and his friends had taken the morning before.
Like the previous party, they, too, were watched.
Alustriel, brushed her flowing hair from her fair face, catching the morning sun in her green eyes as she looked down upon the band with growing curiosity. The lady had learned from the gatekeepers that someone had been inquiring about the dark elf.
She couldn't yet figure out what part this new group leaving Silverymoon played in the quest, but she suspected that they were up to no good. Alustriel had sated her own thirst for adventure many years before, but she wished now that she could somehow aid the drow and his friends on their noble mission. Affairs of state pressed in on her, though, and she had no time for such diversions. She considered for a moment dispatching a patrol to capture this second party, so that she could learn its intentions. Then she turned back to her city, reminding herself that she was just a minor player in the search for Mithril Hall. She could only trust in the abilities of Drizzt Do'Urden and his friends.
Book 3:
Trails Anew
16
Days of Old
A squat stone tower stood in a small dell against the facing of a steep hill. Because it was ivy covered and overgrown, a casual passer-by would not even have noticed the structure.
But the Companions of the Hall were not casual in their search. This was the Herald's Holdfast, possibly the solution to their entire search.
"Are you certain that this is the place?" Regis asked Drizzt as they peered over a small bluff. Truly the ancient tower appeared more a ruin. Not a thing stirred anywhere nearby, not even animals, as though an eerie, reverent hush surrounded the place.
"I am sure," Drizzt replied. "Feel the age of the tower. It has stood for many centuries. Many centuries."
"And how long has it been empty?" Bruenor asked, thus far disappointed in the place that had been described to him as the brightest promise to his goal.
"It is not empty," Drizzt replied. "Unless the information I received was in err."
Bruenor jumped to his feet and stormed over the bluff. "Probably right," he grumbled. "Some troll or scab yeti's inside the door watching us right now, I'll wager, drooling for us to come in! Let's be on with it, then! Sundabar's a day more away than when we left!"
The dwarf's three friends joined him on the remnants of the overgrown path that had once been a walkway to the tower's door. They approached the ancient stone door cautiously, with weapons drawn.
Moss-covered and worn to a smooth finish by the toll of time, apparently it hadn't been opened in many, many years.
"Use yer arms, boy," Bruenor told Wulfgar. "If any man can get this thing opened, it's yerself!"
Wulfgar leaned Aegis-fang against the wall and moved before the huge door. He set his feet as best he could and ran his hands across the stone in search of a good niche to push against.
But as soon as he applied the slightest pressure to the stone portal, it swung inward, silently and without effort.
A cool breeze wafted out of the still darkness within, carrying a blend of unfamiliar scents and an aura of great age. The friends sensed the place as otherworldly, belonging to a different time, perhaps, and it was not without a degree of trepidation that Drizzt led them in.
They stepped lightly, though their footfalls echoed in the quiet darkness. The daylight beyond the door offered little relief, as though some barrier remained between the inside of the tower and the world beyond.
"We should light a torch -" Regis began, but he stopped abruptly, frightened by the unintentional volume of his whisper.
"The door!" Wulfgar cried suddenly, noticing that the silent portal had begun to close behind them. He leaped to grab it before it shut completely, sinking them into absolute darkness, but even his great strength could not deny the magical force that moved it. It shut without a bang, just a hushed rush of air that resounded like a giant's sigh.
The lightless tomb they all envisioned as the huge door blocked out the final slit of sunlight did not come to pass, for as soon as the door closed, a blue glow lit up the room, the entrance hall to the Herald's Holdfast.
No words could they speak above the profound awe that enveloped them. They stood in view of the history of the race of Man within a bubble of timelessness that denied their own perspectives of age and belonging. In the blink of an eye they had been propelled into the position of removed observers, their own existence suspended in a different time and place, looking in on the passing of the human race as might a god. Intricate tapestries, their once-vivid colors faded and their distinct lines now blurred, swept the friends into a fantastic collage of images that displayed the tales of the race, each one retelling a story again and again; the same tale, it seemed, but subtly altered each time, to present different principles and varied outcomes.
Weapons and armor from every age lined the walls, beneath the standards and crests of a thousand longforgotten kingdoms. Bas-relief images of heroes and sages, some familiar but most unknown to any but the most studious of scholars, stared down at them from the rafters, their captured visages precise enough to emote the very character of the men they portrayed.
A second door, this one of wood, hung directly across the cylindrical chamber from the first, apparently leading into the hill behind the tower. Only when it began to swing open did the companions manage to break free of the spell of the place.
None went for their weapons, though, understanding that whoever, or whatever, inhabited this tower would be beyond such earthly strength.
An ancient man stepped into the room, older than anyone they had ever seen before. His face had retained its fullness, not hollowed with age, but his skin appeared almost wooden in texture, with lines that seemed more like cracks and a rough edge that defied time as stubbornly as an ancient tree. His walk was more a flow of quiet movement, a floating passing that transcended the definition of steps. He came in close to the friends and waited, his arms, obviously thin even under the folds of his long, satiny robe, peacefully dropped to his sides.
"Are you the herald of the tower?" Drizzt asked.
"Old Night, I am," the man replied in a voice singing with serenity. "Welcome, Companions of the Hall. The Lady Alustriel informed me of your coming, and of your quest."
Even consumed in the solemn respect of his surroundings, Wulfgar did not miss the reference to Alustriel. He glanced over at Drizzt, meeting the drow's eyes with a knowing smile.
Drizzt turned away and smiled, too.
"This is the Chamber of Man," Old Night proclaimed. "The largest in the Holdfast, except for the library, of course."
He noticed Bruenor's disgruntled scowl. "The tradition of your race runs deep, good dwarf, and deeper yet does the elves'," he explained. "But crises in history are more often measured in generations than in centuries. The short-lived humans might have toppled a thousand kingdoms and built a thousand more in the few centuries that a single dwarven king would rule his people in peace."
"No patience!" Bruenor huffed, apparently appeased.
"Agreed," laughed Old Night. "But come now, let us dine. We have much to do this night."
He led them through the doorway and down a similarly lit hallway. Doors on either side of them identified the various chambers as they passed - one for each of the goodly races, and even a few for the history of orcs and goblins and the giantkind. .
The friends and Old Night supped at a huge, round table, its ancient wood as hard as mountain ston
e. Runes were inscribed all around its edge, many in tongues long lost to the world, that even Old Night could not remember. The food, like everything else, gave the impression of a distant past. Far from stale, though, it was delicious, with a flavor somewhat different from anything the friends had ever eaten before. The drink, a crystalline wine, possessed a rich bouquet surpassing even the legendary elixirs of the elves.
Old Night entertained them as they ate, retelling grand tales of ancient heroes, and of events that had shaped the Realms into their present state. The companions were an attentive audience, though in all probability substantial clues about Mithril Hall loomed only a door or two away.
When the meal was finished, Old Night rose from his chair and looked around at them with a weird, curious intensity. "The day will come, a millennium from now, perhaps, when I shall entertain again. On that day, I am sure, one of the tales I tell will concern the Companions of the Hall and their glorious quest."
The friends could not reply to the honor that the ancient man had paid them. Even Drizzt, even-keeled and unshakable, sat unblinking for a long, long moment.
"Come," Old Night instructed, "let your road begin anew." He led them through another door, the door to the greatest library in all the North.
Volumes thick and thin covered the walls and lay about in high piles on the many tables positioned throughout the large room. Old Night indicated one particular table, a smaller one off to the side, with a solitary book opened upon it.
"I have done much of your research for you," Old Night explained. "And in all the volumes concerning dwarves, this was the only one I could find that held any reference to Mithril Hall."
Bruenor moved to the book, grasping its edges with trembling hands. It was written in High Dwarven, the language of Dumathoin, Keeper of Secrets Under the Mountain, a script nearly lost in the Realms. But Bruenor could read it. He surveyed the page quickly, then read aloud the passages of concern.
"King Elmor and his people profited mightily from the labors of Garumn and the kin of Clan Battlehammer, but the dwarves of the secret mines did not refute Elmor's gains. Settlestone proved a valuable and trustworthy ally whence Garumn could begin the secret trail to market of the mithril works." Bruenor looked up at his friends, a gleam of revelation in his eye.
Streams of Silver Page 21