Part 4: Children
It is my firm belief that children are all born pure, that they are then twisted by others around them into what they are now. None will retain that pure state. That is why children are the best judges. They judge by virtue, and their hearts lead them in the right directions.
Drizzt told me once that Catti-brie retained that precious form, that allowed her to see the others around her accurately, that others were constantly surprised by her striking observations about their well being. Yet that purity was destroyed partly, I believed, to the hardships she suffered on the way.
Drizzt’s was forcefully made, by the scheming of Malice and her evil daughters. The price of a drow warrior is high, I know, for I have paid it too.
Miranae, sweet, mischievous, thieving Miranae, who could see quickly past Drizzt’s, and my dark skin, our drow features, to look in our hearts. She judged us that day, I would think, and her judgement caused her to stay with us, and not some grasping at self-preservation and survival that drove her into our company.
Perhaps there is no way to change this inevitable course that steals our purity. The world demands our participation in its purpose, and particularly in this harsh world, where we all raise a weapon sooner or later, illusions are easily broken, morals are easily swayed.
Perhaps, but we still try. To preserve that innocence, or at least to push them down a better path than the one I have trod. A better path, one without weapons and war.
A better path, without hatred. Would that I had the strength to do so, that I could forge a better future. For Miranae, or for the others, those children of the world.
They are our future.
-- Zaknafein Do’Urden
Chapter 16: Master of the Moors
The fog swirled thickly around them, so thickly that it seemed that the moor was trying to choke them in its grey-brown embrace. Zak was forced to use his infravision to see Niranyarr’s pointed directions. High up above, the griffin, unperturbed and unbothered by the heavy fog, scouted out the best possible routes.
In the bright morning sun, Niranyarr could pierce the fog, even see the outlines of the stagnant bogs clearly, adn the pale olive green of the grassy ground.
Mir slept soundly and safely in the passenger pouch, clutching the bundle of firebreath spheres and a long griffin flight feather, intricately barred and patterned naturally black designs against a tawny brown.
Niranyarr had given the elven girl the feather to give her something else to do other than stroking his thick lion fur when he was flying. It was hard to concentrate when she did that, although the feeling was not unpleasant.
Ahead of them, he saw, was a lake-sized bog that stretched for miles in his vision. Niranyarr paused, hovering, trying to see a way through. He called once, eagle like, drawing the attention of the two drow elves below, then clasped his left talon to his shoulder. The signal for them to ‘wait’. Then he flew on ahead.
Below, Zaknafein and Drizzt saw the signal, and stopped. Drizzt leant against a long-dead tree, bluish moss draping on the blackened, gnarled branches, where leaves had once been.
Zak simply stood, often craning his head upwards to try and see if Niranyarr had returned.
“Perhaps we have reached the big bog,” Drizzt suggested in the drow code, thinking of the bog that he and his four friends had been forced to raft over. The thought of repeating the experience did not sit well with him.
Zak shrugged. “Niranyarr will see a way across,” he signaled back confidently. Drizzt, however, was not so sure.
Zak was still turning over last night’s events in his mind. He wished he knew how the trolls had located them so quickly, and suspected privately that someone had been controlling them, directing their movements. Perhaps the same wizard that had transformed the wolf and the hunting cat.
Zak had no wish to interact with powerful wizards lately.
Then Drizzt tapped his shoulder, and pointed up. Niranyarr was circling above them again, his right claw extending forward, pointing in a north east direction.
Zak walked on ahead confidently, while Drizzt, at his side, continued to try and see where they were going.
Niranyarr led them to a damp but solid path across the bog. At times, it was wide enough for twenty elves to pass, shoulder to shoulder, and at times, they had to walk in single file.
The bog had claimed some of the path in places, and their boots were soon caked in squelching mud. This both elves bore stoically, Zaknafein promising himself that he would clean the mud off his runed boots as soon as possible. Though his magical boots made not a sound, unlike Drizzt’s, the runes were becoming obscured, and he did not know if it would affect their magic.
The waters around them were very shallow, deepening gradually, and they did not see any of the giant worms that Drizzt had encountered before on his search for Mithril Hall, though they did leave the ashes of six trolls smoking gently in their wake.
Mir had woken up, and was reading Drizzt’s book on dragon lore. She was no more than six years, but she read almost as well as an adult. Slowly but meticulously, she absorbed the information, to bombard Zak and Drizzt with questions when they stopped.
Drizzt was grateful for the short interlude. With the book, she no longer (for the time being) disturbed his sleep.
Another water troll rose out of the bog, its clawed hands reaching hungrily to Zak. Zak promptly drew Scorcher, batting away its hands, and plunging the burning sword into the monster.
The troll caught fire. Zak pulled out his blade, and walked on, Drizzt dispatching another one of the creatures with a firebreath sphere.
No other trolls rose to meet them, and they continued on their path, avoiding a muddy puddle on the way.
Niranyarr looked down for a moment to see how the drow elves were doing, then continued onwards, his great wings effortlessly keeping him airbourne.
Many hours passed in their trek, and they came on a squarish, grassy rise. A mound of leaves sat in the very middle of the rise, scattered, with only two narrow lines of green showing at the side of the rest of the rise.
Drizzt walked straight on, then paused at the edge of the leaves.
“That has to be the worst trap I have ever seen,” he remarked. Zak strode over to take a look.
Bits of netting showed under the cover of the leaves, as did a skeleton work of branches, crudely strung over what looked like a deep, empty pit.
The leaves were mostly green, showing that they had been plucked, and no trees stood close by to even make the trap look natural.
Zak smiled, then frowned. “The trap looks as if it were set for us,” he said, squatting down to peer into the pit. It was too deep for two drow elves, standing on their shoulders, to get out, and its sheer sides too slippery with mud to climb out.
“Who would do this?” Drizzt wondered. “The wizard that is here?”
“Perhaps he finds that two drow-trolls would be better than troll-wolves.” Zak replied grimly.
Niranyarr spiraled down carefully in front of the leaves, to see what they were looking at. He whistled softly. “Someone want you two?” he asked.
“Obviously,” Zak replied.
Drizzt started to step carefully around the perimeter. The ground beneath him suddenly wavered, then disappeared. Drizzt cried out in surprise, falling down a pit to land heavily on his backside.
“Illusion,” Niranyarr said in outrage, then unhooked a rope from his pack, lowering it to Drizzt.
Drizzt was halfway up when the water around them exploded into trolls. Mir squealed in outrage and surprise, then proceeded to keep them away from the griffin with her spheres, Zak drawing his swords.
He pushed one with his swords into the other perimeter, and the ground promptly wavered again, dropping the troll into the pit.
Satisfield, Zak proceeded to burn the trolls with Scorcher on one hand, the other normal sword deftly prodding others into the two pits.
Drizzt scrambled out of the pit, the trolls scattering under the barrage of the firebreath spheres that tripled under his, and Niranyarr’s help.
The trolls finally fled away into the water.
Zak looked down at the pits, then selected two long sticks that had made up the cover of the decoy pit. Throwing them over to Drizzt, he floated across the traps, then materialized.
“Now we will have to spend most of our time poking ahead with them,” he explained, but Drizzt understood already.
More slowly now, they moved ahead with their sticks, resembling blind men on a walk.
Niranyarr flew back up into the air, worriedly hovering over the two drow elves, then flying onwards.
The sticks revealed a few more traps, and these were avoided. Their boots became more and more caked with the mud, and their feet squelched noisily now with each step. Zak realised that even enchanted boots could not stand inches of thick mud.
It drew attention.
Log-like creatures floated closer by, longer than Niranyarr, with snake-like eyes. One suddenly burst out of the water towards Drizzt, revealing an impressive set of sharp teeth, and squat, clawed feet. Drizzt sidestepped its charge, but it swung its head, tearing at the elf’s leg.
Drizzt’s eyes burned. He straddled the creature’s neck, avoiding the slashing teeth with his agile feet, then he hooked the creature over deftly, revealing part of its softer underside. The creature abruptly stopped its thrashing, eyes closed in the sleep of death as Twinkle found its heart.
Zak was beating off another of the creatures, Scorcher’s bright flame searing its flesh.
Still the creatures came. Some burst into flame as Niranyarr and Mir joined in, but they knew that the reptiles would keep coming.
Drizzt impaled another of them with Icingdeath, Twinkle plunging quickly into another’s maw.
Zak was working his share, more than three twitching bodies lay at his feet as he deftly killed another with his swords.
Still they came. Then the waters erupted again on both sides, and the trolls appeared.
Zak changed his strategy, and began looking for an escape route. The trolls however, in their eagerness to get at the two elves, stepped on some of the reptiles, and the creatures reacted predictably.
Soon the trolls and the reptiles had forgotten about the elves, and Zak and Drizzt ran on ahead of the quickly swelling riot.
“Trolls are good for something after all,” Zak commented. Drizzt could only nod.
“Fools!” The troll-mage cried again in its underground lair.
The adventurers had foiled all of his attacks, and were rapidly nearing the end of his moor! Not only that, a not-inconsiderable portion of his troops had been burned to death!
“Intolerable!” he yelled, storming around the damp floor, “You will suffer for your insolence! All of you!”
He knew they neared his lair.
Quickly he rummaged through the debris on his lair, and picked up a spell book, its pages worn from use and grime.
Flipping through the pages, he came to the incantation he was looking for. His eyes narrowed evilly as he yelled for his guards to surround the room.
Quickly, he drew four circles on the ground with a stick, then added a few crude designs. It did not matter to him, as he was to use his magic to make them secure.
The guards looked at him blankly, stupidly. The troll-ogre guard, the not-too-bright leader of the group, spoke up.
“Orders?” he said in his guttural, gruff voice.
“Protect me,” the troll-mage replied, and launched himself into spell casting, his fingers weaving in front of him.
The guards complied, forming a defensive diamond around the mage.
“Ha’ralenwret reiawn n’wri’rarnre” he intoned, his splotched, green-gray hands moving stiffly in the intricate gestures.
“Ni’renaenre lin’re’enra Erin’wrie!” he yelled out the last and clapped his hands together.
Blue, swirling planar doors opened in the circles, hissing with energy.
“Come forth,” the mage whispered. “Come forth, mine enemies!”
They had finally stopped running, and continued to poke the ground in front of them, revealing more of the magical traps. They could see the end of the bog now, and moved faster towards it.
Then swirling, blue mirrors appeared in front of them.
A squawk of surprise from high up told Zak and Drizzt that the griffin too, had met one of the doors.
Drizzt looked at the mirrors warily, then back at Zak.
“Planar doors,” Zak replied, his heart sinking slowly, “Run!”
For all he knew, the unknown mage wished to send him on another trip back to the Abyss.
The two drow elves tried to move away from the doors, to the end of the bog, but something was holding them fast.
High above them, they could hear Niranyarr’s cursing.
The colors swirled faster and faster, then started to suck them in. Zak became insubstantial, but the magical energy simply strengthened, and they fell into the doors.
Into a multicolored, worm-like burrow, falling down and down. This was very familiar to Zak, and he knew that trying to escape was futile.
He tried anyway.
Then they were yanked away, Zak breathing a sigh of relief, knowing that they had not fallen long enough to get out of the Prime Material Plane, let alone the Abyss.
In a dank, dark room, the steady dripping of water louder here, like a reliable timepiece in the blackness of the hole. Roots hung down from the ceiling, and a small stream of water snaked across the moist floor in front of them.
Overwhelming was the stench of trolls in the room, the sickly sweet smell choking them.
A dim light appeared in the ceiling, allowing them to see their surroundings more clearly. Each of them, Miranae included, stood in a crude circle on the ground of moist earth. There was a troll in the middle of a diamond-shaped formation of a few troll-ogres and other ‘changed’, powerful beasts.
Zak suspected the troll in the middle was the mage. His suspicions were confirmed when the troll held up a spell book that had been hidden behind him, then walked to their front.
“Good,” the troll-mage said, rubbing his disgusting hands together eagerly, “More recruits for my army!”
“We’ll never join you!” Drizzt replied in anger. He tried to walk out of the circle, hands already holding his scimitars, but it was as if he were trying to walk out of a solid wall.
“We don’t need to,” Zak said, eyeing the troll-mage, “He’ll polymorph us.”
Mir was looking around with frightened eyes, while Niranyarr was angrily trying to break out of his circle.
“Smart of you.” The troll-mage told Zaknafein. “With my army complete, I’ll overrun Silverymoon, that disgustingly good city, and fill the world with trolls!” his voice raised to an exultant climax, hands raised above his head as if in ecstasy.
“Our drow masters in Menzoberranzan will not look kindly upon this,” Zak said evenly, trying to bluff his way out of the situation.
“Drow do not go to surface,” the troll-mage reasoned, his voice with a sense of doubt.
“A cavern opening is close to here, in the mountains,” Zak replied, his voice chillingly cold.
The troll-mage suddenly smiled, evilly. “Good then. Drow that are trolls will be useful in my army!” He came forward to stop in front of Zak.
“Let the big mouth be the first to change!” he continued loudly.
“No!” Drizzt cried, still struggling against the invisible barrier. Niranyarr snarled, promising the troll-mage his death if he did not stop.
Zak changed into his soul form, but the walls still stopped him. Unable to do anything but watch, he looked on as the troll-mage began another incantation. Then the mage’s eyes looked back at him.
“No use hiding. I can see you now.” He said.
“Ghosts who are half- troll make good warriors,” he assured Zak, then pointed towards a wraith, greenish gray, also smelling of a troll, floating silently in the corner.
Mir held the bundle of firebreath spheres tightly. She knew that the spheres would not be thrown out of the barrier, but she had to do something.
She remembered the created faerie fire of her tribe. Perhaps it would burn the troll, she reasoned. She had never really tried it before, but Mir concentrated.
The purple flames rimmed the troll-mage. He started, breaking his concentration, then laughed at them. “Faerie fire cannot burn,” he reminded Drizzt teasingly, thinking that Drizzt had been responsible for the magic.
Mir hardly heard him. She was reaching deeper into herself, her heart, pulling out energy from around her. “Burn,” she commanded clearly at the troll-mage.
He laughed at her, and continued with his incantation.
Drizzt looked at Mir with a helpless expression. Faerie fire could not burn.
Zak, however, understood her actions. He had watched the same thing, elsewhere in Sanctuary, but he did not think it would work in this place. Scorcher bounced off the barrier again and again as the drow elf tried to break through.
Mir willed the troll the burn with all her heart and soul, her mind filled with pictures of the troll-mage in that state, that she avenged her parents.
“Burn!” She cried out one more time.
The purple flames suddenly turned white hot, searing the troll-mage, engulfing him in a ball of flame as he cried out in surprise and protest. His book collapsed into ash.
“No!” he cried out in pain, holding up his flaming claws in front of him. “Stop! I beg… you” his mouth burned, and he soon collapsed into a smoking heap.
Niranyarr and the two drow elves had been watching with absolute amazement.
“Loremaster,” Zaknafein said softly.
Drizzt’s ears caught up the sound, and he turned to look at Zak. “One of the World-Maker’s Schools?” he asked uncomprehendingly. They had shared tales of their adventures before, on the road.
“No. Mir has the magic,” Zak replied, in astonishment.
The other troll-creatures had suddenly reverted back to their normal form, and Niranyarr stepped out of the now-useless circles, picking up Mir. Miranae had collapsed with exhaustion, and the griffin gently put her back into his passenger pouch.
Zak was shaking his head as they walked out of the small exit into the outside sun. “I did not think it would be possible here,” he continued to say to Drizzt.
“What does it do?” Drizzt said, slightly impressed that the magic did not seem to require any incantations or sort.
“You use your mind to will things to happen, but only certain creatures can do it. It was a type of power created by Morikan. The World-Makers often create these types of powers and either randomly give it to creatures under them, or selectively.” Zak distractedly repeated the lecture he had been given by Winter on the subject.
A quest within a quest Morikan’s voice came into Zak’s mind.
What do you mean? Zak asked, but the silver dragon’s presence was gone. Zak disliked Morikan’s tendency towards cryptic words, and he decided not to think about this particular saying.
Shrugging, he continued on the path in the bog, glad to see that the traps had been revealed.
“His magic dies with him,” Drizzt said approvingly, looking at the stream of creatures, changed back by the death of the mage, running away in their opposite direction, not wishing to face the formidable drow elves.
“It worked, didn’t it?” Mir asked, when she woke up to see the sunlight and the clouds around her as Niranyarr flew in the air.
“Very well,” the griffin replied, making his coughing laugh, then he stopped. “How?” he asked rather bluntly.
“I don’t know… I just wanted it to happen, and I took this power around me and threw it at the troll,” Mir rambled, her voice growing softer. “I don’t know.” She repeated quietly.
Niranyarr bobbed his head. “Sleep now then,” he said, and started to trill a soothing tune, that rocked the elven child into a deep slumber.
They were very relieved the next day to see the River Laughing Flow, Mir even forgetting about the incident. For now.
“Guenhwyvar,” Drizzt called, holding out the onyx figurine. The mist materialized, and the panther stood before Drizzt, lazily flicking its tail, ears alert for danger.
Mir laughed with joy, and threw herself at the big cat, speaking to it and hugging it’s great head. Guenhwyvar and Mir got along well.
Zaknafein walked forward from where he had been keeping watch, and lifted Miranae onto the panther’s back. Niranyarr would get a rest today from his ‘passenger’.
They had made good time past the River Laughing Flow, and through the crags without incident. Longsaddle was, after days of travel, finally in sight.
The morning’s crisp air acted as an elixir, and they felt fresh for the road. Mir rode her panther friend with the easy expertise of practice, without a saddle, her exclamations of joy at her steed’s sudden jumps drifting back to the two drow elves as Guenhwyvar took the lead.
Drizzt liked Longsaddle, and wished to visit his eccentric friends, the Harpells. Perhaps the most unintentionally destructive wizards in the Realms, the Harpell experiments were well known.
They passed the outlying farms, as Drizzt had so long ago, the drow elves with their hoods on, as not to attract too much attention, but not only did Niranyarr run by their side, the black panther too bounded in front of them, still carrying its passenger; dispelling that hope. The heads of farmers tended to turn when griffins and panthers were around.
Predictably, five armed riders then met them, that Drizzt knew as Longriders, the representatives of Longsaddle’s watch.
“Greetings, travelers,” one said politely, trying not to stare at the griffin, “May we know your business in these parts?”
“We’ve come to see the Harpells,” Drizzt said, “We are friends on a visit.” Saying so he lifted up his hood.
The Longriders blinked. “Greetings, Drizzt Do’Urden, and well met.” They moved aside, allowing the small party to pass, looking at them in curiosity now.
Drizzt led the party to a hillock and the Ivy Mansion. It was mostly as Drizzt had remembered, seemingly unplanned, yet with an overall pleasing structure, except that a great hole had been blown out of one side of the mansion, blackening a few spires and niches. The turf around the hole was also charred.
Somehow Drizzt was not surprised.
“Explosion?” Mir asked, staring at the hole in astonishment.
“Harpells,” Drizzt replied, as if that explained everything.
“Another of their unsuccessful experiments,” Zaknafein continued to the griffin’s curious look. “Recent, it seems,” he added dryly, seeing that wisps of smoke still drifted up from the unplanned opening.
A cluster of Harpells and their staff were gathered around the hole, arguing heatedly, probably, Zak thought, about some obscure tenet of the explosion and not to who was to blame.
A carmine-robed man suddenly shuffled out of the crowd, which did not notice his movement, towards the gate. “Drizzt!” he said excitedly. “You’re just in time. We’ve had a minor accident at the Mansion,” he waved his hand at the gaping hole, “and we may need your help to solve it. We never did know that opening an extraplanar gate to the Virtual Plane would end up with an explosion. In my opinion its due to the different air here and the air there, they react,” he stopped his rambling abruptly as it began. “Anyway, we need your help. They seem to be resistant to magic.”
“The Virtual Plane?” Zaknafein said in resignation.
“Oh yes, we wanted to see for ourselves what one of the creatures in it really looked like, so we summoned a lesser one to a circle on the floor but the explosion burned the circle, but we don’t know if the creature is still inside the building so we evacuated everyone.” Harkle said in his customary rambling sentence of tumbling words, not even noticing Zak’s skin color in his excitement.
“Didn’t you... know... about the Virtual Plane before... you opened a gate to it?” Zak grated out. Drizzt, Mir, and Niranyarr looked at his ire in surprise.
“Well we wanted to get first hand information from one of the creatures themselves,” Harkle said in an injured tone.
With an effort Zak controlled himself. “So that... that thing is inside the building now?” his voice now chillingly calm.
Harkle nodded, now seemingly oblivious to Zaknafein’s irritation. “Oh yes, and it’s causing quite a racket. Apparently it’s wrecking the Fuzzy Quarterstaff now, and our scrying bowl’s showing it, but we’re quite divided over how it’s doing its magic here, and…”
“Send it back,” Zak interrupted Harkle firmly.
“Oh we would if we could, but you see it broke the circle so it’s no longer under our control, but we shut down the gate, so you see...” Harkle started animatedly.
“I suppose we have to,” Zak said with a sigh, ignoring the wizard’s words.
“Oh. Do come in,” Harkle said suddenly as he remembered that the five adventurers were outside the gate.
Drizzt led them in through the third post, and into the strange compound. The crowd ignored their appearance, continuing to argue heatedly.
“Something you have to tell us about monster?” Niranyarr suggested.
“It can twist reality to create solid illusions,” Zak said with irritation, “If it does this too long in the Material Plane, the entire fabric of reality here will be affected. Even if it were a lesser creature. You’ll never know what is real and what is not.”
“That’s frightening,” Mir commented in her childish voice with its adult inflections. Reflexively, she patted Guenhwyvar’s muscled back, as though to reassure herself that the panther was real.
“That’s how they do it? Twisting reality?” Harkle asked, with a tone of disappointment. “I thought that they used a type of magic that is summoned due to the mind and not through...”
“I had better go in alone,” Zak cut off the wizard again.
“Why?” Drizzt asked, with an overtone of rebellion.
“The thing can create illusions that are real, though most will not be for a lesser creature. By myself, I will not have to distinguish which is a friend, and which is a foe. He will be able to create images of people that we do know, or of ourselves, and we may end up killing each other,” Zak said somberly.
His companions struggled with this piece of reasoning for a while. “Still go,” Niranyarr said firmly, Mir and Drizzt nodding their agreement.
“You... I will be safer, if you stayed outside.” Zak said reasonably.
“Why you?” Drizzt asked bluntly.
“Because I not only know what to do, I also can avoid most of his tricks.” Zak replied coolly.
“Teach us then,” Mir said with enough authority to shame a queen.
“Can you do this?” Zak challenged, becoming insubstantial, ignoring Harkle, who was standing close by in fascination.
“A soul! How interesting,” Harkle said enthusiastically, forgetting about the Fuzzy Quarterstaff and its inhabitant. “May I ask a few questions?”
“Later, perhaps.” Zak replied, then pointed at a circular chamber ahead of them, at the back of the weird mansion. “Is that the place?”
“Oh yes,” Harkle burbled. “How can you switch from being insubstantial to being material?” he asked.
Zak ignored him again. “Stay here,” he told the others, his voice carrying more of a plea than an order, then he drew his swords, Scorcher immediately burning with a red flame, stepping inside the wrecked door.
The bar was wrecked, and a pile of twisted instruments sat at the side, that looked as though they had been stomped on, bent, then thrown forcefully against the walls. The circular tables had sported a gemstone in the center, but were now randomly splintered and scattered around the room.
Then Zak saw the creature, an ever shifting, brown jelly like thing, vaguely in the shape of a human, half formed features ever changing, limbs ever sprouting from its sides to sink back in. It was currently contemplating the bar, that looked like the hub of a wheel, experimentally swinging a large pincer at it, then melting the pincer into a hammer, then into a sword and so on.
It was engrossed in its game, and Zak thought that he could get in a lucky first strike to it’s heart, cleanly, and end its torment.
It was clearly suffering. The air here was different from its home, and it was breathing hard, in harsh gasps. Its destruction was probably caused by frustration.
Zak, with cat-like movements, stole behind the monster, swords held dangerously low.
An eye formed on the monster’s back, briefly, then started to submerge back into the amorphous mass. Then it blinked, and stared at Zak.
Zaknafein immediately charged, his swords whirling, but the monster stepped aside agilely, Zak only nicking his thigh. Or what was now a fishlike tail. Now a lion’s great paws.
Zak shook his attention away from the sinuous, hypnotic shapeshiftings, and quickly pushed up his swords to intercept a sword cut.
He was surprised to see that he was fighting a mirror of himself. His determination was suddenly fueled by rage, and he spun and pirouetted, hitting away the illusion’s awkward strokes to strike at its heart. The illusion puffed away with a hiss.
A rushing of air behind him, his swords moving upwards of their own volition to block a stroke from a giant, his knees nearly buckling from the effort. His swords went into their deadly dance, Zak literally running circles around the slow creature, and Scorcher burned brighter as it plunged into the creature’s heart.
Zak then became insubstantial, floating through the other half-solid illusions, to arrive at the creature itself. With a roar, the thing extended two shapeless arms towards the drow, that suddenly split into many hands, holding many weapons.
Zak took his soul shape. The weapons sliced harmlessly through him, and he continued forward. Confused, the creature lowered his defense for a moment, as it looked in Zak’s general location. It could sense a soul’s emanations, but being a lesser creature, could not actually see the soul.
Swords angling upward into his heart showed him abruptly where the drow was.
Drizzt continued to peer inside, restrained by Niranyarr.
“Trust Zak,” the griffin said calmly, its bulk preventing the slender drow from pushing past it into the doorway.
“Zak?” Harkle asked, requesting for an introduction.
Distractedly, Drizzt named his friends. “Your father?” Harkle repeated, unbelieving.
“He came back on a quest,” Drizzt said, trying to push through the griffin, but the half eagle, half lion stood on like a rock.
“A spirit on a quest?” the wizards mused. “I really must speak with him later.” Harkle decided.
“I don’t hear anything inside anymore,” Mir remarked suddenly from her perch on Guenhwyvar’s back.
Niranyarr turned to look inside.
“He won,” he announced. Zak was walking back to them, sheathing his swords. The illusions, and the monster, were gone, sent back to the Virtual Plane.
“Easy,” Zak commented about the fight, stepping over a broken chair. “The bar, however, couldn’t be helped.”
“Never mind about the bar,” Harkle said dismissively. “We’ll rebuild it, better.”
Zak spoke about what he had done, then about what the creatures could do, to quench the inevitable questioning of the wizard.
They came out to the still arguing crowd, Harkle importantly announcing what had happened, and what the creature had really done, sparking yet another debate.
“Harpells,” Zak groaned, as Harkle was dragged inside the debate as well.
“When this clears, it’ll be time for the road,” Drizzt remarked.
Mir and Guenhwyvar went off to investigate Bidderdoo, the werewolf Harpell, the only resident in the Ivy Mansion not partaking of the debate.
Niranyarr watched his friends attempting to extricate Harkle from the crowd with amusement, then retreated under the twin glares of Drizzt and Zaknafein as they noticed that amusement.
Finally the crowd retreated into a semblance of order as DelRoy, the oldest Harpell in the Ivy Mansion, inexplicably and abruptly came to his senses and started organizing the motley band of mages.
He turned towards the gaping hole, looking with disapproval at the many broken things inside. Then he began a chant, which apparently was very familiar to the other mages, as they too began incantations that were subtly different, but harmonizing with the old mage’s chant.
The hole suddenly sprouted a few spires, a birdbath, and a few notches, as a wall grew down in front of it. From what Zak could see of the inside, the broken things were quickly repairing themselves and fitting them back onto the shelves.
The chant took a different note, and Zak supposed that they were repairing the inside of the Ivy Mansion and the Fuzzy Quarterstaff.
DelRoy made a final, triumphant sound, then waved the crowd back into their places in the Mansion. Harkle shuffled back to the drow elves and the griffin, then looked over at Mir and Guenhwyvar.
“Bidderdoo enjoys catching? Well I suppose it’s a healthier habit than digging up the lawn and burying our wands, DelRoy just lost his favorite Wand of Summoning, and he’s rather irritated about the manner, but Bidderdoo does not seem to be bothered,” the wizard said happily, watching Guenhwyvar chasing Bidderdoo’s dog form.
The old mage walked over to the drow pair, looking curiously at Zaknafein, then at Niranyarr. “Welcome to the Mansion,” he said at last. “You came at an interesting time, but rooms are ready for you already, and so is food in the new Fuzzy Quarterstaff,” he said with a smile, then a frown came as he looked at Bidderdoo.
“I really must find that Wand,” he muttered irritably, then wandered off towards the werewolf Harpell.
Drizzt found that he was enjoying himself.
The new Fuzzy Quarterstaff sported a more elaborate bar and musical platform, but the tables were the same. Niranyarr looked around the chamber, filled with arguing Harpells and their staff. “Food?” he asked.
Mir climbed on the table, ignoring Zak’s, and Drizzt’s remonstrations, to touch the gem tentatively.
“Just ask,” the gem said when she touched it, and she snatched back her small hand in astonishment, to glare collectively at the laughing drow.
“It talks?” Niranyarr said in surprise.
“It talks?” The gem answered, in mock surprise.
Zak made an effort to stop laughing, found he could not, then gradually calmed down. “Do try to eat cooked food,” he told the griffin.
“Why?” Niranyarr asked innocently.
“It’s the custom here,” Drizzt said glibly, and the griffin agreed somewhat reluctantly.
The Harpells pulled their tables closer as they slowly noticed their tables, and started to bombard Zak with questions. What was he doing here? Where did he come from? How did he know of the the creature? Being the more popular of the questions. Zak answered the questions the best he could, amused at their thirst for knowledge.
Drizzt was privately glad he was not the subject of prodding this time.
Then the questions shifted to the griffin.
Finally, Harkle thanked them for being understanding. “You’re going to Icewind Dale then,” he said, and Drizzt nodded.
“There’s war again in Ten Towns,” he said. “Berkthgar and his tribes believe that the towns should relinquish some of their lands that they claimed. He believes in returning to the tundra, and Targos had recently discovered another good lake inside their territory, and insist on keeping it. They say they found it first. Anyway, Berkthgar was obviously not pleased, and so it’s the barbarians over the people again. Seems he’s been wanting to build his reputation through war,” Harkle said, shaking his head.
“We avoid Ten Towns then,” Zak said, looking at Drizzt.
“What if we were to try and defuse the hostilities?” the drow elf said hopefully.
“It will take too much time. Perhaps on the way back,” Zak replied firmly.
Drizzt did not speak of the matter again later, but was privately thinking of something, Zak could see.
They set off again the next morning, taking their farewells from the Harpells, and mounted on provided steeds. Zak rather missed N’ar’vel, and wondered how the black stallion was doing. Maybe after this mission, he could go and find out.
They cantered on, leaving the Ivy Mansion behind.
The road, Drizzt’s only real home. Here he could feel the breeze in his hair, endure its many trials for the sake of the sense of freedom at its end. He rode on his bay horse, not hooded, the comfortable darkness of night around him.
They slept less now, for Zak was nearing the end of his journey, and getting rather impatient.
Mir had loudly protested the decision to return her to her home near Grunwald, and had finally settled to sulking, casting reproachful glances at Zak and Drizzt on her perch on Guenhwyvar’s back.
Especially now that the forest was in sight. Zak was hesitant about meeting the other surface elves of Mir’s tribe, and was sure that drow elves would not be kindly received, especially drow elves with an elven child.
They traveled on the outside of the forest, Mir reluctantly and sulkily giving them directions. Guenhwyvar, saucer eyes as unjudging as always, moved fleet footed at the front, changing its route to Miranae’s pointers.
The forest around them was mostly consisting of high trees, which blocked out most of the sunlight. The ground was full of low shrubs and moss, and a pleasant woody odor permeated the forest. Birdsong was clearly heard, and sometimes they would meet a stag, grazing on the path, to look at the panther with frightened and affronted eyes, then bound off into the trees.
The path they were on had clearly been made. Pebbles lined the sides, and the path glowed a yellow color.
“Visitors are not allowed to get off the path,” Miranae said, “It’s a rule here that’s very strict, but you’re with me, and it should be all right.”
Niranyarr did not appreciate the confining trees, and he loped easily by the panther’s side, eyes occasionally drifting upwards to the canopy.
“We reaching?” the griffin asked nervously.
Mir gave him an amused look. “Not really,” she said, and the griffin sighed.
As they entered the borders of Mir’s tribe, elven eyes were watching them. The sentry set his fingers in his mouth, and made a long, mournful sound like that of a strange bird. Three times he did it, then he settled back to watching the adventurers on his perch on a tree, his slender fingers touching his bow.
They were drow elves! And they had one of his own, her yellow hair and gold-hued skin identifying the elven child that was apparently enjoying herself on the back of a black panther.
Miranae stopped her laughter abruptly, listening to the familiar sound. “We’ve been spotted,” she said rather loudly to her friends, her eyes going knowingly to a certain ash tree next to them. “You’re friends, but there are certain things that we have to go through,” her voice reflecting distaste for customs.
“Customs have to follow,” Niranyarr said. Griffins appreciated traditions.
Miranae snorted, tapping Guenhwyvar. “We have to stay closer together, in case my people decide to take pot shots at Drizzt and Zak, then say they thought the ‘drow’ were not from my party,” she said dryly.
Zak thought that she seemed to be talking to someone else, and his eyes went up the ash tree, seeing a warm figure with his infravision. A sentry, he concluded.
Drizzt suddenly had this uncomfortable feeling between his shoulder blades at Mir’s mention of archers.
High on his perch, the sentry allowed himself an involuntary smile. The child was obviously from his tribe, to know their customs. But was she genuine, or an incarnation of the drow elves? He also did not know what to make of the magnificent creature at their side, eagle head proudly raised, powerful lion’s paws carrying it along, wings folded on its back.
They were worth investigating, but the sentry knew better than that. Noiselessly, he climbed along on the branches, interlocked by rope ladders, following them and waiting for the others to come.
The child was alert, he admitted. Her eyes followed his every move on the rope-linked trees, with her bright sunny smile. Her drow friends were a little less confident, and one in particular kept following her eyes, staring at the sentry’s tell-tale body heat.
The sentry decided that he had better speak to the Elders about that. Many creatures had infravision, especially those that came out at night to forage in the forest.
What was the use of having a Watch when the creatures could find them?
However, the sentry heard some answering calls, long and mournful, coming closer to him. He called again, then stopped.
The group had stopped at the elven child’s signal, and they were waiting, the drow elves fingering their weapons, the strange creature using its eagle eyes to sweep the forest.
The little girl seemed unconcerned, engaged in scratching the panther’s ears, while the panther purred appreciatively.
“They’re coming,” Mir said.
“The welcome party?” Zak asked dryly.
“Sounds like a war party,” Drizzt agreed. Welcome parties, to his knowledge, did not use signals to tell others of visitor’s presence.
“Well, you can’t expect them to accept dark elves on a first glance,” Mir said defensively. Drizzt nodded, knowing that his dark heritage often caused him to be cast out of many places, unceremoniously. He bore this prejudice stoically, for he was content, he had his friends, and the road.
“They think we’re holding you hostage?” Zak remarked.
“Probably,” Mir replied, rolling her eyes.
“Hostage?” Niranyarr started to laugh. Mir stuck her tongue out at the griffin.
“Don’t do that,” Zak and Drizzt said sternly in unison. Niranyarr laughed harder.
Then he stopped as ten elves appeared suddenly out of the undergrowth, as if the forest had spit them out to meet the intruders.
The elves too had the hair of golden wheat, and skin of nearly the same hue, like Miranae. Their hands held an array of finely crafted weapons, and they wore chain mail.
More like a war party, Zak had to agree. Ten elven warriors for two drow elves?
“Why are you holding one of our kin?” one of them asked at last, in a musical voice.
“I am with them through my own free will,” Miranae said. “When my parents were lost, these took me in, for the purpose of returning me to the tribe.”
The speaker seemed a little taken aback that the child had dared to speak, in this type of situation.
“Are you under a spell?” the leader said tentatively, “Drow warriors often employ the dark arts.”
Drizzt, Zak included, was getting tired of this. Drizzt stepped forward before Mir could give a sarcastic retort. “My name is Drizzt Do’Urden, a follower of Mielikki,” he introduced himself, hoping that the elves here had heard of him.
Normally, Drizzt did not enjoy fame, but he admitted that it had its uses. Apparently from the excited whispers, the elves had. Any idea that Drizzt was faking it was dispelled by his obviously lavender eyes.
“Welcome then, Drizzt Do’Urden, and well met, your reputation precedes you. Your companions are welcome here, though the child will have to explain why her parents and herself were outside the forest,” the speaker said finally.
“My name is Miranae,” Mir said calmly.
“Miranae?” the speaker said, astonished. “Where are the others?”
“The trollmoors,” Mir said sadly. The speaker nodded sympathetically, and changed the subject.
“May I ask why you are in this part of the world?” he asked of Drizzt.
“My father wishes to complete his quest,” Drizzt said, patting Zak’s shoulder.
“And that is?” the speaker asked curiously.
“To retrieve the Twin swords, Scorcher and Frostbite,” Zak said urbanely.
“But is that not...” another elven warrior said in astonishment.
“Scorcher is with a red dragon, and Frostbite is lost,” agreed another.
Zak decided to indulge himself for a while.
“Scorcher was with a red dragon,” he commented, drawing the said sword. As was its custom, it flared with red fire.
The elves looked rather impressed, with the exceptions of his friends. Mir smiled, as did Drizzt, while Niranyarr snorted.
Having friends that knew him too well was sometimes problematic.
“Frostbite is in the glaciers near Icewind Dale,” Zak continued. “That is partly why we are here,” he looked pointedly at Mir, who pouted.
He wondered if he should take Mir to Sanctuary. Her Loremaster capabilities would be better developed there than at this place in which practically no one knew about the magic. Untrained, it could be very dangerous, for there were certain rules in it that could not be broken. Maybe after his quest he would ask Winter to retrieve the young elf.
The elven warriors formed into two lines around them, and the speaker walked with Zak and Drizzt, showing his trust. Zak found that he liked this sort of society, based on trust and friendship, instead of power and ambition.
A joyful singing became louder as they neared the woodland home, the eldritch calling that Drizzt found so familiar, on the surface raid he had participated in long ago.
More familiar scenes unraveled in front of his eyes. Around a glade, a ring of elves danced and sang, joyfully, to the tune of several flutists in the corner. Zak looked at the scene, thinking about what he had left on the Plane of Saints. It looked very familiar, and his heart started to ache for ‘his’ heaven.
The dances stopped as the surface elves looked at the escorted adventurers. Especially at the dark skins of Drizzt and Zaknafein, and a profound silence replaced the song.
“Guests of Miranae,” the speaker of the warrior group announced, and Miranae signaled for Guenhwyvar to move forward.
“The griffin is Niranyarr Windsoarer, this is Guenhwyvar, and he’s Drizzt Do’Urden. The last one is Zaknafein Do’Urden.” She said in introduction. Strangers to a tribe were always introduced beforehand.
“Well met,” an old elf walked out from the others, his clear, resonant voice uncharacteristic of the surface elves. “Do join in,” he smiled at the festivities, which had begun again hesitantly, and were now back in full swing.
The old elf patted Mir’s long gold hair, then motioned to the speaker of the escort. The both of them walked back to the crowd.
The other elven warriors had already disappeared.
“Guests are accorded as much trust as the members of the tribe,” Mir explained.
Would that Menzoberranzan had been like this! Zak wished.
Mir and Guenhwyvar were swept up by a crowd of laughing elven children, to play together at the side of the glade. Guenhwyvar enjoyed playing with children, and would gladly have made that its life work, Drizzt thought privately. Zak too, he added, watching his father move, automatically it seemed, to the play.
The small group of children was reserved at first with this new, unexpected playmate, then, like Mir, looked past his dark skin. They liked this strange drow elf that knew so many games!
The dancers had invited Niranyarr shyly to play the part of an eagle in their story, and the griffin complied enthusiastically, while another wide-eyed child dragged Drizzt into the game.
The old elf and the speaker watched the guests, and smiled approvingly. “They are different,” the old elf said, referring to Drizzt and Zak.
The speaker nodded, then told the old man what had happened to Mir, and how she had met the group.
“It is best not to speak of it then. Mir would just have to be given to another family,” the old elf decided.
“Very well, Honored one,” the speaker replied, “However I wonder if she would wish to leave her friends.”
“They are friends only, Liranril,” the old elf said.
Liranril shook his head. “She treats them as family, and they have been family to her since she lost her own,”
“Let her decide then,” the old elf said after considering Liranril’s observation. He trusted the seasoned warrior’s judgement.
“She is young, Honored one,” Liranril protested.
“Miranae, from what I have seen of her when she was here before, is a bright child. She will know what to do,” the old elf said firmly. “Now I have kept you too long, and I will speak to the four of them later.”
Liranril bowed and retreated into the crowd.
The old elf sat on his wooden rocking chair. He was the leader of the tribe, but becoming too old for the task. His old limbs would no longer carry him through the dance, and he simply watched the others now, feeling pleasure at the sight of the children’s play.
They were now playing catching, a favorite of Zak’s since he usually won, Drizzt having been tagged the earliest, and was now blindfolded. Unfortunately, he grasped the game quickly, and his years of tutelage under Montolio, the blind ranger, had taught him much. Quickly he tagged an elven child.
They had told each other their names, but all of them felt the same to Drizzt, so he guessed, and lifted his blindfold. “Reianae?” he said hopefully.
The golden haired girl grinned. “Right,” she admitted, then took the blindfold.
Guenhwyvar was exempted from the rules, partly because the panther could not speak, and partly because it was very obvious who it was when tagged. However Guenhwyvar did not get its share of tags due to its speed.
The dance ended long into the night, and everyone walked, or was carried, back to their treetop homes. The homes were built at the canopy of huge oaks, and small steps wound down the massive trunks onto the ground. The homes were made of oak, not a single nail showing, their structure strange but supported through pegs and interlocked spaces.
Most of the homes had flowers dangling down from the sides, and they were a feast for the eyes. Rope walkways linked up the platforms, which were also carved into pleasing shapes by the skilled elven craftsmen.
They were escorted into guestrooms, Mir refusing the invitation of a family politely, preferring to disturb her friends.
The temperatures were getting colder. Zak was unaffected by the biting wind, but Drizzt had started to wear warm clothing. Niranyarr, however was a problem, Zak could see.
The griffin was not bothered about this phenomenon, and told Zak not to worry when the dark elf had asked. Zak concluded finally that the griffin probably had yet another strange potion that the griffin mages had concocted.
Since griffins did not have many fingers, the designs of many spells could not be cast, and their mages often made potions instead.
There was an exasperated exclamation from Drizzt’s general direction, and Zak noticed that Mir’s bunk was vacated.
“Your toes are cold,” Drizzt complained, but Mir snickered, then burrowed out of the sheets to lie against Guenhwyvar, at the foot of Drizzt’s bed, the panther stretching contentedly.
Drizzt pulled his sheets over his head at the sound of Zak’s muffled laughter. There were limits to what he could endure, and he was sure that Mir had other plans in mind, probably regarding his property.
They were woken the next day to more singing down below, to see Zak appearing in the doorway with a tray of food.
“Each room is supposed to get their own, or join in down there,” he explained. “However the situation down there has... um...”
“Deteriorated into a food fight,” Mir finished. “It happens rather often.” She smiled. “Excuse me,” Miranae lightly jumped down from Guenhwyvar’s side, and flew down the stairs.
The food was mostly fruits of different, succulent tastes, bread and a bit of cheese. Niranyarr declined the bread and cheese, eating most of the fruit, Zak walking back out to the balcony after he put down the tray.
Drizzt joined him a moment later with a hunk of bread and cheese.
On the glade, there were tables of fruit and other items, and benches for those who wished to eat down there. However, in the center of the glade a small riot had taken place, mostly made of children but with a fair number of adults.
“Looks like fun,” Niranyarr commented, padding onto the balcony with Guenhwyvar.
“Looks like a mess,” Zak corrected.
“They’re enjoying themselves, so what’s a bit of waste?” Drizzt smiled. Mir’s shape was apparent inside the riot. “Apparently Miranae’s firebreath spheres have improved her aim,” Drizzt continued.
A table of what looked like some of the warriors was watching with wide smiles. Zak recognized Liranril among them. Then, as riots were wont to, the fight overflowed into their direction.
“When are we going to start today?” Zak wondered aloud.
It did not take as long as Zak had anticipated, but the tables were cleared and the glade cleaned. Mir was wearing a new dress, and had washed off the food from her.
“Chief Wyranlil would like to see us,” Mir said as soon as she spotted her friends, then led them up to an immense oak in the woodland home.
The old elf was rocking in his chair, a look of dreamy content on his face. His chamber was more elaborate than the others were, but instead of the swords that customary decorated the rooms of leaders, his was tapestries and marvelous paintings.
The room had a hallowed feeling to it, serenity in its walls. The floor had a simple carpet, and the bed was small and plain compared to the rest of the room.
An ornate table sat at the side, lifelike sculptures of falcons on both sides of it. A portrait hung above the table, probably that of the founder of the tribe.
“Welcome,” Wyranlil said warmly when he noticed their presence.
“We have to leave today,” Zak informed him, slightly regretful.
Wyranlil smiled. “May the gods shine on you and your friends for your quest,” he said. “Miranae?” he asked of the elven child standing next to Drizzt and Niranyarr. “Would you stay with us, or with them?”
Miranae bit her lip. She had known this question was forthcoming, but it was hard to make a decision. The group was the only family she knew now, and although she knew that they would split their own ways after the quest, she wished to go with them. Maybe she would come back here after the quest.
“With them,” she decided. Niranyarr felt secretly pleased at the child’s decision, but could see problems ahead.
Zak gave her an incredulous look, and started to protest, but Wyranlil smiled his approval. “We will give you supplies for your journey,” he said, businesslike. “Now, something has come to my attention. Ten Towns has warred with the barbarian tribes,”
“We know of that, and are going to avoid the trouble,” Zak said.
“It’s a little widespread,” Wyranlil said, “and you will have to either pass Ten Towns or the tundra, or both to get to the glaciers.”
“Your son is a bit too well known in that part to stay neutral,” the old elf said, with a smile at Drizzt.
“What is the situation there now?” Drizzt asked.
“The fishermen are still holding to the lake, and have hinted on a settlement there. They are getting support from Kemp of Targos, but the other town speakers are not so sure about helping them. The fishermen belong to Targos in the first place.” Wyranlil said.
“Targos alone is not strong enough,” Drizzt said.
“They know that, but Berkthgar knows that if he were to kill the people inside the village, he should expect reprisals from the rest, but he cares not. He hopes to build a reputation equal to Wulfgar’s.” Wyranlil explained.
“Fools,” Niranyarr said. “Over a small lake?”
“For Berkthgar, more is at stake,” Wyranlil said. “I do not even think that Wulfgar would be able to sway the barbarians now. The older ones know war, and they’re more hesitant about this, but the younger ones are eager for battle.”
“We will try to avoid the conflict,” Zak said doubtfully. “My thanks.”
“Just take care of Miranae,” Wyranlil responded, patting the child’s head again, Mir accepting this quietly, still held in her thoughts.
They left in the afternoon, to the good-byes of the tribe, Mir sitting with Niranyarr, Drizzt and Zak walking behind.
Drizzt wondered why war often did not teach the humans anything at all.
Zak took Miranae aside for a while when they had lost sight of the wooded area.
“The place we’re going to is too dangerous for you,” he began, Mir looking at him calmly.
“I’m still going,” she said.
Zak opened his mouth to give a scathing retort, but yet another familiar voice permeated his consciousness.
She’s going with you Morikan said.
Why can’t I pick her up on my way back? Zak retorted. From the fascinated look on Miranae’s face, she heard the conversation too.
Because I said so Morikan replied smugly, then disappeared again.
“Not a word,” Zak warned the impishly grinning elven girl. He stalked back to his horse, and Mir burst out into laughter.
“Yetis,” Drizzt confirmed, as the two drow elves stood in the shelter of a frozen tree. The bear-like monsters shuffled around in front of them, quite oblivious to their presence.
Zaknafein considered the four monsters, wondering if they should attack or leave them alone, but his decision was made for him. It suddenly rained fiery spheres on the yetis, two of them bellowing in rage and pain as they went up in flames.
Zak ran out of the cover, swords held low, and attacked one of the yetis, his swords expertly dancing past the heavy blows of the yeti to angle into its heart. Drizzt had engaged the other monster, the bracers of speed on his boots allowing him to dodge quickly all the monster’s blows, then Twinkle too touched the monster’s heart.
The other two yetis, under the insistent hail of scorching flame, died under the barrage. A stench of burnt flesh permeated the frozen, snow-covered ground, and the two elves moved quickly out of distance.
High above them, Niranyarr and Mir hefted their dwindling supplies of spheres, swooping on ahead. It was colder high up, and Mir was wrapped in fur and blankets, quite comfortable, often ducking her head down to avoid the biting cold of the wind.
Niranyarr did not wear any protection, unconcerned about the cold due to a strange bluish potion he had taken earlier in the day. The potions of the griffin mages were potent indeed.
They were to stop by the dwarven mines, partly to rest, and partly for more information. Drizzt moved confidently towards Bruenor’s Climb, a mound of rocks that he and the sour dwarf had sat on often at night, Bruenor to speak of his homeland, Drizzt to listen.
Niranyarr landed softly, Mir poking her head out of the bundle. “Are we there yet?” She asked, placing her hands under the covers to try and keep warm.
“Almost,” Drizzt replied, pulling his cowl down to avoid the glare of the sun on the virgin snow. They went into a passage lighted magically, the two dwarven guards reaching for their weapons, then calming down when Drizzt lifted the top of his hood.
“Stumpet’ll speak to ye,” one of the red bearded dwarves said, not looking surprised at the drow elf’s sudden appearance, pointing vaguely towards a corridor of rooms.
“Bruenor?” The other asked, looking at their party.
“Bruenor’s at Citadel Adbar, last I saw,” Drizzt replied. Leaving the guards to mull over this bit of information, Drizzt led his friends into a room in the tunnels.
Stumpet Rakingclaw whirled from where she had been examining a bottle at the sound of their entrance. “Well met, Drizzt Do’Urden,” she began, looking curiously at his friends.
“Well met, Stumpet,” Drizzt replied with a smile. “We seek a place to rest,”
“Done. Yer friends have to sleep in the guest quarters, but ye’ll get food and bedding. Where’s Bruenor?” the cleric asked, noticing his absence.
“An’ Catti-brie, Wulfgar, an’ Regis?”
“Citadel Adbar,” Drizzt said. “We separated there for a while,” the dark elf continued. A mixed expression came on his handsome features. “Wulfgar left us earlier on, to take his own path.”
“Suren ye’ll tell me why in yer time,” Stumpet said. “Yer friends are?”
Drizzt introduced his companions, Niranyarr lifting Mir out so that she could stretch her legs.
“Yer good at pickin’ up strange folk,” Stumpet remarked, looking at Niranyarr, and at Zak.
Drizzt smiled. “Very strange folk,” he amended, with a grin at his father.
Zak ignored it, looking around the plain stone chamber, with a table and drawers stacked full of paraphernalia, and a rack of mountain climbing equipment at the side.
“The mountains be too harsh fer th’ likes o’ this one,” Stumpet remarked, watching Mir crawl onto the low table to investigate the drawers.
Zak hastily picked up the elven girl as she attempted to open one of the bottles. “She insisted on coming,” he said, “and I really did not have much choice.”
“How is war in Ten Towns?” Niranyarr asked the cleric.
“Rapidly worsening. We refuse t’ take either side of the orc-brained folk, an’ ye’ll be wise to stay outta their way.” The cleric said.
Drizzt nodded. “Is there a clear way through?”
“The damned barbarians took most o’ the area fer their own, what with ancestral land, but they’re few, and ye’ll probably be able t’ get through, s’long as ye don’t near that lake.” Stumpet said, picking up a map of the area from the depths of one of the drawers, and pointing at a blue blotch on the fading paper.
“The lake’s not much bigger than Redwaters,” Drizzt said incredulously. “They’ll fight over it?”
“They not only did, they’re doin’ it now,” Stumpet said. “We’re not concerned ‘bout them battles, just ‘bout the business.”
Dwarves were largely a practical race.
Zaknafein took out his map with the ‘X’ mark of Frostbite’s shrine, comparing his map to Stumpet’s. Quickly, he marked out a possible route through.
“Yer lookin’ fer somethin’?” Stumpet asked, pointing with one thick finger at the X.
“Frostbite,” Zak confirmed absently, looking at the markings on Stumpet’s map that represented the barbarian territory.
Stumpet stared at him, then her eyes moved unconsciously to his sword belt. “Ye got the dragon,” she said, in a tone of awe.
Zaknafein nodded. “A hard fight,” he said offhandedly. “Now, do you think this route is possible?” he asked, tracing a path with his finger.
The war had been sparked off a band of young people from Targos setting off for ‘a lark’. They had wandered into the barbarian territory, unchallenged due to their roundabout route.
They had come upon a small, sparkling lake, full of the knucklehead trout, and immediately marked it on their map, proclaiming it the property of Targos. Their return to that town had sparked a lot of interest, many fishermen packing up and moving to the lake, setting up another village called New Targos.
Obviously Berkthgar was irritated by this random intrusion, and ignored every peace-keeping effort by the town-speakers, attacking and subsequently destroying New Targos with some of his warriors.
Although he was advised by Revjak to try negotiation, he refused, saying, to thunderous cheers, that the townspeople had gone too far, and had invaded their ancient lands.
Holding Bankenfuere, his great sword, he roared out that the barbarians had to prove their rights over the land, they had to defend it with their lives, if needed! Revjak could only watch the overwhelming support for Berkthgar’s ideas with a shaking head. He had seen war many times, and had lost much along with it, but the townsfolk were really intruding into the tundra this time.
Revjak knew that the barbarians would always follow their leader. Berkthgar wished to climb out of Wulfgar’s shadow, through bloody deed if necessary.
The fishermen gradually came back to New Targos, along with a regime of armed soldiers. They foolishly claimed ownership of the stocked lake, with Kemp’s wholehearted support.
Caer-Dineval and Bryn Shander opposed the war, trying to keep neutral, but they knew they would retaliate if Targos were attacked. The towns stood poised for war, Revjak knew. Another bloody senseless war.
Woe to New Targos.
They set off at night when the sun no longer shone over the gleaming snow, a night that still seemed bright to the drow elves. Drizzt and Zak walked along easily over the frozen tundra, a light snow patterning their cloaks.
High above, Mir kept attempting to catch a snowflake and examine it, but it kept melting in her hands. Slightly miffed at the snowflake’s lack of cooperation, she caught another, and it too melted. Niranyarr chuckled.
“Your body heat melts snow,” he explained. “No snow where you live?” he asked, slightly surprised. Grunwald was very close to the glaciers.
“Enchantment keeps the snow out of the forested area, and I’ve only been out once,” Mir said, her face clouding as she thought of why she had gone out.
Niranyarr wisely did not press the issue. “Snow good to play,” he commented. “Show you later down.”
Drizzt was a host of mixed emotions about returning to the tundra. He felt inclined to go and speak with the people of Ten Towns, and the barbarians, about this war. Neither would give, but Drizzt could think of a dozen alternatives to war.
If only he could speak to Revjak, or Cassius, but Zak was adamant about continuing.
“If we do not speak with them, more will die in this war,” Drizzt tried again.
Not slowing his pace, Zak turned his unhooded head to Drizzt. “Maybe after we get to the shrine,” he said calmly.
Zak did not wish to act as a mediating personage to stubborn, silly people who were willing to fight over fish, and Drizzt knew it. Drizzt however, felt inclined to try.
“After we get to the shrine it may be too late,” Drizzt said. “Stumpet said that hostilities were breaking out again.”
“Serves them right,” Zak muttered under his breath. Drizzt pretended not to hear.
“Icewind Dale was... is my home. I have to do something,” Drizzt told Zak.
“Then do it,” Zak replied, his feet crunching in the snow. He realized he did not really like the pristine white blanket. The cold seeped into his toes, and his boots were getting wet and uncomfortable. It was beautiful though, like a single unspoiled painting.
Drizzt looked at him in sudden hope then narrowed his eyes. “Together.” He said.
“It’s really none of my business,” Zak commented coldly, “If these people are willing to fight over fish, of all things, without seeing the other options, that is their problem.”
“I am trying to prevent the unnecessary loss of lives,” Drizzt growled.
“Lives have already been lost, and still will,” Zak remarked.
“Stop the ‘will’ then,” Drizzt continued, his voice rising. “We could make them see the options, then there’ll be no war.”
“Look,” Zak said, his voice becoming colder, as cold as the snow around them, “do you think that this war, will be the only one? You’ve seen many wars in this place, you think this will be the last one? Even if you get Berkthgar to stop the war, what do you think of his successor? Or his grandson?”
“It’s a sad thing, but the barbarians are like that. What more do you expect from people who worship the God of War? Leave them alone. Unless you wish to spend the rest of your life cosseting them,” Zak finished, and continued to plow through the snow.
Drizzt mulled that over. Zak was right about some of the points. However Wulfgar had united the barbarians with Ten Towns once, and Drizzt had hoped that unity would stand. With the introduction of Berkthgar, and the young ones who had never seen war, it did not seem to last.
How many more lakes like New Targos would be found? The fishermen would not be content to simply be told to stay out of the barbarian’s territory. Nor did he have any proof that Berkthgar’s people would leave the towns alone.
He did feel obliged to do something. The idea of his home plunging back into war pulled at his heart. “If we see any of them on the way, we speak to them,” Drizzt finally told Zak.
Zak saw the remote possibility of that happening, but considering his ‘enhanced’ luck, it could. “Why?” he said bluntly, “They do not even accept you.”
“I had vowed a long time ago to serve as protector of this place,” Drizzt said, “I should at least try something.”
“If we see them,” Zak repeated. He did not wish to get involved, but he did not want to take a more roundabout route.
Drizzt nodded. It was better than nothing.
“What are they talking about this time?” Mir asked Niranyarr, peering down from the height.
“Whether to get involved in war,” the griffin answered, his sharper ears having caught the gist of the conversation.
“Whatever for?” Mir said. “We leave them alone, they leave us alone, everyone is happy.”
“This is Drizzt’s home,” Niranyarr tried to explain.
Mir looked unconvinced, but dropped the subject. Looking down on the snow made her eyes hurt. The sun reflected off the bright surface, blinding and glaring. How Zak could stand it, she did not know.
The tundra was full of enemies, and her throwing hand improved tremendously. “Why does this harsh land contain so many monsters?” she wondered.
“Harsh land have food too,” Niranyarr replied, pointing at the distant specks of caribou with his talon, even as he continued to lead the pair of drow below him.
Mir looked carefully at the perambulations of the brown spots. “But life here, so hard,” she said, ducking her head away from another gust of the chilling wind.
“For towns, they accept all outcast. For barbarians, they live here, and their ancestors. They won’t go,” Niranyarr stated. “Towns fish, bring money. People will live in Sea of Ice if it brought profit,” he said with a slight tone of disgust.
“But you can’t even eat money,” Mir said.
“You can buy food,” Niranyarr pointed out. “Griffins no use money. Ours is trade.” The griffin decided to reserve the fact that griffins traded mostly in jewelry, which as also rather useless.
“The world is mad,” Mir said in conviction, then smuggled down to sleep, the griffin shaking in laughter.
The deer ran swiftly as the wind, bolting away in all directions like a brown, breaking wave washing away from a single deer, that struggled to get up from the spear throw.
Kierstaad wandered over the creature, killing it cleanly with another stroke, then paid his respects to the deer’s spirit with a muttered chant. Nothing would be wasted, to honor the spirit. The hunting party picked up the meat, starting back to the tents.
The parties had intensified their hunt for preparation against the war. Berkthgar smiled once at Kierstaad, showing his approval of the long spear throw, then his face settled back to that thoughtful expression he had worn of late.
At least, Kierstaad thought, as he retrieved his spear, that Berkthgar had stopped his lies about Wulfgar. However he had his doubts about such a war. Revjak had tactfully tried to dissuade Berkthgar the night before and almost had to defend himself from an angry outburst.
“We have to defend our lands!” Berkthgar had yelled at Revjak. Revjak, undaunted, reminded Berkthgar of the consequences of the first large war against the towns.
“The dwarves are not joining in this one,” Berkthgar had replied. Kierstaad knew that was a bad point for the towns. The dwarves had played major parts in winning the wars, but Stumpet, the current leader of the small group in the mines, had steadfastly refused to take part.
Revjak had conceded that point. He agreed with Berkthgar that the towns had invaded their territory, but he did not agree with the war. The barbarian’s numbers had dwindled, and he did not think they would win against a combined effort of the towns.
Kierstaad wished Wulfgar was here, the old Wulfgar, and not the tormented one. Wulfgar would have seen a way out, with the support of his dwarf friend Bruenor, and Drizzt.
Immersed in their respective thoughts, the hunting party made a quiet way back across the land. A sudden blizzard had buried quite a bit of the grasses, and the deer and moved farther away from the encampment, but the hardy people did not mind trekking back in the least.
Especially, Berkthgar thought, if they could meet a few unwise townsfolk on another reconnaissance.
Niranyarr made a warning call down to the drow elves, and they looked up.
His claws deftly clasped his shoulders, then held up his talon twice. “Somebody’s coming in a group of six,” Zak said, translating the gestures. “People, probably,” he added with a resigned expression. Either Morikan was feeling active today, or this was predestined. He hoped the people were aggressive. Then he could, he admitted, get rid of their company in the shortest possible time, instead of speaking to them.
Drizzt was squinting at the small group. “Barbarians,” he confirmed Zak’s suspicions.
“Friendly?” Zak asked.
Drizzt nodded. “They will know me,” he said. Their paths would meet, the barbarians closing in with what looked like a fresh kill along with them. A hunting party, but what were they doing this far east?
The leader’s face came into sight, and Drizzt groaned inwardly. He supposed that Revjak would be too old for a hunt, but he did have his hopes.
Berkthgar held up his hands warily at the sight of the two figures, the drew his sword nervously as Zak’s unfamiliar, but obviously drow features came in view.
“My greetings, Berkthgar,” Drizzt said calmly, raising his hood a little.
Berkthgar relaxed, but did not sheath his weapon. “Why have you returned to the dale?” he asked bluntly.
“On a quest that does not concern its people,” Zak replied, just as bluntly. Berkthgar stiffened, and Kierstaad, at his side, looked uncomfortable.
“Are you bringing your people into the dale,” Berkthgar said, jerking at Zak’s direction with his head.
“No. What has happened in the dale?” Drizzt said innocently, feigning ignorance.
Berkthgar stared at the two for a while, then looked up as he heard one of his comrade’s exclamations. Niranyarr had circled lower, hovering over them, but out of a spear throw.
“What treachery is this?” Berkthgar growled at Drizzt.
“A friend,” Zak replied calmly. “He will not attack.”
The other barbarians alternated watching the drow, and watching the griffin nervously.
Berkthgar decided to continue. “The people of the towns have invaded our land, and they must be pushed out,”
“What will Berkthgar do when they have returned then?” Drizzt pressed.
Berkthgar gave the drow a smile. “Have you forgotten about the war with your people and the towns?” Drizzt asked.
“The people are diminished, and the dwarves will not join,” Berkthgar replied.
“They may,” Drizzt countered.
“As you think that the towns will not return for the lake, to take our land?” Berkthgar said. His friends behind him nodded slightly.
Zak was feeling irritated about the entire business.
“Have you tried speaking with the towns about the lake?” Drizzt said.
“It is our land,” Berkthgar replied simply. “Why ask them for permission to take it back?”
“Mutual trade,” Drizzt explained.
“We do not need the trappings of wealth,” Berkthgar said. “Now we will go,” stalking past Drizzt, followed by his warriors.
Kierstaad stopped in front of the drow. “Well met,” he said hesitantly.
“A full warrior now,” Drizzt smiled at him, seeing Kierstaad’s new adornments.
Kierstaad nodded, his heart swelling with pride. “The war is inevitable,” he warned Drizzt, calming down. “Best if you do not get involved.”
Then the young barbarian followed the elder hunters, leaving Drizzt to his thoughts about Kierstaad’s assessment of the situation.
"What are those creatures?" Zak breathed.
The adventurers were crouched behind a weathered, gigantic rock, peering out at the host of equally immense creatures in front of them.
The creatures could easily have towered over Errtu, their massive, brown bodies covered in matted fur. Supported by four trunk like feet, their tasseled tails almost brushed the snow beneath them. Most striking of all were the long, snakelike noses, and the beautiful ivory tusks. Their eyes gleamed with a certain benign contentment as they languidly used their noses to dig up the mosses and shrubs on the ground.
"I've heard tell of tales, they're called 'mammoths' I believe." Drizzt whispered, "They probably will not bother us if we circle them far enough."
"Mammoths," Mir rolled the strange word on her tongue.
"One of them can feed eyrie for week," Niranyarr commented.
"Well we don't need a week's supplies, so we had better be going," Zak said briskly, setting off on a route that gave the giants a wide berth.
Niranyarr shrugged, and flew up into the air, his wings pumping noisily. The mammoths did not seem to bother, or care. And rightfully so, Zak thought. Who would bother them?
Mir patted Guenhwyvar, and the panther bounded to the front, keeping within the shadows as much as possible.
Zak's feet crunched on the snow, sinking him up almost to his knees as he plowed his way through, Drizzt following his path.
Then the lead mammoth turned its giant head to regard the elves. Its eyes glowed blue, an icy, intense blue.
Belatedly, Zak yelled "Run!" and lit off through the thick snow back to the rock face. Guenhwyvar stood its ground, growling a warning at the mammoth, Niranyarr making a swooping circuit to pick up Miranae, then flying upwards in a burst of speed.
Zak felt as if an earthquake was happening as the giant creatures turned as one and blundered towards them in a thunderous tread, lifting their serpentine noses to trumpet, a shattering, nerve-racking sound.
He took out Scorcher, using the sword's bright flame to melt the deep snow, allowing him to move faster yet in the snow. Drizzt hurried behind him, an image of a flattened drow elf all too clear in his mind as they raced for the large boulder jutting out of the snow a few yards ahead of them. Too high for the mammoths to get at them, it also looked too steep to climb, but it was their only hope.
The mountainsides stood too far apart to reach in time.
Spheres of fire went down in fiery comets to land accurately on the stampeding beasts, but this did not slow down the bulk of the beasts. Niranyarr and Mir had to hit the mammoths several times for the beast to notice the flames, and panic.
Four mammoths went berserk in the burning pain, smashing and gouging their compatriots with their curving ivory tusks.
This caused some minor dissention in the ranks, but Niranyarr noticed that the blue fire seemed to focus on the two fleeing elves, ignoring the wounds, causing the mammoths to charge on.
Guenhwyvar growled at the nearest mammoth, but it ran on, oblivious to the great cat. With courage, the panther leapt onto the mammoth, snarling and swiping with its great claws, but hardly damaging it beneath the thick coat of shaggy hair. The mammoth simply ignored its attacker, charging on.
Zak reached the rock first and promptly drifted up its steep slope, but Drizzt had problems with the climbing. However the image of the lead mammoth charging up his back proved an asset to his willpower, and he found grips and handholds through sheer determination, helped upwards by Zak, for them to scramble together to a seat at the highest portion of the rock.
"Begone, Guenhwyvar," Drizzt called, seeing his friend's vicious attacks seemed to have no difference. Even when the panther attacked the mammoth's eyes, it just clamped them shut, ignoring the swipes. Guenhwyvar dissolved into the black mist.
A mammoth finally fell, squealing, in a cloud of fiery flame, hit a dozen times.
"Will not last," Niranyarr called, holding up his diminished bundle. Zak nodded, then hastily swiped at a mammoth trunk with his sword, as the prehensile thing attempted to grab his legs.
"The light in their eyes is unnatural," Drizzt said, looking more closely at the blue fire in the mammoth's eyes.
"Frostbite," Zak said with a sharp intake of breath, suddenly remembering the phrases.
"If ye have heart enough, defeat its guardians."
"Guardians? Are we close then?" Drizzt asked, slicing at another attempt by another mammoth.Six of the beasts surrounded their precarious perch, grunting and trumpeting in frustration.
Zak shook his head. "I assume there are many more," he replied, looking longingly at the clear swath of snow that had been their route. "I wonder how they... it knew I was coming," he said.
"Magic," Drizzt replied succinctly.
"I wonder if it can counter this," Zak suggested, then shifted into his soul state.
Drizzt almost fell off the boulder in surprise, but recovered quickly.
The mammoths looked slightly surprised, if their features could show emotion, the blue fire flickering. Then it disappeared, and the mammoths now looked rather bewildered. Slowly, they moved off back to their feeding ground.
Zak reappeared next to Drizzt, startling his son again.
The mammoths stiffened in their tracks, and charged back, bellowing. Zak hurriedly tossed Drizzt his map. "Meet you later, continue," he said, then disappeared, allowing the mammoths to return to their benign state.
Cautiously, Drizzt climbed down the rock, Niranyarr circling above, covering him. When the mammoths ignored him, he continued down the snowy valley, glancing at the map, then folding it back into his backpack.
"Where's Zak?" Mir called.
"Invisible," Drizzt replied. "He'll reappear somewhere safer."
Drizzt felt rather alone, but continued stoically down the marked route, ignoring the cold bite of the snow and the hostile tugging of the wind. The sun's afternoon glare burned at his eyes, but he pulled his hood further down his head, marching onwards.
When they were quite a ways down from the mammoth feeding ground, Zak reappeared, his swords casually in his hands.
"Invigorating," Niranyarr called sarcastically. "What else you attract, Zak? An ice dragon?"
"That would be fun," Zak admitted, actually sounding serious.
Niranyarr gave him an incredulous snort. "That elf mad," he said with conviction.
Drizzt started laughing, and couldn't stop.
"What?" Zak asked, sounding irritated. Drizzt just continued laughing, feeling more lighthearted than he had for days. Gradually, the rest of them were caught up by his mirth, and the next mile was enlightened by the sound of laughing.
They were nearing the place, they knew.
Around the barbarian camp, preparations were being made. The war party's members sharpened their weapons, singing battle songs in loud, lusty tones.
The defense party too joined in the songs, though more subdued in that they had to stay back and protect the camp from attack.
They would attack again the next day, in greater numbers. No part of New Targos would be left standing, Berkthgar had proudly proclaimed.
Hengorot would be raised before this night, the barbarians looking forward to the revelry and mead that came with such occasions.
In the name of Tempus, they would prevail.
Drizzt danced swiftly around a heavy swipe by the great bear. Pure white, it was bigger than Bluster, the brown bear that Drizzt had once spent a winter with. Its claws were hooked, and its fur coat was far deeper than that of any other bears.
The coats of the 'white bears' as the barbarians called them, were greatly prized, and Drizzt could see why now. His finely edged scimitars thudded again and again into the creature, not even seeming to hurt it.
Zak had less problems. Scorcher burned clear trails through the thick fur where it touched his opponent, and the bear, almost mad with pain, was making more and more aggressive swipes, which Zak easily avoided.
Niranyarr and Mir had disposed of their bear, Guenhwyvar fight off hers, while Zak quickly killed his, then went over to Drizzt's.
The fight was quickly over, the blue light dying from the eyes of the last bear. Zak thoughtfully wiped his swords.
"Monsters meet us at every mile," he said, rather impatiently. "It's slowing us down."
"What do you wish to do about it?" Drizzt inquired, sheathing his scimitars.
"You walk to the shrine first. I'll materialize there. The magic seems to know that I am looking for Frostbite, while you are not. It probably won't trouble you," Zak said reasonably.
Drizzt looked as if he would argue, but he knew he would tire quickly under the relentless assault. "Very well," he said, reluctantly.
Zak nodded. "Happy travelling," he smiled, then shifted form.
Niranyarr padded over. "We meet him there?" he asked, seeing that Zak was nowhere to be seen.
Drizzt nodded. "Let's go," he suggested, starting quickly down the valley. Mir had fallen asleep where she was, and Niranyarr carefully lifted off into the air.
Guenhwyvar stretched, then followed Drizzt, her padded paws hardly sinking into the soft snow, brushing against the dark elf. Drizzt affectionately patted his faithful companion, striding down the snow, his feet complaining at every step. A damp feeling quickly settled between his toes, uncomfortable, and he began to feel every bump in his boots most acutely. His fingers too felt as if they were peeling in the intense cold.
To his right now loomed a giant, continuous wall of ice, in some sections resembling a frozen, breaking wave, at some sections a sheer wall. Delicate fingers of ice hung down from outcrops, their transparent shapes flickering patterns of light, that were in turn reflected again by the ice blue of the glacier.
Drizzt marveled that such beauty could be found in so harsh a place.
He did not see any life in the glacial area, the beautifully forbidding ice rebuffing most attempts of colonization. Around him, it was deathly silent, except for intermittent whispers and shrieks of the wind as it tore across the uneven ground.
The drips of water would be silenced here, frozen into crystalline ice. Beautiful as it was, Drizzt found it unnerving, and he was always relieved when the distant call of a tern broke the silence.
Niranyarr flew down to run at his side, the griffin and Mir providing conversation, a buffer against the cold silence of the glaciers. Guen had returned to its plane, the cold ate at its muscles constantly.
Plants had stopped their growth here, the only other life the greenish stains of lichens clinging on to rocks jutting out of the snow.
Mir had resolutely hidden herself in the folds of the passenger pouch, and gone to sleep. It was warmer there, she said.
"Coming closer, we are," Niranyarr commented optimistically as they examined the map. Drizzt nodded. A few more landmarks lay along the way, then they would reach their destination.
Zak, unseen, peered at the map, and felt a sense of fulfillment. His hard work would be repaid this day, or not. Smiling to himself, he continued to follow Drizzt and Niranyarr, floating above the snow, not feeling the biting cold.
After a few miles, the glacier in front of them opened into a perfect semicircle, the sheer sides reflecting light into a spot in the middle, that melted the snow on it. Zak materialized.
"This is the place," he said confidently. Drizzt and Niranyarr whirled at his voice, then nodded. Zak strode through the intercrossing rays of light, to the carved arch at the end of the semicircle. Mir had woken up by herself, intently studying the patterns of light.
The semicircle of ice was clear and uncut, a sheer wall rising high above their heads. Only the light decorated the chamber, in harsh and unrelenting patterns, with sharp edges to them.
The cave inside the arch was even more curious than the outside. The walls were also ice, but curiously no light penetrated. An enchanted globe affixed to the domed ceiling provided light, a soft, glowing one that lit up the entire cave.
The cave was not cold as the outside, but a comforting temperature. The walls too were unadorned, but the floor held an immense circle of rock, carved with a huge symbol of Dumathion, the Keeper of Secrets.
Once he had entered the cave, Zak's eyes had fixed on the sword at the very center of the cave, floating, unsupported, on top of the circle, its silver-blue blade unblemished, the hilt as perfectly carved as Scorcher's.
A strange shaft of light was focused on the sword, courtesy of the enchanted globe, that enhanced its beauty in the golden ray.
Three crudely carved statues flanked the sword, heads almost reaching the high dome of the cave. Their irregularity sparked a slight notice in Drizzt. They did look rather familiar. His hands went unconsciously to his scimitar hilts
There was a tingling in Zak's hand, which usually held his other, normal sword. It yearned, called for Zak to put it on Frostbite's hilt.
Zak found with astonishment that he was holding Scorcher, which the other normal sword was lying on the floor, his scabbards empty.
"Zak," Mir said tentatively, "I don't think that is a good idea, somehow," Zak had advanced further into the cave, but did not seem to hear her.
"Zak," Niranyarr called. "Zak?"
Zaknafein's mind was detached from them, his goal was in sight. He barely heard them as his feet, unbidden, took him to the edges of the carved circle.
Then he stepped on it.
A grinding sound snapped him out of his trance, and his first instinct pulled him to leap at Frostbite, but a hard, huge hand knocked him spinning to land painfully on the outside of the circle.
Drizzt charged forward, scimitars held low, at the animated statues. The final guardians of the sword. Ice elementals, towering over the adventurers, their heavy hands stretched forward hungrily. Drizzt ducked, rushing straight in on one of the elementals, nicking it.
It howled, and tried to crush the dark elf.
This was rather predictable, the same as the earth elemental that Drizzt had fought some time ago. Guenhwyvar ran in to help her master and friend, her attacks distracting the elemental.
Niranyarr and Mir had hurled the last of the spheres at one ice elemental. It appeared to have the consistency of its name, and promptly melted in the blaze, hands held upwards in agony. "No..o..o" it moaned, dissolving.
Zak was facing off with the last one, his eyes burning in rage and frustration. "One last obstacle," he gritted out, Scorcher randomly slicing and burning away at the monster.
Drizzt was focusing on one of the elemental's legs, trying to overbalance the creature so that he could finish it off with a blow to the head. The ice elementals did not seem to be able to travel the planes, and did not try to escape, instead trying to squash Drizzt and Guenhwyvar. Another swipe and a scimitar got through, to thud on the leg, while the elemental howled, slamming its fists down on Drizzt's way.
Knowing he could not block such a blow, Drizzt frantically dived to the side, the resulting shock caused by the impact of the blow nearly knocking him off his feet. Undeterred, the elemental then smashed a backhand at Drizzt, the dark elf barely managing to roll out of the way, then danced around quickly back to the leg.
Guenhwyvar was already busy swiping at it.
Niranyarr put Mir down, admonishing her to stay put, then half flew, half ran over to help Zak, who was still grimly hacking away at the elemental. Its leg almost gone, the elemental was almost losing the fight, but with the addition of several sharp griffin talons, it toppled finally, Zak agilely running up its back to chop with all his strength on its head.
It split with a satisfying crack, and the elemental dissolved.
Drizzt's elemental sat down stupidly, trying to save its leg, giving it better leverage against the drow and the panther. Guenhwyvar feinted to the side, and Drizzt's boots with the bracers of enhanced speed allowed him to rush up the elemental in a blur of speed.
The last elemental dissolved, Drizzt leaping off to land, catlike, next to Guenhwyvar.
Zak had walked up to Frostbite, hanging unsuspended in the air like a weird jewel. Slowly, his hand reached out for its hilt.
It passed through the gold light, his skin prickling at the magical beam, to close unerringly on the carved blade.
Silvery fire this time ran up the blade, up his hands. Zak felt compelled to cross his swords, and it happened with agonizing slowness, the twin blades clinking together.
The fire burned bright, mixing, as the swords joined to their purpose that they had been made. Twin swords, forged by dragons, containing dragon's might, they accepted their master.
The light flared.
The light slowly cleared, the bright spots in Drizzt’s sensitive eyes taking longer. When he could see again, he turned his head to regard his father.
Zak had half-turned, his face in profile, staring with silent awe at the twin swords, his eyes with a faraway look in them.
Then he seemed to break out of his reverie, sheathing the swords into the elaborate scabbards with a swift, fluid motion.
Facing them, Zak’s handsome features broke into a smile of relief and satisfaction. “I’m glad that is done with,” he remarked, patting the hilts of the swords.
Drizzt smiled along with him, then his heart sank. “And now?” he asked, dreading the answer.
“I return,” Zak replied, the smile also leaving his face. “I’ll come and visit you whenever I can,” he tried to assure Drizzt, “And the rest of you too,”
“Can’t you stay?” Drizzt inquired hopefully.
“No,” Zak stated gently but firmly. “Duties.”
A mist formed at the edge of Zak’s vision, and he moved to look at it. Ice blue, it danced to the left slightly, then materialized into a familiar figure.
Drizzt let out his breath in a gasp, then charged, his scimitars held low. The figure held up a slender hand, and Drizzt bounced off some unseen barrier. Guenhwyvar leaped over her master, also to rebound from the shield.
The figure looked at Zak with a bored expression. Zak grinned back. “This is Lin’Fayaenre Ra’Kest, or Winter, as she likes to be called,” he explained to his friends.
Winter smiled mockingly, then bowed flamboyantly. “Your son, I presume?” she inclined her head at Drizzt, who had scrambled to his feet.
Zak nodded. “A little impulsive at times,” he admitted.
Drizzt stared at Winter. Zak had spoken of her sometimes during the journey, but he had believed that she was one of Lloth’s minions, come to create more trouble for the group.
Now, looking closer, he wondered why he had not realized that she was not of Lloth. Her robes, instead of the black and purple ones worn by Lloth’s clerics, were a light blue and white, flowing but not hindering her movement, plain but for the small symbol of a white falcon on her chest. A leather belt hung on her shapely waist, and a long white cloth hung from behind the belt, the edges inscribed with symbols and runes. Her white hair was untied, touching her hips, her skin as dark as his own.
More noticeable was that instead of the normal snake-headed whip that priestesses of Lloth’s wore, she wore a sword belted at her side, the adamantite hilt ornately carved.
The side of Winter’s mouth quirked up slightly as she noticed Drizzt’s scrutiny, in an amused expression, and he pretended to look away, hoping his dark skin would hide his flush.
“New adornments?” Zak inquired dryly, indicating the runed, tapering cloth.
“I am a full Loremaster now,” Winter confirmed, “Morikan was a little irritated that I already had a weapon, so I’ve been allotted another quest.”
“Congratulations,” Zak grinned. Winter bowed again, her ice blue eyes sparkling.
“I’ve come to fetch you back,” she said. “You’ve got a formal ‘coronation’ ceremony some time soon,”
Zak nodded again. “I am ready,” he began, but Winter cut him off.
“No, I don’t think you are. Anyway, I believe Morikan has given you a day or so off in this world. A vacation, if you say,” Winter smiled, and Drizzt’s eyes brightened.
“You are a Loremaster?” Mir asked suddenly. “What is that?”
“What you are.” Winter replied simply. Seeing Mir’s uncomprehending expression, she continued.
“You use your mind, to will things to happen. I share that ability, as do a few hundred more creatures, currently.”
“Why others can-not?” Niranyarr asked, overcoming his short state of numbness after so many surprising events.
“Because this ability is hand-given by Morikan to people he thinks should have them,” Winter explained in an air of finality.
“I meant to ask you about something,” Zak signaled in the drow sign language. Drizzt looked at him curiously.
“Miranae? She has a choice – either come with us to Sanctuary, or stay here in the Material Plane,” Winter signaled back. “Morikan somehow enjoys giving children choices, and adults coercion.”
An offended presence came into her mind, then left huffily as Zak began to laugh.
The horde of barbarians materialized out of the tundra as the sun neared its climb to the zenith. On the flat snowy lands, stealth was not really an option, and the barbarians sang their war songs to Tempus, as they swept in an unstoppable tide into the hastily defended New Targos.
A short storm of arrows raked the ranks, felling a few, but the barbarians, holding a crude battering ram, had already forced the equally crude gates apart, flowing into the settlements.
The fishermen, trained by Targos for living here met them, and a few ugly skirmishes broke out, thinning both sides, but the barbarians overwhelmed the place. Taking out the torches that burned fitfully in the cold, they hurled them at the huts, the war songs rising in volume and victory.
Then another row of archers rose out of concealment, their arrows finding marks on barbarian chests. Berkthgar ordered a charge, and the willing warriors ran across to the trench where the archers were.
The archers notched arrow after arrow, the storm eating away at the ranks, and soldiers rose from behind the huts at the end to face the diminished invaders.
This did not look good for the barbarians.
Then a scream came at the other gate, a mighty crash resounding to the near defeated group, the song of Tempus echoing to the diminishing invaders. With new heart, Berkthgar attacked the archers with Bankenfuere, the great weapon chopping through the surprised defenders with every stroke.
A backup had arrived.
Like some giant, human vise, the two flanks of barbarians closed on the rest of the defenders in a pincer like movement, that crushed the resistance out of the rest of the fishermen.
Berkthgar recognized the head of the unforeseen backup. Revjak, leading some of the older warriors, running with long strides to Berkthgar, an ambiguous smile on his rough-hewn face.
“Thought you might need some help,” he said mildly.
Berkthgar smiled back, thumping the older warrior on his back. “I did not think they would try that,” he admitted.
“They know that even if Targos were to come in force, they would not be able to hold us back. Therefore they had to try something,” Revjak pointed out.
The two turned to watch the flames mount on the houses. Apparently the women and children had been evacuated sooner, as none of those were found.
Groups of barbarians were even now fighting the last pockets of resistance, desperation giving the defenders strength, but the pockets fell one by one.
The flames licked at the walls, consuming the wooden materials in the camp. Contemptuously, Berkthgar kicked a rack of dried trout into the flames.
“The town people will be taught not to invade the barbarian lands,” he said grimly. Revjak could only agree. Berkthgar was too buoyed by his battle rage to accept any slight recommendations against his ideals.
The flames sent up a cloud of dense, gray smoke, clearly seen in the cloudless sky. Revjak watched it, his heart as dark as the smoke.
The backup plan had been his idea - Revjak treasured his people’s lives, and had quickly set out with a volunteer band after Berkthgar, when he had seen a few flaws in the leader’s plans.
However, he did not like the sight of the massacre. Younger barbarians were mutilating the corpses, and he turned away in disgust.
The townsfolk had helped them against Crenshinibon. However, to come inside their territory without permission was an insult. What then, was proud Berkthgar to do? Try as he might, Revjak could not find an easy way out of the predicament.
From his viewpoint, he knew Berkthgar was planning for greater glories, mayhap an attack on fortified Targos herself. Revjak knew the most possible outcome of such a war.
Try as he might, he could not think a way to avoid it.
He started from a hearty clap on his shoulder.
Berkthgar stood behind him, no outward intent on his smiling face. “We will eat well tonight, and drink to our victory,” he roared, and the barbarians in earshot cheered.
Revjak gave another ambiguous smile, his thoughts churning inside his head.
A cloud of smoke in the horizon could be seen from his lofty perch. Kemp of Targos watched the wraith-like thing with narrowed eyes.
Behind him, his advisors also knew what it possibly meant.
New Targos was burning.
The plans had been thwarted again by the fierce barbarians and many of the families who would have lost loved sons or fathers in the blaze would come to demand revenge.
Would they invade the tundra then? Kemp did know that burning New Targos would not be enough for the bloodthirsty tribes. They would soon attack Targos.
Revenge would be come.
Abruptly starting away from the depressing sight, he faced his advisors. “We will plan to fortify the city.” He said, and the advisors bowed, walking away.
Targos would fortify her walls and train her soldiers. And wait.
Kemp gave the smoke cloud a backward glance, then strode back to his chambers. Leaving New Targos to burn.
“Are you looking for two swords too?” Miranae asked.
“No. I’m quite content with mine,” Winter patted the adamantite hilted crystal sword. She drew the sword, showing the young elven girl the exquisite crystal blade.
They were walking back to the tundra from the glaciers, Drizzt and Zak striding in front, heads bent in deep conversation. Niranyarr bounded by Winter’s side, and Mir rode on Guenhwyvar’s broad back. Winter had cast a short spell on the adventurers, pushing out the biting cold. She had given the wizardry arts a passing glance before.
“It’s beautiful,” Mir said admiringly.
“I thank thee,” a strange, disembodied voice replied, the ancient tone varying with many harmonies, too complex to be natural.
Drizzt and Zak both turned at the resounding voice, Drizzt looking around with narrowed eyes, Zak merely looking resigned.
“I was hoping you had gone to sleep,” Zak said.
“That is too bad,” the voice replied smugly. “I am here for the rest of thy trip. Forasmuch as thou wilt not enjoy mine stay.”
“Can’t you make it sleep?” Zak asked Winter plaintively, “Those ‘thees’ and ‘thous’ grate on my ears.”
“Irr’liancrea is a sentient being,” Winter said with amusement. “It’s not mine to control.”
Zak grumbled to himself. Drizzt and Mir were staring with varying levels of astonishment at the sword. “Irr’liancrea?” Drizzt repeated, “What is it?”
“Why doth all creatures treat myself as one who cannot think?” the crystal blade glowed with every syllable.
Winter ignored the sword. “You’re probably more familiar with Irr’liancrea’s opposite, Crenshinibon.” She said calmly.
Drizzt’s eyes widened. “So this sword is the good Crystal Shard?”
“You have an amazing grasp of the obvious,” Winter replied dryly. The sword chuckled, a weird sound emanating from the blade.
“It’s opposite in more ways than that,” Zak said, “While Crenshinibon cannot speak,”
“Mine brother doth not wish to,” Irr’liancrea interrupted.
“Does not speak,” Zak corrected himself, “this one does. The greatest distinction I can see is that while Crenshinibon is cunning and subtle, this one is crude and childish.” He winked at Winter.
The sword darkened briefly then returned to its normal clear state. “One will not answer that,” Irr’liancrea replied primly. “One wilt accept sanctimonious insults from lower life forms.”
Niranyarr began to laugh, as did Miranae.
“Irr’liancrea draws energy from around it, and does not require the sun, unlike Crenshinibon,” Winter added, sheathing the sword, which now continued to glow through the scabbard’s cloth.
“Mine brother is more primitive than myself,” the sword remarked, again rather smugly.
Drizzt shuddered at the thought of Crenshinibon having that type of dependence, instead of the disadvantage of requiring sunlight.
“Your quest?” Zak inquired.
“I am to ‘infiltrate’ Menzoberranzan, to take a look at Crenshinibon’s holder,” Winter said offhandedly.
“Jarlaxle is honorable in his way, and he will only use the crystal to manipulate the drow elves,” Drizzt said.
Zak agreed. “I have known Jarlaxle for a time, and he strikes me as eccentric, but does not go back on his word.”
“I still have to go, though,” Winter said. “Lloth has agreed to let me in the city without harassment, and I think I will start with Bregan D’aerthe.”
“A dangerous choice,” Zak warned.
“A better choice than pretending to be a cleric of Lloth’s,” Winter corrected.
Winter would travel with them for the rest of the day, then would transport Zak to Sanctuary. After staying for his ‘coronation’ as a full Sword Master, she would depart for her quest.
“Which city were you from?” Drizzt asked. He was not comfortable speaking to a female drow, although the many restrictions he had been taught from birth about females had been erased from him.
“Irinelaeran,” Winter replied, “The trading city, closest to Skullport,”
Drizzt looked rather confused.
“Skullport’s an underground port for trade. Irinelaeran is thus the richest Drow city,” she said, rather curtly.
Drizzt knew that the subject was somehow painful for her, and did not press her for more details. Speaking together, tentatively at first, then more animatedly, Drizzt learnt that Winter was about his age, and a bit about life as a Loremaster, in which Mir interjected many questions.
Zak was now talking to Niranyarr. To Winter, it looked as if he was trying to affix all of his friends into his memories, but she continued to skillfully fend off some of Mir’s more revealing questions, in which Drizzt just as skillfully maneuvered around.
The topic somehow shifted to religion, Drizzt upholding his long-standing belief about what he thought gods were, a power that existed everywhere, but that no tangible evidence was needed for his faith.
Winter disagreed, saying that gods actually did exist on most worlds, helped into being by the spirits, and there was evidence around them.
“Then we will be like sheep, herded around by a shepherd and his dogs,” Drizzt said in his most reasonable voice.
“It does not mean that a god would absolutely have to herd the lot of you around,” Winter replied. “Most are happy to allow you to continue on your own destiny, to resolve your own problems. They do guide you sometimes, appear to you, but they will not pull you along a path of their choosing,”
Drizzt did not agree...
The stars appeared, all too soon, in the velvet black sky, the air becoming more oppressingly cold in the night.
The dark blanket that signified the day’s end almost effectively cut off Drizzt’s, and Winter’s, more and more involuted argument about relative religions, which Mir had wisely kept out off somewhere around the middle.
Drizzt found a mind whose sharp logic and intelligence would easily match his own, Winter found someone on whom she could test her more radical ideas about existence, with someone who did not look down from a pedestal of relative age and experience.
Now Drizzt looked at Zak, his smile, saying all that needed to be said. Zak clasped Drizzt’s hands warmly, then gave him a tight hug, clapping Niranyarr on the shoulders, the griffin making an affectionate sound.
Mir looked on with a smile, and was rather surprised when Winter knelt down to face her at eye level. “You have a choice, Miranae,” Winter said. “You may stay here with your tribe, or with your friends, or go with Zak and myself to Sanctuary to develop your powers.”
Miranae looked even more surprised at the blunt choice. She struggled briefly with the idea, considering it quickly from many angles.
“I will go with you,” she said finally. “If I may come back to visit whenever I can,” Winter nodded, then stood up with a fluid motion, her ice blue eyes meeting Drizzt’s briefly. Drizzt began to feel a little uncomfortable, but hid it well.
“We go then,” she said, bowing to Drizzt and Niranyarr. Zak patted Guenhwyvar’s great head, picking up Mir.
Mir smiled at her friends, a smile full of warmth, as Winter clasped her hands together. The mist began to swirl around the three elves, quickly enfolding them.
The last thing Drizzt saw of them, was Lin’Fayaenre’s ice blue eyes, surprisingly clear through the clouding mist.
Zak slouched on his chair, his left hand fiddling with the buckle of his cloak, fingers deftly flicking the clasp open, then shut, then open again.
He wore the suit of enchanted dwarven chain mail he had discovered in Rakaroajirac’s cave, along with a white surcoat with the crest of a dragon. The end of the cloak was carelessly draped on the chair, his runed boots tapping a staccato on the marble floor. The Twin swords hung on his scabbard, glowing faintly. Zak’s hair was meticulously combed, something he had protested against, and he wore formal bracers on his wrists.
All in all, it was making him very uncomfortable.
The ceremony was but a few hours away, and Zak was frankly feeling nervous and excited at the same time. Having been excused from his duties for today - most of the city was, in fact. A celebration of a new Master of a School was a short holiday, much welcomed from work and training.
Thus he sat on the chair, in a corner of the high domed Sword Hall, absently playing with his cloak, rather bored, with the tight sensation in his stomach of suppressed excitement.
His companions were quite calm, in contrast to his feelings. Miranae sat on the lap of Silranter, the old human Head of the Warrior School, reading a book. Silranter, to all appearances, was fast asleep, light snores issuing from his prone body, his hands clasped loosely around the young elven child.
Mir was having a welcomed break from the relentless training of the Warrior School. After trying out the weapons, she had rather promptly chosen a saber as her preferred weapon. Training had begun under Zak, and she was doing rather well so far. After her second level in the School however, she would have to learn the basics of the other weapons, which would consume many years of her life.
Small wonder that few humans were in the Loremaster School. The training took up many decades, which a human’s relatively short life span could not support.
Mir had loved the Library, and its attendants. With the long-suffering Winter acting as her guide for the few days before the ceremony, she had breezed through a few sections.
Zak noted the book she was holding, “Notable species of Wolves”. He wondered where in the universe had she suddenly gotten this fixation on wolves.
“Zak, have you seen a Flamedance wolf?” Mir asked suddenly. Silranter stirred then slumped back into sleep.
“No. And I don’t wish to,” Zak said. Flamedance wolves existed on one of the lower ‘neutral’ planes reputed for their sharp cunning and intelligence, as well as their so-called ‘True Samadhi Fire’, the hottest type of fire that could not be blocked, even by magic. It was said that even spirits were not spared the fires, and Zak did not wish to find out.
Mir looked at the fidgeting drow, and grinned impishly. “A few more hours,” she said, as if assuring Zak. Zak sighed, his eyes wandering to the mosaic on the wall, tracing for the hundredth time the titanic battle etched on the picture.
Multiple footsteps sounded on the entrance next to Zak, and he started sharply, glancing quickly at the ornate timepiece above the weapons rack. There still were a few hours, and he relaxed again.
Silranter opened his eyes lazily, yawning. “Is it time?” he asked in his light voice.
“No,” Zak said half relieved.
“Well, well,” the old man suddenly smiled, looking out at the entrance. Zak decided to grace the stone arch with a glance.
Lin’Fayaenre glided in regally, with enough grace to make a queen weep tears of joy. She stopped, and gestured, facing the entrance.
Mir squealed with joy, struggling off Silranter’s lap.
Zak’s jaw dropped as Niranyarr padded into the hall, sweeping up Miranae, making affectionate sounds. Then Drizzt strode in close behind, his face lighting up in a wide smile as Zak got up with alacrity, half-running over to give his son a bear hug.
“How?” Zak asked Winter, next to Silranter, who had gotten up for the first time in three hours, groaning to himself and stretching his legs.
“Guests. I asked Morikan the day before,” Winter replied smugly. “You may think of a way to repay me later,” she grinned.
“I knew there was a catch,” Drizzt said, his smile still on his face, taking Mir from Niranyarr.
“I was only joking,” Winter admitted, “I’d like to pick up on our last debate though.”
“Argument,” Zak corrected, patting Niranyarr on his shoulder.
“Why, have you been mistreating Zaknafein’s friends with your overtly sharp logic?” Silranter asked in mock astonishment.
“Hardly. For some reason,” Winter winked at Drizzt; “This one can walk around my ideas, as I can walk around his. Our arguments always are circular.”
Drizzt gave an exaggerated bow, then handed Miranae back to Niranyarr.
“Like to fly?” the griffin offered, and Mir nodded eagerly.
“I’ll show you out,” Mir said, pointing to the arch.
“Don’t be late,” Silranter called after them.
“Now I’d be going too. See you.” With that the old man walked out, with a surprisingly smooth stride that did not speak his age.
“What a dear old man,” Winter murmured. “Now, you’re supposed to make sure Drizzt doesn’t get into trouble...”
“Hey,” Drizzt protested, but Winter continued.
“Get into trouble. However, Morikan believed the two of you can get into trouble yourselves without any help, so I’m coming along.” Winter finished.
“Really,” Zak said, sounding slightly offended.
Winter nodded firmly. Drizzt covered his mouth with his hands, to hide his grin.
“Now why don’t we show Drizzt around?” Winter suggested, “The library, for instance.”
“We’ll never get him out of there,” Zak disagreed.
“I’m right here,” Drizzt pointed out, feeling rather put out by their continuous reference to ‘Drizzt’ as if he wasn’t here.
“Why, so you are,” Winter said in mock surprise, and Drizzt laughed.
“A short walk then,” Zaknafein said. Winter shook her head. “A custom. You’re not allowed out of here, except to the Library.”
Zak sighed. “What’s this Library?” Drizzt asked.
“The biggest library in the universe, and all the dimensions.” Winter replied.
Drizzt’s eyes brightened. “However, you will not be allowed to borrow any of the books out, as you’re a guest to here.” Winter continued.
“For now,” Zak muttered under his breath, too softly for the others to hear.
“Oh hello,” a disembodied, perfectly harmonized voice said from the general vicinity of Winter’s scabbard.
“Why can’t you go to sleep?” Zak voiced his favorite complaint whenever the irritating sword spoke.
“Because one doth not require rest,” Irr’liancrea replied matter-of-factly.
“A pity,” Zak said. “Well can you take us to the Library?”
Winter nodded, clasping her hand together. The mist surrounded them.
Zak was fidgeting on a chair again, this time in the waiting area behind the raised ceremonial stage. It too was sheathed in the multihued mother of pearl that sheathed the city.
Winter, speaking with Drizzt at the corner of the area, turned her head at the sound of the next ‘click’ as the clasp was flicked open, then closed.
“Stop that,” she instructed.
“I can’t help it. The formal position of the clasp’s too tight, it feels like a noose,” Zak said, flicking open the clasp again.
Drizzt and Winter gave him identical, amused expressions, then continued with their ‘discussions’. Zak had distanced himself from the debate a long time ago. As far as he could discern now, they were speaking about alternative dimensions.
Niranyarr was busy examining the elaborate tapestry at the other end of the room, which showed a few griffins of different species, flying together in a perfect formation.
His friends were wearing formal costumes, Drizzt also visibly uncomfortable, while Winter looked resigned and Niranyarr wearing his with certain flair. Drizzt wore his mithril mail, also with a borrowed surcoat of a unicorn, his scimitars at his sides, and a patterned cloak.
Winter wore her more elaborate, formal Loremaster robes; the intricate patterns on it obviously made through magic. Irr’liancrea was glowing through its scabbard, probably concentrating on whatever was happening outside.
Niranyarr wore priceless jewelry on his crest and neck, including the exquisite Laezral’s tear necklace, that featured a thin gold chain, and a large, multifaceted clear blue gem, in the shape of a tear, among the most valuable precious gems in the universe. Bits of wispy gold and silver trinkets decorated his tufted ‘ears’, and he also wore bracers on his talons.
They were to accompany him out, Drizzt and Winter flanking, Niranyarr taking the tail. Mir had the function of holding the cushion with the item that would proclaim him a full Sword Master, and was already outside.
Outside, Silranter was ne