barely into his teens walked right through the green stone of the wall, like
some translucent specter, and moved toward them.
Wulfgar grunted and brought Aegis-fang, his mighty war hammer, down off his
shoulder. Drizzt grasped the barbarian's arm to stay him, fearing that his weary
friend might strike in sheer frustration before they could determine the lad's
intentions.
When the boy reached them, they could see clearly that he was flesh and
blood, not some otherworldly specter, and Wulfgar relaxed his grip. The youth
bowed low to them and motioned for them to follow.
"Malchor?" asked Drizzt.
The boy did not answer, but he motioned again and started back toward the
tower.
"I would have thought you to be older, if Malchor you be," Drizzt said,
falling into step behind the boy.
"What of the horses?" Wulfgar asked.
Still the boy continued silently toward the tower.
Drizzt looked at Wulfgar and shrugged. "Bring them in, then, and let our
mute friend worry about them!" the dark elf said.
They found one section of the wall - at least - to be an illusion, masking a
door that led them into a wide, circular chamber that was the tower's lowest
level. Stalls lining one wall showed that they had done right in bringing the
horses, and they tethered the beasts quickly and rushed to catch up to the
youth. The boy had not slowed and had entered another doorway.
"Hold for us," Drizzt called, stepping through the portal, but he found no
guide inside. He had entered a dimly lit corridor that rose gently and arced
around as it rose, apparently tracing the circumference of the tower. "Only one
way to go," he told Wulfgar, who came in behind him, and they started off.
Drizzt figured that they had done one complete circle and were up to the
second level - ten feet at least - when they found the boy waiting for them
beside a darkened sidepassage that fell back toward the center of the structure.
The lad ignored this passage, though, and started off higher into the tower
along the main arcing corridor.
Wulfgar had run out of patience for such cryptic games. His only concern was
that Entreri and Regis were running farther away every second. He stepped by
Drizzt and grabbed the boy's shoulder, spinning him about. "Are you Malchor?" he
demanded bluntly.
The boy blanched at the giant man's gruff tone but did not reply.
"Leave him," Drizzt said. "He is not Malchor. I am sure. We will find the
master of the tower soon enough." He looked to the frightened boy. "True?"
The boy gave a quick nod and started off again.
"Soon," Drizzt reiterated to quiet Wulfgar's growl. He prudently stepped by
the barbarian, putting himself between Wulfgar and the guide.
"Harpell," Wulfgar groaned at his back.
The incline grew steeper and the circles tighter, and both friends knew that
they were nearing the top. Finally the boy stopped at a door, pushed it open,
and motioned for them to enter.
Drizzt moved quickly to be the first inside the room, fearing that the angry
barbarian might make less than a pleasant first impression with their wizard
host.
Across the room, sitting atop a desk and apparently waiting for them, rested
a tall and sturdy man with neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper hair. His arms were
crossed on his chest. Drizzt began to utter a cordial greeting, but Wulfgar
nearly bowled him over, bursting in from behind and striding right up to the
desk.
The barbarian, with one hand on his hip and one holding Aegis-fang in a
prominent display before him, eyed the man for a moment. "Are you the wizard
named Malchor Harpell?" he demanded, his voice hinting at explosive anger. "And
if not, where in the Nine Hells are we to find him?"
The man's laugh erupted straight from his belly. "Of course," he answered,
and he sprang from the desk and clapped Wulfgar hard on the shoulder. "I prefer
a guest who does not cover his feelings with rosy words!" he cried. He walked
past the stunned barbarian toward the door - and the boy.
"Did you speak to them?" he demanded of the lad.
The boy blanched even more than before and shook his head emphatically.
"Not a single word?" Malchor yelled.
The boy trembled visibly and shook his head again.
"He said not a-" Drizzt began, but Malchor cut him off with an outstretched
hand.
"If I find that you uttered even a single syllable, ...." he threatened. He
turned back to the room and took a step away. Just when he figured that the boy
might have relaxed a bit, he spun back on him, nearly causing him to jump from
his shoes.
"Why are you still here?" Malchor demanded. "Be gone!"
The door slammed even before the wizard had finished the command. Malchor
laughed again, and the tension eased from his muscles as he moved back to his
desk. Drizzt came up beside Wulfgar, the two looking at each other in amazement.
"Let us be gone from this place," Wulfgar said to Drizzt, and the drow could
see that his friend was fighting a desire to spring over the desk and throttle
the arrogant wizard on the spot.
To a lesser degree, Drizzt shared those feelings, but he knew the tower and
its occupants would be explained in time. "Our greetings, Malchor Harpell," he
said, his lavender eyes boring into the man. "Your actions, though, do not fit
the description your cousin Harkle mantled upon you."
"I assure you that I am as Harkle described," Malchor replied calmly. "And
my welcome to you, Drizzt Do'Urden, and to you, Wulfgar, son of Beornegar.
Rarely have I entertained such fine guests in my humble tower." He bowed low to
them to complete his gracious and diplomatic - if not entirely accurate -
greeting.
"The boy did nothing wrong," Wulfgar snarled at him.
"No, he has performed admirably," Malchor agreed. "Ah, you fear for him?"
The wizard took his measure of the huge barbarian, Wulfgar's muscles still
knotted in rage. "I assure you, the boy is treated well."
"Not by my eyes," retorted Wulfgar.
"He aspires to be a wizard," Malchor explained, not ruffled by the
barbarian's scowl. "His father is a powerful landowner and has employed me to
guide the lad. The boy shows potential, a sharp mind, and a love for the arts.
But understand, Wulfgar, that wizardry is not so very different from your own
trade."
Wulfgar's smirk showed a difference of opinion.
"Discipline," Malchor continued, undaunted. "For whatever we do in our
lives, discipline and control over our own actions ultimately measure the level
of our success. The boy has high aspirations and hints of power he cannot yet
begin to understand. But if he cannot keep his thoughts silent for a single
month, then I shan't waste years of my time on him. Your companion understands."
Wulfgar looked to Drizzt, standing relaxed by his side.
"I do understand," Drizzt said to Wulfgar. "Malchor has put the youth on
trial, a test of his abilities to follow commands and a revelation to the depth
of his desires."
"I am forgiven?" the wizard asked them.
"It is not important," Wulfgar grunted. "We have not come to fight the
battles of a boy."
"Of course," said Malchor. "Your business presses; Harkle has told me. Go
back down to the stables and wash. The boy is setting supper. He shall come for
you when it is time to eat."
"Does he have a name?" Wulfgar said with obvious sarcasm.
"None that he has yet earned," Malchor replied curtly.
* * *
Though he was anxious to be back on the road, Wulfgar could not deny the
splendor of the table of Malchor Harpell. He and Drizzt feasted well, knowing
this to be, most probably, their last fine meal for many days.
"You shall spend the night," Malchor said to them after they had finished
eating. "A soft bed would do you well," he argued against Wulfgar's disgruntled
look. "And an early start, I promise."
"We will stay, and thank you," Drizzt replied. "Surely this tower will do us
better than the hard ground outside."
"Excellent," said Malchor. "Come along, then. I have some items which should
aid your quest." He led them out of the room and back down the decline of the
corridor to the lower levels of the structure. As they walked, Malchor told his
guests of the tower's formation and features. Finally they turned down one of
the darkened side-passages and passed through a heavy door.
Drizzt and Wulfgar had to pause at the entrance for a long moment to digest
the wondrous sight before them, for they had come to Malchor's museum, a
collection of the finest items, magical and otherwise, that the mage had found
during the many years of his travels. Here were swords and full suits of
polished armor, a shining mithril shield, and the crown of a long dead king.
Ancient tapestries lined the walls, and a glass case of priceless gems and
jewels glittered in the flicker of the room's torches.
Malchor had moved to a cabinet across the room, and by the time Wulfgar and
Drizzt looked back to him, he was sitting atop the thing, casually juggling
three horseshoes. He added a fourth as they watched, effortlessly guiding them
through the rise and fall of the dance.
"I have placed an enchantment upon these that will make your steeds run
swifter than any beasts in the land," he explained. "For a short time only, but
long enough to get you to Waterdeep. That alone should be worth your delay in
coming here."
"Two shoes to a horse?" Wulfgar asked, ever doubting.
"That would not do," Malchor came back at him, tolerant of the weary young
barbarian. "Unless you wish your horse to rear up and run as a man!" He laughed,
but the scowl did not leave Wulfgar's face.
"Not to fear," Malchor said, clearing his throat at the failed joke. "I have
another set." He eyed Drizzt. "I have heard it spoken that few are as agile as
the drow elves. And I have heard, as well, by those who have seen Drizzt
Do'Urden at fight and at play, that he is brilliant even considering the
standards of his dark kin." Without interrupting the rhythm of his juggling, he
flipped one of the horseshoes to Drizzt.
Drizzt caught it easily and in the same motion put it into the air above
him. Then came the second and third shoes, and Drizzt, without ever taking his
eyes off Malchor, put them into motion with easy movements.
The fourth shoe came in low, causing Drizzt to bend to the ground to catch
it. But Drizzt was up to the task, and he never missed a catch or a throw as he
included the shoe in his juggling.
Wulfgar watched curiously and wondered at the motives of the wizard in
testing the drow.
Malchor reached down into the cabinet and pulled out the other set of shoes.
"A fifth," he warned, launching one at Drizzt. The drow remained unconcerned,
catching the shoe deftly and tossing it in line.
"Discipline!" said Malchor emphatically, aiming his remark at Wulfgar. "Show
me, drow!" he demanded, firing the sixth, seventh, and eighth at Drizzt in rapid
succession.
Drizzt grimaced as they came at him, determined to meet the challenge. His
hands moving in a blur, he quickly had all eight horseshoes spinning and
dropping harmoniously. And as he settled into an easy rhythm, Drizzt began to
understand the wizard's ploy.
Malchor walked over to Wulfgar and clapped him again on the shoulder.
"Discipline," he said again. "Look at him, young warrior, for your dark-skinned
friend is truly a master of his movements and, thus, a master of his craft. You
do not yet understand, but we two are not so different." He caught Wulfgar's
eyes squarely with his own. "We three are not so different. Different methods, I
agree. But to the same ends!"
Tiring of his game, Drizzt caught the shoes one by one as they fell and
hooked them over his forearm, all the while eyeing Malchor With approval. Seeing
his young friend slump back in thought, the drow wasn't sure which was the
greater gift, the enchanted shoes or the lesson.
"But enough of this," Malchor said suddenly, bursting into motion. He
crossed to a section of the wall that held dozens of swords and other weapons.
"I see that one of your scabbards is empty," he said to Drizzt. Malchor
pulled a beautifully crafted scimitar from its mount. "Perhaps this will fill it
properly."
Drizzt sensed the power of the weapon as he took it from the wizard, felt
the care of its crafting and the perfection of its balance. A single, star-cut
blue sapphire glittered in its pommel.
"Its name is Twvinkle," Malchor said. "Forged by the elves of a past age."
"Twinkle," echoed Drizzt. Instantly a bluish light limned the weapon's
blade. Drizzt felt a sudden surge within it, and somehow sensed a finer edge to
its cut. He swung it a few times, trailing blue light with each motion. How
easily it arced through the air; how easily it would cut down a foe! Drizzt slid
it reverently into his empty scabbard.
"It was forged in the magic of the powers that all the surface elves hold
