dear," said Malchor. "Of the stars and the moon and the mysteries of their
souls. You deserve it, Drizzt Do'Urden, and it will serve you well."
Drizzt could not answer the tribute, but Wulfgar, touched by the honor
Malchor had paid to his oft-maligned friend, spoke for him. "Our thanks to you,
Malchor Harpell," he said, biting back the cynicism that had dominated his
actions of late. He bowed low.
"Keep to your heart, Wulfgar, son of Beornegar," Malchor answered him.
"Pride can be a useful tool, or it can close your eyes to the truths about you.
Go now and take your sleep. I shall awaken you early and set you back along your
road."
* * *
Drizzt sat up in his bed and watched his friend after Wulfgar had settled
into sleep. Drizzt was concerned for Wulfgar, so far from the empty tundra that
had ever been his home. In their quest for Mithril Hall, they had trudged
halfway across the northland, fighting every mile of the way. And in finding
their goal, their trials had only begun, for they had then battled their way
through the ancient dwarven complex. Wulfgar had lost his mentor there, and
Drizzt his dearest friend, and truly they had dragged themselves back to the
village of Longsaddle in need of a long rest.
But reality had allowed no breaks. Entreri had Regis in his clutches, and
Drizzt and Wulfgar were their halfling friend's only hope. In Longsaddle, they
had come to the end of one road but had found the beginning of an even longer
one.
Drizzt could deal with his own weariness, but Wulfgar seemed cloaked in
gloom, always running on the edge of danger. He was a young man out of Icewind
Dale - the land that had been his only home - for the first time in his life.
Now that sheltered strip of tundra, where the eternal wind blew, was far to the
north.
But Calimport was much farther still, to the south.
Drizzt lay back on his pillow, reminding himself that Wulfgar had chosen to
come along. Drizzt couldn't have stopped him, even if he had tried.
The drow closed his eyes. The best thing that he could do, for himself and
for Wulfgar, was to sleep and be ready for whatever the next dawn would bring.
* * *
Malchor's student awakened them - silently - a few hours later and led them
to the dining room, where the wizard waited. A fine breakfast was brought out
before them.
"Your course is south, by my cousin's words," Malchor said to them. "Chasing
a man who holds your friend, this halfling, Regis, captive."
"His name is Entreri," Drizzt replied, "and we will find him a hard catch,
by my measure of him. He flies for Calimport."
"Harder still," Wulfgar added, "we had him placed on the road." He explained
to Malchor, though Drizzt knew the words to be aimed at him, "Now we shall have
to hope that he did not turn from its course."
"There was no secret to his path," argued Drizzt. "He made for Waterdeep, on
the coast. He may have passed by there already."
"Then he is out to sea," reasoned Malchor.
Wulfgar nearly choked on his food. He hadn't even considered that
possibility.
"That is my fear," said Drizzt. "And I had thought to do the same."
"It is a dangerous and costly course," said Malchor. "The pirates gather for
the last runs to the south as the summer draws to an end, and if one has not
made the proper arrangements, . . ." He let the words hang ominously before
them.
"But you have little choice," the wizard continued. "A horse cannot match
the speed of a sailing ship, and the sea route is straighter than the road. So
take to the sea, is my advice. Perhaps I can make some arrangements to speed
your accommodations. My student has already set the enchanted shoes on your
mounts, and with their aid, you may get to the great port in short days."
"And how long shall we sail?" Wulfgar asked, dismayed and hardly believing
that Drizzt would go along with the wizard's suggestion.
"Your young friend does not understand the breadth of this journey," Malchor
said to Drizzt. The wizard laid his fork on the table and another a few inches
from it. "Here is Icewind Dale," he explained to Wulfgar, pointing to the first
fork. "And this other, the Tower of Twilight, where you now sit. A distance of
nearly four hundred miles lies between."
He tossed a third fork to Drizzt, who laid it out in front of him, about
three feet from the fork representing their present position.
"It is a journey you would travel five times to equal the road ahead of
you," Malchor told Wulfgar, "for that last fork is Calimport, two thousand miles
and several kingdoms to the south."
"Then we are defeated," moaned Wulfgar, unable to comprehend such a
distance.
"Not so," said Malchor. "For you shall ride with sails full of the northern
wind, and beat the first snows of winter. You will find the land and the people
more accommodating to the south."
"We shall see," said the dark elf, unconvinced. To Drizzt, people had ever
spelled trouble.
"Ah," agreed Malchor, realizing the hardships a drow elf would surely find
among the dwellers of the surface world. "But I have one more gift to give to
you: a map to a treasure that you can recover this very day."
"Another delay," said Wulfgar.
"A small price to pay," replied Malchor, "and this short trip shall save you
many days in the populated South, where a drow elf may walk only in the night.
Of this I am certain."
Drizzt was intrigued that Malchor so clearly understood his dilemma and was
apparently hinting at an alternative. Drizzt would not be welcome anywhere in
the South. Cities that would grant the foul Entreri free passage would throw
chains upon the dark elf if he tried to cross through, for the drow had long ago
earned their reputation as ultimately evil and unspeakably vile. Few in all the
Realms would be quick to recognize Drizzt Do'Urden as the exception to the rule.
"Just to the west of here, down a dark path in Neverwinter Wood and in a
cave of trees, dwells a monster that the local farmers have named Agatha," said
Malchor. "Once an elf, I believe, and a fair mage in her own right, according to
legend, this wretched thing lives on after death and calls the night her time."
Drizzt knew the sinister legends of such creatures, and he knew their name.
"A banshee?" he asked.
Malchor nodded. "To her lair you should go, if you are brave enough, for the
banshee has collected a fair hoard of treasure, including one item that would
prove invaluable to you, Drizzt Do'Urden."
He saw that he had the drow's full attention. Drizzt leaned forward over the
table and weighed Malchor's every word.
"A mask," the wizard explained. "An enchanted mask that will allow you to
hide your heritage and walk freely as a surface elf - or as a man, if that suits
you."
Drizzt slumped back, a bit unnerved at the threat to his very identity.
"I understand your hesitancy," Malchor said to him. "It is not easy to hide
from those who accuse you unjustly, to give credibility to their false
perceptions. But think of your captive friend and know that I make this
suggestion only for his sake. You may get through the southlands as you are,
dark elf, but not unhindered."
Wulfgar bit his lip and said nothing, knowing this to be Drizzt's own
decision. He knew that even his concerns about further delay could not weigh
into such a personal discussion.
"We will go to this lair in the wood," Drizzt said at last, "and I shall
wear such a mask if I must." He looked at Wulfgar. "Our only concern must be
Regis."
* * *
Drizzt and Wulfgar sat atop their mounts outside the Tower of Twilight, with
Malchor standing beside them.
"Be wary of the thing," Malchor said, handing Drizzt the map to the
banshee's lair and another parchment that generally showed their course to the
far South. "Her touch is deathly cold, and the legends say that to hear her keen
is to die."
"Her keen?" asked Wulfgar.
"An unearthly wail too terrible for mortal ears to bear," said Malchor.
"Take all care!"
"We shall," Drizzt assured him.
"We will not forget the hospitality or the gifts of Malchor Harpell," added
Wulfgar.
"Nor the lesson, I hope," the wizard replied with a wink, drawing an
embarrassed smile from Wulfgar.
Drizzt was pleased that his friend had shaken at least some of his
surliness.
Dawn came upon them then, and the tower quickly faded into nothingness.
"The tower is gone, yet the wizard remains," remarked Wulfgar.
"The tower is gone, yet the door inside remains," Malchor corrected. He took
a few steps back and stretched his arm out, his hand disappearing from sight.
Wulfgar jerked in bewilderment.
"For those who know how to find it," Malchor added. "For those who have
trained their minds to the properties of magic." He stepped through the
extradimensional portal and was gone from sight, but his voice came back to them
one last time. "Discipline!" he called, and Wulfgar knew himself to be the
target of Malchor's final statement.
Drizzt kicked his horse into motion, unrolling the map as he started away.
"Harpell?" he asked over his shoulder, imitating Wulfgar's derisive tone of the
previous night.
"Would that all of the Harpells were like Malchor!" Wulfgar replied. He sat
staring at the emptiness that had been the Tower of Twilight, fully
understanding that the wizard had taught him two valuable lessons in a single
night: one of prejudice and one of humility.
* * *
From inside the hidden dimension of his home, Malchor watched them go. He
wished that he could join them, to travel along the road of adventure as he had
so often in his youth, finding a just course and following it against any odds.
Harkle had judged the principles of those two correctly, Malchor knew, and had
been right in asking Malchor to help them.
The wizard leaned against the door to his home. Alas, his days of adventure,
his days of carrying the crusade of justice on his shoulders, were fading behind
him.
But Malchor took heart in the events of the last day. If the drow and his
barbarian friend were any indication, he had just helped to pass the torch into
able hands.
2
A Thousand Thousand Little Candles
The assassin, mesmerized, watched as the ruby turned slowly in the
candlelight, catching the dance of the flame in a thousand thousand perfect
miniatures - too many reflections; no gem could have facets so small and so
flawless.
And yet the procession was there to be seen, a swirl of tiny candles drawing
him deeper into the redness of the stone. No jeweler had cut it; its precision
went beyond a level attainable with an instrument. This was an artifact of
magic, a deliberate creation designed, he reminded himself cautiously, to pull a
viewer into that descending swirl, into the serenity of the reddened depths of
the stone.
A thousand thousand little candles.
No wonder he had so easily duped the captain into giving him passage to
Calimport. Suggestions that came from within the marvelous secrets of this gem
could not easily be dismissed. Suggestions of serenity and peace, words spoken
only by friends ...
A smile cracked the usually grim set of his face. He could wander deep into
the calm.
Entreri tore himself from the pull of the ruby and rubbed his eyes, amazed
that even one as disciplined as he might be vulnerable to the gem's insistent
tug. He glanced into the corner of the small cabin, where Regis sat huddled and
thoroughly miserable.
"I can now understand your desperation in stealing this jewel," he said to
the halfling.
Regis snapped out of his own meditation, surprised that Entreri had spoken
to him - the first time since they had boarded the boat back in Waterdeep.
"And I know now why Pasha Pook is so desperate to get it back," Entreri
continued, as much to himself as to Regis.
Regis cocked his head to watch the assassin. Could the ruby pendant take
even Artemis Entreri into its hold? "Truly it is a beautiful gem," he offered
hopefully, not quite knowing how to handle this uncharacteristic empathy from
the cold assassin.
"Much more than a gemstone," Entreri said absently, his eyes falling
irresistibly back into the mystical swirl of the deceptive facets.
Regis recognized the calm visage of the assassin, for he himself had worn
such a look when he had first studied Pook's wonderful pendant. He had been a
successful thief then, living a fine life in Calimport. But the promises of that
magical stone outweighed the comforts of the thieves' guild. "Perhaps the
pendant stole me," he suggested on a sudden impulse.
But he had underestimated the willpower of Entreri. The assassin snapped a
cold look at him, with a smirk clearly revealing that he knew where Regis was
leading.
But the halfling, grabbing at whatever hope he could find, pressed on
anyway. "The power of that pendant overcame me, I think. There could be no
crime; I had little choice-"
