him and indicated that he would open a bigger door. Boldly he strode toward the
dome.
Drizzt crept up beside him, uncertain of the practicality of Wulfgar's idea.
Drizzt had the feeling that a creature who had survived so successfully for so
very long would be protected against such obvious tactics. But the drow didn't
have any better ideas at the moment, so he dropped back a step as Wulfgar
hoisted the war hammer above his head.
Wulfgar spread his feet wide for balance and took a steadying breath, then
slammed Aegis-fang home with all his strength. The dome shuddered under the
blow; wood splintered and went flying, but the drow's concerns soon came to
light. For as the wooden shell broke away, Wulfgar's hammer drove down into a
concealed mesh of netting. Before the barbarian could reverse the blow,
Aegis-fang and his arms were fully entangled.
Drizzt saw a shadow move across the firelight inside, and, recognizing his
companion's vulnerability, he didn't hesitate. He dove through Wulfgar's legs
and into the lair, his scimitars nipping and jabbing wildly as he came. Twinkle
nicked into something for just a split second, something less than tangible, and
Drizzt knew that he had hit the creature of the nether world. But dazed by the
sudden intensity of the light as he came into the lair, Drizzt had trouble
finding his footing. He kept his head well enough to discern that the banshee
had scampered into the shadows off to the other side. He rolled up to a wall,
put his back against it for support, and scrambled to his feet, deftly slicing
through Wulfgar's bonds with Twinkle.
Then came the wail.
It cut through the feeble protection of the candle wax with bone-shivering
intensity, sapping into Drizzt's and Wulfgar's strength and dropping a dizzying
blackness over them. Drizzt slumped heavily against the wall, and Wulfgar,
finally able to tug free of the stubborn netting, stumbled backward into the
black night and toppled onto his back.
Drizzt, alone inside, knew that he was in deep trouble. He battled against
the dizzying blur and the stinging pain in his head and tried to focus on the
firelight.
But he saw two dozen fires dancing before his eyes, lights he could not
shake away. He believed that he had come out of the keen's effects, and it took
him a moment to realize the truth of the place.
A magical creature was Agatha, and magical protections, confusing illusions
of mirror images, guarded her home.
Suddenly Drizzt was confronted on more than twenty fronts by the twisted
visage of a long-dead elven maiden, her skin withered and stretched along her
hollowed face and her eyes bereft of color or any spark of life.
But those orbs could see - more clearly than any other in this deceptive
maze. And Drizzt understood that Agatha knew exactly where he was. She waved her
arms in circular motions and smirked at her intended victim.
Drizzt recognized the banshee's movements as the beginnings of a spell.
Still caught in the web of her illusions, the drow had only one chance. Calling
on the innate abilities of his dark race - and desperately hoping that he had
correctly guessed which was the real fire - he placed a globe of darkness over
the flames. The inside of the tree cave went pitch black, and Drizzt fell to his
belly.
A blue bolt of lightning cut through the darkness, thundering just above the
lying drow and through the wall. The air sizzled around him; his stark white
hair danced on its ends.
Bursting out into the dark forest, Agatha's ferocious bolt shook Wulfgar
from his stupor. "Drizzt," he groaned, forcing himself to his feet. His friend
was probably already dead, and beyond the entrance was a blackness too deep for
human eyes. But fearlessly, without a thought for his own safety, Wulfgar
stumbled back toward the dome.
Drizzt crept around the black perimeter, using the heat of the fire as his
guide. He brought a scimitar to bear with every step, but caught nothing with
his cuts but air and the side of the tree cave.
Then, suddenly, his darkness was no more, leaving him exposed along the
middle of the wall to the left of the door. And the leering image of Agatha was
all about him, already beginning yet another spell. Drizzt glanced around for an
escape route, but realized that Agatha didn't seem to be looking at him.
Across the room, in what must have been a real mirror, Drizzt caught sight
of another image: Wulfgar crawling in defenselessly through the low entrance.
Again Drizzt could not afford to hesitate. He was beginning to understand
the layout of the illusion maze and could guess at the general direction of the
banshee. He dropped to one knee and scooped up a handful of dirt, splaying it in
a wide arc across the room.
All of the images reacted the same way, giving Drizzt no clue as to which
was his foe. But the real Agatha, wherever she was, was spitting dirt; Drizzt
had disrupted her spell.
Wulfgar regained his feet and immediately smashed his hammer through the
wall to the right side of the door, then reversed his swing and heaved
Aegis-fang at the image across from the door, directly over the fire. Again
Aegisfang crashed into the wall, knocking open a hole to the nighttime forest.
Drizzt, firing his dagger futilely at yet another image across the way,
caught a telltale flicker in the area where he had seen the reflection of
Wulfgar. As Aegis-fang magically returned to Wulfgar's hands, Drizzt sprinted
for the back of the chamber. "Lead me!" he cried, hoping his voice was loud
enough for Wulfgar to hear.
Wulfgar understood. Bellowing "Tempus!" to warn the drow of his throw, he
launched Aegis-fang again.
Drizzt dove into a roll, and the hammer whistled over his back, exploding
into the mirror. Half of the images in the room disappeared, and Agatha screamed
in rage. But Drizzt didn't even slow. He sprang over the broken mirror stand and
the remaining chunks of glass.
Right into Agatha's treasure room.
The banshee's scream became a keen, and the killing waves of sound dropped
over Drizzt and Wulfgar once again. They had expected the blast this time,
though, and they pushed its force away more easily. Drizzt scrambled to the
treasure hoard, scooping baubles and gold into a sack. Wulfgar, enraged, stormed
about the dome in a destructive frenzy. Soon kindling lined the area where walls
had stood, and scratches dripping tiny streams of blood crisscrossed Wulfgar's
huge forearms. But the barbarian felt no pain, only the savage fury.
His sack nearly full, Drizzt was about to turn and flee when one other item
caught his eye. He had been almost relieved that he hadn't found it, and a big
part of him wished that it wasn't here, that such an item did not exist. Yet
here it lay, an unremarkable mask of bland features, with a single cord to hold
it in place over a wearer's face. Drizzt knew that, as plain as it seemed, it
must be the item Malchor had spoken of, and if he had any thoughts of ignoring
it now, they were quickly gone. Regis needed him, and to get to Regis quickly,
Drizzt needed the mask. Still, the drow could not belay his sigh when he lifted
it from the treasure hoard, sensing its tingling power. Without another thought,
he put it in his sack.
Agatha would not so easily surrender her treasures, and the specter that
confronted Drizzt when he hopped back over the broken mirror was all too real.
Twinkle gleamed wickedly as Drizzt parried away Agatha's frantic blows.
Wulfgar suspected that Drizzt needed him now, and he dismissed his savage
fury, realizing that a clear head was necessary in this predicament. He scanned
the room slowly, hoisting Aegis-fang for another throw. But the barbarian found
that he had not yet sorted out the pattern of the illusionary spells, and the
confusion of a dozen images, and the fear of hitting Drizzt, held him in check.
Effortlessly Drizzt danced around the crazed banshee and backed her up
toward the treasure room. He could have struck her several times, but he had
given his word to the farmers of Conyberry.
Then he had her in position. He thrust Twinkle out before him and waded in
with two steps. Spitting and cursing, Agatha retreated, tripping over the broken
mirror stand and falling back into the gloom. Drizzt spun toward the door.
Watching the real Agatha, and the other images, disappear from sight,
Wulfgar followed the sound of her grunt and finally sorted out the layout of the
dome. He readied Aegis-fang for the killing throw.
"Let it end!" Drizzt shouted at him as he passed, slapping Wulfgar on the
backside with the flat of Twinkle to remind him of their mission and their
promise.
Wulfgar turned to look at him, but the agile drow was already out into the
dark night. Wulfgar turned back to see Agatha, her teeth bared and hands
clenched, rise up on her feet.
"Pardon our intrusion," he said politely, bowing low - low enough to follow
his friend outside to safety. He sprinted along the dark path to catch up to
Twinkle's blue glow.
Then came the banshee's third keen, chasing them down the path. Drizzt was
beyond its painful range, but its sting caught up to Wulfgar and knocked him off
balance. Blindly, with the smug smile suddenly wiped from his face, he stumbled
forward.
Drizzt turned and tried to catch him, but the huge man bowled the drow over
and continued on.
Face first into a tree.
Before Drizzt could get over to help, Wulfgar was up again and running, too
scared and embarrassed, to even groan.
Behind them, Agatha wailed helplessly.
* * *
When the first of Agatha's keens wafted on the night winds the mile or so to
Conyberry, the villagers knew that Drizzt and Wulfgar had found her lair. All of
them, even the children, had gathered outside of their houses and listened
intently as two more wails had rolled through the night air. And now, most
perplexing, came the banshee's continual, mournful cries.
"So much fer them strangers," chuckled one man.
"Nah, ye're wrong," said the old woman, recognizing the subtle shift in
Agatha's tones. "Them's wails of losing. They beat her! They did, and got away!"
The others sat quietly, studying Agatha's cries, and soon realized the truth
of the old woman's observations. They looked at each other incredulously.
"What'd they call themselves?" asked one man.
"Wulfgar," offered another. "And Drizzt Do'Urden. I heared o' them before."
4
The City of Splendors
They were back to the main road before dawn, thundering to the west, to the
coast and the city of Waterdeep. With the visit to Malchor and the business with
Agatha out of the way, Drizzt and Wulfgar once again focused their thoughts on
the road ahead, and they remembered the peril their halfling friend faced if
they failed in the rescue. Their mounts, aided by Malchor's enchanted
horseshoes, sped along at a tremendous clip. All the landscape seemed only a
blur as it rolled by.
They did not break when dawn came behind them, nor did they stop for a meal
as the sun climbed overhead.
"We will have all the rest we need when we board ship and sail to the
south," Drizzt told Wulfgar.
The barbarian, determined that Regis would be saved, needed no prompting.
The dark of night came again, and the thunder of the hooves continued
unbroken. Then, when the second morning found their backs, a salty breeze filled
the air and the high towers of Waterdeep, the City of Splendors, appeared on the
western horizon. The two riders stopped atop the high cliff that formed the
fabulous settlement's eastern border. If Wulfgar had been stunned earlier that
year when he had first looked upon Luskan, five hundred miles up the coast, he
now was stricken dumb. For Waterdeep, the jewel of the North, the greatest port
in all the Realms, was fully ten times the size of Luskan. Even within its high
wall, it sprawled out lazily and endlessly down the coast, with towers and
spires reaching high into the sea mist to the edges of the companions' vision.
"How many live here?" Wulfgar gasped at Drizzt.
"A hundred of your tribes could find shelter within the city," the drow
explained. He noted Wulfgar's anxiety with concern of his own. Cities were
beyond the experiences of the young man, and the time Wulfgar had ventured into
Luskan had nearly ended in disaster. And now there was Waterdeep, with ten times
the people, ten times the intrigue - and ten times the trouble.
Wulfgar settled back a bit, and Drizzt had no choice but to put his trust in
the young warrior. The drow had his own dilemma, a personal battle that he now
had to settle. Gingerly he took the magical mask out of his belt pouch.
Wulfgar understood the determination guiding the drow's hesitant motions,
and he looked upon his friend with sincere pity. He did not know if he could be
so brave - even with Regis's life hanging on his actions.
Drizzt turned the plain mask over in his hands, wondering at the limits of
its magic. He could feel that this was no ordinary item; its power tingled to
his sensitive touch. Would it simply rob him of his appearance? Or might it
steal his very identity? He had heard of other, supposedly beneficial, magical
items that could not be removed once worn.
"Perhaps they will accept you as you are," Wulfgar offered hopefully.
Drizzt sighed and smiled, his decision made. "No," he answered. "The
