months before, when Wulfgar had united the peoples of Icewind Dale,
barbarian and Ten-Towner alike, in a common defense against the harsh
tundra winter. He still worried about bringing the young warrior into
situations like the dockside of Luskan, for he knew that many of the finest
persons in the Realms had paid dearly for their first encounters with the
guilds and underground power structures of a city, and that Wulfgar's deep
compassion and unwavering code of honor could be manipulated against him.
But on the road, in the wild, Drizzt knew that he would never find a
more valuable companion.
They encountered no further problems that day or night, and the next
morning came upon the main road, the trading route from Waterdeep to
Mirabar and passing Longsaddle on the way. No landmarks stood out to guide
them, as Drizzt had anticipated, but because of his plan in keeping more to
the east than the straight line southeast, their direction from here was
clearly south.
Regis seemed much better this day and was anxious to see Longsaddle. He
alone of the group had been to the home of the magic-using Harpell family
and he looked forward to viewing the strange, and often outrageous, place
again.
His excited chatting only heightened Wulfgar's trepidations, though,
for the barbarian's distrust of the dark arts ran deep. Among Wulfgar's
people, wizards were viewed as cowards and evil tricksters.
"How long must we remain in this place?" he asked Bruenor and Drizzt,
who, with the crags safely behind them, had come up to ride beside him on
the wide road.
"Until we get some answers," Bruenor answered. "Or until we figure a
better place to go." Wulfgar had to be satisfied with the answer.
Soon they passed some of the outlying farms, drawing curious stares
from the men in the fields who leaned on their hoes and rakes to study the
party. Shortly after the first of these encounters, they were met on the
road by five armed men called Longriders, representing the outer watch of
the town.
"Greetings, travelers," said one politely. "Might we ask your
intentions in these parts?"
"Ye might . . . " started Bruenor, but Drizzt stopped his sarcastic
remark with an outstretched hand.
"We have come to see the Harpells," Regis replied. "Our business does
not concern your town, though we seek the wise counsel of the family in the
mansion."
"Well met, then," answered the Longrider. "The hill of the Ivy Mansion
is just a few miles farther down the road, before Longsaddle proper." He
stopped suddenly, noticing the drow. "We could escort you if you desire,"
he offered, clearing his throat in an effort to politely hide his gawking
at the black elf.
"It is not necessary," said Drizzt. "I assure you that we can find the
way, and that we mean no ill toward any of the people of Longsaddle."
"Very well." The Longrider stepped his mount aside and the companions
continued on.
"Keep to the road, though," he called after them. "Some of the farmers
get anxious about people near the boundaries of their land."
"They are kindly folk," Regis explained to his companions as they moved
down the road, "and they trust in their wizards."
"Kindly, but wary," Drizzt retorted, motioning to a distant field where
the silhouette of a mounted man was barely visible on the far tree line.
"We are being watched."
"But not bothered," Said Bruenor. "And that's more than we can say
about anywhere we've been yet!"
The hill of the ivy Mansion comprised a small hillock sporting three
buildings, two that resembled the low, wooden design of farmhouses. The
third, though, was unlike anything the four companions had ever seen. Its
walls turned at sharp angles every few feet, creating niches within niches,
and dozens and dozens of spires sprouted from its many-angled roof, no two
alike. A thousand windows were visible from this direction alone, some
huge, others no bigger than an arrow slit.
No one design, no overall architectural plan or style, could be found
here. The Harpells' mansion was a collage of independent ideas and
experiments in magical creation. But there was truly a beauty within the
chaos, a sense of freedom that defied the term "structure" and carried with
it a feeling of welcome.
A rail fence surrounded the hillock and the four friends approached
curiously, if not excitedly. There was no gate, just an opening and the
road continuing through. Seated on a stool inside the fence, staring
blankly at the sky, was a fat, bearded man in a carmine robe.
He noticed their arrival with a start. "Who are you and what do you
want?" he demanded bluntly, angered at the interruption of his meditation.
"Weary travelers," replied Regis, "come to seek the wisdom of the
reknowned Harpells."
The man seemed unimpressed. "And?" he prompted.
Regis turned helplessly to Drizzt and Bruenor, but they could only
answer him with shrugs of their own, not understanding what more was
required of them. Bruenor started to move his pony out in front to
reiterate the group's intentions when another robed man came shuffling out
of the mansion to join the first.
He had a few quiet words with the fat mage, then turned to the road.
"Greetings," he offered the, companions. "Excuse poor Regweld, here---" he
patted the fat mage's shoulder--- "for he has had an incredible run of bad
luck with some experimenting - not that things will not turn out, mind you.
They just might take some time.
"Regweld is really a fine wizard," he continued, patting the shoulder
again. "And his ideas for crossbreeding a horse and a frog are not without
merit; never mind the explosion! Alchemy shops can be replaced!"
The friends sat atop their mounts, biting back their amazement at the
rambling discourse. "Why, think of the advantages for crossing rivers!" the
robed man cried. "But enough of that. I am Harkle. How might I assist you?"
"Harkle Harpell?" Regis snickered. The man bowed.
"Bruenor of Icewind Dale, I be," Bruenor proclaimed when he had found
his voice. "Me friends and meself have come hundreds of miles seeking the
words of the wizards of Longsaddle . . ." He noticed that Harkle,
distracted by the drow, wasn't paying any attention to him. Drizzt had let
his cowl slip back purposely to judge the reaction of the reputedly learned
men of Longsaddle. The Longrider back on the road had been surprised, but
not outraged, and Drizzt had to learn if the town in general would be more
tolerant of his heritage.
"Fantastic," muttered Harkle. "Simply unbelievable!" Regweld, too, had
now noticed the black elf and seemed interested for the first time since
the party had arrived.
"Are we to be allowed passage?" Drizzt asked.
"Oh, yes, please do come in," replied Harkle, trying unsuccessfully to
mask his excitement for the sake of etiquette.
Striding his horse out in front, Wulfgar started them up the road.
"Not that way," said Harkle. "Not the road; of course, it is not really
a road. Or it is, but you cannot get through."
Wulfgar stopped his mount. "Be done with your foolery, wizard!" he
demanded angrily, his years of distrust for practitioners of the magic arts
boiling over in his frustration. "May we enter, or not?"
"There is no foolery, I assure you," said Harkle, hoping to keep the
meeting amiable. But Regweld cut in.
"One of those," the fat mage said accusingly, rising from his stool.
Wulfgar glared at him curiously.
"A barbarian," Regweld explained. "A warrior trained to hate that which
he cannot comprehend. Go ahead, warrior, take that big hammer off of your
back."
Wulfgar hesitated, seeing his own unreasonable anger, and looked to his
friends for support. He didn't want to spoil Bruenor's plans for the sake
of his own pettiness.
"Go ahead," Regweld insisted, moving to the center of the road. "Take
up your hammer and throw it at me. Satisfy your heartfelt desire to expose
the foolery of a wizard! And strike one down in the process! A bargain if
ever I heard one!" He pointed to his chin. "Right here," he chided.
"Regweld," sighed Harkle, shaking his head. "Please oblige him,
warrior. Bring a smile to his downcast face."
Wulfgar looked once more to his friends, but again they had no answers.
Regweld settled it for him.
"Bastard son of a caribou."
Aegis-fang was out and twirling through the air before the fat mage had
finished the insult, bearing straight in on its mark. Regweld didn't
flinch, and just before Aegis-fang would have crossed over the fence line,
it smacked into something invisible, but as tangible as stone. Resounding
like a ceremonial gong, the transparent wall shuddered and waves rolled out
along it, visible to the astounded onlookers as mere distortions of the
images behind the wall. The friends noticed for the first time that the
rail fencing was not real, rather a painting on the surface of the
transparent wall.
Aegis-fang dropped to the dust, as though all power had been drained
from it, taking a long moment to reappear in Wulfgar's grasp.
Regweld's laughter was more of victory than of humor, but Harkle shook
his head. "Always at the expense of others," he scolded. "You had no right
to do that."
"He's better for the lesson," Regweld retorted. "Humility is also a
valuable commodity for a fighter."
Regis had bitten his lip for as long as he could. He had known about
the invisible wall all along, and now his laughter burst out. Drizzt and
Bruenor could not help but follow the halfling's lead, and even Wulfgar,
after he had recovered from the shock, smirked at his own "foolery."
Of course, Harkle had no choice but to stop his scolding and join in.
"Do come in," he begged the friends. "The third post is real; you can find
the gate there. But first, dismount and unsaddle your horses."
Wulfgar's suspicions came back suddenly, his scowl burying the smile.
"Explain," he requested of Harkle.
"Do it!" Regis ordered, "or you shall find a bigger surprise than the
last one."
Drizzt and Bruenor had already slipped from their saddles, intrigued,
but not the least bit fearful of the hospitable Harkle Harpell. Wulfgar
threw his arms out helplessly and followed, pulling the gear from the roan
and leading the beast, and Regis's pony, after the others.
Regis found the entrance easily and swung it open for his friends. They
came in without fear, but were suddenly assailed by blinding flashes of
light.
When their eyes cleared again, they found that the horses and ponies
had been reduced to the size of cats!
"What?" blurted Bruenor, but Regis was laughing again and Harkle acted
as though nothing unusual had happened.
"Pick them up and come along," he instructed. "It is nearly time to
sup, and the meal at The Fuzzy Quarterstaff is particularly delicious this
night!"
He led them around the side of the weird mansion to a bridge crossing
the center of the hillock. Bruenor and Wulfgar felt ridiculous carrying
their mounts, but Drizzt accepted it with a smile and Regis thoroughly
enjoyed the whole outrageous spectacle, having learned on his first visit
that Longsaddle was a place to be taken lightly, appreciating the
idiosyncrasies and unique ways of the Harpells purely for the sake of
amusement.
The high-arcing bridge before them, Regis knew, would serve as yet
another example. Though its span across the small stream was not great, it
was apparently unsupported, and its narrow planks were completely
unadorned, even without handrails.
Another robed Harpell, this one incredibly old, sat on a stool, his
chin in his hand, mumbling to himself and seemingly taking no notice of the
strangers whatsoever.
When Wulfgar, in the front beside Harkle, neared the bank of the
stream, he jumped back, gasping and stuttering. Regis snickered, knowing
what the big man had seen, and Drizzt and Bruenor soon understood.
The stream flowed UP the side of the hill, then vanished just before
the top, though the companions could hear that water was indeed rushing
along before them. Then the stream reappeared over the hill's crest,
flowing down the other side.
The old man sprang up suddenly and rushed over to Wulfgar. "What can it
mean?" he cried desperately. "How can it be?" He banged on the barbarian's
massive chest in frustration.
Wulfgar looked around for an escape, not wanting to even grab the old
man in restraint for fear of breaking his frail form. Just as abruptly as
he had come, the old man dashed back to the stool and resumed his silent
pose.
"Alas, poor Chardin," Harkle said somberly. "He was mighty in his day.
It was he who turned the stream up the hill. But near a score of years now
he has been obsessed with finding the secret of the invisibility under the
bridge."
"Why is the stream so different from the wall?" wondered Drizzt.
"Certainly this dweomer is not unknown among the wizard community."
"Ah, but there is a difference," Harkle was quick to reply, excited at
finding someone outside the Ivy Mansion apparently interested in their
works. "An invisible object is not so rare, but a field of invisibility
..." He swept his hand to the stream. "Anything that enters the river there
