obvious inconsistency.
Regis nodded. "And even more curious," he continued, "it was the same
guard, Jierdan, that let us into the city." Drizzt and Bruenor exchanged
concerned looks.
"We've killers at our backs, a busted inn before us, and a soldier
paying us more mind than he should," said Bruenor.
"Time to go," Drizzt responded for the third time.
Wulfgar looked at him incredulously. "How any men did you down
tonight?" Drizzt asked him, putting the logical assumption of danger right
out before him. "And how many of them would drool at the opportunity to put
a blade in your back?"
"Besides," added Regis before Wulfgar could answer, "I've no desire to
share a bed in an alley with a host of rats!"
"Then to the gate," said Bruenor.
Drizzt shook his head. "Not with a guard so interested in us. Over the
wall, and let none know of our passing."
An hour later, they were trotting easily across the open grass, feeling
the wind again beyond the break of Luskan's wall.
Regis summed up their thoughts, saying, "Our first night in our first
city, and we've betrayed killers, fought down a host of ruffians, and
caught the attention of the city guard. An auspicious beginning to our
journey!"
"Aye, but we've got this!" cried Bruenor, fairly bursting with
anticipation of finding his homeland now that the first obstacle, the map,
had been overcome.
Little did he or his friends know, however, that the map he clutched so
dearly detailed several deadly regions, one in particular that would test
the four friends to their limits - and beyond.
4
The Conjuring
A landmark of wonder marked the very center of the City of Sails, a
strange building that emanated a powerful aura of magic. Unlike any other
structure in all the Forgotten Realms, the Hosttower of the Arcane seemed
literally a tree of stone, boasting five tall spires, the largest being the
central, and the other four, equally high, growing out of the main trunk
with the graceful curving arc of an oak. Nowhere could any sign of the
mason be seen; it was obvious to any knowledgeable viewer that magic, not
physical labor, had produced this artwork.
The Archmage, undisputed Master of the Hosttower, resided in the
central tower, while the other four housed the wizards closest in the line
of succession. Each of these lesser towers, representing the four compass
directions, dominated a different side of the trunk, and its respective
wizard held responsibility for watching over and influencing the events in
the direction he overlooked. Thus, the wizard west of the trunk spent his
days looking out to sea, and to the merchant ships and pirates riding out
on Luskan's harbor.
A conversation in the north spire would have interested the companions
from Ten-Towns this day.
"You have done well, Jierdan," said Sydney, a younger, and lesser, mage
in the Hosttower, though displaying enough potential to have gained an
apprenticeship with one of the mightiest wizards in the guild. Not a pretty
woman, Sydney cared little for physical appearances, instead devoting her
energies to her unrelenting pursuit of power. She had spent most of her
twenty-five years working toward one goal - the title of Wizard - and her
determination and poise gave most around her little doubt about her ability
to attain it.
Jierdan accepted the praise with a knowing nod, understanding the
condescending manner in which it was offered. "I only performed as I was
instructed," he replied under a facade of humility, tossing a glance to the
frail-looking man in brown mottled robes who stood staring out of the
room's sole window.
"Why would they come here?" the wizard whispered to himself. He turned
to the others, and they recoiled instinctively from his gaze. He was
Dendybar the Mottled, Master of the North Spire, and though he appeared
weak from a distance, closer scrutiny revealed a power in the man mightier
than bulging muscles. And his well-earned reputation for valuing life far
less than the pursuit of knowledge intimidated most who came before him.
"Did the travelers give any reason for coming here?"
"None that I would believe," Jierdan replied quietly. "The halfling
spoke of scouting out the marketplace, but I-"
"Not likely," interrupted Dendybar, speaking more to himself than to
the others. "Those four weigh more into their actions than simply a
merchant expedition."
Sydney pressed Jierdan, seeking to keep her high favor with the Master
of the North Spire. "Where are they now?" she demanded.
Jierdan didn't dare fight back against her in front of Dendybar. "On
the docks . . . somewhere," he said, then shrugged.
"You do not know?" hissed the young mage.
"They were to stay at the Cutlass," Jierdan retorted. "But the fight
put them out on the street."
"And you should have followed them!" Sydney scolded, dogging the
soldier relentlessly.
"Even a soldier of the city would be a fool to travel alone about the
piers at night," Jierdan shot back. "It does not matter where they are
right now. I have the gates and the piers watched. They cannot leave Luskan
without my knowledge!"
"I want them found!" Sydney ordered, but then Dendybar silenced her.
"Leave the watch as it is," he told Jierdan. "They must not depart
without my knowledge. You are dismissed. Come before me again when you have
something to report."
Jierdan snapped to attention and turned to leave, casting one final
glare at his competitor for the mottled wizard's favor as he passed. He was
only a soldier, not a budding mage like Sydney, but in Luskan, where the
Hosttower of the Arcane was the true, secretive force behind all of the
power structures in the city, a soldier did well to find the favor of a
wizard. Captains of the guard only attained their positions and privileges
with the prior consent of the Hosttower.
"We cannot allow them to roam freely," argued Sydney when the door had
closed behind the departing soldier.
"They shall bring no harm for now," replied Dendybar. "Even if the drow
carries the artifact with him, it will take him years to understand its
potential. Patience, my friend, I have ways of learning what we need to
know. The pieces of this puzzle will fit together nicely before much
longer."
"It pains me to think that such power is so close to our grasp," sighed
the eager young mage. "And in the possession of a novice!"
"Patience," repeated the Master of the North Spire.
Sydney finished lighting the ring of candles that marked the perimeter
of the special chamber and moved slowly toward the solitary brazier that
stood on its iron tripod just outside the magic circle inscribed upon the
floor. It disappointed her to know that once the brazier was also burning,
she would be instructed to depart.
Savoring every moment in this rarely opened room, considered by many to
be the finest conjuring chamber in all the northland, Sydney had many times
begged to remain in attendance.
But Dendybar never let her stay, explaining that her inevitable
inquiries would prove too much of a distraction. And when dealing with the
nether worlds, distractions usually proved fatal.
Dendybar sat cross-legged within the magic circle, chanting himself
into a deep meditative trance and not even aware of Sydney's actions as she
completed the preparations. All of his senses looked inward, searching his
own being to ensure that, he was fully prepared for such a task. He had
left only one window in his mind open to the outside, a fraction of his
awareness hinging on a single cue: the bolt of the heavy door being snapped
back into place after Sydney had departed.
His heavy eyelids cracked open, their narrow line of vision solely
fixed upon the fires of the brazier. These flames would be the life of the
summoned spirit, giving it a tangible form for the period Dendybar kept it
locked to the material plane.
"Ey vesus venerais dimin doer," the wizard began, chanting slowly at
first, then building into a solid rhythm. Swept away by the insistent pull
of the casting, as though the spell, once given a flicker of life, drove
itself to the completion of its dweomer, Dendybar rolled on through the
various inflections and arcane syllables with ease, the sweat on his face
reflecting eagerness more than nerves.
The mottled wizard reveled in summoning, dominating the will of beings
beyond the mortal world through the sheer insistence of his considerable
mental strength. This room represented the pinnacle of his studies, the
indisputable evidence of the vast boundaries of his powers.
This time he was targeting his favorite informant, a spirit that truly
despised him, but could not refuse his call. Dendybar came to the climactic
point in the casting, the naming. "Morkai," he called softly.
The brazier's flame brightened for just an instant.
"Morkai!" Dendybar shouted, tearing the spirit from its hold on the
other world. The brazier puffed into a small fireball, then died into
blackness, its flames transmuted into the image of a man standing before
Dendybar.
The wizard's thin lips curled upward. How ironic, he thought, that the
man he had arranged to murder would prove to be his most valuable source of
information.
The specter of Morkai the Red stood resolute and proud, a fitting image
of the mighty wizard he had once been. He had created this very room back
in the days when he served the Hosttower in the role of Master of the North
Spire. But then Dendybar and his cronies had conspired against him, using
his trusted apprentice to drive a dagger into his heart, and thus opening
the trail of succession for Dendybar himself to reach the coveted position
in the spire.
That same act had set a second, perhaps more significant, chain of
events into motion, for it was that same apprentice, Akar Kessell, who had
eventually come to possess the Crystal Shard, the mighty artifact that
Dendybar now believed in Drizzt Do'Urden's hands. The tales that had
filtered down from Ten-Towns of Akar Kessell's final battle had named the
dark elf as the warrior who had brought him down.
Dendybar could not know that the Crystal Shard now lay buried beneath a
hundred tons of ice and rock on the mountain in Icewind Dale known as
Kelvin's Cairn, lost in the avalanche that had killed Kessell. All that he
knew of the tale was that Kessell, the puny apprentice, had nearly
conquered all of Icewind Dale with the Crystal Shard and that Drizzt
Do'Urden was the last to see Kessell alive.
Dendybar wrung his hands eagerly whenever he thought of the power that
the relic would bring to a more learned wizard.
"Greetings, Morkai the Red," Dendybar laughed. "How polite of you to
accept my invitation."
"I accept every opportunity to gaze upon you, Dendybar the Assassin,"
replied the specter. "I shall know you well when you ride Death's barge
into the darkened realm. Then we shall be on even terms again . . . "
"Silence!" Dendybar commanded. Though he would not admit the truth to
himself, the mottled wizard greatly feared the day when he would have to
face the mighty Morkai again. "I have brought you here for a purpose," he
told the specter. "I have no time for your empty threats."
"Then tell me the service I am to perform," hissed the specter, "and
let me be gone. Your presence offends me."
Dendybar fumed, but did not continue the argument. Time worked against
a wizard in a spell of summoning, for it drained him to hold a spirit on
the material plan, and each second that passed weakened him a little bit
more. The greatest danger in this type of spell was that the conjuror would
attempt to hold control for too long, until he found himself too weak to
control the entity he had summoned.
"A simple answer is all that I require from you this day, Morkai,"
Dendybar said, carefully selecting each word as he went. Morkai noted the
caution and suspected that Dendybar was hiding something.
"Then what is the question?" the specter pressed.
Dendybar held to his cautious pace, considering every word before he
spoke it. He did not want Morkai to get any hint of his motives in seeking
the drow, for the specter would surely pass the information across the
planes. Many powerful beings, perhaps even the spirit of Morkai himself,
would go after such a powerful relic if they had any idea of the shard's
whereabouts.
"Four travelers, one a drow elf, came to Luskan from Icewind Dale this
day," the mottled wizard explained. "What business do they have in the
city? Why are they here?"
Morkai scrutinized his nemesis, trying to find the reason for the
question. "That is a query better asked of your city guard," he replied.
"Surely the guests stated their business upon entering the gate."
"But I have asked you!" Dendybar screamed, exploding suddenly in rage.
Morkai was stalling, and each passing second now took its toll on the
mottled wizard. The essence of Morkai had lost little power in death, and
he fought stubbornly against the spell's binding dweomer.
Dendybar snapped open a parchment before him.
"I have a dozen of these penned already," he warned.
Morkai recoiled. He understood the nature of the writing, a scroll that
revealed the true name of his very being. And once read, stripping the veil
of secrecy from the name and laying bare the privacy of his soul, Dendybar
