before the onset of twilight, coming back to the same area where he had first entered the wood. Then he went in deeper, following no path but his own instincts, weaving silently and invisibly in the darkening night.
His eyes flashed as he crested one hill, for there, in the distance, he saw a campfire. As he neared it, he noted that it was on the edge of a small pond. Behind it and to the side, a circular door had been set against the face of an earthen mound-the type of house he had seen in halfling communities. And so he was not surprised when exactly that, a halfling with curly brown hair and a disarming, easy stride walked out from behind the house, a fishing pole over one shoulder and his other thumb hooked under one of the red suspenders that held up his breeches, which in turn held up his rather ample belly.
Addadearber held back and let the little one set the pole upon a forked stick he had set in the bank, though he didn’t bother to cast his line just then. He went back to his fire and assembled a tripod, upon which he hung a sizable pot. Then he went to the pond with a bucket. Apparently soup or stew was on the menu for that night.
Satisfied that there was nothing amiss about the place, and likely no one else about, the wizard closed his eyes and released his dweomer. He felt only a few short instances of tingling pain as his body expanded to its three-dimensional proportions.
He allowed himself a deep sigh of relief.
“You call this place home?” the wizard asked, startling the halfling.
The little one turned to regard the man with curiosity. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said, obvious alarm in his voice. “This is not your place.”
“But I am here, and I am not pleased.”
The halfling cocked his head, and if he was concerned by the wizard’s tone, he did not show it.
“Do you know who I am?”
The halfling shook his head.
“I am Addadearber of the Lightning!”
The halfling shrugged.
“I am the chief mage of Caer-Dineval, the mightiest wizard of Icewind Dale,” Addadearber declared.
That seemed to pique the little one’s interest, as his mouth formed the words “Icewind Dale” incredulously.
“The mightiest!” the impatient wizard reiterated.
The halfling wore a wry smile and glanced around. “I doubt that.”
“And that is why I am here. A couple of my friends were ill-treated by the forest you call home-or by some wizard within. They were expelled, brutally, and by magic.”
“They did not belong here.”
“You say that a lot.”
“For your own, and for their own, benefit,” the halfling explained. “This is not a place for visitors. You should leave.”
“Little one, do not anger me. You will not enjoy the spectacle of an angry Addadearber. I will leave when I decide …”
Before he could properly finish the thought, a large fish broke the water near the bank beside him and slapped its tail at just an angle to send a spray of water over him.
The wizard glared at the water, then at the halfling. “You did that!” he accused.
He got splashed again, then again.
“No,” the giggling halfling said. “They don’t answer to me. If they did, I wouldn’t need my pole.”
“You try my patience!” Addadearber said when he was splashed yet again. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. There were things here he wanted to learn about, and certainly not in an adversarial way.
“Who are you?” he asked, calm.
The halfling shrugged.
“How long have you lived in Iruladoon?”
“Iruladoon?”
“This place. How long?”
Again, the halfling shrugged. “Time has little meaning here. Months? Years? I don’t know.”
“And what do you do?”
“I fish. I sculpt-have you an interest in scrimshaw?” He turned and indicated the round door of his home.
The wizard got splashed again.
“And you instruct your forest to treat visitors in an ill manner,” Addadearber said. The halfling laughed at that, and as another wave of water sprayed Addadearber, the wizard pointed accusingly and stepped forward to warn, “Do not ever mock me!”
To his surprise, the little one didn’t shrink back in the least, but just stood there looking at him, curious, shaking his head. Normally when Addadearber voiced such a proclamation, mothers took their children off the streets and great warriors quivered, and that injustice, that little halfling looking at him with something akin to pity, was more than he could take.
“You insignificant ant! I could reduce you to ash with a mere thought!”
The halfling glanced to the side, to the waters of the lake, and sighed, and returned his gaze to Addadearber with a finger held up over pursed lips and a warning of, “Shh.”
“What?” Addadearber replied, then he, too, looked at the lake, and his eyes widened. There, just off shore, the water churned in a wide circle, silent at first but then growing strong enough so that waves cupped over and splashed around the growing whirlpool.
“You really should leave,” the halfling said.
“I came here to learn,” the wizard replied, trying hard to keep the rising fear out of his voice. “The world is troubled-magic is ill. My goddess has gone silent.”
“I know more about that than you ever will, I fear,” the halfling interrupted.
“Then you must tell me everything.”
“Go away. For your own sake, wizard, leave this place and do not return.”
“No!” Addadearber yelled above the rising tumult of the churning water. “Enough of your games and tricks! I will have my answers!”
He got one, then and there, as a sudden and unseen wind slammed him in the side, throwing his hat far and wide, and throwing him behind it, arms and legs flapping. He splashed hard against the side of the whirlpool and was swept up in its mighty current. Around and around he went, splashing futilely to try to get out of the vortex.
He called out to the halfling, who just stood there on the bank, thumbs hooked under his suspenders, a resigned and pitying look on his face.
Down went Addadearber, lower and lower against the unrelenting press of the water. Dizzy and disoriented, the strength leaving his arms, he could not resist, and was plunged under. He came up only once, sputtering a garbled curse at the halfling, then he disappeared.
The halfling sighed as the water flattened to a nearly dead calm once more, the placid trout pond looking as if nothing had happened.
Except for the hat. Out in the middle of the pond, the wizard’s floppy, conical hat bobbed on the few remaining ripples.
The halfling grabbed his fishing pole. He always prided himself on his ability to cast a line.
Roundabout crept through the trees, his appreciation for the strange forest growing with every step. He hadn’t been through Iruladoon for more than a year, and since then it had changed entirely. A year past it had been a cold pine forest trying to find root in the harsh environs of Icewind Dale, with sparse, seasonal underbrush and a short flowering season. But the forest had indeed changed. He could sense it. The vibrancy of life there could not be ignored; the colors, smells, and sounds filled the air with a sort of heartbeat, a sensation, a vibration or sound, under his feet, a cadence for the rhythms of nature. There was a uniquely divine energy to it, tingling all around him.
The sun disappeared in the west and the forest grew dark, but the half-elf didn’t fear the place. His hands did not slip near the hilts of his sheathed sword and dirk.
