The Lord Scepter held Torrin’s eye a moment more. “I want you in Drik Hargunen,” he said. “With that squad. No matter how you get there.” His eye lingered a moment on the runestone in Torrin’s hand. “I assume you overheard the words that activated it, when our captive was being questioned?”
Torrin nodded.
“Good,” the Lord Scepter said. “But let’s pray that isn’t necessary.”
He gestured at the door. “Now hurry, and find Baelar,” he added. “Convince him, as you said you could, to include you on his squad.”
“As you command, Lord Scepter,” Torrin said. His heart pounded with excitement. It no longer mattered that the High Commander had overlooked him, that his officers and knights regarded Torrin as a mere pretender. The Lord Scepter himself had placed his trust in Torrin.
Torrin hurried back to the headquarters of the Steel Shields, the most likely place to find Baelar. He spotted the captain striding through the building’s central chamber, under its great translucent dome.
“Baelar!” Torrin called out. “A moment of your time. We need to talk about the scouting expedition.”
Baelar didn’t reply. Perhaps, Torrin thought, his hearing had been damaged in the dragon’s attack.
It was only after Torrin touched his shoulder that Baelar turned to face him. His face was flushed, his good hand balled in a fist. “How dare you!” he hissed.
Torrin jerked to a halt. “What-”
“You were the only one who knew I once lived in… that place,” Baelar said, after a quick glance at the knights who bowed as they passed. “I trusted you with that confidence, as an illustration that any man might rise above what he had once been. And you used it against me by telling the Lord Scepter, of all people!”
His accusing stare made Torrin feel odd. It was as if their relative statures had suddenly reversed, as if he was a mere boy, staring up at an angry grandparent.
“I had to,” Torrin said. “You’re a natural to lead the squad-and you’d never have volunteered that information yourself.”
“Of course not! You saw how the others reacted when they heard I’d lived in Gracklstugh.”
“But the Council ordered you to go,” Torrin protested. “You were a spy.”
“You beardless boy,” Baelar spat. “That part was a lie.”
Torrin’s mouth fell open. He swallowed, suddenly sheepish. “At least the Lord Scepter made certain there was no shame attached to it, by saying you’d done it at the Council’s command,” he said.
Baelar winced. “And how long do you think they’ll believe that?” he asked. “They’ll do the calculations, and realize that Bladebeard wasn’t even on the council when I was supposedly given my orders.”
“He could have heard about it after the fact,” Torrin said. “And once the scouting mission is a success, and the curse is lifted, you’ll be a hero. No one would dare besmirch your honor.”
“What does it matter what they say? They’ll know.” Baelar said, gesturing angrily. “And the men under my command won’t trust me. Not fully. Nor will High Commander Steeleye.”
Torrin suddenly felt hollow with remorse. He suddenly understood the cryptic comments the Lord Scepter had just made about keeping an eye on any squad members who didn’t appear fully ‘loyal.’ The Lord Scepter had seen the wisdom of putting a captain who spoke duergar in charge of the mission, yet he still had his reservations about Baelar.
And, thanks to Torrin, so would everyone else.
Baelar shook his head. “What you’ve done can’t be undone,” he said. “There’s nothing I can do about it now. The part that really stings is that you betrayed my trust. And if you think that’s going to earn you a place on the squad-which will have trust as its very foundation-then you’re even less of a man than I took you for.”
Torrin winced.
Baelar glared up at Torrin. “No dwarf would ever do what you did, back there in the High Commander’s office. No dwarf with any honor. Honor is the marrow in our bones.” Ruefully, he shook his head. “That’s something no human will ever understand.”
With that, he turned on his heel and walked away.
Standing in the echoing hall, Torrin felt like a clod of dirt tossed into a puddle. All the pride he’d felt a short time before, in the Lord Scepter’s chambers, had just leached out of him. He stood as if rooted to the spot, not acknowledging the Steel Shields who passed by-officers who’d heard how he’d discovered that the duergar were behind the stoneplague; officers who honored him with their bows. Yet Torrin felt as empty as the dome above his head.
“Baelar,” he whispered, “I’m sorry.”
But Baelar was gone.
Torrin had been so certain he’d done the right thing. But had he?
He was even questioning the belief that was at his very core. Was Baelar right? Was Torrin truly a dwarf? Or had he been deluding himself all those years?
Perhaps it was all just wishful thinking, as the loremaster his mother had consulted had said. Perhaps knowing how to use the mace didn’t mean anything. Perhaps he was just what everyone said.
Human.
He glanced down at the bracers on his wrists. At the star that he’d believed with his whole heart, right up until that moment, marked him as a reincarnated soul from the fabled Ironstar clan. Did he truly deserve to wear them?
Torrin closed his eyes and hung his head.
“Am I truly a dwarf reforged, Moradin?” Torrin whispered. “Is it truly your will that I should continue to walk this path? I pray, Dwarffather, show me a sign.”
The chamber brightened. Torrin opened his eyes and glanced up. The sun had risen directly above the center of the dome. It shone in through the dome’s central panel-the only clear pane of glass in the ceiling. A beam of sunlight transfixed the spot where Torrin stood. He looked down and saw that he stood on a pace-wide circle of mithril at the center of the chamber. The precious metal gleamed like a mirror under his feet, catching and holding his reflected image. A quirk of the reflective surface made it look as though Torrin was half his height, his body broader and thicker than it actually was. Short and stout: a dwarf.
Torrin fell to his knees, the silver hammers in his beard twinkling in the sunlight. “So be it, Dwarffather,” he vowed. “I shall serve as you command.”
Torrin took a deep breath, steeling himself. He’d made his preparations. His Delver’s pack was secure on his shoulders, hidden by his cloak; his goggles were positioned on his forehead, ready for use. The magical potions and ring he’d coaxed out of Delvemaster Frivaldi were secure in his pockets and on his finger.
He stood just outside the city, not too far from the spot where Eartheart’s massive stone walls met the edge of the East Rift. As a boy, he’d often visited the natural lookout point. In the distance, a Peacehammer rode his griffon, their shadow streaking across the glittering expanse of the Riftlake, far below. A haunting screee drifted on the wind.
The sun was setting. The moment had come. He glanced around, making sure he was the only one on the lonely ledge. Then he kneeled. “Marthammor Duin,” he prayed, “Watcher over Wanderers, guide my steps. Find the way for me, and make my path smooth.”
He pulled his goggles into place, closed his eyes, and formed a mental image of the library cubicle as Cathor had described it-a small chamber with a thick pane of glass that looked into the library proper. Below that connecting window was a counter with a glass top. When a patron of the library wished to study a particular tablet, the librarians would slide it into a drawer in the counter, and the patron viewed it through the glass. Runes etched into the countertop ensured that patrons didn’t use magic to reach through and touch a tablet; those who tried triggered lethal magical effects.
Now that he knew the command words that activated the runestone, it should be possible, Torrin thought, to teleport into the cubicle. The temple’s library was open not only to duergar, but also to their allies-the handful of humans, deep gnomes, and derro that called Drik Hargunen home. The chamber would certainly bear wards against true dwarves, but someone like Torrin-a dwarf with an indisputably human body-should be able to slip through.
“The library of the Runescribed Hall of Laduguer’s Graving,” he commanded the runestone. “By blood and earth, ae-burakrin, take me to it, now!”
Spellfire flared around him, its blue glare bright against his closed eyelids. Torrin felt the twist as he slid between one place and the next. A moment later, he landed, still kneeling, on a rough stone floor. He opened his
