banks of the river Ashaba, at the base of that bald knob of rock known as the Old Skull. Illistyl nodded to the guards and turned their mounts out into a meadow, into the care of an old and limping master of horses and three eager youths, and led Narm into the Twisted Tower.
Watchful guards within nodded to Illistyl as she turned left in the great hall that led back from the doors. She nodded back and went through massive arched inner doors into a vast chamber where an expressionless man in elegant finery sat on a throne and listened to two farmers argue over the ownership of some hogs, stemming from a broken fence. Lord Mourngrym's moustache hid his mouth. One finger repeatedly traced a chased, sinuous design of stags and hunters worked into the gold scabbard of the slim long-sword he wore.
Illistyl led Narm to a bench at the front of the nearly empty hall. The stolid faces of the guards flanking the throne watched Narm and Illistyl steadily. Looking about the room, Narm saw that huge tapestries hung behind the throne. A balcony curved across a corner of the room to the right, high above them. A guard stood there, too, and Narm noticed the front of a loaded crossbow resting casually on the balcony rail.
'Enough,' the lord said then, and the argument stopped immediately. 'I shall send down men to repair the fence this day. You are to obey them as you would me. One of them will see you divide all hogs living on both farms into two equal groups, one to each. You will eat together tonight, both families, with my men and the wine they'll bring, and I expect you to drop hard feelings, put them behind you, and be true friends again. If any trouble over the fence brings you here again, a hog each it will cost you.'
He nodded then, and both farmers bowed and walked out wordlessly. But no sooner had they passed into the hall than their voices could be heard breaking into argument again. Narm thought he saw a smile steal briefly onto the lord's handsome face. Illistyl rose and tugged at his arm.
'Come,' she said simply and led him to stand before the throne. Narm started to bow hesitantly. Illistyl's hand on his arm jerked him upright. 'Narm,' she said, 'this is Lord Mourngrym of Shadowdale. He will ask questions; answer him well, or I shall regret having aided you.' Smiling, she turned to address the man on the throne. 'We found him beset by devils in Myth Drannor, Grym.'
Lord Mourngrym nodded and turned clear blue eyes upon Narm. 'Welcome,' he said. 'Why came you to Myth Drannor, Narm?' His gaze held the youth as if at the point of a gentle sword.
Narm was silent a moment, and then his words came out in a rush. 'My master, the mage Marimmar, sought the magic he believes-believed-the city holds. We rode out of Cormyr and up through Deepingdale to the ruined city, just the two of us.
'There we met Merith Strongbow and Jhessail Silvertree of the knights, who warned us back. My master was angry. He thought that they were trying to keep him from the city's magic, so we went southeast and turned again to reach the city. We were set upon by devils, and my master was killed. I would have died, too, had not this good lady and the druid Lanseril Snowmantle come to my rescue. They have brought me straight here.'
Mourngrym nodded. 'Their patrol was ended. Here you stand; what will you do now?'
Narm paused. 'A night ago, lord, I would not have known. But I am resolved. I will go back to Myth Drannor, if I can.' He saw devils in his mind again and shuddered. 'If I run,' he added softly, 'I shall be seeing devils forever.'
'It could be your death.'
'If the gods Tymora and Mystra will it so, then so be it,' Narm replied. Mourngrym looked to Illistyl, whose eyebrows rose in faint surprise.
'What say you? Let a man go to his death?'
Illistyl shrugged. 'We must do as we will, if we can. The hard task, Grym-decreeing who can do as they will-is yours.' She grinned. 'I look forward to observing your masterful performance.'
Mourngrym's moustache curled in a tight smile. He turned to Narm. 'You lack a master; do you also lack spells?'
'Yes, lord,' Narm replied. 'If I return from Myth Drannor, I would seek a mage of power to study my art. I have heard of Elminster. Are there others here who might stand in welcome to an apprentice?'
Mourngrym smiled openly this time. 'Yes,' he said. 'The lady who stands beside you, for one.' Narm looked at Illistyl; she was smiling faintly, eyebrows and gaze raised to the rafters high above. Mourngrym continued. 'Her mentor, Jhessail Silvertree, for another. Other, lesser workers of art in the dale may also welcome you.'
He inclined his head. 'Illistyl trusts you. You have the freedom of the dale and are welcome, here in the tower, to our table and a bed. May the gods smile upon you when you return to Myth Drannor.'
Narm bowed and placed his arm firmly on Illistyl's. 'Thank you, lord,' he said to Mourngrym and turned to go. 'My lady?'
Illistyl nodded, winking at Mourngrym. 'Adventurers and fools walk together, eh?'
'Yes,' Mourngrym agreed. Only Illistyl saw a sparkle glimmering in his eye. 'But which is which?'
4
Always we hurry through our lives, we who travel. Only folk tied to the land wait for danger to come to them. All others blunder ever onward, swords at the ready, through many meetings-and each may be the last, for in the wilds only the dragon waits for his meals to walk into him. The wolf, the orc, the gorgon-these hunt and smile much when they meet dinner. What is more dangerous even than these? Why, any man you meet.
Shandril flung herself desperately to the floor, landing with bruising force. Moaning aloud, she scrambled on hands and knees away from those terrible claws. She recognized the creature from a carved chest that had once been carried through doors she held open. Gorstag had pointed them out to her: gargoyles.
This was a gargoyle. Shandril wished briefly she was back in The Rising Moon washing dishes, as she leaped to her feet and ran full-tilt out of the glowing circle she had appeared in, down the dark cavern toward the far end. Ahead there was another area of glowing light, a doorway outlined in dim radiance.
Behind her she heard leathery wings snap as the gargoyle leaped from where it had been crouching and swooped after her. Whether it was guarding the magical gate that the bones had taken her through or was just waiting to attack anyone using it, she neither knew nor cared. The bony hand clutched in her fist flopped and bounced as she sprinted precariously down the uneven cavern floor. Tiny finger bones broke free and clicked on the stones about her as they fell. Shandril slipped on one and righted herself only with an agonizing wrench. The gargoyle was eerily silent behind her.
Panting, Shandril knew as she ran that she'd never be able to get the door open before the gargoyle caught her. She was sobbing for breath when she got close enough to see the place where she would die. The cavern ended in a narrow cleft choked with bones and fallen rock.
In midair before her was an oval of radiance, standing upright and flickering slightly. There was no door at all, only the empty air of the cavern and this strange frame of light. Shandril had no time to turn aside or even slow, as she felt a plucking at the already torn back of her old tunic. She ran straight at the magical radiance, hoping it was some way out, even as the next rake of the gargoyle's claws cut across her back. Shandril fell through the glowing doorway screaming, burning wetness across her back.
She was elsewhere again, landing hard on her knees and forearms on a stone floor littered with dust and rubble. Dim sunlight crept in from somewhere off to her right. Shandril rolled over and got up hastily to look behind her.
She was alone in a vast, high-ceilinged chamber or hall. No gargoyle, no doorway of light. In the dust she could see the marks of her landing. She had simply appeared here, wherever here was. Shandril could see nothing living in the chamber, although its far end was lost in gloom. She had no desire to explore at the moment. Instead, she sank to the floor, cursing softly at the pain as she bent her back, and sat still, catching her
