Ten
The Realms hold many a hard and stony place-and the worst of it is, some of them come well furnished with wizards.
Ahead, the land was rising. 'The Stonelands ' Mirt announced unnecessarily.
Delg squinted up at him. 'It may come as a great surprise to you, large and mighty one, but I'd managed to puzzle that out for myself already.'
Mirt sketched a florid bow. 'The wits of the dwarves are keen, and the fame of their workings resounds from the Spine of the World to the peaks of the Dustwall.'
Delg made a rude sound in reply. The fire-blackened pans he carried clanked slightly as he clambered to the top of a ridge to get a better view ahead.
In the distance, like a row of old and gray teeth, a line of crumbling stone cliffs rose out of the mottled greenery of the forest. The edge of the Stonelands. Between that line and where they now stood stretched a wide expanse of gently rolling pastureland. Down its center, the road that linked Cormyr with Tilverton lay like a dark snake basking in the sun. The Moonsea Ride, it was called. Soldiers of Cormyr kept the brush cleared on either side of the road; a long, long walk across open ground lay between them and the Stonelands.
Delg turned to Mirt- 'How d'you propose to get unseen across that? Wait for dark I suppose-or have you some hidden magic at the ready?'
Mirt grinned easily, then lazily reached out one stout, hairy arm to haul the dwarf back from the crest of the ridge. 'I've as little liking as ye do for waiting about while foes on our trail grow nearer, friend Delg. Sit ye down for a breath or two, and I'll show ye my hidden magic.'
The old merchant wheezed as he bent over and fished in the open top of one of his large, flopping leather boots, dragging a leathern cord into view. It was loosely knotted around his leg; Mirt grunted, drew the knot open, and then pulled on the line. A wrinkled, seemingly empty sack came up front the depths of his boot. 'A gift from a lady,' he announced with dignity, shaking the hand-sized thing to rid it of folds and wrinkling his nose at the boot smell it gave off. He was not alone in this reaction.
Then the Old Wolf opened the bags drawstring and plunged his hand in, drawing forth a gown of shimmering, flame-red silk. with a bodice of linked gold chains.
Hastily the old merchant thrust the garment out of view again, chuckling. 'Sorry-wrong handful,' he explained as Shandril lifted an eyebrow and the other two grinned delightedly The next thing he drew up was a mesh sack, holding a large bottle filled with something dark. The mesh bag and the bottle both seemed too large to have come out of the wrinkled sack-which still looked and hung as if empty.
Delg's eyes fixed on the bottle and fit tip. 'Amberjack! Now that's worth dragging around one of these magical sacks for.'
Mirt had already made it vanish into the depths of the bag again and was feeling around, his arm thrust into the small sack up to the shoulder. Shandril could see that it wasn't half deep enough to swallow the Old Wolfs arm but…
'Ah!' Mirt said in triumph, and drew forth a large bundle of russet cloth, mottled with green, orange, and silver threads that confused the eyes, making one's gaze involuntarily slide away from it The old adventurer set the bundle carefully on the ground and undid its tied ends, unfolding it to reveal what looked like a stack of shallow, silvery glass bowls inside. With the air of a tavern show wizard, he fanned these curved pieces of glass as one does a hand of cards; they looked like plates or masks to Shandril.
Delg snorted in sudden recognition. 'Priests' regalia of Leira,' he said. 'May I remind you, mighty Lord, that the lady of the Mists numbers few priests among her faithful? Well hardly pass unnoticed.'
Mirt bowed. 'True, but the nasty spells Leirans are known to favor will keep most folk-even Zhents-from bothering us, and we certainly won't be recognized. These all-concealing robes-aye, put it on atop all ye wear, lass; over the head it goes-can shift about to fit the wearer, and even be commanded to hold their shape over emptiness, to conceal the true form and stature beneath. I carry half a dozen about, for-er, the proper occasions.'
He showed them how to don the featureless glass masks, pull the cowls over their heads, settle the mantles on their shoulders and chests, and do up the loose, dangling sashes that went on last. Unfamiliar in his own robes, face hidden under unmoving mirrored glass, the merchant laid a hand on the glass orb that adorned his mantle. He seemed suddenly taller.
'Ye do the same, Delg,' his voice came to them, hollow through the mask. 'Increase yer height, enough so no one will think 'dwarf' when they see you. Shan, the magic works by yer will, when ye touch the orb; make yerself taller-and yer shoulders greater, to hide yer womanly front. That's it good… These robes were hard to get, mind, so hurl no spellfire unless ye are sore beset.' He turned, rummaged in the bag, and suddenly a staff, topped with a multihued, ever-changing orb, was in his hand.
Shandril only had an instant to stare in wonder at its flowing, lazily changing colors before the old merchant swung away, stuffed the bag into his belt, and led the way up over the ridge with a slow, measured stride.
'Keep with me,' his muffled voice came back to then, 'Brothers of the Mists. In a half-circle, behind me, as is fitting. We go north this day, as the Lady's weird bids us.'
Delg fell in behind and to the left and gestured for Narm and Shandril to walk beside him, to the old merchant's right. Matching the old man's stride, they marched slowly down the grassy slopes to the road, the orb- topped staff borne before them, its swirling hues shifting and brightening.
Narm wondered if the goddess Leira would be angered at this false use of her regalia, and bring some capricious doom down on them. Or would this deception delight her?
The young mage looked to either side, but the road seemed empty of life for as far as he could see in either direction. Yet he could feel the sudden weight of cold, unfriendly eyes regarding them from somewhere-and knew by the way her heat] moved beside him that Shandril felt the scrutiny too.
The uplifted orb flashed and pulsed ahead of them. Mirt said, 'Ah! The lady leads us on.' He strode right across the road, heading for the cliffs beyond.
The ground around them was rising now, with rocks rearing out of the grass. There was not a bird in the sky or a beast to be seen anywhere, but the strong feeling of being watched persisted until Mirt led them into the ferny gloom of a little gully that pierced the cliffs.
The orb on the staff suddenly darkened. Mirt regarded it with satisfaction. 'Whoever they are,' he said, 'they're not using magic to send eyes around corners after us… They could see us only when we crossed the open road. Right-get this stuff off, all of ye: haste is what matters now.'
After a few frantic minutes of unstrapping and wriggling out from under cloth, Mirt had stuffed the bundles back in the bag, and the bag was restored to its carrying place in Mirt's boot. Delg eyed it suspiciously as it slid out of sight, and said, 'How many more tricks do you carry, Mirt? And are all of them as helpful as that one?'
'Many, and of course,' Mirt answered smoothly. 'Now let's be on-no trails are to be trusted in the Stonelands, and it's a ways yet to the gate 1 know of.'
They scrambled warily along the gully. Mirt in the lead. Delg muttered from the rear, 'If it's not betraying too much to tell us, just where are we heading?'
'Irondrake Rock,' Mirt said, and Delg nodded.
'I've seen it,' he said simply as they struggled up to the head of the gully and peered about. Bare shoulders of rock rose all around them in a confusing, broken landscape of rising ridges and plunging ravines. Scrub trees, gnarled and stunted, thrust branches in all directions, and the land ahead was a patchwork of greenery and rocky heights.
Death could lurk anywhere in a land like this, Shandril thought-and be at your elbow before you saw it. She felt strangely weak and very vulnerable, like a deer surrounded by hunters. She drew a little closer to Narm, who
