replied. 'Look, Pontifax, I wish you wouldn't tell everyone about what happened. I mean, the curse on this-'
The mage looked genuinely hurt. 'I am the very soul of discretion,' he said. 'I could hardly call myself a good soldier if I ran off at the mouth about such things.'
'Then how did the Raephel and the other dwarves know about me growing? What about all the comments I've been hearing since I came in?'
'Ah,' Hydel said, clearing his throat. 'I must admit I did tell an edited version of the story, leaving out anything about the curse. Replaced it with a misfired spell, you see. The story got quite a chuckle over lunch, if I do say so myself. Why, Lady Elynna even asked if I'd write it up for the society's journal!'
'Congratulations,' Artus said, frowning. He wasn't sure if it bothered him more that the mage had told everyone about the embarrassing mishap or that he would never get a chance to tell his own, much livelier version of the battle. 'Any luck selling the artifacts?'
Hydel puffed out his chest. 'I've secured an offer of three times the amount you estimated. The society will buy all the coins and the spearheads we took from the ruins, and the sergeant of the Royal Historical Office offered to buy everything else for the king's personal collection.'
Removing a thin book bound in wyvern hide from his pocket, Artus took a seat at one of the nearby desks. He opened to a page filled with columns of items and numbers, then recorded the exact amount they'd been offered for each of the objects recovered.
'You're not keeping anything from this expedition?' Hydel asked. 'You usually take something as a memento.'
'I have this,' Artus said, holding op the medallion. 'Skuld-that's his name by the way-is reminder enough for me, thank you.' He clapped the thin book shut and buried it in a pocket. The journal was a prize stolen from the libraries of Zulkir Szass Tam, the undead ruler of Thay. No matter how many pages Artus filled, more appeared without ever adding to the volume's weight or thickness. The book also opened automatically to whatever page he wished to see.
'Skuld?' the mage asked. His puffy eyebrows rose in shock. 'You mean the dratted thing's alive? Why, Artus, you should-'
A roar, followed swiftly by a chorus of astonished gasps and a few quite colorful curses, drowned out the rest of Pontifax's suggestion. There was a mad scramble to get away from the miniature battlefield as the reason for the disruption-a fist-sized dragon wrought of lead and painted bright crimson-circled into the air. It screeched and dove back toward the miniature armies, a stream of liquid flame shooting from its jaws.
'Foul!' cried the owner of the Cormyrian infantry. The leaden soldiers were now only so much molten slag burning its way through the expensive Shou carpet. 'I say, tins is really bad form!'
The other would-be general folded her arms across her chest. 'Hardly, Jarnon. The rules clearly state…'
Sir Hydel glanced around the room, taking stock of the other members. 'Looks like I'm senior,' he sighed. 'Better settle this before the dimwits burn the place down.' The mage waded into the heart of the conflict and, with a casual gesture, cancelled the enchantment on the leaden armies. The remaining soldiers, which had scattered throughout the room to avoid the dragon, froze in place, dull metal once more. The rampaging wyrm screeched, then dropped to the floor with a clatter.
Artus shook his head. The Society of Stalwart Adventurers had been founded as a place for stout-hearted explorers and renowned world travelers to gather in camaraderie and share their findings. To be invited to join, a prospective member had to achieve some noteworthy feat and have it recognized by the society's committee. Over their thousand-year history, though, the Stalwarts had been infiltrated by Cormyr's wealthy. These men and women were often more pedigreed than brave. Their patronage financed the expeditions of the legitimate members, but they lessened the prestige of the society. Artus referred to these members as Warts, not Stalwarts.
It was at that moment, as Artus silently lamented the foolishness around him, that one of the most obvious Warts made the worst mistake of her life.
'Here, old fellow,' an elfmaid drawled. 'I hear tell Theron is back from Chult. Had another breakdown, don't you know.' She detached herself from a small group of sniggering nobles and sauntered toward Artus. 'It wouldn't surprise me if his mind's gone for good this time.' As an afterthought, she added, 'Poor fellow.'
Fighting to hide his surprise at the news of Theron Silvermace's return, Artus said coldly, 'The only thing that could drive someone like Theron mad would be to spend too much time around the likes of you, Ariast.'
He turned his back on the woman. The eldest daughter of a family that could trace its roots back to the rulers of fabled Myth Drannor, Ariast prided herself on being haughty. She held the workaday members of the club in as little regard as they held her. Like many Warts, she gloried in any gossip that tarnished an older explorer's reputation. Theron Silvermace, in particular, was a favorite target, especially after the crusty old soldier had suffered a mental collapse after escaping from a drow prison in the nightmarish underground city of Menzoberranzan.
'There's no need to be so rude, Artus,' the elfmaid said, her sweet voice full of contempt.
Artus heard her stifle a chuckle. This will be trouble, he noted angrily. Ariast was known for casting cantrips on those who slighted her; the minor spells were mostly harmless, intended to embarrass the victim more than harm him. He turned to face her, hoping to give her pause before she made him belch or trip or laugh uncontrollably.
What he saw was not the pretty young elfmaid in the midst of an incantation, but the muscled back of a four-armed man standing well over seven feet tall.
'Skuld, no!'
He was too late. Before either Artus or Ariast could react, the spirit guardian grabbed the elfmaid by the wrists. 'You will now know better than to harm my master, witch,' Skuld hissed through filed teeth. With a quick flex, he crushed both her wrists.
Ariast's wail of pain brought the room to a standstill, but only for an instant. Within seconds, a dozen mages had launched spells meant to contain the spirit. Glowing spheres of blue and gold energy pelted the silver-skinned giant. A snaking band of light wrapped around him, then fell harmlessly away. Skuld's laughter at the magical onslaught was like the jingling of his earrings, high and musical. He tossed Ariast aside like a broken doll and prepared to defend himself against two swordsmen who were moving warily toward him.
All this time, Artus tried frantically to make the spirit return to the amulet. He shouted orders. When that didn't work, he clasped his hands together and hammered Skuld's back. The spirit guardian did nothing to stop Artus, but he didn't follow his commands either. It was only when Uther appeared at Artus's side that Skuld paused.
'Please step aside, Master Cimber,' the butler warned. His slitted eyes were narrowed as he approached the spirit. He lowered his magnificent horns and prepared to charge. 'I will take care of this ruffian.'
Skuld dropped his four hands to his sides, a look of surprise on his face. 'You, a beast from the pit, call this little worm master?' The spirit looked at Artus and bowed respectfully. 'I have underestimated you, O mighty one. Forgive this humble slave.'
That said, the spirit guardian faded into a silver cloud and flew into the medallion.
Swords found their sheaths, and mages carefully placed the components for spells back into their pockets. Uther calmly righted a table and went to help Ariast. 'Hey,' one of the Stalwarts said to the butler, 'that thing thought you were from the Abyss!'
Uther studied the man for a moment, then surveyed the chaos in the library. 'There are times, sir,' he said blandly as he helped the whimpering Ariast to her feet, 'when I myself am forced to wonder if I'm not a willing denizen of the pit.'
Artus was trying to avoid the angry glares and suspicious looks he was receiving from the other members, but it was difficult. To harm another Stalwart, even unintentionally, was considered highly improper. This would mean yet another conduct review by the president.
'Oh my,' Pontifax murmured. The mage was at Artus's side, a hand on the younger man's shoulder. 'If that Skuld character respects you because he thinks you're mighty enough to command creatures from the Abyss…'
'Then he must be used to dealing with extremely powerful and unquestionably evil masters,' Artus noted. 'Look, Pontifax, I think it would be best if I just went home and stayed there until Zin discovers a way to get this
