The cleric at last nodded. With a look of amusement in his eye, he handed the runestone to Torrin. “Very well, then,” he said. “The Lord Scepter will be waiting for us, when we return. You can give it to him when we reach Eartheart.”
The cleric glanced around at the gold-crusted walls and floor, and shuddered. “Knights, prepare yourselves.”
The knights stilled, like soldiers preparing for inspection. The cleric swept his axes up, and crashed their blades together. “Faern!” he shouted—the same word Torrin had used the first time he’d activated the runestone’s magic.
The cavern, still illuminated by Torrin’s lantern, disappeared in a final flash of gold as the group was whisked by the cleric’s magic back to Eartheart.
Torrin stood off to the side in the High Commander’s office, his hands clasped respectfully behind his back. He was in the office of High Commander Vorn Steeleye, who was flanked by a dozen or so top ranking officers, as well as the Lord Scepter. Cathor lay on the floor at the High Commander’s feet. Primed with yet another truth potion, the captive filled in more of the story he’d told Torrin.
Cathor, it seemed, had gone to Drik Hargunen at Kendril’s behest. There had been some texts in the temple library, unearthed decades before, at the close of the War of Gold and Gloom, that Kendril had wanted to study. Able to pass as a duergar, Cathor had applied to study at the library and had been accepted.
Students weren’t permitted to handle any of the runestones the library contained; only the librarians could do that. So he struck up a friendship with one, and that was how he heard about the library’s magical runestones – one of them, in particular.
The librarian had boasted that the library contained many powerful runestones, including one that could summon the River of Gold—Moradin’s vein, his manifestation on Faerûn. By doing so, Laduguer’s clerics had been able to strike the Lord of the Morndinsamman in his one vulnerable spot. They had inscribed a rune so powerful, it could kill even a god.
With Moradin dead, the librarian chortled, Laduguer’s clerics would at long last have their revenge.
At that point, Cathor’s motivation for stealing the runestone had been simple greed. He wanted to mine the River of Gold. The librarian had been of a like mind. Once Kendril, back in Sundasz, had learned that the runestone could also be used for teleportation magic if the correct words were spoken in Auld Dethek, Cathor and the librarian had used the runestone to spirit themselves—and it—out of the library. “As simple as that,” Cathor boasted.
When they’d arrived at their destination, Cathor had slit the librarian’s throat.
It wasn’t the first time the rogue had gotten blood on his hands. Nor would it be the last. Once mining had begun, he’d seen what handling the cursed gold did to dwarves—and had made the decision to continue.
The rogue provided much detail of the portions of Drik Hargunen he’d visited, as well as the layout of the library itself. Yet he was unable to give any information about where the rune that had poisoned Moradin might have been inscribed. Despite being questioned repeatedly, despite the truth potion, Cathor’s only answer was a shrug.
When the questioning ended, guards dragged Cathor away to a cell. By that time, sunlight was slanting in through the slit windows of the High Commander’s office. Torrin expected to be dismissed himself, but the Lord Scepter motioned for him to stand over by a side wall.
Torrin obliged, bowing his head slightly to hide a yawn of exhaustion. High Commander Vorn Steeleye and his officers discussed what they’d just heard, while Torrin stood and fretted, glancing between the Lord Scepter and the runestone on the commander’s desk. When the meeting was done, it would be locked away in a magically sealed vault, so it could do no further harm. Then the Lord Scepter would depart to convene the Council, so that the Deep Lords could ratify whatever course of action the military commanders decided upon.
Torrin kept hoping to find a quiet moment before then when he might approach the Lord Scepter and ask to use the runestone one last time, once everything was all over, to search for the Soulforge. So far, that opportunity had yet to present itself.
Torrin sighed. He picked at the food that had been laid out to sustain the officers: roast boar and cooked apples, spiced tubers and surface greens, along with jugs of dark brown ale. He plucked a sweetbread from one of the platters and munched on it. The sweet taste of aniseed filled his mouth, scouring away the sourness his breath had acquired.
Voices ebbed and flowed as the officers argued about what course of action to take.
Attack Drik Hargunen and smash it into dust? That seemed to be the favored option, but there were some who argued it was simply not possible. The duergar city was more than three hundred leagues away. Teleporting an entire army to the area would not be feasible; they’d be faced with more than a tenday’s march across the surface realms, longer through the Underdark. Provisioning the army would add still more delay.
Send in an elite squad of Steel Shields—like the one that had extracted Torrin from the cavern—to try to locate the rune? Faster and stealthier, the commanders agreed, but the squad would need to include wizards trained in runemagic, as well as rogues. Who to include was a matter of much debate.
As his officers skirmished verbally, Commander Steeleye bent over a map that was spread across his desk, its curled edges held down by stone weights. Torrin was used to seeing him in armor, helm, and shield, but the commander wore a leather jerkin with a high ruffled collar, upon which the tight coils of his beard rested; and tight-legged trousers that flared at the hip, like those the skyriders wore.
The map showed Drik Hargunen—or rather, what little was known of its layout. Much of the map was blank, or bore captions that were guesses at best, since no true dwarf had ever set foot in the duergar city. But the general layout was hinted at, and Cathor’s answers had resulted in a few more of the blank spots being filled in. Drik Hargunen was laid out around a natural chimney that twisted down through the rock; the city’s corridors splayed out like twisted spokes around that central shaft. It was also joined to the Runescribed Hall of Laduguer’s Graving, the temple whose library Cathor had stolen the runestone from. That temple was, presumably, where the runic magic that had cursed the River of Gold had been invoked.
Or so the thinking went.
“It’s unfortunate,” Commander Steeleye said, “that our duergar captive was so vague about the runic protections on the approaches to the temple.” He gestured at the lines leading to the central portion of the map. “Telling us ‘they’re everywhere’ doesn’t help us much.”
“Patience,” Lord Scepter Bladebeard counselled. “The tablets from Iltkazar may yet hold some clues.” He gestured at a cleric of Dugmaren Brightmantle who sat in a corner, hunched over two large baskets of runic tablets that had been carried into the room earlier. The cleric, a fellow with sparse white hair and spectacles balanced precariously on the end of his pinched nose, was reading furiously, the tablets making clicking noises as he hurried through them.
“In the meantime, our people are still dying of the stoneplague,” Commander Steeleye growled. He sighed and rested his hands on the desk. “Gentlemen, I’ve reached my decision. We’ll send in a single elite squad to scout the city and learn what we can by infiltrating the temple. Their mission will be to learn precisely where the rune that cursed the River of Gold was inscribed, and to dispel its magic if they can.”
The officers who’d advocated for a scouting party broke into triumphant grins.
“A scouting expedition is not enough!” one of the officers shouted over the others. His face was scabby and gray from the stoneplague; part of his beard missing. The other officers all stood at arm’s length from him, obviously not wanting to get too close. “We need to make the duergar pay for what they’ve done. The army must march!”
“Agreed,” the High Commander said. “But first, we need to know if the duergar are themselves preparing to mount an attack. Crippling us with the stoneplag
ue may have been merely the first thrust. Before we move our army out, we need to probe the Deeps and make sure the duergar and their allies aren’t massed there, waiting for us to march away so they can storm our gates.”
There was some muttered protest at that, but most of the officers nodded their agreement. Dwarves were a careful folk, who never tried to cut a stone without taking a good look at the grain of it first.
“The only question remaining,” Commander Steeleye said, his eyes ranging across his officers, “is which of you will be on the squad.”
Torrin expected the officers to all shout out at once, but instead a hush fell. Each squared his shoulders and smoothed his beard, doing his best to look as though he were on military parade. Each man’s eyes silently pleaded for the High Commander to bestow the honor upon him.
Torrin moved into position just behind the officers and tried to catch Commander Steeleye’s eye. When that failed, he cleared his throat. Still the High Commander ignored him, his eyes looking over every man in the room but Torrin.
The Lord Scepter, however, glanced in Torrin’s direction and gave a slight nod. “High Commander,” he said. “If I might make some observations as to worthy candidates?”
Commander Steeleye nodded. “You may,” he said.
Torrin looked expectantly at the Lord Scepter.
“We need not only stalwart officers, but men who have skills in other areas,” the Lord Scepter said. He nodded at an officer whose beard was an uncombed brown fuzz against his cheeks. “Captain Blackhammer, for example, was instrumental in taking down that nest of rogues a few years back. I’m told he’s not only a master of disguise, but also has as much of a nose for hidden passageways as a boar does for truffles.”
Blackhammer beamed and tapped his nose in acknowledgement.
“And Captain Stoneshield, I understand, has a talent for magic,” the Lord Scepter continued. “They say he can open a passage through solid stone and close it again with no more than a whisper—something that will prove highly useful in penetrating the mazelike warrens of a hostile city, especially one whose every wall is said to be protected by rune magic.”
Stoneshield bowed and came up grinning.
“I would also recommend Delver Torrin Ironstar,” the Lord Scepter continued.
Heads turned. Eyes narrowed.
“He has labored ceaselessly toward finding a cure, and was instrumental in learning the cause of the stoneplague,” the Lord Scepter continued. “What’s more, he’s a human, and thus is less likely to trigger Drik Hargunen’s protective wards, the vast majority of which are set to react to dwarves.”
Torrin flushed with pride. He bowed and rose smiling. “I’d be honored to serve my city, High Commander Steeleye.”
“Thank you, Lord Scepter,” the High Commander replied. “But we need men of the same size and stature as a duergar, in order for the disguise spells to work. That means dwarves only.”
“But High Commander, I need no disguise!” Torrin protested. “Humans are welcome in—”
“Dwarves only,” Commander Steeleye repeated coldly.
Torrin bit back his retort. Clearly, no matter what he said, he wasn’t going to be included on the squad. Yet he must! Moradin himself had decreed that Torrin had a role to play in ending the stoneplague. Was that role really to come to such an abrupt end? Torrin couldn’t just sit idle in Eartheart. Kier was depending upon him.
The Lord Scepter glanced at Torrin, then away. Was that disappointment in his eyes? The knowledge that the Lord Scepter had faith in him was cold comfort to Torrin. He needed to be on that squad.
As the debate continued, the door to the office opened. Torrin turned to see who the newcomer was. His eyes widened as he saw Baelar.
The older dwarf was wearing his Peacehammer armor and cloak, but no helm. His frost axe was strapped to his back. The right half of his scalp was bare, with fresh pink skin where his long gray hair should have been. His right cheek was likewise pink, and there were scorch marks in his beard. He carried his right hand close to his side, his fingers curled tight; the skin on them also looked new. Baelar had obviously suffered some grievous injuries, and only recently been magically healed.
Had he been burned by the blind red dragon in the Wyrmcaves?
Torrin knew better than to ask. He met Baelar’s eyes as the skyrider strode into the room, and lifted one eyebrow in a silent question. Baelar gave a slight shake of his head. The disappointment and frustration in his eyes gave Torrin his answer. Baelar had failed in his quest to secure the wyrmlings’ blood.
“Captain Thunsonn,” Commander Steeleye said, acknowledging Baelar’s arrival. “I hadn’t expected to see you up and about so soon.”
“When my city calls, I answer,” Baelar said. He bowed, stiffly, to the High Commander and to the Lord Scepter, who nodded back. Baelar then joined the officers.
The High Commander was starting to make his selections. Yet he hadn’t decided who would lead the squad. It would have to be, he noted aloud, someone capable of finding their way about the duergar city. And that gave Torrin an idea.
A brooch identical to the one the Lord Scepter had given Torrin was pinned to the Lord Scepter’s chest. Torrin turned slightly aside, and spoke in a low voice into his brooch. “Lord Scepter? Can you hear me?” he said.
Out of the corner of his eye, Torrin saw the Lord Scepter nod.
“Do you want me on that squad?” Torrin continued. “Do you believe that’s what Moradin wants?”
“I did what I could,” the whisper came back. “This is a military matter. It’s out of my hands.”
“There’s still a way,” Torrin said. “If Baelar leads the squad, I’m certain I can convince him to take me.”
“Go on.”
Torrin spoke quickly. When he was finished and turned back to the group, he saw that the Lord Scepter’s eyes were gleaming.
“I have one further recommendation for the squad,” the Lord Scepter announced. “Captain Thunsonn.”
“With all respect, Lord Scepter, he’s still healing,” the High Commander noted. “Barely able to hold an axe, let alone swing one.”
Baelar winced.
“That may be so,” the Lord Scepter continued. “But Captain Thunsonn has perhaps the most useful skill of all, although I doubt that any of you know of it. Many years ago, not long after his beard first sprouted, he lived for nearly a year in the duergar city of Gracklstugh. He was a weapons trader, dealing in duergar steel, and knows a thing or two about the gray dwarves.”
There was a heartbeat of stunned silence. Even Commander Steeleye visibly stiffened.
“Is this true?” he asked, fixing his stare on Baelar. “You lived among our enemies?”
“Disgraceful,” one of the officers hissed.
Baelar paled. Fortunately, he didn’t glance in Torrin’s direction. Torrin wouldn’t have trusted himself to keep a neutral face, if he had. He felt a deep sorrow at having to put Baelar in such a position. Yet what the Lord Scepter was about to add would make everything right again for Baelar, if only the others would listen.
“Gentlemen!” the Lord Scepter said, his voice ringing out in the strained silence. “Let me finish. Captain Thunsonn lived in Gracklstugh at the Council’s order. He was a spy!”
The officers fairly tripped over themselves in their haste to make their apologies to Baelar. Several bowed in his direction.
Baelar acknowledged them by bowing himself. His face was still pale when he rose, however.
“As a result of his assignment,” the Lord Scepter continued smoothly, “Captain Thunsonn became fluent in the duergar dialect.” He turned to Baelar. “You do still speak it, don’t you, Captain?”
Baelar’s head jerked in a nod. “I do, Lord Scepter,” he said.
“I therefore recommend Captain Thunsonn be assigned command of the squad,” the Lord Scepter concluded. “As the only one of you who speaks the duergar dialect, he will be able to answer any challenges the duergar make—challenges
that are certain to be directed to the group’s visible leader. I further recommend that he be given a free hand in the final selection of the squad. There may be others who also possess talents like Captain Thunsonn’s—talents they don’t openly speak of.”
Commander Steeleye was staring at his men, a slight frown on his face. As the officers voiced their approval, however, he glanced at the Lord Scepter. The two locked eyes a moment, and then Commander Steeleye returned his attention to his officers. “Very well, then,” he said. “Captain Thunsonn will command the squad.”
The Lord Scepter smiled.
“My thanks,” Torrin whispered into his brooch.
“Thank Moradin, Delver Torrin,” the whisper came back. “And serve him well. And … one other thing. When this meeting is over, come see me in my chambers. There’s something I want you to have.”
“The man who treasures his friends is usually solid gold himself.”
Delver’s Tome, Volume IX, Chapter 63, Entry 6
AS THE MEETING BROKE UP AND THE SELECTED OFFICERS departed the High Commander’s office to make their preparations, Torrin made his way to the Lord Scepter’s chambers. He was stopped several times by Steel Shields and questioned, but as soon as he identified himself they nodded him past. He reached the Lord Scepter’s chambers at last, and knocked on the door.
“Enter,” came the reply.
Torrin pushed open the door. He was surprised to see a human in the room—a wizard, by the look of his wand and his robes. Like Torrin, the fellow wore his beard braided in the dwarven fashion. Rings decorated every one of his rather pudgy fingers. Standing next to a table, he passed his wand over what looked like a lump of red clay and whispered to himself. When he shifted position slightly, Torrin saw the runestone lying next to the lump of clay.
Torrin’s mouth fell open. “What is he—”
Lord Scepter Bladebeard raised a hand, commanding silence. Torrin bit back the rest of what he’d been about to say. The wizard completed his spell, and the lump of clay assumed a flat, oval shape and an entirely different color. It appeared to have been transformed into bloodstone. And not just any piece of stone, but an exact duplicate of the runestone.
The Gilded Rune Page 23
