"We're late for a meeting." She turned to the right and walked past the workbenches and the prostheses, toward an open door. Warian wondered where all the miners had gone, as well as all the artisans that must have been diligently carving the crystal displayed on the workbenches. Perhaps the mine was between shifts. Through the doorway was a small corridor that emptied into a decorated chamber.
Book-filled cases, leather stools, warm magical lamps, and wall hangings concealed the fact that the room was far below the earth. But a thick coating of webs covered most of the ceiling and the corners of the room. This feature seemed ominously out of place to Warian. A high-backed leather chair commanded the room's center, facing away from the door but toward a great, multifaceted orb. The orb was carved of crystal, and it hung suspended on an iron chain. Warian gasped when he saw that each facet glowed with a separate image, as if from a different viewpoint. It was a riot of moving pictures, impossible for him to look at for long. "What is that?" he asked. The chair turned from the orb, and a figure rose from where it had been seated. It was his grandfather, Shaddon Datharathi, of course. But a much-altered Shaddon since Warian had seen him last. Warian gaped at the changes, unable to take his eyes from the glittering crystal facets of his uncle's new flesh. "Welcome, Warian," said Shaddon. "You and I have much to discuss."
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Thormud was sick, but wouldn't admit it. He could be such a witless, obstinate knob, reflected Kiril. Sometimes he acted just like a… a dwarf! She shook her head and spat. Kiril didn't share an automatic dislike of the only other populous, long-lived mortal race of Faerun, as did some elves she could name, but sometimes you had to call it like you saw it. The bitter taste of whisky from her last mouthful sustained her, but it didn't wipe away the darkening flush on her employer's face, or dry the perspiration from his brow. The jouncing stride of their mineral destrier added to the dwarf's discomfort. They ascended a winding, narrow pass between the Giant's Belt mountains on their right and the Dustwall on their left. But worse than the summoned destrier's gait was the unrelenting sun. Kiril mopped the dwarf's brow again and adjusted the impromptu shade she'd erected over his seat. Thormud was sweating so much, she could hardly keep him from dying of thirst. "Tell me again why you've decided we should travel by day instead of night as you were previously so fond of?" she asked the dwarf. "Prince Monolith thinks it best," was all the dwarf had the strength to say. "Stuff Monolith," she muttered, but acquiesced without further argument, as she had on the previous two instances when she'd brought up the same point. Because of the shadowy, voidlike power of whatever lay beyond or through the crystals, Prince Monolith thought it better to travel by day, when that influence might be weaker. Prince Monolith stalked ahead of the destrier, following the narrow rut that served as the trail over the pass. They had not yet met another traveler. Given the steepness of the trail and the sheer drops to either side of the switchbacks they zigzagged up, Kiril wasn't surprised. The rut traced a crevice between a wooded slope on their left and an open drop to their right. The drop fell away into a vast gorge-far at the bottom, a river snaked and foamed in its bed. Beyond the river valley, another mountainous rampart rose, equaling and exceeding their current height. The jagged range taunted time itself, and the slow, eroding winds and water plied their work upon it. Straight ahead, across the river valley, rose the slopes of an even taller, broader peak. Its base was hidden in forested foothills, but most of the mountain rose skyward, free of any covering of greenery. Instead, the highest portions of the peak were clothed in the white of eternal ice. The sun on the snow dazzled Kiril's eyes, and she dropped her gaze away from the miles of towering rock. She'd see it a lot closer soon enough. Despite their pledge of daylight travel, clouds blew in from the west and caught them at the highest point on the pass the next day, just as they moved beyond the last of the scattered, skeletal trunks bearing needles on only one side that hardly qualified as trees. Whiteness enveloped their vision-the belly of a cloud blanketed the world, snow swirled, and the temperature plummeted. "You can't catch a break, can you?" Kiril asked the sleeping form of her employer. She'd strapped the dwarf into his seat, and his bearded head lolled with each footstep of the destrier.
Wind lashed across the destrier's back, stinging the elf's eyes with sharp snow. She noticed that new droplets of ice caked Thormud's hair and skin, so Kiril wrapped the dwarf in another blanket, the last.
"How much farther?" she called ahead at the dark shape of Prince Monolith. The elemental thumped through the gathering snow without the least difficulty. Great furrows trailed behind Monolith on either side of his path, which made the way easier for their mineral destrier. "We must move forward until we get off the highest portion of the pass.
The cold does not concern me, but your flesh will prove less resistant." Kiril nodded, "You're quick on the uptake. Pick up the pace, will you? Thormud's almost frozen solid." Monolith didn't respond, nor did his pace vary from the steady, ground-eating lope he'd first adopted. The destrier continued to follow in the prince's trail, but even with the furrow, its gait began to deteriorate as the dwarf's health flagged. Kiril hoped their mount's ability to carry passengers wasn't contingent on Thormud's health. The swordswoman shivered, then struck her forehead with the heel of her palm as an idea occurred. What a moron! She'd had the means to warm the dwarf all along. She plucked the flask from her hip, twirled off the metal cap, and tipped the opening to Thormud's lips. He unconsciously swallowed the few tiny sips that Kiril allowed him. She had a pull herself. The warmth hit her belly and immediately spread to her extremities. That was better! She gave the dwarf another small sip. Kiril laughed. After all the times the dwarf had given her his sour look for drinking too much and too often. It was a small revenge, but necessary if the dwarf were to pull through. If he did, she'd tell him how she'd been forced to give him spirits enough to warm his blood. The elf shrugged. She knew drinking from the flask was only a temporary measure. Alcohol didn't generate warmth-it merely allowed the reservoir of warmth stored in the core to be liberated. By drinking the hard stuff, you'd warm up your fingers and toes in the short term, but freeze to death all the sooner. She hoped Prince Monolith hurried. She didn't want to have to bury the dwarf at the top of the world, under a drift of icy snow. Flakes swirled across her eyes, obscuring her vision.