"You're sure it wasn't you?" he asked.
"Fairly," she said. "I'm on my way toWaterdeep to find out who. We made a lot of enemies in those days."
"We made friends, too," the blacksmith said.
"We lost them as well," said the witch.
Orlando's memory wasquick to pull up an image of Shandt, his enchanted battle-axe glowing as itswept back and forth through the ranks of hobgoblins that swallowed him up. Itwasn't the way he would have wanted to remember the smiling dwarf.
"If we leave in the morning, we can be there in afew days," said Lelanda. "I know some … shortcuts."
"If we leave now, we can be there sooner,"said Orlando. "Give me an hour to get ready."
III
Orlando moved throughhis darkened house without so much as a flickering candle to light his way.Outside, Lelanda sat unmoving on the back of a horse even blacker than thenight sky. Orlando knew she was anxious to get under way, and so went from roomto room as quickly as possible. The walls of his home were decorated withswords, shields, and other reminders of his adventuring life. Like a thief inhis own house, he gathered up three of those heirlooms.
The first of them was Talon, the curved sword thathe'd recovered from a dark labyrinth beneath the sands men called the Battle of the Bones. The arcane blade proved almost unstoppable when turned against theliving dead. Removed from its traditional place above the hearth, the enchantedblade was returned to the scabbard on Orlando's black leather belt.
The second item removed from his collection was abronze breastplate. Countless attackers had learned that it had the uncannyability to turn aside even the most deadly missiles. Arrows, quarrels, and evenbullets had all proven impotent against the charms of the bronze armor. Orlando liberated it from the wooden mannequin that guarded an empty first floor hallway.As the yellow-orange armor once again embraced Orlando's muscular chest, henoticed that the passing of his youth made it more snug than he remembered..
With the sword and armor safely recovered, Orlando moved on to the last item he planned to bring with him: a good luck charm. Pausingbeside the small shrine adjacent to his bedroom, Orlando slipped a smallsilver amulet from the hook on which it hung and looped it around his neck.Unconsciously, his fingers ran across its surface, tracing the outlines of thecrossed battle-axes that were the icon of the dwarf god ClanggedinSilver-beard. There was no magic in the simple pendant, but it had been apresent from Shandt. Since it had been given to him not five hours before thenoble dwarf met his fate somewhere in the Underdark, Orlando couldn't look uponit without remembering the broad, crooked smile and gleaming eyes that had madehis best friend's countenance so pleasantly memorable. The memory brought Orlando both a smile and a tear.
Locking the door behind him, Orlando left the houseand moved to join Lelanda by the stable. She had already saddled Zephyr, hisdappled gray horse.
Without a word, the warrior placed his foot in thestirrup, swung himself onto his mount, and nudged the horse into atrot. Many miles passed before either of the old adventurers spoke a word tothe other.
IV
Orlando drew back onZephyr's reigns. The animal, well trained and eager to please its master,slowed quickly from its trot to a full stop. The enigmatic black equine thatLelanda rode did the same, though Orlando saw no sign of a command from riderto mount. The horse seemed always to know what the enchantress expected of it.
"Aren't we going a bit out of our way?" Orlando asked.
"Only slightly," responded the witch."I thought we might stop at Jolind's estate and tell her what happened.She won't be interested in joining us, of course, but she was one of the Six.She has a right to know."
Orlando was surprisedto hear Lelanda speak like that. In their adventuring days, she'd had littleuse for the individual members of the Six of Swords. To her, they werebodyguards, scouts, and healers who enabled her to explore the mysteries ofmagic, recover rare spell components, and otherwise practice her arcane art.Perhaps time had softened her heart, or perhaps there was more to the detourthan she was telling him.
With the aid of Lelanda's magic, the miles passed asfleeting images in the corner of the eye. Even at that rate, however, it wasseveral hours before the lights of Jolind's tower were visible. When theyreached the edge of the clearing in which it stood, both riders brought theirmounts to a stop.
"She's done a remarkable job here," said Orlando as his head swept back and forth to indicate the lush forest that rose aroundthem. "I remember when we first found this clearing. The soil was sopoisonous that nothing less robust than spitweed would grow here."
"I'll go in first," said Lelanda, ignoringhis attempt at conversation. "Jolind always valued her privacy, and I'dhate to have a druid angry at me in the heart of her own forest."
She slipped the hood of her cloak over her head, causingthe sunset colors of her hair to vanish into a thick darkness. Even as hewatched, Orlando found that he could no longer focus clearly on her. Though heknew exactly where she was standing, he was able to see her only as a fleetingimage in the corner of his eye.
I'll be back as quickly as I can, said the darkness.
Before he could respond, Orlando realized he and thehorses were alone by the side of the road. He wanted to chuckle, but the chillsthat her macabre voice had left running along his spine wouldn't let him.
While he waited for his companion to return, Orlando opened the saddlebags draped over Zephyr and pulled out an apple. He fished aroundfor a few seconds more and brought out a small knife. With a deft flick of hiswrist, he split the fruit cleanly in two. After wiping off the blade andslipping it back into the leather pouch, he offered one of the halves to hishorse and considered the other for a moment. With an unconscious shrug, hereached over and held it before Lelanda's mount. The ebon animal eyed hisoffering, but then snorted and turned away. Orlando shrugged again and ate ithimself. The first hints of dawn were lighting the horizon, and he had anunhappy feeling that the animal's snobbery was to set the tone for the dayahead. He was right.
Jolind is dead, came the too-familiar voice of the darkness. And the body is warm.The killer must still be nearby.
V
The inside of the tower stirred Orlando's memories ofthe time when the Six of Swords had first explored it.
In those days, the surrounding lands had been defiledby the black dragon that made its home there. The entire area had been poisonedby the creature, with pools of acid, swarms of stinging insects, and tangles ofslashweed dominating the tortured remnants of the forest. From the moment they'dentered that fell region, the druid Jolind had become solemn and morose. Suchdestruction, she swore, could not go unpunished.
When they reached the tower-a ruined structure builtby an unknown hand centuries before any of the Six were born-Jolind had ledtheir attack against the dragon. Turning the very elements of nature againstthe creature, she had been instrumental in its destruction.
Eighteen months later, when the company disbanded, sheannounced her intention to return to that place and restore the forest to itspast glory. She had done an outstanding job.
Jolind had not, however, restored the tower. At least,she hadn't done so in the way that Orlando would have. The interior floors andwalls had been stripped out, a great glass dome placed atop the tower, and abubbling fountain set into the ground at its center. The combination of thefish-eye skylight and the dancing water of the fountain made the climate insidethe tower hot and sticky.