Tordek lowered his weapon. "We make no such promise."
"Still," added Devis, stepping away from Lidda before she could climb up and stop his mouth with a little fist, "how better to conclude this tale of villainy than with redemption?"
"Redemption?" Andaron raised his head, intrigued.
Tordek relaxed and waved Lidda away from Devis. "Let him talk."
"Take all you wish," said Andaron as they stuffed their packs with gems and jewelry. "Should you succeed, then you will not be able to return. Should you fail…"
"When I strike with these," said Tordek, making a fist inside one of the fabulous gauntlets, "you shall have a hand in undoing your deeds."
"If what you told us proves true," promised Devis, "I'll fire no truer with this bow than I shall sing of your chronicle." He unstrung his own crossbow in favor of the fine weapon from Andaron's tomb.
The ghost looked down at Lidda, who stretched her arms and legs to accustom them to the armor she had claimed. As she tested its boundaries, it seemed to snuggle just right into the crooks of her arms and elbows.
"My wife's," said Andaron. "She tracked many a rogue goblin in her youth, and that armor served her well. I pray that it will do the same for you."
Tordek demanded that Devis leave behind a sack of coins he had gathered, insisting that the burden was too great. Treasure was all well and good, but a fleet foot was better in a fight. Tordek ignored the bard's reproachful glance as he paused to sling the magical wooden shield onto his left arm.
"A replacement for the one I lost," he said when Devis raised his eyebrow at his seeming hypocrisy. He cursed himself silently for sounding so defensive. Tordek knew it was more than his share, but they could settle the difference later. In the meantime, he needed a new shield. Besides, he had no need to explain himself to the minstrel.
The ghost noted the silent exchange and spoke to them all. "You must each have a gift for the quest you have undertaken on my behalf." He looked directly at Vadania, who had taken no magical loot from his trove.
"We do not do this on your behalf, Andaron," said Tordek.
"Nay, that is true. Yet it is in my benefit, and I would see no guest leave my hall, as tiny as it has become, without a gift befitting the hope you offer me."
He lifted the lid to his wife's coffin and pushed it aside as if it were as light as a blanket. For a moment he stared down at the contents of the crypt, his face a leathery mask of reverie and sorrow. He reached down and gently unclasped something from his wife's body.
When he turned back to the living occupants of his tomb, he proffered a silver armband inlaid with mother-of-pearl and studded in six places with a sapphire lozenge. "For you, lady of the wood. It was a gift my mother gave me, and it granted me wisdom in my youth. In turn I gave it to my bride, and yet it was I who needed its aegis."
Vadania hesitated, and Tordek knew she was reluctant to accept such a gift. Yet the druid was already wise beyond her peers, and she weighed the offense of refusal before responding.
"She will not grudge you," assured Andaron. "Not if in wearing it you may undo some part of my iniquity."
"Then I accept her gracious gift," said Vadania, taking the periapt into her hands.
"Go, then," said Andaron, "and may the Soul-Forger reward your beneficence with courage and resolve, for surely you face a terrible task."
Tordek did not look back as he left the secret tomb, but he sensed Devis and Lidda fidgeting all the way through the passage and into the vault, where they rejoined Gulo. The dire wolverine snuffled at each of them in turn. He nudged Vadania in a rough gesture of affection that might have sent a big man running in terror.
They stepped out into the crumbling dwarven street. The distant sounds of the forge still echoed in the reaches above, but now they were joined by a new and deeper sound, a throbbing pulse of goblin war-drums. Tordek covered his everburning torch, and they listened as a deep, trumpeting roar filled the upper expanse and rang through every adjoining passage.
"Sounds like the giants are inside," said Lidda.
"At least they won't get through every passage," said Tordek. "It could take them hours to make it down here."
"So," said Devis, "do you think we have the slightest hope of actually accomplishing what he suggested?"
Tordek shook his head solemnly.
"No," said Lidda. "Not really."
"Not a prayer," agreed Vadania.
"You realize there's nothing stopping us from climbing back down to that lake and swimming out of this place, right?"
When they all nodded, Devis looked into each of their faces, one by one, and saw the same determination.
"So we're going up there anyway to die in the attempt?" "That's the plan," said Tordek, slapping the bard on the shoulder. "Glad you're with us."
MORADIN’S GAZE
Lidda shifted around slowly and made the all-clear sign. Even so, Tordek gestured for the others to wait as he crawled up to the halfling's vantage with as much stealth as a dwarf in scale armor could muster. That was not much.
"How many?" he whispered.
"Twenty-eight goblins and two giants," she said. "No sign of Hargrimm or his lieutenants."
Tordek considered that fact. "No doubt he remains in the forge, but judging from what that quasit said in the vault, I wager the others are looking for us down below with as many goblins as Hargrimm would spare."
Together they looked down at the chasm bridge. On this side, it led into a grand arch that housed chambers on the northern half of Andaron's Delve. On the other was a huge gate that defended a wide plaza filled with the smashed remnants of half a dozen statues and most of a sculpture melding a peculiar natural rock formation with chiseled spires and turrets to form a fantastic castle. In other dwarven strongholds, Tordek had seen similarly capricious sculptures in which children played at battles with tiny stone and pewter warriors. The remembrance made him briefly melancholy for all the orphans created by the fall of Andaron's delve and all the blameless souls who dwelt within its caverns.
"What are those?" asked Lidda. "More air vents?"
Tordek followed her gaze up to the massive copper tubes slanting out of the wall above the plaza. Each was wider than the height of two dwarves and perfectly round. All of them terminated in louvers connected to cables running down through green brass rings. At one time they must have run all the way to a brass plaque bolted into the wall near the grand door, yet someone had cut the chains at a point some thirty feet above the floor.
"No," said Tordek. "Those are something else entirely. Even dwarf children need the kiss of the sun to grow hale and strong, so they built the eyes of Moradin to shine down upon them as they played in the afternoon."
"Magic?" asked Lidda.
"No, not a dram of it," said Tordek, allowing a faint smile to cross his lips. "It's an ancient dwarven secret."
"Oh?" said Lidda. "How does it work?"
"By not telling halflings," he said.
"Very funny."
"Seriously," said Devis, "how does it work?" The half-elf had slipped up without making a sound, but the fact that he had not waited for Tordek's signal annoyed the dwarf.
"Ask me again when our lives are in less imminent peril."
"Fine," sighed Devis. A second later, he blurted, "Light vents?"
"Aye. That's a fair name for them. No doubt the centuries have sealed them shut like the sandy eyes of a dreamer too long aslumber."
"Hey," said the bard. "You keep that up, and I'll report you to the guild."
Tordek raised an inquiring eyebrow, unsure of what the bard was implying.
"That was downright lyrical, what you said," Devis smiled. "You're a poet!"
Tordek jutted his chin and squinted at the half-elf. "You take that back!"