Book 1.
Halfway to Everywhere
1. Tower of Twilight
"A day and more we have lost," the barbarian grumbled, reining in his horse and looking back over his shoulder. The lower rim of the sun had just dipped below the horizon. "The assassin moves away from us even now!"
"We do well to trust in Harkle's advice," replied Drizzt Do'Urden, the dark elf. "He would not have led us astray." With the sunshine fading, Drizzt dropped the cowl of his black cloak back onto his shoulders and shook free the locks of his stark white hair.
Wulfgar pointed to some tall pines. "That must be the grove Harkle Harpell spoke of," he said, "yet I see no tower, nor signs that any structure was ever built in this forsaken area."
His lavender eyes more at home in the deepening gloom, Drizzt peered ahead intently, trying to find some evidence to dispute his young friend. Surely this was the place that Harkle had indicated, for a short distance ahead of them lay the small pond, and beyond that the thick boughs of Neverwinter Wood. "Take heart," he reminded Wulfgar. "The wizard called patience the greatest aid in finding the home of Malchor. We have been here but an hour."
"The road grows ever longer," the barbarian mumbled, unaware that the drow's keen ears did not miss a word. There was merit in Wulfgar's complaints, Drizzt knew, for the tale of a farmer in Longsaddle - that of a dark, cloaked man and a halfling on a single horse - put the assassin fully ten days ahead of them, and moving swiftly.
But Drizzt had faced Entreri before and understood the enormity of the challenge before him. He wanted as much assistance as he could get in rescuing Regis from the deadly man's clutches. By the farmer's words, Regis was still alive, and Drizzt was certain that Entreri did not mean to harm the halfling before getting to Calimport.
Harkle Harpell would not have sent them to this place without good reason.
"Do we put up for the night?" asked Wulfgar. "By my word, we'd ride back to the road and to the south. Entreri's horse carries two and may have tired by now. We can gain on him if we ride through the night."
Drizzt smiled at his friend. "They have passed through the city of Waterdeep by now," he explained. "Entreri has acquired new horses, at the least." Drizzt let the issue drop at that, keeping his deeper fears, that the assassin had taken to the sea, to himself.
"Then to wait is even more folly!" Wulfgar was quick to argue.
But as the barbarian spoke, his horse, a horse raised by Harpells, snorted and moved to the small pond, pawing the air above the water as though searching for a place to step. A moment later, the last of the sun dipped under the western horizon and the daylight faded away. And in the magical dimness of twilight, an enchanted tower phased into view before them on the little island in the pond, its every point twinkling like starlight, and its many twisting spires reaching up into the evening sky. Emerald green it was, and mystically inviting, as if sprites and faeries had lent a hand to its creation.
And across the water, right below the hoof of Wulfgar's horse, appeared a shining bridge of green light.
Drizzt slipped from his mount. "The Tower of Twilight," he said to Wulfgar, as though he had seen the obvious logic from the start. He swept his arm out toward the structure, inviting his friend to lead them in.
But Wulfgar was stunned at the appearance of the tower. He clutched the reins of his horse even tighter, causing the beast to rear up and flatten its ears against its head.
"I thought you had overcome your suspicions of magic," said Drizzt sarcastically. Truly Wulfgar, like all the barbarians of Icewind Dale, had been raised with the belief that wizards were weakling tricksters and not to be trusted. His people, proud warriors of the tundra, regarded strength of arm, not skill in the black arts of wizardry, as the measure of a true man. But in their many weeks on the road, Drizzt had seen Wulfgar overcome his upbringing and develop a tolerance, even a curiosity, for the practices of wizardry.
With a flex of his massive muscles, Wulfgar brought his horse under control. "I have," he answered through gritted teeth. He slid from his seat. "It is Harpells that worry me!"
Drizzt's smirk widened across his face as he suddenly came to understand his friend's trepidations. He himself, who had been raised amidst many of the most powerful and frightening sorcerers in all the Realms, had shaken his head in disbelief many times when they were guests of the eccentric family in Longsaddle. The Harpells had a unique - and often disastrous - way of viewing the world, though no evil festered in their hearts, and they wove their magic in accord with their own perspectives - usually against the presumed logic of rational men.
"Malchor is unlike his kin," Drizzt assured Wulfgar. "He does not reside in the Ivy Mansion and has played advisor to kings of the northland."
"He is a Harpell," Wulfgar stated with a finality that Drizzt could not dispute. With another shake of his head and a deep breath to steady himself, Wulfgar grabbed his horse's bridle and started out across the bridge. Drizzt, still smiling, was quick to follow.
"Harpell," Wulfgar muttered again after they had crossed to the island and made a complete circuit of the structure.
The tower had no door.
"Patience," Drizzt reminded him.
They did not have to wait long, though, for a few seconds later they heard a bolt being thrown, and then the creak of a door opening. A moment later, a boy barely into his teens walked right through the green stone of the wall, like some translucent specter, and moved toward them.
Wulfgar grunted and brought Aegis-fang, his mighty war hammer, down off his shoulder. Drizzt grasped the barbarian's arm to stay him, fearing that his weary friend might strike in sheer frustration before they could determine the lad's intentions.
When the boy reached them, they could see clearly that he was flesh and blood, not some otherworldly specter, and Wulfgar relaxed his grip. The youth bowed low to them and motioned for them to follow.
"Malchor?" asked Drizzt.
The boy did not answer, but he motioned again and started back toward the tower.
"I would have thought you to be older, if Malchor you be," Drizzt said, falling into step behind the boy.
"What of the horses?" Wulfgar asked.
Still the boy continued silently toward the tower.
Drizzt looked at Wulfgar and shrugged. "Bring them in, then, and let our mute friend worry about them!" the dark elf said.
They found one section of the wall - at least - to be an illusion, masking a door that led them into a wide, circular chamber that was the tower's lowest level. Stalls lining one wall showed that they had done right in bringing the horses, and they tethered the beasts quickly and rushed to catch up to the youth. The boy had not slowed and had entered another doorway.
"Hold for us," Drizzt called, stepping through the portal, but he found no guide inside. He had entered a dimly lit corridor that rose gently and arced around as it rose, apparently tracing the circumference of the tower. "Only one way to go," he told Wulfgar, who came in behind him, and they started off.
Drizzt figured that they had done one complete circle and were up to the second level - ten feet at least - when they found the boy waiting for them beside a darkened sidepassage that fell back toward the center of the structure. The lad ignored this passage, though, and started off higher into the tower along the main arcing corridor.
Wulfgar had run out of patience for such cryptic games. His only concern was that Entreri and Regis were running farther away every second. He stepped by Drizzt and grabbed the boy's shoulder, spinning him about. "Are you Malchor?" he demanded bluntly.
The boy blanched at the giant man's gruff tone but did not reply.
"Leave him," Drizzt said. "He is not Malchor. I am sure. We will find the master of the tower soon enough." He looked to the frightened boy. "True?"
The boy gave a quick nod and started off again.
"Soon," Drizzt reiterated to quiet Wulfgar's growl. He prudently stepped by the barbarian, putting himself between Wulfgar and the guide.
"Harpell," Wulfgar groaned at his back.
The incline grew steeper and the circles tighter, and both friends knew that they were nearing the top. Finally the boy stopped at a door, pushed it open, and motioned for them to enter.
Drizzt moved quickly to be the first inside the room, fearing that the angry barbarian might make less than a pleasant first impression with their wizard host.
Across the room, sitting atop a desk and apparently waiting for them, rested a tall and sturdy man with neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper hair. His arms were crossed on his chest. Drizzt began to utter a cordial greeting, but Wulfgar nearly bowled him over, bursting in from behind and striding right up to the desk.
The barbarian, with one hand on his hip and one holding Aegis-fang in a prominent display before him, eyed the man for a moment. "Are you the wizard named Malchor Harpell?" he demanded, his voice hinting at explosive anger. "And if not, where in the Nine Hells are we to find him?"
The man's laugh erupted straight from his belly. "Of course," he answered, and he sprang from the desk and clapped Wulfgar hard on the shoulder. "I prefer a guest who does not cover his feelings with rosy words!" he cried. He walked past the stunned barbarian toward the door - and the boy.
"Did you speak to them?" he demanded of the lad.
The boy blanched even more than before and shook his head emphatically.
"Not a single word?" Malchor yelled.
The boy trembled visibly and shook his head again.
"He said not a - " Drizzt began, but Malchor cut him off with an outstretched hand.
"If I find that you uttered even a single syllable, ...." he threatened. He turned back to the room and took a step away. Just when he figured that the boy might have relaxed a bit, he spun back on him, nearly causing him to jump from his shoes.
"Why are you still here?" Malchor demanded. "Be gone!"
The door slammed even before the wizard had finished the command. Malchor laughed again, and the tension eased from his muscles as he moved back to his desk. Drizzt came up beside Wulfgar, the two looking at each other in amazement.
"Let us be gone from this place," Wulfgar said to Drizzt, and the drow could see that his friend was fighting a desire to spring over the desk and throttle the arrogant wizard on the spot.
To a lesser degree, Drizzt shared those feelings, but he knew the tower and its occupants would be explained in time. "Our greetings, Malchor Harpell," he said, his lavender eyes boring into the man. "Your actions, though, do not fit the description your cousin Harkle mantled upon you."
"I assure you that I am as Harkle described," Malchor replied calmly. "And my welcome to you, Drizzt Do'Urden, and to you, Wulfgar, son of Beornegar. Rarely have I entertained such fine guests in my humble tower." He bowed low to them to complete his gracious and diplomatic - if not entirely accurate - greeting.
"The boy did nothing wrong," Wulfgar snarled at him.
"No, he has performed admirably," Malchor agreed. "Ah, you fear for him?" The wizard took his measure of the huge barbarian, Wulfgar's muscles still knotted in rage. "I assure you, the boy is treated well."
"Not by my eyes," retorted Wulfgar.
"He aspires to be a wizard," Malchor explained, not ruffled by the barbarian's scowl. "His father is a powerful landowner and has employed me to guide the lad. The boy shows potential, a sharp mind, and a love for the arts. But understand, Wulfgar, that wizardry is not so very different from your own trade."
Wulfgar's smirk showed a difference of opinion.
"Discipline," Malchor continued, undaunted. "For whatever we do in our lives, discipline and control over our own actions ultimately measure the level of our success. The boy has high aspirations and hints of power he cannot yet begin to understand. But if he cannot keep his thoughts silent for a single month, then I shan't waste years of my time on him. Your companion understands."
Wulfgar looked to Drizzt, standing relaxed by his side.
"I do understand," Drizzt said to Wulfgar. "Malchor has put the youth on trial, a test of his abilities to follow commands and a revelation to the depth of his desires."
"I am forgiven?" the wizard asked them.
"It is not important," Wulfgar grunted. "We have not come to fight the battles of a boy."
"Of course," said Malchor. "Your business presses; Harkle has told me. Go back down to the stables and wash. The boy is setting supper. He shall come for you when it is time to eat."
"Does he have a name?" Wulfgar said with obvious sarcasm.
"None that he has yet earned," Malchor replied curtly.
* * *
Though he was anxious to be back on the road, Wulfgar could not deny the splendor of the table of Malchor Harpell. He and Drizzt feasted well, knowing this to be, most probably, their last fine meal for many days.
"You shall spend the night," Malchor said to them after they had finished eating. "A soft bed would do you well," he argued against Wulfgar's disgruntled look. "And an early start, I promise."
"We will stay, and thank you," Drizzt replied. "Surely this tower will do us better than the hard ground outside."
"Excellent," said Malchor. "Come along, then. I have some items which should aid your quest." He led them out of the room and back down the decline of the corridor to the lower levels of the structure. As they walked, Malchor told his guests of the tower's formation and features. Finally they turned down one of the darkened side-passages and passed through a heavy door.
Drizzt and Wulfgar had to pause at the entrance for a long moment to digest the wondrous sight before them, for they had come to Malchor's museum, a collection of the finest items, magical and otherwise, that the mage had found during the many years of his travels. Here were swords and full suits of polished armor, a shining mithril shield, and the crown of a long dead king. Ancient tapestries lined the walls, and a glass case of priceless gems and jewels glittered in the flicker of the room's torches.