And the malicious hearts that had despoiled it.

A short time later, Harkle took Drizzt, Bruenor, and Wulfgar to see the old mage—Regis had begged out of the meeting in lieu of another party at the tavern. They met DelRoy in a small, torchlit, and shadowy chamber, the flickerings of light heightening the mystery in the aged wizard’s face. Bruenor and Wulfgar came at once to agree with Drizzt’s observations of DelRoy, for decades of experience and untold adventures were etched visibly into the features of his leathery brown skin. His body was failing him now, they could see, but the sheen of his pale eyes told of inner life and left little doubt about the sharp edge of his mind.

Bruenor spread his map out on the room’s circular table, beside the books and scrolls that DelRoy had brought. The old mage studied it carefully for a few seconds, tracing the line that had brought the companions to Longsaddle. “What do you recall of the ancient halls, dwarf?” he asked. “Landmarks or neighboring peoples?”

Bruenor shook his head. “The pictures in me head show the deep halls and workplaces, the ringing sound of iron on the anvil. The flight of me clan started in mountains; that’s all I know.”

“The northland is a wide country,” Harkle remarked. “Many long ranges could harbor such a stronghold.”

“That is why Mithril Hall, for all of its reputed wealth, has never been found,” replied DelRoy.

“And thus our dilemma,” said Drizzt. “Deciding where to even begin to look.”

“Ah, but you have already begun,” answered DelRoy. “You have chosen well to come inland; most of the legends of Mithril Hall stem from the lands east of here, even farther from the coast. It seems likely that your goal lies between Longsaddle and the great desert, though north or south, I cannot guess. You have done well.”

Drizzt nodded and broke off the conversation as the old mage fell back into his silent examination of Bruenor’s map, marking strategic points and referring often to the stack of books he had piled beside the table. Bruenor hovered beside DelRoy, anxious for any advice or revelations that might be forthcoming. Dwarves were patient folk, though, a trait that allowed their crafting to outshine the work of the other races, and Bruenor kept his calm as best he could, not wanting to press the wizard.

Some time later, when DelRoy was satisfied that his sorting of all the pertinent information was complete, he spoke again. “Where would you go next,” he asked Bruenor, “if no advice were offered here?”

The dwarf looked back to his map, Drizzt peering over his shoulder, and traced a line east with his stubby finger. He looked to Drizzt for consent when he had reached a certain point that they had discussed earlier on the road. The drow nodded. “Citadel Adbar,” Bruenor declared, tapping his finger on the map.

“The dwarven stronghold,” said DelRoy, not too surprised. “A fine choice. King Harbromm and his dwarves may be able to aid you greatly. They have been there, in the Mithril Mountains, for centuries uncounted. Certainly Adbar was old even in the days when the hammers of Mithril Hall rang out in dwarven song.”

“Is Citadel Adbar your advice to us, then?” Drizzt asked.

“It is your own choice, but as good a destination as I can offer,” replied DelRoy. “But the way is long, five weeks at the least if all goes well. And on the east road beyond Sundabar, that is unlikely. Still, you may get there before the first colds of winter, though I doubt that you would be able to take Harbromm’s information and resume your journey before the next spring.”

“Then the choice seems clear,” declared Bruenor. “To Adbar!”

“There is more you should know,” said DelRoy. “And this is the true advice that I shall give to you: Do not be blinded to the possibilities along the road by the hopeful vision at the road’s end. Your course so far has followed straight runs, first from Icewind Dale to Luskan, then from Luskan to here. There is little, other than monsters, along either of those roads to give a rider cause to turn aside. But on the journey to Adbar, you shall pass Silverymoon, city of wisdom and legacy, and the Lady Alustriel, and the Vault of Sages, as fine a library as exists in all the northland. Many in that fair city may be able to offer more aid to your quest than I, or even than King Harbromm. And beyond Silverymoon you shall find Sundabar, itself an ancient dwarven stronghold, where Helm, reknowned dwarf-friend, rules. His ties to your race run deep, Bruenor, tracing back many generations. Ties, perhaps, even to your own people.”

“Possibilities!” beamed Harkle.

“We shall heed your wise advice, DelRoy,” said Drizzt.

“Aye,” agreed the dwarf, his spirits high. “When we left the dale, I had no idea beyond Luskan. Me hopes were to follow a road of guesses, expectin’ half and more to be nothing of value. The halfling was wise in guiding us to this spot, for we’ve found a trail of clues! And clues to lead to more clues!” He looked around at the excited group, Drizzt, Harkle, and DelRoy, and then noticed Wulfgar, still sitting quietly in his chair, his huge arms crossed on his chest, watching without any apparent emotion. “What of yerself, boy?” Bruenor demanded. “Have ye a notion to share?”

Wulfgar leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Neither my quest, nor my land,” he explained. “I follow you, confident in any path you choose.

“And I am glad of your mirth and excitement,” he added quietly.

Bruenor took the explanation as complete, and turned back to DelRoy and Harkle for some specific information on the road ahead. Drizzt, though, unconvinced of the sincerity of Wulfgar’s last statement, let his gaze linger on the young barbarian, noting the expression in his eyes as he watched Bruenor.

Sorrow?

They spent two more restful days in the Ivy Mansion, though Drizzt was hounded constantly by curious Harpells who wanted more information about his rarely seen race. He took the questions politely, understanding their good intentions, and answered as best he could. When Harkle came to escort them out on the fifth morning, they were refreshed and ready to get on with their business. Harkle promised to arrange for the return of the horses to their rightful owners, saying that it was the least he could do for the strangers who had brought so much interest to the town.

But in truth, the friends had benefited more for the stay. DelRoy and Harkle had given them valuable information and, perhaps even more importantly, had restored their hope in the quest. Bruenor was up and about before dawn that last morning, his adrenaline pumping at the thought of returning to the road now that he had somewhere to go.

They moved out from the mansion throwing many good-byes and lamenting looks over their shoulders, even from Wulfgar, who had come in so steadfast in his antipathy toward wizards.

They crossed the overbridge, saying farewell to Chardin, who was too lost in his meditations of the stream to even notice, and soon discovered that the structure beside the miniature stable was an experimental farm. “It will change the face of the world!” Harkle assured them as he veered them toward the building for a closer look. Drizzt guessed his meaning even before they entered, as soon as he heard the high-pitched bleating and cricketlike chirping. Like the stable, the farm was one room, though part of it had no roof and was actually a field within walls. Cat-sized cows and sheep mulled about, while chickens the size of field mice dodged around the animals’ tiny feet.

“Of course, this is the first season and we have not seen results yet,” explained Harkle, “but we expect a high yield considering the small amount of resources involved.”

“Efficiency,” laughed Regis. “Less feed, less space, and you can blow them back up when you want to eat them!”

“Precisely!” said Harkle.