Delg squinted up at the fat merchant. "Speaking of 'spirit in you,' I recall seeing that bottle of amberjack in your bag-and wondering what else it might be hiding from us, too. Berduskan dark, perhaps? Or have you a little winter wine?"

Mirt chuckled. "I once had a considerable cellar in here, aye-but traveling 's thirsty work, and most of the stock's gone now. Moreover, friend Delg, this is not the sort of country one should try legging it through with a few skins of wine on board. Falling and breaking bones is easy enough when sober."

"A lecture on morals and practicality from Mirt the Moneylender?" Delg put his hands to his open mouth in mock amazement.

"Stow it, little one," Mirt suggested in kindly tones, then led the way along the winding, snakelike crest of a ridge that headed west, on into the seemingly endless maze of rocky heights and tree-cloaked ravines.

As the group climbed and clambered on, Shandril's fingers went numb from clawing at too many rocks, and she felt a growing weakness-an emptiness-inside. What was wrong with her? She sighed, drawing an anxious look from Narm, which she put off with a smile. Scratching at a scrape on her arm, Shandril wondered how much more of this punishing travel she'd be able to last through.

Overhead, the sun had passed its height, and was beginning the long slide toward sunset. As she squinted at it, Narm voiced the thought that had just come into her own mind.

"I'm not liking the idea of camping in this, somewhere on the side of a rockfall," Narm said to Mirt. "How much farther is it to this gate of yours?"

"If we keep on steadily," Mirt told him gravely, "we should reach it just before nightfall."

Narm rolled his eyes. "Nightfall," he said. "Of course." The old merchant-as usual, Delg reflected sourly proved to be right. The sun was low and the depths of the ravines shrouded in purple shadows when Mirt pointed to a tiny spur of rock in the distance. "Irondrake," he said simply, and hastened on. Despite the chill breezes of twilight, they were all sweating as they clambered up, over, down and through seemingly endless rocks.

Narm could well believe what he'd heard of brigands evading armies of Cormyr in this tortured land; half a hundred men could be waiting on the other side of every ridge, and you'd never know it until y-

Suddenly wary, Norm swallowed and suspiciously checked the terrain around them.

Delg, who was climbing in his wake, grunted. "About time you started being scared, lad," the dwarf said. His tones told Narm the dwarf had just deemed him not quite a complete idiot-but still damned-before-all-the-gods close. The young mage sighed and looked at Shandril. The sight of her always cheered him.

As it happened, there weren't a hundred armed brigands waiting around the next ridge. Instead, a grassy meadow opened out in front of them, rising steeply up to tumbled rocks at the base of a lance like pinnacle of stone. The fire of sunset blazed down one side of this rocky spire.

"Irondrake Rock," Mirt announced as if he'd just put it there himself. "Named for a great wyrm that once laired here."

'Once?" Delg asked suspiciously.

Mirt chuckled and pointed a thick finger at the base of The toothlike spire of stone. "Its grotto lies there, if ye've a mind for fool-headed poking about. Perhaps, if it'd make ye sleep easier, Shan'll hurl a little spellfire in there-and singe whatever calls it home now."

The dwarf squinted up at the stone spire. Save for the calls of birds in the trees below and behind them, all was quiet around it. The tall grass of the meadow, studded with weeds and wildflowers, looked as if nothing had disturbed it all this season. Even so, Delg didn't care much for the way stony walls rose on either side of them to hem the meadow in, forming a great funnel that lead only upward to the Rock. But he could see no sign of danger. Yet.

Grumbling into his beard, Delg led the way up through the thick grass toward the rocky spire. "Where's this gate of yours, then?"

Mirt grimaced. "At the very top-of course."

"You'd need the luck of the gods to get to it in winter," Delg replied, staring up at the crumbling flanks of Irondrake Rock.

Shandril followed his gaze, and swallowed. She'd have to climb that? She turned to Narm and found in his face the same growing alarm she felt. Without thinking, they threw comforting arms about each other.

"Last light," Delg said sourly. "Little as I like camping anywhere in these lands, we'd never get more than halfway up before it'd be too dark to climb-even without the two lovejays, here." He cocked his head at Narm and Shandril. "they looked back at him with identical expressions that told Delg he might have problems getting them to climb Irondrake Rock even in full sun, and with a whole day to do it

Delg turned back to Mirt. "Where exactly does this gate of yours take us, anyway?"

"A certain place in the High Forest, south of Stone Stand," Mirt replied, his eyes on the cliffs around them.

"Shall we look at the cave?"

Delg nodded. "After I've looked around behind the Rock first, and had a bit of a peer at those ledges above us, too-or we may find ourselves attacked both in front and behind." He strode on through the grass.

"What a cheery fellow," Mirt observed in the fluting, jolly tones of an effete courtier. Shandril stifled a laugh. As the merchant strode forward, twilight laid deepening gloom on the meadow. Night came down swiftly on the Stonelands; before Delg had returned to them, it was fully dark. "A fire?" he asked, stumping up to Mirt. "You know better than I how dangerous that is here."

The old merchant adventurer shrugged. "In the cave, well need light and can have it. Out here-well, it could be seen a long way." He rummaged in his magical sack for a moment and drew forth a stout, iron-caged lantern. Opening one of its glass panes, he sniffed, pronounced it "full" with a satisfied air, and extended it to Delg with a grand flourish.

The dwarf sighed, took it, and extended his other hand. "Another?" he snapped, looking from Mirt to his empty palm.

It was Mirt's turn to sigh. He rummaged in his bag for a long time and finally held up-another lamp, identical to the first. It came to Delg accompanied by Mirt's triumphant smile.

The dwarf merely snorted, thrust both lanterns into Narm's grasp with a terse, "Here-hold these. No dropping," and extended his empty hands again. "Flint and steel?"

Mirt raised an eyebrow. "Of course-but what happened to yer own, eh?"

Delg chuckled. "Just testing," he replied, hands going to his belt. As he took one lamp from Narm and lit it, and Mirt did the same with the other, Shandril put her hands on her hips and demanded, "Are the two of you going to play these games all the way to Silverymoon?"

"Of course not," a menacing voice purred out of the darkness near at hand. "They'd both have to stay alive to do that."

Mirt spun around with an oath-in time to meet winged death swooping down on him from the night sky. He ducked aside, grabbing for his blades, and stony claws tore at him. The fat merchant turned and smashed the lantern to flaming ruin on a grotesque, leering horned face -and stony wings beat as the thing fled aloft, squalling.

"Patience," Gathlarue said in that same purring voice. The rings on her fingers glowed with a faint blue light. "We’ll strike only when my winged ones get them really dancing."

Mairara stared into the eyes of her mistress and saw a tight in them that made her shiver. She looked hastily away, down over the edge of the cliff, to the battle below. "The soldiers, Lady?"

Gathlarue nodded. "Those with Tespril stay up here with us; send the others down. They're getting restless; best give them some blood." She laughed aloud.

Mairara shivered again as she hastened to pass on the orders.