"Never have I seen a waterdragon!" Gellor exclaimed as he admired the great creature.

"They are rare," Tenser admitted. "I have seen only two myself, and when this little fellow grows up he will leave me for the depths of the ocean."

So much for that.

Then each of the three, in turn, was introduced to the monster. It hissed softly at each, and it took all of Gord's resolve not to tremble when his turn came. The creature was not showing anger or giving warning, however, when it vented the sound. The waterdragon was intelligent, and was acknowledging each man as not-food. At least that is what Tenser had told them, and there was every reason to believe he spoke the truth. All the while the archmage crooned and made hissing noises to the monster, and it made odd sounds in reply.

"Now, my friend here agrees to convey you swiftly and safely as far as he can, and there you will be met by others who will see that your journey continues," Tenser said at last. Then he gave each of the three an antique diadem of bronze set with aquamarines and covered with sigils. "These enable you to survive underwater for a time – long enough for your journey and then some. Do not breathe while you have these headbands on! Instead, merely relax and the dweomer of these ancient devices will bring clean air into your bodies and remove the used breath. Return them to my servant when you come to the end of your ride."

The end of the journey came soon enough. The great waterdragon swam tirelessly for more than a dozen hours to bring them to their journey's end – at least that portion that was of watery element. The dragon brought them suddenly into open air, writhed ashore, and, turning its head to gaze at them with huge eyes, hissed farewell. The silent man signaled for them to dismount, holding out his hand for the diadems. The three complied quickly. Their gear was handed down by the fellow, and then waterdragon and rider were gone.

Gilled folk that were neither nixies nor aquatic elves but something similar, yet altogether different, greeted them. Again this "language" was silent, merely signals and gestures whose meaning could not be misunderstood. The adventurers followed their guides to a place in the underground complex of caves where there was a shimmering pool of water. These odd creatures signaled for the adventurers to step into the pool.

"What does this mean?" Gord asked the bard.

Gellor smiled at his two young companions. "I recognize this sort of magic. The pool is attuned to another similar one located elsewhere – in this case, I would suppose the other to be far distant, as Tenser knows where we must go, and these are his associates. Our entry will trigger a dweomer that will carry us instantly from this pool to the other. Shall we go?"

As the strange underground aquanauts watched with unwinking eyes, the three men stepped into the pool.

"All we did was get our feet wetter," Gord muttered as he peered around the grotto. There seemed to be a few more of the strange folk watching them, and perhaps the glowing lichens that illuminated the cave were now emitting more of their phosphors. But that was all the thief could discern.

"As I told you, this is a twin of the other, Gord. Unless I am a knave and fool, we are far distant from that place where we were but an eyeblink ago!"

Again they followed the signs of the gilled folk, and in a minute they were walking along a natural passage that rose steeply upward. The three were alone, the gilled folk gone. Puffing from the exertion of the climb, tired from lack of sleep, they came into the light and open air in a quarter-hour or so. A vast body of water extended before them. The sun was overhead. Sails and buildings could be seen off to the right, a mile or two distant.

"Right you were," noted Chert with a grin. It was obvious they were somewhere else. Now to find where!

"A good time to stretch our legs and dry off," said the bard laconically as he finished strapping on weapons and gear. His companions did likewise, and then the three trooped across a boggy meadow until they came to a road a mile distant. There was commerce here, and Gellor hailed a passing carter plodding his way up the road from the buildings in the distance.

"What city's that?"

"Ain't no city at all!" the rudely dressed man called in reply. "That there's the town o' Crockport." He went on, shaking his head at the total ignorance and foolishness of strangers.

"Crockport?" Gord said, trying to remember where that place was located.

"Never heard of it," the barbarian said with a shrug.

"It's a frontier town of Furyondy," Gellor told them, "located at the southernmost tip of Lake Whyestil. That was some pool… We're north of Chendl by thirty-five leagues and near the eastern edge of the Vesve!"

It took longer than they'd expected, but they arrived in the town tired but dry and cheerful. With a good rest and the acquisition of fast horses, they could be trekking into the fastness of the Vesve Forest tomorrow, still with fair prospects of finding Obmi the dwarf and his prize. This place was too close to enemy territory to begin inquiries for friends or allies, but there were good inns and a thriving market. After a meal and some sleep, the three went about equipping themselves for the expedition.

More than horses and provisions were needed. Gellor sought out a place to purchase maps, for they had precious little idea as to the extent and details of what lay within the Vesve. Chert was anxious to find a longbow, and Gord needed missiles for his sling. The bard went off on his errands while the pair of young adventurers sought a weaponer, hopefully a bowyer, elsewhere.

There were weapons aplenty to be found in Crockport, and in short order the barbarian found a huge bow that tested even his massive arms. With it and two quivers crammed with broad-headed arrows, each over a yard long, they went on to find Gord's needs. This took a little longer, but eventually they located a place that provided Gord with a variety of weights and sizes of tapering lead bullets for his sling. With a quantity of these missiles stored away, and a pair of well-balanced knives tucked in his boots, the young thief was content. Gellor was waiting for them when they returned.

"There's scant information to be had, but I have a pair of crude maps and information from a hunter who has roamed the forest nearby," he said in clipped tones. "Let's be off."

"What's in the leather bag?" Chert asked the bard.

Gellor smiled at that. ''Long has it been since you have heard me sing and play, Chert, but the lack is cured. There is a fine little harp, therein, and I feel far better with such an instrument at hand."

With their coursers saddled and bearing bedrolls and saddlebags of provisions, they rode westward out of Crockport just after the sun had passed its zenith. They followed a road that turned gradually northward, skirting the edge of the great forest. It was a no-man's-land that grew wilder and more lonely as they went.

"The map shows a likely place to spend the night," Gellor told his companions. "There's a little village that lies a hard day's ride from the town, but if we press our steeds, they'll carry us there before much of the dark has been spent."

Late in the afternoon they reached a place where the road split into three tracks. One veered toward the lake some ten miles to the east. The central lane continued northward, and the leftmost trail ran westward angled toward the north. Gellor took the latter way, and urged his horse to a faster pace, for there was but an hour or two of light remaining and a long distance yet to go before the village was reached.

"We are hunters," said the bard as he patted the heavy boar-spear strapped beside him. The hour was but two from midnight, and they were near the village at last. No further caution was needed, and the three proceeded into the community, found a tavern that offered accommodations, and there spent a safe and restful night.