Brian lay awake for a long time, unable to sleep. He had lived his life, for the most part, having nothing to do with magic. Wizards were viewed with deep suspicion in Solamnia, and those wizards who chose to live in that realm—and there were few—kept to themselves. The only magic he had ever seen had been performed at fairs and even then his father had told him it was all sleight-of-hand and make believe. As for holy miracles, he had seen for himself when Elistan healed the wounds suffered by the white bear. He did not agree with Derek that it was trickery, though Brian could not quite bring himself to believe it was the gods either.
Yet now he was in the company of people who had been around mages since they were small; a wizard of the red robes had been a childhood companion. Though they did not understand its workings, they accepted magic as a part of their lives. They were convinced they had all shared a dream because of a shining bit of jewelry. Even the gruff and dour old dwarf believed it.
Perhaps, Brian thought, the magic is not so much in the jewel as it is in their souls. Their love and friendship for each other runs so deep that even apart they are still together, still in each other’s hearts and minds. He saw daily the close bond that existed between these people and he remembered a time when there had been such a bond between three young men. Once, long ago, those three young men might have shared a dream. Not anymore. Brian realized he had been trying this entire journey to find their bond of friendship again, but that could never happen. War and ambition, fear and mistrust had changed them, driven them apart instead of bringing them together. He, Derek, and Aran were strangers to each other.
Because of Derek’s suspicions, Brian had learned the innermost secrets of friends who trusted him, and though he was impressed and touched by what he’d heard, he knew quite well he should have never heard it. When Derek came off watch, muttering that he didn’t trust the dwarf and Brightblade and the Ice Folk to keep a good lookout, Brian had to work hard to keep from leaping up and slugging him.
The next morning, Derek and Aran set out to take a look at Ice Wall Castle to see it for themselves. They took along Raggart’s grandson, who was also named Raggart, as a guide.
Raggart the Younger, as he was called, though he was close to thirty, had eagerly volunteered to accompany the two knights. Raggart was the tribe’s historian, which meant that he was the tribal storyteller. The Ice Folk kept no written history (few could read or write), and thus all important events were chronicled in song and story. Young Raggart had learned the history from the previous historian, now dead some fifteen years, and he related the stories on a daily basis, sometimes singing them, sometimes acting them out, with himself taking all the roles, sometimes making a tale of them. He could mimic any sound, from the swishing of the runners of the ice boats as they sped across the frozen landscape to the wailing howl of wolves and the quarreling cawings of sea birds, and he used the sounds to enliven his recitals.
Young Raggart foresaw adding a glorious episode to the tribal lore, one he would witness firsthand. He presented the knights with a crude drawing of the castle’s interior, though exactly what good this was going to do them was open to question, since they had no intention of going inside. When Derek asked him how he knew what the castle’s interior looked like, since he had admitted that he’d never been inside Ice Wall, Raggart had replied that he’d put it together from information found in a very old poem composed by a long-lost ancestor who had investigated the castle three hundred years ago. Though Derek had grave misgivings about the map, it was, as he said, better than nothing, and he accepted it and studied it with interest before they left. Their number included Tasslehoff, not because he was wanted, but because Derek could not find any way short of running a sword through the kender to get rid of him.
Brian had been supposed to accompany his fellows, but he had declined. Derek had not been pleased and he had been on the point of ordering Brian to come, but there was something oddly rebellious and defiant in Brian’s manner. Not wanting to make an issue of it, Derek had swallowed his anger and instead told Brian to keep an eye on Brightblade and the others. Brian had stared at Derek in grim silence and then turned and walked off without a word.
“I think our friend has fallen in love with that elf woman,” Derek said in disapproving tones to Aran as they departed. “I will have to have a talk with him.”
Aran, who had seen the fond looks Brian and Lillith gave each other, knew Derek was completely and utterly wrong in this, but it amused the knight to let Derek remain under his misapprehension. Trekking over the snow after their guide, Aran looked forward gleefully to hearing one of Derek’s sonorous lectures on the evils of loving anyone who wasn’t “our own kind”.
Brian had been going to eat a solitary breakfast in his tent. Laurana, hearing he remained behind, was concerned and came to ask after his health. She was kind and gracious and truly seemed to care about him. Remembering that he had spied on her last night, Brian felt worse than the meanest scoundrel that ever roamed the sewers of Palanthas. Brian could not refuse her invitation, and he joined her and her friends, along with the chief of the Ice Folk, in the chieftent.
The companions were much more cheerful this morning. They spoke of their absent comrades freely, without the sorrow of loss, wondering where they were and what they were doing. Brian acted surprised to hear their joyful news. His acting wasn’t very good, but the others were so happy none of them noticed.
The conversation turned to the dragon orb. Harald listened to all they said, keeping his thoughts to himself. Gilthanas made no secret of the fact that he believed the orb should go to the elves.
“Lord Gunthar has pledged that the orb will be taken to the Whitestone Council. The elves are part of the Whitestone Council—” Brian began.
“We were,” Gilthanas interrupted. His lip curled. “We are no longer.”
“Gil, please don’t start—” Laurana began.
Then, glancing at Sturm, perhaps thinking what he’d said about honey-coating everything, she fell silent.
“Here now!” Flint was saying. “What does this dragon orb do that is so blasted important?” His bushy brows came together in a frown. The dwarf looked first at Brian, then at Gilthanas.
“Well?” Flint demanded, and when neither answered, he grunted, “I thought so. All this fooferah to find something the kender said he read about in a book! That should tell you the answer right there—mainly that we should leave the fool orb where it sits and go home.” Flint sat back, triumphant.
Sturm smoothed his mustaches preparatory to saying something. Gilthanas opened his mouth at the same time, but they were both interrupted by Tasslehoff who burst into the chieftent, agog with excitement, brimming with importance, and shivering with cold.
“We found Ice Wall Castle!” he announced. “Guess what? It’s made of ice! Well, I guess it isn’t really. Derek says underneath all the ice are stone walls and the ice has simply accumulated”-Tas brought out the big word proudly—“over the years.”
He plopped himself down on the floor and gratefully accepted a warming drink of some steaming liquid. “That burns clear down to my toes,” he said thankfully. “As for the castle, it’s perched way, way, way up on top of a mountain made of ice. Derek has this great idea about how we’re going to storm the castle, find the dragon orb, and kill the wizard. The castle is a wonderful place. Raggart sang us a song about it. The song tells about underground tunnels and a magical fountain of water that never freezes and then, of course, there’s the dragon’s lair with the dragon orb and the dragon inside. I can’t wait to go!”
Tas took another gulp of his drink and let out a moist breath. “Whew, boy, that’s good! Anyway, where was I?”
“—getting my people slaughtered,” Harald stated angrily.
“Was I?” Tasslehoff looked surprised. “I didn’t mean to.”