“I assume,” said Brimstone, his snide, insinuating whisper of a voice setting Pavel’s teeth on edge, “that after the Wearer of Purple told you this, you killed her.”

“No,” said the priest. “We set her free as promised.”

“Idiots!” the gray drake snarled, his red eyes flaring.

“She’ll run,” said Will, sprawled on a heap of gold in what was surely the realization of a private fantasy, “and stay well away from other cultists hereafter. She’s too smart to do anything else.”

“You don’t know that,” Brimstone replied.

“It’s done,” growled Dorn. He was leaning against a limestone wall at the back of the chamber, as distant as possible from both Brimstone and Kara. “So let’s figure out how Cylla’s information helps us. If it does.”

“A pity she couldn’t read Sammaster’s notes, either,” Taegan drawled.

The avariel had returned to his seat atop the treasure chest, once again lounging without a hint of trepidation within easy reach of Brimstone’s fangs and talons.

“Well, she couldn’t,” said Dorn. “She’d never even seen the cipher before. So let’s work with what we have.”

“It seems plain,” said Kara, standing beneath one of the ever-burning torches in its tall wrought-iron stand “that Sammaster understands the frenzy even better than he’s admitting to the chromatic dragons. Actually, he’s both inducing the coming Rage and heightening it to unprecedented levels.”

“I think so, too,” said Raryn, seated cross-legged on the floor and scraping at the edge of his ice-axe with a hone. The whetstone rasped rhythmically against the steel. “It’s the goad he’s always needed to force all the evil wyrms to change as he wants them to. If we understood exactly what it is he’s discovered, maybe we could spoil his plans.”

“Or maybe not,” said Will. “Remember, we’re talking about one of the most powerful mages the world has ever seen.”

The dwarf shrugged.

“You’re right,” said Kara, “the idea’s worth exploring. We can infer Sammaster didn’t always have the power to spur and quell frenzy. Otherwise, he would have used it before this. He must have discovered it at some point during the past century, after his last great defeat.”

“What if,” Taegan said, “the pages in the folio are the journal of his investigations?”

“They could be anything,” said Will. “A five-hundred page letter to Muffin, the puppy he doted on as a child. He is crazy, right?”

Evidently annoyed by the halfling, Brimstone showed his fangs and said, “I agree the pages may be important, but they’re useless to us if we can’t read them.”

“Maybe not,” Pavel said. “Maybe we just need to look at them in a different way.”

“What do you mean?” Kara asked.

“I studied for the priesthood in Lathander’s house in Heliogabalus and worked there for some years afterward. It’s not the largest temple in Damara—Ilmater and Silvanus are the most popular gods thereabouts—but it’s a notable seat of learning nonetheless. Reading in the scriptorium, I noticed that papers and inks manufactured in one place differ from those of another, and I picked up the knack of distinguishing between them.”

“Without so much as a glance at the content of the writing?” Dorn asked.

“Yes. The most basic distinctions are obvious. Some papers are made of wood pulp. Others are goat-, sheep-, lamb-, kid-, or calfskin. Some are even woven of reeds, and some have watermarks. Beyond that, parchments vary as to hue, thickness, coarseness of grain, and the manner in which the maker separated the sheets. It’s the same with inks. Pay attention to the precise color, and the degree to which they fade or flake away, and you can tell what they were made from, and where.”

“So what?” Brimstone hissed.

“I see it,” said Dorn. “As Sammaster wandered about trying to puzzle out the Rage, he resupplied himself with writing materials at various stops along the way, which is to say, he left tracks.”

“And if we hunters follow them,” said Raryn, holding his axe up to the light to inspect the edge, “go where he went, then maybe we can learn what he learned.”

“Preposterous,” the smoke drake said. “How does it help us to know that he spent time in, oh, say, Tantras, for example? We still won’t know what he did there.”

“Perhaps someone will remember him,” Kara said, “or he’ll have left some other indication. Or maybe we can simply guess. Suppose he’s rediscovered a secret the wise once knew and subsequently lost. He may well have found it in the same kind of place where you or I would look for ancient lore.”

Brimstone’s luminous eyes narrowed.

“Give me the notes,” Pavel said. “Let’s see if I can glean anything from them.”

Dorn pulled the scuffed leather folio out of a rucksack. Pavel took it into the circle of wavering glow shed by one of the torches, sat down on a rounded hump of stalagmite, and rested the bundle of papers in his lap. After what had befallen Brimstone, he felt a twinge of trepidation opening the cover, even though he himself had already looked at the notes without harm.

Mainly, though, he was worried not that Sammaster’s shadow would possess him, but rather that his idea would come to nothing.

Please, Lathander, he silently prayed, let me be right. We’ve fought dragons and demons to accomplish the task you set us, but none of it will mean anything if we can’t figure out what to do next.

He examined a number of sheets, peering, fingering the edges and texture, and holding them up to his nose to smell them. After a time, he nodded.

“What?” asked Will.

“By and large, I recognize what I’m looking at. These could have been papers and pigments from some faraway land we know nothing of, but they aren’t. Sammaster penned the notes here in our part of the North. They’re jumbled, though. I have vellum from Phlan intermingled with folded leaves of foolscap from Trailsend. I think somebody—Gorstag, perhaps—dropped the folio, the pages scattered, and in his haste, he stuck them back together any old way. The sheets aren’t numbered, but I’m going to try to group like with like.”

The chore took a while, and during the course of it, he noticed something else.

“Some of the sections are plainly older than others,” he said. “They smell mustier and have seen more wear. I’ll try to use that to arrange the sections in some semblance of chronological order.”

As he finished up, Will said, “Sammaster’s supposed to be a mastermind, but apparently it still took him years to suss out the secret of the Rage. Maybe that’s because he followed some leads that didn’t pan out. So let’s say we figure out all the different places he went. If we visit every one, we could waste a lot of time, and unlike him, we haven’t got it to spare.”

“I imagine,” Kara said, “the lengthy sections of the journal are the significant ones. Where he failed to discover anything, he wouldn’t have much to write.”

Pavel separated a thick sheaf of pages from the rest. “He wrote a lot here, and it’s one of the older sections. It’s possible this is where he recorded his first breakthrough.”

“Then what does it tell you?” Brimstone demanded. “Anything?”

“What we have,” the priest said, “are kidskin pages from Elmwood and inks from Melvaunt, both towns on the shores of the central portion of the Moonsea.”

“Towns built on the ruins of older settlements,” said Dorn, the firelight glinting on the iron portions of his body, “in a country thick with forgotten tombs and abandoned, tumbledown towers. Where would you start?”

“Maybe,” Pavel thought aloud, “with the oldest thing of all.”

But it was only a guess and could easily be wrong. He flipped through the notes, looking for some additional bit of information to support his hunch. Even though he couldn’t read the wretched things, surely something—

Perhaps the Morninglord aided him, for the figure popped out at him, even though it was only a crude little doodle virtually lost among countless lines of tiny script.

“Look at this,” said the priest.

The others gathered around. Proximity to Brimstone made Pavel feel the usual pang of outrage and loathing, but he was so intent on his discovery that for once, it seemed more a simple distraction than a call to arms.

“What’s it supposed to be?” asked Will. “A misshapen, one-eyed head?”

“It’s a map,” Pavel said, “rendered in a style we Northerners rarely see anymore. But the elves sometimes put west at the top. Isn’t that right, Maestro Nightwind?”

Taegan’s mouth tightened almost imperceptibly for an instant, as if he found the question annoying, though he answered with his customary courtesy and poise.

“I really have no idea. But if you maintain it, prince of scholars, I’m sure it must be so.”

Will cocked his head to look at the doodle sideways, then let out a whistle.

“Exactly,” Pavel said. He looked around at the rest of the company. “I assume that if even a dullard like Will comprehends, the rest of you do, also.”

“I comprehend that the place has an evil reputation,” growled Dorn, “and that even if it didn’t, it would be hard to explore.”

“Please,” Kara said, with an urgency in her comely face and sweet voice that would surely have swayed Pavel even if he wasn’t already disposed to help her. “You’re going home to the Moonsea anyway, aren’t you?”

Dorn made a spitting sound and turned away. His show of ill temper didn’t surprise Pavel, but something else did. From long experience, he knew that if the big man actually meant to refuse Kara, he would have said no in a manner so blunt and clear as to be unmistakable.

“Before you all grow too excited,” Brimstone whispered, “realize that everything the sun priest has said is pure speculation. It’s possible he’s misinterpreted the significance of the folio entirely. Still, I agree it’s worth following where the clues seems to lead. But we have other work as well.”

Will said, “If somebody doesn’t stop the cult’s mischief in the Gray Forest, we’ll soon be up to our arses in indestructible dracoliches. That could be even worse than ordinary dragons running around in a Rage.”

“Kindly allow me to attend to that,” Taegan said. “Impiltur is my home, so it seems sensible for me to expedite matters here.”

“Thank you,” Kara said. “You have a noble heart.”

“You’re far too kind,” Taegan replied. “I don’t generally fight for anything but my own well-being and satisfaction, and I’ve achieved the latter. For after all, Sammaster didn’t kill my student and burn my school. Cylla and her underlings did, and with your help, I’ve avenged myself on them. Unfortunately, however, I remain impoverished, and it hasn’t escaped my attention that the cultists have imported gems and precious metals into the wood. Exactly the plunder I need to recoup my fortunes.”

“You give yourself too little credit,” said Kara, shaking her head.

“I’ve endured my share of criticism,” said the avariel, “but never before that particular opinion.”

“You can’t storm the cult stronghold by yourself,” snapped Dorn. “You need soldiers.”

“Well, we told Cylla we were going to confer with the authorities,” Taegan replied. “Apparently, I actually am.”

“Just give the rest of us time to disappear,” Kara said. “Queen Sambryl employs a troupe of bronze dragons. It’s likely some of them have offered their allegiance to Lareth as well. I don’t need any more of his agents accosting me.”

“Perhaps the time has come for you to plead with him again,” Pavel said.

“It’s as Brimstone said,” Kara replied. “So far, all we really have is speculation. Much as I’d like to, I can’t believe it would change his mind, especially now that I’ve fought Llimark, Moonwing, and Azhaq.”

“It appears we have our strategy,” Brimstone said.

Raryn said, “Not quite. What will you be doing while the rest of us are running about risking our necks?”

“For now, I’m the weapon we hold in reserve. Rest assured, I’ll take the field when the time is right.”

“Don’t count on it,” said Pavel to the dwarf. “You know how a common vampire must linger close to his coffin. Most likely this dead thing before us has some similar limitation that makes him fear to stray too far from home.”

“You know nothing!” the gray wyrm snarled. “Our business is done, so go. Or stay. All this talk has made me thirsty.”

When Dorn stepped onto the balcony outside the room he and his comrades had rented, he found Raryn taking the night air. Clad only in his breeches, indifferent to the cold night wind that stirred his long white hair, the arctic dwarf stood gazing out across Lyrabar. The moon had set, and to human eyes, the countless temples and mansions were little more than streaks of pale blur, but of course, Raryn could see considerably more.

“You couldn’t sleep either?” the tracker asked.

Dorn grunted.

“I wanted another look at this place,” Raryn said. “As we worked our way south, the galley put in at a whole series of interesting towns, but this is the grandest of the lot. It’s a pity we have to leave before we’ve had a chance to explore it.”

“I just hope,” Dorn said, “we can go away quicker than we came. We need to book passage on a faster ship, one that doesn’t stop at every dilapidated hut and rotting dock along the shore or go by way of Sembia. We’re lucky spring is at hand. More skippers will be putting out to sea.”

“So we can probably find one who’s looking to make a fast run up the Dragon Reach back to our usual hunting grounds. That should make you happy, but you don’t look it. Does it still rankle that Taegan flirted with Kara, and she smiled back at him?”

“What in the name of Baator are you talking about?”

Raryn shrugged and said, “You glowered at them like you’re glaring at me now.”

“If I did, it was just because the avariel’s manner gets on my nerves. It’s all pose and affectation. But he’s proved he’s solid enough where it counts, and I have no reason to care what passes between him and the wyrm. He’s seen what she is. If he still hankers after her, it’s his lookout.”

“I don’t think he does, really. As you said, he’s just decided to wear a certain mask.”

“They should get along well, then, since she’s a fraud, too.”

“I knew you hadn’t forgiven her her deceptions. You make it plain whenever we’re all together. That’s why I was surprised when you didn’t argue against helping her any further.”

Dorn snorted and said, “We’ve already played that game, and I know how it ends. I say no, the rest of you say yes, and I wind up giving in to avoid breaking up the partnership. Why go through the same stupidity another time? But I don’t like this, and it’s not just because I hate working for a dragon.”

“What is it, then?”

“This affair is just too huge. Have you really thought about it, even to the extent of just putting it all together into words? We’re supposed to spoil the schemes of an infamous undead archmage and his cult of followers. That’s how we preserve the sanity of the entire race of wyrms and keep them from either laying waste to all Faerûn or becoming invincible dracoliches and ruling humans and dwarves forever after. It’s like something out of those old, long-winded sagas that take all night for a bard to chant. It’s a task for these Chosen and Harpers we keep hearing about or whole armies of knights and wizards, not a handful of ruffians like us.”

“Well, Taegan is supposed to scare up some men-at-arms. As for the rest of it, it wasn’t the Chosen who ran into Kara or wound up in possession of the folio. It was us, and wishing won’t make it otherwise.”

Dorn felt chilly and pulled his cloak tighter around him. “It’s all right for Pavel. He decided early on that the Morninglord wants us to carry out this task, and even Brimstone’s involvement failed to shake his conviction.”

“Maybe he’s right.”

“Maybe, but since I’m not able to feel what he feels, it doesn’t help me. Will sees all life as a game and himself as the cleverest player of all. So even matters as weighty as these can’t overawe him, especially if greed is undermining his judgment.”

“Will’s good at his trade. As are you.”

Dorn, scowling, replied, “I’m a big, mean freak with a knack for slaughtering big, mean animals. Maybe I help a few people that way, folk who would otherwise get eaten. But the notion that thousands of men and women I’ve never even met will live or die depending on not just my ability to hunt but to unravel arcane mysteries and the gods only know what else … it’s laughable and terrifying at the same time. You’re sensible. Doesn’t it bother you?”

“When I was a boy,” Raryn said, “living with my tribe on the Great Glacier, we went forth every day and hunted. If we found enough game, everyone could eat, and everyone would live. If we failed, some or even all of us would die. It was very simple. Then I developed a yen to see what lay beyond the ice, and drifted south to the lands of men.”

“Where you found everything was much more complicated.”

“No,” Raryn said, grinning. “That’s what I expected to find, but truly, I discovered life was just the same in its essence. The only complicated thing is the way ‘civilized’ folk fret about their problems. You twist and pick at them until they look bewildering, but really, they’re not.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You said it yourself. Ever since you ran away from Hillsfar, you’ve fought to protect others, and you still are. The fact that more people are in jeopardy this time around doesn’t change anything. Just do your work as usual.”

Dorn smiled slightly. He felt a little better, though he wasn’t quite sure why. The dwarf’s stark perspective on duty, struggle, and survival didn’t actually seem all that comforting.

“This way of thinking heartens you, does it?” Dorn asked.

“Well, when it fails, I tell myself that none of this foolishness with indecipherable papers and conspiracies of rogue dragons matters a hair on a mole’s rump. Surely Mystra and the Chosen know all about Sammaster’s scheme and are even now hurrying to foil it. We just can’t tell it from our vantage point.”

“If we really believed that, we could cut Kara loose and forget all about the cursed Rage.”

“But where would be the sport or profit in that?”

“Nowhere, I suppose.” He used his hand of flesh and blood to clap Raryn on the shoulder. “I guess I’ll see if I can get at least an hour or two of sleep. We want to be down at the harbor well before the morning tide.”