Curse of the Shadowmage - Mark Anthony [43]
"It worked," Morhion murmured in relief.
Cormik gaped at him. "You mean there was a chance it wouldn't?" he asked. "What might have happened?"
"I really don't think you want to know," Morhion replied acerbically. Looking decidedly queasy, Cormik didn't push the point.
Morhion turned his horse around to face the gateway hovering in the air between two wind-worn standing stones. Through the arch, Morhion could see the chamber beneath his tower.
"Bahadra!" he spoke, adding a sharp gesture-"close" in the tongue of magic. With a flash, the gateway shut. Now, all that could be seen between the standing stones were wave after wave of hills marching toward a distant hue of jagged purple peaks. The Sunset Mountains.
"Let's go," Morhion said, turning his back to the mountains. He spurred Tenebrous into a gallop, and the others followed behind.
The five rode into Corm Orp with the long shadows of sunset At first glance, the village seemed pitifully small, no more than a score of stone buildings clustered around a wide place in the Dusk Road, which led from Iriaebor in the south all the way to the city of Elturel to the west. However, a closer look showed that the low hills bordering the vale were dotted with numerous brightly painted doors. Most of Corm Orp's residents were halflings, and the diminutive folk preferred to dwell in their snug underground burrows rather than in drafty aboveground houses like the big folk.
As they rode into town, the companions noticed what seemed to be signs of a bad fire. Broad swaths of the village commons were blackened and barren, and several stone houses had been twisted into grotesque lumps as if they had been melted by a terrible heat. The five travelers made for the village inn, a blocky, comfortable stone building that leaned against a steep slope. Inside, the Green Door was much larger than it appeared, for it extended back into the hillside and thus had rooms that would appeal to halfling as well as human patrons.
The companions stepped into the common room and were treated to several dozen suspicious stares. The barkeeper was the only human in the establishment; all of the patrons were stout, broad-faced halflings.
"I suppose this rules out appearing inconspicuous and mingling, loves," Jewel murmured.
"What ever gave you that idea?" Cormik replied acidly.
The halflings whispered to each other nervously, casting sideways glances at the newcomers. The barkeeper glared at them as he slammed several pots of ale onto the table where they had sat. It was clear that strangers were not welcome.
"I wish Estah were here," Mari sighed in exasperation. "She could tell us what we're doing wrong."
A halfling man at the next table looked up in surprise. "Estah?" he said in amazement. "You know Estah of the Dreaming Dragon?"
Almost instantly, the atmosphere in the common room changed. Numerous questions were flung out excitedly, and when the patrons learned that Mari and Morhion were in fact part of the legendary Fellowship of the Dreaming Dragon, the occasion turned into something of a celebration. Estah, it seemed, was a local hero. Morhion had forgotten that the halfling woman had grown up in Corm Orp. Within minutes, he and the others had been introduced to a dozen smiling halflings, each claiming to be Estah's cousin. However, when Mari asked about the strange happenings at the recent Harvest Festival, things turned somber once again.
The halfling who had first spoken to them finally answered Mari's question. His name was Tam Acorn, and he was one of Estah's multitudinous cousins.
"It was the stranger," Tam said grimly. "He was the cause of all the dark happenings. A man in black on a pale horse."
The companions exchanged glances. There was no need to say the name aloud.
"Can you tell us what happened?" Mari asked urgently.
Tam scratched his chin in thought,