The City of Splendors_ A Waterdeep Novel - Ed Greenwood [5]
A deep rumbling shook the cobbles under their boots then, and everyone turned to peer at Mount Waterdeep. Another thunderous impact followed, and then another.
The young sorcerer followed their gazes and found himself whispering "Mystra's sacred shadow!" in fresh wonderment.
A man-shaped colossus of weathered stone, ninety feet tall or more, was striding down the mountain, finding-and sometimes making-a sure path to the harbor. Mrelder had never expected to set eyes on one of the fabled Walking Statues, much less watch it walking!
"That should hold our foes," Piergeiron said in satisfaction, watching the great construct lumber along.
He turned his head. "Are you with me, lad?"
"I'd not want to be anywhere else, just now," Mrelder said firmly, and they traded heartfelt smiles.
* * * * *
Time passed in a bright haze of blood and fire. Never far from Lord Piergeiron's side, Mrelder fought errant flames, vicious fishmen, and men who swarmed the shadows of Dock Ward like rats to loot and steal and stab.
It seemed as if the lord's band was a running, tireless whirlwind. When at last Piergeiron barked a halt in the courtyard of some grand mansion, Mrelder's shoulders sang with pain, and his eyes swam with smoke and stinging sweat.
Around him, the grandly armored knights of Piergeiron's guard sprawled wearily on smooth stone benches or leaned against statues, tending small wounds and seeing to their weapons.
One handed Mrelder a water flask. "Whence do you hail, monk?"
The sorcerer drank deep before murmuring, "I'm no monk. Trained to fight as one, yes, but I've not taken orders in the service of any god or temple."
The knight smiled. "Smart lad. Gods are like women: When there are so many fine choices, why should a man limit himself to but one?"
This philosophy was greeted with a few tired chuckles from around the courtyard.
Piergeiron turned to give Mrelder that commanding gaze. "Listen but lightly to Karmear. 'Tis a fine path you've chosen. My father was a paladin, and I've always held the deepest respect for all who choose the way of the altar."
"My father's a priest," Mrelder blurted. Surprised by his own outburst, he stammered hastily, "Or was. I'm not sure…"
The Open Lord's brow furrowed. "You know not if your father lives?"
"No, Lord. We parted badly, some time ago." Mrelder hesitated, not sure what to say. "I was… I could not be the son he wished me to be."
"When you leave Waterdeep, you must find him," Piergeiron said firmly. "From what I've seen this day, I'm certain any father would rejoice in such a son."
The words, spoken with such assurance, kindled hope in Mrelder. Could it be that he, who'd proved capable in a fray and was at least comfortable as both sorcerer and monk, might be weighed in Golskyn's grim measure and finally found worthy?
Suddenly, Mrelder could imagine nothing more important than learning the answer to that. He looked at the Lord of Waterdeep. "As you say, I will do. This I swear.''
Piergeiron nodded. Eyes never leaving Mrelder's, he reached into a belt-pouch and drew out something small, black, and gleaming. "This is a Black Helm. I'd like to hear how matters fall between you and your father. If you return to the city, present this at the palace, and the guards there will know you as a friend to Waterdeep and to me."
Mrelder stared down at the charm. It was a tiny replica of Piergeiron's own war-helm, rendered in fine obsidian and pierced to be hung on a neck-thong.
"My lord!" was all he could find to say.
The tall paladin waved away his stammerings and turned to address his knights. "The city's quiet. There'll be much to do come morning, but our night's work is done."
At this dismissal, the men rose slowly and stiffly, taking up swords and helms. Mrelder politely refused an offer of lodging for the night in their barracks and waved farewell. Candlekeep was expecting his return and report. The last he saw of that shining-armored band was Piergeiron's answering wave and smile.
* * * * *
Twilight slid into night as Mrelder made