Jaleigh Johnson - Spider and Stone

“But you weren’t intact,” Icelin said. The dreamlike world, the glimmering stars floated in her periphery, but Mith Barak wasn’t looking at it. He hadn’t stirred since they’d crashed on the drifting island. “Your spirit had been scarred.”

“Being in my hall was a comfort,” Mith Barak said. “A large enough nest that I could return to my true form if I needed to defend myself, yet it did not have the openness of the Astral Sea or the vast, echoing caverns of Iltkazar and the Underdark. I stayed there as much as I could when I awoke, dispensing counsel. At first, no one knew anything had changed. My people were too grateful I was back.”

“You felt safe,” Icelin said. It was not so different from how she’d felt in Waterdeep, nestled in her great-uncle’s shop. Waterdeep’s walls protected her from the outside world and all its dangers. Wider Faerun held no interest for her, until she’d met Ruen and Sull and ventured outside her small world.

“There’s no such thing as safety,” Mith Barak said. “I’d thought of everything. A vast underground city, heavily fortified with walls and magic, protected by the dwarves-my physical body could not have been safer while I traveled the Astral Sea. I was arrogant and left my spirit vulnerable.”

“That’s why you rule Iltkazar,” Icelin said, “why you dwell among the dwarves when you’d rather be soaring through the skies. They protected you, and in return you guided the city and shared your wisdom with the dwarves.”

“I failed them,” Mith Barak said. “I was gone too long, and what came back from the Astral Sea … it’s an empty shell.”

“That’s not true,” Icelin insisted. “You can still lead your people. They need you now more than ever.”

“I see drow faces in my dreams. They strike at my body and reopen old wounds. I have to protect my city from them, from Zollgarza.” Mith Barak’s voice broke, and he sounded small again, like the old dwarf she knew.

“Zollgarza isn’t your torturers,” Icelin said. “His only power over you comes from what you allow him to have.”

“No!” the dragon snarled, making Icelin quail with fear. “I let them catch me unawares once before. Never again! I will not let my people suffer the way I suffered.”

“Is that what you’re trying to do?” Icelin whispered. “Protect your people-or are you really just trying to protect yourself?”

“Of course I am!” Mith Barak shouted, rage and anguish filling the dark corners of the Astral Sea. “I would rather die than let myself be taken- used -again.”

“You’ve lost so much,” Icelin said, “and you have scars that won’t ever go away. Yet you live, and you are needed-you are also loved.”

“You don’t love a broken thing, something scarred beyond recognition,” Mith Barak said. “It’s not worthy.”

“You’re wrong,” Icelin said gently. “Those are the souls that have truly lived.”

The stars around them faded, and shapes pushed out of the darkness-columns and a throne, the outlines of figures standing in a semicircle before them. Gradually, their faces resolved into those of the Blackhorn family, Ruen, and Sull.

Icelin looked for Mith Barak, but her vision, caught for a breath between the Astral Sea and the dwarven hall, perceived the shape of a great serpentine body filling the room. Its skull brushed the vaulted ceiling, silver scales arranged like a fall of pure water. One of its curving claws stood as tall as Icelin’s body. She saw her distorted reflection in its polished surface.

The moment passed, and the dragon’s body faded into nothingness. Mith Barak stood before her, shrunken, aged, and so weary that Icelin wanted nothing more than to step forward and wrap her arms around him.

Garn and Joya got to him first. They positioned themselves on either side of their king and lent him their shoulders when he wavered on his feet. Joya turned, likely intending to lead him to his throne, but Mith Barak resisted and instead sat down right where he was on the cold stone floor.

“Are you all right?” Ruen stood at Icelin’s shoulder, concern shining clearly from his muddy red eyes.

“I’m fine,” Icelin assured him and nodded to Sull, who looked pale and scared. “How much did you see and hear?”

“We heard you cry out, and in the end, when you came back from wherever you were …” Ruen hesitated. “Was it real? Is he truly a dragon?”

Icelin nodded. She related in a low voice what she’d seen in the Astral Sea. Mith Barak stared off into the distance, seemingly unaware of their presence. Joya and Garn stood on either side of him while Obrin looked on, fingering his axe helplessly.

“Did we do the right thing, forcing him to confront the past?” Icelin asked, staring at the king. “Or did we do more harm?” She addressed Joya, she who of all of them seemed closest to the king. “Did you know what had happened to him?”

“Parts of it,” Joya said. “I guessed the rest. My family-plus several others who are not here-knows what our king is. We know where he went, the dangers he faced.” She looked at Mith Barak with sorrow-filled eyes. “I thanked Moradin when he was restored to us, but I did not know how to heal his grief.”

Mith Barak stirred, blinked, and slowly pulled back from the vision that held him in its grip. He looked at Joya as if seeing her for the first time. “You’ve too much grief already, girl, to think so much of an old wreck like me.” He patted her hand. When his gaze rested next on Icelin, she instinctively dropped her eyes, embarrassed at having seen him so exposed. He was an ancient soul, and he’d given her glimpses of things beautiful and terrible. She hadn’t meant to pry into those memories. No human was meant to see such things.

“No, don’t look away,” Mith Barak said. “You deserved to know the truth as much as those gathered here. I would have used you without regard for the consequences.”

“You offered a fair bargain,” Icelin said.

“I was obsessed with knowing Zollgarza’s secrets.” With Garn and Joya’s aid, Mith Barak stood up. Silver light burned in his eyes. He stood straight and shook himself as if chasing away shadows. “I’d tried everything to break through that drow’s magic and uncover the truth of his purpose here. Then you arrived in the city like a gift from the gods. I thought you’d find the sphere and use the Silver Fire, succeeding where I couldn’t. I didn’t care if I put you in danger. I was still half-dead, broken.”

“I made the choice,” Icelin said. “You didn’t force me.”

“You showed courage when you confronted me in the library-courage that I lacked. It shamed me out of hiding, if only for a little while.”

“I would have hidden as well if I’d endured what you have,” Icelin said. “It’s enough to break most people.”

“I was supposed to be stronger than that,” Mith Barak said harshly. “I should never have let it happen in the first place.”

“You mean because of what you are?” Sull spoke up suddenly. “That’s a lot of rubbish.” All eyes turned to him, and he reddened. “I mean, all beings in Faerun feel pain, don’t they, whether they’re among the high and mighty or the lowliest creatures. They can be hurt, and they can be broken. It’s a sad truth, but it makes us all equal in somethin’, at least.”

Mith Barak stared silently at the butcher. Icelin thought she saw Garn nod in approval. Sull is right, she thought, though it gave her no comfort. We are equal in our ability to suffer-even Zollgarza suffered at the hands of his inner demons.

In the battle ahead, there was no such equality. The drow outnumbered them, but if their target was the Arcane Script Sphere, if it had been the artifact all along, and its purpose was tied to Zollgarza’s memory loss, then there was only one thing left for them to try, one way to give back Zollgarza’s identity and discover what the drow were plotting. She’d refused to do it for herself, but if it saved the dwarves …