Anthology: Realms of Valor

The lord mayor held the weapon by the hilt, thinking that it was much too heavy to be an effective weapon, yet that hardly mattered. Sunlight reflected in dazzling patterns from the gleaming surface, twinkling in brilliant colors where it struck the facets of a multitude of gems. A straight blade, sharpened on both sides, extended nearly a foot from the impractical, jewel-encrusted hilt.

"I know you've traded all sorts of things-rare weapons and treasures!" Stefanik continued breathlessly. "You've been to Waterdeep, and Baldur's Gate, and lots of places. I bet more than any other halfling in the Moonshaes! Why, even in Llyrath Downs we've heard how you rescued the king from the firbolg giant-kin! When I tried to think of who could answer my questions, well, there was just no one else who even came close!"

"Aye," whispered Pawldo, too overcome by the object's splendor to even acknowledge the praise.

"It's some kind of knife," Stefanik noted unnecessarily. "But how did it get there? Whose is it?"

"Some kind of thief's dagger," Pawldo observed with a silent whistle. "It's a blade of little utility, but truly exceptional worth. Quickly, lad, where did you find this?"

"In the forest! Llyrath Forest!" stammered Stefanik. "I was hunting well into the woods. I found the dagger at a place I camped, where two streams flow together. It was lying there beside the stream, just like this, so shiny I couldn't possibly have missed it!" He noticed Pawldo's scowl of concentration. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, not that I can see." Pawldo couldn't take his eyes from the silvery surface. He identified the gems-here was a plump ruby on each handguard, there an array of emeralds around the base of the hilt, in the middle of the handgrip a huge diamond! With difficulty, he kept his hands from trembling. Never had he held an object of such worth, such splendor! "So it looked like it hadn't been there long?" he asked, trying to keep his voice level.

"No. But that's the funny thing, since no one had been there before me-at least, not for a long time. I'm a pretty fair tracker," Stefanik added with bucolic honesty. "I'd have known."

The lord mayor turned the dagger over in his hands, examining the blade. Platinum there, too, polished and honed to the sharpness of a razor. Then a small imperfection caught his eye, near where the blade met the hilt. Raising the knife so that full sunlight fell on the blemish, he looked closely-and felt a sudden chill of apprehension.

The image was no flaw in the polished surface. It was a tiny etching of a leering, fleshless skull.

"What is it?" asked the youngster, following Pawldo's gaze. He gulped audibly when he got a close look. "I never noticed that before! What does it mean-a skull?"

"You say you found this in the depths of Llyrath Forest?" Pawldo inquired meaningfully.

"Yes! But I don't-"

Stefanik stopped abruptly, his face blanching, his eyes growing to saucers in sudden suspicion. "The Palace of Skulls?" he whispered.

"It's one explanation … the only one," Pawldo concluded grimly. "It's supposed to appear in Llyrath Forest only once a generation … and then, only for the waxing of the summer solstice moon!"

"The new moon was but four days past," Stefanik said, his tone full of wonder.

"And the knife-when did you find it?" Pawldo pressed.

"Three days ago!" the younger halfling exclaimed with a shudder. Then he squinted, a surprisingly mature skepticism appearing in his expression. "But I thought the tales of the skull fortress were just legends! Sure, my grandmother used to frighten us with stories of evil Prince Ketheryll and his curse-but now that I'm a grown-up I can't take them seriously.*"

"Can't you?" inquired the mayor of Lowhill archly. "Don't you think there might be some basis to the tales?"

Again Stefanik suppressed a shudder. "I know the stories-that Ketheryll still dwells there, but he's no longer a man. Just some kind of shadow that can suck the soul and the life right out of you!"

"What about the other stories?" Pawldo grew increasingly excited as he considered the possibilities. "Tales of treasure beyond your wildest dreams, mountains of wealth, glories such as you've never seen, all there for the taking-but only until the rising of the full moon___"

"You mean treasures like this?" Stefanik asked, his eyes dropping to the dagger. "You think the dagger comes from the Palace of Skulls?"

"Ouch!" Pawldo declared, abruptly dropping the weapon and blowing on his palm. "It got hot!"

"Look!" hissed Stefanik, pointing to the dagger as it twisted on the ground.

The blade had fallen on its tip, and for a second it wavered back and forth, as if it might stick into the ground. Then it bounced into the air, flopped onto its side, and flipped around so that the blade pointed just a little south of due east. The platinum surface glowed with a brightness greater than the sun's reflection.

"It's… it's like it heard me," Stefanik said softly. "As soon as I said the name of the place, it heated up."

"And look at the way it's pointing," Pawldo said. The glow subsided, and he reached out to touch the weapon's already cooling hilt. "Straight into Llyrath Forest."

"Can it be from that place?"

"Like I said, it's the only explanation!" Pawldo's mind worked furiously. The fortress meant treasure beyond belief. And that might mean a suitable present for the king and queen! "Can you find your campsite again?"

"Of course!" Stefanik proclaimed. "I'm a good scout, too! I know that woods like the inside of my own burrow!"

"Splendid! Let's see, we'll need some supplies and a couple of ponies. It'll take me a few hours to get ready. You can rest up at my house, and we can leave in the afternoon."

His estimate proved conservative. In actuality the two halflings rode down the King's Road sometime before lunch, a fact that the road-weary Stefanik regretted but was too timid to mention. They spent the night at a comfortable inn in Cantrev Koart and made such good time the next day that by early evening Stefanik led them southward from the road until they reached the very fringe of the forest There, amid a sparse scattering of dry-needled fir trees, they found a grassy meadow for their camp.

During their journey, Pawldo found himself developing an avuncular affection for the young halfling. Stefanik's blatant hero worship did nothing to impair the relationship, and the lord mayor's restrained silence only served to inflate the youngster's somewhat exaggerated assessment of his skills and exploits.

As twilight fell on their little camp, they passed some time in more serious conversation, comparing the tales they'd heard about the Palace of Skulls. Among the Ffolk of the Moonshaes and their halfling neighbors the place was a common setting for tales of heroism, though few believed that it really existed. Pawldo found that the version of the legend told in the village of Llyrath Downs differed somewhat from the stories he'd heard elsewhere in the Moonshaes. Yet, since that little village of halflings was nearer to the ancient structure's reputed location, he placed strong credence in that folklore.

"Llyrath Downs," Pawldo remarked as he settled down near the crackling embers of their fire. "There aren't many who live there, true?"

Stefanik shrugged. "Until I saw a great city like Lowhill, I would have disagreed with you. But, truth be told, we are but a dozen families, scattered over a wide hilltop."

Pawldo suppressed a smile-the "great city" of Lowhill, indeed! "You live in the forest proper?" he asked.

"Only the fringe. No one lives in the middle of that dark wood. We won't pass through my village, though-Llyrath Downs is another day's journey east of here. It's not on the way to the place where I found the dagger."