Soon the five gathered before the gateway. The horses had balked at being led down the stone staircase, prompt ing Mari to scold her chestnut gelding, Farenth. He was a prideful beast and, thus insulted, decided to prove his mettle. When Farenth pranced down the steps, the other horses followed willingly: Morhion's jet-black stallion, Tenebrous; Jewel's fine-boned mare, Pearl, named for the white mark on her forehead; and Cormik's sturdy brown destrier, Plinth. Jewel and Cormik had brought a shaggy pony with them for extra supplies, and this provided a perfect mount for Kellen. The pony was a quick and lively creature that Kellen named Flash.

Morhion guided Tenebrous toward the blank stone archway and spread his hands. He concentrated, then spoke a single word, "Avarra!," which meant "open" in the language of magic.

The rough stone within the arch rippled, blurred, then seemed to melt away like mist. A series of rolling hills beneath a sharp azure sky appeared beyond the arch. Sunlight spilled thick and golden as honey over the dun-colored landscape. Faintly, Morhion heard the soft hiss of wind through dry autumn grass.

"Quickly," he said through clenched teeth. "I cannot hold the gateway open for long."

Hastily, the others rode under the arch. Sweat pouring down his brow, Morhion was the last, spurring Tenebrous through the magical portal. As he passed through, a thin curtain of cold washed over him, momentarily taking his breath away. He found the others on the other side, looking vaguely ill. It was disconcerting to ride a few dozen feet yet find oneself over sixty leagues away. By horse, the village of Corm Orp lay seven days north of Iriaebor. Vast distances were nothing to the gateway. There were still many of these scattered across the Realms. A man could travel instantly between any of them if he knew the right spells. And if he was lucky, Morhion added to himself.

"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, then began to describe the mayhem that had resulted from the stranger's wild music, and from the shadows.

Tam took his time, drawing out the tale. "We were lucky none of the village folk were touched by the shadowbeasts," he said finally, his voice hoarse with freshly remembered fear.

There was a long moment of silence. Finally, Mari leaned toward the halfling man. "How long ago?" she asked fiercely. "How long ago did all this happen?"

"Why, the festival was only five nights ago."

Mari looked at Morhion. He nodded in understanding. They had found Caledan's trail, and he was only five days ahead of them.

The following morning, they rode north out of Corm Orp in the pearly light of dawn, hoping to pick up Caledan's trail along the Dusk Road. The morning was bright and cold. Frost glittered on the ground like a sprinkling of crushed glass, and the dome of the sky was as hard and blue as a cobalt porcelain bowl. Periodically, they dismounted to search for any trace of Caledan's passing—all except Cormik, who stayed on his horse.

After this pattern was repeated a few times, Jewel made a disparaging remark to the patch-eyed man. "Tell me, my dear, bloated whale, are you afraid that if you get off your horse, you might not be able to get back on?"

"Not in the least, my sweet, witless strumpet," he said indignantly. "Unlike some of us, who in their senescence have become as nearsighted as a geriatric bat, I can see just fine from up here."

Jewel looked unconvinced. Indeed, getting Cormik onto Plinth's back that morning had been an arduous ordeal involving a fair amount of pushing, grunting, cursing, and—on the part of Morhion—a minor spell of levitation.

"Let's move on," Mari said in frustration. "There's nothing here."

"Many people travel the Dusk Road," Morhion said grimly. "In five days, all traces of Caledan's passage could have been obliterated."

Mari gave a tight-lipped nod but said nothing as she climbed back into the saddle. They nudged their horses into a trot, starting once more down the road.