Mrelder tried to return the smile, but his mind was awhirl. He'd never seen such splendid, silver-blue battle armor. Knights in warsteel just as fine were gathering beyond the tall warrior's broad shoulders, but Mrelder's attention was on the bright silver crescent of metal covering the tall warrior's throat, a device that bore an elaborately wrought stylized torch-the arms of the Lords of Waterdeep.

Mrelder had seen its unmistakable likeness that very morning, on a page of an obscure book of Waterdhavian lore. He was looking at the Guardian's Gorget, a magical device of great power, fashioned for and worn by only one man.

"My Lord Piergeiron," Mrelder breathed, awed to find himself in the presence of the Open Lord of Waterdeep.

Piergeiron clapped him on the shoulder in a soldier's thanks to a battle-comrade. Drawing a long dagger, he pressed it into Mrelder's hand.

"Well met, lad. That board of yours is not good for much more fighting; take this." The lord grinned. "If you're so minded, there's work yet for us all."

If? At that moment, Mrelder would cheerfully have followed Waterdeep's Lord into a volcano!

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.