Drizzt figured that they had done one complete circle and were up to the second level—ten feet at least—when they found the boy waiting for them beside a darkened sidepassage that fell back toward the center of the structure. The lad ignored this passage, though, and started off higher into the tower along the main arcing corridor.

Wulfgar had run out of patience for such cryptic games. His only concern was that Entreri and Regis were running farther away every second. He stepped by Drizzt and grabbed the boy’s shoulder, spinning him about. “Are you Malchor?” he demanded bluntly.

The boy blanched at the giant man’s gruff tone but did not reply.

“Leave him,” Drizzt said. “He is not Malchor. I am sure. We will find the master of the tower soon enough.” He looked to the frightened boy. “True?”

The boy gave a quick nod and started off again.

“Soon,” Drizzt reiterated to quiet Wulfgar’s growl. He prudently stepped by the barbarian, putting himself between Wulfgar and the guide.

“Harpell,” Wulfgar groaned at his back.

The incline grew steeper and the circles tighter, and both friends knew that they were nearing the top. Finally the boy stopped at a door, pushed it open, and motioned for them to enter.

Drizzt moved quickly to be the first inside the room, fearing that the angry barbarian might make less than a pleasant first impression with their wizard host.

Across the room, sitting atop a desk and apparently waiting for them, rested a tall and sturdy man with neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper hair. His arms were crossed on his chest. Drizzt began to utter a cordial greeting, but Wulfgar nearly bowled him over, bursting in from behind and striding right up to the desk.

The barbarian, with one hand on his hip and one holding Aegis-fang in a prominent display before him, eyed the man for a moment. “Are you the wizard named Malchor Harpell?” he demanded, his voice hinting at explosive anger. “And if not, where in the Nine Hells are we to find him?”