The grain convoy circled halfway around the city before entering through the north gate. The grain from Longsaddle had been ordered by the Glimmerstone Council of Mirabar. They would buy it and resell it to the city's residents at a high price, and the residents would then supply it to merchants from distant lands at an even higher one.
They said, "Ghosts scare you out of your wits, but people scare you to death!" Everyone who had witnessed the incident at the south gate was deeply grateful to have survived. Even those who hadn't been afraid at first—like the two elves—had later been frightened by the others. After handing the grain wagons over to the trade official sent by the council, the convoy's dutiful guards hurriedly joined the rest in taking refuge at the Temple of Tyr. In this high-magic world, if you met a stranger with formidable spellcasting skills who also possessed a terrifying ability to fight hand-to-hand, then that stranger was either an avatar of a god or a shapechanged dragon. Given the minuscule chance that a god might appear in the mortal realm, you could be absolutely certain: that fellow was a dragon walking among mortals.
As a temple devoted to a Greater Deity, the Temple of Tyr in Mirabar was nowhere near as grand as the temple of the Goddess of Commerce, which stood near the marketplace on the other side of the city. This greatly displeased Vistark Orey, the temple's proud high priest, but there was nothing he could do about it. The people of this mining and trading city were enamored with the wealth that metal trading brought, while the Glimmerstone Council controlled the city's affairs. Apart from providing medical treatment, the Church of Tyr had almost no influence over the city. Vistark could only show off his influence by raising the price of healing to absurd heights, but that foolish decision made the Church of Tyr's position in Mirabar even worse.
When Drizzt and his twelve companions arrived at the Temple of Tyr, the temple knights refused to let the Drow enter. The furious barbarian Wulfgar nearly crushed the guards' skulls, while Bruno, unable to lift his battleaxe, could only rely on his mouth to launch vicious insults. As for the Halfling, there was no point counting on him at a time like this.
The guards and mercenaries who had entered the temple found the Cleric responsible for healing. "What? A hundred gold pieces for one treatment? You'd have better luck trying to rob the Temple of Waukeen!"
"Before this winter, it cost only ten gold pieces to treat a minor injury! It's gone up tenfold in just one winter! Father Jama, this is outrageous! We've been friends for years! You can't take us for fools!" Gosa, who knew the healing Cleric well, complained indignantly. Father Jama, his face looking somewhat aged, gave a dispirited, bitter smile. "Gosa! When have I ever taken you for a fool? High Priest Orey set the price himself. There's nothing I can do!"
Gosa furrowed his brow. "Has the high priest gone mad? Why would he make such an outrageous decision? He's practically cutting off the temple's roots!" Jama leaned closer and lowered his voice. "What else could it be? A few weeks ago, High Priest Orey tried to join the Glimmerstone Council, but the councilors rejected him without a second thought! When he got back, he flew into a rage and cursed them out, then raised the price of healing tenfold." Gosa sneered. "High Priest Orey was being far too presumptuous! Why would the Glimmerstone Council, a place where people make big money, let him join for nothing?" Jama sighed too. "That's right. High Priest Orey was determined to expand the temple's influence, but he was too eager for quick results!"
"Maybe this is actually a great opportunity," Gosa murmured, stroking his chin.
"What great opportunity?" Jama asked, puzzled.
Gosa casually brushed it off. "Nothing! Hey, check my arm for me first. It's been bothering me these past two days. And just so you know, I can't pay you!" Jama looked helplessly at the shameless mercenary leader, grabbed his arm, and squeezed it all over. He asked in puzzlement, "What did you run into? Nearly everyone's injured!" Gosa drooped his head. "Don't ask. We've had the worst luck! First a dragon walking among mortals beat us to a pulp, then we ran into a savage barbarian. Ow! Be gentler!"
"A dragon? You mean a dragon walking among mortals? That's not a very funny joke! I've had tea with Bane's avatar!" Jama thought his old friend was making it up. "You think I'm joking? I'm telling you, that dragon's already entered the city! Lady Sunderland herself led him in! Don't believe me? Ask my companions if it's true!" Gosa said, pointing to the people beside him.
The others then talked over one another as they described what had happened at the south gate. "Hahaha! Little Sunderland's got some nerve, teasing a dragon! And she even made it back alive! That's the biggest joke I've ever heard!"
Inside the Hall of Sparkling Stones, a meeting to plan for the coming sales season had stalled because Lady Sunderland was temporarily absent. The portly Marquess of Mirabar, Erastu Larim, was chatting and laughing with the councilors.
"I'm certain our mineral products next year will amaze everyone! Just look! More than twenty metallurgical experts and alchemists! They're the most learned people in the world when it comes to metals. Why, they know more than Dwarves!" At those words, the only Dwarf councilor in the Hall of Sparkling Stones, Agranth Heavy-Hammer, curled his thickly bearded lip in disdain. He was the highest-ranking among Mirabar's thousands of Dwarves and loyal to the city. But as a priest of Dumathoin, the Dwarf god, he was even more certain that Dwarves were the only people in the world who truly understood the secrets of metal. There were no exceptions!
The self-satisfied marquess had clearly noticed the silent Dwarf's scornful expression. Waving his disgustingly fat hands, he addressed the councilors around him even louder, expounding on his grand vision. "Just wait and see! The finest experts! I've given them the best possible treatment! They'll be able to extract high-quality metal even from the poorest ore! Mysterious alchemical formulas will make ordinary iron as magical as Mithral! We won't have to rely on trading in huge quantities to survive anymore! Small batches of exquisite products are the best choice! Enchanted armor! Legendary weapons worth a fortune!" Lost in his vision of a glorious future, Marquess Erastu looked utterly transported with excitement.
A councilor hesitantly interrupted the marquess's fantasy. "But our output would fall drastically, leaving us far from able to meet the needs of all the cities! That would badly damage our reputation. People would be furious. This has been going on for years, and the other lords are already displeased!"
"Then they can buy more legendary equipment! I'll sell it to them at a fair price! And if they really don't have any gold, those paupers can learn from Goblins and Orcs! Wooden shields are sturdy too! Hahaha!" The grossly obese marquess laughed arrogantly. The other councilors laughed along with him. The councilor who had spoken sighed, his face flushed red with embarrassment. The Dwarf councilor beside him, who had been listless until then, snorted and kicked at the chair beneath him with his short legs.
As the councilors recklessly mocked the southern nobles for their decline, the council chamber doors opened, and a guard with a panicked look rushed inside. Marquess Erastu scolded him furiously. "Didn't anyone teach you to knock before entering? You uncouth fool! Get out! This is no place for you!"
"But, my lord! I'm Lady Sunderland's messenger. She has something important to tell you!" The deeply embarrassed guard fumbled for words.
"What could be so important? Is it more important than our trade plans? Hahaha! Very well! I'm a generous lord! Guard, tell us about this so-called important matter of yours, and let me see if it's really so urgent!" The lord's affectedly elegant manner was nauseating, but no one dared laugh at him—except the Dwarf!
The guard glanced awkwardly at the other councilors. "But—"
"If you won't speak, get out of this room!" Erastu was annoyed by Agranth Heavy-Hammer's mockery, but the Dwarf's importance to Mirabar meant he could only vent his anger on the poor guard instead.
"Yes, my lord! A dragon walking among mortals has entered Mirabar. Lady Sunderland told me to inform you to prepare for an emergency!" The guard had no choice but to deliver the message.
"A dragon walking among mortals? Hahaha! Did you come here just to amuse us?" Everyone in the chamber burst out laughing, even the Dwarf!
"It's true, my lord! We saw it with our own eyes! The grain convoy from Longsaddle was captured by the dragon! Mr. Elrago of the Habel Family has been eaten! Lady Sunderland personally saw through his disguise! But the lady governor has managed to keep the dragon calm for now!" To convince the marquess, the guard had no choice but to present his own guess as fact.
The Dwarf councilor, Agranth Heavy-Hammer, stopped laughing and interjected. "Lady Sunderland would never make such an outrageous joke! So either this guard is lying!" The messenger hurriedly swore that he was telling the truth. "Or a dragon really has entered Mirabar!" At that, the Dwarf's expression changed.
Everyone's faces changed at the Dwarf's words. Panic and confusion erupted, and the chamber descended into chaos, with tables and chairs thrown into disarray. The portly Erastu was even more terrified. He called frantically for his guards. "Degafur! Degafur! Hurry! Get me out of here! Get me out of here!"
The Dwarf councilor called out too. "Torg! Torg! Damn it! Rally the Axe of Mirabar! Rally the Axe of Mirabar! We're going to war with a dragon!"
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