We've dug our holes and hallowed caves
Put goblin foes in shallow graves
This day our work is just begun
In the mines where silver rivers run
Beneath the stone the metal gleams
Torches shine on silver streams
Beyond the eyes of the spying sun
In the mines where silver rivers run

The hammers chime on Mithril pure
As dwarven mines in days of yore
A craftsman's work is never done
In the mines where silver rivers run

To dwarven gods we sing our praise
Put another orc in a shallow grave
We know our work has just begun
In the land where silver rivers run

As with everything I do,
To my wife, Diane
And to the most important people
in our lives
Bryan, Geno, and Caitlin



Prelude

Maps

Book 1: Searches
Chapter 1 A Dagger at Their Backs
Chapter 2 City of Sails
Chapter 3 Night Life
Chapter 4 The Conjuring
Chapter 5 The Crags
Chapter 6 Sky Ponies
Chapter 7 Dagger and Staff

Book 2: Allies
Chapter 8 To the Peril of Low-Flying Birds
Chapter 9 There is No Honor
Chapter 10 Bonds of Reputation
Chapter 11 Silverymoon
Chapter 12 The Trollmoors
Chapter 13 The Last Run
Chapter 14 Star Light, Star Bright
Chapter 15 The Golem's Eyes

Book 3: Trails Anew
Chapter 16 Days of Old
Chapter 17 The Challenge
Chapter 18 The Secret of Keeper's Dale
Chapter 19 Shadows
Chapter 20 End of a Dream
Chapter 21 Silver in the Shadows
Chapter 22 The Dragon of Darkness
Chapter 23 The Broken Helm
Chapter 24 Eulogy for Mithril Hall

Epilogue

About the Author




Prelude

On a dark throne in a dark place perched the dragon of shadow: Not a
very large worm, but foulest of the foul, its mere presence, blackness; its
talons, swords worn from a thousand thousand kills; its maw ever warm with
the blood of victims; its black breath, despair.
A raven's coat was its tested scales, so rich in their blackness that
they shimmered in colors, a scintillating facade of beauty for a soulless
monster. Its minions named it Shimmergloom and paid it all honor.
Gathering its strength over the course of centuries, as dragons do,
Shimmergloom kept its wings folded back and moved not at all, except to
swallow a sacrifice or to punish an insolent underling. It had done its
part to secure this place, routing the bulk of the dwarven army that stood
to face its allies.
How well the dragon had eaten that day! The hides of dwarves were tough
and muscled, but a razor-toothed maw was well suited to such a meal.
And now the dragon's many slaves did all the work, bringing it food and
heeding to its every desire. The day would come when they would need the
power of the dragon again, and Shimmergloom would be ready. The huge mound
of plundered treasures beneath it fueled the dragon's strength, and in this
respect, Shimmergloom was surpassed by none of its kind, possessing a hoard
beyond the imagination of the richest kings.
And a host of loyal minions, willing slaves to the dragon of darkness.

* * * * *

The chill wind that gave Icewind Dale its name whistled across their
ears, its incessant groan eliminating the casual conversation the four
friends usually enjoyed. They moved west across the barren tundra, and the
wind, as always, came from the east, behind them, quickening their already
strong pace.
Their posture and the determined drive of their strides reflected the
eagerness of a newly begun quest, but the set of each adventurer's face
revealed a different perspective of the journey.
The dwarf, Bruenor Battlehammer, leaned forward from his waist, his
stocky legs pumping mightily beneath him, and his pointed nose, poking out
above the shag of his wagging red beard, led the way. He seemed set in
stone, apart from his legs and beard, with his many-notched axe held firmly
before him in his gnarled hands, his shield, emblazoned with the standard
of the foaming mug, strapped tightly on the back of his overstuffed pack,
and his head, adorned in a many-dented horned helm, never turning to either