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Everything crumbled. Enormous chunks of stone fell from the ceiling and crashed to the floor, and the walls groaned and cracked as they buckled under a weight they could no longer support. The King of Shadows was dead, and his fortress would be his tomb.
Sand lost sight of his companions in the chaos. For a moment, he saw Neeshka dodging a falling rock, but then a pillar fell down between them, blocking his view and raising a cloud of dust to impede visibility further. If ever there was a time he regretted not being able to cast conjuration spells, now was it. This would be the perfect time to teleport away, but alas.
Sand couldn’t see a way out in the darkness, and the longer he stayed, the higher the likelihood—nay, the certainty—that his frail form would be crushed. He needed to transform into something more durable, something that could withstand a collapsing fortress.
He was a transmutation wizard of exceptional training and talent. Even in the midst of mayhem such as this, it took but a moment to recollect and cast the spell.
Shapechange: Iron Golem
He was lucky he hadn’t used up all of his most advanced spells in the fight against the King of Shadows. Though he had held nothing back, Sand hadn’t seen the point of transforming when it would prevent him from casting spells.
However, the current situation was altogether different. No spell would help him if he got crushed by several tonnes of rock. With a wave of his hands and a rushed incantation, Sand felt himself grow and toughen, transforming into a towering creature of pure metal, strong enough to withstand physical dangers. If Sand had a form that could walk out of this crumbling fortress alive, this was the one.
He could now push away fallen pillars and chunks of rock with ease. He lumbered through the fortress, heading towards the exit. Though he looked for signs of his companions, he didn't spot any of them during his escape. Hopefully, they had already fled.
Sand would have breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the murky sunlight of the outdoors, had he lungs to breathe. He had escaped the fortress alive, and before his shapechange spell expired. In a matter of minutes, he would return to his normal form and begin making his way back to Crossroad Keep. Perhaps he would even run into his companions on the way.
A minute passed, and then another. Sand began to wonder. Had he really escaped so swiftly? How much longer would his transformation last?
He decided to stay put until the spell ended, but minutes crawled by, followed by hours, and soon the sun had set. His spell couldn’t possibly last this long; there was obviously a problem. Had he miscast the spell? He had been in a rush, after all. How long would he be stuck like this?
There was no point in lingering any longer. Who knew how long this… hiccup would last. If it didn’t end on its own, then Sand would need the assistance of a friendly mage, and those were best found at Crossroad Keep.
The walls of Crossroad Keep rose in the distance at last, several days after Sand had set out. He still hadn’t turned back into an elf, and there was precious little he could do as an iron golem, unable to cast any spells to fix himself.
Some farmers noticed him from a distance and shouted in alarm. One of them fled in the direction of the keep, presumably to warn them. As an iron golem, Sand couldn’t speak or make any noise, so he simply continued towards the keep, hoping his lack of hostility might set people at ease.
Sand trudged towards the gates, where a brave guard called, “Halt! Who goes there?”
Sand waved in what he hoped looked like a friendly manner, unable to do anything else. The guard, perplexed, consulted with his fellow, then asked, “Do you mean us harm?”
Sand shook his head in a slow gesture.
The guards whispered amongst themselves, but Sand caught snatches of their hurried discussion. “Is that the gnome’s big metal whatchamacallit?” “I dunno, I think this one looks different.” “Is the gnome back yet? Maybe he would know what to do.” “Not yet. Maybe we should…”
Eventually, the second guard ran off, likely to fetch a higher authority. He returned with Khelgar in tow. Sand was filled with relief to see him; if he had survived, then maybe some of the others had too.
Khelgar looked him over, then gruffly asked, “Are you here to make trouble?”
Sand shook his head again.
“Are you an ally?”
Sand nodded.
Khelgar rubbed his face roughly, clearly exhausted. “Then, since I’m apparently in charge here until we find the Knight-Captain, I’ll say you can stay until Grobnar returns and decides what to do with you. If you cause any trouble, I’ll deal with you myself, with prejudice.”
Sand considered Khelgar an ally, and yet he still felt a figurative shiver go down his spine at the warning. He nodded fervently.
Khelgar turned away, muttering, “How did the Knight-Captain deal with all this? This is ridiculous.” To the guards, he said, “Find something useful for it to do.”
Sand hadn’t had a chance to convey that he needed help. He rushed forward, trying to follow Khelgar, but the two guards immediately brought up their spears to block his path. Sand back away, raising his hands to indicate he meant no harm. It took a long moment before the guards relented, and Sand suspected that any other sudden movements would result in him being expelled from the keep. Better to wait for now and try again later once people let their guards down a little.
The first guard said, “We suffered some damage during the attack. How about you help repairing the wall? I bet you could lift some pretty heavy rocks.”
Sand did his best to send the guard a withering stare. As if he would ever do menial labour.
He ambled towards the keep proper. Perhaps he could find a solution in the library or find someone to help him there.
He ignored the shouted “Hey? Where are you going?” since the guards didn’t seem inclined to actually stop him as long as he appeared nonthreatening.
On his way to the library, people stopped to stare, but none interrupted his progress. They were clearly used to seeing Grobnar’s construct, so another similar entity caused no panic.
The library was a welcome sight, though deserted when he entered. He immediately tasked himself with locating books to do with miscast spells and spell reversal, but it was easier said than done. His large fingers were clumsy. He crushed a book to dust merely by trying to pick it up, and he ripped out the pages of another when he tried to flip it open. He also knocked a bookshelf over when turning around.
It was a mess. A disaster! Here he was, surrounded by books, and yet he could do nothing!
Aldanon picked that moment to step through the doorway. At the sight of the library in shambles, he gasped in horror. “What are you doing in here? Out, I say! Out!”
Despite Aldanon’s words, Sand felt a flicker of hope. Aldanon was a sage, well-versed in arcane matters. Perhaps he could help.
Sand approached Aldanon. He tried pointing at himself, at Aldanon, at the books. He gestured wildly, trying to illustrate the failure of his spell.
To Aldanon, his gestures meant nothing. He was furious at the damage Sand had caused, and he kicked him out without attempting to decipher Sand’s movements.
“And don’t you dare come back!”
Sand didn’t know what to do next. His most likely avenue was now closed to him. At a loss, he decided to head to the Phoenix Tail Inn.
Bending low to fit through the doorway, Sand just barely squeezed through. At his entrance, most conversations inside petered to a halt, the patrons all gaping at him. They would likely have seen Grobnar’s construct before, but it had never come in here. For some reason, constructs rarely frequented inns.
Sand couldn’t say why exactly he had decided to visit the inn. He wasn’t particularly a fan of losing control of his senses and making a fool of himself. However, there was no danger of that at the moment, and the inn was as good a place as any to wait for people to settle down a little.
Sand caught sight of a familiar figure at the bar and his heart filled with inexplicable warmth. It appeared Duncan Farlong had been successfully evacuated from Neverwinter after all.
Sand claimed the empty space beside the bar. He stood in the corner, where he could observe everything going on in the room. Duncan eyed him warily but made no move to stop him.
Conversations slowly resumed, and during a lull in serving drinks, Duncan spoke to Sand. “You here for a drink?”
Sand wanted to scoff. He settled for not moving an inch; ridiculous questions did not merit replies.
At his silence, Duncan said, “Yeah, I didn’t think so. So you just here for the atmosphere?”
It’s not like I’m here for the company, Sand thought.
“Say, are you one of Grobnar’s crazy projects? Because if so, you’d better leave. I don’t trust anything that gnome built not to make a mess.”
Can’t you tell the difference between a construct and a golem?
When Sand didn’t respond, Duncan said, “Suit yourself. Flag me down if you need anything.”
Sand watched Duncan throughout the day. There was something soothing about simply watching the man go about his work serving customers, settling arguments, and wiping tables. It was mesmerizing, though Sand didn’t know why.
Whenever he had a break, Duncan gravitated towards Sand. He kept speaking to Sand as if he could reply, and the more he did so, the more Sand wished he could speak. There were so many scathing retorts he could think of that he couldn’t say.
Sand soon learned that Duncan had no idea how the Sunken Flagon in Neverwinter had fared. He was here at Crossroad Keep temporarily, awaiting news of the Knight-Captain’s survival and the opportunity to return to his inn. In the meantime, he worked for Sal, covering the shifts that Sal had off.
The worst part was that Duncan kept sharing funny anecdotes about the Knight-Captain’s companions, but he never mentioned Sand.
“Khelgar and Neeshka once convinced Elanee to join them in a drinking contest. You should have seen her dancing on the tables!”
“One time, Qara tried to light the candles on a kid’s birthday cake and blew it up instead! The parents forced Qara to make up for it by giving piggyback rides. It couldn’t have happened to a more deserving person.”
There was also the time Shandra and the Knight-Captain almost came to blows over farming tips, the time Bishop found a lost dog and was forced to take care of it until he tracked down the owner, the time a lady of the night solicited Casavir’s patronage, to his horror…
There were stories about everyone. Everyone, that was, except for Sand. Was he that forgettable? Sand felt a prickling pain at the thought. He’d always looked forward to exchanging barbs with Duncan, but perhaps Duncan didn’t feel the same.
Time passed. Every once in a while, Sand overheard people discussing Grobnar’s whereabouts. He’d been seen in a nearby village once or twice, but he hadn’t yet returned to the keep.
Funny though it may seem, the gnome could be Sand’s only chance of getting help in the near future. Sand had patrolled the entire keep several times without ever finding a suitable mage, apart from Aldanon, who still avoided Sand at every opportunity. At least Grobnar would take the time to try to interpret Sand’s gestures, unlike most denizens of the keep.
Sand had gotten used to spending his days in the Phoenix Tail Inn. He enjoyed observing the patrons, who had come to regard him as something of a mascot, but above all, he enjoyed being close to Duncan.
There was something peaceful and uplifting about simply watching Duncan do his work. He seemed settled and happy with the work he did. He never got flustered, and he always knew how to resolve any issues that came up. Watching Duncan filled Sand with—dare he say it—contentment, and even admiration (and affection too, deep down). Sand was unused to such feelings, but he found that he didn’t mind them.
Duncan still spoke to him often, though he spoke little of the Knight-Captain, and of Sand, not at all. Even in stories where Sand had been present, Duncan omitted him. The silence was conspicuous, but Sand didn’t know what it meant. He was desperate to regain his proper form and interrogate Duncan. Why didn’t he talk about Sand? Did he really hate him that much? Or did he know who the iron golem was, and he was just stringing Sand along?
Sand didn’t know why these questions consumed him so. This was just Duncan, after all. Plain, ordinary, pain-in-the-neck Duncan, who never had a nice thing to say about him. Why did Sand miss being insulted? Why did he even care?
Sand didn’t get the chance to puzzle through these confusing thoughts, because Grobnar returned to Crossroad Keep at last. He showed up at the inn before Sand could seek him out. Evidently people had pointed him towards the mysterious iron golem since he was known to be the expert in such things.
“What a find!” Grobnar exclaimed upon seeing Sand. “What brings you here?”
Sand gestured as eloquently as ever, but Grobnar was not discouraged in the least. “Wonderful! A riddle to solve! Can you speak?”
When Sand shook his head, Grobnar continued, “Can you write?”
Sand nodded, then shook his head. Yes, he knew how to write, but putting it into practice was another matter.
“Hmm. Yes, I can see how there might be some difficulty. No problem! Let me just see, I know I have just the thing…” Grobnar hurried away, mumbling to himself.
Sand wasn’t sure whether to feel hopeful or concerned. To think that Grobnar was his best chance…
Grobnar reappeared a short time later with an enormous sheet of blank paper, a broom, and a bucket of paint. “Here, if I lay this paper down, can you use the broom like a brush?”
It was unwieldy, but for the first time since his botched transformation, Sand held a writing implement. It would do.
“I AM SAND,” he wrote in big, clear letters. He cringed internally at the clumsy writing, but at least it was legible.
“You're sand?” Grobnar wondered. “I could have sworn you were an iron golem, not a sand golem. Is that a new type?”
Sand threw his hands up in the air in exasperation, flicking paint from his broom to splatter on the wall as he did so.
Duncan, who had been watching the whole process intently, caught on much quicker. “You’re Sand?” he asked.
Sand nodded.
Duncan inhaled sharply, his face unreadable. “Are you stuck like this as part of some spell?”
Sand nodded again.
“How do we fix it?”
Sand jabbed a finger towards Grobnar, who, in spite of his cluelessness, was still his best hope.
“Grobnar,” Duncan barked, catching the gnome’s attention. “This is Sand, the elf wizard you travelled with. He’s stuck because of a spell. Can you fix it?”
“Oh, of course! Naturally, that makes more sense than what I was thinking. Sand, I’m delighted to know you escaped the fortress alive. Not to worry, I’ll have you fixed in a jiffy. I just need—let’s see…”
Grobnar cast a spell to dispel the magic still affecting Sand, and perhaps it was Sand’s lucky day, because it worked on the first try. He felt himself shrink back to normal, and he finally took in a lungful of air for the first time in weeks. He checked his fingers and tugged on his nose to make sure all was as it should be. Already, he could smell the usual scents you might find in an inn. It was a relief to be an elf again.
“It really is you,” Duncan gasped. “You’ve been here this whole time?”
Sand nodded automatically, so used to not speaking. He cleared his throat and said, “Yes. I couldn’t figure out a way to make it clear it was me.”
“I’m glad to see you’re alive,” Duncan said gruffly. Did Sand detect a hint of relief in his voice?
Sand was about to reply when Grobnar interrupted. “Splendid, it worked! Do you feel any side effects? Runny nose, twitching ears, a sudden urge to dance? No? Then I believe I can declare you fixed. However did you manage to get stuck as a golem in the first place?”
“I cast the shapechange spell too quickly in the fortress of the King of Shadows. I don’t know exactly what I did wrong, but I became stuck like that.”
Duncan laughed softly. “That’s to be expected from you, you charlatan. Do your spells ever work?”
Sand huffed. “I’ll have you know that I am a peerless transmuter, and you cannot hold the circumstances against me. I’d like to see you try casting such a complicated work of arcane magic as the whole building falls apart around you.”
“I can’t believe you’ve been hanging around this whole time. I wouldn’t have thought you’d want to spend so much time around me. Didn’t you get bored?”
“As if I could get bored,” Sand responded. “You never stopped talking to me. Do you enjoy the sound of your own voice that much?”
Duncan shrugged. “Well, as long as you weren’t bored.”
“As a matter of fact, I wanted to ask you about that. You told so many stories about the people at the Sunken Flagon, but you never mentioned me. Why is that?”
Duncan was silent for a moment, clearly contemplating how he should reply. Eventually, he said, “It was too painful.”
Sand wanted to ask why, but he was starting to figure it out. He stood stock-still, overwhelmed by what it all could mean.
In a lighter tone, Duncan said, “You’ve been sticking around all these weeks. Can I take that to mean that you’ll stay a while longer?”
“Oh, if you insist,” Sand replied as airily as he could manage. “Perhaps I’ll try some of that swill you call ale.”
Sand watched Duncan prepare his tankard, the movements comforting and familiar. He hadn’t ever expected to feel at home in an inn. They were loud, messy places. And yet, he felt like he could stay here for good. It was a pleasant feeling.
Neither Sand nor Duncan noticed, but Grobnar had slipped away at some point during their conversation. Though he was often oblivious, even he could sometimes tell when he wasn’t needed. Those two would work it out on their own in due time. Perhaps once they did, he could write them a song!