XXII. A DOMESTIC ARRANGEMENT
“My sword does nothing! Nothing!” cried Ystrien. Back in Sembia, his sparring rivals would have yielded if he’d ever managed such a strike. None of the foes he’d bested recently would have survived it. But the iron side table did not care. It’s true that the new scrape on its surface would have made it harder to resell; but the iron side table did not care.
A gridiron, still hot from the hearth in the nearby kitchen, clanked repeatedly against Graddick’s armor. He jumped back and swung his hammer against it, hoping to break it to pieces. The result made a small mark, not even a dent. The gridiron retaliated by ramming a leg into the knight’s left cheek. Blood streamed from his mouth. It was humiliating. He, secretly of Obarskyr blood, a knight of the Order of the Aster, who had dreamed of fighting dragons…
“Magic? Vahaera–anything?” panted Ystrien.
She shook her head. “Some furniture may be charming, but none can be charmed.”
Meanwhile, Cuatala beat the side table attacking Ystrien with a quarterstaff.
The laughable situation had become deadly serious. They were in the living area of Theoderus, the dwarven enchanter. Knowing he was home, they had rung. He had not come to the door, which in any case turned out to be false and trapped. A secret door nearby gave them access to the dwelling proper. At the end of a corridor, another door opened into the wizard’s cozy, tritely appointed living area. Then the side table came to life, and a thud-thud-thud from the adjoining kitchen became Graddick’s impossible gridiron.
Ystrien swung again–another telling blow. Less confident than the first, it still would have made most combatants flinch. Even the grave-dulled senses of the walking dead would have registered something. But the side table went on lunging.
“It’s no use,” said Cuatala.
“In Menzoberranzan,” said Vahaera, “you just put unwanted furniture outside your front door. The next day, it’s gone.”
“This isn’t–” Graddick began.
“There’s a door right over there,” said Vahaera
Then the knight understood. He grabbed the stubby leg of the gridiron, struggling to hold it against his chest as it pulled away as forcefully as a thrashing beast. The grill seared his exposed forearm, but he grimaced and inched toward the door.
After the gridiron had made three anguishing escapes, Graddick found himself in the corridor with it. He sprang back into the room and closed the door. He strode to Ystrien’s side table and wrestled it into the hallway, too, while Cuatala, going out first, distracted the gridiron. Halfling and knight dashed back inside, and then all four pushed the door shut while the furnishings beat against it.
In all their adventures thus far, nothing had made them feel so successful–or so small.
