Shadowdale at-1

by Richard Awlinson

  More of the spider hounds prowled the edge of the clearing, avoiding the quick death their pack leaders had found on Kelemvor's sword, and busied themselves by attacking most of the white-skinned creatures that had emerged from the dead trees.

  "Quick, Adon. Help Cyric!" Kelemvor yelled as another of the humanoid creatures moved in to attack the thief.

  Midnight hissed, "If you have you some dark trick to unleash, Kel, now might be the time!"

  "Never ask for what you are not prepared to receive," the fighter growled, then shook his head and braced himself as a trio of the white-skinned creatures that had avoided the dogs approached. Caitlan stood between Kelemvor and Midnight. The best they could hope for, Kelemvor knew, was to keep the creatures away from the girl for as long as possible.

  A few yards away, Adon waded into the sea of quivering body parts that lay in a heap surrounding Cyric as he fought with yet another of the white-faced abominations. This one noticed Adon, ripped off its own head, and sent it flying at the young cleric. The head flew by, baring huge fangs, as Adon sidestepped and swung his hammer at a disembodied, claw-like hand poised to rip out Cyric's throat.

  The hand exploded as the hammer struck, and Adon turned suddenly, the sound of mad panting and the heat of something dark and evil at his ear. The disembodied head floated in midair beside the cleric, its broad smile full of sharp teeth.

  "They're not human," Cyric shouted. "Not even alive, not the way we think of it. They're plants of some sort, shaped like humans!"

  The head that floated beside Adon made an odd sound, like a giggle.

  Adon backed up slightly, never taking his gaze from the head, and raised his hammer. The head rushed toward the cleric, but he struck it soundly in the jaw before it had a chance to bite him. Moaning loudly, the head spun madly to the ground.

  Moments later, after he dispatched the head, Adon saw that all three of the humanoids who had dared to attack Kelemvor now lay in quivering, bloodless pieces on the ground. But, another pack of the creatures was approaching Kelemvor and Midnight, and behind them, a dozen of the creatures were emerging from the forest, their razor-sharp claws twitching as they sliced at the air.

  Midnight ordered her fellows to stand behind her as she attempted to find that perfect center of peace that was required for spellcasting. She began to sway, and her chanting rose above the gibbering of the approaching creatures. Suddenly there was a blinding flash of light and volleys of blue-white missiles leaped from her hands, striking at all of the humanoid creatures in sight. The tide of magic seemed endless, and even Midnight seemed startled by the effects of her spell. The darts of magical light pierced the creatures like daggers, and suddenly the monsters stopped their attack.

  Then the ghoulish creatures began to wander. They looked to the sky, then to themselves, and then they fell, one by one, their flesh losing its consistency as the illusion of humanity fell away and their true nature was revealed. Roots erupted from their bodies, entering the earth, and moments later, all that was left of the creatures was a network of black and white vines.

  Midnight looked down at the pendant, and watched as a few tiny streaks of lightning played across its surface, then vanished. She felt drained.

  The easy prey destroyed, the spider hounds began to emerge from the forest and advance toward the heroes. There were more of the creatures than Kelemvor had realized: at least twenty of the beasts had moved into the clearing.

  Suddenly, something fantastic caught Midnight's eye: a blur of movement, the size and shape of a horse and rider. Then, the quicksilver rider was upon them, circling the party with blinding speed. Midnight felt as if she were in the eye of a whirlwind. A sudden yellow flash caught her eye, and she realized the rider was Adon. But how was he able to accomplish this feat?

  Midnight turned away from her speculations as she watched Adon break from the protective pattern he had formed around the adventurers and speed off toward the spider hounds. He rode through the hounds, his war hammer cutting through the unprepared horde of creatures like a sickle through wheat, and in seconds the spider hounds retreated into the woods.

  Yet even though the threat was ended, Adon and his mount continued to move in a blur until they vanished into the forest. It was obvious Adon had lost control of whatever magic he was wielding.

  "By Mystra, you'll be the death of me yet," Midnight said as ran off on an impossible quest to catch the cleric.

  An icy cold rain started to fall and was seeping through the canopy of trees. Midnight felt a biting sensation as the tiny droplets struck her skin and the winds struggled to force her back.

  Adon, heart pounding, mind racing as he held on for dear life, realized that his lungs weren't drawing air and his tenuous grip on the horse beneath him was giving way. He had given the beast a dose of his potion of speed, the single item he had withheld during Kelemvor's careful inventory of everyone's belongings. Adon knew that it was wrong to lie about such things, but he also knew that the potion had been a boon from the goddess Sune, and it would be her wisdom alone that guided his hand in its use.

  However, when the spider hounds grouped to attack, and Adon received no sign from the goddess, he panicked and took matters into his own hands. He fed the potion to the horse but it was already moving before he could use more than a few drops on himself. The small vial then flew out of his hands as he held on for dear life.

  Now, as the horse's speed stole the breath from his lungs and he neared unconsciousness, Adon saw a vision — a beautiful woman's face, carved from the fleeting specks of light and color that surrounded him in the vortex of speed. The woman's hands reached out and touched the sides of his face, gently pushing him this way and that, as if to fully explore the wonders Sune had bestowed upon him.

  "He's not hurt too badly," Midnight said.

  Adon blinked, and the illusion of motion began to fade. "I thought you were Sune," he said.

  "He seems addled," Kelemvor said.

  "Aye," Cyric said. "But is that anything new?"

  The world abruptly came into focus, and Adon found himself staring up into the faces of his companions. They appeared to be in a forest, although Adon was certain there was nothing but flatlands along the way to the castle. Tiny flickers of scarlet radiance showed through the branches of the trees above them, although some of them appeared quite strange.

  "Midnight, you — you saved me!" Adon said in amazement, a smile crossing his face.

  "You fell off your horse," Midnight said. Adon's saddle and supplies were strewn about on the road beside him. Midnight realized the cleric must have been holding on to the saddle, and it was the bonds that held it in place that shattered under the strain of the horse's speed.

  Horror surged through the cleric. "My face! It's not — "

  "Undamaged," Cyric said wearily. "Same as always. Now give me an explanation for what we witnessed."

  "I don't understand…," Adon said, attempting to appear as innocent as possible.

  "You rode like the wind, Adon. You seemed more a blur of motion than a rider and mount," Kelemvor said. "I thought your magics had failed you."

  "I wouldn't phrase it quite that way," Adon said.

  "I don't care how you would phrase it. What are you holding back from us?"

  Midnight moved forward, and helped the cleric to his feet. "Don't be a fool, Kelemvor," she said. "It's obvious he can't explain what happened, any more than any of us can explain the madness the Realms have been infected with since the gods fell."

  Kelemvor shook his head. "Shall we go?"

  Adon nodded gratefully, and everyone except Midnight returned to their mounts.

  "That was a mistake, Adon." Midnight spoke in hushed tones. The cleric was about to speak when Midnight cut him off. "It took me a few moments to understand. You have potions, don't you?"

  Adon lowered his head. "I had one. It's gone now."

  Midnight frowned. "Any other surprises?"

  Adon became alarmed. "No, Midnight! I swear to Sun
e herself!"

  "Using magic might send you to Sune faster than you'd want, Adon. In fact, you could have killed all of us."

  Midnight nodded.

  "Please don't tell Kelemvor what I did. He'd skin me alive!" Adon whispered.

  Midnight smiled. "We can't have that," she said, and walked away from the cleric.

  "Certainly not," Adon said with a bravado he did not feel. He bent down and began to gather his belongings.

  "Come," Caitlan said to the cleric. "We must be off to the castle right away!"

  "But we're still lost," Adon cried.

  Then, as if in answer to the cleric's words, the trees began to shrivel and melt. Within seconds, the road was again clear and the rain had stopped.

  "Sune be praised!" the cleric said, and rushed to join the others.

  Because his horse was gone, Adon was forced to ride with Kelemvor. His initial preference had been to ride with Midnight, so they might continue their conversation from earlier that afternoon, but Midnight narrowed her eyes to slits and Adon abandoned the notion. Caitlan rode with the magic-user instead. Because both packhorses had been killed, the party was forced to carry their remaining supplies on the backs of the remaining mounts.

  Midnight led her horse, which carried Caitlan, on foot until they were a mile clear of the ruination. The once living forest had already lapsed into an advanced state of decay. Midnight guessed that by morning the forest would be nothing more than the dust and dry earth it had been before their approach.

  The heroes made camp beneath the stars, and ate the food that had not been infested by ants or lost to the arcane legions that had attacked them, then rested beneath the night sky. They would go on. There were no dissenting votes.

  Though he did not suggest turning back, it was clear that Cyric was worried about the strange events that had plagued them all day. Instead of discussing the battle, however, the thief gathered his blankets and went to sleep immediately after dinner.

  Just before he attempted to sleep, Kelemvor watched as Caitlan sat alone, staring off at the horizon. The girl had said very little after the attack in the forest, and the fighter wondered what was going on behind her enigmatic stare. At times Caitlan appeared to be nothing more than a frightened child; at other times her intelligence and resolve reminded him of a battle-weary general. The contradiction was baffling.

  Kelemvor himself had always refused the reins of command. He was uncomfortable with responsibility for anyone but himself. Why then had he accepted this quest with such unquestioning belief that he was the man to lead it? Kelemvor told himself that it had been boredom that spurred him on, causing him to accept the quest and leave Arabel. He needed adventure. He needed to leave the ordered, civilized life of the city behind. But there was another reason he chose to come.

  She can cure you, Kelemvor.

  The fighter knew it was better to cling to the shadow of hope than embrace the light of reality and find himself filled with despair. He could only hope Caitlan was telling the truth.

  Kelemvor's thoughts continued in this vein until he fell into a deep slumber and dreamed of the hunt.

  Midnight took the first watch as everyone else retired, her senses far too alert, far too alive to allow her to sleep or even relax.

  As she sat, listening to the sounds of the night, the mage pondered Kelemvor's strange actions since the battle. At dinner, the fighter insisted that everyone help in preparing the meal. After they ate, he insisted that everyone help bury the garbage, so as not to attract scavengers. He seemed like a different man from the one she'd first met at the tavern in Arabel.

  Perhaps the fighter had come to realize that Midnight was indeed a valuable part of the company, and he felt ashamed of his own poor judgment in accepting her only as a last choice, then having the bad taste to point out that fact again and again. Besides, there was one thing Midnight and he shared — a wild streak that marked them as fit for the life of wanderers and adventurers, and very little else.

  Midnight spent the next four hours wrestling with her growing feelings for the fighter and her questions concerning the pendant that had been grafted to her flesh. Her thoughts led her in circles for hours, until Adon came to relieve her on the watch.

  The cleric watched Midnight as she immediately fell into a deep sleep, and envied her. Still, despite the hardships and the horrors he had faced this evening, despite the foulness of the air, the stench of the dead lands that assaulted his nose, he knew the situation could be worse. At least he was in the company of stout-hearted comrades, and he was free. He didn't have to concern himself over the imminent danger of incarceration or the humiliation he would have faced had Myrmeen Lhal gone directly to his elders at the Temple of Sune.

  No, he was free, and a better man for it.

  On the other hand, just one silken pillow would have been welcome.

  The bedchambers of Myrmeen Lhal were spectacularly designed, with a bowl-shaped ceiling crafted in tiers of concentric circles that spiraled upward to its center. The room was dominated by a huge round bed, a dozen feet in diameter, adorned with red silk sheets and a dozen soft gold-laced pillows. Works of art abounded; some breathtaking, others merely beautiful.

  But the finest work of art, Myrmeen herself, could only be seen through icy black curtains, constantly charged by the finest illusionists of the city, that allowed her to look out on any exotic port of call with only the slightest prompt from her imagination.

  Myrmeen rose from her huge bath, carved from the finest ivory by visiting artisans from far-away Shou Lung, and kept warm by jets of constantly flowing, heated water. The most exotic of oils and enchanted spices treated her skin to fiery delights pleasurable beyond the caress of even the most experienced lover. She hated to end her luxuriant session in the enchanted water, but she knew she dared not allow herself to fall asleep — not unless she wanted to find herself so lethargic by morning that she would have to postpone her duties for a week before the effects passed and she could think clearly again.

  A translucent azure gown, sparkling with tiny stars, found its way to Myrmeen's hand. The gown dried her skin and set her hair in the most regal of fashions as she slipped it over her head.

  The gown was the gift of a powerful — and amorous — mage who visited the city a year ago. And though the magic gown had been checked by her court magicians, Myrmeen worried that the unpredictability of magic might make it dangerous to wear, and promised herself she would do without it from now on. Of course, she had been promising herself this for almost a week.

  If the gown kills me, Myrmeen thought, at least I'll look presentable for the clerics.

  Suddenly she thought of Adon of Sune, and spasms of uncontrollable laughter raced through her. The poor sod was probably shaking in his boots, hiding in the most horrid of places, in fear for his life. Of course he wasn't in any real danger, but Myrmeen couldn't pass up the opportunity to take the conceited cleric down a peg or two; in fact, she had precious few chances to indulge her former talent as a trickster. She sighed and stretched upon the bed.

  She was just about to ring for a page when she noticed something quite odd: the rubies of her golden chalice were missing. Myrmeen rose from the bed, her warrior's instinct dulled by years of rule, and moved too late to avoid the darkly clad man who rushed at her and slammed her back against the bed, knocking the wind from her in the process. She felt the man's weight upon her, holding her in place, as a hand closed over her mouth.

  The man's face and body had been swathed in a gauze that appeared to be some sort of steel mesh. The strips over his face had been arranged to leave spaces for the man's eyes, nostrils, and mouth.

  "Be still, milady. I have no wish to harm you," the man said, his voice low and throaty. Myrmeen struggled all the more fiercely. "I deliver word of the conspiracy."

  Myrmeen stopped fighting, and she felt her assailant's hold lessen a degree. "How did you get in here?" she mumbled into the man's hand.

  "We all have our secrets," he sa
id. "It wouldn't do to give them up."

  "You — you mentioned… the conspiracy," she said, her chest heaving with her imagined fear. She wondered if she should begin to sob, then thought better of it.

  "The villain Knightsbridge is still at large."

  Myrmeen's eyes narrowed.

  "But you knew this. What may come as news is that all three of the agents Evon Stralana used have fled the city. Kelemvor, Adon, and the former thief Cyric left in disguise before highsun in the company of two strangers.

  "Was it not the hands of these three that allowed Knightsbridge to fly free? Think on this, milady. That is all I have to say."

  As Marek started to get up, Myrmeen rolled to the left, as if to bring her hands to her reddened face, and instead grabbed hold of the edge of the bed and delivered a kick with both legs to the stomach of the intruder. From his cry and the crack she heard, she guessed she had found the man's ribs.

  "By the gods!" the thief shouted as Myrmeen delivered an open fist blow that narrowly missed his throat. He recognized the technique and grabbed her arm, realizing his mistake as she kicked sharply into his ankle, bringing a second howl of pain from his lips and causing him to release her arm before he could twist it from her shoulder. Myrmeen had been shouting the entire time, so it wasn't a surprise to Marek when the doors to her chambers burst open and a handful of guardsmen raced in.

  Marek thought first of attacking the guards, or trying to run. But when he considered how easy it would be for him to escape from the pitifully constructed dungeons of Arabel, he held up his hands and surrendered.

  "Get some answers from this dog," Myrmeen said, oblivious to the stares her almost completely naked body had elicited. "Well? Are you deaf? Move!"

  She stopped one of the men. "And send word that I wish to see the minister of defense in the planning room immediately!" She looked down at her torn nightgown. "When I am more properly attired."

  "I told you not to complain about guard duty," one of the guards said as he dragged Marek away, and Myrmeen waited until she was once again alone in her chambers before she let out a wide smile at the words of the roguish guard. But her smile faded as quickly as it had formed when she thought of the trio who had perhaps betrayed her, and the measures she would take to ascertain if this was so.