A figure emerged from the wall just as the rest of the adventurers, accompanied by two guards, appeared behind Kelemvor and Midnight. The figure turned, looked at his guests, and froze. He was extremely handsome, with thick black hair, deep azure eyes, and a square-set jaw. His clothing was a glaring testament to the lateness of the hour. He wore a frock that revealed his bare arms, hairy bare legs, and bare feet ending in nervously twitching toes. His arms were thick and strong, his muscles well-tended. A crimson band encircled his right upper arm. He cut a glance to the older warrior, who merely shrugged.
"I wasn't expecting guests," the black-haired man said. Then he straightened up, cleared his throat, and flashed a smile. He approached the travelers. "I am Mourngrym, lord of this place. How can I help you?"
Kelemvor was about to speak, but a guard leaned toward the fighter, his axe held in a threatening manner. Mourngrym scratched the side of his face as he motioned for the travelers to hold for but a moment, then he took the guard aside.
"Good Yarbro," Mourngrym said. "Do you remember our little discussion concerning the down side of over-zealous behavior?"
Yarbro swallowed. "But, milord, they have the look of vagrants! They have no gold, no supplies, they walked into town, and their only form of identification is a charter which is almost certainly stolen!"
"And how was it that my men found you on the outskirts of Myth Drannor all of two winters ago?"
"That's different," Yarbro said.
Mourngrym sighed. "We will talk again."
Yarbro nodded, then turned to leave the chamber with the other guard. Kelemvor was relieved to see the guards go. It would have been difficult explaining why they had given the guards names other than their own to gain access to the tower, and they might have been forced to keep the adopted names so as not to arouse suspicion.
The older warrior stood at Mourngrym's side. A look passed between Kelemvor and the old man as Yarbro brushed past the fighter on his way out. They both grinned. "This is Mayheir Hawksguard, acting captain of arms."
Thurbrand winced. "Acting captain of arms? What happened to the old one?"
"I would rather not discuss that until I understand your purpose for being here," Mourngrym said as he turned away. "What happened to the lot of you?"
All but Adon surged forward, and six versions of what they had witnessed erupted simultaneously. Mourngrym rubbed his tired eyes and glanced at Hawksguard.
"Enough!" Hawksguard shouted, and there was silence in the chamber.
"You there," Mourngrym said to the sullen, scar-faced man. "I would hear your version of the tale."
Adon stepped forward, then told all he knew of the events that plagued the Realms in the least amount of words possible. Mourngrym leaned against his throne and frowned.
"You might have noticed a few of the precautions that have already been put into effect around here," Mourngrym said. "It is feared that Shadowdale will be under siege in a matter of days." Mourngrym looked to Thurbrand. "To answer your earlier questions, the old captain of arms infiltrated Zhentil Keep and nearly died getting us this information. He is in his quarters, recovering from his injuries.
"Hawksguard will lead your delegation to Elminster after morningfeast. Tonight you are my guests." Mourngrym yawned. "Now if you will excuse us, I believe there were other reasons I was woken from the tender embrace of sorely needed sleep. We will speak further come morning."
Each of the adventurers were then led to private chambers, where steaming baths and soft beds lay in wait. Midnight went out to get some air, and after walking around near the tower, she returned to her room to study her spells. But as she opened her door, she heard a slight splash. Someone was in her room, waiting for her to return.
She thrust open the door and flashed her lantern into the bedroom. There was a startled yelp as the lantern illuminated a large man leaping out of the room's bathtub. He ran for his clothes and weapons, which lay in a heap nearby.
"By the gods," Kelemvor muttered as he saw who the intruder was. "Midnight."
Kelemvor shook himself off like a cat, then picked up a towel. He gingerly dried his chest, where the cut he received fighting the white spider had healed, but was still slightly tender. Midnight set her lantern on a small table across from the bed. She held open her arms. "Come here, Kel. I'll help you with that."
Even in the dimly lit room, she could see his grin.
In the other chambers of the Twisted Tower, the night did not pass so peacefully. Cyric was haunted by nightmarish visions of Brion's death, which played over and over in his head as he slept. A number of times Cyric cried out and woke up, sweating. And each time he went back to sleep, the nightmare returned.
In another room, Adon stood at the window and looked out on the rooftops of Shadowdale. All around the town, he saw the spires of temples, although he could not discern what gods they were a tribute to. Come morning, when a rather plain serving girl named Neena knocked on his door, he was still standing at the window. She entered and lay down the clothes he had given the servants for cleaning.
"Morningfeast is due to commence shortly, good sir," she said.
Adon ignored the girl. Brushing the bangs out of her eye, she touched Adon's shoulder then drew back as he spun on her, his hands set to deliver a killing blow. When he saw it was only a servant, he faltered and stood silently. Neena looked at the cleric's face, then turned away respectfully.
To Adon's failing heart, the gesture was worse than any physical blow.
"Leave me," he said, then he prepared himself for morningfeast.
Kelemvor was standing across the hall from Adon's door as Neena left. He heard the cleric dismiss her and shook his head. Adon won't be healed inside from that scar for a long time, the fighter thought as he turned to knock on Thurbrand's door.
"They're about to serve morningfeast," Kelemvor said when Thurbrand finally opened the door.
"I've already been informed," the bald man said. "You may leave now."
Kelemvor pushed past the fighter and shut the door behind him. "We should talk… about you and your men."
"Men die," Thurbrand said and sat down on the bed. "Those are the fortunes of war." The bald man kicked his sword across the room and looked up at Kelemvor. "I'm leaving, Kel. Vogt and Isaac are coming with me."
"Aye. I expected as much."
Thurbrand ran his hand over his bald head. "I'll go back to Arabel and tell Myrmeen Lhal what I've seen. I'm certain she'll drop the charges."
"Charges? I thought we were wanted for questioning!"
Thurbrand shrugged. "I didn't want to alarm you," he said. "Perhaps I should just tell her you're all dead. Would you prefer that?"
"Do as you will. But that's not what I came here to talk to you about." Kelemvor looked at Thurbrand's sword, now laying in the corner. "You blame yourself for what happened in Spiderhaunt Woods."
"It doesn't matter, Kel. It's over. The blood of my entire company is on my hands. Can you wash it away with your consoling words?" Thurbrand stood, walked to the corner, and picked up his sword. "I might as well have killed them myself." The bald man swung the sword halfheartedly in the air, as if to chase his thoughts away. "Besides," he said quietly, "there are many more deaths than theirs on my conscience. You know that."
Kelemvor said nothing.
Thurbrand grimaced. "I still see the faces of the men who died in my stead — in our stead, so many years ago, Kel. I still hear their screams." Thurbrand paused and looked up at Kelemvor. "Do you?"
"Sometimes," Kelemvor said. "We chose to survive, Thurbrand, and that's a difficult decision to live with. But what happened to our friends has nothing to do with the Company of Dawn. The company had no choice but to follow us into the woods. If they'd stayed on the plain, they'd all have died with no chance to fight back."
Thurbrand turned his back on Kelemvor. "Why are you so concerned about this?"
Kelemvor leaned against the door and sighed. "There was a girl — about the same as Gillian wa
s — who started with us on our journey. Her name was Caitlan."
Thurbrand turned to look at Kelemvor, but the fighter was staring off into space, reliving Caitlan's death.
"She insisted on coming with us, and she died when I was supposed to be protecting her."
"And you feel that you're to blame," Thurbrand said.
Kelemvor let out a deep sigh. "I merely thought you might like to talk about the company."
"Gillian," Thurbrand said after a moment. "She seemed rather young to be an adventurer, didn't she?"
Kelemvor shook his head. "I've seen younger on the road."
Thurbrand closed his eyes. "She was filled with enthusiasm. Her youth… gave me back some of my own. I wanted — no, I needed her around. I was certain I could protect her."
A long silence hung over the room as both fighters thought about companions, some long dead, some dead only a few days. "It was her choice to come with you," Kelemvor said at last and turned to leave.
"And it's my choice to get out of Shadowdale before I end up dead, too," Thurbrand said softly. "I'll be away from here by highsun."
Kelemvor left the room without saying anything.
Hawksguard smiled and shook his head in disbelief. "What do you mean 'this is not a good time?' I haven't led these good people to Elminster's tower just to have them turned away."
"I'm sorry you bothered. You'll have to come back later. Elminster is conducting an experiment. You know how little it takes to arouse his anger if he is interrupted in such moments. Now I suggest you people move on, unless you wish to find yourselves transformed into horseflies, or receive some similar, unpleasant fate."
Lhaeo attempted to shut the door only to find an unusual doorjamb blocking the way. Hawksguard winced as the heavy door pressed against his foot with greater force than Elminster's scribe could ever apply. More of the sage's enchantments, he thought, then forced the door back a bit.
"Look here," Hawksguard said as Kelemvor appeared at his side and shoved at the front door with him. "I have an unhappy liege. If I have an unhappy liege, then you have an unhappy liege. And if we have an unhappy liege, then — "
Suddenly the door swung open wide, and Lhaeo moved out of its way. Hawksguard and Kelemvor were both tossed forward and fell in a tangle at the scribe's feet.
"Oh, let them in, lest he begin the sordid tale of woe all over again!" a familiar voice called out.
Midnight felt flushed with awe at the sound of Elminster's voice. She heard the sound of footsteps on rickety stairs growing louder. Then, a white-bearded sage appeared at the foot of the steps and fixed Midnight with his gaze. The number of lines surrounding his eyes seemed to double as he squinted, as if he doubted his senses.
"What? Ye again! I thought I had seen the last of ye in the Stonelands!" Elminster said. "Mourngrym sent word that someone with a message of importance would visit me. That's supposed to be ye?"
Cyric helped Kelemvor to his feet. Adon stood back and watched.
Midnight refused to allow her anger to get the better of her. "I carry the last words of Mystra, Goddess of Magic, as well as a symbol of her trust; it is an item she told me to give to you, along with her message."
Elminster frowned. "Why didn't ye tell me this when we first met?"
"I tried!" Midnight said.
"Obviously, ye didn't try hard enough," Elminster said as he turned back to the stairs and motioned for her to follow. "I don't suppose ye would consider leaving that troublesome entourage with Lhaeo while ye relate this vitally important information?"
Midnight drew a deep breath. "I don't suppose I would," she said. "They have seen what I have seen, and more."
The sage cocked his head to the side as he climbed the stairs. "Very well," he said. "But if they touch anything, they do so at their own risk."
"There are dangerous objects here?" Midnight said as she climbed the winding staircase behind the sage.
"Aye," Elminster said as he looked over his shoulder. "And I am the most dangerous of them all."
Then the sage of Shadowdale looked away and did not speak again until the heroes had left the stairs and entered his chamber.
Midnight was certain something would fall on her if she dared another step into the sanctum of the wizened sage. There was a window directly ahead, and the beams of sunlight that pierced the air beside her revealed a small army of dust particles floating in the air. There were parchments and scrolls, ancient texts and magical artifacts strewn about the modest quarters of the sage.
"Now," Elminster said. "Give me the details of thy involvement with the goddess Mystra. Then tell me her exact message, word for word."
Midnight related all that she had seen, starting with her brush with death on the road to Arabel and her salvation by Mystra, and finishing with the seeming destruction of the goddess at the hands of Helm.
"Hand me the pendant," Elminster said.
Midnight pulled the pendant over her head and gave it to the sage. Elminster passed the pendant over a beautiful glass orb that glowed with an amber cast and waited a moment. When nothing happened, the sage brought the pendant even closer to the orb, touching the cold metal of the star against the sphere, while holding the item as far from his body as possible. The globe had been designed to shatter if any powerful object was brought within its range, but nothing happened as the pendant touched it.
Elminster's eyes narrowed as he looked up. "Worthless," he said and dropped the pendant to the floor.
"There is no magic within this trinket." Elminster kicked the pendant across the floor. It landed in the corner and a cloud of dust rose. "Ye've been given my time and my patience," Elminster said. "Neither is to be trifled with, especially not in these trying times for the Dales."
"But there is powerful magic in the pendant!" Midnight said. "I've seen it. We all have!"
And soon the stories began to flow from both Cyric and Kelemvor. Elminster looked to Hawksguard wearily.
"That's all," Elminster said finally. "Ye may leave now, and rest assured that the protection of the Dales lays in the hands of those who think better than to waste the precious time of its defenders with tall tales and fantasies that ye cannot even substantiate."
Midnight stood, staring in shock at the old sage.
"Come on," Kelemvor said. "We've done all that we can here."
"Aye," Elminster said. "Begone!"
Suddenly the pendant shot from the corner and hung in the air beside the old sage. Elminster's gaze fixed on Midnight once more. She felt a cold wave of panic pass through her mind.
"A minor display of your magic does not interest me," Elminster said in a low and measured voice. "In fact, these days it's rather dangerous."
The pendant started to spin in the air. Sharp streaks of lightning played across its surface and began to radiate out from the star.
"What's this, then?" Elminster said.
There was a blinding flash of light, and a cocoon of blue-white lightning formed around the old sage, cutting him off from view. Something that looked like an amber whirlwind erupted within the cocoon, searing its edges. Seconds later, the cocoon dissolved in a puff of smoke and the amber streaks of light vanished.
"Perhaps we should talk further," Elminster said to Midnight as he snatched the pendant from the air.
Hawksguard moved forward.
"A word, great sage," he said, respectfully.
"Is it one that immediately comes to mind or must I guess?" the sage muttered. Hawksguard stopped for a moment, then laughed heartily. Elminster looked to the ceiling. "What? Can't ye see I'm busy?"
Hawksguard drew himself to attention. "Elminster, Lord Mourngrym would have a word or two with you about the defenses you have cluttered the Twisted Tower with."
"Would he now?" Elminster said. "Where is he? Show him in."
The muscles in Hawksguard's face twitched. "He's not here."
"That does present a problem, does it not?"
Hawksguard's face was turning red. "He sent me to
fetch you, good sir."
"Fetch!? Am I a dog, then! And after all the help I've given that man!"
"Good Elminster, you turn my words against me!"
The sage thought about it for a moment. "I suppose I do at that. But I cannot leave here today. There are elements at work that I must watch carefully." Elminster gestured at Hawksguard. "Come close," he said. "I have a message for our liege."
The edges of Hawksguard's mouth twitched as he approached. "You're not going to tattoo it on my flesh, are you?"
"Of course not," Elminster said.
"Or change me into some unearthly beast, then set me to the winds that I may repeat the message to all I may find until I am at last brought before Lord Mourngrym?"
Elminster rubbed at his forehead and cursed. "Where did I get this reputation?" he said absently. Hawksguard was about to answer, but the mage's wrinkled finger pierced the air before him, entreating him for silence. Elminster gazed into Hawksguard's eyes.
"Tell him that I am terribly busy preparing the mystical defense of his kingdom. The wards I have placed in the Twisted Tower are for his own good, and he should accept them as such."
Hawksguard was sweating in his armor. "That is all?"
Elminster nodded. "The three of ye, come forward."
Kelemvor, Cyric, and Adon carefully navigated the length of the room.
"Each of ye has witnessed sights that very few will ever know. Where do ye stand on the defense of the Dales?"
The trio stood in place. Kelemvor looked to Midnight, who averted her eyes.
"Are ye deaf? Are you with the dale or not?"
Adon moved forward. "I wish to fight," he said. Elminster looked at the young cleric, intrigued.
"Do ye, now?"
Kelemvor looked to Midnight. Her gaze told him that she had no intention of leaving, even though she had fulfilled her agreement with the goddess. Anger coursed through him. He did not want to stay, but he could not bring himself to leave Midnight behind. "We've come this far. Bane tried to kill us all. I will fight if there is a reward in it for me," the fighter said at last.
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