Shadowdale at-1

by Richard Awlinson

  Nevertheless, Bane feigned anger at the incompetence of his troops for not being able to overcome such simple defenses as he drove them on to their deaths.

  "Not a speck of dust should be left in this temple that we don't know about," Elminster said. He was quite serious, though he knew he was asking the impossible. "Any items of a personal nature must be removed from this hall, as well. There's no telling what may prove useful to our enemy."

  After the horrors Adon had encountered in the desecrated Temple of Tymora, he was reluctant to participate in Elminster's plans for the Temple of Lathander. Ultimately, though, the cleric was forced to think of the temple in the most base terms. It was brick and mortar, stone and steel, glass and dripping wax. A different configuration of these elements and he might have been standing in a stable or an inn.

  If it had been Sune's temple, Adon wondered, could he have been so cold and calculating? He touched the scar that lined his face.

  He didn't know.

  And so he busied himself with the tasks that had been laid out for him. The windows facing the invisible stairway on every floor of the temple were opened, their shutters removed. The windows that faced in all other directions were nailed shut. However, as he moved around the temple, Adon couldn't keep himself from noticing the small items that had been left behind in every room he visited. This was a place of fierce devotion and belief, and yet it was also a place where men and woman laughed and cried over the joys and sorrows life had brought to them.

  One of the beds was unmade. Adon stopped his work and set about the task of making it before he realized what he was doing. He drew back from the bed, as if the power of the priest who had lay there that morning would reach up and destroy him.

  As Adon stepped back from the bed, he noticed a black leather journal hidden beneath a pillow. The journal lay face down and open. Adon turned it over and read the final entry. It read:

  Today I died to save Shadowdale. Tomorrow I shall be reborn in the kingdom of Lathander.

  The journal fell from his hands and Adon ran from the small room, the window he was supposed to nail shut still open, its curtains blowing gently in the gathering winds that caressed the temple as if they were alive.

  The cleric returned to the main chamber, and Midnight was surprised by the pale, worn look on the cleric's face as he approached. She knew that he had been struggling to maintain his resolve, even in the face of his grief and confusion, but there was little she could do to help him.

  Or herself, for that matter.

  But as the magic-user thought about the battle that was to come, she could not help but think of Kelemvor. And although Midnight regretted the harshness of her final exchange with the fighter, she knew that Kelemvor had found her out. No matter what she might say, she loved him. Perhaps, she thought, he loves me, too.

  Midnight had long ago discovered that Kelemvor had a vulnerable side; his posturing was meant to draw attention away from the dark secret of his curse. He was more intelligent and caring than he would ever be willing to admit. And that gave Midnight hope.

  Perhaps, she thought.

  The sound of Adon yelling grabbed Midnight's attention, and she let the possibilities of her relationship with Kelemvor slip away. The cleric was standing next to the old sage, repeating the same phrase over and over, but Elminster was ignoring him.

  "It's done!" the cleric screamed.

  The sage of Shadowdale turned a page in the book he was studying.

  "It's done!" Adon yelled again. Elminster finally looked up, nodded, mumbled, and went back to the crumbling tome he poured over, gingerly turning the pages so they would not become dust and cheat him of some secret bit of knowledge that might turn the tide in the battle with Bane.

  Adon walked off to sulk in a corner.

  Midnight watched the old man, and absently fingered the pendant. The great hall of the temple had been cleared, the pews moved off to the sides of the room. The dark-haired magic-user had given up her efforts to fathom the sage's reasoning. All would be made clear, he had promised. There was little she could do but place her trust in the wizened sage.

  "Do you wish to use the pendant now, good Elminster?" Midnight said as she walked to the sage's side.

  Elminster's face was suddenly plagued with a half-dozen new wrinkles. His beard seemed to draw up slightly. "That trinket? What use have I for that? Ye may keep it. Perhaps it will fetch a pretty penny at the fair in Tantras."

  Midnight bit her lip. "Then what would you have me do here?" she asked.

  Elminster shrugged. "Fortify this place, perhaps."

  Midnight shook her head. "But how? You didn't — "

  Elminster leaned over and whispered in her ear. "Do ye not remember the rite of Chiah, Warden of Darkness?"

  "Of Elki, of Apenimon, draw from thy power — "

  Elminster grinned. "The dream dance of Lukyan Lutherum?"

  Midnight felt her lips tremble. She recited the incantation perfectly, yet Elminster stopped her before she could finish.

  "Read for me now, from the sacred scrolls of Knotum, Seif, Seker…"

  The words erupted from Midnight and suddenly a blinding flash of light filled the room. Then, a beautiful, intricate pattern of blue-white light raced across the walls, floor, and ceiling. It burst through the partially opened doorway leading to the antechamber. In an instant, the temple was ablaze with eldritch fires. Then the pattern sank into the walls of the temple and was absorbed.

  Midnight was stunned.

  "That wasn't so difficult, now, was it?" Elminster said and turned away.

  "Wait!" Midnight cried. "How can I remember what I've never learned?"

  Elminster raised his hands. "You cannot. It is time to prepare for the final ceremony. Go and ready yourself."

  As Midnight turned and walked away, Elminster felt a wave of trepidation pass through him. From the night of Arrival, he had been preparing for this moment. His sight had revealed that he would be met by two allies in this battle, but the identities of his champions had startled him at first, filling him with a dread he would have to be a madman or a fool to ignore.

  Of course, Elminster had not survived more than five hundred winters in the Realms by being either a madman or a fool, though many claimed he was both. Still, though, he would soon place his very existence in the hands of an inexperienced magic-user and a cleric whose faltering belief not only in the gods he worshiped but in himself might bring about the downfall of the temple's only defenders.

  Midnight had quite accurately identified her plight as that of a pawn of the gods, and Elminster sensed that the magic-user was intrigued by the attention, as if she believed she had been singled out for some purpose. Such vanity, Elminster thought. Unless, of course, it was true. He had no way of telling.

  How he longed for the assistance of Sylune, who had had the sense to leave the Realms before they could fall into such a horrid state, or even the Simbul, who had not responded to any of his communications.

  "Elminster, we are ready," Midnight said.

  The sage turned and faced the dark-haired magic-user and the cleric. The main doors of the temple had been propped open, waiting to release the energies that might consume them all.

  "Perhaps ye are at that," Elminster said as he studied Midnight's face. There was not a trace of doubt to be found in the magic-user; her primary interest was the safety of the Realms. Elminster knew that he had no choice but to trust her. "Before we begin, there is something ye must know. Mystra told ye of the Tablets of Fate, but she did not tell ye where ye can find them."

  Understanding dawned on Midnight. "But you can. The spells I helped you perform in your study, to locate intense sources of magic in the Realms — "

  "One of the tablets is in Tantras, although I cannot give ye the precise location," Elminster said. "The other eludes me completely. Although, given time, I could certainly find it.

  "Now let us begin," Elminster said. "This ceremony will take many hours…"

  The
signal fires had been lit. Bane's armies were breaking through the defenses of the eastern woods. They would arrive at Krag Pool within hours.

  It was nearly dawn, and like most of the troops, Kelemvor had been asleep when the fires had been spotted. The blaring horns that accompanied the signal fires woke him up instantly, however.

  "Those fools must have ridden all night," Hawksguard said, shaking the effects of sleep from him.

  "Madness," Kelemvor said, refusing to believe any general would try so foolish a trick.

  "Aye," Hawksguard said. "But we are dealing with the Zhentilar, after all." The fighter smiled and patted Kelemvor on the back.

  In the days spent preparing the defenses near Krag Pool, Kelemvor and Hawksguard had become virtually inseparable. They had come from similar backgrounds, and Hawksguard had known stories of Lyonsbane Keep and of Kelemvor's father in the man's glory days, long before he had degenerated into the soulless monster Kelemvor had known as a child. Hawksguard also knew of Burne Lyonsbane, Kelemvor's beloved uncle.

  But knowledge of the past was not all that bound the two fighters together. They shared similar interests in sword-play, and dueled each other nightly to keep their skills as finely honed as their blades. Hawksguard introduced Kelemvor to many of the men on the detail, and soon they all spoke as long-lost friends. Hawksguard often deferred some of his authority to Kelemvor, and the men followed the fighter's orders without hesitation.

  In fact, as Hawksguard's place was defending Lord Mourngrym in the battle, Kelemvor was given command of the defenses at Krag Pool. Hawksguard's men accepted the change of command readily, and were glad to know that Kelemvor would be at their front during the battle.

  The defensive position Kelemvor commanded was impressive, considering the small amount of time the dalesmen had to prepare it. The road leading to the east from Shadowdale was now completely blocked off just west of Krag Pool. The final load of rocks and debris had been laid along the road, and then the wagons had been overturned to help block the way. Trees had been cut down and laid across the road before the barricade, adding to the inaccessibility of the road. In addition, archers lined the trees to the north of the obstacle.

  The final piece of inspired tactics came from the city planners from Suzail Key, and it centered on the trees that stood sentinel along the road to the west of Krag Pool. Though Kelemvor found both of the planners unlikely military minds — being slight of build, very refined, and having no experience at all with weapons — he had to admit that their trap was nothing short of brilliant. Even Elminster had been persuaded by the plan's originality to help in setting the trap. Kelemvor could hardly wait until the Zhentish troops stumbled into it.

  However, there was nothing for Kelemvor to do now but wait. More fighters were responding to the horns, leaving their homes for perhaps the last time, and rushing to fill out the lines. But once they arrived, they just sat behind the barricade, nervously leaning on drawn swords or plucking bow strings in anticipation.

  Nearly a quarter of an hour passed before anyone spoke. Many of the men had to fight to push their fears away. They were brave men, but none of them wanted to die, and the size of Bane's army was suspected to be ten thousand men strong, although other estimates cut that number in half.

  As the soldiers sat waiting for the sound of battle to get close, Hawksguard stood up and yelled, "Morningfeast, men!" His words cut through the nervous silence like arrows, startling everyone from their morose thoughts. And even Kelemvor was surprised when Hawksguard began to beat on his metal bowl. "Bane be damned!" the fighter shouted. "If I'm going to die this day, it certainly isn't going to be on an empty stomach!"

  The men began to voice similar sentiments, and soon that which had been unthinkable just moments before consumed the attentions of the entire company of fighters.

  Only one man in Kelemvor's company didn't follow Hawksguard's lead. He was a very thin man, with an odd gleam in his eye. He sat beside Kelemvor and Hawksguard as they ate. His name was Mawser.

  The defenders of Shadowdale needed a volunteer for the final trick they would play on Bane's forces before engaging them one on one. The thin man, a devout worshiper of Tymora, had leaped at the chance to set off the trap, even though his own death was practically assured. Mawser believed that his goddess would protect him by endowing him with enough good luck to escape with his life.

  The thin man looked at the clearing to the west of Krag Pool and grinned.

  "I don't understand Bane's strategy," Hawksguard confessed. "He's given us time to get a full night's rest and a meal in our guts. In the meantime, he's run his own troops the entire night. They'll be exhausted and starved by the time they reach us."

  Kelemvor shook his head. "I wish Midnight were here," he said as he pointed to Krag Pool. "Her sorcery could change that water into steaming acid. I'm sure of it. Then we'd only have to force the Zhentilar back and victory would be assured."

  Hawksguard smiled. "Actually, Kel, I was thinking you could just run out over the barricade and chase Bane's troops away all by yourself. We all might as well go home."

  The fighters ate the hastily prepared meal, gave thanks to the gods they worshiped, then settled back to wait for Bane's army. Hawksguard moved among the men, saying his farewells, wishing them victory.

  Kelemvor thought of Midnight. His initial reaction to the dark-haired magic-user had been anger. There she was, a woman attempting to make a name for herself in a man's game, but she didn't seem willing to make the sacrifices necessary to play by the rules. After all, Kelemvor had met warrior-women before. They subverted their sexuality and behaved in a repressed, masculine manner to fit in. They were usually quite loud and quite boring. Midnight, on the other hand, expected to be accepted for what she was — a woman.

  And even Kelemvor's myopic vision allowed him to see that she really was worthy of respect as a warrior. She proved again and again on the trip that she was capable and dependable. And perhaps she didn't need to give up her femininity to achieve her goals, Kelemvor thought. She was attractive and strong, and her generosity, warmth, and humor made her irresistible.

  If they both survived the battle, Kelemvor wondered, would it be different between them, or would there always be some excuse for them not to be together?

  Kelemvor heard a shout, and he turned just in time to see Mawser running down the road to his battle station. Kelemvor smiled as he imagined what the Zhentilar would see as they approached from the northeast: As had been the case for the last few miles of their trek, trees would line the right side of the road — with the exception of the small path to Castle Krag. The trees stretched for a little way down the road, then the forest opened onto the town. On the Zhentilar's left, Krag Pool bordered the road for a while. One hundred yards past the pool, also on the left of the road, they would see what appeared to be a clearing. Covering the entire road right in front of the pool was a large barricade, the last major obstacle on the road before Shadowdale.

  At least, that's the way it seemed.

  Kelemvor could barely contain his excitement as the first Zhentilar appeared on the road.

  XV

  The Battle

  As the Zhentilar approached the barricade blocking the road at Krag Pool, Bane's archers were sent forward in the ranks. Before the army even tried to cross the ten-foot-tall, twenty-foot-wide wall of stone, dirt, debris, and overturned wagons, the dalesmen would have to be routed from the trees, from where they had harassed the Zhentilar all along the road east of Shadowdale. However, Kelemvor had most of his men positioned far back in the woods, so that the Zhentish archers couldn't strike at them effectively. Only when Bane's troops tried to cross the barricade, when the Zhentilar would be disorganized, would the fighter order a full-scale attack. For now, striking at the enemy with arrows from the trees across from Krag Pool would have to do.

  Bane, who was riding in the rear of the line, was furious when the army ground to a halt at the wall. "Why aren't we simply going over that pile of roc
k?" Bane screamed as a young officer reported on the situation. "I want my troops to be in Shadowdale within the hour, so you'd best order them to breach that wall or climb over it."

  The officer was shaking as he said, "But-but, Lord Bane, the dalesmen are waiting for us to try to cross the barricade before they attack. Our troops will be easy targets for them as we climb over the wall."

  "Then why not go around it?" another officer said.

  The Black Lord frowned. "If we go around it, our forces will have to scatter to make it through the woods. That would be fighting the dalesmen on their own terms."

  The young officer from the front lines stammered for a moment. "We will lose a large number of men — "

  "That's enough!" Bane screamed and lashed out with his gauntleted hand. He struck the officer in the face, knocking him from his horse. As the man staggered to his feet. Bane looked down at him, a cruel grin etched on his face. "I am your god. My word is law. We will cross the barricade now, in force."

  The officer mounted his horse. "Yes, Lord Bane."

  "And you will lead the first group over the top," the Black Lord added. "Now, you may go."

  The officer turned and headed back to the barricade. At the wall, the archers were showering the trees with arrows, but the dalesmen still refused to show themselves. "I want a work detail to start breaking up our supply wagons and begin building a ramp so we can cross this damn thing," the young man screamed when he reached his troops.

  Within thirty minutes, the Zhentilar were ready to charge over the barricade. Bane waited anxiously for his men to storm the wall and the killing to begin again. The power of the hundreds of souls Myrkul had channeled to him coursed through his veins, but the God of Strife wanted more. He wanted the power to crush Shadowdale with his own hands, as he could have done before Ao's wrath robbed him of his godhood. He wanted to kill the sage, Elminster, for his meddling ways and because he fought for justice and peace.