by Troy Denning
Midnight was warmed by the devotion of her friends, but still was not ready to accept their offer. Though she was talking to both Adon and Kelemvor, she looked only into the warrior’s eyes as she spoke. “The choice is yours, but you’d better hear me out before you decide. Somewhere below Dragonspear Castle, there’s a bridge to the Realm of the Dead.”
“In Waterdeep?” Kelemvor cried incredulously. He was thinking of the city’s famous cemetery, which was properly known as “The City of the Dead.”
“No, the Realm of the Dead,” the mage corrected. Then Midnight looked at Adon. “The other tablet is in Myrkul’s castle.”
Kelemvor and Adon stared at each other in dumfounded silence, hardly believing that she meant the resting place of souls.
“Don’t feel bad if you choose to go home,” Midnight replied, interpreting their astonishment as hesitancy. She gently removed her elbow from Kelemvor’s grasp. “I really don’t think you should come anyway.”
“I thought the choice was ours,” Adon said, snapping out of his shock.
“Aye! You’re not going to lose us that easy,” Kelemvor added, taking Midnight by the arm again.
It was Midnight’s turn to be astonished. She had not allowed herself to hope that Kelemvor and Adon would want to accompany her. But now that they had declared their intention to do just that, she felt less lonely and immeasurably more confident. Midnight threw herself into Kelemvor’s arms and kissed him long and hard.
The rise was so gentle Adon hardly knew he was walking uphill. Halfway up, the cleric stopped and shifted the saddlebags with the tablet to his other shoulder. It was the most exciting thing he had done in almost four hours.
Along with Kelemvor and Midnight, Adon had been traveling along the desolate road for five days. To the west, coarse stems of tall golden grass rose from a prairie of wet, slushy snow. A mile to the east stood the dark cliffs of the High Moor. Ahead, running mile after mile, was the straight and endlessly boring road to Waterdeep. Adon had never thought he would long to feel a steep mountainside beneath his feet, but right now he would have gladly traded a mile of easy road for twenty miles of precarious mountain trail.
Despite a hard morning’s march, Adon’s toes were shriveled and numb. Three inches of slushy snow covered the road, soaking through even the well-oiled boots High Horn’s quartermaster had provided. Judging from the pearly complexion of the sky, more snow would soon fall.
Even accounting for their northward progress, the season had changed early this year. A white shroud already blanketed the High Moor, and sheets of ice crowned the streams that poured from the wild country’s heart.
Adon felt as if the nature gods were conspiring to make his journey difficult and cold. It was far more likely, he realized, that the unseasonable cold was a reflection of the absence of those gods. Without their supervision, nature was running rampant, randomly changing as one mindless force gained supremacy over another.
The unpredictable weather was just one more reason he and his companions had to succeed in their quest. Without an orderly progression of the seasons, it would not be long before the farmers lost their crops and whole populations starved.
As Adon pondered the importance of his mission and the dreariness of completing it, a sharp bark sounded from the other side of the rise. He immediately turned and waved Kelemvor and Midnight off the road, then began searching for a hiding place himself. The land was so barren he finally had to settle for kneeling behind a scraggly bush.
A band of gray appeared at the top of the rise. The cleric squinted and looked closer. Twelve wolves were walking abreast in a straight line. Another rank followed the first, and then another and another, until a whole column of wolves was marching down the road in perfect step.
As the column advanced, Adon wondered whether he should run or continue hiding behind his pathetic bush. One of the wolves barked a sharp command. The first line drew abreast of the cleric’s hiding place, then each wolf snapped its head to face him in a perfect dress left maneuver. Each succeeding line repeated the drill as it passed.
Adon gave up hiding and returned to the roadside, shaking his head in disbelief. Kelemvor and Midnight joined him.
“Nice parade work,” the fighter noted, observing the wolves with a critical eye. His voice was as casual as if the trio had been watching an army of men instead of animals.
With studied disinterest, Midnight asked, “I wonder where they’re off to?”
“Baldur’s Gate or Elturel,” Kelemvor observed, turning and looking to the south.
“How would you know that?” Adon demanded, frowning at the warrior.
“You haven’t heard?” Midnight asked. She lifted her brows to indicate incredulity at Adon’s ignorance.
“The sheep are revolting in the south,” Kelemvor finished.
The cleric put his hands on his hips. “What are—”
Both Kelemvor and Midnight burst into fits of laughter. Adon flushed angrily, and turned toward the road.
“There’s nothing funny about the breakdown of Order,” he snapped.
Midnight and Kelemvor only laughed harder.
Adon turned away, but after five minutes of watching the column pass, he chuckled. “Sheep revolt,” he muttered. “Where did you come up with that?”
“Why else would you need an army of wolves?” Kelemvor asked, grinning.
Finally, the last rank of wolves passed, leaving the trail black and muddy. Kelemvor stepped back onto the road and sank past the ankles in cold muck.
He cursed, then said, “We need horses.”
“True, but what can we do?” Adon asked, stepping into the road. “We’ll never find horses out here, and if we stray off the road, we’re likely to get very lost.”
In five days of marching, they had met only one small band of six hardy warriors. Although the small company had been kind enough to confirm that Dragonspear Castle lay ahead, they had refused to part with even a single horse.
“At this rate, the Realms will be dead a year before we make Dragonspear Castle,” Kelemvor complained, his humor now completely drained.
“Don’t be so sure,” Adon responded. “We should be close. It might be over the top of that rise.” The cleric was determined not to let the fighter’s sudden bad mood infect him.
Kelemvor snorted and kicked at the mud, sending a black spray toward the roadside. “Close? We’re not within a hundred miles of the castle.”
Adon stifled an acid reply. Despite Midnight’s return, the cleric still found himself serving as company leader. It was not a position he enjoyed, but Kelemvor had shown more interest in keeping Midnight company than in assuming command. As for the mage, she seemed content to let someone else guide them, though it should be her, by all rights, who was the group’s leader. Adon didn’t understand why the magic-user shirked the responsibility, though he suspected the reason might concern Kelemvor. Perhaps she feared the fighter could not love a taskmaster. Whatever the cause, Adon was left to play the captain. He felt distinctly uncomfortable in the role, but he was determined to do his best.
“I’m sure Dragonspear Castle is close by,” Adon said, hoping to buoy Kelemvor’s spirits. “All we’ve got to do is keep putting one foot in front of the other.”
“You put one foot in front of the other,” Kelemvor snapped. He turned to Midnight. “You got us away from Boareskyr with a wave of your hand. Why don’t you try again?”
Midnight shook her head. “I’ve thought of that. But it’s risky to teleport—especially with magic so fouled up. I only did it because we would have died anyway. We’re lucky we didn’t appear in the middle of the Great Desert.”
“How do we know we didn’t?” Kelemvor muttered.
Midnight stepped onto the edge of the muddy road and started up the rise. “I’m sure,” she said.
Midnight was relieved that the teleport incantation had worked, and not only because it had saved their lives. It was the first time that her magic had worked correctly sin
ce High Horn. In Yellow Snake Pass, her wall of fire had resulted in harmless stalks of smoke, and at the ford she had animated the ropes by accident. Even at Boareskyr Bridge, her first incantation had failed pathetically, producing a ball of light in place of a lightning bolt.
The mage had feared that she misunderstood the change in her relationship to magic. When she summoned an incantation, only words and gestures appeared in her mind-never any indication of the proper material component or what to do with it. At first, this had disturbed Midnight and she had feared that she was misinterpreting something. But each time she tried to cast a spell, there was never a need for material components. The magic-user had finally decided that, because she tapped the magic weave directly, no intermediary agent—like a spell component—was required to transmit the mystical energy.
The horizon suddenly seemed distant and Midnight realized that she had reached the crest of the gentle rise. She paused to look around. Even though it was barely noticeable, the rise was the highest ground nearby and afforded a view of the terrain ahead.
Twenty yards behind the magic-user, Adon was still trying to encourage Kelemvor. “For all we know, we’re only ten miles away from Dragonspear Castle.”
“Actually,” Midnight interrupted, studying a sprawling ruin to the right of the road, “I’d say we’re closer than that.”
Adon and Kelemvor looked up, then rushed to her side. Nestled against the base of the High Moor, atop three small hillocks, stood the deteriorating walls and toppled spires of an abandoned citadel. From this distance, it was difficult to say how large the castle was, but it might have rivaled the fortress at High Horn.
“What have we here?” Kelemvor asked. He was looking down the road, but neither Midnight nor Adon noticed.
“Dragonspear Castle, what else?” Adon replied. He had no way of confirming his guess, but he suspected there were no other ruins of such size on the way to Waterdeep.
“Not the castle,” Kelemvor snapped. He pointed down the road, where, over a mile away, ten caravan drivers had just left the trail. They were slowly fleeing toward the ruined castle, pursued by a dozen sluggish attackers.
“Someone’s attacking a caravan!” Midnight exclaimed.
“The battle’s not moving very fast,” Adon said, watching the two groups. “Maybe the attackers are undead.”
“You’re probably right,” Kelemvor said, turning to look at the cleric. “And the drivers are moving slowly because they’re probably tired after a long chase.” The warrior’s eyes betrayed his desire to intercede.
Adon silently cursed his companion. While the trio could easily destroy one or two undead, there were a dozen attacking the caravan. Even with Midnight’s magic, they could not defeat so many creatures. He wished Kelemvor would consider the value of their own lives, as most men would. But the fighter was no longer a common man—if he ever had been. A common man would not be looking for the entrance to the Realm of the Dead, nor would he have undertaken a mission that made such a journey necessary.
“We can’t get involved,” Adon said thoughtfully, pretending to think aloud. “If we get killed, the Realms will perish.”
Adon suspected that Midnight would not involve herself with the caravan if he said not to. But Kelemvor would resent an order to abandon the drivers. Therefore, the cleric wanted the fighter to make the decision for himself. Besides, Adon had no wish to let the burden of abandoning the caravan rest upon his shoulders alone.
Midnight studied the scene for a full minute, weighing Adon’s words against her desire to help. If they abandoned the drivers, she would feel guilty for the rest of her life. But the mage also knew that helping could endanger the tablet.
“We can’t interfere,” she said, turning away. “There’s too much at risk.”
Adon breathed a sigh of relief.
“I don’t know about you two,” Kelemvor grumbled, eyeing his companions with disapproval, “but I can’t abandon innocents to their deaths. I’ve done that too often—”
“Think with your head, not your heart, Kel.” Midnight’s words were surprisingly gentle. She laid a hand upon his arm. “With the gods themselves against us, we cannot—”
“But they’ll die!” Kelemvor objected, pulling his arm free. “And if you allow that, you’re no better than Cyric.”
Nothing could anger the mage more than being compared to Cyric. “Do what you want,” she snapped. “But do it without me!”
Midnight’s outburst upset Kelemvor, but he didn’t let that prevent him from starting toward the battle. Before Kelemvor had taken a dozen steps, Adon called, “Wait!”
The cleric could not allow the company to separate again. No matter what danger lay ahead, they stood a better chance of survival if they faced it together. “We can’t let the undead into the castle, or we’ll be cut off from the Realm of the Dead.”
“True,” Midnight muttered grudgingly. She didn’t know whether to be angry that Kelemvor had forced Adon to change his mind, or to be happy that the cleric had found a way to justify saving the caravan.
“As slow as the battle’s moving, we can reach the castle before the undead.” Adon sighed. “Perhaps we’ll find the inner ward in defensible condition.”
“If we do,” Kelemvor said, “we’ll let the drivers in and keep the undead outside. That’s the caravan’s best chance—”
“And ours,” Midnight agreed. She had misgivings about intervening in the fight, but at least Kelemvor was willing to do it safely. “If we’re going to do this, we’d better hurry.” The three companions started toward the castle at a trot.
Ten minutes later, a lone rider approached the top of the rise. After his one-time friends had abandoned him, Cyric had crawled off the road. There, sustained by the vigor of the sword, he had fallen into a slumber more deep and profound than he believed possible. It had not been a peaceful sleep, filled as it was by the stench of death and the screeches of the damned, but it had been a restorative one.
Then, after two days of walking, he had met the same six riders that Midnight’s company had passed. The thief recited a cleverly fabricated story of how the trio had robbed him and left him for dead. The riders sympathetically reported that the scoundrels were on the road ahead. Despite Cyric’s clever story, however, they refused to give him one of their horses. Instead, they offered to allow him to ride with them until they reached the nearest stable. That same night, the thief had killed all six—five of them in their sleep. Then, taking a horse, a bow, and a quiver of arrows, he had turned north after Midnight’s company and the tablet.
When Cyric reached the top of the rise, he realized that he had caught his enemies just in time. Dragonspear Castle stood to the right of the road, and Midnight’s company was just slipping into the outer ward. Then the thief saw the caravan moving toward the gate, their awkward attackers following. Noting that there was about to be a battle, Cyric strung his stolen bow and spurred his stolen mount. He did not want to miss the chance to put a few arrows in his old friends’ backs.
In the outer ward of Dragonspear Castle, Midnight had almost given up any hope of defending the crumbled fortress. The outer wall was so pocked with holes and breaches that nothing short of an army could man it. Fortunately, the inner ward was in better condition. All four of its towers still stood, and the walls remained more or less intact. The inner gate hung askew on its hinges, but looked as though it could still be closed.
After a quick inspection, Kelemvor declared, “We can hold the inner ward. Midnight, go to the southwest tower and let us know when the caravan reaches the outer wall.” The warrior stepped behind the inner gate and inspected the hinges. “Adon and I will close this when the time comes.”
Midnight quickly climbed to the top of the wall, then went to the southwest tower. It was the tallest and most secure of Dragonspear’s remaining towers. A spiral stairway ran along the wall facing the courtyard, and the only entrances to its rooms were from the staircase. The stairway itself had only two entrances, o
ne from the top of the wall and one from the courtyard. At one time, each entrance could be sealed in case the courtyard or walls were overrun, but the doors had been battered off their hinges long ago.
Midnight entered the tower’s staircase and climbed to the top room. It had once served as the office of someone important, perhaps the steward or bailiff. A heavy, age-worn desk sat near the door, and the remnants of tapestries, now moth-eaten and faded, hung on two walls. In the center of the room hung a rusting iron chandelier, three of its sockets still containing the stubs of ancient and yellowed candles. So that the chandelier could be lit easily, it was suspended by a grimy rope running through a pulley system and tied off to an eyehook in the wall.
The room had two small windows. One overlooked the outer ward, and through it, Midnight could see the path from the outer gate to the inner. Through the other window, she could see the inner ward and the inner gate.
Kelemvor and Adon had found a long beam and were using it to lever the gate closed. Midnight could see that there would always be a gap between the gate and the wall, but she still felt more secure. The gate would certainly make the inner ward defensible.
Despite her increased sense of safety, though, Midnight was upset with Kelemvor for dragging the company into this conflict. To satisfy the warrior’s sense of virtue, he was risking all of their lives and letting the fate of the world hang in the balance. Still, Midnight wasn’t surprised. The fighter had always been a shortsighted, stubborn man, and that had not changed when Bane lifted his curse. The only difference was that, instead of seeking payment for even the slightest favor, he now insisted upon correcting each and every iniquity he encountered.
Even if it was frustrating and inconvenient, Midnight thought she could live with Kelemvor’s stubbornness, but only after the tablets were returned to the Planes. Until then, even if it meant distancing herself from her lover, she could not let her feelings interfere with her duty any longer.
But at the moment, Midnight’s duty was to make sure her friends were not surprised when the caravan arrived. As long as she continued watching Kelemvor and Adon, she was neglecting that duty. The magic-user turned to the other window.
