Shadowdale (13 page)

Once Midnight and Caitlan were at the other end of the colonnade, Adon stripped completely and gently folded his clothing into neat piles before he made a running start and leaped into the crystalline water. He splashed about and whooped like a child as Kelemvor laughed “Well met, lad!” and stripped as well. Even Cyric entered the pool, although he seemed quite self-conscious in comparison to the others.

Midnight was surprised by Caitlan’s silence as they waited for the men to finish. She enjoyed talking to the girl, yet even as she gently prodded at Caitlan for a few words, the girl remained completely silent, gazing at the horizon.

“Midnight!”

Without turning, Midnight responded. “Yes, Kelemvor?”

“Something I must tell you.”

Midnight frowned, noting the playful tone in Kelemvor’s voice. “It can wait.”

“I might forget,” Kelemvor said. “Don’t worry, we’re in the water.”

Midnight’s shoulders dropped and she looked to Caitlan. “Wait here,” she said. Caitlan nodded.

Midnight rose and found Kelemvor close to her side of the pool. Adon and Cyric remained at the far end.

Midnight’s occasional imaginings about Kelemvor’s unclad physique turned out to be not all that far from the truth: the sight of Kelemvor’s water-soaked, glistening body caused Midnight to shiver, despite herself. She could not remember the last time hands such as his touched her. Kelemvor shocked Midnight from her thoughts with a healthy splash of water as he swam up close, playfully taunting her to join him.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Midnight said, folding her arms over her chest.

“Aye,” Kelemvor said, a mischievous, boyish glint in his eyes.

“That’s why my clothing is remaining firmly in place until the lot of you are safely over that hill,” she said, kicking at the pool and sending a splatter of water at the handsome face of the fighter. He grabbed at her ankle and missed, fell forward and struck his head on the stone edge of the pool with a heavy thud. The fighter’s arms pinwheeled as he began to sink, a slight trace of blood riding the water.

“Kel!” Midnight shouted, and suddenly a whirlpool formed and a hand made of swirling, spraying water lifted Kelemvor from the pool and deposited him on a small bench. Adon raced to the man’s side. Midnight brought their clothing as Kelemvor began to stir.

“He should be fine,” Adon said, examining the wound. “I wouldn’t suggest moving him for a little while.”

“Foolish,” Midnight scolded, but Kelemvor merely grinned and shook his head. Adon placed a blanket over the fighter and went to talk with Cyric, who was already completely dressed.

“Would have been worth it,” the fighter said. Then concern creased his features. “You’re shivering.”

Midnight was, in fact, shivering uncontrollably. She hadn’t tried to throw a spell to rescue Kelemvor, but she was sure that she had somehow rescued the fighter. Perhaps, the magic-user thought as she hugged herself to stop the shaking, the pendant is going to explode. After all, it was magical.

Then Midnight shouted as a second geyser of water shot up from the pool and engulfed her in a sparkling column. The mage was shocked as her clothing, all but the pendant, disentangled itself with no move from her, and pleasant jets of concentrated water washed her clean even as her clothing danced in the air, receiving the same treatment. The others could see very little of what went on inside the column, and when it was over the water was hungrily swallowed back by the pool and Midnight stood fully clothed and shining clean.

Her shivering had stopped, but Midnight was again struck with uncertainty. Well, she concluded, whether it had been the pendant or some power in the water itself that did all this, obviously there was no harmful magic at work.

“Nice trick,” Cyric said, smiling at the magic-user. “But I’m surprised you’d trust your spells after what we’ve seen.”

“I haven’t thrown a spell since those cantrips this morning,” the magic-user said. “I don’t know what’s causing this. It could be Caitlan for all we know.”

Midnight looked over to the place where she had left the girl, and felt a momentary surge of panic when she saw that the bench was empty. Before she was able to say a word there was a splash from behind her, and Midnight turned to find Caitlan taking advantage of the sparkling pool.

Because of Kelemvor’s wound, the heroes chose to make camp in the colonnade, then continue traveling to the castle in the morning. Cyric spent much of that afternoon studying the pillars and statues that surrounded the camp.

The columns were thick and smooth, and a dozen feet above the ground, beautiful stone archways reached out like earthbound rainbows from one column to another. Then stone beams led across to the next column, which again sprouted an archway, and so on.

Some of the columns had been shattered, their spires fragmenting into jagged lances at their peaks. Cracks reached downward from the broken crowns to corrupt the lengths of the pillars without mercy, and huge fragments of stone were dug deeply into the ground beside the fractured columns. Many archways were completely missing, disrupting the once-perfect symmetry of the colonnade and replacing it with a wild, unpredictable design.

The statues were of the most interest to Cyric, though almost all of the sculptures were broken in some way and many were missing their heads. Some were male, some female, but all were perfect physical specimens. The thief stood for hours, staring at one particular statue: a pair of headless lovers with their backs turned to the colonnade, their hands displaying the emotions their missing heads could not.

As darkness closed in, a strong luminescence emanated from the pool, as if its bottom had been lined with phosphorus, even though close examination proved this not to be true. The blue-white light from the water played upon the features of the travelers as they relaxed and occasionally found some topic for conversation.

Cyric related tales of ill-fated adventurers who had sought their fortunes in the legendary ruins of Myth Drannor, ignoring the warnings of the heroes who guarded that place. All his stories ended with the adventurers being killed or disappearing forever. Midnight playfully chastised the man for bringing up such depressing tales.

“Besides, how would you know what those people faced in the ruins unless you had been there with them, and somehow made it out alive?” Midnight asked.

Cyric stared at the water and said nothing. Midnight decided not to press the issue.

Adon began to extol the virtues of Sune and Kelemvor cut the cleric off by changing the subject to dreams and their fulfillment.

“Not to be depressing,” Kelemvor said, directing Midnight’s words back upon her, “but Cyric’s tales have meaning for us all. All too often I have seen men led astray in pursuit of their dreams. Then one day they look around and recognize all the joy and wonder they have missed because they were so busy trying to get from place to place and amass their riches.”

“That’s pretty grim,” Midnight said. “I’ve certainly known such men. Have you?”

“Passing acquaintances,” Kelemvor said.

“I don’t see what that subject has to do with us,” Adon said sullenly.

“It has everything to do with us,” Kelemvor said as he watched the almost hypnotic motion of the water. “What if we are killed tomorrow?”

Caitlan blanched, guessing where Kelemvor’s words were leading.

“As Aldophus said, ‘curious happenstances abound — and all burning hell breaks loose.’ Think of what we faced yesterday. Is anything really worth the risk of facing such nightmares again? Or things that might be worse? I have sworn to go on. But I’m willing to let any of you out of your pledges,” Kelemvor said as he looked at the water.

Adon stood up. “I’m insulted. Of course, I’ll continue. I’m no coward, despite what you might believe.”

“I never said that you were, Adon. I would not have asked you on this quest if the thought had ever entered my head.” Kelemvor turned to face the others.

Midnight saw that Caitlan was trembling, and the magic-user wrapped her cloak around the girl. “My pledge is to Caitlan, as much as to you, Kel,” Midnight said, hugging the frightened girl. “I will continue. There should not have been any doubt.”

Cyric had retreated to the shadows, out of the light from the pool. He understood fully the game Kelemvor was running, attempting to rally the support and enthusiasm of the company by calling those very qualities into question. Yet for Cyric, Kelemvor had merely voiced the same concerns that had plagued him from the beginning of the quest.

I can walk from this, Cyric thought, and no one would move to stop me.

“Cyric?” Kelemvor called. “Where’s Cyric?”

“I’m here,” Cyric said, surprising himself by walking back to the others, and taking his place beside them. “I thought I heard a noise.”

Kelemvor looked around suspiciously.

“But there was nothing,” the thief said and knelt down in front of Caitlan, to whom he had uttered scarcely a word during their entire journey. “For what it’s worth, Caitlan, you have my pledge, once again, to rescue your lady from the castle.”

Cyric looked to Kelemvor.” Some believe that our lives are predestined, that we have little control over them and might as well surrender to whatever fate throws at us. Have you ever felt that way?”

“Not at all,” Kelemvor said. “No one rules my destiny but me.”

Cyric reached out and grasped the fighter’s hand. “Then we finally agree on something,” Cyric said, and smiled, although in his heart he knew that he was lying.

They must be close, Bane thought. He churned the waters of his scrying pool until his arm became tired. Relief spread through him as an image began to form. Yet something was interfering with his attempts to spy on Mystra’s rescuers. Even when the water of the scrying pool finally became still, the image was hazy and indistinct.

Bane studied the nearly still portrait of the humans who had come to rescue Mystra. He was most interested in the woman, yet she was asleep on her side, and he could not see the pendant. He studied the others and a tide of laughter suddenly erupted from the god-made-flesh. Bane’s all too human larynx rebelled against the cruel treatment it was being awarded, and the roar of Bane’s laughter became a hoarse croak.

Bane stood before Mystra, who had been roused by the Black Lord’s cruel laughter. “This is what you send against me?” Bane said, pointing at his scrying pool. “They are even less impressive than Blackthorne’s description of them.” Mystra said nothing.

“I had thought your saviors would at least be fit to provide some sport. But these four?”

Mystra restrained herself from showing any reaction, although she suddenly felt a glimmer of hope. Only four? she thought. Then the sending worked!

When Bane captured Mystra, the goddess had used a fraction of her power to send out a modified geas spell in the form of a magical falcon. The potential avatar it would locate would be young, with immense potential — an untrained, yet great magic-user. When it located Caitlan, there was an instant of contact between Mystra and the girl, and in that instant, the goddess instructed her to find Midnight and the pendant, and gather warriors worthy of her cause.

Mystra also gave the falcon a few spells to bestow upon the one who received her calling. One had been a spell to see into the mind of another, so that a proper champion could be found. The second was a cloak against any form of magical detection. The third and final spell had not yet been utilized, Mystra sensed. A tiny flicker within her essence had signaled the release of the first two spells when they occurred; no such sensation had arrived from the casting of the third. Not yet.

Contempt stained the features of the Black Lord as he spoke again. “At least they had sense enough to leave the child behind. There would have been nothing to gain from her death, other than your further discomfort. And I truly have no wish to cause you pain, dear Mystra. Unless, of course, you leave me no choice.”

Mystra had learned patience in her time as a prisoner of Lord Bane, and she practiced what she had learned with the utmost skill, even though she wished to let out a cry of thanks that her plan had succeeded up to this point. Caitlan had been protected from Bane’s prying sorceries; he did not know that she was still with the party.

“I’ll offer my lenience once more. Pledge yourself to my cause. Help me unite the gods against Lord Ao, so we may retake the heavens. Do this and all will be forgiven. Fail to take the opportunity I offer and I swear I will inflict the torments of the damned upon these humans who seek to free you from my grasp!”

There was a noise behind them. “Lord Bane!”

Bane turned to greet Tempus Blackthorne. The magic-user had pale, almost ivory skin, with long, jet-black hair that he wore in a tail. He wore a breastplate made of pure black steel, with a blood-red jewel the size of a man’s fist in its center. He also appeared to be insubstantial, almost like a ghost.

“Urgent matters require your attention in Zhentil Keep,” Blackthorne said. “Knightsbridge has been found.”

“Knightsbridge?” Bane said, shaking his head.

“The conspiracy against Arabel. He was our agent.”

Bane let out a deep breath. “The one that failed.”

“Lord Chess wishes to execute him immediately,” Blackthorne said. “Yet the man has a flawless record and he was set against impossible odds in his task.”

Bane ground his taloned hands together. “This is a personal matter for you, isn’t it?”

Blackthorne lowered his head. “Ronglath Knightsbridge and I were friends since childhood. His death would be a senseless waste.”

Bane let out a deep breath. “Let us discuss the matter. You will lake my judgment to Chess. No one will dare to question it.”

Mystra watched as Bane and his emissary spoke. The God of Strife’s attention was consumed by the matter that weighed so heavily upon Blackthorne, and Mystra was grateful for the respite from his constant badgering.

At least I have a chance to escape, Mystra thought. That my intended avatar has actually found the one who holds my trust is more than I could have hoped for. I will not get another chance like this.