Waterdeep (23 page)

As soon as Kelemvor heard Adon arrive, he attacked, beating Dalzhel back with a series of overhand slashes. Cyric jabbed at the warrior’s side, but Kelemvor easily blocked, then sent Cyric reeling with a kick to the stomach.

Meanwhile, Adon smashed two skulls as his horse thundered through the Zhentilar camp, then turned around and charged again. This time, however, the Zhentilar were ready for him and stood in a loose group. At the last instant, Adon veered to the left. The cleric’s target lifted his sword to block, but the momentum of the charging horse overpowered the defense. The sword went flying, and the mace smashed the victim’s ribs. A second Zhentilar fell when Adon’s horse trampled him. An instant later, the horse and rider galloped away.

On the other side of the clearing, as soon as Kelemvor kicked Cyric out of the way, Dalzhel fell upon the warrior and thrust for his abdomen. Kelemvor blocked with a low sweep then Dalzhel’s foot came from nowhere and smashed him in the head. Kelemvor’s vision darkened and he felt his knees buckle. The warrior fell to his right, trying to put distance between himself and Dalzhel.

As Kelemvor dropped, Adon turned his horse around for another pass at the remaining Zhentilar. The three men stood huddled together, fear showing on their faces. “Get out of here!” Adon called, spurring his horse into a third charge.

The three Zhentilar glanced at each other uncertainly, then at the bodies of their dead and wounded fellows. An instant later, they turned and ran. Adon followed long enough to make sure they would not return. It did not occur to the cleric that Kelemvor might be in trouble.

In fact, Kelemvor was about to die. He rolled away from Dalzhel but quickly bumped into Cyric’s legs. The thief immediately pressed the tip of his sword against the warrior’s throat and held it there. Kelemvor did not move, expecting Cyric to say something.

Instead, the thief remained quiet, searching his old friend’s eyes for signs of fear. To his disappointment, the warrior’s face betrayed anger and hatred, but no fear. Though Cyric begrudgingly admired his old ally’s bravery, he did not find it admirable enough to spare him.

Kelemvor saw the thief’s eyes harden and knew Cyric had decided to kill him. The warrior swung his left hand and smashed his forearm into Cyric’s wrist, knocking the sword away from his throat. The red blade grazed the side of the Kelemvor’s neck, but didn’t draw blood. At the same time, the warrior spun and swung his feet at Cyric’s ankles, sweeping the thief’s feet from beneath him.

As Kelemvor struggled to save his life, Adon decided the three Zhentilar would not be coming back. He swung his horse toward the other end of the clearing, turning just in time to see Cyric fall, then Kelemvor roll away. Dalzhel rushed forward to defend his fallen commander, but the green-eyed fighter rolled right into the Zhentilar’s feet. Kelemvor wrapped his arms around the burly man’s ankles. Dalzhel fell, cursing and beating the hilt of his sword against Kelemvor’s back.

Adon spurred his horse toward the fight just as Cyric rose to his feet again.

Though he had knocked Dalzhel to the ground, Kelemvor was no match for the bearded man in unarmed combat. Not only was Dalzhel’s strength greater, but he was a more experienced wrestler. Dalzhel worked his way onto Kelemvor’s back and clamped his arms around the warrior’s throat. Kelemvor rolled and pulled at his opponent’s arm, but could not shake off the chokehold.

Cyric reached the fight before Adon. The thief hovered over the struggling pair, looking for an opportunity to plunge his blade into Kelemvor’s back. A moment later, the scarred cleric rode up and Cyric turned to face him. Adon stopped twenty feet away and did not attack. Although being mounted gave him a combat advantage, it also prevented him from picking his target carefully. If he struck from horseback, he was as likely to trample Kelemvor as kill Cyric or the Zhentish soldier.

“Let him go!” Adon yelled, hefting his mace.

Dalzhel glanced at Cyric for instructions, but the thief shook his head. The burly Zhentilar continued choking Kelemvor.

“It’s come down to the four of us,” Cyric observed, noting that Adon had killed or chased off his men.

“I guarantee that you won’t survive this, Cyric. Release Kelemvor and tell me where Midnight is” Adon threatened.

Cyric broke into a fit of maniacal laughter, thoroughly enjoying the irony of the situation. While he, Adon, and Kelemvor fought, Midnight was facing a danger far greater than death.

“What is it?” Adon demanded. “What have you done with her?”

Cyric managed to control his hysterics. “Me? I’ve done nothing with her,” he said. “Bhaal has her - and now that we’re about to kill each other, he’ll keep her.”

“Bhaal!” Adon yelled. “You’re lying!”

Cyric waved his hand around the clearing. “Where is she?” he asked. “I’m not lying. We’ve all lost her.”

Upon hearing this, Dalzhel relaxed his chokehold, but did not release it. Cyric’s words had made him realize that this battle was senseless. Neither side had Midnight or the tablet, and he saw no profit in dying or killing over a pointless vendetta.

“I know I’m an outsider here,” the burly lieutenant said, eyeing Adon and his mace. “But I’m in no hurry to die, which is what’s going to happen to at least three of us.”

Nobody bothered to argue. Dalzhel and Cyric clearly had Kelemvor at a disadvantage. But as soon as they killed the fighter, there would be nothing to prevent Adon from charging. From there, nobody could predict what would happen, but Dalzhel suspected that either he or Cyric would fall to the horseman.

Dalzhel continued. “And if three of us die, nobody’s going to get what he wants. The survivor, if there is one, will hardly be in any condition to take the woman back from Bhaal.”

“What’s your point?” Kelemvor gasped.

“You and your friend are good fighters,” Dalzhel said flatly. “So are Cyric and I. Together, we stand a chance of defeating Bhaal, but-“

“I’d sooner die here,” Kelemvor gasped, struggling to free himself from Dalzhel’s grasp.

“That’s fine and good,” Cyric responded. “But how does it help Midnight? If Dalzhel kills you, then Adon kills Dalzhel-“

“I’d kill you first,” Adon interrupted.

“I’m sure you’d try,” Cyric responded, glaring at the cleric. “But what happens to Midnight? No matter who kills who, Bhaal keeps Midnight and the tablet. Is that what you want?”

The thief’s words had an effect on Kelemvor. He did not trust Cyric, but at the moment that did not matter. He was about to die, which meant he could not save Midnight. What Dalzhel proposed would give him the opportunity to help her. Kelemvor would simply have to be ready for the thief’s inevitable betrayal.

“What do you think, Adon?” Kelemvor asked.

Cyric’s face betrayed his surprise. The thief had little respect for the cleric’s opinion, and when the three of them had traveled together, neither had Kelemvor. “Don’t tell me this fool does your thinking now?” the hawk-nosed man exclaimed.

Kelemvor ignored the thief and waited for Adon’s reply. “Oh, yes. Come, friend Adon. Let’s have a truce until we recover Midnight,” Cyric said sarcastically. “Then we’ll let her choose her own company.”

There had been a time when Adon would have accepted the proposal at face value. But he was not the same naive person the thief had once known. Still, what Cyric and Dalzhel proposed was the only hope he could see for Midnight.

“We’ll accept,” Adon said at last. “But I know you won’t keep to your word.” The cleric paused for a moment then looked into the thief’s eyes. “As I said once on the Ashaba, Cyric, I know you for what you are. Don’t think for a moment that we’ll let our guard down.”

“Then it’s agreed,” Cyric replied quickly, ignoring the cleric’s comments. He turned to Dalzhel. “Let Kelemvor up then let’s prepare to ride with our friends-“

“We are not friends,” Kelemvor warned, rubbing his throat.

Cyric smiled weakly. “As you wish.”

Dalzhel retrieved his sword and sheathed it, then turned to Kelemvor. “Well met. May our blades fail before they cross again.”

To Kelemvor, the archaic mercenary greeting seemed sadly appropriate. The fighter had once again found himself pursuing an uncertain goal with companions he could not trust, just like the time he had helped Lord Galroy “recover” several herds of “stolen” horses from the honest ranchers of Kulta. Just like the hundreds of other quests he had gone on for profit before his curse had been lifted.

Kelemvor sheathed his own sword and replied, “But only after we have broken our backs with bounty.”

Completing the ritual with the traditional sign of respect, the two men grasped wrists and gave each other’s arms a healthy tug. Kelemvor noted that Dalzhel’s grip was sure and strong.

The four riders, Cyric, Dalzhel, Adon, and Kelemvor, stopped their horses at the crest of a bluff. After three rigorous days of riding, their uneasy alliance was still intact.

The night was a moonless one. But the clouds, which were drifting into and out of different patterns of geometric precision, quivered with milky incandescence. The result was a shifting, silvery light that illuminated the land with a dusklike gleam.

The bluff overlooked the shimmering currents of the Winding Water. Ahead and to the company’s left, five stone arches spanned the river; Boareskyr Bridge. In front of the bridge, the remains of a perpetual tent city hugged both sides of the road. All that remained of it now were fire scars, a few charred horses’ carcasses, and the fire-blackened foundations of the city’s only two permanent buildings. On both sides of the deserted settlement, brush as high as a man’s head covered the river’s flood plain.

Kelemvor didn’t even wonder what had happened to the nomadic city. In these times of chaos, it could have been anything.

“The winged horses are over there,” Adon said, pointing a hundred feet east of the bridge. Two pegasi were cavorting low in the sky.

“Then let’s go,” Dalzhel ordered gruffly, urging his horse forward.

Ten minutes ago, when they had first seen the pegasi, the four had debated the wisdom of chasing the winged horses. Adon had won the argument, claiming that the pegasi were as intelligent as men and might have seen some sign of Midnight and Bhaal.

Unseen to the four riders, the objects of their search were lying hidden in the closest fire-blackened foundation. Midnight was asleep, bound and gagged, her head resting on the saddlebag with the tablet. Bhaal was watching the frolicking pegasi, his eyes burning with an appetite for their lives.

Finally, the Lord of Murder could resist the temptation no longer. He decided to go after the winged horses. If Midnight tried to flee while he was gone, it was just as well. Myrkul’s plan called for her to escape near Dragonspear Castle, but Bhaal could see no harm in letting her go earlier. The fallen god thought about taking the tablet with him, but decided against it. If the mage woke and found it gone, she would realize he had lied to her about it being worthless. Besides, it would only be in his way while he hunted.

Bhaal’s contemplation came to an abrupt end when he heard a horse nicker in the brush ahead. The pegasi were still sailing through the air, but he was sure that the sound had come from the ground. That meant someone was out there. Without making a sound, the Lord of Murder climbed out of the foundation and disappeared into the heavy brush.

A minute later, when she was confident Bhaal had truly left her unattended, Midnight opened her eyes. She sat up and began pushing her hands back and forth in her bindings. The magic-user had been working her hands against the leather thongs all day, and had finally stretched them far enough that she now might be able to free herself.

Meanwhile, several hundred feet away, Dalzhel’s horse reared at the edge of a dry gully. On the opposite bank, something rustled the spindly bushes. The Zhentish lieutenant reached for his sword then a man’s form leaped from the hedge. The horse reared again, lashing out with its fore-hooves. Two sharp cracks sounded as it struck the attacker.

The dark form growled then grabbed one of the horse’s forelegs. There was a hollow pop, then tendons and cartilage began cracking. When the horse dropped back to the ground, whinnying in terror and pain, it was missing a leg. Dalzhel leaped free as his mount collapsed.

On the other side of the fallen horse stood Kae Deverell’s form. He hardly looked human. His body had bloated and taken on a doughy texture made more sickening by the silvery light of the luminescent clouds. Because it had been used without regard to preserving it, the body was covered with wounds and bruises from head to toe. The fecund odor of infection hung in the air around the avatar.

The four riders immediately knew they had found Bhaal - or rather, Bhaal had found them. Choking his gorge back, Kelemvor spurred his mount forward and lifted his sword. Bhaal raised his fist and rushed forward. Kelemvor transferred his free hand from the reins to the saddlehorn so he could lean down to Bhaal’s level.

They met with a crash and Kelemvor’s sword sliced into soft flesh. However, Bhaal’s fist also found its mark. The warrior slipped from his stirrups and landed on his back. The impact knocked the breath from his lungs.

Cyric came next, leaping over Kelemvor the instant the fighter hit the ground. The thief’s sword flashed. A sharp hiss sounded as its red blade bit into the avatar. Bhaal roared in anger and turned. The Lord of Murder grabbed a handful of hide then tore a long strip of flesh off the flank of the thief’s horse. Cyric’s mount screeched in alarm and kicked, throwing its rider.

As Cyric fell, Bhaal retreated into the hedge on the far bank.

Adon spurred his mount forward, barely clearing Kelemvor as the warrior tried to rise. The horse’s hooves landed in front of Kelemvor’s nose then Adon galloped on in pursuit of Bhaal. The cleric’s horse crashed into the hedge and slowed to a dead stop, unable to penetrate the thick brush into which Bhaal had disappeared. The horse then slipped down a steep bank and stumbled, spilling Adon onto the creek’s bed.

By the time the young cleric and his three companions recovered, Bhaal was gone. Cyric’s horse had run off. Kelemvor’s and Adon’s mounts were nervously pacing up and down the dry wash. Dalzhel’s horse lay on the ground whimpering. Its left leg had been snapped off at the knee, leaving a white, rounded knob exposed.