Waterdeep (8 page)

“Yes, please do,” Berengaria added. “We can always catch more coneys.” The matronly halfling put the dagger away and smiled.

It did not escape Adon’s notice that Berengaria’s Common had suddenly improved. It was clear to the cleric that the halfling had been playing them for fools.

“You’ve known all along we didn’t attack your village, haven’t you?” Adon demanded. “You were stealing our gear while we collected your dead!”

“That’s correct,” Berengaria replied, wincing. Then she turned to Kelemvor and added, “But that doesn’t negate our deal. What’s done is done. Besides, our need is great.”

The green-eyed fighter grunted and took a bite from the rabbit. He had no intention of demanding back what he had offered to the halflings, for Berengaria spoke the truth about their need. Nevertheless, he didn’t enjoy losing his possessions through guile and trickery.

The warrior chewed slowly, considering Atherton Cooper. Sneakabout was taller and thinner than most of his race, and there was a certain menace to his manner. The tall halfling was the only able-bodied male in the camp, and that in itself was suspicious. Still, Sneakabout was the only halfling who had not stolen from or lied to the heroes, and Kelemvor was determined to treat honesty and respect in kind.

“Where are the other men?” the fighter asked between mouthfuls of rabbit. “There weren’t many in the village, and there are fewer here.”

“Gone to massage their vanity while their womenfolk starve in the forest,” Sneakabout replied.

Berengaria turned from Midnight, whom she was trying to comfort, and added, “The menfolk were hunting when the Zhentilar-“

“Zhentilar?” Adon interrupted. “Are you sure?”

“Aye, I’m sure,” Berengaria replied. “They wore the armor of Zhentil Keep, didn’t they? Anyway, the men were gone, or there would have been a different story to tell in Black Oaks. Now our warriors have gone to track down those sons-of-sows!”

“And to get themselves killed,” Sneakabout added bitterly.

Berengaria glared menacingly at Sneakabout. “They’ll be fine without your company,” she snapped.

Sneakabout snorted in reply. “They’ll be outnumbered, outsized, and outwitted.”

Kelemvor agreed with Sneakabout, though he didn’t say so. Even if the halflings caught the raiders, the Zhentilar would cut the inexperienced warriors to shreds. The soldiers of Zhentil Keep were vicious sneaks and backstabbers who would never fight unless assured of an easy victory.

After a thoughtful pause, Sneakabout glumly noted, “I wish I were with the fellows.”

“Why aren’t you?” Adon asked, watching the halfling suspiciously, still not comfortable with the demihuman’s sinister bearing.

“They wouldn’t have me,” the halfling answered, shrugging.

“It was his fault they came in the first place!” grumbled Berengaria, pointing a gnarled finger at Sneakabout’s face. “He had his own pony and a magic sword. That’s what they wanted!”

Adon turned to Sneakabout. “Is that right?”

The halfling shook his head and looked at the ground. “Maybe,” he mumbled. Then he lifted his gaze. “But I doubt it. They wouldn’t have needed to raze the whole town to get what they wanted - they caught me on their way in.”

The halfling’s red-rimmed eyes grew hard and distant. “Say, you wouldn’t be going north, would you? I’d sure like to catch those Zhentish pigs!”

Kelemvor swallowed a bite of rabbit and said, “As luck would have it-“

“Kelemvor!” Adon hissed sharply. “We’ve got our own trouble.”

Sneakabout drew himself up before Adon. “Without your spellcaster’s book, you’ll need all the help you can get. I’m as fine a scout as you’ll meet outside of Elventree.”

Adon shook his head firmly. “I’m afraid-“

“He can ride with me,” Kelemvor noted flatly, his voice a throaty growl. “Where’s your sense of courtesy, Adon?”

The young cleric glared at the warrior for a long moment, once again irritated by Kelemvor’s refusal to listen to him. At last, he decided not to argue the point, as long as the fighter was willing to yield something to him. “Then we leave at dawn!” Adon said, summoning his most commanding voice.

Kelemvor would not be bullied. “No. The halfling dead-“

“Will be buried by halflings!” Adon finished, pointing at Kelemvor with a grease-covered finger. “You don’t care about these people! You only want to prove your curse is gone. Don’t you think we know that?” He glanced at Midnight, who was still staring at the remains of her spellbook. “Your test has cost us too much, Kel.”

The cleric put his hand on the raven-haired mage’s shoulder. He looked at the fire and added, “I just hope we can make it to Waterdeep without Midnight’s spells to aid us.”

The four companions left Black Oaks at dawn - hungry, cold, and wet. During the night, the orange fog had changed to a chill drizzle that continued to fall through the morning. Breakfast had been nonexistent. The halflings had eaten the last of the corn biscuits the night before, and in the gray morning light, the greasy hare looked appetizing only to Kelemvor.

Adon took the lead, suggesting they travel north to Eveningstar then rethink their route to Waterdeep. Sneakabout made the mistake of saying he knew a shortcut, so Adon insisted that the halfling ride with him to act as a guide. Neither enjoyed the experience. Despite his loss of faith, Adon’s conversation was no less pedantic, and Sneakabout was not a tolerant listener.

Kelemvor, his brow gloomy and troubled, followed next. Twice, he tried to apologize to Midnight for losing her spellbook. Each time his voice failed him and he barely managed a croak.

Midnight came last, still too upset to speak. There was a hollow knot of panic and sorrow in her stomach. Since her sixteenth birthday, she had carefully recorded every spell she could learn in the book, and it had become almost an extension of her soul. Without it she felt barren and worthless, like a mother without children.

Still, all was not lost. Midnight still had several spells firmly committed to memory, and she could copy these down in a new book. Some were so common that, given time and the help of a friendly mage, she could easily re-learn them. With a week or two of research, the raven-haired mage might be able to rebuild others. But a few, such as the phantasmal force and plant growth spells, were so alien to her way of thinking that she could never reconstruct them. Those spells were gone, and there was nothing she could do about it.

All in all, the situation was not as terrible as it had at first seemed. Unfortunately, that realization had not yet diminished Midnight’s anger. She desperately wanted to blame somebody for the book’s destruction, and since Kelemvor had been the one who had led them to Black Oaks, he was the easiest target.

But in her heart, Midnight knew that the warrior was no more responsible for the crisis than she was. He hadn’t thrown the spellbook in the fire, and even the halflings had not burned it in malice. It had been an accident, pure and simple, and nothing would be accomplished by venting her anger on friends.

However, Adon wasn’t helping to cool anyone’s temper. Several times, he had chastised Kelemvor for leading the company to Black Oaks, reminding the gloomy fighter that the spellbook would be intact if not for that detour. Amazingly, the warrior had accepted the assertion. Adon’s angry insight the night before had subdued the brawny warrior as no sword ever would, and Midnight resented the cleric for it. Despite her own pain, she did not enjoy seeing Kelemvor’s spirit broken.

Consumed by her melancholy reflections, the magic-user barely noticed as morning passed. By midday, the company was deep in the forest, and she still hadn’t set things right with Kelemvor. In part, this was because the path was too narrow for their horses to walk side by side. So, when Adon unexpectedly called a halt, she guided her mount forward and stopped at Kelemvor’s right.

“Kelemvor-,” she began.

Adon twisted around and held up a silencing hand. “Listen!”

Midnight started to object then heard a loud rustle ahead. It came from far up the trail, and sounded as though an army were marching over a plain of dried leaves. Creaks and rasps, and then dull, distant thuds began echoing toward the company.

“What is it?” Midnight asked.

“I can’t imagine,” Adon replied.

Sneakabout slipped off Adon’s horse. “This is where I earn my ride,” he said, hustling up the path.

The halfling disappeared around a bend. For ten minutes, Midnight, Kelemvor, and Adon sat on their horses. The rustle grew louder, until it could more properly be called an uproar, and the creaks and rasps became squeals and groans. The thuds assumed a rhythmic cadence and grew into thunderous booms.

Finally, Sneakabout quickly came running back, his short legs carrying him at his best sprint. “Off the trail!” he screamed. “Now!”

The halfling’s face was so terror-stricken that no one even thought of asking for an explanation. They simply spurred theirs mounts and crashed into the forest, regrouping thirty yards off the trail.

When Sneakabout joined them, Adon started to question him. “What-“

The cleric didn’t have an opportunity to finish. A hundred-foot-tall sycamore tree stepped into sight, swinging dozens of branches like arms. As its roots twisted forward, an ear-splitting creak echoed through the forest. The ground trembled as the roots flopped onto the trail. Another sycamore marched behind the first, and behind it, a hundred more.

For an hour, the company watched in flabbergasted silence as grim sycamores marched down the trail. By the time the thousandth tree passed, the company’s ears were ringing and their heads were spinning. Kelemvor’s horse grew skittish, and he managed to keep it under control only with the greatest effort.

Finally, however, the last tree passed out of sight and the company returned to the trail. Their ears rang for the rest of the afternoon, precluding discussion of the peculiar sight. But as they rode northward, they saw thousands of huge holes where every sycamore tree in the forest had torn its roots tree and marched off.

Just before dusk, they reached the northern edge of the forest. Eveningstar lay a mile ahead, oil lamps already lighting its windows. The town was unfortified, with about fifty buildings of significant size. The companions rode to the outskirts of town then paused before entering. Memories of the murder accusations in Wheloon were fresh in their minds.

As a crossroads village, Eveningstar had a few stables, inns, and provision markets at the edge of town. Toward the center stood shops of skilled craftsmen who produced wine, wool, farm tools, and, Midnight noted, parchment. The streets were clean and peaceful enough. Although the shops had already closed, men and women moved freely about, paying no attention to the four strangers.

After pronouncing it safe to proceed, Adon nudged his mount forward. Midnight asked the party to wait while she knocked at a parchment shop, hoping the proprietor was still there. Unfortunately, except for businesses serving travelers, it appeared Eveningstar closed at nightfall. She would have to wait until morning to buy the materials for a new spellbook.

On Sneakabout’s suggestion, the heroes went to the Lonesome Tankard, the only inn in Eveningstar. The inn was clean and warm - a welcome relief after the chill ride. An expansive dining room, crowded with travelers and locals, occupied most of the ground floor. Midnight noted with approval that its wooden floors were free from dirt and grime. A stairway along the left wall led to the lodgings on the upper stories.

Sneakabout bribed the guard who was stationed at the desk to watch for unregistered companies. After accepting the halfling’s money, the guard studied Midnight warily. “You wouldn’t be a thaumaturgist?” he inquired.

“No, no,” Sneakabout answered for her, “she’s nothing of the sort. A lady of the arts, that’s all.”

The guard looked doubtful. “His Majesty King Azoun IV has decreed that enchanters of any type must register with the local herald when traveling in Cormyr.”

Sneakabout held out another gold piece. The guard snatched the coin away and said, “Of course, with all the folks on the roads these days, nobody can keep track of ‘em anyway.” With that, he left the desk and allowed the company to conduct their business with the inn’s steward. After the company rented two rooms, the steward showed the four to a table near the back of the taproom.

A young serving girl immediately brought ale and wine then asked if the company wished to eat. A few minutes later, she returned with steaming plates of sliced turnips, boiled potatoes, and roast pork. In spite of her mood, the aroma was enough to make Midnight hungry. She helped herself to generous portions of turnips and potatoes, but had only one slice of the pork.

Even with the fine food, the group had a dreary meal. Midnight wanted to apologize to Kelemvor, but not in front of her other companions. Adon and Sneakabout were the only ones who felt like making conversation, but not to each other. Adon tried to liven things up with a discussion of their route, but everybody else insisted upon postponing that chore until morning. Kelemvor was lost in his own thoughts, and Midnight’s patience was chafing under the relish with which Adon pursued his temporary position as group leader.

When the meal finally ended, the four climbed the stairs to the second floor. The hour was early for sleep, but they had ridden hard that day and would ride as hard tomorrow. Their rooms each contained two cots and a small window overlooking the dark currents of the Starwater.

“The men will take this room,” Adon said, indicating the one on the right. “You take that one, Midnight. I don’t think anyone will mind if we move a bed into the other room.”

“It’ll never fit,” Sneakabout said. “I’ll stay with Midnight.”

Kelemvor frowned jealously, but it was Adon who objected. “You can’t be serious!”

Midnight ignored Adon and smiled at the halfling. “Thanks, but I prefer Kelemvor’s company.”

Adon’s jaw dropped slack. “But you’re-“

“I don’t think it’s necessary to dictate sleeping arrangements, Adon,” Midnight said, her voice calm and even.

Adon shrugged. “You haven’t spoken to Kelemvor all day,” he said. “But it’s none of my business if you want to spend the night with him. I was only being considerate.”