She spent the day wandering the streets of Arabel, attempting to verify Brehnan's tales of the gods and the odd state of magic in the Realms. Midnight knew that she could spend as much time as she wanted in the search for answers, as she still had the handsomely filled purse she had earned with the Company of the Lynx. If she was prudent, the gold would last her at least three months.
Early in her search, Midnight found The Lady's House, the Temple of Tymora, and paid her admission to look upon the face of the goddess. When her gaze met with Tymora's, some strange emotion stirred within Midnight, and she suddenly knew, beyond any doubt, that this woman was the goddess-made-flesh. There was a feeling of affinity between them, as if on some primal level they shared a great secret or truth, although Midnight had no idea what this might he. Yet the most disturbing part of the exchange was the look the goddess gave Midnight just before the magic-user took her leave.
A look of fear.
Midnight hurried from the temple and spent the rest of the day exploring the city. She did not find a temple to the goddess Mystra, and when she finally braved a local tavern, her inquiries as to the whereabouts of the Goddess of Magic were met with blank stares or shrugs. It seemed not all of the gods had made spectacular entrances on the night of Arrival, as Tymora certainly had. In fact, some gods had not yet appeared at all.
Eventually, Midnight's wanderings brought her to the Pride of Arabel Inn, just in time for eveningfeast. She stood on the doorstep and watched a gigantic black raven that circled like a vulture in the semi-darkness. Then she looked away from the creature and went inside. Taking a table near the back, Midnight ordered a tankard of her favorite beer and a hearty meal.
After a time, a small party of adventurers caught her attention, and although they were seated at the other end of the immense taproom, their conversation one of many in the rapidly filling inn, Midnight found her eyes drawn to the burly fighter and his companions again and again. Finally, she left her table and moved to the far end of the bar, where she could hear their words quite clearly.
'The walls live and breathe,' Caitlan Moonsong said. 'They say no walls truly have ears? These do!'
'And this is to encourage us?' Adon said.
Kelemvor leaned back, downed his ale, and let out a belch. Adon glared at him. The Pride of Arabel was an expensive inn, and one in which a certain decorum had to be maintained. Visiting noblemen sometimes stayed at the inn if rooms became scarce at the palace, and visiting traders and merchants of only the highest rank could afford the prices at the Pride.
For bringing down the Knightsbridge conspiracy, Kelemvor, Cyric, and Adon had a standing offer to visit the inn whenever they so desired, free of charge. Although they had indulged separately, this was the first time they had visited the inn together.
As the adventurers sat, listening to Caitlan's story, Adon noticed a pretty serving girl looking over and smiling at him.
The girl seemed familiar, but the cleric couldn't place her.
'It's not possible for a fortress to be alive,' Cyric noted.
'This one is! The walls can close in on you. The corridors can shape themselves just out of your sight to put you in a maze in which you'll starve and die. The dust itself is enough to kill you — it has the power to solidify into daggers that can pierce your heart or a fierce warrior who never knows fatigue or exhaustion.'
Ah, then how did you escape, little one? Cyric wondered, a smile playing across his shadowed features. He sat with his back to the wall, another hard-earned lesson from his days of thieving, and one quite reasonably applied now, considering the battle with Marek had occurred less than an hour earlier.
It was clear to Cyric that Caitlan wasn't telling them everything, and for that reason alone the thief maintained his silence and covered his advancing smile with a gloved hand.
'Tell me again why we should risk life and limb simply to help you and this mere girl who promises great riches yet wears nothing but rags?' Adon said to Kelemvor.
Cyric noticed that the cleric seemed anxious — so anxious, in fact, that he flinched every time the doors of the inn admitted a new customer. The cleric had been acting strangely ever since he arrived in answer to Kelemvor's summons, and he was now in a mood that made him unfit for human company. The effect was disconcerting.
'Expecting someone?' Cyric said to the nervous cleric. Adon simply grimaced.
'Certainly there's a risk,' Kelemvor said finally. 'But what else is life, if not a series of risks? I don't know if I speak for the two of you, but I cannot bear the thought of spending another day locked within these maddening walls.'
'And my lady is trapped within that unholy place, a prisoner for all time unless you three can rescue her!' Caitlan had become increasingly pale as she spoke, and beads of sweat had appeared on her forehead.
Adon looked away and saw that the serving girl who had smiled at him was drawing closer. She was petite, with flaming red hair that reminded him of Sune herself. She carried a tray filled with drinks and stopped at the table nearby.
Suddenly he remembered their conversation from two nights before, when he met her as a fellow patron at the High Moon Inn. Adon liked the company at that inn, and the girl's wages were too low for her to think of indulging herself in the fineries of the Pride of Arabel.
'Adon,' she said, taking in his full measure.
He could not remember her name. 'My dear.'
A moment later Adon was on the floor, the impact of the serving tray still ringing in his ears. 'Fine advice you gave me, you lout! Demand equal pay! Fair treatment as a person and not merely a serving wench to be ogled at and fondled by the rich drunkards in their fancy clothes who pass through these doors!'
Adon attempted to shake some sense into his rattled brain and failed. Yes, the words certainly sounded like his…
'The conversation was not a success?' the cleric said quietly.
The serving girl trembled with rage. 'I lost my place in line to become the next fine lady of the inn, wife to the innkeeper. A life of luxury thrown away because of you!'
She threw down the tray and Adon was careful this time to avoid it. The serving girl stormed off and Adon regarded his companions.
'How soon can we leave?' Adon said, then accepted Cyric's helping hand.
'Well met,' Cyric said, his smile hidden no longer.
'We must take into account more than our haste to take flight and our desire for adventure,' Kelemvor said. 'Even though magic is untrustworthy, we should bring a mage along on this journey.'
Cyric frowned. 'Yes, I suppose you're right. But who?'
After a moment, Adon said, 'What about Lord Aldophus? He is a sage of great repute, and firm friends with King Azoun.'
''Curious happenstances abound — and all burning Hell breaks loose,'' Cyric said quietly, repeating the phrase Aldophus coined, a phrase whose meaning had taken on a new, somewhat darker significance than the sage had intended when first he uttered those words.
'Aldophus is a dabbler in the physical sciences.' All heads turned to stare at the dark-haired woman who stood before the adventurers. 'I doubt heartily the practice of divining the qualities of base metals and simple dirt will be of much help where the lot of you intend to tread.'
Kelemvor sneered. 'I suppose you could do better?'
The woman raised an eyebrow and Kelemvor studied her face. Her eyes were a deep and fathomless black, with flecks of scarlet that danced within. Her skin was deeply tanned, and he guessed she was from the South. Her lips were full and as red as blood, and a cool smile had etched itself upon her intriguing face, which was itself framed by long black hair that had been braided.
She was tall for a woman, slightly taller than Kelemvor, and she wore a cloak that allowed only a glimpse at a beautiful blue-white star pendant she wore beneath. Her clothing was a deep violet in color, and two large books, bound together by a leather strap, had been slung over her shoulder.
This is man's business, Kelemvor thought, and she's interfering. He started to tell her that, but cried out as his tankard split apart and a dragon made of bluish white fire with a wingspan the size of a man suddenly leaped into existence with a roar that seized the attention of all the inn's guests. The dragon opened its jaws and revealed its fangs, which appeared as sharp as daggers. Then the creature reared up and rushed forward with the sole
