dragon as if it was what she had intended to create, she had been terrified.
The magic-user touched the pendant once more. Perhaps it had something to do with the dragon. Then again, perhaps it was only the unstable nature of magic that caused the dragon to appear.
Unable to decide the real source of the misfired spell, Midnight turned her attention to finding the Scarlet Spear.
Then, in the street ahead of her, Midnight saw a horse, and a man called out to her. It was Thurbrand, the mercenary who had challenged Kelemvor at the inn.
'Fair daffodil!'
'I am known as Midnight,' she said as the man approached. There was no one else on the street. The name he called her brought a slight tinge of amusement to Midnight, despite the cries of her better nature to beware the smiling man before her.
'I am no one's 'fair daffodil.''
'Then there is no justice in this world,' Thurbrand said, his green eyes picking up the light from the brilliant moon overhead.
'What do you want, Dragon Eyes?'
'Ah, I see Kelemvor's tender mercies have not left you unscarred,' Thurbrand said softly. 'He has that effect on many who wish to embrace his friendship. He has suffered much, Lady Midnight, and he inflicts that suffering on all those around him.'
'Just 'Midnight,'' the magic-user said as she felt a sudden chill and pulled her cloak tight about her shoulders.
Thurbrand smiled and brushed a strand of hair that had revealed a bare spot back in place. 'Come, I offer a place to rest for the night, and company who will appreciate one as lovely and capable as yourself.'
Thurbrand turned and walked in the direction of his horse. 'Perhaps we can discuss business as well.'
Either Midnight's eyes deceived her, or the horse Thurbrand walked toward was adorned with a blood-red mane; a horse that was the very image of the one she had been separated from outside the city of Arabel. Heart racing, Midnight watched as Thurbrand stopped and looked over his shoulder. Midnight sauntered to his side, smiling as a plan began to form in her mind. Perhaps Thurbrand would be able to assist Midnight in proving to that overbearing fool Kelemvor that she was not a woman to he trifled with, although Thurbrand himself would not have cared for the direction her thoughts had taken.
'More specifically, the business that scoundrel Kelemvor did not have the sense to employ you for. There is much I would like to know.'
Midnight frowned and cast a forget spell upon Thurbrand. There was a soft, blue-white flash at the base of his skull and Thurbrand cocked his head in annoyance, swatting at the back of his neck. 'Damn bugs,' he said sharply. 'Now, what were we talking about?'
'I don't remember.'
'Strange,' Thurbrand said as he mounted the ebony stallion, then looked to Midnight who held out her hand. Midnight leaped, sinking her boot into the fighter's hand, almost dragging him off the mount as she settled comfortably on it herself.
'Strange?' she said.
'I can't seem to remember either.' Thurbrand shrugged. 'I suppose it was of no matter.'
'Aye,' Midnight said, and she gave the mount a gentle kick. Then she held on tightly as the riders suddenly found themselves in motion, racing through the night. 'I suppose you're right. Lovely mount you've got.'
'Purchased him just last week. Somewhat unruly, but fearless in battle.'
Midnight grinned and patted the flank of the horse. 'Takes after his master, I would guess.'
Thurbrand laughed and rested his gloved hand on Midnight's bare knee, then removed it as the horse shot forward, forcing him to hold the horse's reins or risk falling.
Midnight wondered if she knew a spell to make the man keep his paws to himself, and his head on his own pillow in the dead of night. In truth, it didn't matter. If Midnight chose not to entertain company this evening and if her magic failed her, she still had her knife.
A knife always worked.
Midnight smiled to herself and relaxed slightly. Kelemvor wouldn't turn her away after he saw what she was going to do to Thurbrand.
Kelemvor returned from his fruitless quest angry and tired. He found Adon mysteriously bunked out on the floor, and roused the man long enough to find that all had gone according to plan: Gelzunduth had provided the false documents. Once Kelemvor had the papers, Adon crawled back to his bed of crumpled blankets on the floor and immediately fell asleep.
The fighter wanted to know how the mission had gone and, more importantly, why Adon was not spending the night in the temple, but he was relieved Adon hadn't volunteered an explanation. A vivid memory of an evening spent on watch, listening to the cleric endlessly praise his goddess, and himself for that matter, was enough to keep Kelemvor from asking for an explanation of even the simplest matter: Adon would invariably turn the conversation into a chance to praise Sune.
Hours later, when Kelemvor was sound asleep, Adon woke from his dreamless slumber and found he could not return to sleep. The cleric had feared he would find an armed guard waiting to escort him back to the dungeon at his humble quarters in the Temple of Sune, and so he had avoided the temple completely that night. Adon was grateful to Kelemvor for his generosity in letting him stay the night, but he had learned it was unwise to voice such sentiments to the man. He would find some other way to give thanks.
Of course, Adon knew that he was being overcautious. After all, Myrmeen had given him until highsun the following day to leave Arabel. But if her mood had changed, he might have found himself on the receiving end of an assassin's sword. His experience with the serving wench at the Pride of Arabel had made him wary.
So Adon dressed in the semi-darkness, attempting to ignore the condition of the room. The cleric's quarters had always been meticulously kept; Kelemvor's room looked as if some minor disaster had swept through the place, leaving weapons, maps, dirty clothing, and bits of half-eaten dinners laying everywhere. Judging from the look of the room, Kelemvor did not allow the cleaners access under any circumstances.
Realizing he should at least try to retrieve his belongings, Adon left the inn, and nervously traveled the back streets to the Temple of Sune. Once he reached the temple, he saw no signs of any guard, so he entered and charged a fellow Sunite with the task of retrieving certain belongings from his adobe. The Sunite rumbled some less than good-natured threats, mostly concerned with battering Adon's thick skull with his flail for having disturbed his slumber. However, once his fellow cleric understood that Adon was to be taking permanent leave, he acquiesced with enthusiasm.
When the Sunite returned from the adobe, Adon checked to be sure he had packed his war hammer, as he would likely need it from the girl's description of the castle. Then Adon returned to the Hungry Man Inn, cleared a small section of the floor for his belongings, and fell into a deep sleep.
Come first light of morning, Cyric woke the slumbering pair with news that his mission had also proceeded smoothly. Kelemvor immediately dressed and went to check on Caitlan's condition. He was pleasantly surprised to find her sitting up, attacking the breakfast that Zehla had only just brought.
'Kelemvor!' Caitlan cried when she saw the fighter. 'When do we leave?'
Zehla gave Kelemvor a warning glance.
'As soon as you are able. And — '
'Is Midnight with you? I have such questions for her,' Caitlan said. 'She's a wonder, don't you think? So beautiful and intelligent and talented — '
'She won't be coming with us,' Kelemvor said, noting the distressing effect his words had on Caitlan. The girl turned pale before his eyes.
'She has to come with us,' Caitlan said.
'There are other magic-users — '
'It's my quest,' Caitlan said, her true age showing for the first time. 'You take Midnight or you don't go at all!'
Kelemvor rubbed his forehead. 'You don't understand. Zehla, explain to her that a woman is not appropriate for a mission of this type.'
