across the ground for miles. The mantle of the earth was slick as glass in places, torn apart and filled with debris in others. The red rivers were cooling, becoming solid. Ice no longer fell from above.
The walls of the prismatic sphere that enshrouded the adventurers and their mounts vanished as Midnight rescinded the spell. Touching the blue-white star pendant that once again hung from her neck, Midnight found that there were no signs of the powers that had once resided in the item. Now it was merely a symbol of the strange, apocalyptic encounter between Midnight and her goddess.
Midnight climbed upon her horse and surveyed the shattered countryside. 'Mystra asked me to go to Shadowdale to contact Elminster the sage. I don't expect any of you to go along, but if you're coming, we're leaving right now.'
Kelemvor dropped the sack of gold he was loading onto his horse, 'What?' he screamed. 'And when did the goddess tell you this? We never heard it.'
'I expect you to understand least of all, Kel, but I have to go.' Midnight turned to Adon. 'Are you coming?'
The cleric looked from the magic-user to Kelemvor to Cyric, but no one said a word. Adon mounted his horse and moved to Midnight's side. 'You are truly blessed to be given a mission like this. Thank you for asking me to aid you. I will most certainly accompany you.'
Cyric laughed as he finished packing the party's supplies and grabbed the reigns of the packhorses. 'There isn't much left for me here. I might as well go with you. Coming, Kel?'
Kelemvor stood by his horse, his mouth hanging open with shock. 'You're all going off to follow a fever dream,' he said. 'You're making a terrible mistake!'
'Follow us if you will,' Midnight said, then turned from Kelemvor and rode off, Adon and Cyric trailing behind her.
The way was treacherous and unpredictable, and by the time the trio had begun to make headway on their journey toward the mountains in the far distance, the unmistakable sound of Kelemvor's mount approaching grew louder, until the fighter caught up to Midnight. No one spoke for a mile or so.
'We haven't even split our shares of the booty,' Kelemvor said at last.
'I see,' Midnight said, a slight smile playing across her face. 'Quite so. I am in your debt.'
'Aye,' Kelemvor said as he reminded her of her words in the castle. 'That you are.'
As they made their way across the nightmarish landscape left in the wake of Mystra's destruction, the heroes saw that the devastation grew worse. The roads were gone, and huge craters filled with smoking black tar barred their path, forcing them to double back and circle around to pass some areas. But by nightfall, the mountains came into view, and they made camp overlooking Gnoll Pass.
A caravan of merchants with wagons loaded with wares appeared on the road below the adventurers' camp. The caravan was heavily guarded, and when Adon sprang from cover and attempted to warn the travelers of what lay ahead, he was met with a volley of arrows. The cleric leaped to the ground.
The caravan passed, and soon faded from view. Adon returned to the campsite only to find a roaring fire and Midnight preparing something that appeared to be meat, but smelled quite awful. She seemed intent on the task before her, ordering Kelemvor to turn the meats at certain times as she sliced vegetables with her dagger.
The meal was not turning out well, and it seemed that the party would go hungry that night when Cyric held up a small pouch he had found with Mystra's gifts and motioned for quiet. He reached into the bag and pulled out entire loaves of sweetbread, armloads of dried meats, tankards of ale, blocks of cheese, and more. And yet the pouch seemed empty at all times, even as more food was taken from it.
'We won't hunger or thirst again!' Kelemvor said as he drank his fill of the mead before him.
Later, as they ate a meal taken from the pouch, Kelemvor felt a tightness in the pit of his stomach. The food was dreadful, and he seriously questioned the wisdom of eating any food taken from a magical source during this time of instability in the art. The heroes finished their meal without conversation, but the looks on their faces conveyed their thoughts quite well. Then Midnight broke the silence in the camp with a wish that Adon's healing spells would return at the earliest opportunity to settle their upset stomachs. The comment met with a hearty round of approval from both Kelemvor and Cyric.
As the meal was ended, Kelemvor and Adon stopped to examine the gifts that Mystra had given them, while across the camp, Midnight was helping Cyric clean up after their meal.
'Will you ride all the way to Shadowdale with me?' the magic-user asked Cyric as they gathered the leftovers.
Cyric hesitated.
'We have supplies, healthy mounts, and enough gold to make us wealthy for the rest of our lives,' Midnight said. 'Why not come along?'
Cyric struggled with his words. 'I was born in Zhentil Keep, and when I left, I vowed never to return. Shadowdale is far too close for my liking.' He paused and looked at the magic-user. 'Still, my path seems to lead in that direction, no matter how much I desire it to be otherwise.'
'I wouldn't want you to do something you didn't want to,' Midnight said. 'The decision is your own.'
Cyric let out a deep breath. 'Then I will go. Perhaps from Shadowdale I'll buy a boat and travel the Ashaba River for a time. It would be peaceful, I think.'
Midnight smiled and nodded. 'You've earned the chance to rest, Cyric. You have also earned my gratitude.'
The magic-user heard noises from the other side of the campsite, where Kelemvor and Adon were still taking an inventory of Mystra's gifts. Adon had promised to keep Kelemvor honest, which met with a laugh and a powerful slap on the back from the fighter.
Midnight and Cyric continued their conversations about far-away lands, exchanging knowledge of customs, rituals, and languages. They discussed their past adventures, though Midnight spoke more on this subject than Cyric.
'Mystra,' he said at last. 'Your goddess…'
Midnight wiped her dagger clean and returned it to its sheath. 'What of her?'
Cyric seemed surprised by Midnight's response. 'She's dead, isn't she?'
'Perhaps,' Midnight said. She thought about it for a moment, then went back to the small pit Cyric helped her dig to bury their refuse. 'I'm not a child, not like poor Adon. I am saddened by Mystra's passing, but there are other gods to give thanks to, should the need arise.'
'You don't need to hold back with me — '
Midnight stood up. 'Finish this,' the magic-user said as she gestured to the pit and walked off. Cyric watched her back as she left, then turned to the job before him. He remembered looking up at the warring gods and the childish glee that filled him as their blood was spilled. Ashamed of his reaction to Mystra's death, Cyric then turned his thoughts aside and concentrated on cleaning up.
Down the path, away from the campfire and Cyric, Midnight felt a coldness that had nothing to do with the thin mountain air. There's no point in grieving over Caitlan's and Mystra's passing, Midnight thought. She silently cursed Cyric for mentioning the goddess and scolded herself. There was no malice in the man that she could judge, only a lifetime of hardship that made him uncomfortable with any form of communication except the exact science of words.
Kelemvor, on the other hand, was Cyric's opposite in this regard. His actions and his unspoken declarations excited Midnight. Only when he tried to hide his feelings behind his curtain of ill-conceived and ill-timed banter did he assume the appearance of an infuriating lummox, betraying his many strengths. Perhaps they had a future together.
Only time would tell.
She approached Kelemvor and Adon, and the two were still bickering.
'We split it up equal!' Kelemvor snarled.
'But this is equal! You, me, Midnight, Cyric, and Sune, without whom — '
'You're not going to start about Sune again!'
'But — '
'Four ways,' Midnight said coolly, and both men turned. 'Do what you like with your share, Adon. Give it to your church if you will.'
Adon's shoulders slumped. 'I wasn't being greedy…'
