It was just before morningfeast, and the bald man found himself being roused from a short nap by a series of kicks to the back. He was then greeted by the sight of Kelemvor's boot looming over his skull.
'Traitors? What's this about the four of us, of all the beings who walk these Realms, being traitors?' Kelemvor shouted.
'Suspected traitors,' Thurbrand said. 'Now please remove your foot before I hack it off at the ankle!'
Kelemvor stood back from the bald man. Thurbrand rose, and a symphony of moans and crackles sounded as he ironed the kinks from his back, neck, and shoulders. The adventurers and Thurbrand's party were camped at the outskirts of Spiderhaunt Woods.
'How are your companions, Kel?' Thurbrand said as he got up to get some food.
'They live.'
Thurbrand nodded. 'And Midnight? Is she well? We have the matter of an outstanding debt — '
Kelemvor's sword left its sheath before Thurbrand could utter another word. 'Consider it cancelled.'
Thurbrand frowned. 'I just want my hair back.'
Kelemvor looked around the camp. The telltale skitter of his sword leaving its sheath had caught the attention of at least six men, who now stood with weapons to the fore, waiting for a word from their leader.
'Oh,' Kelemvor said, and replaced the sword. 'Is that all?'
Thurbrand scratched his bald pate. 'It's enough,' he said. 'Although my mistresses seem to like this look.'
Kelemvor laughed, and sat beside Thurbrand as he ate. Cyric, who had been wakened by the argument, made his way to the fighters. He walked slowly, and his arms gleamed in the bright morning sunlight with dark bruises from the treacherous ride through Shadow Gap.
'You look — ' Kelemvor said as the thief approached.
'Don't say it,' Cyric said, and took a plate of food. 'If you looked or felt the way I did, you'd be dead.'
'You're not,' Kelemvor said absently.
'I'm not convinced,' Cyric said, running his hand through his matted hair. 'Midnight? Adon?'
'Adon's still unconscious,' Kelemvor said.
'Then he doesn't know,' Cyric said, his voice low as he made a gesture with his hand across his face.
Kelemvor shook his head.
Cyric nodded, then turned and barked a command at one of Thurbrand's men. The man looked to Thurbrand, who closed his eyes slowly and nodded. The man brought a warm mug of ale to Cyric, who downed the contents in one swift motion, then handed the mug back.
'That's better,' Cyric said, turning to Thurbrand. 'Now, what's this talk about traitors?'
Thurbrand related the tale of Myrmeen Lhal's battle with the attacker who had identified himself as Mikel, and Cyric laughed. 'Marek never could come up with a decent alias.' he said.
The bald man frowned and went on with his story. He told them of his meeting with Lhal and Evon Stralana, and the party he'd been asked to arrange. 'Naturally I insisted on leading the company myself,' Thurbrand said. 'For a long time it's been common knowledge that the Knightsbridge conspiracy originated in Zhentil Keep. When we learned of the band of Zhentish assassins who are tracking you, your innocence became somewhat obvious.'
'You had doubts?' Kelemvor said.
'You paid for false identification and a false charter, then left the city in disguise, running out on your contracts to serve and protect Arabel. Then this Mikel — or Marek — implicates you in the conspiracy. I believe you can see the obvious conclusions that were drawn.' Thurbrand grinned. 'But of course, I had no doubts.'
'So why didn't you just turn around and go right back to Arabel?' Cyric said.
Thurbrand frowned. 'Once we learned what lay ahead for you, the only lawful decision was to blaze our way through the Shadow Gap and come to the aid of a former ally.'
Kelemvor rolled his eyes.
'Oh, please,' Cyric said. 'There must be something you wanted.'
'Now that you mention it,' Thurbrand said. 'Besides the prompt return of my hair, there is a little job I could use a few good men for, back in Arabel…'
'We have business in Shadowdale,' Kelemvor said.
'And after that?'
'Wherever the wind takes us, I suppose,' Cyric added.
Thurbrand laughed. 'There's a hearty wind blowing in our direction. Perhaps we can arrange something at that!'
'We'll see what Midnight has to say,' Kelemvor said quietly.
Cyric and Thurbrand stared at the fighter, then began to laugh as he rose and went to scavenge more food from the company's cook. He didn't notice that Adon was awake.
The cleric had awoke at the sound of Myrmeen Lhal's name, though it had been spoken all the way across camp. 'By Sune, I'm cooked!' he said out loud. Adon realized he wasn't alone when he heard a young girl's laugh.
A girl of no more than sixteen summers sat beside him, making indelicate slurping noises as she made her way through the huge bowl of gruel that rested in her lap. Her name, Adon soon discovered, was Gillian, and she had stringy brown hair and deeply tanned skin that was hard and dry. Her eyes were a deep blue, and her features were ordinary but not unattractive.
'Ah!' she said. 'You're awake!' She set the bowl down, then lifted it and held it out to Adon. 'Care for any?'
Adon rubbed his forehead and suddenly remembered the attack of the gray-eyed man in Tilverton. He knew he'd been hit by the man's dagger, then passed out. Still, he now felt rested and only a little weak.
'I knew Sune would protect me,' he said, contented.
The girl stared at him. 'Care for any stew or not?'
'Yes, please!' Adon said, any concerns he might have had about Myrmeen Lhal and her lackeys now vanquished by his hunger. As the cleric sat up, though, he felt a sharp tug along the left side of his face and a deep burning sensation. Something warm and wet rolled down his cheek. Odd, Adon thought. It isn't unusually warm this early in the morning. I wonder why I should be sweating so. Then he looked at the girl.
Gillian's shoulders were drawn up tight, and her knees had ground together as she looked away from Adon.
'What's wrong?' the cleric said.
'I'll get the healer,' Gillian said and rose to her feet.
Adon ran his hand across his face. The sweat was even worse. 'I'm a healer. I'm a cleric in the service of Sune. Am I feverish?'
Gillian glanced back at the cleric, then quickly looked away.
'Please, what's wrong?' Adon said, and reached for the girl. Then he saw that there was blood on his hand. It wasn't sweat he had wiped from his face at all.
Adon's breathing slowed, and he felt as if a huge weight were pressing down on his chest. His skin grew cold. His head began to swim.
'Give me your bowl,' he said.
Gillian looked to the others in the camp and called out to one of them. Midnight saw that Adon was awake and jumped to her feet.
'Give it to me!' Adon cried, and wrenched the bowl from her hands, spilling the contents to the ground. His hands were trembling as he shined the metal bowl with his sleeve, then raised it to his face and looked into the curved mirror.
'No.'
Gillian was no longer by his side. There were crashing footsteps. Midnight and a cleric wearing the symbol of Tymora stood before Adon.
'It cannot be,' Adon said.
The cleric of Tymora had been grinning from ear to ear when he approached, thankful that the young Sunite had risen from his sleep with no ill effects. Once he saw the expression on Adon's face, though, his smile quickly faded.
