'No, Lord Bane.'
Bane wiped his eyes and looked down at the red-haired man who stood before him. 'Fzoul,' he said. 'All is well.'
'Milord, there are dead men surrounding you in the temple — '
Bane raised his taloned hand.
The red-haired man hung his head. 'Yes, milord.' Then Fzoul picked up his god's scattered armor and helped Bane to his feet.
'All is in readiness,' Fzoul said as the Black Lord finally put on his bloody armor again. 'When shall we begin to prepare for the battle?'
A fire crackled in the eyes of the Black Lord and Fzoul stepped back from the angry god. Then Bane's lips curled back in a frightful grimace. There was fire behind the God of Strife's pointed teeth, too, as his eyes narrowed and he said, 'Now.'
XIII
The time for eveningfeast had passed, but the travelers walked on, determined to reach Shadowdale before the night was through. The spell that had spirited them from certain death in Spiderhaunt Woods had deposited the adventurers almost two days' journey ahead on their route.
Midnight, Kelemvor, and Thurbrand walked together, as did Cyric and the other surviving members of the Company of Dawn, Isaac and Vogt. Adon walked alone, thinking of everything he had lost.
'They died bravely,' Kelemvor said to Thurbrand at one point.
'That is little comfort,' Thurbrand said, memories of the last quest he had shared with Kelemvor edging into his thoughts. It had been many years ago, but the results had been much the same: Thurbrand and Kelemvor had lived. Everyone else had died.
Cyric had a confused, haggard look as he walked through the dale. It was as if he'd been forced to confront some great truth, and the knowledge had left him weak and trembling. When he spoke, it was in a soft, almost quavering voice.
Adon, on the other hand, didn't speak at all. There was nothing for him to do as he walked, nothing to fill his head but his own unwelcome thoughts. And as he walked on through the night, the cleric's relentless fears drove him down into a white-faced, trembling shadow of the man he'd once been.
But not all of the adventurers were grim-faced and mournful as they walked toward Shadowdale. Midnight and Kelemvor behaved as if the worst was behind them.
They laughed and exchanged taunts as they had earlier in their journey. Every time they smiled or laughed, though, one of their companions would frown at them, as if they were interrupting a funeral with their mirth.
Eventually, however, most of the heroes relaxed as they trekked through the countryside south of Shadowdale. The green, flowing hills and rich, soft earth of the dale's outlying districts were wondrous to behold. Even the air was sweet, and the harsh winds that had plagued the heroes ever since they entered the Stonelands became light breezes that caressed the travelers, enticing them to walk ever faster in their pursuit of sanctuary.
It was very late when they reached the bridge that spanned the Ashaba and led into Shadowdale. The tiny, sparkling lights they had seen in the distance now revealed themselves to be glowing fires set at the far end of the bridge. Guards armed with crossbows and wearing bright silver armor walked back and forth on the bridge and warmed their hands by the fires from time to time.
Kelemvor and Midnight walked beside Thurbrand as the party approached the bridge. As they got close to the river, however, something moved in the bushes. The heroes turned and reached for their weapons, but stood still when they saw six carefully aimed crossbows sticking from the bushes on both sides of the bridge. The steel-tipped arrows gleamed in the moonlight.
Thurbrand frowned. 'I believe this is where we hold and state our business.' He turned to the men who crawled out of the bushes. 'Isn't that so?'
'A fair beginning,' one of them said.
'I am Thurbrand of Arabel, leader of the Company of Dawn. We have come to gain audience with Mourngrym on matters most pressing.'
The guards shifted nervously and whispered to each other. 'What matters?' a guard said after a moment.
Midnight's face got red, and she moved closer to the guard. 'On matters pertaining to the safety of the Realms!' she cried. 'Is that not urgent enough?'
'All well and good to say, but are you able to prove it?' The guard moved toward Thurbrand and held out his hand.
'Your charter?'
'Certainly,' Thurbrand said and handed the guard a rolled up parchment. 'Signed by Myrmeen Lhal.'
The guard examined the parchment.
'We have suffered many casualties in Spiderhaunt Woods,' Thurbrand said.
'These are your survivors? What are their names?' The guard said.
Thurbrand turned to the two actual survivors of his company. 'Vogt and Isaac,' Thurbrand said.
Kelemvor and Midnight exchanged glances.
'And the others?' The guard said.
Thurbrand pointed at Midnight. 'She is Gillian. The rest are Bohaim, Zelanz, and Welch.'
The guard passed the charter back to Thurbrand. 'Very well, you may pass,' he said, then backed away. The guards all disappeared into the shadows once more.
The travelers crossed the bridge carefully, and when they reached the other shore, Thurbrand looked to Kelemvor.
'Quite an interesting place already,' Thurbrand said.
An armed contingent, patrolling by the bridge, stopped when they saw the adventurers, and the ritual of questions, answers, and documentation was repeated. This time the soldiers 'offered' to escort the tired travelers to the Twisted Tower, despite Midnight's anxious cries about Elminster.
'Protocol,' Cyric whispered. 'Think of your last meeting with the mage. Would it not go easier if the path were laid down for you by the local lord?'
Midnight said nothing.
As they approached the Twisted Tower, Cyric noted that the small shops and houses that lined the path seemed deserted. However, there were fights in the distance, and the sounds of activity from a few streets over. A wagon loaded with bales of hay moved across the road. Another wagon, filled with livestock, came behind it. Soldiers escorted both wagons.
'If they are moving livestock at this time of night,' Cyric said to Midnight, 'they are probably preparing the town for war. I fear your warning from Mystra about Bane's plans comes too late.'
As they got closer to the Twisted Tower, the heroes could see that torches lined the stone walls of the square, squat building. The torches were patterned oddly, though, and they followed the odd curvatures of the tower as they spiraled up one side of the building, vanished, then reappeared higher and higher until the lights gave way to shadowy mist that even the unusually bright moon could not penetrate.
More guards waited at the entrance to the tower. The guards spoke for a moment with the heroes' armed escort. Then one guard, probably a captain of the watch, whistled long and loud. As the heroes and the guards waited for whatever or whoever it was that the captain had summoned, Adon turned and started to wander off down the street. A guard rushed to intercept the cleric, then steered him back with the others. Adon sullenly complied.
A young man dressed in the livery of a herald appeared at the door. He was still bleary eyed with sleep, but he listened to the guardsman as politely as he could, hiding his yawns behind a ruffled sleeve when possible.
