that ye cannot even substantiate.'
Midnight stood, staring in shock at the old sage.
'Come on,' Kelemvor said. 'We've done all that we can here.'
'Aye,' Elminster said. 'Begone!'
Suddenly the pendant shot from the corner and hung in the air beside the old sage. Elminster's gaze fixed on Midnight once more. She felt a cold wave of panic pass through her mind.
'A minor display of your magic does not interest me,' Elminster said in a low and measured voice. 'In fact, these days it's rather dangerous.'
The pendant started to spin in the air. Sharp streaks of lightning played across its surface and began to radiate out from the star.
'What's this, then?' Elminster said.
There was a blinding flash of light, and a cocoon of blue-white lightning formed around the old sage, cutting him off from view. Something that looked like an amber whirlwind erupted within the cocoon, searing its edges. Seconds later, the cocoon dissolved in a puff of smoke and the amber streaks of light vanished.
'Perhaps we should talk further,' Elminster said to Midnight as he snatched the pendant from the air.
Hawksguard moved forward.
'A word, great sage,' he said, respectfully.
'Is it one that immediately comes to mind or must I guess?' the sage muttered. Hawksguard stopped for a moment, then laughed heartily. Elminster looked to the ceiling. 'What? Can't ye see I'm busy?'
Hawksguard drew himself to attention. 'Elminster, Lord Mourngrym would have a word or two with you about the defenses you have cluttered the Twisted Tower with.'
'Would he now?' Elminster said. 'Where is he? Show him in.'
The muscles in Hawksguard's face twitched. 'He's not here.'
'That does present a problem, does it not?'
Hawksguard's face was turning red. 'He sent me to fetch you, good sir.'
'Fetch!? Am I a dog, then! And after all the help I've given that man!'
'Good Elminster, you turn my words against me!'
The sage thought about it for a moment. 'I suppose I do at that. But I cannot leave here today. There are elements at work that I must watch carefully.' Elminster gestured at Hawksguard. 'Come close,' he said. 'I have a message for our liege.'
The edges of Hawksguard's mouth twitched as he approached. 'You're not going to tattoo it on my flesh, are you?'
'Of course not,' Elminster said.
'Or change me into some unearthly beast, then set me to the winds that I may repeat the message to all I may find until I am at last brought before Lord Mourngrym?'
Elminster rubbed at his forehead and cursed. 'Where did I get this reputation?' he said absently. Hawksguard was about to answer, but the mage's wrinkled finger pierced the air before him, entreating him for silence. Elminster gazed into Hawksguard's eyes.
'Tell him that I am terribly busy preparing the mystical defense of his kingdom. The wards I have placed in the Twisted Tower are for his own good, and he should accept them as such.'
Hawksguard was sweating in his armor. 'That is all?'
Elminster nodded. 'The three of ye, come forward.'
Kelemvor, Cyric, and Adon carefully navigated the length of the room.
'Each of ye has witnessed sights that very few will ever know. Where do ye stand on the defense of the Dales?'
The trio stood in place. Kelemvor looked to Midnight, who averted her eyes.
'Are ye deaf? Are you with the dale or not?'
Adon moved forward. 'I wish to fight,' he said. Elminster looked at the young cleric, intrigued.
'Do ye, now?'
Kelemvor looked to Midnight. Her gaze told him that she had no intention of leaving, even though she had fulfilled her agreement with the goddess. Anger coursed through him. He did not want to stay, but he could not bring himself to leave Midnight behind. 'We've come this far. Bane tried to kill us all. I will fight if there is a reward in it for me,' the fighter said at last.
'Ye will be rewarded,' Elminster said coldly.
A cold hand clutched Cyric's heart as the silence in the small room grew to epic proportions. Midnight looked up at him. There was something in her eyes. Cyric thought of Tilverton, of how close they had become on their journey.
'I will fight,' he said. Midnight looked away. 'I have nothing better to do anyway.'
Elminster glared at Cyric, then turned away. 'All of ye have faced the gods and survived. Ye have seen their weaknesses first hand, as well as their strengths. That will be important in this battle. Those who fight must know that the enemy can be conquered, that even the gods may die.'
Adon flinched.
Elminster spoke softly now. 'Ye see, there are forces greater than man or god, just as there are worlds within, and worlds without…'
It was just after highsun that Hawksguard, Kelemvor, and Cyric left Elminster. Adon wanted to go with them, but even Kelemvor agreed that the cleric was in no condition for combat. Cyric had been amused by Adon's desire to spill blood, but he kept his amusement to himself. He knew that the cleric could not be trusted in a battle such as the one they faced; Adon seemed to care less and less for his own survival, and he would be the last man any soldier would want guarding his back.
Halfway to the Twisted Tower, Cyric started to question his own reasons for aiding the defense of the town. There was nothing for him here, except perhaps a quick death. If that were all he desired, there were easier ways to find it. A stroll down the streets of Zhentil Keep in the middle of the night was sure to reward him with such a fate. Or perhaps he wished to test his mettle against the god who attempted to slay him once already.
We four faced a god and survived — even without Mystra's assistance, Cyric thought. Imagine if we were successful in slaying a god! Our names would be sung in ballads that minstrels would recite for hundreds of years.
Elminster's words haunted Cyric even as they approached the Twisted Towers and sat waiting for Lord Mourngrym to make his appearance. Without the presence of the gods in the Planes, magical and physical laws were breaking down. All of the Realms might fall. What then might rise from the ashes? Cyric thought. And who would be the gods of that dark future?
Mourngrym appeared, and Hawksguard recited Elminster's words. Kelemvor and Cyric pledged their assistance, and by nightfall they had been given their parts to play in the battle. Kelemvor would be stationed with Hawksguard and the majority of Mourngrym's forces at the eastern border, where Bane's troops were expected to attack. Cyric was called to help defend the bridge at the Ashaba and to assist the refugees leaving via the river to seek sanctuary in Mistledale. Archers were already taking up positions in the forest between Voonlar and Shadowdale and traps were being laid for Bane's troops.
And though Mourngrym believed he had organized his forces in the most efficient way to counter the larger Zhentish army, the dalelord was concerned about Elminster's place in the battle to come.
'I suppose Elminster still believes the true battle will take place at the Temple of Lathander,' Mourngrym said ruefully. 'We need his help at the borders! By Tymora we've got to talk some sense into that man!'
'We would be the first to ever do so, I'm afraid,' Hawksguard said, smiling broadly.
Mourngrym laughed. 'Perhaps you're right. Elminster has always stood in defense of the Dales. But to catch just a glimmer of the man's reasoning before he chose to reveal it would be a prize I would cherish for the rest of my life!'
Both Kelemvor and Hawksguard broke into braying laughter at the dalelord's comments. Cyric just shook his head. At least Kelemvor wasn't being morose anymore. In fact, the fighter's camaraderie with Hawksguard almost made him pleasant to be around.
But Cyric wasn't much in the mood for the fighters' jokes, so he left the throne room quietly. The halls of the
