before me!'
The minister of defense bowed before the Black Lord, then hastened from the throne room. 'Of course, Lord Bane,' the minister whispered over and over as he fled from the chamber.
'And now we must address the state of Zhentil Keep,' the God of Strife growled and turned to once again face the crowded throne room. 'The discontent, fear, and confusion of our people must be put to rest before we may achieve the greatness that is our preordained future.
'We will proceed through the streets of the city this very night, spreading the news of my return. The flames of hope that light your eyes will be fanned into an inferno. Together we shall sweep away the people's doubts and begin a new age!' The audience chamber was filled with cries of thanks and shouts of support for the Black Lord. Bane allowed a slight smile to work its way across his face. Once again, he held his followers in an iron grip.
When the frenzy reached a peak, the God of Strife held his fist aloft and spoke again. 'Together we shall triumph where gods alone would fail!'
Bane's worshipers parted as their god rose from his throne and walked to the center of the room. The God of Strife stood among his screaming followers for a moment, then led the multitude out of the temple and into the night.
IV
The edge of the forest was over an hour away, and Kelemvor and his men could hardly wait to leave the slow travel and the many obstacles of the woods behind them. The sun had risen, and the last of the magical crystals Lhaeo had supplied the riders with had failed. The light from the crystals had pierced the veil of night and allowed Kelemvor and his charges to keep moving along the river almost constantly. In the days since they had left Shadowdale, the riders had stopped only twice to rest, for a few hours each time.
Kelemvor reached for the small purse tied to his belt and jostled it slightly. The jingle of gold coins against one another rose above the sounds of the dalesmen as they made their way along the rough path. A few men glanced at the mercenary, then quickly looked away when Kelemvor scowled in their direction.
I wonder if Cyric and Midnight received this much money to work against the Dales? Kelemvor thought for the fourth time that day. They probably got paid off when we were in Tilverton.
Letting the purse drop to his side, Kelemvor glanced around at the men Mourngrym had sent on the hunt with him. They were, all in all, a less than remarkable lot. The fighter saw them as typical residents of a farming town: narrow-minded but sincere. The men had done little to impress or surprise the experienced adventurer during the long journey from Shadowdale, but that was fine with him.
The only thing about the party that had surprised Kelemvor was Mourngrym's insistence that Yarbro, the young guardsman who had taken an instant dislike to Kelemvor and his companions when they had first arrived in Shadowdale, join them. But there had been no time to argue about personnel if the hunters wanted to catch the escapees, so Kelemvor had reluctantly agreed.
'A cold heart is needed for this task,' Mourngrym had said as Kelemvor prepared to ride after his one-time allies. 'Your rage might blind you to justice. I want the criminals returned alive, unless there is absolutely no other choice.' The dalelord paused for a moment, then handed the fighter the purse full of gold. 'Yarbro will see that reason prevails.'
Kelemvor snorted. Placing 'Yarbro' and 'reason' in the same sentence was almost a joke. It seems far more likely that Mourngrym wants someone to keep an eye on me, the fighter thought. He pulled up on his reins, and his horse jumped over a fallen branch. Kelemvor looked around again and sighed. At least the rest of the men seem relatively trustworthy.
The guide chosen by the dalelord to lead the hunters through the forest was Terrol Uthor, a veteran of several battles against the drow and a scholar steeped in the ancient lore of the elven clans that once claimed the forest around Shadowdale as their own. Uthor was a short, powerfully built, square-shouldered man in his late thirties with blue-gray eyes and thick, black hair that he wore slicked back.
A common bond of hatred for the escapees was the one thing that united the remaining members of Kelemvor's charges. Gurn Bestil, a woodsman in his fifties with a shock of white hair, had lost his twenty-year-old son in the Battle of Shadowdale. Kohren and Lanx were priests of Lathander. Kohren was tall, and all that remained of his dark hair was a widow's peak. Lanx was of moderate build, with thin, curly blond hair and dull brown eyes. Both priests wore the red crest of their order on their clothing.
Bursus, Cabal, and Jorah were soldiers who had watched comrades and friends die in the battle. Of the three, Cabal was the oldest, with a gray beard and thick white eyebrows. Tired, jet-black eyes and deeply tanned skin distinguished Bursus. Jorah was of slender build with wild, auburn hair. All three were archers as well as swordsmen, and they carried spare bows and arrows for the other huntsmen.
Mikkel and Carella owned the fishing skiff that bad been stolen by the escapees. No one knew their last names, but in appearance, they could have been taken for brothers. Their faces were baked red by the sun, and their builds were rugged and well toned. Both their heads had been shaved. They were dressed alike. The only thing that really set them apart was the sparkling prism that dangled from Mikkel's right ear.
Since the trip through the thick woods along the Ashaba had been uneventful so far, Kelemvor had no idea how the men would react in a battle. Not that he was worried about their fighting ability. The battle against Bane's troops had given the adventurer enough proof of the dalesmen's general fighting prowess. Still, the fighter wondered how his pack of huntsmen would work as a team.
'Until we run into a stray band of Zhents or a wild creature that is addled enough to attack a party this size, or those butchers we're chasing, we won't know how the men will fight,' Yarbro said snidely when Kelemvor had posed the problem to his second-in-command. 'But I wouldn't worry,' the soldier added. 'We'll all pull together when we catch up to that witch and her friends.'
Even now, as he rode through the forest with the troops, Kelemvor was not reassured by Yarbro's confidence. Or perhaps it was the knowledge that the soldier was right — that the dalesmen's hatred would pull them together when they finally caught Midnight, Cyric, and Adon — that troubled the fighter the most.
Kelemvor shook the thoughts from his head. I'm doing the right thing, he growled to himself. They betrayed me. They murdered innocent people. They killed Elminster.
The fighter spurred his horse and raced down the path. His men pushed their horses on as well, and soon the company was out of the forest and on the edge of the open fields of Mistledale. So far, they had seen no sign of the skiff or the escapees. Unless they got lucky or did something drastic soon, the huntsmen were in danger of losing their quarry.
'Halt!' Kelemvor called as he held up his hand to signal the troops. When all the men got close enough to hear, the fighter added, 'We need to decide where to go from here.'
'We follow the river,' Yarbro snapped. 'What else can we do? In fact, we're wasting time even talking about it. We should be charging across Mistledale as fast as we can. It's open land, and — '
'The road to the Standing Stone,' Kelemvor interrupted flatly. The fighter dismounted and stretched. 'We can ride even faster on the road than we can across open fields.'
Gurn ran his hand through his white hair. 'But the road angles to the north and east, away from the river.'
Kelemvor fished a piece of dried meat from his saddlebag. 'And then it turns to the south, all the way to Blackfeather Bridge. We know they're going to Scardale, following the river. They have to pass the bridge eventually.'
Yarbro cursed. 'How will we know they haven't already passed the bridge when we get there?' A few of the other men mumbled in agreement.
'We won't,' the green-eyed fighter said as he stuffed the piece of meat into his mouth and mounted his horse again.
'Kel's right,' Terrol Uthor said over the mumbled curses of the two fishermen. 'We'll never catch up with them if we continue along the river. Once we've crossed the dale, the woods between here and Battledale are very
