thick. At times we wouldn't even be able to ride.'
Kelemvor smiled and turned his horse to the east. 'That's it, then. Our guide has spoken.' The fighter kicked his horse into a gallop and headed east, toward the road. A few of the men looked at Yarbro, who cursed again, then spurred his horse and raced off after Kelemvor. The rest of the men followed.
It wasn't long before the huntsmen reached the wide, well-traveled road that led from Hillsfar in the north to Tilverton, Arabel, and eventually even the great city of Suzail in the south. To Kelemvor, the open road seemed to carry the sweet scent of freedom and release. Even the mood of Kelemvor's fellow hunters seemed to improve.
By midafternoon, however, the dry heat of the sun had managed to burn off whatever good cheer the dalesmen had felt. As was becoming common on the journey, the men vented their ill humor by suggesting new and inventive means of dealing with the escaped criminals once they were caught. Yarbro's fertile imagination accounted for fully half of these.
Kelemvor's anger grew as the day went on. If Mourngrym thinks that these men will support his justice, the fighter thought, he's a fool! They're a bloodthirsty lynch mob, no more or less vicious than the wild-eyed fanatics in Tilverton who tried to kill Midnight, Cyric, Adon, and me because they thought the God of Blacksmiths wanted us dead.
Kelemvor knew that he should remind the men of Mourngrym's orders that the prisoners were to be returned to Shadowdale alive, but he couldn't. Instead, he brooded silently, and his refusal to contradict the hunters' angry threats and boasts was taken as unspoken consent. The tales became wilder and more cruel as the day went on.
As the fighter looked around at the leering, cursing men he commanded, he remembered Cyric's tirade against the 'justice' the dalesmen would provide to Midnight and Adon, and for the first time since Lhaeo had burst into Mourngrym's chamber, Kelemvor wondered if he was doing the right thing.
The fighter turned the idea over and over in his mind all day, until finally the sun became a low, blinding orb at the hunters' backs, and the road ahead was blanketed by the first hints of nightfall. The food reserves had not been replenished in the last few days, and Kelemvor gave silent thanks for a task that would take the dalesmen's minds off their murderous imaginings.
The fighter signaled the company to come to a halt. 'We'll need to forage here,' the fighter snapped as he dismounted. 'Perhaps the earth has not yet turned sour from the chaos in this part of the Realms, and we will find healthy game.'
Dividing the hunters into three groups, Kelemvor led Bursus, Jorah, and Terrol into the south woods while Mikkel, Carella, and Gurn went to the north. Yarbro, the priests of Lathander, and the remaining soldier, Cabal, stayed behind to guard the camp.
Half an hour later, as night was beginning to fall in earnest and a dark blue veil hung over the woods, Kelemvor and his group emerged from the forest. They were carrying the carcass of a deer that had been felled by one of Jorah's arrows.
A few minutes after that, Mikkel and his men exited from the thick, dark woods north of the road. The fisherman carried the still form of a jackrabbit in his hands. His look of triumph faded quickly as he saw the meal Kelemvor had secured. The hunters laughed at the sight of Mikkel, standing alone and dejected with his prize, then welcomed him and his party to join in the meal. The hunters feasted on the fresh deer meat, then lingered around the fire at the edge of the woods.
Well fed if not well rested, the hunters buried the deer's remains and took to the road once again. For a short time, Kelemvor sensed a camaraderie that he had never before associated with the grim, disparate band of hunters. Stories of past adventures, real or imagined, were traded as they traveled through the moonlit night on their way to the Standing Stone.
As always, however, the topic of Midnight and her accomplices soon became the central focus of conversation, and the veneer of civilized behavior disappeared, to be replaced by the bitterness and savagery of the hunters' threats and curses. Kelemvor realized that, no matter how much he might hope otherwise, it was the common hatred of the three criminals, whom most of the hunters had never even met, that truly bonded the men.
The moon was high when the hunters reached the Standing Stone, where the road split, one branch continuing northeast to Hillsfar, while the other ran south, past the town of Essembra, to Blackfeather Bridge. The stone itself was a huge, glossy gray square that rose twenty feet into the air. At its base, elvish runes were inscribed in a series of bands that wound around all four sides of the stone.
There was a clearing behind the stone, a perfect crescent of brownish black earth where nothing grew. The trees farther back behind the Standing Stone were unlike any others the hunters had seen this side of the Great Desert, which lay far to the west. The bases of the trees were wildly knotted, with their roots twisted forward and dug into the ground like an old miser's fingers in a pile of gold. The trees' branches grew away from the stone, curving strangely midway along their lengths so that they remained generally parallel to the earth instead of growing straight and proud. The trees were a dull orange, while their occasional leaves appeared yellow and sickly.
Some of the men were obviously nervous about being so close to the Standing Stone, which was known to hold extraordinary reserves of magic, especially now that the art was unstable. Others did not care to remain so close to the ruins of Myth Drannor, which lay to the north. Indeed, stories of the creatures that stalked the land around the ruined city made most of the men jumpy. Still, the hunters were exhausted, and when the issue was put to a vote, the dalesmen chose to make camp beside the stone, despite their fears. Kelemvor and Yarbro took the first watch along with Bursus, one of the archers from the dale. Although Yarbro's open hostility toward Kelemvor had ceased, the fighter still didn't trust the young guard. Bursus sat beside the fighter, and they gazed at the mystical stone before them as it reflected the soft moonlight and the flickering flames of their fire.
'There's something I've never understood,' Bursus sighed as he turned to face the fighter.
'What's that?' Kelemvor asked, absently tossing a stick into the fire and watching as a tiny explosion of sparks floated into the air.
'The murderers we're chasing were once your friends. You fought at their side.' The archer paused for a moment. 'Isn't this difficult for you?'
The fighter's eyes were fixed on the fire. 'They betrayed me,' Kelemvor growled. 'They lied to me right from the beginning.' He turned to look at Yarbro and found the guard staring at him.
'I shouldn't have doubted you,' Bursus said, nodding. 'You have as much cause for revenge as any of us. Perhaps more.'
Revenge? Kelemvor thought. Is that all the motivation I have for this quest? Perhaps that's not reason enough. Midnight certainly wasn't given a proper chance to defend herself at the trial. Justice wasn't served… and these dalesmen certainly aren't going to see that Midnight, Cyric, and Adon are treated fairly.
Kelemvor cursed silently and shook his head. When he looked up again, the fighter saw that Yarbro was still watching him, except that now the guard had a curious, sly look on his face.
'Yes, Bursus,' Yarbro murmured, never taking his eyes off Kelemvor. 'He should have more incentive for hunting down that witch than the rest of us put together.' A grin slowly worked its way across the guard's face.
Looking into Yarbro's eyes, Kelemvor decided that he would prevent the dalesmen from harming Midnight and her allies… if that proved possible. He couldn't hinder the hunters or help his former friends directly. That would activate the curse. But he could try to hold the dalesmen to Lord Mourngrym's instructions. After all, that's what he was being paid to do.
Suddenly there was a sharp snapping sound from the twisted trees behind the hunters. It didn't take Kelemvor's enhanced senses to detect the sound. Each of the sentries had heard the noise and was looking to Kelemvor for orders.
The fighter paused for a moment, then, from the woods at their backs, heard the sound of branches snapping and leaves rustling underfoot.
'Wake the others,' Kelemvor whispered. 'Let's hope its nothing more than some harmless beast that got curious about the fire.' The fighter stood up slowly and drew his sword.
Yarbro stood beside Kelemvor. 'Put out the fire,' the green-eyed fighter said calmly. The young guard complied without question, which surprised Kelemvor. More sounds came from the forest as Yarbro extinguished
