'Midnight and Adon are of stout heart, and their loyalty to the Dales and to the Realms should not be questioned,' Kelemvor said confidently.
'Tell him to answer the question,' Storm snapped, turning to Mourngrym.
Kelemvor examined the striking, silver-haired woman. His gaze locked on her blue-gray eyes as he told the tale of his first meeting with Midnight in Arabel and the quest that eventually led them to the Dales.
'So this was a business arrangement,' Thurbal stated. 'You didn't know her before you met in Arabel.'
'No, I didn't,' Kelemvor said. 'But I've come to know her very well since then.'
'He's a consummate mercenary,' Storm said. 'He does nothing without some form of reward.'
Passing his fingers over his mouth, Mourngrym spoke. 'If you had not been called, Kelemvor Lyonsbane, if you had been forced to volunteer to testify on Midnight's behalf, would you have spoken for her?'
The fighter shook, his face growing dark. To lie in Midnight's favor would be an unselfish act he had not been paid for. And that would trigger the curse.
'Answer the question,' Mourngrym said.
Kelemvor glanced at Midnight, and her eyes were wide with fear. With a heavy heart, Kelemvor turned back to Mourngrym. 'I could not,' he said.
'No further questions,' Thurbal snapped, turning away from the fighter in disgust. Storm simply smiled and dismissed Kelemvor.
The fighter said nothing as he was led back to the crowd. Cyric stared at Kelemvor as he walked past. The thief saw the look of defeat in his friend's eyes. For some reason, it made Cyric feel a little better to know that Kelemvor now realized he was right about the dalesmen.
'This day grows long, Thurbal.' Mourngrym folded his hands upon the lectern. 'Have you any other witnesses?'
'Only you, milord,' Thurbal said softly.
Mourngrym stared at the older man. 'Are you well? Have you taken leave — '
'I call Mourngrym Amcathra,' Thurbal pronounced distinctly. 'By the laws of the Dales, you cannot refuse to testify unless you wish to declare this trial at an end and release the prisoners.'
The eyes of the dalelord turned wild with anger, but Mourngrym nodded and said in an even voice, 'Very well. Ask me what you will.'
'Where was Lord Bane throughout the battle for Shadowdale?' Thurbal asked.
Mourngrym cocked his head slightly. 'I don't understand.'
'Bane led the attack through the forest from Voonlar. Our scouts can verify this. I will summon them if you wish.' Thurbal leaned against the lectern as a coughing fit overcame him.
'That won't be necessary,' Mourngrym said. 'Bane led the attack.'
'At Krag Pool, before the defenders of the dale toppled the trees upon Bane's army, the Black Lord vanished,' Thurbal stated calmly. 'There are dozens of witnesses I can present to verify this as well.'
'Go on,' Mourngrym said impatiently.
'The next time Bane was sighted, it was at the crossroads, near the farm of Jhaele Silvermane. The Black Lord appeared before you, Mourngrym Amcathra, and attempted to slay you. Mayheir Hawksguard pushed you aside and was fatally wounded in your stead. Is that correct?'
'Aye,' Mourngrym replied. 'Hawksguard died nobly in the defense of the Dales.'
'Where did Lord Bane go after that?' Thurbal asked. 'Weren't you quite vulnerable? Could he have not slain you then and there, despite Hawksguard's sacrifice?'
'I don't know,' Mourngrym mumbled uncomfortably. 'Perhaps.'
'But he didn't. He vanished again,' Thurbal said. 'Bane's attentions must have been drawn elsewhere.' The captain was seized by another coughing fit. Mourngrym drummed his fingers nervously on the lectern.
'I'm all right,' Thurbal said, and he drew a breath before continuing. 'Now, where was Elminster throughout the battle for Shadowdale?'
'At the Temple of Lathander,' Mourngrym replied.
'Why?' Thurbal asked. 'Why was he not at the front lines using his magic to help repel Bane?'
Mourngrym shook his head. He had no answer.
'Didn't Elminster tell you repeatedly that the true battle would take place in the Temple of Lathander?' Thurbal asked.
'Aye, but he never explained what he meant by that statement,' Mourngrym said. 'Perhaps he had foreseen the danger to the prisoners and wished to draw them away from the true battle — '
Thurbal held up his hand. 'I suggest that the true battle was at the temple, that Bane went there, and it was he who murdered Elminster the sage.'
Storm stood up and threw her arms over her head. 'All this is complete speculation. There isn't a bit of evidence to suggest Bane was at the Temple of Lathander.'
Thurbal grimaced and turned to Mourngrym. 'Before you can convict the prisoners, you must show a motive for their actions. Storm Silverhand claims they were agents of Bane. Yet there is no proof to support such allegations. I spoke to the prisoner, Midnight, before the trial, and she claims — '
Mourngrym raised his fist. 'I don't care what she claims!' he snapped. 'She is a powerful mage, powerful enough to slay Elminster. My orders were explicit: She was not to be allowed to speak to anyone!'
'Then how is she to defend herself?' Thurbal yelled.
'How do any of us know that she did not ensorcel you when you spoke, bending your will to hers?' Storm asked. 'You are hopelessly trusting, my friend, and for your own sake, you should be removed as counsel.'
'You cannot!' Thurbal yelped and moved to Mourngrym's side.
'You're wrong. I cannot let you be injured again by Bane's servants.' Mourngrym gestured to a pair of guards. 'See that Thurbal is well provided for. He is obviously fighting off the effects of powerful magic. Whatever guards were present when Midnight spoke should be relieved of duty, pending my later judgment. Take him away.'
Thurbal cried out in protest, but he was too weak to stave off the guards that dragged him away.
Addressing the court, Mourngrym stepped out from behind the lectern. 'I have seen all that I need to,' Mourngrym said. 'Elminster the sage was our friend and our loyal defender to the death. It was his blind trust in others that led to his demise. Yet we of this court are not blind. Our eyes are open wide, and we can see the truth.
'Lord Bane was a coward. He ran from the battle in fear when our forces overwhelmed his army. That is why we cannot account for his whereabouts. If Elminster were alive, he would appear before us now. But that cannot happen. There is nothing we can do to bring Elminster back, but we can put his tortured soul to rest by punishing his murderers.'
The audience chamber had grown completely silent again. Mourngrym paused a moment and looked back at the noblemen seated behind the dais. Like the rest of the room, the nobles were staring at the dalelord, waiting for his verdict.
'I decree that at dawn tomorrow, in the courtyard of the Twisted Tower, Midnight of Deepingdale and Adon of Sune will be put to death for the murder of Elminster the sage. Guards, remove the prisoners.' Mourngrym stood back, and guards grabbed Midnight and Adon and pulled them to their feet. The crowd erupted in a roar of cheering.
At first Cyric was swallowed up by the crowd, but the thief fought his way through the blood-crazed villagers in time to see Midnight and Adon exit the courtroom under heavy guard.
Justice will be served, Mourngrym had said. The words of Shadowdale's ruler echoed in Cyric's thoughts as he maneuvered past the remaining guards standing in Mourngrym's vicinity. As he drew closer to the dalelord, Cyric thought about exactly how quickly he could draw his dagger and slit Mourngrym's throat.
Mourngrym Amcathra felt a slight rush of air at his back, but when he turned to see what had caused the breeze, he saw only the back of a lean, dark-haired man vanishing into the crowd.
Once again lost in the throng of excited townspeople, Cyric contemplated why he had changed his mind at the last instant and spared the life of the man who had condemned Midnight to death. There were better ways to honor his debt to Midnight and make these contemptuous imbeciles pay, Cyric thought. Besides, the crowd would have torn me to pieces. And I'm not ready to die quite yet.
Quite the opposite, the thief thought. Quite the opposite.
