weary walk once more.
'Gods above preserve me,' Sharantyr said through clenched teeth. 'Men!'
'Oh, dear,' Belkram said to Itharr. 'She's noticed! I guess that means we have to go way off into the bushes, now, whenever we have to…'
'What she hasn't noticed,' Itharr retorted, stumbling in the weariness of utter exhaustion, 'is that the gods aren't above anymore-that's what this whole trouble's about… as Elminster said.'
'Good old Elminster,' Belkram said sadly, putting one foot in front of the other and almost falling out into the road.
'Well, granted I look bad this morning,' growled the wispy-bearded guard who caught hold of his shoulder to steady him, 'but I'm sure I don't look that bad. No, Elminster's dead, friend… and so will ye be if ye don't convince me of thy rightful loyalty-and fast.'
He gulped as the ghostly head of the Witch of Shadowdale came floating out of the trees to hang in front of him. 'Well met, Guthtar,' she said softly. 'You remember me, do you not?'
'A-Aye, Lady,' the guard stammered as Itharr and Sharantyr came out of the trees. 'And her, too!' The six guards behind him fell back to get weapon room, eyeing all these sudden arrivals warily.
'Aye,' Sylune said dryly. 'I've noticed you never forget a fair-looking female. You are going to let Lord Mourngrym's patrol pass, aren't you?'
'Of course, Lady! Uh, begging thy pardons, sirs and Lady-uh, Lady and Lady… ah-oh, dung!'
'And a pleasant good morning to you, too, Guthtar,' Sylune said with a smile, floating serenely past the sputtering guard. Belkram met Guthtar's eyes, spread his hands in silent commiseration, and followed. Itharr and Sharantyr trudged along in Belkram's wake, leaning on each other.
'Oh, gods,' the lady ranger yawned. At a weary stagger, she neared the crossroads. 'We must never let ourselves get this tired again!'
'I tried to tell those last four Zhents that,' Belkram told her, 'I really did! But they just kept on snarling and waving swords at us, and, well…'
'Back from patrol, I see,' Hammerhand Bucko called cheerfully from his doorway. They waved at him-the gesture almost made Itharr fall over-and went on, not daring to stop now for fear of collapse.
'Lhaeo? Lhaeo!' Sylune called, her head dancing up and down in the air to snare the scribe's attention. 'Lhaeo!'
Elminster's scribe was a morose figure, trudging along every bit as wearily as they were walking. He looked up at Sylune's call, brightening visibly. 'Well met, friends!'
'Itharr, give my stone to Lhaeo, will you?' Sylune floated close to the scribe's head and asked him, 'Could you take me to Storm, please, good scribe? We have much to talk about.'
Lhaeo blinked at her as Itharr handed him the stone. 'Of course, Lady-'tis where I'm headed.' He turned his head to look at the unshaven ranger, and said, 'You folks look tired.'
'No, really? And I spent all morning doing my hair!' Itharr told him with weary sarcasm. He set off grimly toward the tower.
'Fare you well, Lhaeo,' Sharantyr added.
The scribe smiled wanly and waved. The three rangers nodded wearily to him and walked the last stretch of road to the Twisted Tower.
'Ohh, I'm so tired!' Sharantyr wailed. 'And my feet hurt so much!'
'At least you've still got feet,' Belkram said darkly. 'Mine wore off about ten hours back.'
'Try scratching all your itches,' Itharr said without turning. 'It helps to keep you awake.'
'Could we ride on patrol next time?' Shar asked as they turned up the tower path.
'Through all those trees? We'd be wanting some eel-horses, I'd guess,' said Belkram.
'Just a few more steps, friends,' Itharr mumbled. 'Just a few more steps…'
Then he noticed the row of gleaming breastplates and crossed forearms blocking their way. His eyes traveled up to the hard faces above them, but he recognized no one. Seven guards he'd never seen before were ranged across the open doorway of the Tower of Ashaba. They wore splendid chased armor and light helms in the hot summer sun, and their hairy forearms and corded thighs glistened with sweat. They were not moving aside.
'Stand aside, friends,' Itharr said wearily, 'before we fall over.'
'And who are you three?' the centermost guard asked coolly. 'Travelers generally stay at the Old Skull Inn-at the crossroads, down there. Beggars had best go to the temples… there's a house of Tymora just across the river, there.'
As he'd spoken, Belkram and Sharantyr had straggled up to face the guards. Shar sighed and let her head sink into her hands. No. No, not now. Her knees sagged, and Belkram put his arms around her to hold her up, swaying himself.
'We have chambers awaiting us in the tower behind you,' Itharr said quietly, taking two steps to the right so he could lean on the nearest hitching post.
'Oh? How so? Are you, then, lords and ladies of Shadowdale?'
'She is,' Itharr said, waving a hand. 'The Lady Sharantyr.'
'Sharantyr? It's not a name known to me,' the guardcaptain said jovially. 'Any of you heard of a Sharantyr, lads? Eh?'
There was a general chorus of chuckled nays. Itharr regarded them with dull eyes. 'You're all new hires, aren't you?'
'Thurbal engaged us some days ago,' the guardcaptain said a trifle stiffly. 'We hail from Westgate.'
'Belgard's boys?' Belgard was a retired mercenary whose school turned out guards known for their efficient cruelty and alertness; his graduates had gained swift popularity among the merchants of Sembia, and generally cost a client food, accommodation, armor, and over five silver pieces a day.
'Yes,' the guardcaptain said shortly, 'and we've been hired to keep brigands and Zhentilar out of this tower, see? So clear off, all of you-now!'
The three bedraggled figures in leather made no move. A light, rhythmic sound came from the female among them-the sound of snoring.
One of the guards snorted in amusement, and stepped forward. He bore a long baton in his hand, and used it to rap Sharantyr none too gently on the shoulder. 'Hey! Wake up and clear off! You've heard the order. Now go!'
'Stand back, friend,' Belkram suggested gently, 'or I'll awaken enough to grow annoyed.'
The guard cocked his head to one side, hands on hips. 'Oh you will, will you?' he said sarcastically. 'I quaver at the prospect!'
'Are you lot going to stand aside?' Itharr said. 'We'd very much like to report in to Mourngrym.'
'Lord Mourngrym's out riding the northern reaches,' the guardcaptain told him silkily, 'as all in Shadowdale know. I don't think you're anything more than brigands looking for a chance to slip inside. If you don't move on, it's brigands' chains you'll be feeling.'
'In one of the cells where we can lie down?' Sharantyr asked sleepily.
'No,' the guardcaptain said with a cruel grin, 'our orders are to hang brigands from the dangle-bars.'
'We're not brigands,' Belkram said sourly, dragging Sharantyr to the hitching post on the other side of the path and draping her over it, 'and you'd do well to let us into the tower!'
'We're not hired to do well,' the guardcaptain said. 'We're hired to follow orders. You're not getting past, and you've spent enough of our time. We're supposed to watch who passes on the road, not waste words with ruffians on our doorstep. So get you gone, now, or there'll be trouble.'
'There will indeed,' Itharr said, from his post.
The guardcaptain looked at him coldly, then turned his head back to catch the eyes of the guard with the baton, who stood menacingly close to Belkram, and said pleasantly, 'Aldus, pray dispose of these petty annoyances.'
'Gladly, Captain,' Aldus replied, raising his baton and reaching forward to take Belkram by the throat.
'Have a care, Aldus,' Belkram said softly to him, 'that's my Harper pin you're hauling on.'
'So?'
'A Harper pin should mean something to you, Aldus.'
'Oh, aye.' The guard stepped back and turned to the guardcaptain. 'This one's stolen a Harper pin,
