Shadowdale (8 page)

Kelemvor realized Caitlan had become conscious: she was trying to say something. He bent low that he might hear her words.

“Save her.” The girl’s voice was weak and ragged. “Save my mistress.”

“Rest,” Kelemvor said simply, brushing the girl’s hair from her eyes. Then Caitlan suddenly grabbed his massive hand with an iron grip that made the fighter flinch.

“She can cure you,” Caitlan said, then her muscles relaxed as she sank back on the bed.

“Zehla!” Kelemvor cried, but the old woman was already there. Kelemvor looked to the others. If they heard the girl’s promise, they gave no sign. His secret was safe.

“She’s alive,” Zehla pronounced. “For now.”

The old woman turned to Cyric and Adon, and asked them to leave the room so that she and Kelemvor might speak privately. Both men looked to Kelemvor for confirmation, but he was staring down at the girl, lost in his own concerns. They left without further prompting, and Zehla closed the door behind them.

“My reward,” Kelemvor said, gesturing at the girl. “If she dies, I will be cheated of my reward.”

Zehla moved toward him. “Is that your only concern?”

Kelemvor looked away from the girl and turned his back on the old woman.

“Riches can be counted in more than gold, good Kel.

There are people who help others simply for the pleasure it gives them to do so, and the knowledge that they have made a difference in the world. Hired arms are cheap and plentiful in comparison. You would do well to think on this.”

“You think I don’t know that? I think of that every day! But, remember, I’m no wide-eyed youth, no child for you to lecture. I have no choice but to follow the path that’s been laid out for me.”

Zehla went to him, touching his arm. “But why, Kel? Can you not tell me why?”

Kelemvor’s shoulders fell as the anger that had raced through him evaporated. “I cannot.”

Zehla shook her head and walked past the fighter. She then moved a chair out of the way, and pulled at a floorboard that came away in her hands without effort, revealing a small box that had been hidden in the tiny space. Zehla pulled out the box, then used the bed as support as she dragged herself to her feet.

“Help me,” Zehla said as she set the box beside Caitlan. Kelemvor hesitated. Zehla’s features turned cold. “Come, we must protect your investment.”

Kelemvor moved forward, watching as Zehla opened the box and a series of multi-colored flasks were exposed. “Healing potions,” Kelemvor said.

“Of course. That’s why you came here, instead of taking her to one of the temples, isn’t it?”

“Aye,” Kelemvor said. “Clerical magic can’t be trusted. I told Adon to cure her earlier, without thinking, as if it were still the time before Arrival. Of course, he couldn’t. I feared the worshipers of Tymora would turn her away, as she was not one of their own, or force us to bring her back in the morning. By then she might have died.”

“Having her drink this might be just as deadly as not treating her at all,” Zehla said as she held up a vial. “All magic is unstable.”

Kelemvor sighed and looked down at Caitlan, who was still shivering. “But we really have no choice, do we?”

Zehla took the lid off the flask and raised the girl’s head. Kelemvor assisted her and they coaxed the unconscious girl to drink.

“So you came to me for my healing potions.”

“I knew that if you didn’t have the potions, you’d know where to get them,” Kelemvor said. “The black market, if necessary. These items go at a premium.” The flask was empty and Kelemvor allowed Caitlan’s head to sink into the soft pillows. “Now what?”

“Now we wait,” Zehla said. “Unless we’ve poisoned her, it will probably be morning before we see any results.”

“If the potion works, will she be fit to ride with us?” Kelemvor said anxiously.

“She will live,” Zehla said. “We will see about the rest.”

Kelemvor reached for his gold, but Zehla stayed his hand.

“Unlike you, Kel, I need no reward other than the knowledge I have saved a life.” Zehla motioned to the opened box. A half dozen flasks lay untouched. “Put those away,” she said, and left the room.

Kelemvor stood for long moments, staring at the girl and the flasks, Zehla’s words weighing heavily upon him. When the fighter finally emerged from Caitlan’s room, he found Cyric and Adon waiting for him.

Zehla had already informed them of Caitlan’s improving condition, and they wished to discuss their next move. Kelemvor, however, was in no mood for discussion. He left the inn, his comrades in tow, and waited until they had taken to their mounts and were well away from the inn before he let loose a string of orders that surprised Cyric and quelled some of the former thief’s earlier doubts about Kelemvor’s abilities.

“The boy you mentioned earlier, Cyric. The one you saw at the inn, with the girl: the one whose father is a guardsman. Pay the boy a visit and convince him to serve as a distraction at highsun tomorrow, when his father is guarding the north gate. If he objects, threaten to expose his liaisons with the girl. And tell him to maintain his silence after we’re gone, as you have friends in the city who will expose him in your absence. Do this under the cover of night, then get some rest and gather your belongings. We will meet at the Hungry Man at first light.

“Adon, I want you to visit a man named Gelzunduth. I’ll give you directions. Cyric and I will need false identifications that will hold up under scrutiny. That fat old buzzard is a master at creating bogus documents. We will also need a false charter.” Kelemvor threw a bag of gold pieces to Adon. “That should more than cover your expenses. With your innocent face, you should have no problem convincing that pig to go along. If he refuses, come to my room at the Hungry Man. If I’m not there, wait for me, and I’ll go back there with you. I’ve a debt to settle with that man, anyway.”

Adon seemed confused. “Neither of you stay at the barracks, with the other guards?”

Kelemvor looked to Cyric.

“Part of our reward for bringing down the traitor,” Cyric said. “The independence was welcome.”

Adon frowned. “False documents? That’s hardly legal.”

Kelemvor pulled up the reigns and brought his mount to an abrupt halt. He glared at Adon. “You can’t heal. You can’t throw spells. You’re adequate in a fight. Buying false documents shouldn’t be too much to ask, all things considered.”

Adon hung his head and took the directions Kelemvor offered, then rode off toward Gelzunduth’s house.

“What will you do?” Cyric asked.

Kelemvor almost laughed. “Try to find a competent magic-user who’s not a woman.”

The Fighter rode off into the night, leaving Cyric to pursue his own task, and ponder his own questions.

The streets of Arabel were deserted, and Midnight wondered briefly if a curfew had been in effect. She had wandered from the course the serving girl at the Pride of Arabel had laid out for her, and soon found herself lost. Midnight knew that this was for the better, as it gave her time to calm down before she found herself in the company of others at the Scarlet Spear.

Midnight touched the pendant — Mystra’s trust — as she thought of the blue flame dragon that had materialized at the Pride of Arabel. She had tried to throw a simple spell of levitation to impress Kelemvor, but somehow the spell had been altered. And though Midnight had remained visibly calm, and claimed credit for the dragon as if it was what she had intended to create, she had been terrified.

The magic-user touched the pendant once more. Perhaps it had something to do with the dragon. Then again, perhaps it was only the unstable nature of magic that caused the dragon to appear.

Unable to decide the real source of the misfired spell, Midnight turned her attention to finding the Scarlet Spear.

Then, in the street ahead of her, Midnight saw a horse, and a man called out to her. It was Thurbrand, the mercenary who had challenged Kelemvor at the inn.

“Fair daffodil!”

“I am known as Midnight,” she said as the man approached. There was no one else on the street. The name he called her brought a slight tinge of amusement to Midnight, despite the cries of her better nature to beware the smiling man before her.

“I am no one’s ‘fair daffodil.’ “

“Then there is no justice in this world,” Thurbrand said, his green eyes picking up the light from the brilliant moon overhead.

“What do you want, Dragon Eyes?”

“Ah, I see Kelemvor’s tender mercies have not left you unscarred,” Thurbrand said softly. “He has that effect on many who wish to embrace his friendship. He has suffered much, Lady Midnight, and he inflicts that suffering on all those around him.”

“Just ‘Midnight,’ ” the magic-user said as she felt a sudden chill and pulled her cloak tight about her shoulders.

Thurbrand smiled and brushed a strand of hair that had revealed a bare spot back in place. “Come, I offer a place to rest for the night, and company who will appreciate one as lovely and capable as yourself.”

Thurbrand turned and walked in the direction of his horse. “Perhaps we can discuss business as well.”

Either Midnight’s eyes deceived her, or the horse Thurbrand walked toward was adorned with a blood-red mane; a horse that was the very image of the one she had been separated from outside the city of Arabel. Heart racing, Midnight watched as Thurbrand stopped and looked over his shoulder. Midnight sauntered to his side, smiling as a plan began to form in her mind. Perhaps Thurbrand would be able to assist Midnight in proving to that overbearing fool Kelemvor that she was not a woman to he trifled with, although Thurbrand himself would not have cared for the direction her thoughts had taken.

“More specifically, the business that scoundrel Kelemvor did not have the sense to employ you for. There is much I would like to know.”

Midnight frowned and cast a forget spell upon Thurbrand. There was a soft, blue-white flash at the base of his skull and Thurbrand cocked his head in annoyance, swatting at the back of his neck. “Damn bugs,” he said sharply. “Now, what were we talking about?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Strange,” Thurbrand said as he mounted the ebony stallion, then looked to Midnight who held out her hand. Midnight leaped, sinking her boot into the fighter’s hand, almost dragging him off the mount as she settled comfortably on it herself.

“Strange?” she said.

“I can’t seem to remember either.” Thurbrand shrugged. “I suppose it was of no matter.”

“Aye,” Midnight said, and she gave the mount a gentle kick. Then she held on tightly as the riders suddenly found themselves in motion, racing through the night. “I suppose you’re right. Lovely mount you’ve got.”

“Purchased him just last week. Somewhat unruly, but fearless in battle.”

Midnight grinned and patted the flank of the horse. “Takes after his master, I would guess.”

Thurbrand laughed and rested his gloved hand on Midnight’s bare knee, then removed it as the horse shot forward, forcing him to hold the horse’s reins or risk falling.

Midnight wondered if she knew a spell to make the man keep his paws to himself, and his head on his own pillow in the dead of night. In truth, it didn’t matter. If Midnight chose not to entertain company this evening and if her magic failed her, she still had her knife.

A knife always worked.

Midnight smiled to herself and relaxed slightly. Kelemvor wouldn’t turn her away after he saw what she was going to do to Thurbrand.

Kelemvor returned from his fruitless quest angry and tired. He found Adon mysteriously bunked out on the floor, and roused the man long enough to find that all had gone according to plan: Gelzunduth had provided the false documents. Once Kelemvor had the papers, Adon crawled back to his bed of crumpled blankets on the floor and immediately fell asleep.

The fighter wanted to know how the mission had gone and, more importantly, why Adon was not spending the night in the temple, but he was relieved Adon hadn’t volunteered an explanation. A vivid memory of an evening spent on watch, listening to the cleric endlessly praise his goddess, and himself for that matter, was enough to keep Kelemvor from asking for an explanation of even the simplest matter: Adon would invariably turn the conversation into a chance to praise Sune.

Hours later, when Kelemvor was sound asleep, Adon woke from his dreamless slumber and found he could not return to sleep. The cleric had feared he would find an armed guard waiting to escort him back to the dungeon at his humble quarters in the Temple of Sune, and so he had avoided the temple completely that night. Adon was grateful to Kelemvor for his generosity in letting him stay the night, but he had learned it was unwise to voice such sentiments to the man. He would find some other way to give thanks.

Of course, Adon knew that he was being overcautious. After all, Myrmeen had given him until highsun the following day to leave Arabel. But if her mood had changed, he might have found himself on the receiving end of an assassin’s sword. His experience with the serving wench at the Pride of Arabel had made him wary.

So Adon dressed in the semi-darkness, attempting to ignore the condition of the room. The cleric’s quarters had always been meticulously kept; Kelemvor’s room looked as if some minor disaster had swept through the place, leaving weapons, maps, dirty clothing, and bits of half-eaten dinners laying everywhere. Judging from the look of the room, Kelemvor did not allow the cleaners access under any circumstances.

Realizing he should at least try to retrieve his belongings, Adon left the inn, and nervously traveled the back streets to the Temple of Sune. Once he reached the temple, he saw no signs of any guard, so he entered and charged a fellow Sunite with the task of retrieving certain belongings from his adobe. The Sunite rumbled some less than good-natured threats, mostly concerned with battering Adon’s thick skull with his flail for having disturbed his slumber. However, once his fellow cleric understood that Adon was to be taking permanent leave, he acquiesced with enthusiasm.

When the Sunite returned from the adobe, Adon checked to be sure he had packed his war hammer, as he would likely need it from the girl’s description of the castle. Then Adon returned to the Hungry Man Inn, cleared a small section of the floor for his belongings, and fell into a deep sleep.