Shadowdale (24 page)

Although he was not a worshiper, the bald man uttered a small prayer to Shar, Goddess of Forgetfulness. Just as it seemed his prayer might be rewarded, a scream sounded in the night. The bald man sprang into action.

“There!” one of his men shouted, pointing at the fair-haired fighter who had been lifted from the ground by his neck. The flesh of the man’s assailant appeared to be white as chalk, the moonlight casting an unearthly glow upon the headless creature.

“The statues,” another man called. “They live!”

The bald man heard the soft crush of earth behind him and turned to face the statue of two lovers, still connected, the stone flesh of the man’s hand and arm bonded to the woman’s back. The stone lovers moved as one as they surged forward with a speed the bald man was not prepared for.

There were screams in the night.

The mountains of Gnoll Pass were visible behind Kelemvor and his companions, but the riders did not look back at them very often. If they had, they would have seen the mountains shimmer against the soft blue of the sky, as if the brave peaks held the consistency of little more than illusion.

The decision to follow the road north and travel on to Tilverton instead of braving the open countryside had been a unanimous one. Even Kelemvor raised no objection to the change in plans, despite his hurry to ride on to Shadowdale and put this job behind him. Before the packhorses died and their food and supplies turned to dust he might have argued, but it was clear now that they had to stop and get new supplies before crossing through the Shadow Gap and moving on to Shadowdale.

Kelemvor and Adon still shared a horse, as did Midnight and Cyric, through most of the journey. After the lack of supplies, this seemed to be the biggest annoyance for the heroes, and soon the tempers of the mounts and their riders were flaring regularly.

The heroes were at the end of a long day in the pale gray expanses of the treacherous Stonelands when they spotted travelers a quarter mile off the road. One moment the area appeared flat and safe, an inviting alternative to the plodding, twisting road before them. But upon approach, the carefully disguised ridges and falls of this area became apparent.

The travelers seemed to have journeyed from the road in an attempt to cut time from their trip, but instead blundered into a gap in the land’s surface. Their wagon had been overturned, their horses crushed beneath the weight of the cart. There were bodies lying on the flat, gray lands beside the wagon, and the sobs of a woman were carried by the wind to the ears of the adventurers. Adon was the first to badger Kelemvor as the fighter turned away from the sight.

“There is nothing we can do. The authorities in Tilverton can send someone.” Kelemvor said.

“We can’t just leave them,” Midnight said, shocked at Kelemvor’s attitude.

Kelemvor shook his head. “I can.”

“That should surprise me,” Midnight said. “Yet somehow it doesn’t. Does everything have a price for you, Kel?”

Kelemvor glared at the dark-haired magic-user.

“We can’t turn our backs on them,” Adon said frantically. “Some may be injured and require the attentions of a cleric.”

“What good can you do them?” Cyric said sharply. “You can’t even heal.”

Adon looked down. “I’m aware of that.”

Midnight turned to Kelemvor. “What do you say, Kel?”

Kelemvor’s eyes were cold. “There is nothing to say. If you wish to indulge in such foolishness, you’ll do so without me!” He looked at Midnight. “Unless of course, you wish to order me to go.”

Midnight looked away from the fighter and turned to Cyric, who shared her horse. The thief nodded and they galloped off in the direction of the fallen travelers.

Adon’s pleas fell on deaf ears, until at last Kelemvor leaped from the mount and waved the cleric on.

“Go if you must,” Kelemvor said. “I’ll wait here.”

Adon looked at the angry fighter, a mixture of pity and confusion in his eyes.

“Go, I said!” Kelemvor shouted and slapped the horse, sending it into a frantic race to catch up with Midnight and Cyric.

Midnight’s horse covered the distance quickly, but the sobbing woman did not seem to take notice of the approaching riders. As Cyric and Midnight got close to her, they saw that the blood on her pale blue skirt had turned an ugly brown. The woman’s bare legs were deeply tanned, and her hands, even as they moved across the body of a fallen man, seemed hard and calloused. Her hair was blond and thickly matted to her face. She cradled the man to her breast, rocking him gently.

“Are you hurt?” Midnight said as she climbed down from her mount and approached the woman. The magic-user realized that the woman before her was younger than she first believed. In fact, she seemed barely old enough to deserve the honor of the wedding ring that graced her hand.

The man had been dressed in tight leather trousers, and the soles of his boots were nearly worn out. He wore a pale blue ruffled shirt, which was covered with a brownish red stain. The magic-user saw no weapons near the dead man.

Even as Adon caught up with the others, Cyric realized there was no wedding ring on the hand of the dead man.

“Turn back!” the thief screamed, and six men suddenly burst from the gray sands surrounding the heroes. The dead man grinned, gave his “wife” a quick kiss, and reached for a broadsword that had been half-buried in the darkened sands beneath him. The woman withdrew a pair of daggers from under her legs. She gracefully leaped to her feet and settled into a slight crouch as she joined the others who moved about their prey in an ever-tightening circle.

Standing by the road, Kelemvor cursed as he saw the trap sprung. Midnight’s conditions say I must defend them, the fighter realized, and he rushed toward the figures in the distance. Just as his sword was leaving its sheath, though, something rushed past the fighter’s ear. There was a cold breeze, and the object passed with a hiss. Kelemvor saw a steel-tipped arrow sail by him and end its flight in the sands.

Behind him, Kelemvor heard the sound of men shouting. He focused past their angry voices and concentrated on the tiny sound of bowstrings being drawn tight, then released. The fighter turned and fell to his knees, his sword flashing as it cut through two of the three arrows that would have surely brought him down.

Kelemvor faced three archers who had risen from the filthy sands at the other side of the road. Already they were notching another round of arrows. The sound of steel striking steel rang out in the distance behind him, and Kelemvor knew that Midnight, Cyric, and Adon were fighting for their lives, too.

“We have nothing!” Kelemvor shouted as the archers loosed their volley, and he rolled to avoid the missiles. The sight of a single arrow passing just over his face revealed the hopelessness of the situation to the fighter. No matter where he turned, one of the three archers would eventually anticipate his movements. His armor offered little protection against the archers’ longbows, and the added vulnerability of his unprotected head presented a target the highly skilled bowmen already sought.

The archers scrambled forward, crossing the road. They dug in at new, closer positions. Then they tried a new tactic: rotating their assault. In moments Kelemvor faced a constant volley of arrows as the third archer released his arrow even as the first took aim.

Across the field of stone and sand, by the overturned wagon, the fighting had become desperate. Midnight caught a glimpse of a crossbow trained on Cyric’s back. Her first thought was to throw a spell to save the thief, but there was no time to cast and there was no way of knowing if her spell would fail or succeed. She dropped to a crouch, sending one of her daggers into the throat of the assailant. The steel bolt went wild as it was loosed and flew harmlessly over Cyric’s head.

Unaware of the attempt made against him by the man with the crossbow, Cyric fought on against the leader of the brigands. His hand axe had proven to be an awkward defense against his opponent’s broadsword, so the thief feinted to the left to draw the man in close, hoping to disarm him. But the swordsman wasn’t taken in by the ruse, and his blade came within inches of Cyric’s throat. The thief rolled and drew first blood as his axe bit deeply into the brigand’s ankle, nearly severing his foot. The swordsman fell, his blade thrust out to gut Cyric, but the dark, lean man rolled out of the way of the blade and brought his axe up with all his strength. The brigand made no sound as the axe was buried in his throat.

Cyric removed his bloodied axe from the swordsman, and a sharp, biting pain flushed through his system as one of the blades of the brigand’s “wife” hit home.

At the periphery of the circle formed around Midnight and Cyric, Adon was dragged from Kelemvor’s mount. His war hammer broke free of the bonds that held it at his side and fell to the ground as Adon fell beside it. He snatched up the weapon as a filthy boot moved to cover his hand. Adon grasped the boot and pulled hard. A moment later the owner of the boot fell to the ground, and Adon clubbed him with the hammer. Then Adon sprang forward, barely avoiding a knife thrust that would have relieved him of a portion of his beautiful, well-combed hair, as well as his scalp. Adon clubbed that attacker, too.

Adon heard movement behind him. He turned and saw a filthy man running toward him with a short sword aimed at his heart. Before the cleric even had time to react, the body of another of the brigands crashed into the man with the short sword, knocking him to the ground. Adon looked up and saw Midnight engaged in a hand-to-hand duel with a burly fighter. The man brought his knee up into Midnight’s stomach and clasped his steel-gloved hands together as he brought them high over his head, preparing to crack open the skull of the magic-user with his mighty fists.

Adon remembered his long hours of study, got a running start, and delivered a blow to the small of the man’s back that shattered his spine instantly. The brigand fell back, eyes wide, and Adon stepped out of the way. He helped Midnight to her feet, and she stared at him in disbelief.

“A follower of Sune must be trained to protect the gifts his goddess gave so freely!” Adon said and smiled.

Midnight almost laughed, then shoved the cleric out of the way as she released a spell that caused a new assailant to stop dead in his tracks, dropping his weapons. He shook as if something horrible were growing within him, then his eyes rolled back in his head as his flesh darkened and became stone. A single tear ran from his eye.

Midnight froze. It was a child she had struck down, no more than fifteen summers in age. She had only meant to erect a shield to ward off the blow he was about to deliver. How could she have turned him to stone?

The statue exploded, sending bits of dark stone in every direction.

Close enough to hear the explosion, Cyric fell away from the wild-eyed girl as she thrust at him again and again. He felt a warm flow of blood dripping down to his legs from the wound at his side, and the pain became worse as he moved. He fell over the corpse of the swordsman, the soft blue ruffled shirt now stained a bright crimson. The girl’s slashes moved closer to his chest, so Cyric took his chance and grabbed the girl’s wrist with one hand, her throat with the other.

Only a child, the thief thought, and her free hand raked across his unprotected face, her nails biting into his flesh. Cyric twisted the hand with the dagger until he heard the sound of bones snapping, and pushed the girl away, forcing her against the hard ground. Her skull made a high, cracking sound, and her eyes suddenly glazed over as the fight went out of them. A tiny trickle of blood swam from her mouth, cascading down the length of her neck until it touched the top of her breast.

She was dead.

Something dark and horrible within Cyric rejoiced at the knowledge, but a brighter part of his soul pushed the thoughts away.

Cyric heard a noise beside him and turned. The pain from his wound suddenly flared, and the thief tumbled to the ground, falling upon the corpse of the girl. Although he could not move, he saw Midnight and Adon as they challenged the remaining two members of the band of brigands.

There were less than forty summers in age between the two remaining attackers, so it wasn’t surprising when they turned and ran to the other side of the overturned wagon. They barked out commands for their supposedly injured mounts to rise as they pulled the gently laid debris from the flanks of the beasts.

Cyric watched as Midnight scanned the area, her gaze suddenly locking on him. He reached out as Midnight and Adon rushed to his side. A moment later he was staring up at Midnight’s face. His head was in her lap, and her hand was gently caressing his chest. The thief’s head fell back in relief, and Midnight’s hand caressed his brow. Then her expression changed.

“Kel,” she said softly, and Cyric realized she was staring toward the road. He turned his head in the direction of the road and watched as Kelemvor was besieged by a small band of archers. Midnight called to Adon, and the cleric took Cyric as the magic-user stood and started to run toward the road.

“Midnight, wait!” Adon shouted. “You’ll only get yourself killed!”

Midnight hesitated. She knew Adon was right. Kelemvor was too far away. Even if she had been by his side, her daggers would be useless against arrows. The only way she could save the fighter was with her magic. She thought of the child she had inadvertently slain, images of the exploding stone body etched in her mind.

When Mystra’s gifts had crumbled into dust, Midnight had taken a small pouch of diamonds that had been reduced to powder. Reciting the spell to create a wall of force, Midnight reached into the bag and took a pinch of the diamond dust between her fingers. She released the dust at the correct moment, and there was a blinding flash of blue-white light. Midnight was thrown from her feet as a complex pattern of light formed in the air where she had stood. Feeling as if a part of her soul had been wrenched from her. Midnight looked to the road as the pattern of light vanished.

The wall had not appeared.

Midnight threw her head back in frustration. She was just about to loose a scream of rage when something appeared in the sky.