Avatar - Tantras Part 7

"With blood," the red-haired priest said as he raised his hands again. "I answer your call with blood. For I am not Fzoul Chembryl, although his flesh hosts my essence. I am your lord and master, and you will bow before me!"

The dark-haired priest screamed, clutched at his eyes, then fell to the ground. Visions of a world controlled by the G.o.d of Strife filled the priest's mind. The rivers of Faerun ran with blood, and the land itself shook under the tread of Bane's mighty armies. And there, in the middle of the carnage and ruin, the priest saw himself, covered with the blood and jewels of the defeated.

Rising to his knees, the priest removed his hands and revealed glowing, blood-red eyes. "Bane has returned!" the priest screamed. "Our G.o.d has returned to deliver us!"

"All my children will know my glory," Bane said, and in moments the entire chamber was filled with the screams of his followers as they reveled in Bane's vision of conquest and power. Looking out through a blood-red haze as a reminder of their true allegiance, Bane's faithful stood before their lord, awaiting his orders.

"We must first discover the strength of our enemies. Recall our spies from Shadowdale," Bane cried, pointing to a greasy-haired city official who cowered near the throne. "I wish to learn the fate of those who stood against me in theTempleofLathander. If Elminster or that raven-haired lackey of Mystra still live, I want them brought before me!"

The minister of defense bowed before the Black Lord, then hastened from the throne room. "Of course, Lord Bane," the minister whispered over and over as he fled from the chamber.

"And now we must address the state of Zhentil Keep," the G.o.d of Strife growled and turned to once again face the crowded throne room. "The discontent, fear, and confusion of our people must be put to rest before we may achieve the greatness that is our preordained future.

"We will proceed through the streets of the city this very night, spreading the news of my return. The flames of hope that light your eyes will be fanned into an inferno. Together we shall sweep away the people's doubts and begin a new age!" The audience chamber was filled with cries of thanks and shouts of support for the Black Lord. Bane allowed a slight smile to work its way across his face. Once again, he held his followers in an iron grip.

When the frenzy reached a peak, the G.o.d of Strife held his fist aloft and spoke again. "Together we shall triumph where G.o.ds alone would fail!"

Bane's wors.h.i.+pers parted as their G.o.d rose from his throne and walked to the center of the room. The G.o.d of Strife stood among his screaming followers for a moment, then led the mult.i.tude out of the temple and into the night.

IV.

PURSUIT.

The edge of the forest was over an hour away, and Kelemvor and his men could hardly wait to leave the slow travel and the many obstacles of the woods behind them. The sun had risen, and the last of the magical crystals Lhaeo had supplied the riders with had failed. The light from the crystals had pierced the veil of night and allowed Kelemvor and his charges to keep moving along the river almost constantly. In the days since they had left Shadowdale, the riders had stopped only twice to rest, for a few hours each time.

Kelemvor reached for the small purse tied to his belt and jostled it slightly. The jingle of gold coins against one another rose above the sounds of the dalesmen as they made their way along the rough path. A few men glanced at the mercenary, then quickly looked away when Kelemvor scowled in their direction.

I wonder if Cyric and Midnight received this much money to work against the Dales? Kelemvor thought for the fourth time that day. They probably got paid off when we were in Tilverton.

Letting the purse drop to his side, Kelemvor glanced around at the men Mourngrym had sent on the hunt with him. They were, all in all, a less than remarkable lot. The fighter saw them as typical residents of a farming town: narrow-minded but sincere. The men had done little to impress or surprise the experienced adventurer during the long journey from Shadowdale, but that was fine with him.

The only thing about the party that had surprised Kelemvor was Mourngrym's insistence that Yarbro, the young guardsman who had taken an instant dislike to Kelemvor and his companions when they had first arrived in Shadowdale, join them. But there had been no time to argue about personnel if the hunters wanted to catch the escapees, so Kelemvor had reluctantly agreed.

"A cold heart is needed for this task," Mourngrym had said as Kelemvor prepared to ride after his one-time allies. "Your rage might blind you to justice. I want the criminals returned alive, unless there is absolutely no other choice."The dalelord paused for a moment, then handed the fighter the purse full of gold. "Yarbro will see that reason prevails."

Kelemvor snorted. Placing "Yarbro" and "reason" in the same sentence was almost a joke. It seems far more likely that Mourngrym wants someone to keep an eye on me, the fighter thought. He pulled up on his reins, and his horse jumped over a fallen branch. Kelemvor looked around again and sighed. At least the rest of the men seem relatively trustworthy.

The guide chosen by the dalelord to lead the hunters through the forest was Terrol Uthor, a veteran of several battles against the drow and a scholar steeped in the ancient lore of the elven clans that once claimed the forest around Shadowdale as their own. Uthor was a short, powerfully built, square-shouldered man in his late thirties with blue-gray eyes and thick, black hair that he wore slicked back.

A common bond of hatred for the escapees was the one thing that united the remaining members of Kelemvor's charges. Gurn Bestil, a woodsman in his fifties with a shock of white hair, had lost his twenty-year-old son in the Battle of Shadowdale. Kohren and Lanx were priests of Lathander. Kohren was tall, and all that remained of his dark hair was a widow's peak. Lanx was of moderate build, with thin, curly blond hair and dull brown eyes. Both priests wore the red crest of their order on their clothing.

Bursus, Cabal, and Jorah were soldiers who had watched comrades and friends die in the battle. Of the three, Cabal was the oldest, with a gray beard and thick white eyebrows. Tired, jet-black eyes and deeply tanned skin distinguished Bursus. Jorah was of slender build with wild, auburn hair. All three were archers as well as swordsmen, and they carried spare bows and arrows for the other huntsmen.

Mikkel and Carella owned the fis.h.i.+ng skiff that bad been stolen by the escapees. No one knew their last names, but in appearance, they could have been taken for brothers. Their faces were baked red by the sun, and their builds were rugged and well toned. Both their heads had been shaved. They were dressed alike. The only thing that really set them apart was the sparkling prism that dangled from Mikkel's right ear.

Since the trip through the thick woods along the Ashaba had been uneventful so far, Kelemvor had no idea how the men would react in a battle. Not that he was worried about their fighting ability. The battle against Bane's troops had given the adventurer enough proof of the dalesmen's general fighting prowess. Still, the fighter wondered how his pack of huntsmen would work as a team.

"Until we run into a stray band of Zhents or a wild creature that is addled enough to attack a party this size, or those butchers we're chasing, we won't know how the men will fight," Yarbro said snidely when Kelemvor had posed the problem to his second-in-command. "But I wouldn't worry," the soldier added. "We'll all pull together when we catch up to that witch and her friends."

Even now, as he rode through the forest with the troops, Kelemvor was not rea.s.sured by Yarbro's confidence. Or perhaps it was the knowledge that the soldier was right - that the salesmen's hatred would pull them together when they finally caught Midnight , Cyric, and Adon - that troubled the fighter the most.

Kelemvor shook the thoughts from his head. I'm doing the right thing, he growled to himself. They betrayed me. They murdered innocent people. They killed Elminster.

The fighter spurred his horse and raced down the path. His men pushed their horses on as well, and soon the company was out of the forest and on the edge of the open fields of Mistledale. So far, they had seen no sign of the skiff or the escapees. Unless they got lucky or did something drastic soon, the huntsmen were in danger of losing their quarry.

"Halt!" Kelemvor called as he held up his hand to signal the troops. When all the men got close enough to hear, the fighter added, "We need to decide where to go from here."

"We follow the river," Yarbro snapped. "What else can we do? In fact, we're wasting time even talking about it. We should be charging across Mistledale as fast as we can. It's open land, and -"

"The road to the Standing Stone," Kelemvor interrupted flatly. The fighter dismounted and stretched. "We can ride even faster on the road than we can across open fields."

Gurn ran his hand through his white hair. "But the road angles to the north and east, away from the river."

Kelemvor fished a piece of dried meat from his saddlebag. "And then it turns to the south, all the way toBlackfeatherBridge. We know they're going to Scardale, following the river. They have to pa.s.s the bridge eventually."

Yarbro cursed. "How will we know they haven't already pa.s.sed the bridge when we get there?" A few of the other men mumbled in agreement.

"We won't," the green-eyed fighter said as he stuffed the piece of meat into his mouth and mounted his horse again "Kel's right," Terrol Uthor said over the mumbled curses of the two fishermen. "We'll never catch up with them if we continue along the river. Once we've crossed the dale, the woods between here and Battledale are very 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 ofSuzailin 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 G.o.d 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 carca.s.s 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 a.s.sociated 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 theGreatDesert, 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 tighter, 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 the flames. Standing out in the open, bathed by firelight, the hunters would have made easy targets. If the watchers in the woods had hostile intentions, they had just lost part of their advantage. Still, the cover of the woods would be in the hidden creatures' favor. Kelemvor urged the hunters to pack their belongings as quickly as possible.

"If we keep our wits about us, we may be able to get to the horses and outdistance whoever is out there," Kelemvor said, slinging his pack onto his horse with one hand and brandis.h.i.+ng his sword with the other.

Suddenly there was a piggish grunt from the forest, and one of the horses whinnied in terror. The horse rose up on its hind legs and threw its rider, Jorah, to the ground. Then the frantic horse raced onto the Mistledale road and vanished into the night. There was a hiss, like the whisper of a sudden gust of wind, and Gurn, the white-haired woodsman, grunted and fell forward.

One of the fishermen, Carella, was near Gurn, close to the Mistledale side of the crescent-shaped clearing. He leaped from his mount and rushed to the woodsman's aid. Gurn lay on his chest, writhing in agony. A three-inch dart protruded from the back of his neck. The fisherman reached down, grabbed the woodsman's arms, and tried to drag the white-haired man to a horse.

"Kelemvor!" Carella shouted between puffs of breath. "They're using some kind of darts. They could be poisoned. They -"

The fisherman's words were cut short as a dart pierced the side of his face, pa.s.sed through his cheek, and impaled itself into his tongue. Despite his absolute horror, Carella was quickly satisfied that the darts were not poisoned. He felt no sensation other than intense pain. The fisherman lost his grip on Gurn and fell to the ground, clutching at his face. As Carella quickly struggled to his feet, another dart pierced his throat, and the fisherman fell backward, his body quivering as death claimed him.

Rough, snorting laughter erupted from the forest. For the first time, Kelemvor saw something - a few faces - in amongst the trees. The creatures had large, watery eyes, set irregularly over a piggish snout. The fighter knew immediately what the hunters faced - orcs. Probably a dozen, at least.

To the road!" Kelemvor shouted and wheeled his horse around. Several darts and two or three black-fletched arrows flashed from the trees. Cabal pulled Jorah onto the back of his horse, and the other two archers raced after Kelemvor.

Near the center of the clearing, Mikkel screamed as he saw Carella fall. They had been childhood friends and inseparable for most of their lives. Mikkel started to move quickly to help his friend, but Yarbro grabbed the red-skinned fisherman from behind and dragged him back toward the horses. Arrows flew all around them as they mounted and made for the south road.

No one was there to stop Terrol Uthor from rus.h.i.+ng to Carella's side. However, as the guide crouched over the fallen fisherman, an arrow flew out of the darkness and pierced Terrors chest. The guide gasped once, then fell onto his face in the dirt.

Five orcs, wearing dirty, rusted armor and carrying swords, burst into the clearing near the Standing Stone. Two immediately ran toward the bodies of the dalesmen, but the other three rushed toward Kohren and Lanx, the two clerics of Lathander, who were still fumbling with their saddlebags.

"Forget your books!" Bursus screamed as he spurred his horse down the south road. "Hurry! We -" A black arrow pierced the fighter's leg, pinning it to his horse. Bursus careened down the road after Kelemvor, gritting his teeth in pain. Five more orcs, most carrying bows, leaped from cover. A few stray arrows and a larger number of curses screamed in Orcish followed the dalesman down the road.

Kelemvor reined in his horse and stopped around a bend in the road. Cabal and Jorah, riding the same horse, quickly joined the green-eyed fighter, as did Yarbro and Mikkel. The hunters sat silently for a moment, listening to the orcs cursing in the distance. Only Kelemvor could understand what the orcs were saying, but all of the riders s.h.i.+vered. The meaning of the threats were clear enough, despite the difference in language.

In another second, Bursus's mount cantered into sight. The black-haired dalesman was lolling in the saddle from the pain of his wounded leg, but his horse had continued down the road. Jorah jumped down from Cabal's mount and stopped Bursus's horse from continuing past them.

"The Lathanderites...," Bursus mumbled. "Save them!" The archer tried to raise his hand, probably to point back at the Standing Stone, but couldn't. Cabal dismounted and examined the arrow wound in Bursus's left leg.

Kelemvor turned his horse away from the Standing Stone. "Let's go," he muttered. "The clerics are lost. There's no way they can escape those orcs."

Yarbro drew his sword and looked at Kelemvor. "Sometimes orcs let their victims live... for a while." The young guard paused for a moment. Mikkel drew his sword and Cabal remounted. "We're going back for them." Kelemvor closed his eyes. Even if he wanted to, there was no way he could go back for the clerics. It simply wasn't in his best interest to endanger his life for them. "Do what you want, Yarbro. I'm not going to help you." The fighter got off his horse and walked toward the trees. "I'll wait here until you get back."

"I'll look after Bursus," Jorah said flatly. "I'll try to get that arrow out and bind his leg." The slender, auburn-haired archer turned to Kelemvor and spat, then turned back to the others. "If that's what you want me to do, that is, Yarbro."

The young guard narrowed his eyes and stared at Kelemvor for a moment. "Yes... it is up to me now, isn't it?" Yarbro said slowly. "Fine, Jorah." The guard spurred his horse and headed back toward the Standing Stone. "But I'd keep Kelemvor in front of you at all times." Yarbro, Cabal, and Mikkel raced back down the road, whooping and yelling. Kelemvor heard a few squeals and cries in Orcish as the fighters rounded the bend, then nothing but the sound of something running through the woods. This is the end, Kelemvor thought as he sat under a tree and watched Jorah pull the arrow from Bursus's leg, then dress the wound and even tend to Bursus's wounded horse. There's no way I'll ever be able to stop these men from killing Midnight , Cyric, and Adon.

The fighter kicked a stone into a rut in the rough dirt road. It would all be so simple if it weren't for my d.a.m.ned curse! I could do what was right. I could give up this hunt. But that wasn't possible, and Kelemvor knew it. The moment he sided with Midnight , Adon, and Cyric, he broke his pledge to Lord Mourngrym and would lose the reward the dalelord had promised him as incentive to finish the quest. He would have endangered his life on the hunt for no reward - an act that would surely cause the curse to go into effect. Then Kelemvor would transform into a panther until he killed someone.

Jorah turned to Kelemvor and scowled. Kelemvor saw the hatred in the archer's eyes. For a moment, he felt afraid. It's far more likely they'll kill me, too, Kelemvor suddenly realized. I'm no better or worse to these men than Midnight .

Before Kelemvor could think about that too long, he heard the rumble of hooves on the road. The fighter jumped to his feet and moved behind his horse. If the orcs had taken the dalesmen's mounts, they'd likely try to shoot a volley of arrows at him as they rode past.

But it wasn't the orcs coming down the road - it was Yarbro and the two other archers. They had one other riderless horse in tow. All three men were sweating profusely, and Cabal had a nasty slash across his upper arm, but they were alive. Jorah helped them to dismount, and Yarbro immediately went to check on Bursus.

As soon as Jorah and Cabal had placed Bursus onto a horse, Yarbro walked over to face Kelemvor, his sword drawn. "The orcs ran, you coward. Just like you did!" The young guard held his sword up to Kelemvor's face. "I ought to kill you right now, but we'll need you as a s.h.i.+eld in case we're attacked again. You ride in front, alone, from now on."

Kelemvor pushed the guard's sword away. "And were you right about the clerics?" Yarbro snarled, and his sword flashed out toward Kelemvor's chest. The fighter slapped the sword aside with his own blade, however, and Yarbro was knocked backward a few feet by the blow. Jorah, Cabal, and Mikkel drew their swords.

"See?" Yarbro hissed as he sheathed his weapon and held up his hands. "You're alive only because I say so." The other dalesmen sheathed their swords as well. Kelemvor turned away and readied his horse for another long ride.

The ride toBlackfeatherBridgewas long and silent for Kelemvor. The dalesmen stopped in Essembra only long enough for supplies and to have a local healer look at Bursus's leg. The wound was not too serious, and after a few poultices, Bursus was ready to ride on to the bridge with the other hunters. All along the road, Kelemvor rode far out in front of the others, hoping that something would attack them from behind.

The green-eyed fighter knew that if the dalesmen were ambushed, he wouldn't lift a sword to save them. Then was nothing but Mourngrym's gold and his promise holding him to the quest now, and even that was proving to be little incentive.

Kelemvor had expected that the shock of losing their companions to such a horrible fate would cause the dalesmen to withdraw into themselves, to tone down their viciousness. At the very least, he thought they would stop dwelling on ways to torture Midnight , Adon, and Cyric. But Yarbro and the other hunters - even Bursus, when he was well again - spent much of their days plotting horrible fates for Kelemvor's friends.

Occasionally Yarbro would catch up to Kelemvor and toll him the latest cruel imaginings, just to taunt him. The fighter always remained silent, but it never stopped the young guard from telling him over and over again how the dalesmen were going to kill the magic-user and her allies. Eventually the hunters arrived atBlackfeatherBridge, where they secured their mounts in the forest on the north bank of the Ashaba, then took up positions on the bridge. As the dalesmen set up a rough camp, Kelemvor stood at the northern end of the bridge and cleared his throat loudly. "Yarbro is now your leader," the fighter began, "and rightly so. However, I have something to say to you all." A low rumble of mutters ran through the camp. Yarbro eyed Kelemvor suspiciously, then nodded to his men, letting them know that they had his permission to listen to the fighter.

When the dalesmen had all turned to glare at him, Kelemvor continued. "This is the last time I'm going to remind any of you of the explicit orders of Lord Mourngrym." Yarbro frowned deeply. "Our orders are to capture Midnight , Cyric and Adon, and return them to Shadowdale, where they will pay for their crimes. They are to be taken alive unless there is no other option."

The cold stares of the hunters seemed to bore through the fighter. His words were stated calmly and without pa.s.sion.

Kelemvor knew they would have no effect, but he could not stop trying. When he was done speaking, the fighter slowly walked back to his horse and unpacked his gear.

After almost an hour had pa.s.sed and the dalesmen were beginning to get restless, Mikkel asked, "What if they've already pa.s.sed this way?" The archer kicked a pebble off the bridge and watched it plummet into the Ashaba.

"Impossible," Yarbro snapped, trying more to convince himself than his men. It was entirely possible that the hunters had arrived late. Their quarry might be miles away by now, perhaps in Scardale already.

Sitting on the north end of the bridge, Kelemvor felt his heart jump at the archer's question. By all the G.o.ds, Kelemvor thought, let it be so! Let the decision be taken out of my hands!