Tantras

V

The surviving members of the hunt were lined up in a row upon the bridge, their bows ready. Kelemvor stood next to Yarbro, and the two men looked out onto the Ashaba. A skiff rushed toward them, three people frantically scrambling about inside it.

"Look at them!" Yarbro snarled, the muscles in his lean arms tensing as he prepared to loose an arrow. "They're trying to turn around. They'll never be able to do it in this part of the river. The current's too fast." The young guard's flesh was pale, and his eyes were bloodshot. His lips pulled back in a grimace, the guard trembled with anticipation.

The killing time had come.

"I can see them," Kelemvor snapped. Below, on the river, Midnight, Cyric, and Adon struggled to turn their boat to shore. The fighter glanced across the bridge. The men were all like Yarbro, barely hiding their glee as they held their bows ready to fire. "No one shoots without my order!" Kelemvor shouted.

A few of the dalesmen laughed. Yarbro turned sharply to the fighter. "You don't command us any longer. The men follow my orders now!"

Sweat was streaming down Kelemvor's face. "Our orders are to capture the prisoners, not to kill them on sight."

"Unless there's no other choice," Yarbro growled bitterly as he turned back to face the river. "Unless you want me to have you shot full of arrows, I suggest you either grab a bow or get off the bridge!"

The small boat rocked violently in the fierce current as the escapees tried unsuccessfully to turn their shuddering craft. Kelemvor silently stared at Midnight and felt a strange pressure upon his chest.

I can't do this! the fighter cursed to himself. I simply can't let these lunatics hurt my friends… and my love.

A few feet away from Kelemvor, Jorah laughed. "Let them get to shore… if they can. I don't want the river to sweep them away after we shoot them. We can have them stuffed and hung like scarecrows on the road to Zhentil Keep." Bursus and Cabal chuckled and nodded.

"That'll let any Zhentish scum who might plan to attack the Dales again know exactly what we'll do to them," Bursus agreed. The wounded archer hobbled to Jorah's side and patted the younger, auburn-haired man on the shoulder.

"Let's just kill them now," Mikkel suggested. As he looked down at the fishing skiff, images of the countless days he had spent on that boat with his partner flooded into his mind.

The skiff was within range now. The hunters watched as Adon stood up and grabbed Cyric's arm. The thief lashed out at the cleric, and Adon fell. The young cleric hit the side of the skiff hard, and Midnight and Cyric were unable to maintain their balance as the boat careened wildly and capsized.

Midnight screamed as she struck the water and sank as if a heavy weight had been attached to her body. Adon also plummeted into the Ashaba and vanished beneath the surface of the river. Cyric fell in the opposite direction, and the current grabbed him and began to pull him downstream.

"Fire!" Yarbro shouted, and a rain of arrows struck the river around the capsized boat.

"No!" Kelemvor screamed, but it was too late. Midnight and Adon had disappeared from sight, and Cyric was bobbing up and down in the strong current. The thief tried to plunge under the surface of the water, but he was helpless in the tide. The skeletal branches of a large, dead tree that had fallen into the river reached out from the shoreline, and the thief managed to grab a limb as he rushed past. As the thief hung there, suspended in the rapid flow of the Ashaba for a moment, an arrow struck the water mere inches from his face. Cyric let go of the branch instinctively, then sunk beneath the surface of the water.

Beneath the river's surface, Midnight flailed her arms and legs in a frenzied panic. Suddenly a large shape approached her out of the darkness. The cleric held one of their canvas bags in his left hand as he swam toward the mage. His eyes were wide with fear.

We're going to drown unless I do something! Midnight realized. The mage reached out, trying to grab anything on the bottom that would stop her from tumbling down the river. She came up with a handful of reeds. Unconsciously a spell thrust itself into Midnight's mind.

Pushing back her fear, Midnight recited the brief incantation in her mind as she plucked a reed from the riverbed. Before she could turn and cast the water breathing spell on Adon, a huge sphere filled with air flashed into sight around her. The shell surrounded Adon as well, who now lay on his stomach, soaked and gasping.

"Thanks, Midnight," the cleric groaned and rolled over onto his back. "I owe you my life… again."

Midnight smiled weakly, then looked shocked and fell to her knees as the bubble lurched into motion and quickly rose to the surface of the river. "Mystra, help me!" the mage cried as she looked up and saw the bridge only about twenty yards away. Arrows rained down from the bridge again, and she heard the curses of the dalesmen as the arrows glanced harmlessly off the sphere.

On the bridge, Kelemvor stepped back from the other men. The fighter watched as Yarbro swore and stamped around on the bridge in frustration, screeching orders at the other dalesmen. The group had degenerated into a band of killers, differing little from the orcs they had encountered near the Standing Stone. The fighter relaxed slightly. Midnight had managed to save herself, and in doing so, she took the need to act away from him.

As the sphere passed beneath the bridge, close to the southern bank, one of the archers ran to the shore to get a large rock. When the sphere emerged on the other side of the bridge, he was waiting, the rock held high over his head. The other dalesmen stood stock still, bows at the ready.

Midnight looked up as she passed beneath the bridge. She saw Kelemvor leaning over the bridge's edge, and her heart skipped a beat. For only an instant, the mage's attention was completely focused on her former lover. So when the large stone came hurtling down at her, it took the mage completely by surprise. The rock bounced off the top of the sphere, but Midnight lost her concentration, and the sphere disappeared in a flash. The magic-user and the cleric plunged into the water, very close to shore but also very close to the bridge.

I've got to help her! Kelemvor thought desperately as the sphere disappeared. At that moment, the fighter let out a terrible, high-pitched scream. The dalesmen loosed a volley of arrows at Midnight and Adon, but the distraction caused by Kelemvor's horrifying scream disturbed their aim. Three of the dalesmen turned in time to see Kelemvor's breastplate clatter to the bridge. Mikkel and Yarbro were too intent on their prey to notice.

Jorah, Cabal, and Bursus stood staring at Kelemvor as he let out a deep, long growl and tore at his face with his fingers. Then they noticed that the fighter's flesh was rippling. It was as if there were something inside him, struggling for release from his human skin. Kelemvor fell to his knees, threw his head back, and screamed once more as his chest burst apart and the paws of a sleek, black beast emerged.

Kelemvor's head seemed to collapse, and then the loose flesh tore open. Glowing green eyes and a gaping maw, filled with razor-sharp teeth, appeared visible as the head of the panther shook itself free from the glove of human flesh. In moments, all that remained of Kelemvor were a few bits of bloody flesh that soon dissolved. The fighter had moved to help Midnight with no reward in sight, and the curse had asserted itself.

"Shut him up or kill him!" Yarbro shouted without turning around. The young guard had drawn a bead on Midnight's head as she started to clamber up the southern bank. Anticipation rushed through Yarbro, and he reveled for a second in the knowledge that the fate of the sorceress was in his hands, that he was her judge, jury, and executioner. And the sentence is death, Yarbro thought as he steadied his arm and prepared to loose the deadly shaft.

Suddenly an incredible, bestial roar sounded from behind him, and Yarbro started in surprise. Distracted, he released the arrow, and the shaft flew harmlessly over Midnight's head. The young guard turned and saw the panther, and for a moment he believed that he had slipped into some kind of waking nightmare, that his lack of sleep was playing tricks with his mind. Still, his fellow huntsmen stood beside him and stared at the snarling beast with expressions of disbelief rivaling his own.

Yarbro and Cabal were between the panther and the other dalesmen, who were now backing away nervously toward the north end of the bridge. Kelemvor was nowhere to be seen, the young guard realized, even though the fighter's shredded clothing and discarded armor, stained with gore, lay in a pile just beyond the panther.

Yarbro stared into the creature's flaring, deep green eyes. They were so much like Kelemvor's. At that moment, the young guard understood, impossible as it may have seemed, that Kelemvor and the panther were one and the same! Just as the creature sprang toward Cabal, the closest of the huntsmen, Yarbro leaped over the side of the bridge and plunged into the Ashaba to save himself.

As the panther tore the aging archer apart, the man's screams for mercy echoed around Blackfeather Bridge and over the Ashaba. The two remaining archers, Bursus and Jorah, raised their bows and moved forward. Mikkel, on the other hand, was frozen by fear and held his bow limply at his side. The panther looked up sharply from its bloody feast and bounded toward Bursus and Jorah, as if it sensed their deadly intent.

Hands shaking, Jorah aimed and loosed his shaft. It flew high and scraped along the floor of the bridge until it came to a stop a hundred feet away. The slender, auburn-haired archer grabbed another arrow, but he never had a chance to fire it.

Standing next to Jorah, Bursus steadied himself on his wounded leg and tried to remain calm as the sleek, powerful cat raced toward him. The black-eyed archer got the creature in his sights, aimed between its eyes, and released his shaft. The panther dodged to the right at the last possible instant, just before it sprang toward Jorah. The sleek beast bowled the archer over with its weight, then clamped its teeth upon Jorah's throat.

Bursus stared at the creature in horror as he backed away, reaching for another shaft. His hands shaking as if he had been struck by palsy, the black-eyed dalesman found an arrow just as the panther looked up from the dead man at its feet. The shaft rattled against its sight as Bursus stopped limping backward and readied himself to fire. Before Bursus could let fly another arrow, though, the panther roared again, and the dalesman saw blood and bits of flesh in its open maw. The sight paralyzed him with fear, and the moment of hesitation was all the beast needed as it sprang from Jorah's corpse. The black-eyed archer saw the creature's one huge claw raised above his eyes, and then his world went black.

Toward the northern end of the bridge, Mikkel stumbled a few steps backward, away from the carnage. He was moving steadily, if slowly, away from the panther, his bow at his side. Still, he had only managed to travel a half dozen feet toward the end of the bridge when the panther turned and looked in his direction.

The green-eyed monster shook with anticipation as it slowly padded toward the fisherman. Fear radiated from the dalesman, and the scent of his panic rankled the beast's senses, filling it with an even greater rage.

Mikkel dropped his bow and moved away from the weapon, toward the edge of the bridge. The panther's gaze followed the red-skinned, bald fisherman as the dalesman's sparkling prism earring caught the attention of the beast. The panther's rage slowly melted away as it moved toward the shining object, its limited intellect lost in the multicolored display of light.

Noting that the panther had slowed its movement toward him, Mikkel broke into a run and flung himself over the edge of the bridge. There was a last, sparkling burst of light from the prism earring, and then the man was gone. The panther raced to the edge of the bridge and put its front paws up on the railing to search for its prey, but the dalesman was gone, lost in the raging flow of the river. The beast roared and settled back on all fours.

In the trees beyond the south end of the bridge, Midnight and Adon felt a chill as they listened to the panther howling only a few dozen yards away from them. They sat huddled beneath a tree, scanning the water for signs of Cyric. As they listened, the panther's cries turned from roars of anger to bellows of pain, and Midnight's concern for their own survival and growing sorrow over Cyric's apparent death were pushed into the background by her concern for Kelemvor. Waves of guilt rushed through her, filling her soul with a horrible sickness. The man who rescued me from the Twisted Tower is probably dead, and I'm more concerned about the lycanthropic mercenary who led the dalesmen's hunt for me! the mage cursed silently.

"Cyric," Midnight whispered softly as she covered her face with her hands. "I let him die!" she said. "I should have saved him! I should have — "

"Don't punish yourself for being human," Adon murmured quietly. "You did what you could." The cleric put one arm around Midnight's shoulder. On the bridge, the panther howled once more.

"Kelemvor!" Midnight gasped. She pushed Adon away and struggled to her feet.

The young cleric grabbed the mage's arm and pulled her back to the ground. "Don't go up there!" Adon wheezed. "We can't face him while he's in this state. There's nothing we can do now but wait."

And so Midnight and Adon waited in the forest, shivering in their damp clothes. Although Midnight was wracked with guilt over the loss of Cyric and ached to ease Kelemvor's pain, she knew that Adon was right. Sometimes events got out of control and there was nothing you could do, no way for you to help.

There was nothing to do but wait for things to right themselves.

If only I could make Adon appreciate the wisdom of his own words, Midnight thought as she turned toward the scarred cleric. Adon sat huddled against a rotting log, his eyes closed as if he were daydreaming. However, Midnight could guess from the pained expression on his face that, in his mind, he was watching Elminster's death in the temple again. She thought of a dozen ways to start up a conversation with him, but she rejected them all as contrived or melodramatic.

Finally she put her hand on the cleric's shoulder. When he looked up at her, the mage smiled warmly and said, "Adon, you've got to stop punishing yourself for what happened in the Temple of Lathander!"

Adon frowned and turned away. The cleric drew his knees up against his chest, then wrapped his arms around his legs. "You don't know anything about it," Adon mumbled as he rocked back and forth, his gaze fixed on the churning river.

Midnight sighed and slumped down next to Adon. "We don't know that the old sage died in that rift. Elminster might have saved himself," the mage said as she caressed the cleric's back. "Lhaeo seemed convinced that his master was safe. That fact alone should give us hope."

When Adon didn't react to Midnight's words, the raven-haired mage put her hand under the cleric's chin and forced him to look into her eyes. "Hope has to be enough for us, Adon — for both of us." The panther roared again, and a tear welled in the corner of Midnight's eye. "It's all any of us really has left, isn't it?"

Adon gazed into Midnight's eyes. "But Sune — "

"I know," Midnight said softly. "It's hard to let go. When Mystra died — "

Adon pushed Midnight away and leaped to his feet. "Sune isn't dead!" the cleric snapped as he backed away from the mage.

"I didn't mean to imply that she was," Midnight said with a sigh. The magic-user stood up and took Adon's right hand in her own.

"If anyone is dead, I am — in Sune's eyes, at least," Adon mumbled. He ran his hand over the scar that lined his face and winced. "I've become as accursed as Kelemvor. I have been forsaken for my deeds, and this horrible scar is my punishment."

"What deeds?" Midnight asked. "You're one of the most faithful clerics I've ever known. What did you do wrong to deserve your scar?"

Adon sighed and turned away from the mage. "I don't know… but it must have been terrible!" The cleric put his hand over the scar and bowed his head. "This punishment is the worst thing Sune could visit upon me. I was once attractive, a credit to Sune. Now people cringe at my approach or ridicule me behind my back."

"I have never turned away from you, Adon," Midnight said softly. "I have never mocked you. The scars on your flesh can be healed, and if Sune won't have you, then perhaps she isn't worth worshiping. Besides, it's the scars that run beneath the flesh that concern me."

Above, the panther roared once again.

Adon turned, anger flaring in his eyes. "We should be quiet," the cleric growled. "We can't afford to have Kelemvor hear us."

Midnight nodded. It was obvious that her comment about Sune had upset Adon, and she did not want to force the issue. Not yet, anyway. So they spent nearly an hour sitting in silence, listening to the sounds of the river and the panther on the bridge. Finally, when the yowls and roars had stopped and they were certain the creature had changed back into a man, Midnight and Adon broke from their cover and approached the bridge.

The heroes felt their hearts sink as the scene of bloody carnage on the bridge was revealed to them. Kelemvor was lying on his stomach at the center of the bridge. He was naked, and his matted hair covered his face. Four badly mangled bodies lay nearby. Blood and bits of bodies stained long stretches of the bridge, as if several of the dead men had been dragged or tossed about by the animal Kelemvor had become.

Images of the clerics whom Bane's spies had slaughtered in the Temple of Tymora just before the Battle of Shadowdale returned to Adon, and he felt himself grow faint. However, the cleric fought back the nausea rising in his stomach and steeled himself for what he knew had to be done. The cleric wiped a thin film of sweat from his brow and moved to the first corpse. He grabbed the dead dalesman's arm, dragged the body to the edge of the bridge, and let the corpse drop into the Ashaba.

"To the sea our shattered bodies go, that our souls may take flight," Adon whispered as Bursus's body disappeared down the river. "May you find the peace you were denied in this world."

As Adon continued his bloody detail, Midnight dragged Kelemvor's heavy armor close to the fighter's side, then crouched down beside him. After a moment, she ran to the dalesmen's camp and grabbed a blanket to throw over her former lover.

"Don't wake him," Adon said as he dragged the second dalesman to the brink of the bridge. The cleric stopped for a moment and looked around. "Not until I've finished. It'll be… better that way."

Midnight nodded, then pointed to the daggers that hung from the dalesman's boots. "Take his weapons before you drop him into the river."

Adon gasped, and a look of extreme shock gripped his features. "I will not steal from the dead," the cleric snapped.

Midnight stood up and moved away from Kelemvor. "Take their weapons, Adon. We will have a greater need for them than the creatures that reside at the bottom of the river."

The cleric did not move. He just stood over the dalesman's body, his mouth hanging slightly open. Midnight went to the remaining bodies and gathered their weapons herself. After the mage stripped each man of his weapons, Adon pronounced a final blessing on them and dropped the corpses into the Ashaba. Although he did not know if his words would hold any true value in the realm beyond the living, Adon knew that he would regret it if he didn't even attempt a blessing.

As the last of the dalesmen splashed into the river, Kelemvor began to stir.

"Midnight!" Adon called from the end of the bridge, pointing to the fighter. The beautiful, dark-haired magic-user returned to Kelemvor's side and placed her hand on his sweat-covered face. Instantly the fighter's eyes flew open and he grabbed Midnight's hand.

Pain shot up the mage's arm. "Kel!" Midnight cried and tried to wrench her arm from the fighter's iron grip.

Kelemvor looked shocked for a moment, then recognition slowly filtered into the fighter's flashing green eyes. He relaxed his grip slightly, although he did not release his hold on the mage.

"Midnight!" Kelemvor murmured, his lips trembling. "You're alive!" The fighter's grip loosened even more, and Midnight stopped struggling.

"Yes, Kel," Midnight said softly. The mage looked into the fighter's eyes and saw pain and confusion.

Kelemvor turned away from Midnight, squeezed his eyes shut, and brought her hand to his lips. "I made a terrible mistake. I almost hurt you."

Adon approached the fighter's side. Midnight smiled and looked up at the cleric but said nothing.

"Are they… dead?" Kelemvor asked, his face still turned away from Midnight, his eyes still closed. "Are they alI dead?"

"There were four bodies," Adon said softly as he pulled the blanket over the fighter's shoulders. "We saw two more men jump into the river during the battle."

Kelemvor opened his eyes once more and gazed at the cleric. "Adon," the fighter said softly. "You survived, too. And Cyric?"

Midnight shook her head. "He was lost in the river when the skiff capsized."

Raising himself on one arm, Kelemvor ran his hand through Midnight's hair. "I'm… sorry," he said flatly. Midnight turned to look at the fighter, but he was already standing up, surveying the bridge. Kelemvor saw the splatters of blood, the weapons gathered in a pile, and his own armor. Nothing else.

"I'll wager Yarbro escaped," Kelemvor growled. "That one'll be the death of us yet."

"He was the first one off the bridge," Adon mumbled as he handed the fighter a shirt Midnight had taken from the dalesmen's camp. "I saw him leap off just as I got to shore."

Kelemvor swore loudly. "He'll either return to Essembra to gather reinforcements or ride on to Scardale to warn the town of our approach. Either way, it'll mean trouble for us. The dalesmen wanted you, Cyric, and Adon dead, though Mourngrym ordered them to bring you back to the dale to receive your 'just' punishment." Kelemvor paused and turned to Midnight. "Anyway, I'm sure that my name will now be added to the ranks of the guilty."

The fighter paused as he continued to dress himself. When he was done, he reached out and took Midnight's face in both of his hands. "Why did you leave me behind in Shadowdale?"

Midnight pulled away, anger suddenly overwhelming her. "Leave you! You turned Cyric down when he asked you to help rescue us!" The mage slapped the fighter's hand away as he reached for her, then she moved to Adon's side.

A bitter laugh escaped Kelemvor's lips. "Just what did Cyric tell you?"

Midnight hesitated for a moment. Brushing the hair out of her face, she relived the pain she felt when she first heard Kelemvor's words of betrayal. "That you 'couldn't interfere with justice'"

Kelemvor nodded. "Cyric chose his words well, don't you think? He knew you," the fighter growled, turning away from his friends. "He knew just what to say to make you believe him."

"He was lying?" Midnight gasped. "You never said that?"

"I said it before the trial," the fighter mumbled and hung his head. "I thought you were going to be found innocent. If I'd have known, I would have found some way to help you escape."

Adon shook his head. "What do you mean? Didn't you know about Cyric's plan?"

Kelemvor whirled around, anger flashing in his eves. "By all the souls in Myrkul's Realm, what do you think I'm saying?" The fighter took a deep breath. "Cyric never told me about the escape. I found out the next day… when the bodies started to appear."

Midnight and Adon looked at each other, shock in their eyes. "What bodies?" Midnight asked. A dark, creeping fear was moving across her soul. Even before Kelemvor told her about the murdered guardsmen, she knew that Cyric had not told her everything about his plan.

Kelemvor studied Midnight's face for a reaction as he told her about the bloody trail of corpses he and Mourngrym had traced through the Twisted Tower. The fighter hoped that the mage would not be able to hide her guilt if confronted directly with the murders. As he told her of the crimes, the mage blanched, and her eyes revealed surprise and horror.

"I–I didn't know," Midnight stammered and looked again to Adon. The cleric was frowning deeply, and his eyes reflected the fury he felt.

Kelemvor sighed. They really are innocent; he thought to himself, relieved that for the first time in what seemed like years he had done something right, something good. "I know you didn't, Midnight," Kelemvor said at last. "But didn't you even think it odd that you were able to escape so easily?"

"He told us he used the Gaeus Thorn," Adon snapped. When Kelemvor looked puzzled, the cleric continued. "That's a magical weapon of sorts. You strike someone with the thorn — a type of dart, really — and they do anything you tell them to do." Kelemvor thought of the young guard who had impaled himself and shuddered.

"We assumed he had subdued the guards using the thorn." Midnight folded her arms and hugged herself tightly. After a moment, she turned to the fighter. "Are you sure that it was Cyric? Could it have been someone else?"

Kelemvor shook his head. "We both know it was Cyric. Who else could it have been?"

"I… I don't know," Midnight sighed. "But it's possible there was someone else, isn't it? Another killer could have broken into the tower that night. He might have found the guards in a weakened state, or — "

The mage stopped speaking for a moment and took a deep breath. "Could one of the other guards have done it? Perhaps he wanted to cover up his own inattentiveness. Or maybe he wanted… I don't know what he might have wanted…" Tears were welling in Midnight's eyes.

Kelemvor reached out to take Midnight by the arm. The fighter drew her into his embrace and held the mage as her tears came. Suddenly she pulled back. "No," Midnight said. "I won't believe it!" Kelemvor put his hands on his hips. "Midnight, the facts are — "

"I don't know what the facts are, and neither do you!" the raven-haired magic-user cried. "I refuse to condemn our friend the way the dalesmen condemned Adon and me for Elminster's murder!"

Adon put his hand on the mage's shoulder. "Midnight, you know he did it. He would have killed me, too, if you hadn't stopped him." The cleric turned to the fighter. "A sickness had taken hold of Cyric, Kel. It was as if he went mad," Adon said flatly. He paused then and looked into the churning river. "Perhaps it's better that he's dead."

Midnight slowly walked to the edge of the bridge. "No, Adon. Cyric would have been fine once we got to Tantras, once we had a chance to rest. He really was a good person, you know. He just never had the chance to prove it."

Memories of all the evil he himself had done in the past, things the curse had forced him to do and things he had only blamed on the curse, flooded into Kelemvor's mind. The fighter went to Midnight's side and put his arms around her. "Perhaps he was afraid to do what's right," he said softly. "That same fear nearly prevented me from rescuing you."

Looking into Midnight's eyes, Kelemvor sighed and was forced to look away. "I was standing near the tower, waiting for daylight, waiting to see you again," the fighter told her. "I didn't know what I was going to do. But I suspected that once you were brought out, I wouldn't have been able to stop myself from trying to help you, even if it cost me my life. I stood there waiting for the moment when I would learn what I was going to do.

"Then the bodies were discovered, and I let Mourngrym convince me that you were guilty, that you and Adon had killed Elminster and then the guards." Adon whimpered softly at Kelemvor's comments, and the fighter paused for a moment. "It was easier to believe them than to do what I knew was right.

"After I saw what the dalesmen really were, when your boat approached, I knew that I had to make a choice." The fighter turned and looked at the bloodstains scattered about the bridge. "My reaction was as I thought it would be."

"Then you believe we're innocent?" Midnight asked softly.

"Aye," Kelemvor whispered as he kissed Midnight full on the mouth. When the kiss had ended, Kelemvor noticed Adon crouching over the pile of weapons that had been appropriated from the bodies of the dead hunters. He suddenly looked tired, even withered. "What's wrong with him?" Kelemvor asked.

Midnight told Kelemvor all that had transpired in the Temple of Lathander, but especially how Adon had tried to save Elminster from the rift. "With his scar and his failure at the temple, Adon's certain that Sune has abandoned him," the mage concluded. "It's as if his whole world has been shattered."

"He still should have said something at the trial to defend the two of you," the fighter grumbled. "His silence helped to sway Mourngrym's verdict."

"Don't hold it against him, Kel. I don't," Midnight said, smiling. "Besides, the trial is over now. And after you're with Adon for a while, you'll know that he's paying the price for his silence at the trial… and much more." The mage turned and walked toward Adon. As the fighter followed her, she added, "Cyric found it almost impossible to show him kindness or mercy. If I can forgive him, then you should be able to do the same."

Kelemvor considered the magic-user's words, then crouched at the other side of the pile of weapons, staring at the cleric. "Our survival depends on being able to count on one another, Adon. We will be wanted fugitives."

"I know that," Adon snapped. His gaze failed to meet Kelemvor's. Instead, the cleric toyed with one of the dead men's weapons.

"We're going on to Tantras, Adon, but the dalesmen might try to capture us. They also may try to kill us. Will you pledge your life to help us?" Kelemvor asked.

"My life…," Adon growled, his voice cracking. "For what it's worth, yes, I'll pledge my life for the two of you. Perhaps I can make up for what I have done." The cleric reached down and picked up an axe. He gazed at the weapon for a moment, frowned, then tossed it aside. "I'll find a way."

"Thank you, Adon. We'll need your help," Midnight said and started to walk toward the dalesmen's camp. Kelemvor quickly followed her. They could hear the sound of metal hitting metal as Adon picked up one weapon after another and tossed it back into the pile.

"The dalesmen hid their horses in the woods next to the camp. We should pick out a few mounts, pack up our supplies, and head toward Tantras while we still have a chance," the fighter said.

Midnight stopped walking and turned to Kelemvor. "Aren't you forgetting something?" Kelemvor smiled and shook his head. "Your reward," Midnight said flatly.

The fighter stiffened.

Gesturing at the blood stains on the bridge, Kelemvor spoke. "I'm a wanted criminal for aiding you and for killing the dalesmen. The curse only demands payment if I am not acting in my own best interest. Getting you to Tantras, where we may be able to hide from the long arm of the dale — or even recover the Tablet of Fate and magically clear us of all charges — is most definitely in my own interest. I don't want a price on my head for the rest of my life, however long that may be. It's no way to live."

"I see," Midnight said quietly.

Kelemvor frowned and closed his eyes. "That doesn't change my feelings about you," he murmured. "I have to look at things in those terms. Besides, it just simplifies matters."

"Well," Midnight sighed. "I suppose we should keep things simple."

Kelemvor looked at her sharply, and for the first time he saw a trace of the wicked grin Midnight had so frequently displayed to him on their trip to Shadowdale. He laughed and placed his hand on her waist. "Come," the fighter said, and they walked to the end of the bridge.

"Adon!" Midnight shouted. "We're leaving."

Footsteps sounded behind the mage and the fighter. Then they heard the clang of steel falling against steel and turned to see Adon gathering up the pile of weapons he had dropped.

"Hold it!" Kelemvor snapped. "Let's just take what we need." The fighter already wore his two-handed sword, but he grabbed an axe, a spare bow, and a cache of arrows to add to his arsenal. Midnight found a pair of daggers that suited her. Adon stared down at the collection, trying to find some weapon that was suitable. He was well trained with a war hammer and a flail, but sharp-edged weapons were frowned upon by his order. All the weapons that remained were edged.

"Take something and carry it for us," Kelemvor said at last, his patience reaching its end. The heroes quickly left the end of the bridge and entered the forest. After a few minutes, Kelemvor had led his companions to the spot where the huntsmen had secured their mounts. The horses were gone.

"Are you sure this is the right place?" Adon asked as he looked around.

"The evidence is all about you, cleric. Open your eyes!" Kelemvor snapped. Adon shrank away from the fighter, and Midnight frowned. Kelemvor cleared his throat. "What I mean to say is that you can see the tracks that the horses, and whoever took them, left behind — the broken branches and the footprints." The fighter pounded his fist against a tree and swore. "It was probably Yarbro. Now he's got the gold that Mourngrym paid me, and we'll have to walk to Scardale."

Adon was struggling with two heavy swords he had found as the heroes prepared to leave the forest. Concern crossed Midnight's features. "Adon, where did you leave my spellbook and the items Lhaeo gave us?"

The cleric dropped the swords and the shield and backed away in terror. "I… I left them on the bridge," he gasped.

"Sorry…"

Kelemvor's shoulders drooped, and he opened his mouth to spew out a tirade of angry condemnations. When he saw the cleric's frightened, childlike expression, he fought back his anger. "Go get them," Kelemvor said softly, his deep voice trembling with barely controlled rage.

As Adon ran back toward the bridge, the fighter set his bow down beside the swords that Adon had dropped and walked back to the bridge with Midnight. "He is trying, you know," the mage purred as she put her arms around Kelemvor's waist.

"No doubt," Kelemvor grumbled and tried not to smile.

"And you're trying, too," Midnight said. "I appreciate that."

The fighter and the mage broke from the forest and saw Adon near the middle of the bridge, crouching over the canvas sack he had rescued from the river. He seemed to be rifling through the sack, checking its contents.

Standing near the north entrance to the bridge, the fighter called out to Adon. "Come on, cleric! We don't have all day!" Midnight started slightly at Kelemvor's sudden outburst.

On the bridge, Adon suddenly stood up, the bag firmly in his hand. The cleric stared at the eastern horizon, pointing toward the sky. The sun was behind the cleric, so he could dearly see the three figures floating in the eastern sky, becoming larger as they approached.

"Riders!" Adon exclaimed. "Riders to the east!"

At the northern end of the bridge, Kelemvor shook his head. "What is he — "

Then the fighter saw what had captured Adon's attention. Three darkly clad soldiers were flying toward the bridge. They were following the course of the river and riding huge ebon horses that struck a trail of fire as they galloped across the sky.

On the bridge, Adon stood rooted to the spot. As the riders drew close, he was able to see them even more clearly. The armor of the riders was completely black and lined with razor-sharp ridges. Spikes the size of daggers jutted out from various parts of the armor. The riders' faces were hidden by helmets. Far more frightening than the terrible armor the mysterious riders wore were the mounts they rode. The creatures that carried them across the sky were nightmares — powerful and deadly monster horses from another plane.

As they came even closer, the heroes could see the weapons each of the riders carried. One was armed with a huge scythe, which he tested in the air as he approached Blackfeather Bridge. Another favored bolos, with a cutting silver wire laced between the heavy spheres. But the man in the lead, an imposing specimen who seemed best-suited for his horrible mount, carried a heavy, two-handed broadsword that was stained black and charged with blood-red runes.

From the north entrance to the bridge, Midnight cried out. "Run, Adon! Get off the bridge!"

Kelemvor grabbed the mage and dragged her a few steps toward the woods. "We have to take to the forest," the fighter growled. "They might not have seen us yet."

The magic-user dug her heels into the dirt and pulled away from Kelemvor. "They've seen Adon!" Midnight snapped. "We can't leave him."

"It's stupid to sacrifice ourselves, too. Let Adon come to us, to safety, instead of our running into danger with him," Kelemvor snapped. The fighter knew that they faced a trio of deadly foes. His enhanced vision — one of the only positive effects of his curse — had already revealed the crimson stains of the symbol of Bane over the hearts of the riders. "You haven't changed at all, have you?" Midnight screamed as she ran from Kelemvor and stepped onto the bridge. "All you care about is yourself!"

The riders were no more than fifty feet from Adon and closing fast. Midnight approached from the north end of the bridge, yelling for Adon to move. The scarred cleric stood motionless, the bag containing the amber sphere from Elminster's tower and Midnight's spellbook clutched in his hands. All expression had drained from his face, and Adon stood as if he were a statue in the center of the bridge.

Before Midnight could reach Adon's side, the riders swooped in. The rider in the lead, the swordsman, aimed his nightmare directly at the cleric and held his sword thrust out before him. Seconds before the sword would rip through Adon's body, the rider drew up suddenly, and his mount veered up and over Adon's head as the other two riders sailed around the cleric on either side. The wind buffeted Adon, but he stood his ground. As the rider flew past, though, the canvas bag fell from Adon's hands, and the young cleric grabbed one of the hind legs of the monstrous horse.

"Adon, no!" Midnight cried, but it was too late to stop him. The cleric's body was yanked into the air above the bridge, twisting as he flew off into the sky.

The nightmare that Adon had grabbed let out an ear-piercing shriek and tried to shake the cleric off its leg. Flames from the creature's hooves danced around Adon's hands, singeing them, but still the cleric didn't let go.

At the north end of the bridge, Kelemvor stood alone, struck dumb by Adon's unexpected actions. The fighter watched as the cleric not only held on to the monstrous beast, but also began to climb upward, ignoring the horse's wildly flailing legs and flaming hooves.

The fetid smell of the nightmare's hide had almost caused Adon to release his hold on the mount when he first became airborne, but he had ignored the stench and settled his attention on more important matters, such as helping his friends — and perhaps redeeming himself in their eyes. He started to climb toward the rider, in the hope of deposing the assassin and taking control of the mount.

In the air, Varro, the assassin with the scythe, laughed at the spectacle. "Shake him loose, Durrock!" Varro cried. "His life is of no consequence as long as we capture the woman!"

The other assassin reigned his nightmare in and dashed past his scythe-wielding friend. "Leave him to his sport, Varro!" Sejanus said as he stopped swinging his bolos. "Besides, Durrock may want to keep the scarred one alive. They have something in common!"

Riding the mount that Adon was holding desperately to, Durrock ignored the comments of his fellow assassins. He had no need to gloat; his unexpected passenger was completely at his mercy. And if the reports that the Zhentarim spies had sent to him as he flew toward Blackfeather Bridge were correct, the cleric had already handed the assassins the day. Guiding his mount in an arc that would take him back to the bridge, Durrock marveled at the simplicity of the task ahead of him.

Finding the mage and her companions had been child's play. The path the travelers were taking was known. All the assassins had to do was follow the Ashaba until they spotted their prey. Better still, the heroes were not hiding along the river's edge, but standing on a bridge, in the open, when Durrock and his partners spotted them. It was as simple as shooting arrows at a prisoner in a pit.

On the ground, Kelemvor rushed to Midnight's side, but not for any altruistic reason. The assassins would never let him live if they captured or killed Midnight and Adon. The fighter was simply protecting his own life. As he considered his options, the fighter cursed. They might have stood a fighting chance against the assassins under cover of the woods, but Adon and Midnight had taken that option from him, and now Kelemvor was sure that they would all be as dead as the dalesmen very soon.

Next to Kelemvor, Midnight was lost in the spell that she was about to cast. As the riders drew near, Midnight knew that she could not risk harming Adon, so she took aim at the rider with the bolos, the one at the back of the charging formation, and released a fireball spell. A crackling, blue-white pattern of energy formed before the mage's trembling hands, then collapsed. Nothing else seemed to happen.

In the air, sailing toward the bridge, Sejanus had felt a moment of panic when he saw the mage on the bridge and realized she was attempting to cast a spell in his direction. When she completed the complex gestures and the spell seemed to fail, the assassin laughed and raised his bolos above his head. He prepared to throw the weapon and bind the woman's arms before she could try such foolishness again.

On the bridge, Midnight stared in shock at the flaming scimitar that hung poised over the head of her intended victim. No one else sees it, she realized as she watched the magical sword — the result of a spell called Shaeroon's Scimitar, if she guessed correctly — follow Sejanus. Midnight's spell had gone awry and had brought this force into existence by mistake. But the mage knew that she could profit from the error, and her eyes narrowed as she spoke. "Take him!" she whispered, and the scimitar descended.

A hundred feet above the Ashaba, with only a dozen yards between himself and the mage, Sejanus felt a searing pain begin at the base of his skull and race downward, through his spine, like a fire out of control. The agony flowed out from his spine, piercing every nerve in his body. He began to convulse, and his mount, confused by his motions, veered off at a right angle and raced upward toward the clouds.

As Midnight's errant spell struck Sejanus, Kelemvor stepped aside from the raven-haired magic-user and readied himself to face Varro, the scythe-bearing assassin. With his sword drawn, the green-eyed fighter prepared himself for the fury of the nightmare rider's descent. As the night-black horse came within twenty feet of Kelemvor, it opened its fanged mouth and belched out a foul-smelling cloud.

Now only a dozen feet away from the fighter, Varro gripped his scythe and prepared to match its steel against that of his prey's sword. The assassin leaned over the left flank of his nightmare as the creature arced upward, toward the right. The fighter's sword gleamed as it reflected the harsh sunlight at the assassin's back. Only a few feet from slicing his prey neatly in half, Varro was shocked as the fighter leaped forward, brought his sword down in a crashing blow against the assassin's weapon, then rolled to the bridge and out of Varro's view. As his mount rose to the east, over the bridge, the assassin looked at his weapon in shock.

"You'll pay for this, dog!" Varro screamed in disbelief, dropping the shattered scythe into the river. The assassin reined in the nightmare and drew a sword. The monstrous horse beneath him turned as sharply as it could, but as he turned back to the west, into the sun, Varro was shocked to see Durrock hovering over the bridge, not attacking, just hanging in the air. The image was both beautiful and terrible, a majestic silhouette in black against the blazing orb of the sun. The body of the cleric dangled from Durrock's hand, and the assassin's sword was raised high over his head.

"This game is over!" Durrock cried. "Varro, stay where you are!"

Varro dug his heels into the sides of his mount, and the nightmare reared once but held its position. On the ground, Kelemvor stood, his heart racing, as Midnight moved toward the center of Blackfeather Bridge.

Durrock's nightmare exhaled a cloud of smoke and snorted. The assassin brandished his sword and yelled, "Surrender now or your friend dies! Decide!"

Kelemvor heard a scream behind him and turned. In the sky to the east, the third rider, Sejanus, was slowly making his way back to the bridge. "What do you want with us?" the green-eyed fighter yelled.

Durrock's nightmare reared, and Adon twisted precariously in the air. "I'm not here to answer your questions," the assassin cried. "Lord Bane, the God of Strife, has sent us to deliver a summons. We are here to escort you to an audience with the Black Lord in Scardale."

"Oh, is that all?" Kelemvor snapped. His grip on the sword tightened. "Thank you, but we'll pass. You'll have to carry my regrets to Bane."

Durrock loosened his grasp on Adon, and the cleric slipped slightly toward the ground. The assassin grabbed the scarred cleric again before he could fall. "Do not tempt fate, fools. You have no choice!"

"We'll come with you," Midnight cried. The mage held her hands, their fingers laced together, above her head so the assassins would know she was not casting a spell. "You've won."

Kelemvor stared at the mage, then looked away and slowly lowered his sword. "This is insane!" the fighter hissed. "They will simply kill us in Scardale, once Bane is done with us."

Midnight sighed and turned to the fighter. "Perhaps. But we can't let them kill Adon now," she said. "We may have a chance to escape later."

"Ah, of course!" Kelemvor snapped. "It will be better if we try to escape. Then they can have the pleasure of hunting us down again before they kill all three of us!" The fighter reached down and picked up the heavy canvas bag containing Midnight's spellbook.

Midnight didn't answer the fighter. Instead, she looked up at Durrock, still hanging against the sun, and nodded. "We're ready," the mage said. The riders began to descend.