"Your charter?"
"Certainly," Thurbrand said and handed the guard a rolled up parchment. "Signed by Myrmeen Lhal."
The guard examined the parchment.
"We have suffered many casualties in Spiderhaunt Woods," Thurbrand said.
"These are your survivors? What are their names?" The guard said.
Thurbrand turned to the two actual survivors of his company. "Vogt and Isaac," Thurbrand said.
Kelemvor and Midnight exchanged glances.
"And the others?" The guard said.
Thurbrand pointed at Midnight. "She is Gillian. The rest are Bohaim, Zelanz, and Welch."
The guard passed the charter back to Thurbrand. "Very well, you may pass," he said, then backed away. The guards all disappeared into the shadows once more.
The travelers crossed the bridge carefully, and when they reached the other shore, Thurbrand looked to Kelemvor.
"Quite an interesting place already," Thurbrand said.
An armed contingent, patrolling by the bridge, stopped when they saw the adventurers, and the ritual of questions, answers, and documentation was repeated. This time the soldiers "offered" to escort the tired travelers to the Twisted Tower, despite Midnight's anxious cries about Elminster.
"Protocol," Cyric whispered. "Think of your last meeting with the mage. Would it not go easier if the path were laid down for you by the local lord?"
Midnight said nothing.
As they approached the Twisted Tower, Cyric noted that the small shops and houses that lined the path seemed deserted. However, there were fights in the distance, and the sounds of activity from a few streets over. A wagon loaded with bales of hay moved across the road. Another wagon, filled with livestock, came behind it. Soldiers escorted both wagons.
"If they are moving livestock at this time of night," Cyric said to Midnight, "they are probably preparing the town for war. I fear your warning from Mystra about Bane's plans comes too late."
As they got closer to the Twisted Tower, the heroes could see that torches lined the stone walls of the square, squat building. The torches were patterned oddly, though, and they followed the odd curvatures of the tower as they spiraled up one side of the building, vanished, then reappeared higher and higher until the lights gave way to shadowy mist that even the unusually bright moon could not penetrate.
More guards waited at the entrance to the tower. The guards spoke for a moment with the heroes' armed escort. Then one guard, probably a captain of the watch, whistled long and loud. As the heroes and the guards waited for whatever or whoever it was that the captain had summoned, Adon turned and started to wander off down the street. A guard rushed to intercept the cleric, then steered him back with the others. Adon sullenly complied.
A young man dressed in the livery of a herald appeared at the door. He was still bleary eyed with sleep, but he listened to the guardsman as politely as he could, hiding his yawns behind a ruffled sleeve when possible.
The herald led Kelemvor, Thurbrand, and the others through a long corridor, and soon they stood before a heavy wooden door with three separate locking systems. Cyric casually studied the locks as Kelemvor grumbled impatiently. Finally the door was opened and the herald, a tall, lean man with salty brown hair and a thick mustache and beard, turned to address the travelers.
"Lord Mourngrym will see you in here," he said simply. Kelemvor caught a glimpse of the poorly lit interior of the room. As he had feared, it was some type of cell with bare floors and chains hanging from the walls. The fighter's eyes became slits as he turned to the herald.
"We desire an audience with Lord Mourngrym, not the rats of Shadowdale. If he cannot see us tonight, then we will return in the morning."
The herald did not flinch. "Please wait inside," he said.
Midnight brushed past Kelemvor and entered the chamber. The moment she crossed the threshold, there was a rippling in the shadows and she disappeared.
"No!" Kelemvor shouted, and leaped through the door after her, only to find himself in the throne room of the Twisted Tower.
Torches had been lit within the throne room, and Midnight could see that the finely crafted plasterwork on the otherwise bare walls spoke of many battles and paid homage to those who had died in the service of the dale. Red velvet curtains covered the one wall devoid of plasterwork. The curtains rested behind the two black marble thrones that stood across the room from the entrance. In all, the hall was large enough to entertain visiting emissaries, but it wasn't huge and overly ornate like the halls of Arabel's palace.
At the far end of the chamber stood an older man whose physique did not reveal his advancing years. His build was similar to Kelemvor's, but the heavy lines marking his face revealed him to be at least twenty years older than the fighter. He was dressed in shining silver armor and a jewel-encrusted sword hung at his side. The man looked up from a long planning table that was strewn with maps and smiled warmly at the heroes as they entered the hall.
There was a noise at the outer wall of the chamber, a thump followed by a curse. "And I say he did move the bloody door!" A series of taps were heard, then a hand emerged from the seemingly solid wall, fingers extended tentatively. A face followed, then vanished. "I want an envoy sent to Elminster come first light. I will not be held captive by his magic!" Silence. "No, I am not just being cranky!" A sigh. "Yes, Shaerl. I will be up shortly, my wife."
A figure emerged from the wall just as the rest of the adventurers, accompanied by two guards, appeared behind Kelemvor and Midnight. The figure turned, looked at his guests, and froze. He was extremely handsome, with thick black hair, deep azure eyes, and a square-set jaw. His clothing was a glaring testament to the lateness of the hour. He wore a frock that revealed his bare arms, hairy bare legs, and bare feet ending in nervously twitching toes. His arms were thick and strong, his muscles well-tended. A crimson band encircled his right upper arm. He cut a glance to the older warrior, who merely shrugged.
"I wasn't expecting guests," the black-haired man said. Then he straightened up, cleared his throat, and flashed a smile. He approached the travelers. "I am Mourngrym, lord of this place. How can I help you?"
Kelemvor was about to speak, but a guard leaned toward the fighter, his axe held in a threatening manner. Mourngrym scratched the side of his face as he motioned for the travelers to hold for but a moment, then he took the guard aside.
"Good Yarbro," Mourngrym said. "Do you remember our little discussion concerning the down side of over-zealous behavior?"
Yarbro swallowed. "But, milord, they have the look of vagrants! They have no gold, no supplies, they walked into town, and their only form of identification is a charter which is almost certainly stolen!"
"And how was it that my men found you on the outskirts of Myth Drannor all of two winters ago?"
"That's different," Yarbro said.
Mourngrym sighed. "We will talk again."
Yarbro nodded, then turned to leave the chamber with the other guard. Kelemvor was relieved to see the guards go. It would have been difficult explaining why they had given the guards names other than their own to gain access to the tower, and they might have been forced to keep the adopted names so as not to arouse suspicion.
The older warrior stood at Mourngrym's side. A look passed between Kelemvor and the old man as Yarbro brushed past the fighter on his way out. They both grinned. "This is Mayheir Hawksguard, acting captain of arms."
Thurbrand winced. "Acting captain of arms? What happened to the old one?"
"I would rather not discuss that until I understand your purpose for being here," Mourngrym said as he turned away. "What happened to the lot of you?"
All but Adon surged forward, and six versions of what they had witnessed erupted simultaneously. Mourngrym rubbed his tired eyes and glanced at Hawksguard.