"Enough!" Hawksguard shouted, and there was silence in the chamber.
"You there," Mourngrym said to the sullen, scar-faced man. "I would hear your version of the tale."
Adon stepped forward, then told all he knew of the events that plagued the Realms in the least amount of words possible. Mourngrym leaned against his throne and frowned.
"You might have noticed a few of the precautions that have already been put into effect around here," Mourngrym said. "It is feared that Shadowdale will be under siege in a matter of days." Mourngrym looked to Thurbrand. "To answer your earlier questions, the old captain of arms infiltrated Zhentil Keep and nearly died getting us this information. He is in his quarters, recovering from his injuries.
"Hawksguard will lead your delegation to Elminster after morningfeast. Tonight you are my guests." Mourngrym yawned. "Now if you will excuse us, I believe there were other reasons I was woken from the tender embrace of sorely needed sleep. We will speak further come morning."
Each of the adventurers were then led to private chambers, where steaming baths and soft beds lay in wait. Midnight went out to get some air, and after walking around near the tower, she returned to her room to study her spells. But as she opened her door, she heard a slight splash. Someone was in her room, waiting for her to return.
She thrust open the door and flashed her lantern into the bedroom. There was a startled yelp as the lantern illuminated a large man leaping out of the room's bathtub. He ran for his clothes and weapons, which lay in a heap nearby.
"By the gods," Kelemvor muttered as he saw who the intruder was. "Midnight."
Kelemvor shook himself off like a cat, then picked up a towel. He gingerly dried his chest, where the cut he received fighting the white spider had healed, but was still slightly tender. Midnight set her lantern on a small table across from the bed. She held open her arms. "Come here, Kel. I'll help you with that."
Even in the dimly lit room, she could see his grin.
In the other chambers of the Twisted Tower, the night did not pass so peacefully. Cyric was haunted by nightmarish visions of Brion's death, which played over and over in his head as he slept. A number of times Cyric cried out and woke up, sweating. And each time he went back to sleep, the nightmare returned.
In another room, Adon stood at the window and looked out on the rooftops of Shadowdale. All around the town, he saw the spires of temples, although he could not discern what gods they were a tribute to. Come morning, when a rather plain serving girl named Neena knocked on his door, he was still standing at the window. She entered and lay down the clothes he had given the servants for cleaning.
"Morningfeast is due to commence shortly, good sir," she said.
Adon ignored the girl. Brushing the bangs out of her eye, she touched Adon's shoulder then drew back as he spun on her, his hands set to deliver a killing blow. When he saw it was only a servant, he faltered and stood silently. Neena looked at the cleric's face, then turned away respectfully.
To Adon's failing heart, the gesture was worse than any physical blow.
"Leave me," he said, then he prepared himself for morningfeast.
Kelemvor was standing across the hall from Adon's door as Neena left. He heard the cleric dismiss her and shook his head. Adon won't be healed inside from that scar for a long time, the fighter thought as he turned to knock on Thurbrand's door.
"They're about to serve morningfeast," Kelemvor said when Thurbrand finally opened the door.
"I've already been informed," the bald man said. "You may leave now."
Kelemvor pushed past the fighter and shut the door behind him. "We should talk… about you and your men."
"Men die," Thurbrand said and sat down on the bed. "Those are the fortunes of war." The bald man kicked his sword across the room and looked up at Kelemvor. "I'm leaving, Kel. Vogt and Isaac are coming with me."
"Aye. I expected as much."
Thurbrand ran his hand over his bald head. "I'll go back to Arabel and tell Myrmeen Lhal what I've seen. I'm certain she'll drop the charges."
"Charges? I thought we were wanted for questioning!"
Thurbrand shrugged. "I didn't want to alarm you," he said. "Perhaps I should just tell her you're all dead. Would you prefer that?"
"Do as you will. But that's not what I came here to talk to you about." Kelemvor looked at Thurbrand's sword, now laying in the corner. "You blame yourself for what happened in Spiderhaunt Woods."
"It doesn't matter, Kel. It's over. The blood of my entire company is on my hands. Can you wash it away with your consoling words?" Thurbrand stood, walked to the corner, and picked up his sword. "I might as well have killed them myself." The bald man swung the sword halfheartedly in the air, as if to chase his thoughts away. "Besides," he said quietly, "there are many more deaths than theirs on my conscience. You know that."
Kelemvor said nothing.
Thurbrand grimaced. "I still see the faces of the men who died in my stead — in our stead, so many years ago, Kel. I still hear their screams." Thurbrand paused and looked up at Kelemvor. "Do you?"
"Sometimes," Kelemvor said. "We chose to survive, Thurbrand, and that's a difficult decision to live with. But what happened to our friends has nothing to do with the Company of Dawn. The company had no choice but to follow us into the woods. If they'd stayed on the plain, they'd all have died with no chance to fight back."
Thurbrand turned his back on Kelemvor. "Why are you so concerned about this?"
Kelemvor leaned against the door and sighed. "There was a girl — about the same as Gillian was — who started with us on our journey. Her name was Caitlan."
Thurbrand turned to look at Kelemvor, but the fighter was staring off into space, reliving Caitlan's death.
"She insisted on coming with us, and she died when I was supposed to be protecting her."
"And you feel that you're to blame," Thurbrand said.
Kelemvor let out a deep sigh. "I merely thought you might like to talk about the company."
"Gillian," Thurbrand said after a moment. "She seemed rather young to be an adventurer, didn't she?"
Kelemvor shook his head. "I've seen younger on the road."
Thurbrand closed his eyes. "She was filled with enthusiasm. Her youth… gave me back some of my own. I wanted — no, I needed her around. I was certain I could protect her."
A long silence hung over the room as both fighters thought about companions, some long dead, some dead only a few days. "It was her choice to come with you," Kelemvor said at last and turned to leave.
"And it's my choice to get out of Shadowdale before I end up dead, too," Thurbrand said softly. "I'll be away from here by highsun."
Kelemvor left the room without saying anything.
Hawksguard smiled and shook his head in disbelief. "What do you mean 'this is not a good time?' I haven't led these good people to Elminster's tower just to have them turned away."
"I'm sorry you bothered. You'll have to come back later. Elminster is conducting an experiment. You know how little it takes to arouse his anger if he is interrupted in such moments. Now I suggest you people move on, unless you wish to find yourselves transformed into horseflies, or receive some similar, unpleasant fate."
Lhaeo attempted to shut the door only to find an unusual doorjamb blocking the way. Hawksguard winced as the heavy door pressed against his foot with greater force than Elminster's scribe could ever apply. More of the sage's enchantments, he thought, then forced the door back a bit.
"Look here," Hawksguard said as Kelemvor appeared at his side and shoved at the front door with him. "I have an unhappy liege. If I have an unhappy liege, then you have an unhappy liege. And if we have an unhappy liege, then — "