As Midnight, Adon, Varden, and Gratus huddled over a map of the harbor, two young men wearing grubby, nondescript clothing approached the heroes. The first soldier, a tall, dark-haired man with a pale complexion, stepped forward. He was a tired-looking youth, with deep circles under his eyes. "I'm Wulstan. This is Tymon. We're both from Hillsfar."
The second man was also dark-haired, but his craggy nose appeared to have been broken several times. However, in general, he seemed in much better health than his friend. He nodded to the heroes.
Midnight stood up. "Well met," she said, and proceeded to introduce herself and her companions. "Thank you both for volunteering to help us."
The soldiers glanced oddly at one another, then back at Midnight. "Volunteer?" Wulstan asked incredulously. "Are you serious?"
Varden surged forward, a dark scowl on his face. "You mean the two of you had to be ordered to help us attack your enemies?" Wulstan looked away awkwardly.
The thief looked down the tunnel at the other soldiers gathered there. "Is there no one here who has the heart to fight the Zhentilar to regain Scardale?" Varden cried loudly enough for the others to hear.
"Not really," Tymon said matter-of-factly as he walked past Varden and sat down. "But orders are orders, and you will find that neither Wulstan nor I will shrink from our responsibilities."
Varden bowed his head and returned to the maps. "I suppose that your best effort is all we can ask for," Adon sighed and put his hand on Tymon's shoulder. "At least under these circumstances."
Wulstan snorted and rolled his eyes. "Spare us the sermon, cleric." The worn fighter walked to Midnight's side. "Just tell us what we're supposed to do."
Adon narrowed his eyes and started to speak, but Gratus stood up quickly and cleared his throat. "Well, we have a number of obstacles to overcome," the old merchant noted. "We can expect that the Zhentish garrison will be filled to overflowing with Bane's soldiers. To relieve the overcrowding, the fallen garrisons of the Zhent's enemies will be occupied if possible."
Wulstan muttered to himself, then growled, "Once we leave this hiding place, there'll be no other safe place for shelter. Isn't that what you're trying to say, old man?"
Gratus ignored the sullen soldier and continued. "However, we might be able to get lodging in a private house." The old merchant ran his hand over his face and tapped his chin. "The people of Scardale have declared themselves neutral. They won't be interested in harboring fugitives. But I have friends that might be willing to help."
"The Zhentilar will be prowling the streets," Midnight added, "and I wouldn't be surprised if at least one of Bane's assassins is airborne, combing the streets for Adon and me." The mage grew silent.
"So our first problem is getting to the Zhentish garrison in one piece," Varden said flatly. "Then what?"
"The obvious," Gratus answered, rubbing his hand over his bald spot. "Getting inside, retrieving Midnight's belongings, and rescuing her friend. Then the small matter of getting out again."
"At least they're simple problems," Wulstan muttered moodily.
"The Zhentish may be expecting us to make such an attempt," Adon added. "It's possible the Zhentilar may have set up a trap. They might let us get into the garrison with only token resistance, then capture us with ease."
Gratus frowned and sat down. "So what do you suggest?" the old man asked. "It it's such an impossible task, why are we undertaking it?"
Midnight's eyes flashed. "We're doing this because we must!" the mage snapped. "And we have one thing you haven't mentioned that may tip the scales in our favor. The one thing the Zhentish won't expect."
Adon looked up. "Magic!" he breathed softly. "But Bane has your spellbook."
"There's one spell left in my memory," Midnight said, smiling at the scarred cleric. "One I was studying before we were captured."
Varden shook his head and started to object. The two young soldiers eyed the exit from the tunnel. Gratus nervously rubbed behind his ears. "If you mean to teleport us halfway across the city," the old man snapped, "you can count me out right now."
"No," Midnight answered. "That would be madness. We could end up inside solid rock or buried beneath the Ashaba." The two soldiers from Hillsfar glanced nervously at each other and frowned.
"Any spell is dangerous," Varden said. "There are no guarantees — "
"Life itself has no guarantees," Adon interjected, running his hand across his scarred cheek. "Let her finish."
Tymon nodded. "Though I'm afraid to find out what the mage has in mind, I think we should at least hear what she has to say."
Varden frowned. "All right. Go ahead," the thief said, defeated.
"It's a spell of invisibility," Midnight stated, a smile creeping back onto her lips. It casts a cloak of invisibility for ten feet in all directions. If it works, we should stay invisible unless we attack somebody. And since we would plan on avoiding any attack, we should remain invisible for the entire time we make our way through the town."
"I still feel — ," Varden began.
"Enough!" Wulstan snapped, standing up and moving to Midnight's side. "The matter is no longer up for debate. I'm no more anxious than any of you to die, but it we can possibly be safe and still follow our orders, then I say we should give the mage her chance."
Midnight's smile grew broader, and Tymon, Gratus, and Adon nodded in agreement with Wulstan. Only Varden looked away from the mage, deep concern lining his face. "Fine. We should leave by the butcher shop entrance immediately," the raven-haired mage said. "And we probably should inform Barth of our plan." The heroes crossed the tunnel to the Sembian's quarters.
The Sembian leader looked shocked when Midnight explained their plan. "At least give me a few minutes to clear the guards from the basement entrance before you begin your sorceries," the burly fighter mumbled. "A good thing we have another exit."
After Barth recalled the guard from the small basement of the butcher shop, the heroes crawled through the tunnel and prepared to leave the Sembians' haven. At the bottom of the stairs, Midnight gathered the components for her spell. From her pocket, she removed a small piece of gum arabic, which she carried especially for this spell. Then she collected a single eyelash from each of the heroes. Finally the mage encased the eyelashes in the gum and began her chant.
Gratus and Varden exchanged nervous glances. The soldiers from Hillsfar trained their attention at the wall beyond the mage and forced themselves to think about anything but what might happen. Adon, however, stood before his friend, smiling serenely. From the cleric's expression, it seemed he would welcome even death itself if the spell went awry and killed them all.
Steadying her nerves, Midnight finished the incantation. Unable to think of a single spell that had worked properly for her since the escape from Shadowdale, the mage prayed that this one would work — for Kelemvor's sake. Soon a blue-white glow began to surround Midnight. The heroes gasped and shielded their eyes as the light intensified, filled the room, then faded.
Gratus looked around the basement at his companions. "Nothing happened!" the old man said, much relieved. "And we're still alive!"
At the same moment, Midnight saw Barth poke his head out of the crawlspace between the basement and the tunnels. A look of amazement filled his face. The burly man's lips moved silently, and the mage laughed.
"What's wrong with you?" Wulstan said as he approached Midnight. "I can still see you. Your spell didn't work. Why should you be laughing?"
Adon pointed toward Barth, and the heroes turned to see the Sembian staring into the room. "I–I can hear you," he whispered, "so the spell must have worked. But I still can't see you. You are there, aren't you?"