The heroes rushed through the open door and found a set of blackened, burned stairs leading to a musty cellar. Once the heroes were down the stairs, the guard reset several traps on the door and rejoined them. Then he moved toward a small crawlspace in one of the walls. “Don’t worry,” he said, turning to Midnight and Adon. “This leads to our hiding place.”
After crawling down a short passage, Midnight and Adon found themselves in a stone tunnel, much like the one they had used to escape from Durrock and the Zhentilar earlier. Torches lined the walls, lighting the gray-bricked passage, and Midnight saw a handful of soldiers dressed in the uniforms of various nations. Some rested against the walls, others sat on crates of food, sharpening weapons or rolling dice.
“Wait here,” Varden told Midnight and Adon. “I’ll go talk to Barth, the leader of our little troop.” The thief smiled warmly and walked toward a large curtain that was hung in the tunnel a few yards away.
It was over two hours before Midnight and Adon were given an audience with Barth. Since none of the soldiers made any attempt to talk to the mage or the cleric, they spent the time exploring possibilities for Kelemvor’s rescue and discussing all that had happened to them since they’d met in Cormyr.
At one point, the conversation lagged, and Adon spent a few moments looking around the tunnel at the tired, dirty soldiers. For the first time, he noticed that they were huddled in groups—the Cormyrians with other Cormyrians, the men from Hillsfar only with their own, and so on.
The Zhentish invasion changes Scardale little, the cleric thought with a sigh. This was once a thriving, happy place … before Lashan’s reign, anyway.
In fact, it hadn’t been so long ago that Scardale was on the verge of forging its own empire. Under the leadership of Lashan Aumersair, an aggressive young lord, Scardale had had gathered an army and even managed to conquer a few of its neighbors. But the invasion of Harrowdale, Featherdale, and Battledale drew the attention of the rest of Scardale’s rivals for power in the area—Hillsfar, the Dales, Sembia, even Cormyr and Zhentil Keep.
Lashan was eventually turned back from Mistledale and Deepingdale by the combined forces of Scardale’s powerful neighbors, and the young nobleman’s empire collapsed as quickly as it had risen. The troops from the conquering armies soon occupied the town of Scardale itself, though Lashan escaped and was presumably still in hiding somewhere. Then each of the major powers placed a small garrison in the town, to prevent any one power from rising unchecked in the dale.
The various garrisons had fought among themselves for years over petty insults, making the town little more than an open invitation to lawlessness. Now that the balance had been tipped in Zhentil Keep’s favor, Adon thought bitterly, the soldiers were treating it like another taproom brawl, another momentary inconvenience. They weren’t banding together as allies to save their city; instead, they were huddled together like groups of thieves in a darkened alley. At any moment, they might suddenly turn on one another. To Adon, it was all very sad.
When the heroes finally got to meet Barth, Adon’s musings about the soldiers’ pettiness were proven correct.
“You expect us to what?” Barth exclaimed, his normally well-tanned face turning bright red. The soldier was strongly built, with curly black hair and a thick mustache.
“I don’t expect you to do anything,” Midnight growled, balling her hands into fists. “I’m offering you a chance to strike back at Bane’s forces. You might be safe while you’re inside these tunnels, but the Zhentilar have made you prisoners here just as surely as if they had thrown you in their dungeons!”
Barth leaned back in his chair, the only one Midnight had seen in the tunnels, and looked at the mage and her friends. Contempt showed in the soldier’s eyes as he mulled over Midnight’s plan to rescue Kelemvor.
Gratus smiled fatuously and addressed the leader of the resistance. “The mage has a point.” Raising his hand, the old merchant placed his index finger and thumb together, then allowed a small space to open between them. “Why, we can’t even go outside the tunnels this far, even to look for food, without worrying about a Zhentish patrol picking us up. I can’t even—”
“Stop thinking of only yourself, you old con man,” Varden snapped. “There’s a very real chance that Midnight’s companion may be enduring torture even as we speak. He might even be dead, for all we know. Bane is going to crush Scardale beneath his black boots. The least we can do is try to strike a blow against the tyrant.”
“Enough!” Barth barked, waving Varden away with a meaty, unwashed hand. “Your passion and your beliefs are not the issues. We’ve already sent messengers to alert Sembia of the takeover. If we wait it out, reinforcements will arrive. Then we’ll attack the Zhentilar. Not before.” The Sembian paused for a moment and picked a bit of his lunch from his teeth with a dagger. “Right now, any attack would be a waste of effort and men.”
“There’s another reason you need us,” Midnight said. She hated to lie, but she was beginning to realize that Barth was going to give her no other choice. “Bane is in possession of a mystical object that we were carrying to Tantras for Elminster the Sage.” The Sembian looked up quickly, nearly poking himself in the cheek with his dagger. Midnight smiled and continued. “The object is an amber sphere of great power. If Bane learns what it is and how to control it, he will have the power in his hands to find you whenever he wants to.”
Panic flared in the eyes of the Sembian leader. “Perhaps I could spare a few men,” Barth said slowly, his mind racing. “Tell me, with this sphere, would you be able to destroy the Zhentil Keep garrison?”
He won’t help me for altruistic reasons, Midnight thought to herself, but fear certainly convinced him to assist me soon enough. “No,” Midnight said with mock sadness. “Only a god, or a being with a god’s power, could accomplish such a task with this object.”
Barth paled slightly. “If it’s a danger to my, uh, soldiers, I’ll assign two men to your party. They’ll assist you in your efforts to retrieve this magical sphere … and your friend.” The Sembian cleared his throat and wiped a thin film of sweat from his brow.
“You have our thanks,” Midnight said.
Barth made a futile attempt at a smile. “Yes, well, perhaps you should get going right away. We wouldn’t want … your friend to suffer any undue danger, would we?” Midnight nodded and silently cursed the Sembian, then led her friends out through the curtain and into the section of the tunnel where the soldiers were gathered.
Almost an hour passed before the soldiers who had been assigned to assist Midnight arrived. The heroes had pulled together a few crates to serve as a table, and the section of the tunnel they occupied had started to look like a military planning room. Maps of Scardale and the outlying areas lay all over the floor. Trade routes and various notations concerning the business districts of the town marked the surfaces of the maps, which had come from a local merchant’s looted store, making it impossible to make out some of the map’s details.
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. “If 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 if 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?”
“We’re just testing the effectiveness of the spell,” Midnight said, and the burly fighter started slightly, bumping his head on the top of the crawlspace. “Let’s go, then,” the mage said, and the heroes left the hiding place.
As Midnight and her allies journeyed across the city, Gratus stopped from time to time to point out various safe houses whose residents were likely to admit them should the need arise. “Lashan had friends in the city,” Gratus noted softly as the heroes passed one such house. “And many of them do not approve of Scardale’s declared neutrality.”
“I’ve been curious about something, Gratus,” Midnight said softly. “Exactly what is it you do in Scardale? You aren’t a mage, a fighter, or a thief. How do you make ends meet?”
Varden laughed. “I’m not so sure he isn’t a thief.”
Gratus leaned close to Midnight. “I was Lashan’s Minister of Propaganda,” he whispered. “The city pensioned me off, but they refused to turn me over to the likes of these two boobs from Hillsfar on the condition that I keep my mouth shut about Lashan’s possible return. Now
I sell boots.”
Wulstan overheard parts of what the old merchant said and quickly moved to Gratus’s side. “You’d better watch what you’re saying, old man, if you know what’s good for you,” the fighter growled.
Gratus replied mockingly, “So the rumor is true … people from Hillsfar have no sense of humor whatsoever.”
Wulstan reached for his sword, but his partner quickly raised his hand. “Stay your arm!” Tymon warned. “We can’t afford to have our invisible shield fade. The moment we attack something … anything … we will become visible.”
Adon stepped between Gratus and Wulstan and looked at the mage. “If only one of us attacks something, will the spell be canceled for us all?” the cleric asked quietly.
Varden took Gratus by the arm and pushed him in front of Midnight. “The way magic works nowadays, I wouldn’t be surprised if we are never visible again,” the thief said with a grin.
Midnight’s flesh paled. She had not even considered the possibility that the spell might work too well.
“Imagine the fortune that could be amassed in this town by a thief gifted with invisibility,” the thief went on, apparently happy for the first time in hours.
The Hall of Records, where Midnight and Adon had met Gratus earlier in the day, came up on the left. The building looked the same as it had earlier in the day, although a lone Zhentilar stood guard at the doors.
“I was worried they’d burn the place down,” Gratus whispered as they passed the guard. “There are some very interesting papers I’d like to retrieve from there.”
They continued on to the end of the block, then took a sharp right. Immediately the heroes spotted the warehouse where the assassins had landed and the Zhentish garrison beyond that. As expected, the sounds of revelry floated through the streets from the garrison. A token number of guards were posted outside the fort, and the entire building that served as the Zhentish headquarters was brightly lit.
“Bane must be allowing his soldiers to celebrate with a victory party,” Midnight said softly as she led the heroes into an alley next to the warehouse.
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