Shadowdale

by Scott Ciencin

  No, he was free, and a better man for it.

  On the other hand, just one silken pillow would have been welcome.

  * * * * *

  The bedchambers of Myrmeen Lhal were spectacularly designed, with a bowl-shaped ceiling crafted in tiers of concentric circles that spiraled upward to its center. The room was dominated by a huge round bed, a dozen feet in diameter, adorned with red silk sheets and a dozen soft gold-laced pillows. Works of art abounded; some breathtaking, others merely beautiful.

  But the finest work of art, Myrmeen herself, could only be seen through icy black curtains, constantly charged by the finest illusionists of the city, that allowed her to look out on any exotic port of call with only the slightest prompt from her imagination.

  Myrmeen rose from her huge bath, carved from the finest ivory by visiting artisans from far-away Shou Lung, and kept warm by jets of constantly flowing, heated water. The most exotic of oils and enchanted spices treated her skin to fiery delights pleasurable beyond the caress of even the most experienced lover. She hated to end her luxuriant session in the enchanted water, but she knew she dared not allow herself to fall asleep—not unless she wanted to find herself so lethargic by morning that she would have to postpone her duties for a week before the effects passed and she could think clearly again.

  A translucent azure gown, sparkling with tiny stars, found its way to Myrmeen’s hand. The gown dried her skin and set her hair in the most regal of fashions as she slipped it over her head.

  The gown was the gift of a powerful—and amorous—mage who visited the city a year ago. And though the magic gown had been checked by her court magicians, Myrmeen worried that the unpredictability of magic might make it dangerous to wear, and promised herself she would do without it from now on. Of course, she had been promising herself this for almost a week.

  If the gown kills me, Myrmeen thought, at least I’ll look presentable for the clerics.

  Suddenly she thought of Adon of Sune, and spasms of uncontrollable laughter raced through her. The poor sod was probably shaking in his boots, hiding in the most horrid of places, in fear for his life. Of course he wasn’t in any real danger, but Myrmeen couldn’t pass up the opportunity to take the conceited cleric down a peg or two; in fact, she had precious few chances to indulge her former talent as a trickster. She sighed and stretched upon the bed.

  She was just about to ring for a page when she noticed something quite odd: the rubies of her golden chalice were missing. Myrmeen rose from the bed, her warrior’s instinct dulled by years of rule, and moved too late to avoid the darkly clad man who rushed at her and slammed her back against the bed, knocking the wind from her in the process. She felt the man’s weight upon her, holding her in place, as a hand closed over her mouth.

  The man’s face and body had been swathed in a gauze that appeared to be some sort of steel mesh. The strips over his face had been arranged to leave spaces for the man’s eyes, nostrils, and mouth.

  “Be still, milady. I have no wish to harm you,” the man said, his voice low and throaty. Myrmeen struggled all the more fiercely. “I deliver word of the conspiracy.”

  Myrmeen stopped fighting, and she felt her assailant’s hold lessen a degree. “How did you get in here?” she mumbled into the man’s hand.

  “We all have our secrets,” he said. “It wouldn’t do to give them up.”

  “You—you mentioned … the conspiracy,” she said, her chest heaving with her imagined fear. She wondered if she should begin to sob, then thought better of it.

  “The villain Knightsbridge is still at large.”

  Myrmeen’s eyes narrowed.

  “But you knew this. What may come as news is that all three of the agents Evon Stralana used have fled the city. Kelemvor, Adon, and the former thief Cyric left in disguise before highsun in the company of two strangers.

  “Was it not the hands of these three that allowed Knightsbridge to fly free? Think on this, milady. That is all I have to say.”

  As Marek started to get up, Myrmeen rolled to the left, as if to bring her hands to her reddened face, and instead grabbed hold of the edge of the bed and delivered a kick with both legs to the stomach of the intruder. From his cry and the crack she heard, she guessed she had found the man’s ribs.

  “By the gods!” the thief shouted as Myrmeen delivered an open fist blow that narrowly missed his throat. He recognized the technique and grabbed her arm, realizing his mistake as she kicked sharply into his ankle, bringing a second howl of pain from his lips and causing him to release her arm before he could twist it from her shoulder. Myrmeen had been shouting the entire time, so it wasn’t a surprise to Marek when the doors to her chambers burst open and a handful of guardsmen raced in.

  Marek thought first of attacking the guards, or trying to run. But when he considered how easy it would be for him to escape from the pitifully constructed dungeons of Arabel, he held up his hands and surrendered.

  “Get some answers from this dog,” Myrmeen said, oblivious to the stares her almost completely naked body had elicited. “Well? Are you deaf? Move!”

  She stopped one of the men. “And send word that I wish to see the minister of defense in the planning room immediately!” She looked down at her torn nightgown. “When I am more properly attired.”

  “I told you not to complain about guard duty,” one of the guards said as he dragged Marek away, and Myrmeen waited until she was once again alone in her chambers before she let out a wide smile at the words of the roguish guard. But her smile faded as quickly as it had formed when she thought of the trio who had perhaps betrayed her, and the measures she would take to ascertain if this was so.

  Half an hour later, in the planning room, Myrmeen related all the information she had been given to Evon Stralana, a thin, dark-haired man with a pallid complexion. Stralana nodded gravely.

  “Then I fear that worm, Gelzunduth, was telling the truth,” Stralana said.

  “You knew about this?” Myrmeen screamed.

  “This morning, one of our men succeeded in gaining the evidence needed to arrest the forger, Gelzunduth.”

  “Go on.”

  Stralana took a breath. “Last night, Adon arrived at Gelzunduth’s, and paid the forger for false identifications for men who sound suspiciously like Kelemvor and Cyric. He purchased a false charter, too. Gelzunduth knew at once what he was dealing with, and went along as cordially as he could.

  “When Gelzunduth was first interrogated, he hinted that he could expose corruption in the guards. Gelzunduth felt he could use the information to bargain for his freedom or a lesser sentence. It took until a few hours ago before the pig broke and he told everything.”

  Myrmeen stared at the tiny flame from the lone candle that sat between Stralana and herself. When she raised her gaze, her fury over what she had been told was evident in her eyes.

  “I want to know who was guarding the gates when Kelemvor and the others left Arabel. I want them brought here, and questioned. We’ll deal with their punishment once we figure out which gate they left through.”

  Stralana nodded. “Yes, milady.”

  Myrmeen’s hands were balled into white-knuckled fists and pressed together. She forced her hands to relax as she spoke. “Then we shall deal with Kelemvor and his party.”

  Cyric, last to take the watch, gazed at the beautiful pastel pink of the early morning sky. Gentle strokes of ochre seemed to set fire to the pure white clouds that rose over the horizon. However, the thief soon noticed a wealth of heat soaking his neck. He turned, and found a second sunrise that mimicked the first to total perfection.

  Off to the north and the south, other suns were rising with visible speed. Illusions or no, the effects were disconcerting. The sweltering heat from the blinding orbs caused the tiny pockets of mud in the road to dry and harden, and the earth itself began to smoke with a foul odor. Cyric roused the others before the full effect of the tremendous heat became apparent.

  Kelemvor, still groggy from a miserable
night’s sleep, went in search of their sole tent, then cursed himself as he remembered it had been destroyed when the packhorses were killed by the creatures the day before. He ordered the others to fetch any blankets or cloaks and cover themselves at once, as the flatlands that surrounded the heroes offered little protection from the suns.

  “Midnight!” Kelemvor called. “If you have any more miraculous spells to aid us, now is the time!”

  Midnight ignored the sarcastic tone of Kelemvor’s voice.

  “Bring everyone together!” Midnight cried. “The horses as well. Then gather our water in one place.”

  Midnight’s requests were met, and a heavy fog filled the air as the dark-haired magic-user released a minor cantrip to dampen the area. A second cantrip chilled their drinking water, ensuring it wouldn’t evaporate in the heat. The blankets cloaked the adventurers in darkness and helped to decrease the intense heat from the suns. Midnight was thankful that her spells had not gone awry. She saw tiny streaks of lightning play across the surface of the pendant and felt a chill, even in the intense heat of the rising suns.

  In the darkness under a blanket, Adon remembered a simple spell he knew that would allow him to endure the effects of the intense heat without injury. He wished he could pray for the spell, but he knew there would be no effect. Before and after his watch, he had prayed to Sune and attempted spells; his efforts were failures, just as they had been since the time of Arrival.

  Midnight could see the suns, even through the fabric of her cloak. She watched in fascination as they converged in a dazzling array of light directly overhead. Then they were one and the heat dwindled to normal levels almost immediately. The crisis was seemingly at an end.

  The heat had its effect on the adventurers, however, and even as they prepared to leave, arguments broke out over which of the suns had been real, and which direction they wanted to travel. At length they surrendered to Cyric’s unfailing instincts and a semblance of normalcy was restored to the journey.

  After a time, the flatlands gave way to lush, rolling hills to the east, and the imposing spires of the mountains of Gnoll Pass in the far distance. The heroes left the main road and were pleasantly surprised to find the ruins of a colonnade encircling a sparkling pool of fresh water, which Adon tested and pronounced pure. They drank greedily and replenished their canteens.

  The idea of bathing had no sooner occurred to the sweat-drenched adventurers when Adon, quite unabashed, began to strip.

  “Adon!” Kelemvor shouted, and the cleric froze in place, balanced on one leg, hands clutching his boot. “A woman and child are present!”

  Adon lowered his foot before he fell over. “Oh. Sorry.”

  Midnight shook her head. The idea of bathing and refreshing herself before the final leg of their journey was not without merit, but other arrangements would have to be made.

  “If the three of you wish to bathe, then I will take Caitlan and wait for you at the other end of the pool—with our backs turned,” the magic-user said.

  “Ah. Then we will do the same for you,” said Kelemvor, already taking off his shirt.

  “Aye, except you will be over the next ridge before we enter the water.” Midnight took Caitlan by the hand and led her away.

  Once Midnight and Caitlan were at the other end of the colonnade, Adon stripped completely and gently folded his clothing into neat piles before he made a running start and leaped into the crystalline water. He splashed about and whooped like a child as Kelemvor laughed “Well met, lad!” and stripped as well. Even Cyric entered the pool, although he seemed quite self-conscious in comparison to the others.

  Midnight was surprised by Caitlan’s silence as they waited for the men to finish. She enjoyed talking to the girl, yet even as she gently prodded at Caitlan for a few words, the girl remained completely silent, gazing at the horizon.

  “Midnight!”

  Without turning, Midnight responded. “Yes, Kelemvor?”

  “Something I must tell you.”

  Midnight frowned, noting the playful tone in Kelemvor’s voice. “It can wait.”

  “I might forget,” Kelemvor said. “Don’t worry, we’re in the water.”

  Midnight’s shoulders dropped and she looked to Caitlan. “Wait here,” she said. Caitlan nodded.

  Midnight rose and found Kelemvor close to her side of the pool. Adon and Cyric remained at the far end.

  Midnight’s occasional imaginings about Kelemvor’s unclad physique turned out to be not all that far from the truth: the sight of Kelemvor’s water-soaked, glistening body caused Midnight to shiver, despite herself. She could not remember the last time hands such as his touched her. Kelemvor shocked Midnight from her thoughts with a healthy splash of water as he swam up close, playfully taunting her to join him.

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Midnight said, folding her arms over her chest.

  “Aye,” Kelemvor said, a mischievous, boyish glint in his eyes.

  “That’s why my clothing is remaining firmly in place until the lot of you are safely over that hill,” she said, kicking at the pool and sending a splatter of water at the handsome face of the fighter. He grabbed at her ankle and missed, fell forward and struck his head on the stone edge of the pool with a heavy thud. The fighter’s arms pinwheeled as he began to sink, a slight trace of blood riding the water.

  “Kel!” Midnight shouted, and suddenly a whirlpool formed and a hand made of swirling, spraying water lifted Kelemvor from the pool and deposited him on a small bench. Adon raced to the man’s side. Midnight brought their clothing as Kelemvor began to stir.

  “He should be fine,” Adon said, examining the wound. “I wouldn’t suggest moving him for a little while.”

  “Foolish,” Midnight scolded, but Kelemvor merely grinned and shook his head. Adon placed a blanket over the fighter and went to talk with Cyric, who was already completely dressed.

  “Would have been worth it,” the fighter said. Then concern creased his features. “You’re shivering.”

  Midnight was, in fact, shivering uncontrollably. She hadn’t tried to throw a spell ta rescue Kelemvor, but she was sure that she had somehow rescued the fighter. Perhaps, the magic-user thought as she hugged herself to stop the shaking, the pendant is going to explode. After all, it was magical.

  Then Midnight shouted as a second geyser of water shot up from the pool and engulfed her in a sparkling column. The mage was shocked as her clothing, all but the pendant, disentangled itself with no move from her, and pleasant jets of concentrated water washed her clean even as her clothing danced in the air, receiving the same treatment. The others could see very little of what went on inside the column, and when it was over the water was hungrily swallowed back by the pool and Midnight stood fully clothed and shining clean.

  Her shivering had stopped, but Midnight was again struck with uncertainty. Well, she concluded, whether it had been the pendant or some power in the water itself, that did all this, obviously there was no harmful magic at work.

  “Nice trick,” Cyric said, smiling at the magic-user. “But I’m surprised you’d trust your spells after what we’ve seen.”

  “I haven’t thrown a spell since those cantrips this morning,” the magic-user said. “I don’t know what’s causing this. It could be Caitlan for all we know.”

  Midnight looked over to the place where she had left the girl, and felt a momentary surge of panic when she saw that the bench was empty. Before she was able to say a word there was a splash from behind her, and Midnight turned to find Caitlan taking advantage of the sparkling pool.

  Because of Kelemvor’s wound, the heroes chose to make camp in the colonnade, then continue traveling to the castle in the morning. Cyric spent much of that afternoon studying the pillars and statues that surrounded the camp.

  The columns were thick and smooth, and a dozen feet above the ground, beautiful stone archways reached out like earthbound rainbows from one column to another. Then stone beams led across to the next column, which
again sprouted an archway, and so on.

  Some of the columns had been shattered, their spires fragmenting into jagged lances at their peaks. Cracks reached downward from the broken crowns to corrupt the lengths of the pillars without mercy, and huge fragments of stone were dug deeply into the ground beside the fractured columns. Many archways were completely missing, disrupting the once-perfect symmetry of the colonnade and replacing it with a wild, unpredictable design.

  The statues were of the most interest to Cyric, though almost all of the sculptures were broken in some way and many were missing their heads. Some were male, some female, but all were perfect physical specimens. The thief stood for hours, staring at one particular statue: a pair of headless lovers with their backs turned to the colonnade, their hands displaying the emotions their missing heads could not.

  As darkness closed in, a strong luminescence emanated from the pool, as if its bottom had been lined with phosphorus, even though close examination proved this not to be true. The blue-white light from the water played upon the features of the travelers as they relaxed and occasionally found some topic for conversation.

  Cyric related tales of ill-fated adventurers who had sought their fortunes in the legendary ruins of Myth Drannor, ignoring the warnings of the heroes who guarded that place. All his stories ended with the adventurers being killed or disappearing forever. Midnight playfully chastised the man for bringing up such depressing tales.

  “Besides, how would you know what those people faced in the ruins unless you had been there with them, and somehow made it out alive?” Midnight asked.