Tantras (4 page)

“That is all,” Storm said, and she took her place beside Mourngrym.

Thurbal eyed the priest carefully before he spoke. “Did you see either the scarred cleric or the woman harm Elminster in any way?”

“Our way of life has been destroyed! We will have to rebuild the temple -“

“Answer the question,” Thurbal said calmly.

Rhaymon shook with anger. “I saw nothing.”

“Thank you,” Thurbal said. “You may go.”

A guardsman took Rhaymon’s arm and led him away. The priest looked over his shoulder and wrenched free of the guard. “I did not see the sun rise this morning! Does that mean this trial should be cloaked in darkness because it did not rise?”

“Enough!” Mourngrym declared firmly, and two guards gripped Rhaymon’s arms.

“They are guilty and deserve no less than death!” Rhaymon shouted. Instantly the crowd was stirred into a frenzy. As the robed man was dragged away the guards grabbed several others from the crowd and forced them out of the audience chamber. The noise from outside the tower was growing steadily louder.

Cyric sat down on the bench and ran his hand through his brown hair. For this we risked our lives, the thief thought. We saved these cattle so they could put us on trial.

Then Cyric’s attentions turned to Adon. The cleric was slack-jawed and seemed unaware of the gravity of the proceedings around him. There was no gag to prevent the cleric from declaring his innocence, but instead Adon chose to remain silent. Say something, you worthless slug! Cyric thought. If not for your sake, then do it for Midnight!

But Adon did not speak, even as Lhaeo was called to testify. The young man who stood before the court had brown hair and gentle green eyes. His back held straight, his concentration directed fully toward Storm Silverhand, Lhaeo stood with an air of royalty, a far cry from the simpering fop most denizens of the dale were familiar with. “I am Elminster’s scribe,” Lhaeo said. His voice was firm.

“When Midnight and Adon first arrived at Elminster’s tower, they were in the company of Hawksguard, the acting captain of the guard.” Lhaeo looked out into the audience. “The fighters, Kelemvor and Cyric, were also with them.”

“Can you describe anything unusual in the exchange between Elminster and the magic-user, Midnight?” Storm asked.

Lhaeo swallowed. “Elminster indicated that this was not his first encounter with Midnight. He said something about the Stonelands.”

“Where a strange disturbance was seen in the skies just days before the strangers arrived in Shadowdale,” Storm pointed out. “Do you know anything about that?”

Lhaeo looked down into Midnight’s eyes and saw the quiet desperation of the magic-user. Memories of Elminster teleporting from his tower in haste, then returning after nightfall, muttering something about Geryon’s Death Spell, ran through the scribe’s mind.

“Not that I recall,” Lhaeo said, and Midnight’s eyes closed slowly in thanks. “I wish to go on record that I do not believe Elminster is dead.”

There were startled cries of outrage from the onlookers.

“We all know how close you were to the sage, Lhaeo,” Storm said sympathetically. “I would not think it an exaggeration to say that he was like a father to you.” Storm watched as Lhaeo stiffened. “But don’t let that overwhelm your reason.”

Storm bent over and picked up the tattered fragments of Elminster’s robe and the pages from the ancient spellbooks. “These are Elminster’s, are they not?” Lhaeo nodded slowly. “It is rather unlikely that your master would let artifacts such as these books be destroyed. And it is, in fact, impossible that he would allow the Temple of Lathander to be destroyed. If he were alive, surely he would have kept his promise to the clerics.”

The bard paused for a moment before she spoke again. “What business did Midnight have with Elminster?”

“She claimed that she carried the final words of the goddess Mystra, as well as a symbol of the goddess’s trust.”

“Then she is a heretic as well as a killer!” Storm cried, and the crowd exploded.

“Enough!” Mourngrym shouted, and the spectators slowly grew quiet once more. “Control yourself, Storm, or I will be forced to find a replacement for you in these proceedings!”

There was silence from the crowd.

“You were not present at the Temple of Lathander?” Storm asked when she turned back to the scribe.

“No,” Lhaeo said softly. “Elminster had sent me to contact the Knights of Myth Drannor. Magical communication with the East had been blocked. I was armed with Elminster’s wards and traveled at night.”

“You left the same day the strangers arrived,” Storm stated sharply.

“That is true.” Lhaeo said.

“Was it possible that Elminster did not trust the strangers and was attempting to protect you from them?” Storm asked.

Lhaeo hesitated for a moment, Storm’s words striking him like a blow. “I don’t think so,” the scribe said slowly. “No, that would not have been like him.”

“Yet you rarely accompanied him on his many ventures throughout the Realms. Why was that?”

Drawing a sharp breath, the scribe looked away from the bard. “I don’t know,” he said softly.

“I have nothing further to ask.” Storm turned away from the glaring green eyes of the scribe. Thurbal gripped the handle of his walking stick, his fingers caressing the dragon skull of the handle. Perspiration trickled down his face as he spoke.

“Why did Elminster allow Midnight and Adon to stay at his tower?” Thurbal said.

“Elminster trusted them and felt they would be of valuable assistance in the Battle of Shadowdale,” Lhaeo said.

“Elminster told you this?” Thurbal asked.

“Aye, and he allowed Midnight to assist him in the casting of many spells as the cleric researched mystical tomes.”

“Did he seem frightened or suspicious of Midnight and Adon in any way?” Thurbal inquired.

“No,” Lhaeo said. “Not at all. Quite the opposite.”

Biting his lip, Thurbal asked his next question. “Is the goddess Mystra dead?”

Storm rose up to shout in protest, but Mourngrym silenced her and ordered the scribe to answer the question.

“According to Elminster, a horrible fate befell the goddess. Whether or not she is dead, I cannot say.” Lhaeo sighed and hung his head.

“When Midnight arrived with her claims of a message from the goddess, Elminster did not laugh or send her away,” Thurbal stated flatly. “He was convinced of her integrity and dedication to the Realms.” Both Thurbal and the scribe remained silent for a moment.

“If you have nothing else to ask, Thurbal, I think we’ve heard enough from this witness,” Mourngrym said.

Lhaeo quietly left the stand and returned to his seat. Storm moved forward and called a burly guardsman with hazel eyes named Irak Dontaele.

“Your patrol was on duty the night of the attack against the Temple of Tymora. You were the first to enter the temple and discover the bodies of the worshipers and the desecration of the temple itself,” Storm said.

“No,” Irak growled. “Not true.” Quickly he rushed past the other guards, grabbed Adon by his robes, and lifted the cleric up off his knees. “This one was there before any of us!”

“Put him down!” Mourngrym said, and the crossbows of the guards who stood behind the prisoners were suddenly leveled at the witness. Adon’s dull eyes swam in their sockets as he was lowered reluctantly to the ground. “What is the meaning of this, Storm? Are you trying to show some connection between the attacks on the two temples?”

“There’s the connection!” Storm cried, pointing at Adon. “This man was present both times. They say he is a cleric of Sune, the Goddess of Beauty, yet look at his face. Even without the ugliness of his scar, he is hardly what one would expect. I submit that Adon of Sune and Midnight of Deepingdale are allies of the Black Lord, and their true allegiance is to that evil god and the city of Zhentil Keep. That is why they murdered Elminster!”

A roar erupted from the crowd. “Kill them!” someone cried.

“Yes!” screamed a woman. “Death to the servants of Lord Bane!”

Mourngrym struggled to maintain his composure. “Enough!” he ordered.

“No!” Storm cried, turning to face Lord Mourngrym. “What names did the adventurers give to the guards when they first arrived in the dale?”

Kelemvor winced. When they had arrived in Shadowdale, they had used a false charter to gain admission to the town. The fighter had been certain that the matter would be forgotten in the chaos caused by Bane’s attack.

“They used false names… a stolen charter. If my words are untrue,” Storm shouted, “why hasn’t the cleric said anything in his own defense?” Storm now stood directly over Adon. “Speak, murderer! Tell us what you’ve done!”

Adon didn’t look up to meet the bard’s fiery gaze. He simply looked straight ahead and whimpered. “Sune,” he said simply, and then he was silent once more.

“Thurbal, have you any witnesses to call?” Mourngrym inquired.

“I call Kelemvor Lyonsbane,” Thurbal said, and the fighter was escorted forward from the crowd. “You led the eastern defenses near Krag Pool, where Bane’s army suffered the greatest number of casualties and the decisive victory against our enemies was won. Yet you entered Shadowdale at the same time as the prisoners, and in their company. Tell us briefly how you know the accused.”

“Midnight and Adon are of stout heart, and their loyalty to the Dales and to the Realms should not be questioned,” Kelemvor said confidently.

“Tell him to answer the question,” Storm snapped, turning to Mourngrym.

Kelemvor examined the striking, silver-haired woman. His gaze locked on her blue-gray eyes as he told the tale of his first meeting with Midnight in Arabel and the quest that eventually led them to the Dales.

“So this was a business arrangement,” Thurbal stated. “You didn’t know her before you met in Arabel.”

“No, I didn’t,” Kelemvor said. “But I’ve come to know her very well since then.”

“He’s a consummate mercenary,” Storm said. “He does nothing without some form of reward.”

Passing his fingers over his mouth, Mourngrym spoke.”If you had not been called, Kelemvor Lyonsbane, if you had been forced to volunteer to testify on Midnight’s behalf, would you have spoken for her?”

The fighter shook, his face growing dark. To lie in Midnight’s favor would be an unselfish act he had not been paid for. And that would trigger the curse.

“Answer the question,” Mourngrym said.

Kelemvor glanced at Midnight, and her eyes were wide with fear. With a heavy heart, Kelemvor turned back to Mourngrym. “I could not,” he said.

“No further questions,” Thurbal snapped, turning away from the fighter in disgust. Storm simply smiled and dismissed Kelemvor.

The fighter said nothing as he was led back to the crowd. Cyric stared at Kelemvor as he walked past. The thief saw the look of defeat in his friend’s eyes. For some reason, it made Cyric feel a little better to know that Kelemvor now realized he was right about the dalesmen.

“This day grows long, Thurbal.” Mourngrym folded his hands upon the lectern. “Have you any other witnesses?”

“Only you, milord,” Thurbal said softly.

Mourngrym stared at the older man. “Are you well? Have you taken leave -“

“I call Mourngrym Amcathra,” Thurbal pronounced distinctly. “By the laws of the Dales, you cannot refuse to testify unless you wish to declare this trial at an end and release the prisoners.”

The eyes of the dalelord turned wild with anger, but Mourngrym nodded and said in an even voice, “Very well. Ask me what you will.”

“Where was Lord Bane throughout the battle for Shadowdale?” Thurbal asked.

Mourngrym cocked his head slightly. “I don’t understand.”

“Bane led the attack through the forest from Voonlar. Our scouts can verify this. I will summon them if you wish.” Thurbal leaned against the lectern as a coughing fit overcame him.

“That won’t be necessary,” Mourngrym said. “Bane led the attack.”

“At Krag Pool, before the defenders of the dale toppled the trees upon Bane’s army, the Black Lord vanished,” Thurbal stated calmly. “There are dozens of witnesses I can present to verify this as well.”

“Go on,” Mourngrym said impatiently.

“The next time Bane was sighted, it was at the crossroads, near the farm of Jhaele Silvermane. The Black Lord appeared before you, Mourngrym Amcathra, and attempted to slay you. Mayheir Hawksguard pushed you aside and was fatally wounded in your stead. Is that correct?”

“Aye,” Mourngrym replied. “Hawksguard died nobly in the defense of the Dales.”

“Where did Lord Bane go after that?” Thurbal asked. “Weren’t you quite vulnerable? Could he have not slain you then and there, despite Hawksguard’s sacrifice?”

“I don’t know,” Mourngrym mumbled uncomfortably. “Perhaps.”

“But he didn’t. He vanished again,” Thurbal said. “Bane’s attentions must have been drawn elsewhere.” The captain was seized by another coughing fit. Mourngrym drummed his fingers nervously on the lectern.

“I’m all right,” Thurbal said, and he drew a breath before continuing. “Now, where was Elminster throughout the battle for Shadowdale?”

“At the Temple of Lathander,” Mourngrym replied.

“Why?” Thurbal asked. “Why was he not at the front lines using his magic to help repel Bane?”

Mourngrym shook his head. He had no answer.

“Didn’t Elminster tell you repeatedly that the true battle would take place in the Temple of Lathander?” Thurbal asked.

“Aye, but he never explained what he meant by that statement,” Mourngrym said. “Perhaps he had foreseen the danger to the prisoners and wished to draw them away from the true battle -“

Thurbal held up his hand. “I suggest that the true battle was at the temple, that Bane went there, and it was he who murdered Elminster the sage.”

Storm stood up and threw her arms over her head. “All this is complete speculation. There isn’t a bit of evidence to suggest Bane was at the Temple of Lathander.”

Thurbal grimaced and turned to Mourngrym. “Before you can convict the prisoners, you must show a motive for their actions. Storm Silverhand claims they were agents of Bane. Yet there is no proof to support such allegations. I spoke to the prisoner, Midnight, before the trial, and she claims -“