"How so?" Estah asked.
Tyveris flipped through the pages. "Here it is. Whoever penned this saga tries to convince the reader of the greatness of his hero by comparing him to heroes of the past. The skald lists about a hundred names out of legend. I don't recognize most of them. But one of the heroes he mentions is Talek Talembar."
Tyveris pointed out the passage, reading aloud. "'…and as brave as Talek Talembar, who in the Year of the Lion, in the reckoning of Cormyr, lamentably did fall to a craven goblin's arrow in the Duchy of Indoria.'"
Caledan frowned. "That's it?"
"I'm afraid so," Tyveris replied, shutting the book.
Ferret scratched his stubbly chin. "I've never heard of this 'Indoria.'"
"You're not the only one," Tyveris said with a rumbling laugh. "I spent hours going over every map in the abbey's library, and I couldn't find any trace of it. Until I looked in this book." He held up the second book. "It's a history of Calimshan."
"You mean Indoria is somewhere in Calimshan?" Caledan asked. He had journeyed to that arid southern kingdom on a few occasions and didn't much care for it.
Tyveris shook his head. "No, but it is in a history of one of the ancient noble houses of Calimshan that Indoria is mentioned."
Briefly the monk sketched what he had learned. Five or six centuries ago, the land to the west of Iriaebor, between the Winding Water and the River Chionthar, was a favorite battleground for kingdoms seeking control of the western lands of Faerun. Over the centuries, army after army clashed there in titanic battles. Many of those armies came from Calimshan, for this was before the founding of Calimshan's northern neighbor, Amn.
"I found a passage in the journal of a Calimshite lord who led an army across the River Chionthar," Tyveris explained, "where the lord notes in passing that they camped one evening in a place called Indoria. Bless the man, he even drew a map of his journey."
"Then we know where Talembar must be buried," Caledan said, his eyes glimmering.
Tyveris nodded. "At least the general vicinity. There's a village called Asher where Indoria used to be. Only nowadays the land between the Winding Water and the Chionthar is called the Fields of the Dead. Hardly a patch of earth can be plowed there or a well dug without turning up ancient bones or rusted armor. Reminders of the long-ago battles are everywhere."
Ferret gazed at the book speculatively. "What does it gain us to dig up old Talembar?"
"Maybe Talembar's shadow song was buried with him," Caledan replied. "According to the Mal'eb'dala, the only way to counter the magic of the Nightstone is by playing the shadow song."
"Then it's settled," Mari said firmly. "We must journey into the Fields of the Dead, to Indoria and Talembar's tomb."
"There's no reason to delay," said Tyveris.
“Tomorrow at dawn," agreed Caledan.
"It's a bit early, but I guess I can make it," Ferret added.
Estah smiled at them all. "It's almost like the old Fellowship," she said wistfully. "Almost." Jolle gazed at his wife, and for a moment Caledan thought he saw a sadness reflected in his usually merry brown eyes.
"Then let us see to the provisions, wife," he said, and she nodded, standing up.
"We need to pack food enough for four," she agreed.
"You had best make that five, friend Estah."
The companions all looked up to see a tall, imposing man step into the room. His long blond hair fell against the shoulders of his pearl-gray robe, and his cold blue eyes bore no trace of emotion.
"Morhion," Caledan said, as if the word was poison.
The mage approached. He nodded slowly in greeting to each of the companions before returning his attention to Caledan. "What do you want?" Caledan said, standing to face the mage.
"These matters involve ancient magics, Caledan," the mage said unhesitatingly. "The Nightstone is an object of fell sorcery, and the shadow song itself an enchantment of great power. You will need me if you wish to truly understand their nature."
Caledan opened his mouth to protest, but Mari stepped forward and spoke before he could say anything. "We leave from the inn at dawn," she told the mage. Morhion nodded and then lifted his cowl, plunging his face into shadow.
"I will be here. At dawn."
Caledan clenched his fingers into a fist, but the Harper's hand on his arm restrained him.
"Until then," the mage said. He turned and left the room. A chill seemed to linger in his wake.
Silence reigned for a long moment. Finally Caledan spun around to glare at the Harper. "Why did you do that?" he demanded hotly.
"We need the mage, Caledan," she said defiantly. "You know we do. Think of someone other than yourself for a change."
"I think Mari's right, Caledan," Tyveris said solemnly, watching Caledan intently.
Caledan glared at the others. He knew they didn't bear the same enmity for Morhion he did-they were a forgiving lot, maybe to a fault. "I won't deny we are dealing with things-with magic-that we know little about, Harper. But I've already warned you once that the mage does things for his own purposes."
"And what purposes might those be, Caldorien?" Mari responded.
Caledan looked at the others grimly. "Maybe he wants the Nightstone for himself."
Twelve
Mari rose in the dark, before even the first gray light of morning had touched the sky. She dressed quickly in her small room, donning her soft doeskin breeches and a rust-colored coat, over which she threw a thick woolen traveling cloak of her favorite forest green.
She gathered the few items she would need on the journey, packing them in a leather saddlebag. Briefly she considered bringing a roll of blank parchment and a quill, then realized there would be no time-or opportunity-to send another missive to the Harpers of Twilight Hall.
Downstairs she found Caledan already up. Estah and Jolle were helping him gather the gear they would need for the journey. Jolle had brought down a number of swords, daggers, crossbows, and stiff leather jerkins from the attic. "Good morning, Harper," Caledan said with his wolfish smile. "So you decided to get out of bed and join us on this quest after all." Mari held her tongue. She tried on several of the leather jerkins. Finally she found one that appeared to be the right size, but the buckles were stiff and unbending.
"Here. They go this way," Caledan said, reaching roughly around her waist to fasten one of the straps.
Mari jerked away from his grasp. "I can do it myself," she said crisply. Caledan backed off, looking somewhat miffed.
Both Ferret and Tyveris arrived at the inn's back entrance just as Estah was setting breakfast on the table in the kitchen. The monk's timing was impeccable when it came to meals. Afterward, the others sorted through the attic equipment. Ferret selected several sharp daggers, tossing them experimentally in the air to test their weight. Tyveris came across a worn leather jerkin that had once been his. He grinned and pulled it on, then frowned. Unless a miracle were performed, he wouldn't be able to fasten the laces across his stomach.
"I guess being a monk agrees with you," Caledan commented wryly.
"I never liked this ratty jerkin anyway," the loremaster grumped, discarding the garment for a somewhat roomier choice.
Cormik slipped into the inn's back room to bid the companions farewell. Beneath his plain, unobtrusive cloak he was clad in a silken, gold-embroidered tunic. His opulent attire always looked a bit out of place in the rustic inn.