Making his way toward a twenty-foot skiff at the south end of the yard, Cyric imagined the boathouse in flames. The chaos such an event would create was exactly the distraction they needed to ensure their safe escape. With the destruction of Mourngrym's small fleet, the repairs to the Ashaba bridge would be stalled and any pursuit of the escapees would be severely restricted.
Much to Cyric's regret, however, they didn't have time for such an elaborate operation.
Cyric stood before the boat and looked around quickly. "Can you spellcast, Midnight? We might need a diversion."
Midnight shook her head from side to side. "I would need to study first, and my spellbook was left in Elminster's Tower."
Cyric was about to speak when he heard the soft padding of footsteps. Someone was leaping from boat to boat, carefully avoiding the dock where his footfalls would give him away. "What do you think of this boat?" Cyric said as he made an exaggerated motion with his right hand, hoping to draw attention away from the quicksilver motion of his left hand as he drew out one of his daggers. Suddenly the thief whirled on the intruder.
Midnight grabbed Cyric's hand before the dagger could fly. One of the torches on the tower flared, and the heroes found themselves gazing into the searing green eyes of Elminster's scribe, Lhaeo. Midnight softly breathed his name, and the brown-haired young man gracefully leaped from the bow of a nearby boat to the dock. A huge sack was slung over the scribe's shoulder, but he carried it without effort. An elegant black cloak hung rather loosely around his shoulders.
"What do you want here?" Cyric hissed, suspicion burning in his eyes. The thief held his dagger pointed toward Elminster's servant.
"I'm not about to give you away, if that's what you mean," Lhaeo whispered, then carefully set his canvas bag down on the dock. "Do you have any idea how annoyed Elminster will be if the first thing he learns upon returning home is that you've been executed for his murder?"
"But we saw Elminster die, Lhaeo," Midnight said, hanging her head. "He was drawn into that horrible rift." Adon winced slightly, but the cleric didn't speak. He just stared at the boat, slowly bobbing in the water.
Lhaeo rubbed his chin. "I don't believe it," the scribe said as he opened his sack. "Elminster's disappeared before — many times, in fact. I would know… somehow… if he were truly gone."
"If you're not going to stop us, then what do you want?" Cyric growled quietly. He continued to point his knife toward the scribe. "If you haven't noticed, we're in a bit of a hurry."
Lhaeo frowned and pushed Cyric's dagger aside as he approached Midnight. "I'm here to help you. It's the least I can do after the trial."
The scribe gestured for Midnight to look into the sack. "Your spellbook is here, along with some provisions for your journey." Lhaeo reached into the bag and withdrew a beautiful orb that glowed with an amber light. Strange runes had been wrought in the surface of the glass, and a golden base, marked with intricate designs that were covered with fine, sparkling diamond dust, had been added since the last time Midnight had seen the orb in Elminster's study.
"Do you remember this?" Lhaeo said as he held the sphere toward Midnight. A slight smile played across the scribe's face.
"Aye," Midnight said as she reached out to stroke the glowing sphere. "The globe was made to shatter if any powerful magical object comes within its range."
"This should help you find the Tablets of Fate," Lhaeo said quietly and put the globe back into the bag.
Midnight and Cyric looked shocked, but Lhaeo continued to smile. "There is little Elminster keeps hidden from me. He even told me that the first tablet is in Tantras."
"We have to go," Cyric hissed to Midnight. "You can go through your bag of gifts later." The thief grabbed Adon and moved toward the boat.
"One last thing," the scribe whispered as he removed another, smaller bag from his shoulder and handed it to the magic-user. She opened it and saw a metal vial.
"The mists of rapture," Lhaeo said. "Perfect for disabling a large group of guardsmen without causing lasting harm." Cyric pushed Adon into the boat and started to untie the skiff's moorings.
"You were going to try to rescue us yourself!" Midnight gasped. Adon looked up from the boat, and for an instant, his gaze seemed to focus on the scribe.
"Oh, perish the thought!" Lhaeo whispered and turned away with mock indignation.
Midnight grabbed Lhaeo by the shoulder and spun him around. The scribe's expression was serious, almost hard, as he gazed into the mage's eyes. "Why?" she said. "The townspeople would kill you if they found out."
Lhaeo stood up straight, and his voice deepened slightly."I could not allow you to be injured. I could not condone such a travesty of justice, milady." The scribe took Midnight's hand and kissed it. "Elminster trusted you to help him at the temple. You must be worthy of that trust."
Cyric looked up sharply. "Midnight, I might just leave you here with him to face Mourngrym if you don't hurry!"
"He's right," Lhaeo said softly. "You must go."
Midnight climbed into the boat. Lhaeo helped Cyric release the boat from its remaining moorings, and the scribe pushed the craft away from the dock. Then Lhaeo stood on the pier and waved once before disappearing into the darkness.
Cyric manned the oars at the center of the boat, his back turned to Midnight. As he rowed, the thief was forced to stare into the vacant eyes of the scarred cleric, who always seemed to avoid Cyric's angry stares. Utilizing the hand-over-hand method of rowing he had been taught during his years of traveling, Cyric started the boat moving, but, much to his surprise, not very quickly.
"What's going on here?" the thief cursed as he looked into the water. "Are we caught on something?" As he dropped his hand into the cold water of the Ashaba, Cyric realized what was wrong. The current was traveling in the wrong direction, forcing him to paddle against the flow of the river, even though they were moving downstream, away from Shadowdale.
Cyric cursed and slapped an oar against the water. A small wave sloshed into the boat, soaking Adon and Midnight. The mage cried out in surprise, but the cleric just sat there, letting his wet tunic hang on his slouched shoulders.
Cyric looked at Adon and cursed again. "This lump is only so much ballast," he sneered and flicked water into Adon's eyes. "All he'll be good for on this trip is making the rowing harder."
The hawk-nosed thief started to row again, and Midnight used a cloak to dab some of the water from Adon's face. "I know you can hear me, Adon," the mage whispered. "I still care. I won't let you get hurt."
When Adon failed to respond, Midnight frowned and wiped more water away from the cleric's face. She didn't notice the salty tears mixed with the cold drops from the Ashaba.
Kelemvor had stood in the windy courtyard much of the night. Sleep had been out of the question. Besides, the fighter had not been alone. Guards had been stationed to watch over the courtyard of Midnight and Adon's executions, and a small crowd of rowdy gawkers had decided to keep an all-night vigil. Watching the dalesmen laugh and make disgusting jokes about the event scheduled to occur at first light made Kelemvor sick at heart. The festive atmosphere that pervaded the killing grounds was horribly out of place.
The fires of Kelemvor's anger were fanned into a blaze of rage as workmen arrived at the courtyard and began to assemble a complex stage for the executions. The spectators had evidently been taken into prime consideration in the design of the stage. It was composed of two circular platforms that moved like opposing gears, constructed to display the victims for all who cared to see them. Columns jutted from the center of the platforms, with crude, metal hooks where wrists and ankles would be bound. There was a circular opening, not unlike the knot of a tree, midway down each column. Kelemvor realized with a shiver that the executioner's spikes would be driven through the holes, and into the bodies of the condemned — his former allies. It would be a slow, horrible death.