Mourngrym's eyes smoldered. "Get on with it, Storm."
The silver-haired adventurer frowned and backed away from Rhaymon. "Was Elminster alone when he arrived at the temple?" the bard asked after a moment.
Shaking his head, the priest gestured toward the prisoners. "No. They were with him."
"Can you describe Elminster's mood at the time?"
Rhaymon seemed put off by the question. "Are you serious?" he mumbled quietly.
"I assure you, no one could be more serious," Storm said grimly.
The priest swallowed. "He was a bit cranky, but he was Elminster, after all."
There was some laughter from the crowd, but no hint of a smile crossed Storm's features. "Would it be fair to say Elminster seemed agitated? Did the presence of the prisoners upset him?"
Rhaymon looked serious. "I couldn't say what the cause of his uneasiness was. I do know this," the priest said quickly as he pointed toward Adon. "The one with the scar stopped me as I was leaving and told me to make Bane's soldiers pay for what happened to the worshipers of Tymora."
Storm nodded. "I have one final question. Do you think the prisoners killed Elminster?"
Thurbal rushed to stand before Mourngrym. "Milord, this goes too far!"
The expression of the dalelord grew dark. "I will decide how far this goes." Mourngrym turned to the priest. "Answer the question."
The priest tensed as he looked down at the prisoners. "If I could run them through, here and now, I would gladly do so. Many men, some hardly more than boys, died to save this town. While those heroes were giving their lives, these two were making a mockery of their sacrifice!"
"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.