The curse had been more of a prison than any man could imagine. Forced into a career as a mercenary, Kelemvor had appeared to be as ruthless as his ancestor had been. Consequently, his life had been one of isolation and loneliness.
As strange as it seemed, Lord Bane, the God of Strife, had changed all that. Through a complicated series of events, Kelemvor had tricked Bane into removing his family curse. He was now free to help others, and he was determined to never again turn away from someone in need.
When Adon showed no sign of agreeing to Kelemvor’s request, it was Midnight who settled the matter. Sniffing the air again, she said, “I do smell burned flesh.” Despite the fact that she was still angry at the fighter for his condemnation of Cyric, Midnight agreed with Kelemvor. “Come on, Adon. Kel’s right.”
Adon sighed, resigned to the detour. “Then let’s make this as fast as we can.”
Kelemvor led the way into the forest. There, the fog did not seem as thick, nor the temperature as hot. As far back into its depths as they could see, the forest was ablaze with blood-colored sumac leaves. The three companions continued forward, pausing every few minutes to sniff the air and make sure that they were continuing in the right direction.
Presently, they found a path leading farther into the wood. As they progressed, the odor of smoke and charred flesh became stronger. Eventually, they had to dismount and lead their horses, for the trail was narrow and ran beneath low-hanging branches. After five minutes of walking, the path started up a small hillock. Every now and then, gummy black smoke rolled down the trail, mixing with the orange fog. Presently, the sumacs thinned out, giving way to a ring of black oaks that towered eighty feet over the tops of the smaller trees nearby.
In the center of the ring of oaks was a scorched and trampled circle fifty yards in diameter. A fire had cleared the entire area. Here and there, rubble lay heaped in knee-high mounds. Though the village had obviously burned some time ago, several wrecked houses still emitted thin columns of greasy smoke.
Pointing at a pile of stones around a pit, Midnight was the first to speak, “That must have been a well.”
“What happened?” Adon gasped.
“Let’s see if we can find out,” Kelemvor said, tying his horse to a sumac tree. He went up the hillock to the first pile of rubble, then began tossing aside sooty stones.
The small structure, no more than fifteen feet on a side, had been constructed with great care. A fine mortar and rock foundation extended four feet into the ground, and someone had used mud to chink the walls and keep out the wind.
Eventually, Kelemvor came upon a tiny hand. Had it not been wrinkled and weathered, he would have assumed it belonged to a girl. He quickly pulled the rest of the body from beneath the stones. The hand belonged to a woman. Though no taller than a child and lighter than Kelemvor’s sword, she had been old. The oils and pigment had long ago drained from her skin, leaving it ashen and cracked. Her face had been a kind one, with eyes that were friendly and soft even in death.
Kelemvor gently laid her on the ground beside her collapsed home.
“Halflings!” Midnight exclaimed. “Why would anybody raze a halfling village?”
Kelemvor simply shook his head. Halflings did not hoard gold or treasure. In fact, they usually had little of value to creatures other than halflings. The fighter went back to his horse and began taking the saddle off.
“What are you doing?” Adon demanded, calculating they had at least two hours of light left.
“Making camp,” Kelemvor replied. “This may take some time.”
“No, absolutely not!” Adon objected. “We came up here, and now we’ve got to go! I’m very firm about that.”
“A man—even a small man—deserves a burial,” Kelemvor said, pausing to glare at Adon. “There was a time when I would not have needed to remind you of that.”
Adon could not hide the hurt Kelemvor had caused him. “I haven’t forgotten, Kel. But Waterdeep is weeks away, and each hour we delay brings the world closer to ruin.”
Kelemvor dropped his saddle, then removed the bit from his horse’s mouth. “There may be survivors who need help.”
“Survivors?” Adon screeched. “Are you mad? The place has been sacked to the last rat.” When Kelemvor did not respond, Adon turned to Midnight. “He’ll listen to you. Tell him we don’t have time. This may take days.”
Midnight didn’t respond immediately. Though he was as stubborn as ever, this was not the Kelemvor she remembered. That man had been selfish and untouchable. This one was consumed by the misfortune of a people he didn’t even know. Perhaps his curse had been responsible for more of his callousness and vanity than she realized. Perhaps he had truly changed.
Unfortunately, Midnight knew that Adon was right. Kelemvor had picked a poor time to exhibit his new personality. They had a long journey ahead of them and could not afford to waste a single day.
The mage dismounted and moved to Kelemvor’s side. “You’ve changed more than I would have believed possible,” she said, “and this gentle Kelemvor is one I like. But now is not the time. We need the old Kelemvor these days, the man whom a titan could not sway.”
He looked at Midnight. “If I turn away from these halflings, what good has it done to remove my curse?”
It was Adon who answered. “If you let the Realms perish, what will it matter that your curse has been lifted? Stop thinking of yourself and let’s be on our way!”
Kelemvor simply turned toward the halfling village and, over his shoulder, said, “You do as you must and I’ll do the same.”
Midnight sighed. There would be no reasoning with Kelemvor now. “I’ll make camp,” she said. “We need a rest anyway, and this place looks well hidden.” She tied her horse to a tree and began clearing brush away from an area at the hillock’s base.
Frowning, Adon resigned himself to Kelemvor’s stubbornness and also tied his horse. Then he gave the saddlebags with the tablet to Midnight and moved to help Kelemvor.
“I suppose you’ll finish sooner with an extra pair of hands,” the cleric said gruffly. The statement sounded more harsh and vindictive than he’d meant it to. Adon had no wish to see the halflings remain unburied, but he couldn’t help being angry at Kelemvor.
The fighter eyed Adon coldly. “I suppose the halflings are beyond caring who lays them to rest,” he said.
They worked for an hour and a half, uncovering two dozen bodies, many of them burned horribly. Adon’s mood turned from angry to downcast. Although three halfling males had perished defending the outskirts of the village, the victims were mostly women and children. They had been beaten, slashed, and trampled. When they had run into their homes for refuge, the structures had been put to the torch and pulled down on top of them.
There were no survivors, at least in the village, and no indication of why the settlement had been destroyed.
“Tomorrow, we’ll dig their graves,” Kelemvor said, noting that the daylight was fading and it was almost dusk. “We should be finished and on our way by noon.” He hoped the delay would be acceptable; he had no wish to antagonize Adon further.
“I saw no sign of a burial ground,” Adon said. “It might be better to cremate them tonight.”
Kelemvor frowned. He suspected Adon was trying to rush him, but he was no expert on halfling funerals. If anybody knew the form of the ceremony, it would be Adon. “I’ll think it over while we rest,” the fighter replied.