Had the dangers been only of the natural variety, she would not have been frightened. But Zhentilar dominated Yellow Snake Pass, and Midnight had no doubt that they wanted her and the tablet as badly as anyone did. Fortunately, as she and her friends had hoped, it appeared the Zhentilar had abandoned the pass.
Captain Lunt and Adon approached. Lunt said, “My men and I will be taking our leave now.”
Midnight turned to face the captain. He was a man of forty, his curly black hair lined with gray streaks. “Our thanks for your escort, Captain. You saved us a great deal of time.”
Lunt looked up into the mountains. “Even if the Zhentilar have left, there are other hazards in the pass.” He paused, then set his jaw as though he had resolved a troublesome conflict. “We’ll go with you—orders be damned.”
Midnight looked at Captain Lunt and smiled. “How much do you know of our journey?” she asked.
“Not much. Lord Deverell said Faerûn’s safety depends upon your success.” The Cormyrian officer paused again, then noted, “But I mean what I say about coming along.”
“We’d be glad for your company, Captain,” Adon said. “But Lord Deverell wanted you to stop here for a reason. A small party will fare better in the mountains.”
Lunt’s face sank. “Aye, you’re right.” He turned toward Midnight. “Until swords part, then.”
“Until swords part,” Midnight responded.
Captain Lunt returned to his men. The Cormyrians left without further ceremony, save that Sneakabout and Radnor exchanged daggers as tokens of friendship. The halfling threw his saddlebags over his pony’s back, then mounted. “Shall we be on our way?” he asked. “This path looks like a long one.”
“You lead, Sneakabout,” Adon ordered, loading his own pony’s saddle. “I’ll follow, then Midnight and Kelemvor.”
Kelemvor groaned. Though the others looked at him expectantly, he said nothing.
Finally, Adon asked, “What’s the problem, Kel?”
The warrior looked away, picking up his saddlebags. “It’s nothing. I was thinking of the trail dust, that’s all.”
“I’m sorry,” Adon responded, puzzled. It wasn’t like Kelemvor to object to a little thing like riding order. “But we need a rear—”
“Adon, why don’t you and I switch places?” Midnight interrupted. “I suspect Kelemvor’s groaning has less to do with trail dust than trail company.”
Adon frowned. “This is ridiculous,” he snapped. “You two haven’t stopped fighting since Eveningstar.”
Midnight ignored him and mounted her pony. “Lead the way, Sneakabout.”
The halfling obligingly started up the trail, but Adon was determined to make his point. He mounted his own pony and quickly caught the magic-user. “From Kelemvor, I can understand this. But you, Midnight?”
From the rear of the line, Kelemvor called, “It’s Cyric. He’s got her so confused—”
Midnight twisted in her saddle. “Me! You’re the one who’s confused—but that’s nothing new,” she spat. The statement felt hollow and fiery to her, the way angry words often did.
“Midnight,” Adon said, “Kel’s right about Cyric. Why can’t you see that?” Without waiting for an answer, he twisted around to face the warrior. “But you’re just as much to blame—”
“Who asked you?” Kelemvor roared, dismissing Adon with a wave of his hand.
Sneakabout interrupted the argument to say, “I think I’ll scout ahead.” When nobody paid any attention to him, the halfling shrugged and urged his pony into a trot.
After a short pause, Adon added, “You’re both being stubborn.” He was growing more exasperated by the second. “Don’t let your spat interfere with our mission.”
“Adon, be quiet,” Midnight snapped. She spurred her pony ahead.
The cleric ignored her order. “Like it or not, we’re in this together—”
“Adon,” Kelemvor interjected, “one of your sermons won’t solve the problem.”
The warrior’s statement quieted the cleric for a little while, but the rest of the day was filled with bitter arguments and long periods of silence as sharp and as distressing as the peaks overhead. The mountain ponies Lord Deverell had given them climbed the conifer-lined trail slowly, kicking up puffs of powdery dust each time they set a hoof down. Time passed slowly. Each minute of choking on the dust seemed an hour, and each hour an endless, wearing day. Twice, Sneakabout led them into the forest to avoid approaching Zhentish caravans. Otherwise, despite their growing fatigue, the companions did not stop. So great was their animosity that they even ate the midday meal in their saddles.
In his heart, Kelemvor knew that Adon was right—as he had been so often lately. The warrior and the mage could not allow their anger to interfere with the task at hand. Too much depended on the completion of their mission.
As she rode, Midnight was having similar thoughts. However, she was determined not to apologize first. Kelemvor was the one who had deliberately prolonged the argument back at High Horn. In addition, the magic-user thought she was right about Cyric. It was true that their old friend was self-serving and mercenary, but Kelemvor had been more so, and he had found redemption. It was unfair to deny that same redemption to Cyric, and Midnight would not give up on her friend so quickly.
Finally, dusk came. Sneakabout led the group off the path, stopping in a forested area near a cliff. The cliff overlooked the portion of the valley they had already climbed, so the heroes could watch their trail until night fell completely.
When Midnight crept up to the cliff’s edge, her heart sank with disappointment. The grove of trees where they had camped last night was still visible.
As soon as he had unpacked and tethered the ponies, Adon took the tablet and disappeared into the forest. The cleric was disgusted with the petty argument between Midnight and Kelemvor and just wanted to be alone tonight. Sneakabout also went into woods, but only to see if he could forage something for dinner.
Night was already falling when Midnight spread out her sleeping roll. Left alone with Kelemvor and nothing to do, she decided to make tomorrow a more pleasant day. After digging through the cloaks, spare weapons, and miscellaneous supplies Deverell’s quartermaster had given them, she finally found a sack of corn tash. The magic-user removed a handful of biscuits and offered one to Kelemvor.
The warrior accepted it with a grunt.
“Adon’s right,” Midnight said. “We can’t let our emotions interfere with our quest.”
“Have no fear,” Kelemvor grumbled. “I won’t make that mistake again.”
Midnight threw her tash to the ground. “Why are—”
“Cyric,” he interrupted.
She puffed in exasperation. “Cyric won’t harm us. We might even persuade him to our cause, if you wouldn’t allow your mistrust to color your judgment”
“Cyric has earned my mistrust,” Kelemvor said evenly. “And it’s your judgment that’s colored.” Realizing further discussion would lead to another argument, the warrior abruptly left and went to his bedroll. Angered by the rude manner in which Kelemvor had ended the conversation, Midnight walked over to the cliff and sat down to brood.
Twenty minutes later, Sneakabout startled her when he suddenly appeared at her side. She had not heard the halfling approach.
“Everyone went to bed early tonight, I see,” he said, opening a sack and offering a handful of berries to Midnight. “I guess I picked too many of these.”
Deep in the forest, Sneakabout heard a faint snap. Midnight showed no sign of hearing it, so he decided to investigate later. “I’ll stand watch tonight,” the halfling offered. “I can’t sleep anyway.”