Eighteen

"I don't like this, not one bit," Caledan said, pacing agitatedly before the hearth. Night had fallen outside. The room was bathed in the warm glow of the candles Jolle and Estah were lighting. Pog and Nog had been sent to play upstairs, and the other companions sat around the oaken table.

"Snake said that soon he's going to be rid of Ravendas," Caledan went on. "If he's powerful enough to summon a shadevar, he can probably make good on his little boast."

"Perhaps this Snake fellow is just a fool who's a bit too full of himself," Tyveris offered. "I don't think so," Caledan said, shaking his head. "He is only pretending to serve her," Morhion agreed. The magical jewel sat on the table before him, dark now. "He is only waiting for the right moment for betrayal."

Caledan gazed intently at the mage. "I suppose you would know about things like that, wouldn't you?"

No one spoke for a tense minute until Ferret broke the silence. "There's still one thing I don't understand. Why is Snake going to so much trouble to kill everyone in the Realms with the shadow magic? Talek Talembar told us that only someone who possesses the shadow magic can utilize the Nightstone."

Caledan scratched the disreputable-looking growth of beard on his chin. "Your guess is as good as mine."

"The Harpers know for a fact that Ravendas has been searching for someone with the shadow magic for years," Mari ventured. 'That may be why she has been trying to capture you alive, Caledan. She needs someone with the shadow magic for when she gets her hands on the Night-stone."

"Well," Tyveris said finally, "if Snake doesn't serve Ravendas, then who does he serve?"

No one had an answer for the loremaster's question.

Caledan and Ferret waited just inside the mouth of the cramped, musty-smelling storm sewer. Caledan had not enjoyed crawling through the narrow, debris-cluttered tunnel. Ferret had wriggled his way through the pipe like a snake, but Caledan's broad shoulders had proven a liability, and more than once he had nearly gotten stuck.

Now the walled courtyard surrounding the High Tower of the city lord lay just on the other side of the rusted iron grating that covered the pipe. The others had protested earlier that morning when Caledan had told them he intended to sneak into the tower, but he had waved their caution aside.

"I'm not going in to confront Ravendas," he had growled.

"At least not yet. All I want to do is try to find out how close she is to locating the Nightstone." Caledan had planned to try to bluff his way through the tower's gate disguised as a Zhentarim warrior, but Ferret had suggested the ancient, forgotten storm drain as a less conspicuous method.

Caledan watched as black-booted feet marched by on the other side of the iron grate. After a minute Ferret motioned that the coast was clear. Quickly the thief shifted the grate to one side, slipping out. Caledan swiftly followed, replacing the grate behind him. They brushed the dirt from their black leather garb. They had stolen the uniforms from a pair of guards whose corpses were still cooling in a dim alleyway not far from the tower.

"I look like a buffoon!" Ferret swore softly as he futilely tried to adjust his swordbelt. Even though one of the guards had been nearly his size, the little thief looked ill at ease in the stiff leather uniform.

Caledan himself had fared quite a bit better than the thief in terms of fit. Unlike Ferret's, his uniform included an embossed, black enameled breastplate and an ornate helm with a visor that concealed his face.

As Ferret had promised, the two found themselves inside the wall that surrounded the tower. The sun was just on the verge of setting. Streaks of angry crimson and molten gold crossed the evening sky, silhouetting the single, unblemished spire.

Ferret nudged Caledan. A half-dozen Zhentarim were marching across the barren courtyard toward them. Caledan clenched his jaw and kept walking, doing his best to look as if he were at home. However, the guards did not accost them as he feared. Instead, much to his astonishment, they saluted him as they marched past. Hurriedly Caledan returned the formal salute-a fist clenched before the forehead.

"It looks like I've got the livery of someone important, he noted under his breath. "You'd better act like my subordinate so we don't attract undue attention."

"Lucky me," Ferret replied acidly.

Eight guards stood, swords drawn, to either side of the tower's massive bronze doors. Just as Caledan and Ferret approached, the great doors swung open, and a flock of gaudily attired men and women, followed by pages and scribes, began to exit the tower, streaming down the expansive stone steps. Some of them wore self-important expressions on their faces, a few wore looks of disgust, but most simply looked like small, frightened animals.

"The city's lords," Ferret whispered.

Caledan nodded. "They must be getting out of a session in the Hall of Argument."

The two took advantage of the confusion to thread their way through the crowd and slip across the threshold.

Nearly the entire base of the tower was taken up by the vast Hall of Argument. Its high ceiling was supported by countless arches soaring up in graceful vaults. The ceiling was covered with luminous frescoes, and the light of a hundred torches reflected off the hall's polished stone floors. Ferret allowed Caledan little time to gaze at the splendor of the place, however. He ducked into a side corridor, roughly pulling Caledan with him.

'That's no way to treat your superior," Caledan snorted under his breath.

"I thought you'd like it better than a knife in your back," Ferret replied.

They moved swiftly down the corridor. Several more Zhentarim passed the pair, saluting Caledan. Caledan returned the gesture, trying his best to keep his bearing stiff, as one would expect of a commander. They soon reached a spiral staircase leading up to the tower's higher levels.

"Breldurn, there you are!" a voice suddenly exclaimed behind them.

Caledan felt his heart lurch in his chest. "Keep walking," he hissed to Ferret.

"I say, Breldurn, wait there!" the rough voice called out again. "It's me, Drim!" Booted footsteps sounded behind them, and Caledan reluctantly came to a halt.

He turned around to find himself looking into the eyes of a grizzled, powerfully built sergeant "Say, I'm glad I caught you, Breldurn. Lord Cutter would've had my head if I missed you. She wants to see you right away." He winked then, a wicked smile crossing his face. "You lucky devil. I told you she had an eye for you. Now come with me. I'm to see you to her chambers myself. Milord's orders."

Caledan glanced in panic at Ferret, but the thief's eyes were wide. He didn't know what to do either. Caledan swore inwardly. Apparently he had had the misfortune to steal the uniform of some man Ravendas favored. Thank the gods he was wearing a visor.

"Right now?" Caledan said, keeping his voice husky.

"Yes, now," the man called Drim said. "Do you want to keep Cutter waiting?"

"I suppose not," Caledan said hoarsely. Drim frowned.

"What's the matter with your voice, Breldurn?"

Caledan gave a cough. "Cold," he explained.

Drim grinned slyly. "Well, I hope you'll have enough vigor to handle Cutter properly. Now, let's go before she strings us both up. Our master's a pretty one, but she doesn't like it when she's kept waiting."

Caledan sighed, resigned to his fate. A score of guards were marching down the corridor. He and Ferret would not be able to fight their way out.

"I'll meet you later," he said to Ferret The thief looked at him with surprise. "That's an order!"

"Yes, sir," Ferret said, saluting. Without another glance, he hurried away down the hall. At least Ferret would escape. Caledan could be confident of that.