Free Waterdeep by Troy Denning Page A

raiders, the Zhentilar would cut the inexperienced warriors to shreds. The soldiers of Zhentil Keep were vicious sneaks and backstabbers who would never fight unless assured of an easy victory.
    After a thoughtful pause, Sneakabout glumly noted, “I wish I were with the fellows.”
    “Why aren’t you?” Adon asked, watching the halfling suspiciously, still not comfortable with the demihuman’s sinister bearing.
    “They wouldn’t have me,” the halfling answered, shrugging.
    “It was his fault they came in the first place!” grumbled Berengaria, pointing a gnarled finger at Sneakabout’s face. “He had his own pony and a magic sword. That’s what they wanted!”
    Adon turned to Sneakabout. “Is that right?”
    The halfling shook his head and looked at the ground. “Maybe,” he mumbled. Then he lifted his gaze. “But I doubt it. They wouldn’t have needed to raze the whole town to get what they wanted - they caught me on their way in.”
    The halfling’s red-rimmed eyes grew hard and distant. “Say, you wouldn’t be going north, would you? I’d sure like to catch those Zhentish pigs!”
    Kelemvor swallowed a bite of rabbit and said, “As luck would have it-“
    “Kelemvor!” Adon hissed sharply. “We’ve got our own trouble.”
    Sneakabout drew himself up before Adon. “Without your spellcaster’s book, you’ll need all the help you can get. I’m as fine a scout as you’ll meet outside of Elventree.”
    Adon shook his head firmly. “I’m afraid-“
    “He can ride with me,” Kelemvor noted flatly, his voice a throaty growl. “Where’s your sense of courtesy, Adon?”
    The young cleric glared at the warrior for a long moment, once again irritated by Kelemvor’s refusal to listen to him. At last, he decided not to argue the point, as long as the fighter was willing to yield something to him. “Then we leave at dawn!” Adon said, summoning his most commanding voice.
    Kelemvor would not be bullied. “No. The halfling dead-“
    “Will be buried by halflings!” Adon finished, pointing at Kelemvor with a grease-covered finger. “You don’t care about these people! You only want to prove your curse is gone. Don’t you think we know that?” He glanced at Midnight, who was still staring at the remains of her spellbook. “Your test has cost us too much, Kel.”
    The cleric put his hand on the raven-haired mage’s shoulder. He looked at the fire and added, “I just hope we can make it to Waterdeep without Midnight’s spells to aid us.”
    The four companions left Black Oaks at dawn - hungry, cold, and wet. During the night, the orange fog had changed to a chill drizzle that continued to fall through the morning. Breakfast had been nonexistent. The halflings had eaten the last of the corn biscuits the night before, and in the gray morning light, the greasy hare looked appetizing only to Kelemvor.
    Adon took the lead, suggesting they travel north to Eveningstar then rethink their route to Waterdeep. Sneakabout made the mistake of saying he knew a shortcut, so Adon insisted that the halfling ride with him to act as a guide. Neither enjoyed the experience. Despite his loss of faith, Adon’s conversation was no less pedantic, and Sneakabout was not a tolerant listener.
    Kelemvor, his brow gloomy and troubled, followed next. Twice, he tried to apologize to Midnight for losing her spellbook. Each time his voice failed him and he barely managed a croak.
    Midnight came last, still too upset to speak. There was a hollow knot of panic and sorrow in her stomach. Since her sixteenth birthday, she had carefully recorded every spell she could learn in the book, and it had become almost an extension of her soul. Without it she felt barren and worthless, like a mother without children.
    Still, all was not lost. Midnight still had several spells firmly committed to memory, and she could copy these down in a new book. Some were so common that, given time and the help of a friendly mage, she could easily