# F.R. Short Story: Shadows at Sweetbones Tower 1/2 (Long)



## The Grumpy Celt (Jul 4, 2002)

Hello All-

Several weeks ago I submitted a short story to Dragon Magazine. This week I received a personal letter from Stacie Fiorito, an assistant editor. Dragon Magazine has decided to no longer accept unsolicited short stories. This is disappointing. However, I understand their position – they have a small staff, not much time and a lot of submitted short stories. The fact that the magazines are being sold likely also plays a part in this decision. I am also grateful to Fiorito for taking the time to write a personal letter.

Be that as it may, I spent some time on this story. While it is by no-means a great story I am proud of it. So I am posting it here rather than simply forgetting about it.

You are – of course – under no compunctions to read this story. If you do and you have any comments, please send them to me personally at grumpycelt@hotmail.com.

Thank you for your time.

Sincerely,
Robert Sullivan

***

Shadows at Sweetbones Tower
Word Count: 5,813
By Robert Sullivan

* * *

High Speaker Alustriel of the Silver Marches sat on the Crystal Throne. Sunlight streamed down on her and scattered rainbows through her throne. Naturally, she looked radiant.

The resident page announced the presence of Sir Mourner Deathrage, First Marshal of the Sky Defenses of the Silver Marches. (I – Cyrus – am his humble adjunct.)

“To what do I owe this meeting, Sir Deathrage?” the Speaker asked. Her tone was flirting. The first marshal is one of the few men not to fawn all over the High Speaker. I think she likes the novelty of his non-sycophantic behavior.

“I am afraid that I am the bearer of bad news,” Sir Deathrage said. “I have just received a report from scouts out of Citadel Adbar who have sighted a company of flying shadowy forms coming out of the Great Desert. They are skirting south around the Rauvin Mountains and headed east.”

“Towards Sundabar?” she asked.

“Yes, that is what it looks like now.” He said.

“What do you think is going on?” she asked.

“Too much speculation right now would be a mistake. We do not have enough information. However, I would say they are party of shadar mages out of their floating city come to attack and raid us. I am going to have my people look into the matter more closely. Once I know more, I will arrange to fly and out meet them, stop them and defeat them.”

Her eyebrows went up slightly at the sound of the resolve in his voice. “So, you're certain of their hostile intent.”

“After recent events in Cormyr, yes, I am.”	 

“Alright then. I leave you to handle the situation. You know what you’re doing,” she said. “Just keep me in the loop on what’s happening.”

Sir Deathrage nodded. The High Speaker asked the first marshal if I could replace the page before she dismissed him. This struck me as an odd request. He told me once before that the High Speaker is capricious. It appeared he spoke the truth.

First Marshal Deathrage agreed and departed. I announced visitors to the High Speaker’s court and ran messages around the palace for the next hour. This was not my usual job.

Halfway through the morning one of the petitioners asked the High Speaker to change the laws that regulated what was legal with a corpse. He wanted it permissible to exhume anyone who was not a noble and to have his (or her) spirit interrogated or even bound. This spirit would then serve the nobility. She flatly – but politely – turned him down. 

Things took an interesting turn towards the end of the morning. I suspect the High Speaker knew the next visitor was going to make an appearance and that is why she wanted to keep me around.

“High Speaker Alustriel,” I was getting better at not stammering her name. She is intimidating even when she is just sitting there, “Tradelord Sot Traehyr is here to see you. He wishes to complain...”

“Surprise, surprise,” she muttered.

“He wishes to surprise, uh,” her interruption had thrown me. “He wishes to lodge a formal complaint about how First Marshal Deathrage turned down his proposal to eliminate the griffon cavalry and use indentured pteranodons servants. Your majesty he is out in the waiting chamber.”

“Alright, show him in – and don’t call me ‘your majesty’ again.”

I went to fetch Traehyr. He avoided looking me in the eye and made an impatient noise in his throat when I announced his presence in the Court. 

“Adjunct Cyrus,” Alustriel said, indicating me, “tells me you wished to lodge a formal complaint. Is this true and if so what can I do about the situation?”

“Yes, as a mater of fact it is,” Traehyr adjusted his rumpled cream-colored tunic. “Mourner flatly turned down my bid to provide defense for the Silver Marches.”

“Yes, I know.” Alustriel said. “The first marshal filed a report with the lords’ council.” Alustrial referred to Sir Deathrage by his proper title. She is not normally one to stand on formalities. However, the first marshal prefers a moderate degree of formality. I think she respects his abilities enough to tolerate what she sees as his minor eccentricities. Besides, Traehyr’s constant use of Sir Deathrage’s given name was out of contempt and not a sign of a personal relationship between the men.

“So, you and the council know what Mourner did.” The tradelord attempted to sound smug.

“Yes, we do. His decision did not ruffle any feathers with the council,” she said. “If the issue is raised again, the council would probably side with the first marshal again.” 

Traehyr’s mouth twisted bitterly to one side. “So your council is not concerned with the defense of the Silver Marches.” His statement was nearly a snarl. 

“On the contrary,” she said, “a foremost concern of the council – and myself – is the defense of our nation.” She was as smooth and unflappable as ever. The merchant was not able to provoke her. “The first marshal’s decision was judged as sound.” 

“The ‘first marshal,’ what’s that title supposed to mean?” Traehyr asked. He was defeated but did not have the grace to admit it. He looked to cast aspersions on the character of Sir Deathrage.

“It means that he commands the aerial defenses of the Silver Marches,” Alustriel said with an infinite patience in her tone. I have seen her use it to deflate the angry and the huffy. “In military terms it is more or less equivalent to the title of admiral or general. Second marshal is more or less the same as captain or colonel and so on.” 

“Was this Mourner’s idea?” Traehyr asked. He was trying to be rude as he could. This was not much. He also seemed to find Alustriel intimidating.

“Yes. Sir Deathrage felt it that the aerial defenses should be given their own identity, distinct from that of the existing army. He said it would help morale.”
“He should do what he’s told,” the merchant grumbled.

“He does. He is fully accountable to the lords’ council,” she said. She had stressed the sentence in just such a subtle way as to make it clear where the first marshal’s loyalties lay. Where they did not lay was with a self-important merchant.

The merchant – not waiting for dismissal – turned and stomped towards the doors. Several of the High Speaker’s adjuncts frowned at the merchant’s rudeness and violation of etiquette. A guard even moved to intercept Traehyr, but Alustriel waved her away. Slamming the door behind him the pompous merchant exited the room.

Alustriel laughed softly to herself. Sir Deathrage has told me that the High Speaker’s (extremely) long life has produced a woman who finds displays of temper more amusing than insulting. He also said that she is a savvy enough politician to keep the laughter to herself.

Alustriel announced it was time for lunch and dismissed the members of her court. She invited me to lunch. I make it a habit to never pass up a free meal. We ate on a wide balcony over looking the city. She had only opened the barely wine when her sister Storm joined us.

The younger sister (they are both over six hundred years old, so ‘younger’ is relative term) sat. Storm peppered me with questions about what it is like to work with Sir Deathrage. She called him by his first name. She had more respect for the name than did Traehyr.

A page announced Sir Deathrage as the first marshal strode onto the balcony.
“I have gotten confirmation on the shadar group. Unfortunately, the situation has not improved. The group has circled north around Sundabar. They picked up perytons while they were in the Nether Mountains along the way. The party seems intent on heading to the pass.” 

Alustriel absorbed this information. Then Storm asked, “What do you think the shades are going to do?” She watched him closely.

“When it appeared they were headed for Sundabar I thought they were just going to launch a raid. Just to shake up our moral and to test our defenses. Now that they are headed for Silverymoon pass I would say the shadar are actually going to try and take over or destroy Sweetbones Tower.” He pointedly ignored her correction of their name.

Sweetbones Tower guards the eastern entrance to the Silverymoon pass. The tower’s name comes from that of a legendary old orc shaman who lived in it for years. It is very old – probably Netherise – and built on a single great plinth of rock.

Storm looked at her sister and said, “If they destroy it, you will have a fiendish time keeping the orcs and monsters off your backs whenever you try to use the pass. If the shades take the tower, then they might as well own the pass.” 

The first marshal nodded. “The shadar are likely just going to try to knock it off the mountain. Their force is not strong enough to hold it. I do not think their city will support them logistically. At least not yet.” They were sparring (mostly playfully) over the name.

Alustriel nodded. “Thank’s for keeping me appraised. I’ll tell the council. We’re going to plain the agenda for our next public meeting this afternoon anyway. What are you going to do?”

“They do not appear to be aware that we are on to them – they have been staying in the clouds the entire time and are relying heavily on anti-divination magic. I am going to pull up griffons units out of Sundabar and Silverymoon and a unit out of Everlund. I will wait until their force is with-in range of the tower's weapons and then use the griffons units to flank them. That should surprise them and pinch them between the towers weapons and the griffon cavalry. I do not believe we will require the use of the field.”
She nodded.

“I need my assistant back,” he said. There was a slight smile on his face.

She sighed playfully. “Oh, alright. You can have him back.”

As we were leaving, I heard Storm say, “Damn, but he’s macho.” 

“You’re doing much better when he’s around,” Alustriel said. “You didn’t drool on yourself this time.”

Then I heard what sounded like someone kicking someone else under a table and the High Speaker say “ow.”

We were about to exit the palace when Traehyr rounded the corner. He had nearly plowed into us. He skidded to a stop on his heels at the sight of the first marshal.

Traehyr quickly gathered his wits and charged forwards with what he had to say.

“My people tell me that a group shadow things is heading towards Silverymoon.”

Sir Deathrage looked at Traehyr hard. The corners of his mouth twitched up slightly in a predatory smile. “I had no idea you worked with people so well informed, Tradelord Traehyr. My complements.”

“I came to tell you, Mourner, for the last time, you have to let my pteranodons defend the city,” Traehyr said. “That is what I brought them here to do. They are stronger, faster and deadlier than anyone working for the griffon cavalry.”

“And I am telling you, Tradelord Traehyr, for the last time, that your pteranodons have no place in the aerial defenses of the Silver Marches. They are violent to the point of being unreliable. You are keeping them in what amounts to slavery and I will not give even tactic approval to slavery,” Sir Deathrage growled. 

He was (I believe) tired of having to tell he man “no.” Moving away from the first marshal’s intense reaction the merchant took several steps backwards. 

“I will not waste my time and energy with them when it is far better spent working with the men and women who have signed up of their own accord. I will not insult the loyalty and integrity of those men and women by chasing down this sad scheme of yours for pteranodon super-soldiers.” The first marshal stalked forwards like a hunting cat. Traehyr kept backing-up until he hit the wall. Sir Deathrage moved forwards until he was practically in the merchants face. “There is no such thing as a super solider. Not in the way you think of them at any rate. Those women and men who work, bled, kill and die are the best defense for the Silver Marches. Not some chained-up, drugged-up – yes, I know about the thrallwine you have been feeding them – reptilian savages that can fly.

“You can protest to the council again. However, it will not do you any good. You are just going to have to find some other way of recouping your losses. I am not buying. And do not call me by my given name. You do not have the right.”

The first marshal then turned on his heels and marched down the hallway. I followed. I heard Traehyr say “pyrite elf” as I went through the doors. Sir Deathrage is a sun – what some call a “gold” – half-elf.

The first marshal had messages sent to the griffon cavalries stationed in Sundabar and Everlund instructing their commanders to dispatch one of their units to the Sweetbones Tower.  Their units would use magic to instantly travel to the tower. I helped him saddle his griffon. Then he moved out with one of the Silverymoon units through the portal in the aviary that led to the tower.

That done I went to the first marshal’s office to finish paperwork from the day before and to await news of the battle. 

I turned back to the desk – from putting signed papers away and rolling up maps – and saw a folded piece of parchment that had not been there before. I opened it and read it. 

“Tradelord Traehyr has betrayed the first marshal to the invading force,” it read. “He has informed them that Sir Deathrage is planning to ambush them at the Sweetbones tower. Traehyr has added the strength of his pteranodons and his stockpiled scrolls of protection to their force.” It was block lettering. The parchment was of a common type that may be acquired anywhere in the city.

I opened a drawer and got out a silver coin. It’s a magic one that he keeps. Once a day it can be used to determine if something is a lie or not – heads for the truth, tails for a lie. I flipped the coin and asked it if the note was the truth.

It landed heads-up. The note was the truth. 

I looked out the window at the water clock across the street. Sir Deathrage and the other griffon riders would be engaging the enemy – and now the pteranodons as well – any moment. There was not even time to go and warn the High Lady in person.

I had to go to the tower – there was no other way to contact Sir Deathrage and the griffon riders to tell them they were moving into a trap.

I ran to the aviary as fast as I could. All the griffon riders were out – and heading to an ambush. I looked at the portal setting. Every even use of it sends someone into the Sweetbones Tower. Every odd use of it sends someone a mile east – directly over the Silverymoon pass and a mile up. The last use of the portal had sent people to the tower. This meant the next use would send someone in the sky.

The only available griffon was a green-broke young stallion named Widow-Maker. He looked back at me through the bars and made a defiant chittering noise. 

I grabbed a bridle. As I looked for a saddle I thought to myself – I had seen the griffon riders do this hundreds of times. Then I realized there were no saddles in sight and remembered Sir Deathrage complaining about there not being any to spare.

I yanked open the head-panel in the door to Widow-Maker’s stall. I grabbed what was left of a horse’s leg out of a bucket and waved it in front of the open panel. Window-Maker sniffed at the meat. He then stuck his head through the opening to get at it. I snapped the bar down that held his head in place. He began to thrash and bellow. It took a lot of work to get the bridle on but I managed. He opened the back of my hand from my knuckles to my wrist with one jerk of his beak. 

That done I ran down and triggered the portal – the next living thing to touch it would be teleported. 

I opened the stall door and moved in next to the griffon. As I approached Widow-Maker I began to appreciate why griffon riders normally did this in leathers and with a well broke griffon. He nearly gutted me with several near-miss kicks.

I made a flying leap because I did not have time to worry about it too much. I missed landing squarely. I did get him from the side. With Widow-Maker bucking and snorting the entire time I managed to grab hold of his feathery mane and leveraged myself up. I squeezed tight as I could with my heels and then worked a magic to animate a rope that I used to tie myself to Widow-Maker. With one hand I held the reins. With the other I reached over and undid the bar holding his head in place.

Like of bolt of lighting he reared up. I lunged forwards – face first into his feathery mane – to keep from being brained on one of the over-head beams. His wings smacking the sides of the stall door he lunged out into the hall. 

I tightened my grip on the bridle and gave him a slight kick. He started galloping forwards. He slammed his shoulder into a wall and I felt something in my ankle give. I kept holding on to the reins tightly. He gave a great roar as he reared back to try to slam me into the wall again.

With all my might I yanked on the reins. This snatched his head around and jerked him off balance. We more or less fell into the portal and were teleported away from the warm aviary...


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## Leopold (Jul 4, 2002)

note delete your other post and post it here as the second part. just reply to the thread like every other author does..thank you.


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## The Grumpy Celt (Jul 4, 2002)

*F.R. Short Story: Shadows at Sweetbones Tower  2/2 (Long)*

...to the middle of the cold mountain air. A mile above rocky ground. Widow-Maker’s roar turned into a kind of squealing noise. Griffons can fly but they are not lighter than air. Moving through the portal had surprised him. We began falling.

The wind screamed in my ears and I squeezed my legs so tight it hurt. I buried my face in his feathers and held the reins tightly. Window-Maker was not catching himself and stopping the fall. I was holding the reins to my chest – where my heart hammered my ribs until it ached – so tightly he could not straighten his head. He could not stop our fall if he could not straighten his head. 

I made the leap of faith and loosened the reins. Widow-Maker’s wings snapped out with a great whoosh once he was able to move his head forwards and see. He beat his wings hard and our fall gradually stopped.

He finally began limping forwards. I saw the sun and made a guess about which way to the east – which way to the tower. My pull on the reins seemed to remind Widow-Maker of my existence.

He promptly tried to roll over.

I dug in with my heels and snatched back on the reins. He did not like it. However, the fall had – pardon the pun – taken the wind out from under his wings. He tried it once more with the same result. I was by then having trouble holding on to the bridle – it was covered with sweat and blood and my hands were going numb. It hurt to breath. The blood from the gash on my hand was freezing where it had soaked my sleeve.

The tower loomed up out of the fog all of a sudden. Widow-Maker and I nearly ran into the wall. I yanked him back and heard alarm gongs sounding – our proximity had set them off. Widow-Maker beating his wings hard we topped the wall to face a half-dozen archers. Their arrows were drawn and pointed at up.

“Hold your fire!” I heard Sir Deathrage bellow. 

Widow-Maker needed little direction to land on the top of the tower. My griffon was breathing hard. So was I. Sir Deathrage shouldered through the archers.

“What the hell are you about. You might have given us away,” he said. His voice grew from a growl to a roar.

“You’ve already been given away, first marshal,” I gasp out. “Traehyr has thrown in with the attacking forces. He’s told them what you intend.”

Sir Deathrage was taken aback by this revelation. He cursed and asked me to follow him down into the tower. The ropes were cut. I tried to get off the griffon but my legs gave out from under me. I fell and hit the floor of the tower-top hard.

Several of the archers and the first marshal helped me up. Another pair took Widow-Maker by the halter and led him to the entrance to the towers small aviary. Sir Deathrage helped me down the stairs. When we were halfway down the stairs I was able to limp mostly on my own but could not put any weight on my swollen ankle.

Once in the tower Sir Deathrage asked me what happened. He seemed non-pulsed by the arrival of the note. I asked him about it and he said he would tell me later.

“With respect, sir, you seem to be taking this betrayal very well,” I said.

“Well, before I’m through with Traehyr I’ll be dancing in his bones and drinking ale out of his skull, but aside from that, yes I think I’m handling this rather well,” Sir Deathrage said so casually it was unsettling. He went on. “Good people are going to die because of Traehyr’s greed. However, the situation is salvageable.” He looked at me with some respect. “Well, it is salvageable because of you flew here and warned us.”

He turned to face Fifth Marshal Cefrey. “Go and sound the horn so Second Marshals Stonar and Hornraven assemble their fliers atop of the tower immediately. I will debrief them on what we are going to do.”

The young woman saluted the First Marshall before turning and quickly crossing over to sound a horn and then ran upstairs.

“We are going to need to use the field.” He said simply. Sir Deathrage seemed to be thinking out-loud. “Go to the shrine below and tell the clerics that the word is, in fact, given.” He smiled at me warmly. “You did good bringing me the message. You no doubt saved our lives. I will not forget this. That was a hell of a thing, riding a green-broke griffon stallion. A hell of a thing.” He sounded honestly impressed as he loped up the stairs.

I limped down stairs and told the clerics the news. Priest Maelok – a follower of Mystra Lady of Magic – again made no secret of the fact he did not like the field and took its existence as a personal affront. Once he had vented his spleen he did say that he would move the field to the location the first marshal had specified.

That done I grabbed a heavy cloak from a wardrobe and I went back to the top of the tower.

Sir Deathrage was finishing debriefing the riders as I got there. None of them appeared happy about the news. Several looked at me with plainly flabbergasted expressions.

I told the first marshal that Maelok had agreed to move the field. He nodded to me. Sir Deathrage then gave the signal for the riders to move out. It is thrilling to see a flight of griffon cavalry take flight.

Sir Deathrage had them move into the clouds directly over the tower. I could hear chants of the clerics Mystra rolling up from below.

Wooden panels lower on the towers sides opened so the ballista operators could get clear shots when the time came.

I watched as our foes descended out of the clouds like a waterfall. They swarmed around each other. There were shadowy forms in the center of the enemy’s formation. The dark force swung up gracefully out of their fall and began heading towards the tower. As they came closer I began to see there were several indistinct shadowy forms along probably a two-dozen perytons and 18 or so pteranodons.
I watched them flying closer and closer. Suddenly, our griffon riders dropped out of the clouds behind them. The battle began.

The chanting from below began to pick up in pace and volume. Griffon riders launched arrows at perytons or fired off lightening bolts at pteranodons. I saw two riders unseated but did not watch them as they fell to their deaths. A dark fireball from one of the shadowy figures immolated another griffon and its rider. Fortunately, the perytons and pteranodons were dying. Unfortunately, they were not dying quickly enough. They seemed to be enjoying the benefit of Traehyr’s scrolls of magical protection.

There were thrum-sounds from below and ballista bolts shot from the side of the tower. One impaled a pteranodon and the chains it was trailing snagged a peryton and drug it away and down.

The enemy forces were closing on the tower. Our archers were in place. The enemy was almost in range. Another thrum sounded and a third ballista flew from the tower. The bolt itself missed any target. However, the chains snagged a pair of perytons.

I watched as Sir Deathrage was in close battle with one of the shadowy figures. It made me feel good to see him kill it. The shadows melted away – revealing a man – as it fell to the ground. 

The archers loosed four volleys of arrows at an approaching flight of perytons and pteranodons. A large number went down. However, far too many got through and began working at the arches like a man harvesting grain. I saw the archers commander go down under an attacking peryton. I called out “retreat” as no one else was standing and able to do so. The archers began rushing down the stairs while fighters attacked the monsters.

I made it down stairs as two things happened. 

First, two of the humanoid figures followed a soot-black fireball that breached the ballista opening and killed the machine’s operators. The operators had not been able to fire another shot. One of the dark figures was tall and imposing. Shadows slithered around its body like water over rocks in river rapids. The smaller form was merely dark and blurry. The smaller blurred figure drew a wand from the vicinity of its waist while the shadowy figure began casting a spell. 

Secondly, the chanting from below reached a crescendo. 

The archers shot at them. The arrows missed or vanished into the darkness on the figures. Lightening bolts snarled away from the two and scattered the archers and myself. Unless you have been hit by lightening before you have no idea of the surreal pain it causes. The effect knocked us around the room. It was as if someone kicked a pile of apples. Men and women hit the walls with a sound that was wet and final.

I rose from the floor onto all fours. The smaller figures stalked forwards and kicked me in the face. A spay of blood and teeth went out of my mouth. The force of the blow flipped me over backwards. It kicked me again in the ribs and I felt several break. It hurt to breath – the pain was on my right side. 

The larger figure blasted away at the archers again. The smaller stomped on my left hand and twisted its ankle. I did not cry out. Ever. I think my silence was angering the smallest figure. 

“Enough. Have your revenge later,” said the shadowy figure.

The smaller figure hurried to the side of the larger. They were standing next to the ballista. 

“Come with me below,” the large figure said, talking to the smaller figure. “We’re going to kill the clerics.”

Just then the chanting stopped.

The clerics had finished moving the field from the roots of the tower to the top of the tower.

All magical effects in the tower and for a distance around the tower top winked out. Just like that. The blurring of the smaller figure snuffed out like a candle flame. The shadows never left the larger figure.

The smaller figure was Tradelord Sot Traehyr. 

Both stood in surprised silence. I took advantage of the situation by grabbing the handle to fire the ballista with my good hand and pulled. The thing stuck. I yanked again so hard I felt something in my chest on my right side tear.

There was a thrum again. Traehyr looked down to see himself standing in the coiled chains. The ballista then shot out into the sky. Sot jumped out of the chains but they whipped as they went and struck him in the chest. 

Arms flailing Traehyr fell out the window. He only just caught himself on the edge of the opening. The largest figure was just backing up into a corner. I lurched to my feet and – coughing up blood – limped over to Traehyr.

“Help me, please.” He begged me. The tradelord was clinging to the side of the tower desperately.

Because I was too weak to kick him in the face I stomped on his hand. He screamed all the way down. 

I looked out the window. The enemy no longer enjoyed any magical protections. The tide had decisively turned in favor of the griffon cavalry. My vision swam and dark spots appeared as Sir Deathrage flew to ballista opening. In spite of the pain I picked up a sword.

I turned around to face the largest figure. It was cowering in a corner. Without the odds being stacked heavily in its favor it turned into a coward.

“Your side lost the battle. Surrender and live. Fight and die.” I managed.

“I yield,” it promptly held its hands above its head.

The first marshal leapt from his griffon into the opening just as I collapsed and the darkness began closing. I saw him leaning over me. My last thought was about the vulgar little man in the court earlier that day. I hoped he would not steal my body to use as a party favor.

* * *

“I hadn’t expected the shade mages to attack us so openly and so directly.” The High Speaker said.

“I thought the same thing myself. This group might be renegades from their city. On the other hand, they might be worshipers of Dark Goddess Shar who hoped to frame the shadar and force their hand. I won’t know until we have a chance to interrogate our prisoner,” Sir Deathrage said. 

“I think they are just called the shades, not the shadar,” she said, nodding.

Well feed and comfortable I sat at the table. The clerics had healed me good and proper. They said I would have died from my injuries if they had not.

The seven griffon riders who died had not been as lucky. However, none of our enemies escaped alive. They had died at our hands or been taken captive. We even had what appeared to be a shadar, err, shade captive. The body of Traehyr the traitor – I like the sound of that – has yet to be found. 

“So, how many people do you think are on to our secret?” she asked.

“Which one,” Sir Deathrage asked. He had won the battle and was feeling up beat. “The secret of why our apple brandy is always the best in the region? The secret of why everyone in the Silver Marches is so good at what they do?”

“The secret of the floating dead-magic magic zone you move around,” she said. It sounded like her exasperation was half feigned.

“Oh, that secret.” He was quite a moment. “It was not useful against the shadow magic – valuable information that – but it was still be a potent defense against traditional magic. I do not think word got out directly. None of our foes that could have recognized it escaped. Be that as it may, anyone studying the battle – and you can be certain that there are mages in Luskan and Waterdeep studying it right now – will realize what happened.” He shrugged. “Sooner or later someone was bound to figure it out in any event. Now, because of Traehyr’s betrayal, we just had to show our hand a year or so early. An inconvenience but not a catastrophe. Besides, having our enemies know about the field – and that we can move and position it – can have its own uses as a deterrent.” He turned to her and gave her a slightly sour look. “But you knew all that already, didn’t you?”

“More or less,” she said. “I just wanted to make certain we were thinking along similar lines.” As if she were repressing a smile the corner of her mouth twitched slightly. “And, no, you may not dance in Traehyr’s bones nor drink ale from his skull. We’ve perfectly good goblets.” She said the last sounding a little coy.

“Spoil sport,” he said. The two of them seemed to have fallen back into their habit of politely flirting with the crisis over.

“And the note?”

“The Red Wizards,” he said. “They are still trying to get on my good side. They know I’m hard set against letting them establish one of their enclaves in the Marches. So, they are trying to get on my good side. They likely told Traehyr about the invaders in the first place and probably teleported him out to meet the – ahem – shades. I know he bought the pteranodons from them. Little notes are not going to do them any good.” 

He stood. “With your permission, we have a prisoner to interrogate.”
She nodded and we exited.

We were walking through the halls in the southern-most dungeons several minuets later. The guards granted us permission to pass through security checkpoints. 

We stopped for a moment. He turned to me. “Why don’t you handle this, after all, he’s your catch. I’ll be right out here, with the guards, if you need us.”

I entered the cell. It walls, floor and ceiling all issued a soft, white glow. At one end of a table sat a deeply unhappy looking young man. He was barefoot, wore gloves and a prisoner’s uniform. All this was designed to inhibit his ability to use shadow magic.

“Hello,” I said. I pulled out a chair and sat down across from the captured shade. “I came to talk.”


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## The Grumpy Celt (Jul 5, 2002)

Bump


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