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| First Harvest |
| New Tilverton
Highharvestide, the Year of Rogue Dragons (1373 DR) Dusk settled like a soft blanket over New Tilverton. Far off to the northwest a duststorm raged over the crags of the Stonelands, cloaking the setting sun in a cloud of umber flame. The sun raged red as it died in the west, throwing its fading light high into the deepening sky in a symphony of crimson, indigo, and gold. The air was cool on this, the first day of autumn. It smelled of fertile earth and fresh rain, like tidings of the rebirth of Tilvara�s Town�but tangy with the dust of the far-off Anauroch, fine particles floating from the Empire of Shadow to settle heavily on the tongues of Cormyrean settlers. The rebirth of this once-great city was overshadowed by the long reach of its destroyer. Bonfires blazed in New Tilverton, casting bright lights and deep shadows, simultaneously flickering over the blasted ruins of the Old and the half-finished or hastily-constructed buildings of the New. Women laughed, dressed in simple gowns of orange, brown, and gold, dancing joyously around the bonfires to the tune of �The Way Back Home.� Laurels of wheat were woven into their hair, bare feet threw even more dust into the air, but the bright smiles of Cormyr�s women were uncaring, joyous and free. The men clapped along with the brisk tavern song, joining in with yartings, songhorns, tantans, or�when no instrument could be found, or the fingers were too clumsy to play them�simply with slapped knees and stamped feet. As the song neared its final chorus, though, men and women both came together to sing the last, resonant lines. I�ve traced the runes on the Standing stone, And swam in the Inner Sea, I�ve run through the woods of Cormanthor, And stalked the sands of destiny. No site in Faerun compares to your eyes, my love; Nevermore shall I roam. And I�ll find the way back home, my love And I�ll find the way back home. A great cheer went up among all the celebrants, as husbands kissed wives and young lads kissed young girls, grizzled prospectors clanked pewter tankards together and drank the Arabellen Black they had saved for this occasion, and musicians enjoyed a hearty clap on the back for another good song. When the call came for a new song, someone shouted, �Now the dwarves!� and the cry was taken up by all the joyful souls gathered around the fires. The few dozen stonemasons from Glen, working on the grim fortress that had already earned the nickname Shadegard, refused like shy lads being called to their first dance. They were less implacable than the stone they worked, however, and eventually they relented as young maids and the more adventuresome dwarves pulled them forward, laughing all the while. Thelda finally stood forward and began the Song of Founding, an ancient and dwarven dance that celebrated the start of a new community. She and her kin were chagrinned when human settlers joined the solemn dance with drunken glee, grimacing as the tocken players were drowned out by shrill songhorns and cheerful tantans, and seemed relieved when the last grave lines of the dwarven song were sung. They returned to their mugs of stout and legs of venison, grumbling about �dishonest percussion� as the rest of the crowd erupted into laughter and applause. As the sun set in the west, Alendue the Rose rang the gong signaling that evenfeast was served. The settlers set instruments aside and abandoned their mugs, jostling to be first in line for the feast. Pink-robed priests of Lathander cut thick slices of bread and ladled hearty stew, cheerfully playing their part to oversee the beginning of this new city, blessing every meal with the grace of the Dawnlord, goddess of renewal. It was a simple affair: steaming bread baked from Mistran grain, some harvest vegetables arriving as a gift from the monks of the Abbey of the Golden Sheaf, and an array of game brought in by the hunters: coneys, venison, wild boar. Everything had to be imported, gathered, or caught; the settlers had spent the last month, since the Founding, frantically throwing up cottages to live in, palisades to defend against marauding orcs or worse, and smelteries for the ores already arriving from the Desertsmouth Mountains. Nothing grew yet in the blasted ruins, and the winter was fast approaching besides. Red Guards, grim and resplendent in their crimson armor, watched from the edges of the celebration. They neither sang, nor danced, nor ate the symbolic harvest meal. They simply watched, blood-red sentinels against the gathering shadows of twilight. Bellies filled, cups were emptied; the five thousand souls of New Tilverton enjoyed the gifts that had come to them from all corners of Cormyr and the Dales, forgetting for an evening the hard work that would occupy the coming winter. The table of Ildamoar Hardcastle, the new Lord, sat among the tables of farmers, miners, and ranchers; the people saw that he was no haughty noble from court, but a man who loved his king and his country, who wanted his people to love him in return. Aging and bald but still vigorous, he clanked tankards with merchants and commoners alike; his young wife sat at his side, wearing a simple white gown and a laurel of harvest wheat like common girls, her bearing regal, her smile radiant. Havython Ironclaw, once a Lionar of the Purple Dragons and now the Crimson Knight of the Red Guard, stood at his side. He stepped away when he noticed a red-armored woman approaching him from the edge of the fires. It was his second, Karil �the Hawk,� a beautiful young woman with a razor-sharp nose and piercing blue eyes worthy of her namesake, her blond hair dyed with brilliant red streaks. �News, Karil?� She nodded shortly. �Ivon thinks that we have an intruder.� �Shadovar?� �He thinks so. Someone stalking the shadows, circling the settlement. He�s in the southwest quadrant now.� Havython scowled. �All right, Karil. Take him down.� He didn�t need to tell her how to do it; he had complete confidence in her ability to get the job done. Karil�s eyes glittered, the firelight reflecting vermilion like a holy fire. She nodded and stepped smoothly away. Havython stepped back by Lord Hardcastle�s side as if nothing had happened. Tankards refilled, plates replenished with candied fruits and similar desserts. It was not long before cries of �Speech! Speech!� began to filter from the many tables, arriving at Lord Hardcastle�s feet. Finally he stood up with an easy grin on his face, gesturing expansively with his mug. A bit of stout sloshed over the pewter lip; it was obvious that Ildamoar had been enjoying his drink. �Friends! Tilverians!� he began, resulting in a cheer and shouts of �Hear hear!� He continued, �Are you all enjoying your first harvest?� The crowd roared back at him, stamping their feet and hooting. The order filtered out from Karil�s sword, rippling to the hundred Red Guard stationed all over the ruins of Tilverton. In moments half of them quietly left their posts on the outskirts of the raucous feast and moved to the southwest. Karil�s sword marched through the blasted stone foundations of the old city. Subtle hand-signals told Ivon and Laolorn to move their swords to flank; she hoped that the Shade would notice her group and, trying to evade, fall between the pincers of her comrades. I�m truly glad that you could all be with me here today to share this feast. We come from many places: miners from Arabel, bringing their energy and their nose for metal, farmers from Mistledale and Battledale, willing to brave the harsh hills of the Gap to be rid of drow; men and women of Harrowdale who prefer the protection of the Purple Dragons to that of the Zhents, our guests the dwarves of Glen to build this new city; even humble folk such as myself and my wife, from the wild frontier of Suzail's courts... Ivon crouched behind a blackened fragment of fieldstone wall, panting soundlessly. He was grateful that his silence spell concealed how winded he had become in this quick pursuit. He used a free hand to brush back an unruly lock of carrot-orange hair, and signaled the rest of his sword to come up to his position. Ornaeden smiled at his commander�s breathlessness. Ivon�s great bulk heaved with exertion; Ornaeden slapped him on the back in the deathly quiet. Far to the north, Ivon watched Laolorn flit between rubble like a phantom, as quick and silent as a Shadovar. The rest of his sword followed close behind, drawing closer to Ivon�s position in a wide arc. He closed his gauntleted palm on the ruby knight piece embedded in his left gauntlet, calling a simple prayer of detection that the Lady�s grace had modified to allow him to cast in this zone of silence. Well, I shouldn�t list you all or I�ll go on talking until you all fall asleep in your beer! But we break bread this Highharvestide as New Tilverians, breaking from our many pasts to build a new future... Laolorn ducked inside the shell of a destroyed inn, casting his eyes towards Ivon�s position. The silent priest signaled that the Shadovar was within range, fifty paces to the east. The half-elf snapped his attention in that direction, tossing his long ponytail behind him as he scanned the area. Ivon had indicated a fellfield of rubble between him and Karil�s sword; the Shade was sure to retreat from her approach. Looking for a likely redoubt, he quickly identified Filani�s old tower, a thin stone turret whose eastern face had miraculously survived the blast that destroyed the city, although he knew that the far side had been obliterated along with everything else. Laolorn looked for an avenue of advance as he slid his enchanted sword out of its scabbard. Either the Shadovar didn�t know he was being hunted, which was unlikely�Shades were many things but seldom stupid�or he lacked the ability to shadow-walk. Whichever was the case, Laolorn knew that speed was the key. He signaled his sword to follow him and crept towards the tottering tower. It will not be easy. And we would not have it be so! Nothing in Faerun is worth doing unless it be a challenge. This is the spirit of adventure that moves the many countries of your birth, and this is what brought you to this new frontier.... Karil continued her march towards Filani�s tower. Her sword moved with relative stealth, which was more or less impossible in plate armor�but she wanted the Shadovar to think that they were attempting to be quiet, overconfident in the element of surprise. Finally, he gave himself away. Even a Shade�s powers of stealth couldn�t compare with Angyn�s sharp eye; the guardian drew his sword with a metallic clang and hissed, �Sir! There he is!� Karil had not seen their quarry, but she followed Angyn�s outstretched sword and saw a mass of coiled shadows, a dark-cloaked figure scurrying between rocks. He looked up, alarm in his ash-grey eyes, turned suddenly to the west and seemed to melt into the shadows around him. Karil smiled and turned to Angyn like a blood-sheathed goddess. She drew her blade, eyes flashing in the dark, and called, �To the tower!� The truth is that New Tilverton is a symbol of our resolve. We will not be terrorized! We will not be broken! We will work for our future, pouring our sweat and blood into this land so that it will be fertile and safe for our children. Destroy our work and we will pick up and build, again and again... The Shade coalesced, like a band of gloom gaining solid form, in the rafters of Filani�s tower. The magical silence gone, Ivon muttered a prayer that wreathed the half-tower in a bloom of light like that of the rising sun. The Shadovar agent, so at home in the dark of evening, was suddenly confronted with a brilliant light that made him as visible as an ink-stain on a vellum page�a light that leached the powers of shadow from his blood. �Surrender, Shade!� shouted Ivon, knowing that he would not. They never surrendered. Instead, the Shadovar wrestled control of Ivon�s spell, plunging the tower back into the dimness of a moonless night. Ivon�s men fired their crossbows, but by now the shade was a blur of motion, sprouting shadow-images like the heads of a hydra, each of them jumping down to the lower levels of the exposed tower. So I say, let them come! Let the wolves try to devour us; we will build walls to keep them out! Let the orcs pillage; we will drive them back with arrows and blades! Let the Shades plot in their floating mountains; what have we to fear when the Red Guard watch over us? Laolorn watched the hail of bolts click against bare stone, not pausing from his utterly silent run. Stealth be damned�it all depended on light, now, negating the Shade�s powers or at least forcing him to spend valuable seconds negating their glow. He struck a pair of sunrods against his thigh, causing them to flare into brilliant radiance, dove through a small arch, flinging the sunrods to the corners of the tower and landing in a ready crouch. The Shadovar paused, having clearly intended to shadow-jump away from the trap. Laolorn looked clearly into those grey eyes, glowing faintly in the reflected glow of the sunrods that had doomed the enemy. He saw no fear, no regret, not even anger or frustration. There was iron calm as he reached into a hidden pocket and pulled out a fist-sized lump of rock. Before Laolorn could close the gap, before Ivon could utter another prayer, before his men�s quarrels could finish their flight, the Shade held the lump before his face, gave Laolorn a quick salute, and crushed the rock in his fist. And let us not forget those that have made this feast possible. Let us toast the man whose vision has brought us all here, whose power banished the shadows over Tilverton, and the men and women who guard us still! Let us praise Atreides Bloodhawk, and the Hand of Valor! The explosion was tiny but intense; Ivon�s men were scorched by heat and Laolorn was barely able to escape the explosion in a feat of acrobatics that could only have been possible with the Lady�s favor. So small was the burst that Filani�s tower didn�t even shudder. Karil hustled up to the scene of the explosion, which looked like a brief plume of shadow, her men standing, blades drawn, behind her in a diamond pattern. Ivon�s sword was already searching the carnage, picking through the debris for the remnants of the Shadovar agent. �Ivon,� she said, �Anyone hurt?� �No, Karil,� he answered with a sigh. �A few burns and blisters; nothing serious. Not nearly so serious as our friend here.� �Laolorn?� �Fine, Karil.� Laolorn emerged from a shadow in the edge of the tower, his face blackened and nearly as red as the guardians� armor. �I�m sorry. I should have been faster.� �That I doubt, Lao. What happened to him?� The half-elf sheathed his sword grimly and shook dust out of his hair. �Chardalyn, near as I can tell. Black rock, crumbled to dust, and I�ll be damned if that wasn�t some kind of Shade fireball.� Karil balked. �He killed himself? Why?� �I�ll tell you,� said Ivon with a genuine laugh, finding the blasted remnants of a shadow-shrouded corpse that still burned with black bale-fire. He held up the corpse by the neck: the head had been blasted apart by the sheer force of the unleashed spell. Laolorn said with disgust, �So speak with dead is useless. Dark....� Ivon laughed again, admiration shining in his face. �Sneaky son of a bitch!� The Hand of Valor, they call them... and why? Because they are merely a symbol for each of us, for the power of courage the hearts of men, and elves, and dwarves. For these six men have reminded us that valor is measured in the way one lives life; not in denying fear but in facing those fears head on. They have reminded us that valor lives in you, in me, in all of us, from the stalwart Purple Dragon patrolling these hills to the simple miner doing his daily labor. You and I, we are the valorous! We are the folk of New Tilverton! And I say, three cheers for the Valorous! Havython slipped away from Hardcastle�s speech once again as he saw his three best officers approaching from the southwest. Standing just outside of the circle of fires, they stood in a huddle, like creatures of the night shying away from the bonfires. Karil spoke first. �We caught him, Havython. But we�ve got nothing. He killed himself to make sure that we wouldn�t interrogate him. Havython scowled. He scowled often, and it was hard to tell what it meant, for a scowl also the most severe expression of anger that he ever indulged. Nothing left? Ivon?� Ivon shook his head, nearly chuckling. �Not enough for a spell, boss. You�ve gotta admire his resolve. " Laolorn rolled his eyes and said nothing. Havython put his hand on the fat cleric�s shoulder to show him that his remarks were not personal, and said, �No I don�t. That�s the third Shadovar we�ve found poking around here, the third in as many tendays. The first two we couldn�t catch, and now that we�ve got one he�s useless.� Ivon smiled. �Exactly.� Laolorn crossed his arms and spoke in the grave whisper that they were all accustomed to. �We don�t need him talking anyway. We all know what he was here for.� The three senior officers of the Red Guard looked away. They knew. It was a classic pattern�ancient, one might even say: send one man to the outskirts, let him gather his intelligence in secret, avoiding all confrontations. First the construction, then the temple, and now the new and practically unguarded settlement. Evaluate, then return without engaging. Havython scanned the dark horizon, as if he could see the dark riders coming from their floating city, coming again for Tilverton. �I know, Lao. They�re probing our defenses.� |
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