Chapter 1

Marpenoth 27 1369 DR, Year of the Gauntlet

Just as dawn's light was fading and the clear blue skies were appearing, the three travelers entered Shadowdale, garbed in the armor they wore in battle that hidden underneath their cloaks, walking along the Northern road that lead into the small town.

"We've arrived in time for breakfast," said one of the travelers in a gruff voice, a beefy blond bearded dwarf named Rouric Balderk as he pulled back the hood of his dark green cloak. He stroked the thick strands of his beard and looked around, sighting many Purple Dragon Knights running round. "Sure are a lot of Dragons in Shadowdale this morning."

The tallest of the travelers shook his head. The human assassin Artemis Entreri, who had only been to Shadowdale once in his life, had never seen this many Cormyrean knights gathered in one area.

"Is there always this many Purple Dragons in Shadowdale?" Entreri asked the shortest of the travelers, the halfling Bowie Butterball.

From underneath his dark blue cloak, Bowie's brown eyes went from the Purple Dragons to the assassin. Unlike Entreri or Rouric, Bowie had spent most of his life in Shadowdale. "I have never seen this many Purple Dragons either," he answered in his musical voice that sounded similar to a street evangelist. "Not even during the times when the royal family came to visit."

"Cormyr has sent said before," said the ghostly voice of Sylune Silverhand as her spectral form floated invisibly next to her halfling godson. "One might think that Shadowdale was in danger, but if that were true, Storm would have reached out to me through the Weave."

"The only danger I see is a hostile take over from a neighboring kingdom." Entreri murmured coldly , removing the hood of his cloak, exposing his gray tinted skin and raven black hair that went past his ears.

Ignoring the assassin's hard words (though part of him had to admit that there might be some truth to them) Bowie looked ahead and said," If Storm is at home, then I think we'll be able to get some answers."

"Couldn't one of you try a lore spell?" asked Entreri, looking at the dwarf and the halfling, who were members of the Harpers Organization.

Rouric laughed. "And risk having Vangerdahast and his War Wizards teleport in front of us and blow us to smithereens because we used Harper and bardic-type magic in the presence of the men from Cormyr. No thank you."

Bowie smiled and added. "Besides, something tells me we'll have to save our spells. Sylune, do you know if Storm is at home?"

Storm Silverhand was the younger sister of Sylune. After Sylune had sacrificed herself during the Flight of Dragons that had almost destroyed Shadowdale many years ago, Storm and her fellow Chosen (most of whom were also younger siblings of Sylune's) did everything in their power to keep the ghost of the Witch of Shadowdale in the world of the living.

After a moment of silence Sylune replied," She is leaving for the Twisted Tower, but she does have some guests over."

Hearing the ghostly woman's words, Entreri leaned close to Bowie. "Perhaps you will be using your spells much sooner than you think."

The three travelers arrived at Storm's farm house, wondering if they would find more Purple Dragons waiting inside. Known for being friendly to the residents of Shadowdale, both Rouric and Bowie wouldn't have been surprised if there were a legion of knights inside, sipping tea, lamenting on the Storm's beautiful singing voice.

As Bowie opened the door, two young men rushed at the front door, their swords; one was a bastard sword that had magical flames around the blade and another was a great sword that radiated an aura of freezing ice. Both magical swords were aimed right at the halfling's face.

Despite the feeling of freezing and burning that went through his face, the halfling's hand went to the handle of his short sword. Drawing his weapon, he deflected both with blinding speed, knocking both swords from the hands of their wielders. "You boys seem like you're ready for a fight," Bowie commented, sheathing his weapon.

Both young men smiled at the bard, then quickly went to retrieve their weapons. "Roland it's only Bowie," Val said as he picked up his great sword which he called Frostburn.

Roland grabbed his bastard sword Flamestrike and sheathed it. "Sorry Bowie, we thought you wee a group of pompous Purple Dragons looking to get another beating."

Rouric stepped inside walking over to greet the young men. He was followed by the assassin, whose gray eyes studied the interior. The wooden walls were decorated with simple paintings of heroes and Harpers long gone. Wooden chairs and tables were lined along the wall. The one thing that seemed out of place to the assassin was the many pieces of paper and maps that were scattered all over the floor.

Entreri crossed his arms as Sylune's ghostly voice whispered in his ear," You expected the house of Storm Silverhand to be decorated like a king's palace? I assure you my sister has simple tastes."

"So I've noticed," the assassin said. His eyes went to Val and Roland, sizing them both intently as they were engaged in a deep conversation with Bowie and Rouric.

:Storm is at the Twisted Tower with Tessaril," Bowie said as he reached down and picked up a few pieces of paper from the wooden floor. "And you are sure Azoun sent Tessaril Winter here to explore Castle Krag. It seems odd that they had gotten so many Purple Dragons from Eveningstar."

Val's eyes glanced back at the assassin, whose arms were folded across his chest. Mimicking the assassin (who wasn't the kind of person who liked being mimicked), the clean shaven Harper replied," From what we've gathered, Tessaril has gained Dragons from other cities and other areas in Cormyr. Though Roland has just heard from Myrmeen that no Purple Dragon from Arabel were sent to Shadowdale.

"Tessaril claims King Azoun wants to make a fortress out of Castle Krag that will help protect Shadowdale," Roland remarked, shaking his head. "Auntie Mym seems to think it was Vangerdahast's idea."

"We'll see," the halfling said as he turned to the door. "Meanwhile, I'm going to the Twisted Tower to talk meet up with Storm."

"You are already leaving and you haven't once said hello to me Bowie Butterball," said a sly, but feminine voice from up the stairs.

Everyone's eyes looked over, seeing a beautiful halfling with long auburn locks walking down the stairs. She wore tight skin brown leathers and carried a short sword and three daggers, one on her belt and one in each boot.

The halfling female, who was a few inches shorter than Bowie, walked over to the halfling bard. Her hazel eyes looked deeply into his as she said," It's been a long time Bowie."

Bowie sighed and nodded. "It has Olive. But is good to see you. Did you also come with Tessaril?"

Olive Ruskettle, one of the Harpers' most active agents in the regions of Cormyr and Westgate, shook her head at Bowie's question. "Actually I came here to speak with Storm." She kissed his cheek and walked over to join Rouric, Val ,and Roland. Together, the four Harpers ventured into the kitchen, with Val and Roland declaring that the cupboards would be empty before Storm Silverhand returned.

Watching Olive, Bowie felt the assassin's black, red-stitched gauntlet grip his shoulder. "An old friend of yours?"

Bowie closed his eyes. He didn't have to look to see the grin on the assassin's face. "She is..." The halfling opened his eyes and looked back to the door, hearing the door creak slowly as Storm Silverhand entered her home.

"I knew I would find more people here when I came back from the Tower," she said as she looked at the mess of papers on her floor. "But I must admit, I expected to find more women, and with much less clothing on."

The Bard of Shadowdale's words ceased when she spotted Artemis Entreri. Her beautiful eyes stared at him, as if he was an acquaintance she hadn't seen quite sometime.

Entreri, who was used to glares and odd looks coming from those who had never met him but had known him by reputation, was surprised at Storm's reaction to his presence. Yet he raised an eyebrow when he noticed a look of frustration on her face.

Bowie could also see the look that crossed the woman's face, but he knew it had nothing to do with the sheer presence of the assassin. "I take it Mourngrym is going to let Tessaril and her Dragons explore Castle Krag."

"We have little choice," Storm responded in a calm voice. He doesn't want to offend Cormyr, but he believes, like I do, that Tessaril is wasting her time. Castle Krag is a ruin that would take many days to clean out and many months to rebuild. Besides Shadowdale has always been able to defend herself from threats."

Her eyes went to the assassin once more. "Artemis Entreri. Your deeds and exploits have reached my ears. Your name has spread from the great deserts of Calimport to the mountains from Vassa."

Entreri's eyes perked up, his left hand going for the jeweled dagger on his belt. Truly he did not desire a fight with one as powerful and as well connected as Storm Silverhand (though the aspect of such a challenge sent a warm fire through his insides) but if she did challenge him, he would not back down.

"You are not on trial here Artemis," Storm continued, as if she was reading his thoughts. "I merely wanted to say that it's an honor to have you here in my home. I do hope you are comfortable here in Shadowdale."

The Bard of Shadowdale rose from her chair and walked towards the kitchen. "Gentlemen, if you excuse me, I have to go explain to a couple of young Harpers about the dangers and consequences of tying up Purple Dragons and sending letters to the Lord of Eveningstar that are marked with the words 'Shrew' and 'Whore.'"

After Storm Silverhand rose from her chair and walked out of sight, Entreri turned to Bowie. "Interesting woman. Both her and your friend Olive. Are all Harper women like that?"

"Most of them. We get a lot of different characters who join our ranks."

Entreri stretched his arms. "And here I thought the Harpers were merely a guild of bards and rangers who meddled in affairs."

"Who says we're not," Bowie said as he reached into his pocket and drew forth a small silver pin that was molded in the shape of a six stringed harp. "Which reminds me Artemis, there is something I would like to discuss with you."