Tantras

VIII

For what seemed like hours, Midnight and Adon followed Varden and Gratus through the secret tunnels that wound beneath the streets of Scardale. Finally they reached a dead end. Panic set in for the mage when she saw the blocked tunnel. She knew that it was only a matter of time before Durrock discovered their escape and followed them. After all, there had been no way to seal the entrance to the tunnels behind them. And the last thing Midnight wanted was to be trapped in the labyrinth beneath the town with the assassins.

"Not to worry," Gratus said as the mage stared at the blockage in front of them. "Look up."

The first rung of a ladder lay a few feet over the old merchant's head. Varden brushed Gratus aside and leaped to grab the lowest rung. After hauling himself up and climbing for a moment, the thief let out a moan when he bumped his head at the top of the passage. Varden strained against the barrier over his head and was relieved to find that the trap door slid aside.

A shaft of amber light, filtered through the dirty carpet that lay over the hole, pierced the tunnel. Cautiously Varden drew his dagger and cut through the rug. The light intensified as the carpet fell away into the tunnel. When the gap in the material was large enough, the thief poked his head through and looked into the room they had found. Varden was surprised to find that he was in some kind of abandoned inn.

A few tables were scattered around the room, which was filled with light from several windows, plus a number of holes in the walls and ceiling. Dust and debris covered everything in the taproom, including the thin amber carpet that surrounded Varden.

"It seems to be clear," the thief whispered as he turned back to the tunnel. "Hurry, though. I'm not exactly sure where we are."

Gratus swore softly and started to climb the ladder, after a helpful boost from Adon. Then Midnight and Adon exited the tunnel. When they looked around the taproom, the heroes saw that Varden was crouched next to one of the few intact windows in the building, surveying the streets beyond.

"I think we're close to what used to be the Cormyrian garrison." The thief paused and turned back toward Midnight. "We're not far from the place where the remaining soldiers from the various garrisons opposing the Zhents have hidden. The Zhentilar call them the 'Sembian Resistance.'"

"I think the Sembians made that up," Gratus chuckled as he led the heroes to the back of the inn. They quietly crept out into an alley, then started off toward the Sembians hiding place.

On the street, at the front of the inn, there was little activity. Varden took the lead, while Gratus used his knowledge of the layout of Scardale to guide the party to the secret outpost. Resistance fighters from the various garrisons were encountered from time to time, but they recognized Varden and Gratus and presented no problem. There was a close brush with a band of Zhentilar only blocks away from the hiding place, but the heroes managed to evade the soldiers.

Finally Varden and Gratus stopped behind the skeleton of a burned-out butcher shop. The blackened beams stood like dead trees, and a jumble of rubble cluttered the area that the shop had once occupied. Gratus carefully crept to the center of the heap of charred wood, where a slightly singed door lay on the pile, and rapped quietly five times.

After a moment, Midnight heard a voice softly ask for a password. Gratus bent over, and when his face was almost low enough to touch the door, he whispered, "Friends of Sembia."

The door creaked open slightly, and a guard peered out at the heroes. "Well, well," he whispered, "if it isn't Gratus! And, Varden, you're alive!" The door flew open now. "Come in quickly!"

The heroes rushed through the open door and found a set of blackened, burned stairs leading to a musty cellar. Once the heroes were down the stairs, the guard reset several traps on the door and rejoined them. Then he moved toward a small crawlspace in one of the walls. "Don't worry," he said, turning to Midnight and Adon. "This leads to our hiding place."

After crawling down a short passage, Midnight and Adon found themselves in a stone tunnel, much like the one they had used to escape from Durrock and the Zhentilar earlier. Torches lined the walls, lighting the gray-bricked passage, and Midnight saw a handful of soldiers dressed in the uniforms of various nations. Some rested against the walls, others sat on crates of food, sharpening weapons or rolling dice.

"Wait here," Varden told Midnight and Adon. "I'll go talk to Barth, the leader of our little troop." The thief smiled warmly and walked toward a large curtain that was hung in the tunnel a few yards away.

It was over two hours before Midnight and Adon were given an audience with Barth. Since none of the soldiers made any attempt to talk to the mage or the cleric, they spent the time exploring possibilities for Kelemvor's rescue and discussing all that had happened to them since they'd met in Cormyr.

At one point, the conversation lagged, and Adon spent a few moments looking around the tunnel at the tired, dirty soldiers. For the first time, he noticed that they were huddled in groups — the Cormyrians with other Cormyrians, the men from Hillsfar only with their own, and so on.

The Zhentish invasion changes Scardale little, the cleric thought with a sigh. This was once a thriving, happy place… before Lashan's reign, anyway.

In fact, it hadn't been so long ago that Scardale was on the verge of forging its own empire. Under the leadership of Lashan Aumersair, an aggressive young lord, Scardale had gathered an army and even managed to conquer a few of its neighbors. But the invasion of Harrowdale, Featherdale, and Battledale drew the attention of the rest of Scardale's rivals for power in the area — Hillsfar, the Dales, Sembia, even Cormyr and Zhentil Keep.

Lashan was eventually turned back from Mistledale and Deepingdale by the combined forces of Scardale's powerful neighbors, and the young nobleman's empire collapsed as quickly as it had risen. The troops from the conquering armies soon occupied the town of Scardale itself, though Lashan escaped and was presumably still in hiding somewhere. Then each of the major powers placed a small garrison in the town, to prevent any one power from rising unchecked in the dale.

The various garrisons had fought among themselves for years over petty insults, making the town little more than an open invitation to lawlessness. Now that the balance had been tipped in Zhentil Keep's favor, Adon thought bitterly, the soldiers were treating it like another taproom brawl, another momentary inconvenience. They weren't banding together as allies to save their city; instead, they were huddled together like groups of thieves in a darkened alley. At any moment, they might suddenly turn on one another. To Adon, it was all very sad.

When the heroes finally got to meet Barth, Adon's musings about the soldiers' pettiness were proven correct.

"You expect us to what?" Barth exclaimed, his normally well-tanned face turning bright red. The soldier was strongly built, with curly black hair and a thick mustache.

"I don't expect you to do anything," Midnight growled, balling her hands into fists. "I'm offering you a chance to strike back at Bane's forces. You might be safe while you're inside these tunnels, but the Zhentilar have made you prisoners here just as surely as if they had thrown you in their dungeons!"

Barth leaned back in his chair, the only one Midnight had seen in the tunnels, and looked at the mage and her friends. Contempt showed in the soldier's eyes as he mulled over Midnight's plan to rescue Kelemvor.

Gratus smiled fatuously and addressed the leader of the resistance. "The mage has a point." Raising his hand, the old merchant placed his index finger and thumb together, then allowed a small space to open between them. "Why, we can't even go outside the tunnels this far, even to look for food, without worrying about a Zhentish patrol picking us up. I can't even — "

"Stop thinking of only yourself, you old con man," Varden snapped. "There's a very real chance that Midnight's companion may be enduring torture even as we speak. He might even be dead, for all we know. Bane is going to crush Scardale beneath his black boots. The least we can do is try to strike a blow against the tyrant."

"Enough!" Barth barked, waving Varden away with a meaty, unwashed hand. "Your passion and your beliefs are not the issues. We've already sent messengers to alert Sembia of the takeover. If we wait it out, reinforcements will arrive. Then we'll attack the Zhentilar. Not before." The Sembian paused for a moment and picked a bit of his lunch from his teeth with a dagger. "Right now, any attack would be a waste of effort and men."

"There's another reason you need us," Midnight said. She hated to lie, but she was beginning to realize that Barth was going to give her no other choice. "Bane is in possession of a mystical object that we were carrying to Tantras for Elminster the Sage." The Sembian looked up quickly, nearly poking himself in the cheek with his dagger. Midnight smiled and continued. "The object is an amber sphere of great power. If Bane learns what it is and how to control it, he will have the power in his hands to find you whenever he wants to."

Panic flared in the eyes of the Sembian leader. "Perhaps I could spare a few men," Barth said slowly, his mind racing. "Tell me, with this sphere, would you be able to destroy the Zhentil Keep garrison?"

He won't help me for altruistic reasons, Midnight thought to herself, but fear certainly convinced him to assist me soon enough. "No," Midnight said with mock sadness. "Only a god, or a being with a god's power, could accomplish such a task with this object."

Barth paled slightly. "If it's a danger to my, uh, soldiers, I'll assign two men to your party. They'll assist you in your efforts to retrieve this magical sphere… and your friend." The Sembian cleared his throat and wiped a thin film of sweat from his brow.

"You have our thanks," Midnight said.

Barth made a futile attempt at a smile. "Yes, well, perhaps you should get going right away. We wouldn't want… your friend to suffer any undue danger, would we?" Midnight nodded and silently cursed the Sembian, then led her friends out through the curtain and into the section of the tunnel where the soldiers were gathered.

Almost an hour passed before the soldiers who had been assigned to assist Midnight arrived. The heroes had pulled together a few crates to serve as a table, and the section of the tunnel they occupied had started to look like a military planning room. Maps of Scardale and the outlying areas lay all over the floor. Trade routes and various notations concerning the business districts of the town marked the surfaces of the maps, which had come from a local merchant's looted store, making it impossible to make out some of the map's details.

As Midnight, Adon, Varden, and Gratus huddled over a map of the harbor, two young men wearing grubby, nondescript clothing approached the heroes. The first soldier, a tall, dark-haired man with a pale complexion, stepped forward. He was a tired-looking youth, with deep circles under his eyes. "I'm Wulstan. This is Tymon. We're both from Hillsfar."

The second man was also dark-haired, but his craggy nose appeared to have been broken several times. However, in general, he seemed in much better health than his friend. He nodded to the heroes.

Midnight stood up. "Well met," she said, and proceeded to introduce herself and her companions. "Thank you both for volunteering to help us."

The soldiers glanced oddly at one another, then back at Midnight. "Volunteer?" Wulstan asked incredulously. "Are you serious?"

Varden surged forward, a dark scowl on his face. "You mean the two of you had to be ordered to help us attack your enemies?" Wulstan looked away awkwardly.

The thief looked down the tunnel at the other soldiers gathered there. "Is there no one here who has the heart to fight the Zhentilar to regain Scardale?" Varden cried loudly enough for the others to hear.

"Not really," Tymon said matter-of-factly as he walked past Varden and sat down. "But orders are orders, and you will find that neither Wulstan nor I will shrink from our responsibilities."

Varden bowed his head and returned to the maps. "I suppose that your best effort is all we can ask for," Adon sighed and put his hand on Tymon's shoulder. "At least under these circumstances."

Wulstan snorted and rolled his eyes. "Spare us the sermon, cleric." The worn fighter walked to Midnight's side. "Just tell us what we're supposed to do."

Adon narrowed his eyes and started to speak, but Gratus stood up quickly and cleared his throat. "Well, we have a number of obstacles to overcome," the old merchant noted. "We can expect that the Zhentish garrison will be filled to overflowing with Bane's soldiers. To relieve the overcrowding, the fallen garrisons of the Zhent's enemies will be occupied if possible."

Wulstan muttered to himself, then growled, "Once we leave this hiding place, there'll be no other safe place for shelter. Isn't that what you're trying to say, old man?"

Gratus ignored the sullen soldier and continued. "However, we might be able to get lodging in a private house." The old merchant ran his hand over his face and tapped his chin. "The people of Scardale have declared themselves neutral. They won't be interested in harboring fugitives. But I have friends that might be willing to help."

"The Zhentilar will be prowling the streets," Midnight added, "and I wouldn't be surprised if at least one of Bane's assassins is airborne, combing the streets for Adon and me." The mage grew silent.

"So our first problem is getting to the Zhentish garrison in one piece," Varden said flatly. "Then what?"

"The obvious," Gratus answered, rubbing his hand over his bald spot. "Getting inside, retrieving Midnight's belongings, and rescuing her friend. Then the small matter of getting out again."

"At least they're simple problems," Wulstan muttered moodily.

"The Zhentish may be expecting us to make such an attempt," Adon added. "It's possible the Zhentilar may have set up a trap. They might let us get into the garrison with only token resistance, then capture us with ease."

Gratus frowned and sat down. "So what do you suggest?" the old man asked. "It it's such an impossible task, why are we undertaking it?"

Midnight's eyes flashed. "We're doing this because we must!" the mage snapped. "And we have one thing you haven't mentioned that may tip the scales in our favor. The one thing the Zhentish won't expect."

Adon looked up. "Magic!" he breathed softly. "But Bane has your spellbook."

"There's one spell left in my memory," Midnight said, smiling at the scarred cleric. "One I was studying before we were captured."

Varden shook his head and started to object. The two young soldiers eyed the exit from the tunnel. Gratus nervously rubbed behind his ears. "If you mean to teleport us halfway across the city," the old man snapped, "you can count me out right now."

"No," Midnight answered. "That would be madness. We could end up inside solid rock or buried beneath the Ashaba." The two soldiers from Hillsfar glanced nervously at each other and frowned.

"Any spell is dangerous," Varden said. "There are no guarantees — "

"Life itself has no guarantees," Adon interjected, running his hand across his scarred cheek. "Let her finish."

Tymon nodded. "Though I'm afraid to find out what the mage has in mind, I think we should at least hear what she has to say."

Varden frowned. "All right. Go ahead," the thief said, defeated.

"It's a spell of invisibility," Midnight stated, a smile creeping back onto her lips. It casts a cloak of invisibility for ten feet in all directions. If it works, we should stay invisible unless we attack somebody. And since we would plan on avoiding any attack, we should remain invisible for the entire time we make our way through the town."

"I still feel — ," Varden began.

"Enough!" Wulstan snapped, standing up and moving to Midnight's side. "The matter is no longer up for debate. I'm no more anxious than any of you to die, but it we can possibly be safe and still follow our orders, then I say we should give the mage her chance."

Midnight's smile grew broader, and Tymon, Gratus, and Adon nodded in agreement with Wulstan. Only Varden looked away from the mage, deep concern lining his face. "Fine. We should leave by the butcher shop entrance immediately," the raven-haired mage said. "And we probably should inform Barth of our plan." The heroes crossed the tunnel to the Sembian's quarters.

The Sembian leader looked shocked when Midnight explained their plan. "At least give me a few minutes to clear the guards from the basement entrance before you begin your sorceries," the burly fighter mumbled. "A good thing we have another exit."

After Barth recalled the guard from the small basement of the butcher shop, the heroes crawled through the tunnel and prepared to leave the Sembians' haven. At the bottom of the stairs, Midnight gathered the components for her spell. From her pocket, she removed a small piece of gum arabic, which she carried especially for this spell. Then she collected a single eyelash from each of the heroes. Finally the mage encased the eyelashes in the gum and began her chant.

Gratus and Varden exchanged nervous glances. The soldiers from Hillsfar trained their attention at the wall beyond the mage and forced themselves to think about anything but what might happen. Adon, however, stood before his friend, smiling serenely. From the cleric's expression, it seemed he would welcome even death itself if the spell went awry and killed them all.

Steadying her nerves, Midnight finished the incantation. Unable to think of a single spell that had worked properly for her since the escape from Shadowdale, the mage prayed that this one would work — for Kelemvor's sake. Soon a blue-white glow began to surround Midnight. The heroes gasped and shielded their eyes as the light intensified, filled the room, then faded.

Gratus looked around the basement at his companions. "Nothing happened!" the old man said, much relieved. "And we're still alive!"

At the same moment, Midnight saw Barth poke his head out of the crawlspace between the basement and the tunnels. A look of amazement filled his face. The burly man's lips moved silently, and the mage laughed.

"What's wrong with you?" Wulstan said as he approached Midnight. "I can still see you. Your spell didn't work. Why should you be laughing?"

Adon pointed toward Barth, and the heroes turned to see the Sembian staring into the room. "I–I can hear you," he whispered, "so the spell must have worked. But I still can't see you. You are there, aren't you?"

"We're just testing the effectiveness of the spell," Midnight said, and the burly fighter started slightly, bumping his head on the top of the crawlspace. "Let's go, then," the mage said, and the heroes left the hiding place.

As Midnight and her allies journeyed across the city, Gratus stopped from time to time to point out various safe houses whose residents were likely to admit them should the need arise. "Lashan had friends in the city," Gratus noted softly as the heroes passed one such house. "And many of them do not approve of Scardale’s declared neutrality."

"I've been curious about something, Gratus," Midnight said softly. "Exactly what is it you do in Scardale? You aren't a mage, a fighter, or a thief. How do you make ends meet?"

Varden laughed. "I'm not so sure he isn't a thief."

Gratus leaned close to Midnight. "I was Lashan's Minister of Propaganda," he whispered. "The city pensioned me off, but they refused to turn me over to the likes of these two boobs from Hillsfar on the condition that I keep my mouth shut about Lashan's possible return. Now I sell boots."

Wulstan overheard parts of what the old merchant said and quickly moved to Gratus's side. "You'd better watch what you're saying, old man, if you know what's good for you," the fighter growled.

Gratus replied mockingly, "So the rumor is true… people from Hillsfar have no sense of humor whatsoever."

Wulstan reached for his sword, hut his partner quickly raised his hand. "Stay your arm!" Tymon warned. "We can't afford to have our invisible shield fade. The moment we attack something… anything… we will become visible."

Adon stepped between Gratus and Wulstan and looked at the mage. "If only one of us attacks something, will the spell be canceled for us all?" the cleric asked quietly.

Varden took Gratus by the arm and pushed him in front of Midnight. "The way magic works nowadays, I wouldn't be surprised if we are never visible again," the thief said with a grin.

Midnight's flesh paled. She had not even considered the possibility that the spell might work too well.

"Imagine the fortune that could be amassed in this town by a thief gifted with invisibility," the thief went on, apparently happy for the first time in hours.

The Hall of Records, where Midnight and Adon had met Gratus earlier in the day, came up on the left. The building looked the same as it had earlier in the day, although a lone Zhentilar stood guard at the doors.

"I was worried they'd burn the place down," Gratus whispered as they passed the guard. "There are some very interesting papers I'd like to retrieve from there."

They continued on to the end of the block, then took a sharp right. Immediately the heroes spotted the warehouse where the assassins had landed and the Zhentish garrison beyond that. As expected, the sounds of revelry floated through the streets from the garrison. A token number of guards were posted outside the fort, and the entire building that served as the Zhentish headquarters was brightly lit.

"Bane must be allowing his soldiers to celebrate with a victory party," Midnight said softly as she led the heroes into an alley next to the warehouse.

"How very different from the way he drove his troops in the Battle of Shadowdale," Adon observed. "I wonder if the Black Lord's defeat has humbled him in some way…"

"I doubt it," Midnight replied. "Perhaps he's simply learned to recognize the value of his troops. In any case, we might just be able to turn his lenience against him."

"You mean you've solved the problem of how we get in?" Varden asked, running his hand through his blond hair.

"We need to check out the warehouse before we worry about the garrison itself," Midnight said as she turned to Varden. "We should circle around the building and see if there are any other doors."

The heroes slowly moved around the outside of the warehouse, staying as close to the side of the building as possible. Twice groups of Zhentish soldiers passed them, singing bawdy songs and telling off-color jokes, but they never even suspected that six intruders were only a few yards away.

At the rear of the warehouse, Varden discovered another door, though this one was locked. The thief quickly took out his lockpicks, and in a moment the door was open. He opened it slowly and peered inside.

"We couldn't have come at a better time," Varden whispered as he turned to Midnight. "The warehouse looks empty. We should be able to move around freely." The heroes silently filed into the building, with Midnight in the middle so that no one would stray outside the invisibility spell's area of effect.

"Close the door," Midnight hissed when they were all inside.

Wulstan started to follow Midnight's order, then paused and looked at the door's lock. "It looks like it locks both ways," the fighter said, motioning for Midnight to examine the door.

Midnight nodded and removed a piece of the gum that she had left over from her incantation and handed it to the soldier. "Put this in the lock first. The door will shut, but it won't lock. Then we won't be trapped if we need to make a quick exit."

Wulstan and Varden both looked at the mage with surprised expressions.

"An old friend taught me that trick," the raven-haired magic-user said, her thoughts suddenly turning to Cyric. But then Midnight felt a dark, somber mood settle over her, and for an instant, she was almost overwhelmed by her sorrow. The mage closed her eyes, steeled her will, and dismissed the emotion. Cyric's dead, and there's nothing I can do about it, the mage decided calmly. Kelemvor's alive and in need of my help. I can grieve later.

Midnight's thoughts were interrupted when Gratus moved to her side. "Could that be something you're looking for?" the old man asked as he pointed toward the shadows twenty feet to the left of the door.

Midnight squinted. Something sparkled in the moonlight. It looked like tiny shards of amber light.

"It couldn't be!" she breathed, then advanced toward the light. Adon rushed ahead of her and bent down over a partially open canvas sack.

"Midnight, they're here!" the cleric cried, a broad smile lighting up his face. "The sphere of detection and your spellbook are right here!"

"The assassins must have forgotten about them in the confusion caused by our escape!" Midnight said, picking up the sack.

"I didn't forget about it at all," a voice boomed from a darkened corner across the warehouse. "And I was counting on your not forgetting it either." Durrock stepped out of the shadows and into the pale moonlight filtering in through the windows. He wasn't wearing his armor, and his disfigured face was uncovered as he walked toward the heroes.

Midnight nearly gasped as she saw the assassin's face, and a brief flicker of sympathy flared inside her. Then she felt the canvas bag slip in her grasp, and she tightened her grip on it. Quickly the mage realized that, since she didn't have the canvas sack with her when she first cast the invisibility spell, it was still visible!

"Thanks for showing me exactly where you are," Durrock growled as he drew his night-black sword. The assassin was striding straight toward Midnight. "I've been waiting here for you for some time now."

The heroes spread out as far as they dared, and as Durrock came close to the mage, several of them circled behind him. Midnight tossed the sack to the ground and tried to dodge the assassin's attack, but the scarred killer made a feint forward, then reached out and grabbed the mage's hair. Midnight screamed.

Suddenly a large wooden plank crashed over the assassin's head, staggering him and forcing him to release his grasp on the mage. As Midnight scrambled away from Durrock, a blue-white aura enshrouded each of the heroes as the spell of invisibility faded.

Gratus stood behind the assassin, the shattered plank of wood still in his hands. Durrock gripped his night-black sword more tightly and screamed with rage and pain. The assassin's sword flashed out just as Varden grabbed the old man's shoulders and yanked him backward. The sword bit into Gratus's chest and blood spurted from the wound.

Midnight backed away from Durrock in shock. The assassin turned and took a step toward the raven-haired mage, but Adon appeared beside her and took hold of her arm. "Run!" the cleric hissed as he pulled the magic-user toward the door.

Durrock started to follow her, but the two soldiers from Hillsfar stepped into his path, drawing their swords. "Come on, you Zhentish pig. Let us see how you fare against someone closer to your own age!" Tymon taunted as he stood before the scarred man.

Wulstan glanced over his shoulder at Midnight, "Take your treasure and run!" the fighter screamed. Midnight hesitated for an instant in the doorway, then picked up the canvas sack and backed out of the warehouse. Varden was already pulling the wounded merchant to the door, but Adon took hold of Gratus, too, and the heroes disappeared into the night. They slipped into the shadows and were far from the Zhentish garrison before the drunken soldiers even knew what had happened.

"Wake up!" the guard yelled and clanged his sword back and forth over the steel bars of Kelemvor's cell.

The green-eyed fighter was jolted from his sleep, but he pretended to wake gradually, making a show of shaking the sleep from himself, rubbing at his eyes, and yawning broadly. Two guards stood outside Kelemvor's cell, but the fighter didn't want the men to have the satisfaction of knowing that they had indeed startled him awake, that their little cruelty had affected him.

The fighter knew why the guards had awakened him, too. The Black Lord had expected an immediate answer to his proposition, but Kelemvor had argued that he needed time and solitude to consider the bargain. The fact that Bane agreed to his request had come as a complete surprise to Kelemvor. But now the time to consider the offer was past.

The fighter heard footsteps approaching from down the hall, and from the way the guards snapped to attention, Kelemvor knew who his next visitor would be. It was no surprise.

"You said I had until morning," Kelemvor noted calmly as Bane stepped between the guards.

"Circumstances have changed. The time for you to act is now. Have you considered my offer?" Bane asked sharply. The edge in the fallen god's voice told Kelemvor that something had obviously angered him.

"I've been unable to think of anything else," Kelemvor answered as he rose to his feet and stared into the blood-red flickers of light that danced in the Black Lord's eyes.

It was true. Even the fighter's dreams had been consumed by thoughts of freedom from the curse. Kelemvor had often wished that he was a hero, someone who could do noble deeds for the sole reward of helping others. But the curse had always stood in the way. The fighter believed, without a shadow of a doubt, that Bane could deliver on his promise. The God of Strife could make his dreams a reality.

Which only left the problem of Midnight to consider. If Kelemvor accepted Bane's terms, he would obviously have to betray the trust the mage had placed in him… and his feelings for her. But Midnight has betrayed me many times, Kelemvor thought bitterly.

Then the fighter reviewed the insults and petty hurts the mage had heaped upon him, trying to rationalize a decision he had really already made. The mage had left Shadowdale without him. Certainly her words upon Blackfeather Bridge were of love and commitment. Still, the simple truth was that Kelemvor had known Midnight for but a few weeks.

Suddenly Kelemvor wondered just how well he really knew the raven-haired mage. The fighter no longer worried about whether Midnight had committed the crimes the dalesmen had accused her of. There was no question that she had not. But Kelemvor wondered now if Midnight really loved him.

"You had visitors during the night," Bane said casually, snapping Kelemvor away from his thoughts.

"Who?" Kelemvor asked. The fighter took a step toward the bars of his cell.

Bane narrowed his eyes and sneered. "Who do you think, fool. Midnight and her accomplices. She was here to retrieve her spellbook and whatever other personal items she might have had with her when Durrock and his assassins captured her." The God of Strife paused for a moment, then smiled. "However, she did not try to rescue you."

The fighter breathed a silent sigh of relief. "Obviously the mage escaped again, or you wouldn't be here," Kelemvor said.

Anger burned in the Black Lord's eyes. "She could not escape before one of her party was wounded and two were killed. Do not overestimate your importance in my plans, Kelemvor. Midnight will die. Your participation is merely a matter of convenience. By allowing you to go to her and draw her out, I can minimize the casualties in my own ranks."

Bane's playing this badly, the fighter thought. He's acting like a petty warlord, not a god. Still, the information Bane had just given the fighter about Midnight's visit to the Zhentish garrison answered some of the questions that had been tugging at the corners of his mind.

"Very well," Kelemvor said softly but firmly. "I will accept your terms."

The Black Lord smiled. "Then you have finally come to your senses. There is nothing more precious than life on your own terms," Bane hissed. "It's about time you realized that."

The fighter nodded. "I will find Midnight and win her trust. I'll convince her that I escaped on my own, and I'll pretend to lead her to freedom. Then… I'll subdue her at the first opportunity." Kelemvor paused and ran a hand through his hair. "Later, I will travel to Tantras to retrieve the Tablet of Fate that you have hidden in the city. In return for all of this, you will remove the curse of the Lyonsbanes."

"That is correct," Bane said, motioning for the guards to open the cell.

Kelemvor stepped back from the door. "Now that our agreement is settled, where exactly is this Tablet of Fate?" the green-eyed fighter asked.

"You must show a little faith," Bane answered with a sly edge in his voice. "The information will be yours after you deliver Midnight to me. Right now there is another small matter that we must deal with."

Kelemvor's heart was beating wildly. He couldn't control his anticipation as the cell door was opened and the God of Strife moved to his side.

"Guard, give me your sword," Bane ordered sharply. The fires in the Black Lord's eyes suddenly seemed bright enough to light the corridor without the benefit of torches. The guard complied without a word. The fallen god raised the sword high over his head.

The fires in Bane's eyes spread over the dark god's body and soon his entire form was covered by a blood-red aura. The Black Lord began to recite a complex incantation. Suddenly the sword burst into flames. The voice of the god rose in intensity as he waved the sword wildly. His form began to undulate like the body of a snake.

The sword flashed through the air, and Kelemvor screamed as the weapon pierced his chest, cutting a jagged line from his breastbone to his abdomen. The fighter looked down at the torn cloth and flesh and felt weakness wrap itself around him. Still, the fighter struggled to stay on his feet. Even if he were dying, he would not kneel before the Black Lord.

The flaps of the parted skin on the fighter's chest seemed to bubble and quake, and Kelemvor nearly shouted in terror as he saw the panther's ebon head push its way out of his gaping wound. The fighter suffered agony unlike any he had ever known as the claws of the beast raked at the inside of his body, savaging him in an attempt to break free. This is impossible! Was the only thought in Kelemvor's mind. Then the fighter's entire world became a white-hot explosion of searing anguish that blurred his perceptions of everything but the pain itself. The beast was tearing its way free, but it was killing Kelemvor from within at the same time.

There was a loud animal roar, and Kelemvor felt an incredible weight burst free from him. Instantly the pain lessened considerably, and Kelemvor saw that Bane had gripped both sides of the beast's head. With a sharp, inhumanly swift motion, the god snapped the creature's neck.

The fighter looked down and stared at his chest. He watched in awe as his torn flesh began to close and mend together. The wounds were healing at an impossible rate.

"It is done," Bane said nonchalantly and dropped the body of the panther at Kelemvor's feet. The god turned and strolled from the cell. "Tell him where to find the mage, clean him up, and send him on his way."

"No!" Kelemvor rasped, his voice little more than a whisper.

Bane looked back to the cell, suspicion crossing his features.

"I should look as if I had to fight my way out," the fighter said and collapsed onto the ground, inches from the panther's still-warm corpse.

The Black Lord smiled. "Very well," he hissed. "But know this, Kelemvor. If you even think of reneging on our agreement, I will know. My agents will hunt you down and kill you, no matter where you hide." The God of Strife paused, and another evil grin flitted across his lips. "Or better still," he added, "I'll put that creature, or one even more horrible, back inside you." The smile widened slightly. "One that would be far more painful to remove than the panther was. Remember that."

The fighter nodded. "It is no less than I would expect," Kelemvor said. "And no less than I would do in your position. Set your mind at ease. I will follow the terms of our pact to the letter."

"This could be the beginning of a long and profitable association," Bane called over his shoulder as he continued down the corridor. "Bring her to me alive, Kelemvor. If that's at all possible."

Kelemvor shuddered and stood up slowly. He didn't look at the guards as he staggered out of the cell. "I shall," the fighter whispered as he followed the same path from the dungeon that the Black Lord had taken.