Tantras at-2 Page 12

  Cyric couldn't hear her. There was a wall of sound rising up from the center of the vast maelstrom that grew louder as the skiff was pulled into the outer rings of the madly swirling water. The thief jammed a single oar over the right side of the boat to steady the craft, but the tiny skiff spun and bobbed as it was dragged toward the maelstrom.

  In a matter of moments, the heroes were poised at the very top of the whirlpool, and they could see down into its lowest depths. A blinding blue-white luminescence was visible at the very bottom of the vortex. Using the oars as rudders, Cyric tried to keep the skiff steady, but the boat was lurching violently. A fine mist surrounded the heroes, and they occasionally caught glimpses of a landmark on the shoreline as they sped dizzily past it. The boat lurched, leaving the water for a brief moment, and Midnight had to force back a wave of nausea. Cyric fought with the oars, cursing loudly. Tears were streaming down Adon's face as he stared at the swirling vortex of water.

  "Please, Sune!" the frightened cleric cried as he reached out and nearly fell from the boat. The skiff rocked, and Cyric shot a look over his shoulder.

  "Can't you control him?" Cyric shouted, then turned back to the oars to compensate for the disturbance Adon had caused.

  "What is it, Adon?" Midnight screamed. "What is it you see?"

  Adon whimpered for a moment, then spoke softly, barely audible above the roar of the whirlpool. "Elminster's in the rift. I want to save him, but I can't reach him."

  Images of their final moments in the temple returned to Midnight. Bane's avatar had been defeated, and Mystra's essence had vanished in the explosion that destroyed the Black Lord's avatar. During the battle, Elminster had been driven into a swirling vortex he himself had created. Neither Midnight nor Adon could save the old sage when the rift closed.

  "I–I tried to save him!" Adon cried. "I tried to cast a spell. But Sune refused to hear my prayers. She deserted me and let Elminster die!"

  "It wasn't your fault!" Midnight screamed. The frame of the skiff was beginning to shake violently under the assault of the surging water.

  Adon turned to Midnight. Though his eyes were red from crying, Midnight saw clarity in them, a spark of understanding that had long been missing. "It is my fault," the cleric said calmly. "I was unworthy. I deserved to be forsaken by my goddess." Adon paused for a moment, closed his eyes, and pointed to the jagged scar that ran down his cheek. "I deserved this!"

  The boat shook violently, pitching the cleric forward. Midnight grabbed Adon and pulled him back from the gunwale. Midnight looked up at Cyric and saw that he was still fighting with one oar, using it as a rudder. The boat was now more than halfway around the outside of the whirlpool, but it hadn't seemed to descend any deeper into the vortex.

  Midnight grabbed the other oar. "What can I do?" the mage screamed. "How can I help?"

  Cyric nodded toward the southern edge of the vortex. There the Pool of Yeven opened onto the Ashaba again. "We've got to break out of the curve!" Cyric yelled. "It's either that, or we die right here!"

  The mage plunged the oar into the water. Adon grabbed the end of the shuddering oaken oar with Midnight, and together they held the second makeshift rudder in place. Together the three heroes forced the craft to break free from the ring of the whirlpool. In a moment, they had passed through another wall of froth and were moving downstream, away from the Pool of Yeven, toward Scardale.

  The whirlpool had apparently somehow corrected the misdirected current, and now the river was running as it should, though it was still dangerously swift. As they moved farther away from the Pool of Yeven, Midnight gave a hearty yell, happy just to be alive. The others didn't seem to share her enthusiasm, however. Cyric simply scowled at Adon and turned away from the cleric, who sat quietly in the bow.

  This partnership has to end soon, the thief thought. I was wrong to believe I needed these fools to make it to Tantras! Cyric glanced over his shoulder at Midnight. In fact, he growled to himself, they practically killed me in that whirlpool with their whining, while I risked my neck to save them!

  The heroes continued down the Ashaba for several hours more, Midnight lounging happily in the stern, Adon silently staring at the water from the bow, and Cyric moodily handling the oars. Finally Cyric spotted a huge wooden bridge spanning the river in the distance. "Blackfeather Bridge!" Midnight called.

  "Perhaps we can rest here," Adon said softly as he turned to gaze at the bridge.

  As they approached the bridge, however, a flicker of movement alerted Midnight. She quickly called a fireball spell to mind, but when she saw that the figures were men and not some strange creature lurking on the bridge, she hesitated to cast it. The spell could fail and destroy the skiff. Or it could succeed, and Midnight might learn that she had harmed an innocent group of fishermen or travelers like themselves.

  The hesitation proved costly.

  Cyric, too, saw the movement on the bridge, but he had also glimpsed sunlight glinting from steel. The three men standing on the structure were joined by two more. All had weapons. The thief turned quickly and shouted for Midnight to cast her spell.

  On the bridge, Kelemvor and the group of dalesmen stood waiting, arrows nocked, ready to fire at the skiff.

  V

  Blackfeather Bridge

  The surviving members of the hunt were lined up in a row upon the bridge, their bows ready. Kelemvor stood next to Yarbro, and the two men looked out onto the Ashaba. A skiff rushed toward them, three people frantically scrambling about inside it.

  "Look at them!" Yarbro snarled, the muscles in his lean arms tensing as he prepared to loose an arrow. "They're trying to turn around. They'll never be able to do it in this part of the river. The current's too fast." The young guard's flesh was pale, and his eyes were bloodshot. His lips pulled back in a grimace, the guard trembled with anticipation.

  The killing time had come.

  "I can see them," Kelemvor snapped. Below, on the river, Midnight, Cyric, and Adon struggled to turn their boat to shore. The fighter glanced across the bridge. The men were all like Yarbro, barely hiding their glee as they held their bows ready to fire. "No one shoots without my order!" Kelemvor shouted.

  A few of the dalesmen laughed. Yarbro turned sharply to the fighter. "You don't command us any longer. The men follow my orders now!"

  Sweat was streaming down Kelemvor's face. "Our orders are to capture the prisoners, not to kill them on sight."

  "Unless there's no other choice," Yarbro growled bitterly as he turned back to face the river. "Unless you want me to have you shot full of arrows, I suggest you either grab a bow or get off the bridge!"

  The small boat rocked violently in the fierce current as the escapees tried unsuccessfully to turn their shuddering craft. Kelemvor silently stared at Midnight and felt a strange pressure upon his chest.

  I can't do this! the fighter cursed to himself. I simply can't let these lunatics hurt my friends… and my love.

  A few feet away from Kelemvor, Jorah laughed. "Let them get to shore… if they can. I don't want the river to sweep them away after we shoot them. We can have them stuffed and hung like scarecrows on the road to Zhentil Keep." Bursus and Cabal chuckled and nodded.

  "That'll let any Zhentish scum who might plan to attack the Dales again know exactly what we'll do to them," Bursus agreed. The wounded archer hobbled to Jorah's side and patted the younger, auburn-haired man on the shoulder.

  "Let's just kill them now," Mikkel suggested. As he looked down at the fishing skiff, images of the countless days he had spent on that boat with his partner flooded into his mind.

  The skiff was within range now. The hunters watched as Adon stood up and grabbed Cyric's arm. The thief lashed out at the cleric, and Adon fell. The young cleric hit the side of the skiff hard, and Midnight and Cyric were unable to maintain their balance as the boat careened wildly and capsized.

  Midnight screamed as she struck the water and sank as if a heavy weight had been attached to her body. Adon also plummeted into the Ash
aba and vanished beneath the surface of the river. Cyric fell in the opposite direction, and the current grabbed him and began to pull him downstream.

  "Fire!" Yarbro shouted, and a rain of arrows struck the river around the capsized boat.

  "No!" Kelemvor screamed, but it was too late. Midnight and Adon had disappeared from sight, and Cyric was bobbing up and down in the strong current. The thief tried to plunge under the surface of the water, but he was helpless in the tide. The skeletal branches of a large, dead tree that had fallen into the river reached out from the shoreline, and the thief managed to grab a limb as he rushed past. As the thief hung there, suspended in the rapid flow of the Ashaba for a moment, an arrow struck the water mere inches from his face. Cyric let go of the branch instinctively, then sunk beneath the surface of the water.

  Beneath the river's surface, Midnight flailed her arms and legs in a frenzied panic. Suddenly a large shape approached her out of the darkness. The cleric held one of their canvas bags in his left hand as he swam toward the mage. His eyes were wide with fear.

  We're going to drown unless I do something! Midnight realized. The mage reached out, trying to grab anything on the bottom that would stop her from tumbling down the river. She came up with a handful of reeds. Unconsciously a spell thrust itself into Midnight's mind.

  Pushing back her fear, Midnight recited the brief incantation in her mind as she plucked a reed from the riverbed. Before she could turn and cast the water breathing spell on Adon, a huge sphere filled with air flashed into sight around her. The shell surrounded Adon as well, who now lay on his stomach, soaked and gasping.

  "Thanks, Midnight," the cleric groaned and rolled over onto his back. "I owe you my life… again."

  Midnight smiled weakly, then looked shocked and fell to her knees as the bubble lurched into motion and quickly rose to the surface of the river. "Mystra, help me!" the mage cried as she looked up and saw the bridge only about twenty yards away. Arrows rained down from the bridge again, and she heard the curses of the dalesmen as the arrows glanced harmlessly off the sphere.

  On the bridge, Kelemvor stepped back from the other men. The fighter watched as Yarbro swore and stamped around on the bridge in frustration, screeching orders at the other dalesmen. The group had degenerated into a band of killers, differing little from the orcs they had encountered near the Standing Stone. The fighter relaxed slightly. Midnight had managed to save herself, and in doing so, she took the need to act away from him.

  As the sphere passed beneath the bridge, close to the southern bank, one of the archers ran to the shore to get a large rock. When the sphere emerged on the other side of the bridge, he was waiting, the rock held high over his head. The other dalesmen stood stock still, bows at the ready.

  Midnight looked up as she passed beneath the bridge. She saw Kelemvor leaning over the bridge's edge, and her heart skipped a beat. For only an instant, the mage's attention was completely focused on her former lover. So when the large stone came hurtling down at her, it took the mage completely by surprise. The rock bounced off the top of the sphere, but Midnight lost her concentration, and the sphere disappeared in a flash. The magic-user and the cleric plunged into the water, very close to shore but also very close to the bridge.

  I've got to help her! Kelemvor thought desperately as the sphere disappeared. At that moment, the fighter let out a terrible, high-pitched scream. The dalesmen loosed a volley of arrows at Midnight and Adon, but the distraction caused by Kelemvor's horrifying scream disturbed their aim. Three of the dalesmen turned in time to see Kelemvor's breastplate clatter to the bridge. Mikkel and Yarbro were too intent on their prey to notice.

  Jorah, Cabal, and Bursus stood staring at Kelemvor as he let out a deep, long growl and tore at his face with his fingers. Then they noticed that the fighter's flesh was rippling. It was as if there were something inside him, struggling for release from his human skin. Kelemvor fell to his knees, threw his head back, and screamed once more as his chest burst apart and the paws of a sleek, black beast emerged.

  Kelemvor's head seemed to collapse, and then the loose flesh tore open. Glowing green eyes and a gaping maw, filled with razor-sharp teeth, appeared visible as the head of the panther shook itself free from the glove of human flesh. In moments, all that remained of Kelemvor were a few bits of bloody flesh that soon dissolved. The fighter had moved to help Midnight with no reward in sight, and the curse had asserted itself.

  "Shut him up or kill him!" Yarbro shouted without turning around. The young guard had drawn a bead on Midnight's head as she started to clamber up the southern bank. Anticipation rushed through Yarbro, and he reveled for a second in the knowledge that the fate of the sorceress was in his hands, that he was her judge, jury, and executioner. And the sentence is death, Yarbro thought as he steadied his arm and prepared to loose the deadly shaft.

  Suddenly an incredible, bestial roar sounded from behind him, and Yarbro started in surprise. Distracted, he released the arrow, and the shaft flew harmlessly over Midnight's head. The young guard turned and saw the panther, and for a moment he believed that he had slipped into some kind of waking nightmare, that his lack of sleep was playing tricks with his mind. Still, his fellow huntsmen stood beside him and stared at the snarling beast with expressions of disbelief rivaling his own.

  Yarbro and Cabal were between the panther and the other dalesmen, who were now backing away nervously toward the north end of the bridge. Kelemvor was nowhere to be seen, the young guard realized, even though the fighter's shredded clothing and discarded armor, stained with gore, lay in a pile just beyond the panther.

  Yarbro stared into the creature's flaring, deep green eyes. They were so much like Kelemvor's. At that moment, the young guard understood, impossible as it may have seemed, that Kelemvor and the panther were one and the same! Just as the creature sprang toward Cabal, the closest of the huntsmen, Yarbro leaped over the side of the bridge and plunged into the Ashaba to save himself.

  As the panther tore the aging archer apart, the man's screams for mercy echoed around Blackfeather Bridge and over the Ashaba. The two remaining archers, Bursus and Jorah, raised their bows and moved forward. Mikkel, on the other hand, was frozen by fear and held his bow limply at his side. The panther looked up sharply from its bloody feast and bounded toward Bursus and Jorah, as if it sensed their deadly intent.

  Hands shaking, Jorah aimed and loosed his shaft. It flew high and scraped along the floor of the bridge until it came to a stop a hundred feet away. The slender, auburn-haired archer grabbed another arrow, but he never had a chance to fire it.

  Standing next to Jorah, Bursus steadied himself on his wounded leg and tried to remain calm as the sleek, powerful cat raced toward him. The black-eyed archer got the creature in his sights, aimed between its eyes, and released his shaft. The panther dodged to the right at the last possible instant, just before it sprang toward Jorah. The sleek beast bowled the archer over with its weight, then clamped its teeth upon Jorah's throat.

  Bursus stared at the creature in horror as he backed away, reaching for another shaft. His hands shaking as if he had been struck by palsy, the black-eyed dalesman found an arrow just as the panther looked up from the dead man at its feet. The shaft rattled against its sight as Bursus stopped limping backward and readied himself to fire. Before Bursus could let fly another arrow, though, the panther roared again, and the dalesman saw blood and bits of flesh in its open maw. The sight paralyzed him with fear, and the moment of hesitation was all the beast needed as it sprang from Jorah's corpse. The black-eyed archer saw the creature's one huge claw raised above his eyes, and then his world went black.

  Toward the northern end of the bridge, Mikkel stumbled a few steps backward, away from the carnage. He was moving steadily, if slowly, away from the panther, his bow at his side. Still, he had only managed to travel a half dozen feet toward the end of the bridge when the panther turned and looked in his direction.

  The green-eyed monster shook with anticipation as it slowly
padded toward the fisherman. Fear radiated from the dalesman, and the scent of his panic rankled the beast's senses, filling it with an even greater rage.

  Mikkel dropped his bow and moved away from the weapon, toward the edge of the bridge. The panther's gaze followed the red-skinned, bald fisherman as the dalesman's sparkling prism earring caught the attention of the beast. The panther's rage slowly melted away as it moved toward the shining object, its limited intellect lost in the multicolored display of light.

  Noting that the panther had slowed its movement toward him, Mikkel broke into a run and flung himself over the edge of the bridge. There was a last, sparkling burst of light from the prism earring, and then the man was gone. The panther raced to the edge of the bridge and put its front paws up on the railing to search for its prey, but the dalesman was gone, lost in the raging flow of the river. The beast roared and settled back on all fours.

  In the trees beyond the south end of the bridge, Midnight and Adon felt a chill as they listened to the panther howling only a few dozen yards away from them. They sat huddled beneath a tree, scanning the water for signs of Cyric. As they listened, the panther's cries turned from roars of anger to bellows of pain, and Midnight's concern for their own survival and growing sorrow over Cyric's apparent death were pushed into the background by her concern for Kelemvor. Waves of guilt rushed through her, filling her soul with a horrible sickness. The man who rescued me from the Twisted Tower is probably dead, and I'm more concerned about the lycanthropic mercenary who led the dalesmen's hunt for me! the mage cursed silently.

  "Cyric," Midnight whispered softly as she covered her face with her hands. "I let him die!" she said. "I should have saved him! I should have — "

  "Don't punish yourself for being human," Adon murmured quietly. "You did what you could." The cleric put one arm around Midnight's shoulder. On the bridge, the panther howled once more.