Tantras at-2 Page 19

  Kelemvor took his eyes away from the god, but Tarana grabbed his jaw and forced his gaze back. Her hands were as cold as the grave.

  The God of Strife stared at the fighter for a moment. "Midnight's life is mine, no matter how you decide," Bane noted flatly. "No matter what you do, I will have her. I am a god, after all." The red-haired man took a step toward Kelemvor. "Never forget that."

  "Aye," Kelemvor said flatly. The chains were digging into the fighter's flesh, and the pain reminded him of the gravity of his situation. Bane would certainly kill him if he didn't cooperate, and that would put an end to his dream of somehow living a normal life, even for a few years.

  And Kelemvor knew that the God of Strife could capture — no, would capture — Midnight, whether he helped the fallen god or not. But the fighter loved the magic-user. At least he thought he did. And there was very little he would trade that for.

  "I still haven't told you what I offer," the Black Lord said, as if he were reading Kelemvor's mind. "You must know what I am willing to do for you before you can make a decision."

  The fighter stared into the blood-red eyes of the god-made-flesh. Bane moved a step closer, and Kelemvor saw his own reflection in the god's eves.

  "I offer an end to your suffering," Bane whispered. "Do as I ask, and I will remove the curse of the Lyonsbanes from you!"

  Bane's words hit Kelemvor like a lightly padded mace. For a moment, the fighter's senses reeled as he turned the possibility of release from the curse over in his mind. After a moment, Kelemvor once again focused his attention on the Black Lord.

  "My family has sought an end to the curse of our bloodline for generations. How do I know you can deliver what you promise?" the fighter asked, his voice low and taut with emotion. "A bag of gold I can see and feel. Its weight comforts the curse. A promise such as you have made appeals to my dreams, but will likely do little else. After I do your dirty work, then you will renege on your promise."

  Smiling, Bane ran his hand over his face. "You forget you are speaking to a god," Bane said, the false grin dropping from his lips. "I do not offer what I cannot produce." The fallen god turned away from the fighter for a moment and struggled to control his anger. When he turned, his smile had returned.

  "You know how bargains work, Lyonsbane. You've had to live all your life wondering if a man would keep his word." The God of Strife paused and put his hand around Kelemvor's throat. "That's why I know I can depend on you to keep your part of our bargain after I've removed the curse."

  Kelemvor's heart began to race. "After?"

  "Of course," Bane said flatly. "I cannot expect you to serve me if I haven't made it clear that your curse has ended."

  "B-But how can you remove the curse when so many others have failed?" Kelemvor asked breathlessly.

  "You keep forgetting… I am a god," Bane growled, tightening his grip on Kelemvor's throat ever so slightly. "There is nothing I cannot accomplish."

  A heavy breath escaped from Kelemvor's lips.

  "You doubt the word of the God of Strife?" Tarana gasped. She backed away from the fighter and drew a small knife from the folds of her robe. Bane shook his head, and Tarana put her dagger away.

  "My family has petitioned gods in the past," Kelemvor stated, swallowing hard.

  "But not a single cursed member of the Lyonsbanes has ever believed in a god before," Bane stated and removed his hand from the fighter's throat. The God of Strife stroked the fighter's face gently.

  "That's the key," Bane purred. "A god will grant no mercy and no favors to one who does not believe completely. You may not be a follower of mine — not yet, anyway — but you know what I am. You believe that I am the Black Lord, the God of Strife. You have faith that I am all that I say I am."

  Kelemvor nodded slowly.

  "That is enough. That faith is all I need," Bane said softly. "And your answer." The fallen god paused and turned away from the fighter again. "What shall it be, Kelemvor Lyonsbane? One final mission, and in return, the fulfillment of all your dreams. Or would you languish here until you die? You must decide."

  The blond sorceress had returned to the Black Lord's side, and together, they waited patiently for Kelemvor to give his answer.

  VIII

  Fatal Decisions

  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."

  Var
den 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."