Avatar - Tantras Part 14

Even Varden was growing impatient now. "So how are we going to get out of here?" he snapped.

Gratus smiled a crooked smile, exposing his yellowed crooked teeth. "I've been holed up in this place, sifting through papers, because I'd heard rumors that the old government installed a number of secret tunnels beneath the city."

Midnight could not contain a sarcastic laugh. "And you expect the plans for them to be lying around here, waiting to be found by any old cutpurse who can find his way into the building?"

Gratus continued to smile. "Why not hide them in plain sight?" the old man said. "That's what I would do."

"And that's why you aren't ruling this city," Varden growled. "This is a terrible time to be relying on rumor, Gratus."

The old man ignored Varden and continued, the crooked smile still on his face. "I have made some rather interesting discoveries." Gratus withdrew a set of doc.u.ments from his waistband and gestured with them. "Like these plans for a proposed sewage system that -"

Moving forward, Midnight reached for the stained, crumpled parchments. "Give them to me!" the mage growled. After studying the plans, Midnight shook her head, then returned Gratus's smile. "According to these, there should be an entrance to the sewer right beneath this building."

"That is correct," Gratus said smugly. "If the government installed the secret tunnels, then it would make sense that there are entrances to all public buildings. This building used to be a sort of hall of records."

"Your luck seems to be holding out, old man," Varden said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Luck!" Gratus exclaimed, balling his hands into fists. "Suddenly I no longer feel guilty about leaving you for dead in the street after that band of Zhentilar attacked us."

I wasn't going to mention that," the thief stated flatly. "Besides, you couldn't have known that I wasn't dead. After all, I was unconscious for a while." Here Varden rubbed the bruise on his forehead. "Anyway, I was perfectly safe as long as the Zhents thought I was dead."

Gratus stiffened at Varden's words, then turned to leave the room. "You didn't know?" the old man mumbled as he moved into the hallway. The sounds of Durrock barking orders to the Zhentilar drifted in through the open window. "Come on, the lot of you! We've got to get out of here!"

Midnight and Adon followed Varden and Gratus down two flights of warped wooden stairs into the bas.e.m.e.nt of the building. The old man took the map from Midnight once they reached the musty bas.e.m.e.nt and looked at it again. "The entrance to the tunnels should be right here," Gratus said, pointing to a large, empty bookcase.

The heroes pushed the oaken bookcase a few feet to the side and found a thin sheet of wood covering a small, dark doorway.

For several moments, Varden had been mulling over the comment Gratus had made before they left the room upstairs. "I didn't know what?" the thief finally asked as the heroes peered into the darkened tunnel.

Gratus frowned, but he didn't turn to look at the thief. "Normally the Zhents chop the heads off their victims just to be sure no one's faking," the old man explained. "When you fell, I had to a.s.sume you were dead... or soon would be."

Varden turned white, and Midnight couldn't suppress a shudder. The realities of war, she reminded herself. She turned away from the tunnel as there was a loud crash upstairs, and Adon heard Durrock barking orders to his men.

"I may be wrong, you understand," Gratus noted calmly as he reached for a torch that hung inside the door. He quickly pulled out his flint and steel and lit the old wooden torch. "But if I'm right, I think we can make the Sembian garrison by nightfall."

Varden took the torch from Gratus and stepped into the tunnel. Midnight and Adon glanced at each other for a moment, then followed the Sembians into the darkness.

Shaking his head to toss his thick, matted hair from his eyes, Kelemvor surveyed his cell. It was a barren little room, really little more than an eight-foot cube, with a wall at his back, bars at his front, and bars to either side of him. Beyond the bars in front of the fighter, there was a poorly lit hallway where two guards were stationed before the cell. Chains bound the fighter's hands and feet, allowing him less than two feet of unimpeded movement from the back wall of the cell.

Heavy footsteps sounded from down the hallway, as if a procession had entered the lower level of the Zhentilar headquarters and was now approaching through the narrow stone walkway. Kelemvor watched as a red-haired man wearing ebon armor entered the corridor and stopped before his cell. The fighter recognized the ornate armor as identical to that worn by the G.o.d of Strife in the dungeons of Castle Kilgrave. A beautiful blond woman, wearing an elegant black robe with a brilliant red sash, stood beside the red-haired man, a wicked smile playing across her features.

"Kelemvor Lyonsbane," Lord Bane murmured. "I trust you remember me." The G.o.d drew a finely crafted sword from a scabbard at his waist.

"Your dogs address you as 'Lord Bane,' but if that's true, you've changed," the fighter said calmly. "You're not quite as ugly as you were when Mystra defeated you in Cormyr."

The sword shook in the Black Lord's hand. "Do not try to goad me into granting you a quick death!" Bane roared.

Kelemvor winced. Even if this wasn't Bane, Kelemvor realized, his impersonator had control of the situation. Perhaps it wasn't best to provoke him. "What do you want with me?" the fighter asked softly.

"I have come to make you an offer. Choose wisely, for your life may depend on your response," Bane purred, clanging his sword across the bars of the fighter's cell.

"I would expect that kind of offer from someone who threatened a chained, unarmed man with a sword," Kelemvor said, smiling. The fighter looked at Bane and saw shards of crimson dancing in his eves.

The red-haired man narrowed his eyes. "Do not try to endear yourself to me, either. I know everything about you, Lyonsbane. Perhaps you forget that I was inside your mind when you and your pitiful friends entered Castle Kilgrave."

Kelemvor flinched. This really was the G.o.d of Strife who stood before him. No one else could know that Bane had entered his mind and drawn forth illusions based on his fondest desires to prevent him from rescuing Lady Mystra.

"Ah, you remember," Bane noted. "And do you remember the offer your dead uncle made to you in the dream I gave to you?" The fighter looked up sharply." You can be free of the curse of the Lyonsbanes, Kelemvor - free to be a hero if you wish, without fearing the curse."

Lowering his head, the green-eyed fighter looked away from the Black Lord. "What do you want with me," Kelemvor repeated.

Bane sighed. "Right to business, then. As you might have guessed, my true interest is not in you. You can swing from a meat hook, for all I care." The blond woman at Bane's side giggled.

Kelemvor thought of the body he had found in theTwistedTower, courtesy of Cyric's handiwork. Those two would be well matched, the fighter thought.

"Open the cell," Bane ordered, sheathing his sword. In seconds, the door was opened and Bane stood within a few feet of the fighter. The blond sorceress followed the fallen G.o.d into the cell.

Bane smiled a perversely charismatic grin and put his hand on the fighter's arm. "It's the mage I want... Midnight . You know her better than anyone else in the Realms," the G.o.d of Strife purred. "And I know you. I know everything about you. Your entire life pa.s.sed before my gaze in Castle Kilgrave."

Kelemvor looked into the avatar's eves and nodded slowly. "I want information from you, mercenary," Bane stated, all emotion absent from his voice. "I want an accounting of every time Midnight used the power Lady Mystra granted to her."

"The pendant, you mean?" Kelemvor asked. "The blue star pendant that Mystra gave to Midnight ?" The fighter paused and breathed a sigh of relief. "It's gone. It was destroyed in the Battle of Shadowdale. Midnight has no other gift from Mystra, so you can stop worrying about her."

Bane thought of his final moments in theTempleofLathander. Even though he had taken the pendant from the raven-haired mage, she was still able to cast a spell of far greater power than should have been possible. Perhaps Mystra, who was by then only a magic elemental of sorts, granted Midnight the power directly. Or perhaps Midnight had more power than any of her friends suspected.

"I want you to tell me in detail about every time she used magic since the time of Arrival," Bane said, anger tingeing his words. "And I want to know what her destination is."

Then she escaped! Kelemvor suddenly realized. The a.s.sa.s.sins didn't recapture her. "I don't know her plans," the fighter said sharply and turned away from the G.o.d of Strife. "Besides, why should I help you?"

The Black Lord's hand struck out with blinding speed, and Kelemvor's head snapped to the side with the force of the blow. "If you lie to me, the consequences will be painful." Bane stepped back from the fighter and grinned again. "Besides, you will eventually tell me the truth... given the right prompting. So let's not waste my time, and yours, by forcing me to slowly flay you alive."

The blond sorceress moved past Bane and reached up to touch the side of Kelemvor's face, where he had been struck.

"If you refuse me," the G.o.d of Strife noted, "I'll let Tarana take your body, then your mind, then your life." Bane covered his mouth his hands, stifling a yawn. "She is a mage. She can enter your mind, just as I have in the past."

The fighter jerked his head away from Tarana's caresses. "Magic's unstable," Kelemvor snapped, tear spreading through him. "A spell like that could kill us both."

"That's true," 'Tarana cooed and giggled again. "Quite a romantic picture, don't you think?"

Kelemvor looked into the deep blue eyes of the sorceress and felt as if he was gazing into an endless pit of madness. She would gladly kill us both, the fighter realized. He shuddered and turned back to Bane. "What reward do you offer me for my a.s.sistance? You know that my curse will not allow me to help you without payment."

The G.o.d of Strife smiled. "Before we set a price, my friend, you should know that I want more than information from you." Bane ran a hand through his flaming red hair and paused.

"I a.s.sume that Midnight plans to venture to Tantras, with hopes of finding one of the Tablets of Fate that Lord Myrkul and I stole from the heavens." The G.o.d of Strife turned away from Kelemvor. "Not that she would ever find it, of course. Its hiding place is a masterpiece of deception. It is nowhere that you would ever expect it to be."

"Stop playing games, Bane. If you're going to kill me once I give you the information, you might as well tell me where you've hidden the tablet," Kelemvor growled.

"Kill you?" Bane asked, a chuckle in his voice. He turned back to the fighter.

Kelemvor frowned deeply. "Isn't that my reward? A quick death?"

All emotion drained from the Black Lord's face again. "I don't want to kill you, Lyonsbane. I want to hire you to draw Midnight from her hiding place, then retrieve the Tablet of Fate from Tantras."

Kelemvor was shocked, and it clearly registered on his face. "But why me? You must have an army of loyal followers who would gladly perform such tasks for you." The fighter paused and stared at Bane. "In fact, why don't you find Midnight and retrieve the tablet yourself?"'

"She has taken refuge with the Sembian garrison and hides with them. I would have to wage a major a.s.sault against the Sembian resistance to recover her. Many lives would be lost, and in the confusion, she could easily escape." The G.o.d of Strife frowned. "On the other hand, you would be able to ferret her out of hiding and lead her into a trap with little effort. In short, you would be a perfect spy."

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

The G.o.d 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 G.o.d, 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 G.o.d of Strife could capture - no, would capture - Midnight , whether he helped the fallen G.o.d 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 G.o.d-made-flesh. Bane moved a step closer, and Kelemvor saw his own reflection in the G.o.d'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. .h.i.t 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 G.o.d," Bane said, the false grin dropping from his lips. "I do not offer what I cannot produce." The fallen G.o.d 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d," 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 G.o.d 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 pet.i.tioned G.o.ds in the past," Kelemvor stated, swallowing hard.

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

"That's the key," Bane purred. "A G.o.d 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d 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 a.s.sa.s.sins.

"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 b.u.mped his head at the top of the pa.s.sage. 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 exiled 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 pa.s.sword. 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 crawls.p.a.ce 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 pa.s.sage, 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 pa.s.sage, 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.