Avatar - Tantras Part 2

"You were not present at theTempleofLathander?" Storm asked when she turned back to the scribe.

"No," Lhaeo said softly. "Elminster had sent me to contact the Knights of Myth Drannor. Magical communication with the East had been blocked. I was armed with Elminster's wards and traveled at night."

"You left the same day the strangers arrived," Storm stated sharply.

"That is true." Lhaeo said.

"Was it possible that Elminster did not trust the strangers and was attempting to protect you from them?" Storm asked.

Lhaeo hesitated for a moment, Storm's words striking him like a blow. "I don't think so," the scribe said slowly. "No, that would not have been like him."

"Yet you rarely accompanied him on his many ventures throughout the Realms. Why was that?"

Drawing a sharp breath, the scribe looked away from the bard. "I don't know," he said softly.

"I have nothing further to ask." Storm turned away from the glaring green eyes of the scribe. Thurbal gripped the handle of his walking stick, his fingers caressing the dragon skull of the handle. Perspiration trickled down his face as he spoke.

"Why did Elminster allow Midnight and Adon to stay at his tower?" Thurbal said.

"Elminster trusted them and felt they would be of valuable a.s.sistance in the Battle of Shadowdale," Lhaeo said.

"Elminster told you this?" Thurbal asked.

"Aye, and he allowed Midnight to a.s.sist him in the casting of many spells as the cleric researched mystical tomes."

"Did he seem frightened or suspicious of Midnight and Adon in any way?" Thurbal inquired.

"No," Lhaeo said. "Not at all. Quite the opposite."

Biting his lip, Thurbal asked his next question. "Is the G.o.ddess Mystra dead?"

Storm rose up to shout in protest, but Mourngrym silenced her and ordered the scribe to answer the question.

"According to Elminster, a horrible fate befell the G.o.ddess. Whether or not she is dead, I cannot say." Lhaeo sighed and hung his head.

"When Midnight arrived with her claims of a message from the G.o.ddess, Elminster did not laugh or send her away," Thurbal stated flatly. "He was convinced of her integrity and dedication to the Realms." Both Thurbal and the scribe remained silent for a moment.

"If you have nothing else to ask, Thurbal, I think we've heard enough from this witness," Mourngrym said.

Lhaeo quietly left the stand and returned to his seat. Storm moved forward and called a burly guardsman with hazel eyes named Irak Dontaele.

"Your patrol was on duty the night of the attack against theTempleofTymora. You were the first to enter the temple and discover the bodies of the wors.h.i.+pers and the desecration of the temple itself," Storm said.

"No," Irak growled. "Not true." Quickly he rushed past the other guards, grabbed Adon by his robes, and lifted the cleric up off his knees. "This one was there before any of us!"

"Put him down!" Mourngrym said, and the crossbows of the guards who stood behind the prisoners were suddenly leveled at the witness. Adon's dull eyes swam in their sockets as he was lowered reluctantly to the ground. "What is the meaning of this, Storm? Are you trying to show some connection between the attacks on the two temples?"

"There's the connection!" Storm cried, pointing at Adon. "This man was present both times. They say he is a cleric of Sune, the G.o.ddess of Beauty, yet look at his face. Even without the ugliness of his scar, he is hardly what one would expect. I submit that Adon of Sune and Midnight of Deepingdale are allies of the Black Lord, and their true allegiance is to that evil G.o.d and the city ofZhentil Keep. That is why they murdered Elminster!"

A roar erupted from the crowd. "Kill them!" someone cried.

"Yes!" screamed a woman. "Death to the servants of Lord Bane!"

Mourngrym struggled to maintain his composure. "Enough!" he ordered.

"No!" Storm cried, turning to face Lord Mourngrym. "What names did the adventurers give to the guards when they first arrived in the dale?"

Kelemvor winced. When they had arrived in Shadowdale, they had used a false charter to gain admission to the town. The fighter had been certain that the matter would be forgotten in the chaos caused by Bane's attack.

"They used false names... a stolen charter. If my words are untrue," Storm shouted, "why hasn't the cleric said anything in his own defense?" Storm now stood directly over Adon. "Speak, murderer! Tell us what you've done!"

Adon didn't look up to meet the bard's fiery gaze. He simply looked straight ahead and whimpered. "Sune," he said simply, and then he was silent once more.

"Thurbal, have you any witnesses to call?" Mourngrym inquired.

"I call Kelemvor Lyonsbane," Thurbal said, and the fighter was escorted forward from the crowd. "You led the eastern defenses near Krag Pool, where Bane's army suffered the greatest number of casualties and the decisive victory against our enemies was won. Yet you entered Shadowdale at the same time as the prisoners, and in their company. Tell us briefly how you know the accused."

" Midnight and Adon are of stout heart, and their loyalty to the Dales and to the Realms should not be questioned," Kelemvor said confidently.

"Tell him to answer the question," Storm snapped, turning to Mourngrym.

Kelemvor examined the striking, silver-haired woman. His gaze locked on her blue-gray eyes as he told the tale of his first meeting with Midnight in Arabel and the quest that eventually led them to the Dales.

"So this was a business arrangement," Thurbal stated. "You didn't know her before you met in Arabel."

"No, I didn't," Kelemvor said. "But I've come to know her very well since then."

"He's a consummate mercenary," Storm said. "He does nothing without some form of reward."

Pa.s.sing his fingers over his mouth, Mourngrym spoke."If you had not been called, Kelemvor Lyonsbane, if you had been forced to volunteer to testify on Midnight 's behalf, would you have spoken for her?"

The fighter shook, his face growing dark. To lie in Midnight 's favor would be an unselfish act he had not been paid for. And that would trigger the curse.

"Answer the question," Mourngrym said.

Kelemvor glanced at Midnight , and her eyes were wide with fear. With a heavy heart, Kelemvor turned back to Mourngrym. "I could not," he said.

"No further questions," Thurbal snapped, turning away from the fighter in disgust. Storm simply smiled and dismissed Kelemvor.

The fighter said nothing as he was led back to the crowd. Cyric stared at Kelemvor as he walked past. The thief saw the look of defeat in his friend's eyes. For some reason, it made Cyric feel a little better to know that Kelemvor now realized he was right about the dalesmen.

"This day grows long, Thurbal." Mourngrym folded his hands upon the lectern. "Have you any other witnesses?"

"Only you, milord," Thurbal said softly.

Mourngrym stared at the older man. "Are you well? Have you taken leave -"

"I call Mourngrym Amcathra," Thurbal p.r.o.nounced distinctly. "By the laws of the Dales, you cannot refuse to testify unless you wish to declare this trial at an end and release the prisoners."

The eyes of the dalelord turned wild with anger, but Mourngrym nodded and said in an even voice, "Very well. Ask me what you will."

"Where was Lord Bane throughout the battle for Shadowdale?" Thurbal asked.

Mourngrym c.o.c.ked his head slightly. "I don't understand."

"Bane led the attack through the forest from Voonlar. Our scouts can verify this. I will summon them if you wish." Thurbal leaned against the lectern as a coughing fit overcame him.

"That won't be necessary," Mourngrym said. "Bane led the attack."

"At Krag Pool, before the defenders of the dale toppled the trees upon Bane's army, the Black Lord vanished," Thurbal stated calmly. "There are dozens of witnesses I can present to verify this as well."

"Go on," Mourngrym said impatiently.

"The next time Bane was sighted, it was at the crossroads, near the farm of Jhaele Silvermane. The Black Lord appeared before you, Mourngrym Amcathra, and attempted to slay you. Mayheir Hawksguard pushed you aside and was fatally wounded in your stead. Is that correct?"

"Aye," Mourngrym replied. "Hawksguard died n.o.bly in the defense of the Dales."

"Where did Lord Bane go after that?" Thurbal asked. "Weren't you quite vulnerable? Could he have not slain you then and there, despite Hawksguard's sacrifice?"

"I don't know," Mourngrym mumbled uncomfortably. "Perhaps."

"But he didn't. He vanished again," Thurbal said. "Bane's attentions must have been drawn elsewhere." The captain was seized by another coughing fit. Mourngrym drummed his fingers nervously on the lectern.

"I'm all right," Thurbal said, and he drew a breath before continuing. "Now, where was Elminster throughout the battle for Shadowdale?"

"At theTempleofLathander," Mourngrym replied.

"Why?" Thurbal asked. "Why was he not at the front lines using his magic to help repel Bane?"

Mourngrym shook his head. He had no answer.

"Didn't Elminster tell you repeatedly that the true battle would take place in theTempleofLathander?" Thurbal asked.

"Aye, but he never explained what he meant by that statement," Mourngrym said. "Perhaps he had foreseen the danger to the prisoners and wished to draw them away from the true battle -"

Thurbal held up his hand. "I suggest that the true battle was at the temple, that Bane went there, and it was he who murdered Elminster the sage."

Storm stood up and threw her arms over her head. "All this is complete speculation. There isn't a bit of evidence to suggest Bane was at theTempleofLathander."

Thurbal grimaced and turned to Mourngrym. "Before you can convict the prisoners, you must show a motive for their actions. Storm Silverhand claims they were agents of Bane. Yet there is no proof to support such allegations. I spoke to the prisoner, Midnight , before the trial, and she claims -"

Mourngrym raised his fist. "I don't care what she claims!" he snapped. "She is a powerful mage, powerful enough to slay Elminster. My orders were explicit: She was not to be allowed to speak to anyone!"

"Then how is she to defend herself?" Thurbal yelled.

"How do any of us know that she did not ensorcel you when you spoke, bending your will to hers?" Storm asked. "You are hopelessly trusting, my friend, and for your own sake, you should be removed as counsel."

"You cannot!" Thurbal yelped and moved to Mourngrym's side.

"You're wrong. I cannot let you be injured again by Bane's servants." Mourngrym gestured to a pair of guards. "See that Thurbal is well provided for. He is obviously fighting off the effects of powerful magic. Whatever guards were present when Midnight spoke should be relieved of duty, pending my later judgment. Take him away."

Thurbal cried out in protest, but he was too weak to stave off the guards that dragged him away.

Addressing the court, Mourngrym stepped out from behind the lectern. "I have seen all that I need to," Mourngrym said. "Elminster the sage was our friend and our loyal defender to the death. It was his blind trust in others that led to his demise. Yet we of this court are not blind. Our eyes are open wide, and we can see the truth.

"Lord Bane was a coward. He ran from the battle in fear when our forces overwhelmed his army. That is why we cannot account for his whereabouts. If Elminster were alive, he would appear before us now. But that cannot happen. There is nothing we can do to bring Elminster back, but we can put his tortured soul to rest by punis.h.i.+ng his murderers."

The audience chamber had grown completely silent again. Mourngrym paused a moment and looked back at the n.o.blemen seated behind the dais. Like the rest of the room, the n.o.bles were staring at the dalelord, waiting for his verdict.

"I decree that at dawn tomorrow, in the courtyard of theTwistedTower, Midnight of Deepingdale and Adon of Sune will be put to death for the murder of Elminster the sage. Guards, remove the prisoners." Mourngrym stood back, and guards grabbed Midnight and Adon and pulled them to their feet. The crowd erupted in a roar of cheering.

At first Cyric was swallowed up by the crowd, but the thief fought his way through the blood-crazed villagers in time to see Midnight and Adon exit the courtroom under heavy guard.

Justice will be served, Mourngrym had said. The words of Shadowdale's ruler echoed in Cyric's thoughts as he maneuvered past the remaining guards standing in Mourngrym's vicinity. As he drew closer to the dalelord, Cyric thought about exactly how quickly he could draw his dagger and slit Mourngrym's throat.

Mourngrym Amcathra felt a slight rush of air at his back, but when he turned to see what had caused the breeze, he saw only the back of a lean, dark-haired man vanis.h.i.+ng into the crowd.

Once again lost in the throng of excited townspeople, Cyric contemplated why he had changed his mind at the last instant and spared the life of the man who had condemned Midnight to death. There were better ways to honor his debt to Midnight and make these contemptuous imbeciles pay, Cyric thought. Besides, the crowd would have torn me to pieces. And I'm not ready to die quite yet.

Quite the opposite, the thief thought. Quite the opposite.

The G.o.d of the Dead reached for the shard of red energy with his bony right hand. The fallen G.o.d chuckled softly as he held the fragment next to the foot-tall obsidian statue of a man he clutched in his left hand. There was a flash of brilliant white light as the statue absorbed the energy, and Lord Myrkul looked at the faceless figurine. A red mist swirled inside it violently.

"Yes, Lord Bane," the G.o.d of the Dead rasped through cracked, black lips. "We will have you whole again soon enough." Myrkul chuckled once more and stroked the smooth head of the statue as if it were a small child. The mist pulsed with an angry red light.

Myrkul looked around and sighed. Faint images of the real world hung in the air around him. The farmer's home in which he stood was dark, dirty, and bleak. The low-beamed ceiling was black from the greasy smoke of the peasants' cooking fires. Rats occasionally scurried across the floor, racing between the legs of the warped wooden tables and splintering benches. Two people lay asleep under stained furs.

Lord Myrkul, the G.o.d of Decay as well as the G.o.d of the Dead, rather liked this place. It was like a tiny, unintentional shrine to him. In fact, it upset Myrkul that he couldn't experience it fully. For Myrkul was in the Border Ethereal Plane, an area parallel to the plane where the Realms and its people existed. From the Border Ethereal, the things Myrkul saw around him - the furniture; the vermin; the grimy, sleeping peasants - appeared only as phantasms. And if the snoring farmer and his wife had been awake, they wouldn't have been able to see or hear Myrkul.

"If only they could see me," the skeletal man complained to the black statue. "I could frighten them to death. How pleasant that would be." Myrkul paused for a moment to consider the effects his avatar's visage, complete with rotting, jaundiced skin and burning, empty eye sockets, would have on the humans. "Their corpses would make this hovel complete."

Energy crackled and arced from the figurine. "Yes, Lord Bane. The last shard of your being isn't far from here," the G.o.d of the Dead hissed. Myrkul cast one glance back at the hovel as he walked through the insubstantial walls. When he got outside into the ghostly moonlight that shone down upon the countryside south of Hillsfar, the G.o.d of the Dead shuddered. The filthy hut was much more to his liking.

Pulling the hood of his thick black robe over his head, Lord Myrkul stepped into the air as if he were climbing an invisible staircase. Gravity had no effect on him in the Border Ethereal, and it was easier to see his prize if he looked for it from a vantage point high above the ghostly hills and houses. After he had climbed a hundred yards or so straight up, Myrkul could see the final fragment of Lord Bane glowing in the distance.

"There lies the rest of the G.o.d of Strife." Myrkul held the statue up and faced it toward the pulsing shard that rested over a mile away. Tiny bolts of red and black lightning shot from the figurine and bit into the G.o.d of the Dead's hands. Slivers of pain raced up the avatar's arm, and Myrkul could smell burning flesh.

"If I drop you, Lord Bane, you will plummet back into the Prime Material Plane, back into the Realms." The tiny arcs of lightning grew smaller. "And I will not help you to recover the last piece of your essence. You will be unwhole - trapped inside this statue."

Myrkul smiled a rictus grin as the lightning ceased and the statue became black once more. "I am pleased to serve you, Lord Bane, but I will not be goaded into action." When the figurine remained dark, the G.o.d of the Dead started walking toward the shard of Bane's essence. After an hour, the fallen deities reached their destination.

This fragment of the G.o.d of Strife resembled a huge, b.l.o.o.d.y snowflake, almost three feet wide. It was larger and far more complex than any of the other pieces Myrkul had recovered. How odd, the skeletal figure thought. Each shard is different. This one is the most intricate yet. I wonder if it could be his soul...

The G.o.d of the Dead shrugged and held the statue next to the snowflake. As before, there was a brilliant flash of light as the shard disappeared into the figurine. This time, however, the statue continued to glow brightly, pulsing red and black in a quickening pattern. Myrkul narrowed his eyes in pain as a loud, high-pitched shriek tore through his brain.