Avatar - Tantras Part 26

Cyric cleared his throat. "I can't do that."

Bane leaned forward, putting his fists on the table. The cracked wood creaked under the G.o.d's weight. "What happened?"

"Durrock is dead. Kelemvor killed him," Cyric told the Black Lord, his head still bowed. "The a.s.sa.s.sin put up a spectacular fight, but the fighter tricked him."

"Why didn't you kill Kelemvor?" Bane asked.

"After Durrock failed, my duty was clear. I had to return to you and inform you that Kelemvor, Midnight , and Adon are in Tantras." The thief swallowed once and hoped that the other information he had for the G.o.d of Strife would appease him - for the moment, at least. "And you should know, Lord Bane, that Tantras appears to be preparing for war,"

A wave of surprised whispers rolled through the room. Bane looked at the worried faces of his generals.

"Prepare the s.h.i.+ps and man them with as few of our Zhentilar as possible!"

"No!" Hepton cried. "This is a grave mistake!"

"Silence!" Bane shouted. "News of our victory in Scardale has obviously spread to Tantras. The city is preparing its defenses, and it is certain to call upon its neighbors for help if we give them time to do so." The Black Lord leaned toward Hepton and snarled, "I want my banner to fly over Tantras within the week.I want it. Do you understand?"

Hepton nodded weakly, and the generals rose from the table and began to file out of the room. Cyric breathed a sigh of relief and turned to leave, too.

"Not you, Cyric!" Bane snapped. The Black Lord gestured for Cyric to come closer. Tarana gripped the back of the Black Lord's chair.

"Shall I kill him for you, Lord Bane?" Tarana asked, her eyes taking on a dreamy glaze.

"No," Bane said casually then waited until the last of the generals had left before he spoke again. As the door closed, Bane whispered, "The Company of the Scorpions is still under your command - is that correct, Cyric?"

The hawk-nosed thief nodded and smiled slightly. It was clear that the news of Tantras's preparation for war had turned the fallen G.o.d's thoughts away from murder.

"I wish you and your troops to become my new personal guard. But know this," Bane snarled and placed his hand on Cyric's shoulder. "If any harm comes to Fzoul's body, it will be your flesh I will inhabit next. And I will not be as generous as I was with Fzoul. Your mind will be utterly destroyed. Is that understood?" The G.o.d of Strife squeezed the thief's shoulder until the bones felt as if they were about to break.

Wincing in pain, Cyric nodded then hurried from the war room.

The Black Lord turned to his sorceress and pointed toward the door. "Make sure the door is locked then summon Lord Myrkul for me," Bane commanded and sat down.

The sorceress checked the door then cast an incantation. There was a brief s.h.i.+mmering of the air, and the amber skull of the G.o.d of the Dead floated in the air before the Black Lord.

"Congratulations on your victory in Scardale," Myrkul told Bane, and the disembodied head bowed slightly.

"That is unimportant," Bane grumbled. "I need to take care of a problem in Tantras. I'll be taking some of my fleet and-"

The G.o.d of the Dead smiled a rictus grin, showing a row of rotting teeth. "And I am to have a part to play in the battle," he noted flatly.

"I need the power you gave me in Shadowdale, the soul energies of the dead," Bane said, drumming his fingers on the table. "Can you do it?"

"I need a large number of people to die at once in order to empower that spell," Myrkul said suspiciously, rubbing his chin. "You sacrificed your troops in Shadowdale. Who will pay this time for the increased power I can give you?"

The G.o.d of Strife sat still for a moment, silently turning the problem over and over in his mind. He certainly couldn't use his soldiers and priests for Myrkul's spell again, yet the souls would have to he aligned to his cause or it might prove difficult to control them. Then the Black Lord realized whom he would make the victims of Myrkul's spell.

"The a.s.sa.s.sins," Bane whispered through an evil smile. "The a.s.sa.s.sins have failed me time and again since the night of Arrival. They failed me in Spiderhaunt Woods, in Scardale, and now in Tantras. For this, all the a.s.sa.s.sins in the Realms must die to give me the power I need!"

The G.o.d of the Dead laughed. "You've become as mad as your a.s.sistant. The a.s.sa.s.sins are valuable to me."

"Are they?" Bane asked, arching one eyebrow. "Why?"

The G.o.d of the Dead frowned, and as he did, his cheekbones protruded through his decaying skin. "They provide my kingdom with souls. There is a pressing need-"

"Ah, yes... the Realm of the Dead," Bane said dryly. "Have you been there lately?" Tarana giggled.

Myrkul was silent for a moment. When he spoke, there was no trace of amus.e.m.e.nt in his rasping, hollow voice. "I have not come here to listen to you state the obvious. We are, of course, both barred from our kingdoms."

"Then any measure that could help us to regain our rightful homes in the Planes cannot be deemed extreme or worthless, can it?" Bane noted as he stood.

"Only if the effort is wasted," Myrkul grumbled as the Black Lord walked toward the hovering image of the G.o.d of the Dead.

"I seek to reclaim the Tablet of Fate that I hid in Tantras, Myrkul!" Bane screamed. The Black Lord wished that his fellow G.o.d was in the room with him so he could strike him for his insolence. "Powerful forces may move against me - against us - if they discover that tablet. In Shadowdale, I was overconfident, and I paid the bitter price of defeat. I would rather die than face that again!"

Myrkul took a moment to consider the Black Lord's words. His expressionless, skeletal visage seemed to s.h.i.+mmer and fade for an instant, causing the G.o.d of Strife to reel with barely controlled panic. Finally the image resumed its full strength, and Bane relaxed. The Black Lord knew from Myrkul's eyes that the G.o.d of the Dead had decided to aid him even before he spoke.

"If you feel so strongly about this matter, then I will help you to recover the tablet," Myrkul said, nodding slowly.

Bane tried to act confident. With a shrug, he noted, "I had no doubt that you would aid me."

"You had every doubt," Myrkul rasped harshly. "That is the only reason I chose to help you. I am pleased to note that you are no longer blindly stumbling into situations that you know nothing about." The G.o.d of the Dead paused and fixed Bane with an icy stare. "But there is one thing you must consider: You may not have my a.s.sistance the next time you need it, Lord Bane."

The G.o.d of Strife nodded, dismissing Myrkul's threat as so much pointless rhetoric. Then the Black Lord mocked a look of concern and noted, "Bhaal will not be pleased if you kill all his wors.h.i.+pers."

"I will deal with the Lord of Murder," Myrkul said, rubbing his hand across his decaying chin once more. "I will contact you when all is in readiness." The Lord of Bones paused for a moment then added, "Have you given thought to what form you will use to hold the soul energy my spell will channel to you?"

Bane said nothing.

Rage danced in Myrkul's eyes. "Your human avatar couldn't handle the strain in Shadowdale, and the rite you wish me to perform will likely yield you far more power than the one I used then!" The G.o.d of the Dead shook his head and sighed. "Do you still have the small obsidian statue I used to contain your essence in the Border Ethereal?'

"I do," Bane said, a look of confusion on his face.

"This is what you must do," Myrkul told Bane. The Lord of Bones quickly listed a complex series of instructions and forced the G.o.d of Strife and his mad sorceress to repeat them several times. Then, as soon as he was satisfied that Tarana and Bane knew how to prepare for the rite, the G.o.d of the Dead's image disappeared in a flash of gray light and a puff of stinking, yellow-and-black smoke.

XV.

THE TABLET OF FATE.

In a darkened chamber, surrounded by a dozen of his most faithful wors.h.i.+pers and high priests, Lord Myrkul stared at the five-tiered stage that had been set for his performance. Emerald and black marble slabs floating in midair formed a stairway, one step for each of the five ceremonies the Lord of Bones had to perform to kill all the a.s.sa.s.sins in Faerun and grant Bane the power of their stolen souls.

From somewhere nearby, the G.o.d of the Dead heard the tortured screams of souls crying for release. Myrkul shuddered as he listened to the cries and thought of his lost home, hisCastleofBonesin Hades. And even though the sounds Myrkul now heard were made by unfaithful wors.h.i.+pers who were receiving punishment and were nowhere near as horrifying as the screeches of those confined to his realm, the Lord of Bones enjoyed them nonetheless.

"Priests, attend me," Myrkul said as he pushed the memories of his home out of his mind, raised his bony arms, and walked to the first platform. Robed men bearing sharp-ended scepters made of bones approached and placed their offerings in the fallen G.o.d's hands. The robed men then knelt before Myrkul, raising their chins and baring their necks.

The fallen G.o.d started to chant in a hollow, rasping voice. In moments he was joined by the robed men at his feet. As their deep voices reached a crescendo, Myrkul used the scepters to tear open the men's throats one by one. The corpses fell backward onto the floor, their mouths hanging open in wordless protest at the unexpected agony of their final moments.

Far from Myrkul's hidden chambers, Lord Bane waited in a large abandoned warehouse in theportofScardale. Tarana Lyr stood behind the G.o.d of Strife, and Cyric stood nearby, with five members of the Scorpions, Bane's new personal guard. Slater stood at the hawk-nosed thief's side, and Eccles remained close, staring wild-eyed at the fallen G.o.d. All of the Scorpions were heavily armed.

At the center of the warehouse, the faceless obsidian statue stood, for all the world, like a child's toy. A complex series of runes covered the floor around the figurine. The strange, mystical markings wound outward from the statue to fill the entire warehouse.

"Come, Myrkul, I don't have all the time in the world," Bane muttered, and a shadow pa.s.sed across an open window. The Black Lord looked at the statue in antic.i.p.ation just as a column of swirling green and amber light burst through the ceiling and engulfed the obsidian representation.

"Finally!" Bane cried, raising his fists into the air. "Now I will have true power..."

At that moment, far from Scardale, at the base of the mountains to the west of Suzail, a council of twelve men sat at a long rectangular table that had once been the dining table of the former lord of Castle Dembling. Now, Lord Dembling and his family were dead, murdered by the Fire Knives, a clandestine group of a.s.sa.s.sins who had sworn to kill King Azoun IV of Cormyr and had seized the small castle near his kingdom as their new base of operations.

The leader of the meeting, a dark-eyed, pug-nosed man named Roderick Tem, was tired of the small-minded bickering that had disrupted all of his attempts to organize his band of a.s.sa.s.sins into a productive company.

"Fellow a.s.sa.s.sins, this argument is getting us nowhere," Tem proclaimed, slamming the handle of his knife on the table to get his comrades' attention.

Before he could say anything else, Tem's eyes widened and his body stiffened. A green and amber light exploded from the pug-nosed man's chest and snaked around the room like a burst of lightning. In just a few seconds, the mystical fire from Tem's chest had pierced the hearts of each his friends. All the a.s.sa.s.sins fell over, dead.

Stalking the back alleys of Urmlaspyr, a city in Sembia, Samirson Yarth caught sight of his prey and drew his dagger. Yarth was a hired killer with an impressive record. Not one of his intended victims had ever escaped his blade. Yarth had even taken enough lives to personally warrant the attention of his deity, Lord Bhaal, on more than one occasion.

On this particular day the a.s.sa.s.sin was enjoying the hunt. His prey was a circus performer suspected of seducing the wife of a high-ranking city official. The purchaser of Yarth's talents, a seemingly mild little man named Smeds, had offered twice the a.s.sa.s.sin's normal fee if he could bring the performer's heart to him while it was still warm.

As Yarth watched, his victim leaped through the open window of a countinghouse. The a.s.sa.s.sin followed the young man into the semidarkness. There, he found his victim and saw the fear in his prey's eyes as the performer realized that he'd been cornered. Yarth raised his weapon.

Suddenly a blinding, green and amber light tore through the a.s.sa.s.sin's chest, and the killer's blade struck the ground a few feet from his intended victim. Samirson Yarth had failed to complete his first contract.

Far across the Realms, in the city ofWaterdeep, Bhaal, the inhuman Lord of Murder, was visited by a sensation unlike any he had ever known. An incredible feeling of loss settled upon the G.o.d of a.s.sa.s.sins, and for a brief instant he actually knew fear. Running from his chambers, the fallen G.o.d found Dileen Shurlef, an a.s.sa.s.sin who served as his faithful servant. Just as Bhaal opened his twisted, b.e.s.t.i.a.l mouth to speak, a green and amber flash filled the hallway. Shurlef gasped and cried out as if his soul was being torn from him. With a mind-numbing certainty, Bhaal realized that was exactly what was happening.

At the warehouse in Scardale, the obsidian avatar had grown to a height of over fifty feet, and the expansion of the magical statue showed no signs of slowing down. A large, steady stream of green and amber light poured into the warehouse and filled the black figurine.

Bane stared at the form of what would soon be his new avatar as if he were in a trance. "Myrkul is preparing to step upon the final tier," the Black Lord whispered to Tarana. The sorceress backed away and gestured for the Scorpions to do the same.

Beside Cyric, Slater cursed her hands for shaking. "Lord Bane is in communion with Myrkul," Cyric whispered. "This is exactly what he said would happen."

Before the Scorpions, the G.o.d of Strife opened his arms, and a tongue of green and amber fire swirled around him. "After I depart this avatar, its flesh will be weak, its mind disoriented. Tarana, you will stay behind to safeguard Fzoul and protect my interests in Scardale."

"I would give my life -," Tarana started to cry.

"I know," Bane murmured, holding up his hand to stop the madwoman's oaths of loyalty. "And one day you shall. Take comfort in that, for now I leave you."

A reddish black cloud burst from Fzoul's mouth and shot toward the obsidian avatar, trailing a line of green and amber flame. The red-haired priest moaned softly and fell backward into Tarana's arms. The essence of the G.o.d of Strife entered the huge statue and an incredible scream burst forth. The cry echoed across all of Scardale and nearly deafened those who stood in the warehouse.

The statue's arms slowly raised and Bane's new avatar clutched the sides of its head and continued to wail, though it still had no mouth. Sharp spikes, similar to those on Durrock's armor, burst from the arms, chest, legs, and head of the obsidian avatar. Finally the swirling mists stopped flowing into the room, and the roiling colors inside the statue changed from amber and green to reddish black.

An evil, leering mouth and a pair of glowing red eves appeared on the statue's face. Bane stopped screaming and looked down at his hands.

"Hollow," he said in a voice that was unmistakably that of a G.o.d. "My world is hollow. My body..."

On the ground, Cyric stared up at the G.o.d of Strife in disbelief, his heart threatening to burst from his chest. To have such power! the hawk-nosed thief thought. No matter the price, one day I will strive with beings like Bane.

Suddenly the Black Lord began to laugh. A frightening, cavernous roar filled the warehouse. "I am a G.o.d. At last, I am once again a G.o.d!"

The huge, obsidian avatar of the G.o.d of Strife rushed forward, bursting through the front wall of the warehouse as if it were tearing at frail paper. The Scorpions, save for Cyric, helped Tarana carry Fzoul away from the warehouse before the roof collapsed.

The Zhentilar made it to the street just in time to see Bane reach the edge of the port. A vague greenish amber aura enshrouded the G.o.d of Strife as he stood on the sh.o.r.e of the Dragon Reach and looked out toward Tantras. The fallen G.o.d was sure that nothing could stop him from regaining the Tablet of Fate.

The sudden death or disappearance of all the wors.h.i.+pers of Bhaal who frequented the Dark Harvest - in fact, all the a.s.sa.s.sins who lived in Tantras - troubled Tenwealth and the other members of the Council of Torm greatly. The a.s.sa.s.sins had proven themselves to be a considerable a.s.set, despite their blasphemous alignment, and the council members, usually united, were now finding it difficult to locate men willing to rid the city of heretics for a flat fee.

The council had other troubles, too. There had been occasions recently when members had argued that Torm should be made aware of their efforts to unify the city. But as Tenwealth frequently told the council, the G.o.d of Duty had only recently taken the body of a mortal; he might not understand the unfortunate measures they had to take to convert most of the population or rid the city of unbelievers. Actually, the council members had stood united in their cause until Tenwealth had recommended that they hire a.s.sa.s.sins to deal with citizens too unreasonable to convert or leave.

Then, those council members who had failed to see the true value of Tenwealth's plans were killed, too. The high priest had ordered those murders with the same zeal he'd felt when he'd plotted the harbormaster's death, as well the demise of several dozen other intractables. And Tenwealth truly believed he was serving Lord Torm throughout all the bloodshed.

In fact, Tenwealth had just received word that some of his men had taken care of the small sect of Oghma wors.h.i.+pers in town when the order to appear before Lord Torm arrived. Leaving his room, the high priest walked to the audience hall with a light step and the knowledge that all he had accomplished over the years had been for the sake of his G.o.d. He knew, too, that Torm would eventually thank him for it. After all, the Tablet of Fate was safely hidden in the temple's vault, and when the city was united behind the G.o.d of Duty, the high priest planned to give the tablet to Torm. His G.o.d could then triumphantly return to the Planes, an entire city of devoted wors.h.i.+pers behind him.

Tenwealth smiled at that thought. But the smile left the platinum-haired man's face as he entered the private chambers of Torm and found a large group of people gathered there. When he recognized all twelve members of the council, along with many of their subordinates, Tenwealth's heart skipped a beat. The doors slammed shut behind the high priest just as he noticed a group of five old men standing in the corner, their eyes burning with anger.

The wors.h.i.+pers of Oghma, Tenwealth thought frantically. The followers of the G.o.d of Knowledge are alive! I've been deceived!

The rest of the room was filled with heavily armed guards. Lord Torm himself sat upon his throne, a gray stone gauntlet with its palm resting parallel to the floor. The golden lion to which the G.o.d of Duty had given life the day he spoke to Adon in the garden prowled back and forth at his feet. Tenwealth had placed the statue there himself after taking it from the abandonedTempleofWaukeen.

The lion roared, and Torm leaned forward to address his followers. "I hardly know where to begin," the G.o.d of Duty growled, his voice low and burdened with emotion. "My disappointment and my outrage cannot be measured by human standards. If I had learned of the horrors this council has committed in my name while I was still in the Planes, I would have used my power to burn this temple to its very foundations."

Tenwealth's entire body began to quake as he wondered how much Torm really knew. He felt an impulse to run, but the high priest knew that there was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide.

"For the past three days, the mortal who has served as my avatar has a.s.sisted me in a charade," Torm told the a.s.sembly of traitors and pounded the arm of his throne with his gauntleted fist. "While he has sat upon my throne, I have journeyed into the city, possessing the bodies of a few of my true wors.h.i.+pers and learning first-hand the state of affairs in Tantras." Torm paused and gritted his teeth. "What I discovered has sickened me to the core. There is no punishment great enough for what this council has done, but know this: you will be punished."

Tenwealth's legs gave out beneath him and he fell to his knees. The members of the council quickly mimicked his actions. The Tablet of Fate, Tenwealth thought desperately. He might not know about the tablet yet! There is still a chance to save our holy cause!

"All that we have done has been in your name," the platinum-haired high priest cried. "For your honor, Lord Torm. For your glory!"

The golden lion roared as Torm leaped from the throne. The G.o.d crossed the room in a few running steps, then grabbed Tenwealth by the throat and yanked him into the air.

"How dare you say that!" the G.o.d of Duty screamed. Holding Tenwealth with his left hand, Lord Torm raised his fist to strike the priest.

A wave of total fear washed over Tenwealth and he blurted out, "We have the Tablet of Fate, Lord Torm!"

Torm stared at the mortal for a moment, then dropped him to the floor. "How could you have the tablet?"

"It was hidden in the vault beneath the temple. On the night of Arrival, when the fireb.a.l.l.s split the sky and the one that bore your holy essence crashed through the temple, I found it. I had no way of knowing what the object was at the time, but-"

"Then I told you the true reason the G.o.ds suddenly appeared in Faerun, and you understood the greatness and the power of the object you held," Torm said, closing his eyes. "What were your plans for the Tablet of Fate, Tenwealth? Were you going to sell it to the highest bidder? Bane and Myrkul, perhaps?"

"No! Have mercy," Tenwealth begged. "Let us prove our loyalty to you, Lord Torm. All that has happened was done in your name!"

The G.o.d shuddered and looked down at Tenwealth. The high priest lay quivering at the G.o.d of Duty's feet. "Stop saying that," Torm whispered. "You know nothing about my wishes."