be as generous as I was with Fzoul. Your mind will be utterly destroyed. Is that understood?' The God 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 shimmering of the air, and the amber skull of the God 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 God 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 God 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 assassins,' Bane whispered through an evil smile. 'The assassins 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 assassins in the Realms must die to give me the power I need!'
The God of the Dead laughed. 'You've become as mad as your assistant. The assassins are valuable to me.'
'Are they?' Bane asked, arching one eyebrow. 'Why?'
The God 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 amusement 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 God 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 god 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 shimmer and fade for an instant, causing the God 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 God 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 God of the Dead paused and fixed Bane with an icy stare. 'But there is one thing you must consider: You may not have my assistance the next time you need it, Lord Bane.'
The God 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 worshipers.'
'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 God 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 God 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 God of the Dead's image disappeared in a flash of gray light and a puff of stinking, yellow-and-black smoke.
XV
In a darkened chamber, surrounded by a dozen of his most faithful worshipers 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 assassins in Faerun and grant Bane the power of their stolen souls.
From somewhere nearby, the God 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, his Castle of Bones in Hades. And even though the sounds Myrkul now heard were made by unfaithful worshipers 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 god's hands. The robed men then knelt before Myrkul, raising their chins and baring their necks.
The fallen god 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 the port of Scardale. Tarana Lyr stood behind the God 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 god. 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.
