taste the anguish in their hearts now that they recognized the price of their failure.
Torm closed his eyes and opened his arms. Tenwealth and the rest of the Council of Torm died, and their soul energies rushed to the avatar's embrace. The God of Duty absorbed the energy, let out a deep, loud roar, and pushed through the back wall of the temple. Then the lion-headed avatar went off in search of the God of Strife.
At the bow of the Argent, a Zhentish trireme, Cyric stared at a city on the horizon. The thief had not expected to return to Tantras so quickly, but Bane's orders had been explicit. Slater and a few of the other Zhentilar whom Cyric commanded were given orders to stay behind in Scardale, but the majority of the thief's men were assigned to the Argent and ordered to follow Bane. Dalzhel, the leader of one of the contingents of Zhentilar who joined the Scorpions before Tyzack's death, had been made Cyric's lieutenant. Dressed in an ebon cloak that was pressed against his sleek body by the heavy winds, Dalzhel ran his hand over his bushy, black beard.
'You're worried when you shouldn't be,' Dalzhel noted. 'There should be no doubt as to our victory. Lord Bane himself leads us to Tantras.'
'Of course,' Cyric replied, his voice distant. Realizing that Dalzhel was staring at him, the thief assumed the posture of a confident warrior. 'We will bathe in the blood of our enemies.'
Dalzhel was still staring. Cyric thought for a moment then realized his mistake. 'If we are forced to engage them, we will slaughter the Tantrasans. Lord Bane's orders are not to be taken lightly, no matter how badly some of us may wish to engage these dogs and drive them under our heels.'
The lieutenant looked away. 'Were you privy to the ceremony where Bane took his new avatar?'
'I was,' Cyric replied and felt a warmth spread through his body. 'It was a spectacular event to witness. It was almost inspirational.'
Dalzhel nodded. 'I understand that three beholders were summoned from Zhentil Keep and Lord Myrkul himself was in attendance.'
'That is something of an exaggeration,' Cyric noted and proceeded to tell Dalzhel all that he had witnessed.
After reaching the harbor, the obsidian juggernaut that Bane had inhabited was forced to enter the Dragon Reach from the east side of Scardale, while most of the Zhentilar fleet, four sailing ships, three galleys equipped with rams, and the Argent, left from the Ashaba port to the south. Triremes were noted for their speed and superior handling, so it wasn't surprising that the Argent quickly pulled ahead of the fleet and passed the southeast tip of Scardale in time to see Bane's mammoth avatar enter the water.
The sun had been directly above the avatar as it waded into the Dragon Reach. Brilliant white light enshrouded the unnatural creation with an aura of blinding luminescence. Despite the glare, though, Cyric could see reddish black mists swirling inside the smoky body. The obsidian giant now hummed with a throbbing tone that rose and fell in time with the movements of the crimson light within its massive chest.
During the journey, only the head, shoulders, and parts of the God of Strife's arms were visible as he waded and swam through the Dragon Reach. The waves Bane caused made it impossible for the fleet to follow closely, and so the god was always far ahead of the ships.
Now, as Cyric told Dalzhel about the birth of the obsidian avatar, the Zhentish fleet's two-day trek was almost at an end. Bane had broken away from the main body of the fleet, taking two ships with him as he prepared to enter Tantras from the north, where the temple of Torm resided. The Black Lord justified the move by claiming he was going to destroy Torm, and thereby plunge Tantras into chaos.
Cyric knew better. The Tablet of Fate was all that concerned Bane, and the thief now knew that the tablet was somewhere near the Temple of Torm.
The Argent had been ordered to take up a position at the northernmost end of Tantras's harbor, closer to the scene of Bane's imminent raid upon the Temple of Torm than any of the other ships sent to blockade the western borders of the city. The Argent's orders had been to stand ready, but take no action unless it was necessary.
Cyric, however, had plans of his own.
Elminster's lair was a filthy hovel in the low-rent district of Tantras. The heroes had spent the better part of three days hiding there from the priests of Torm. They passed the time by arguing about a plan for the retrieval of the first Tablet of Fate.
'I think we should just charge in and grab it,' Kelemvor grumbled sarcastically as he stared at the sharp edge of his blade. The fighter looked up suddenly as he remembered something Adon had mentioned about the Temple of Torm. 'What about the main worship room in the center of the building? The vault might be there.'
Elminster stared at the ceiling, his fingers absently playing with his beard. 'Ye sound much like the lummox I always took ye for, Kelemvor,' the sage sighed. 'The tablet must be in the diamond corridors that Torm warned Adon about and Tenwealth threatened him with.'
The fighter mumbled something rude about the old mage, but Midnight spoke before Elminster had a chance to reply. 'So how do we get to the tablet, then?' the raven-haired mage asked. 'If we teleported or even opened a gate — '
The sage threw his hands into the air. 'Far too dangerous,' he snapped. 'With the instability in the weave, ye might find thyself a mile beneath the earth or somewhere beyond the reach of the sky. Ye might even find thyself halfway across the Realms, in a place like Waterdeep… but then, ye'll be going there soon enough anyway.'
'That's the second time you've mentioned Waterdeep in the last few days,' Adon said angrily. 'Why do you think we'll go there soon?'
Midnight's eyes narrowed. 'Yes. You mentioned Waterdeep when we were in the market, too. Why?'
Elminster thought it over then looked at the mage. 'Ye can get to the second tablet through the City of the Dead, next to Waterdeep,' the old sage sighed. 'I learned this from… reliable sources during my time in the Planes. But whether or not ye are worthy of the task of retrieving both tablets — '
Kelemvor punched the rickety wall that stood a few feet away from him. 'No!' he cried then looked to Midnight. 'We're not going to go chasing after the other tablet, too. We're getting nothing in return for this. Let the old wizard get the artifact himself.'
'Still the mercenary, aren't ye, Kelemvor,' Elminster snapped. 'If it's a reward ye seek — '
'Don't talk to me of reward,' Kelemvor shouted. 'Now that my curse is gone, I can take other things into consideration — like Midnight's welfare and our future together. Besides, even if I was interested in making a pact, you'd be the last being in Faerun I'd deal with. You reneged on our last agreement.'
'I was indisposed,' Elminster grumbled. 'If ye could have waited for me to return instead of striking a bargain with the Black Lord, perhaps I would be more impressed with thy words.'
'We'll search for the other Tablet of Fate, too,' Midnight said softly, then put her hand on Kelemvor's arm. 'But only because it's our duty and our choice. I refuse to be a pawn any longer.'
Torm's words about duty and friendship echoed in Adon's mind as he moved forward and said, 'We should wait a few days before we try to retrieve the tablet. Let them think we've left the city. Then we can get the artifact in the temple and head toward Waterdeep.'
'But that still doesn't settle how we're going to get the Tablet of Fate from the temple's vault… if that's where it's being kept,' Kelemvor said, and the heroes started their argument all over again.
They were still debating about how to retrieve the tablet when the shouting began outside. The heroes stepped out of the small, ramshackle building and saw that the entire city had suddenly been engulfed in chaos. Worshipers of Torm, wearing pendants or patches with the god's symbol, flooded from their homes as news of the deity's summons spread.
Adon grabbed a messenger and asked what was going on. The scarred man's face was pale when he returned to the heroes to report. 'It's Torm,' the cleric told them, his voice quavering. 'He's asking his faithful to come to the temple. He needs their help to fight Lord Bane, who's coming from Scardale even as we speak.'
The heroes quickly set off toward the Temple of Torm. As they traveled through the city, they found the streets littered with bodies, though none of the corpses carried wounds of any sort. Supernatural winds ripped through the city, dragging strange, sky-blue vapors in the direction of the temple. Man-sized wraiths walked or flew toward the golden spires in the distance.
