Zehla rose from the bed and crossed her arms. 'And a child is?'
Kelemvor realized he had been defeated, and gave in with a sigh. His quest for a magic-user the previous evening had been futile. The few mages who had shown any interest in the adventure were enthusiastic, but quite incompetent. One mage even burned himself out of house and home in an attempt to prove his worth.
'I suppose I could try to find her,' Kelemvor said. 'But Arabel is a large city. It may take more time than we have.'
Caitlan looked away. 'Then we'll wait.'
'What about your lady?' Kelemvor said suspiciously, and again his words produced distressing effects.
'We'll wait just a little while,' Caitlan said softly.
Zehla ushered Kelemvor out of the small room and joined him in the hallway. 'I noticed the healing potions were untouched,' Zehla said.
'I'm many things,' Kelemvor said. 'But I'm not a thief. Do you have any idea what caused her condition?'
'Exposure, exhaustion… her system was weak, and susceptible to any illness. It seems she'd been wandering the city for quite some time, trying to choose her champion.'
Adon and Cyric had entered the hallway in time to hear this, and immediately joined the discussion.
'That's flattering,' Adon said brightly. 'She must have seen something special in you, Kelemvor.'
'Actually, she'd become desperate. Kelemvor was simply the first likely candidate to speak to her,' Zehla said. 'She's a talkative little thing, once you get her going.'
Kelemvor flinched slightly. What else had the girl mentioned to Zehla? Had she revealed his secret?
'We have work to do,' Kelemvor said, and motioned for Cyric and Adon to follow.
Escaping unnoticed from the city would be a difficult matter. Both Kelemvor and Cyric would be expected on duty shortly after eveningfeast. Cyric may have had stealth enough to make it past anxious guards or over unclimbable walls, but the squarely built fighter with a child, a foppish cleric, and a magic-user in tow surely could not.
'Cyric, go buy clothing and whatever else you think we could use to disguise ourselves. Adon, try to find Midnight. We're going to… have to settle for her. I'll be here, finishing the packing and working on a plan,' Kel said as soon as the three adventurers got outside.
An hour later, when Kelemvor emerged from his room, he almost collided with two of Zehla's men carrying armfuls of food. Outside, he found Cyric and Adon packing the supplies with a surprising lightness of step.
Adon grinned and nodded to the shadows of the stables, from which Midnight appeared, leading a magnificent black horse with a blazing red mane. Kelemvor's shoulders slumped in defeat, the memory of Caitlan's face and the possible loss of the gold she had promised weighing down his acid tongue.
'Do you gamble, Kel?' Midnight asked, playfully.
'It seems I am about to,' he grumbled.
Midnight held out her hand. In it, she had a huge, braided tangle that resembled the head of a mop. 'Courtesy of your friend, Thurbrand,' Midnight said. Kelemvor recognized the strands as human hair; all the human hair, it seemed, that had been left on Thurbrand's head.
'Is he?…'
'Quite upset, aye.'
Kelemvor smirked, despite himself. 'You just mentioned gambling?'
Midnight nodded. 'Consider this my stake to enter your game.'
This time Kelemvor did laugh, a hearty laugh that was cut short as he noticed the disguises that peaked out from the packages that sat beside Cyric's mount. He examined the packages to find wigs, surprisingly lifelike masks, and the tattered dresses of a pair of elderly beggar women.
Caitlan appeared behind them, looking bright and healthy. She greeted Midnight as if the woman had been the answer to her prayers, then looked beyond the party, as if to a sight beyond the walls of Arabel, her expression once again turning serious.
'We must go,' Caitlan said gravely. 'There isn't much time.'
Midnight looked to Kelemvor. 'I can help Adon with the supplies, if you'd like.'
Kelemvor nodded, and snatched up the packages that contained their disguises. Cyric followed him into the inn.
'What's the name of the place we're going to again?' Midnight asked.
'Castle Kilgrave,' Adon said.
Midnight shrugged and removed her cloak to work more freely. Her blue-white star pendant glared in the sunlight as she placed her cloak on her mount's back.
In the shadows of the stables, a single shade broke away from the darkness, assumed the form of a raven, then burst from the stables and flew over the heads of the adventurers, flying at speeds no creature of nature could ever attain.
IV
Bane had not been idle in the two weeks since the time of Arrival, as his worshipers now called the night he was thrown from the heavens. Almost constant activity was needed to avert his attention from his distressingly mortal state, and on the few occasions when he allowed himself to turn his attentions inward and examine the frail mortal shell that necessity had forced him to assume, the Black Lord became lost in the endless intricacies of the machine that gave him movement and voice.
Such gifts and miracles he found within the submicroscopic areas surrounding the cortex! And when he immersed his consciousness in but a single cell of the body's endless stream of blood and allowed the path of his explorations to be decided by the body itself, Bane felt a rapture that rivaled godhood itself.
It was then he understood the trap and forced himself to pull away. He placed barricades within the brain of the body he was forced to inhabit, and fortified his perceptions in an effort to train them outward, ever outward, and never again succumb to the dangers locked within his mortal frame. Bane was a god; miracles had always been boring and commonplace to him before. But now the miracles of the Planes were locked away from him, and he would have to concentrate on the task before him, so that he might one day soon reclaim the heavens and satisfy his ever-gnawing hunger for miracles and wonder in a manner that befitted a god.
During Bane's first days in Zhentil Keep, the human rulers of the city fell on their knees in his presence and placed all their assets at Bane's disposal. Bane was grateful the coup had been bloodless; he would need as much human fodder to grease the wheels of his machinations as he could get his talon-shaped grip on.
Construction of the Black Lord's new temple had begun, and soon the rubble was cleared away and makeshift walls rose to hide the intricate planning sessions Bane called. Although Lord Chess, sensing his own position as nominal ruler of Zhentil Keep at risk, offered to place himself and his staff at Bane's disposal, Bane chose to remain near his black throne. Besides, he didn't care to experience the boredom of the day to day operations of the city, so long as its occupants were loyal and ready to become sacrifices at a moment's notice.
On his third night in the Realms, Bane began to dream, and in his dreams he saw Mystra, smiling in the face of terror, laughing at Ao as the gods were delivered to their fate. Bane, the giver of nightmares, had finally fallen prey to one himself. He cursed his flesh for sharing this new weakness with him. Still, the nightmare served a purpose, and Bane once again pondered the meaning of Mystra's enigmatic farewell to the Planes.
So Bane decided he should seek out Mystra and discover why she viewed Ao's wrath so calmly.
Five days after the time of Arrival, Tempus Blackthorne, a mage of great power and importance, arrived with the news of Mystra's location in the Realms. Bane set a seal upon the doors leading to his private chamber and teleported Blackthorne and himself to Castle Kilgrave. They found Mystra outside the castle, weakened and helpless from some trauma or attack. Perhaps she had attempted a spell that had gone awry, Bane thought, and laughed at the irony.
As the Black Lord stood over her, Mystra suddenly became aware of his presence and released a single shred
