attained the uppermost floor, and each chamber they visited was much like the one before it, either empty or filled with broken furniture and tattered rugs.
At one point they came upon a huge chest, the lid rusted shut. Kelemvor drew his sword and shattered the lock. They both pulled at the lid, then recoiled as their efforts were rewarded by the sickening smell that accompanied their 'treasure.' Within the chest they found the corpses of a small army of rats. The sudden exposure to the air caused the bodies to decompose rapidly, and they melted into a disgusting pulp that dripped from their splintering skeletons.
As Cyric and Kelemvor returned to the corridor, the fighter felt his muscles tighten and pain shot all through his body. 'There's nothing here!' he cried. The fighter dropped his torch and put his hands up to his face. 'Get out of here, Cyric. Leave me alone!'
'What are you saying?'
'The girl must have been lying all along. Just leave my mount, take the others, and ride out,' Kelemvor said.
'You can't be serious!' Cyric said.
Kelemvor turned his back on the thief. 'There is no reward to be found in this place! There is nothing! I renounce the quest.'
Cyric felt something strange beneath his feet. He looked down and saw that, beneath him, the tattered rug had begun to reweave itself, its brilliant patterns spreading outward like wildfire down the hall in both directions. The rejuvenated carpet seemed to root itself into the floor; then it sped upward and covered the ceiling.
The corridor began to shake as if an earthquake was tearing through the land beneath the castle. Chunks of the wall broke free and fell on Kelemvor and Cyric, but the blows were absorbed by their armor and they protected their faces the best they could. Then the rug moved to attack them, as if giant, powerful hands were using it like a glove. The rug was clearly trying to grab the warriors and crush the life from them.
Cyric felt a sharp pain as the hands of the carpet grabbed him from behind and threatened to tear him limb from limb. He quickly slashed at the rug with his sword. 'Damn you, Kel, do something!'
But the fighter was frozen, his hands still over his face. The carpet grabbed him in a dozen places.
'Caitlan lied,' Kelemvor said, pale and shaking. 'No reward — '
The fighter let out an unearthly scream. Then he released a catch near his shoulder and allowed his breastplate to fall. The mail beneath ripped apart, and Cyric thought he saw one of Kelemvor's ribs burst from his chest. Then Kelemvor stumbled forward into one of the rips Cyric had created in the carpet and dashed toward the staircase, even as the flesh of his skull seemed to explode outward and something with green glowing eyes and jet-black skin emerged.
The Black Lord felt a smile run across his face. He had hoped to test the powers of the pendant and gauge the strength of Mystra's would-be rescuers. His hopes had been rewarded. Each member of the party had fallen into a separate trap where Bane could observe them and work his dark magics upon them, tearing their souls apart in the process.
Mystra continued to struggle against her eldritch bonds, the proximity of the pendant driving her wild.
'Soon it will be here,' Bane said as he turned to the goddess. 'Soon it will be mine.' The God of Strife threw back his head and laughed.
Mystra's struggles ceased, and she joined Bane in his mad laughter.
'Are you insane?' the Black Lord said as he stopped laughing and moved closer to the captive goddess. 'Your 'saviors' do not even know why they're here. They have no idea the power they face, and they have no loyalty to you. All they desire is gold!'
Mystra only smiled, blue-white flames crackling throughout her essence. 'Not all,' she said, and then was silent.
Bane stood no more than a foot away from the Goddess of Magic and stared at her ever-changing form. 'The hakeashar will make you a little less smug,' the god said, but he was afraid Mystra had hidden something from him, some other reserve of power.
The surface of the scrying pool bubbled, demanding Bane's attention.
The Dark Lord looked into the pool, and a cruel smile crossed his deformed face. 'Your would-be saviors should at least be rewarded for their efforts, don't you think?' Bane tried to cast a spell on the water of the scrying pool. A burst of light erupted from his hands, and six glowing darts flew wildly around the room. The God of Strife cried out as all the magic missiles struck him at once.
'Magic has become unstable since we left the heavens,' the Black Lord growled, holding his arm where the missiles had hit him. 'Join me, Mystra, and we could make the art stable again.'
The Goddess of Magic remained silent.
'No matter,' Bane said as he started the incantation once more. 'The magical chaos affects we gods far less than it does your mortal worshipers. I will eventually succeed.'
Bane cast the spell again, and this time it worked. The water grew hot, set itself to boiling, then became steam and reformed into sparkling clear liquid. The images the water reflected had changed dramatically and Bane watched with interest as the stage for the next part of his plan was set. He dipped his goblet into the water and let it fill.
'They are here for gold and riches? Fine, let them have gold and riches. Let them have their heart's desire, though it may destroy them!'
The beast that had been Kelemvor relied on its senses as it padded through the beautiful forest. It recognized the scent of newly fallen dew, and the moist earth beneath its paws felt soft and burgeoning with life. The sunlight from above was magnificent; it warmed and comforted the beast, which stopped to lick a trace of deer's blood from one of its paws, then moved on.
The trees in the garden touched the heavens themselves, and their branches, blanketed by amber leaves, swayed gently in the breezes that caressed the soft fur of the animal, sending a tingling sensation through its body.
But something was wrong.
The panther came to a clearing. Objects its limited mind could not identify rose into view. The objects had not grown from the earth, had not fallen from the sky. They had been placed here by man, and their purpose intrigued the beast, despite its low intelligence.
Suddenly a stab of pain bore into the animal's skull, and the beast found balance and movement difficult. The panther snarled and threw back its head as something clawed at its gut from within. Then the creature let out a long, horrible wail as its rib cage expanded and burst. Finally, its head split in half and the thick, muscular arms of a man exploded from the ruined skins.
Kelemvor tested his limbs before he attempted to rise. Bits of the panther's flesh still clung to him, and he clawed at the hated reminders of the curse his bloodline had fated him to endure. For now his naked skin was smooth and hairless, although he knew it would only be a matter of minutes before the soft tufts of hair that normally covered his body once again grew into place, spreading across his skin with a will of their own.
Abandoning the quest had caused the transformation this time, Kelemvor decided. Without a reward, going on the journey with Caitlan, risking his life, had been for nothing. The curse did not approve, and the panther had been the punishment.
In the clearing, Kelemvor found his clothing and his sword. His clothing had been soaked through with blood, and the clamminess of the wet leathers against his bare flesh made him wish to strip them off once again, but he knew that would be foolish.
He did not remember coming to this place that seemed to be far removed from Castle Kilgrave. The garden looked little like the flatlands of northern Cormyr. In fact, it looked more like the setting of a tale of romance, where knights jousted for honor's sake and love always won the day.
Kelemvor knew that he was smiling, and memories long repressed flooded back. Before him the memories took flesh, as marble podiums, glazed in soft blue and pink pastels, formed from the air, and a vast library of forbidden books arranged itself. As a child in Lyonsbane Keep, Kelemvor had been denied access to the library except when an adult was present, and then he was only allowed to read military texts or histories. Fantasies, adventures, and romances were hidden on the highest shelf, where only his father could reach them.
