In retrospect, Kelemvor wondered why they had been there at all. Was his father, the monstrous, mean- spirited man that he was, taken with these gentle tales? At the time Kelemvor did not think such a thing was possible. No, the books must have belonged to Kelemvor's mother, who died giving birth to him.
From the amount of dust Kelemvor had found on those forbidden books on the frequent occasions when he disobeyed his father and crept into the library in the middle of the night, arranging the chairs and tables to give him access to the wondrous tomes, Kelemvor felt secure that the books were his private treasure, that even his father, at his most cruel, could not take away. In the books he found stories of epic adventure and heroism, and tales of strange and beautiful lands he hungered to one day visit.
Hiding in the forest, after having killed his own father, Kelemvor drew strength from those tales — and hope. Some day, he would be a hero, too, instead of a beast that killed its own kin.
And now a library, its huge shelves filled with wondrous exploits of heroes whose names and adventures had become legend, grew around the fighter. A few of the books flew from the circular arena that was forming in the forest, and opened themselves to display their secret dreams to Kelemvor.
He was shocked to find his own name mentioned time and again in the tales of bravery and heroism. But the events recounted in the stories had not actually occurred. Perhaps this is prophecy, Kelemvor thought as a story in which he saved the entire Realms passed before him. No, he sighed to himself, there could be no payment high enough to satisfy the curse. And if I am not paid in full for doing something that is not in my own best interest, I become the beast.
Kelemvor was so consumed by the words he read in the floating tomes and his musings on the Lyonsbane curse that he did not notice the changes that had been wrought in his surroundings until a familiar voice called out.
'Kelemvor!'
He looked up to behold a beautiful hall that had replaced the forest. The books vanished, and hundreds of men and women stood in the hall. They were perfectly still, standing high upon platforms or pedestals. By their garb and their stance, Kelemvor was certain they were warriors. Each was bathed in a column of light, although the light had no source and melted into the darkness above their heads.
'Kelemvor! Over here, boy!' the same familiar voice called.
The fighter turned and found himself face to face with an older man whose build and stature matched his own perfectly: Burne Lyonsbane, his uncle. The man was standing on a platform, bathed in light.
'This cannot be! You're — '
'Dead?' Burne laughed. 'Perhaps. Yet those who are remembered in the annals of history never truly die. Instead they come to this place, this hall of heroes, where they look down on their loved ones and wait until they are joined by them.'
Kelemvor backed away from his friend. 'I am no hero, good uncle. I have done horrible things.'
'Indeed?' Burne said, raising one eyebrow. With a flourish he withdrew his sword and cleaved the air beside him. A shaft of light pierced the darkness and revealed an empty platform. 'It is your time, Kelemvor. Take your place amongst the heroes and all will be revealed.'
Kelemvor drew his sword. 'This is a lie. A travesty! How could you, of all people, betray me now? You were the one who saved me when I was a child!'
'I can save you again,' Burne said. 'Listen.'
'Kel!' a voice called. Kelemvor turned, and standing beside the platform that had been reserved for him was a red-bearded man dressed in the fineries of a warrior king.
'Torum Garr!' Kelemvor said. 'But — '
'I would pay tribute to your purity and honor, Kelemvor. If it had not been for your presence at my side during the final battle in our war against the drow, I would have died. You fought, despite the fact that I could pay you with nothing but my thanks. The way you often gave of yourself to protect others, while asking for nothing in return marked you as a true hero!'
Kelemvor's head was swimming. He tightened his grip on his sword. In his memories, Kelemvor had turned his back on Torum Garr, and the exiled king had died in the battle.
'Kelemvor, thanks to you I regained control of my kingdom. Yet when I offered to make you my heir, as I had no sons, you declined the offer. I see now that you acted correctly and with honor. Your bravery has been an example for others to emulate, and your adventures have made you a legend. Accept at last your just reward and stand at our side through eternity.'
Another man appeared, a man who was the same age as Kelemvor. He had wild, ebon hair, and an even wilder expression upon his handsome features.
'Vance,' Kelemvor said, his voice cold and distant.
The other man stepped down off his pedestal and embraced Kelemvor, forcing the fighter to lower his sword. Vance stood back and regarded Kelemvor. 'How fare you, childhood friend? I've come to pay tribute.'
Kelemvor had never even imagined what Vance would look like at this age. It had been ten years since the man had been attacked by assassins and Kelemvor had been forced to turn away from his pleas for help, his actions dictated by the curse that had always been the bane of his existence.
'You saved my life, and although the time we spent together was short, I have always treasured you as my first and closest friend. You returned for my wedding, and this time saved not only my life, but that of my wife and our unborn child. Together we discovered the identity of the one who wished me harm and we put an end to the threat. I salute you, my oldest and dearest friend!'
'This can't be right,' Kelemvor said. 'Vance is dead.'
'Here he is alive,' Burne Lyonsbane said, and Kelemvor's visitors parted to allow the older man to stand before his nephew. 'Take comfort in this place. Assume your rightful position in the hall, and you will remember nothing of your former life. The ghosts that haunt you will be laid to rest, and you will spend an eternity reliving your heroic acts. What say you, Kelemvor?'
'Uncle…,' Kelemvor said as he raised his sword. His hands were trembling. 'I have dreamed of the day when all you have promised might come true, but the time for dreams has passed.'
'Is that the way you wish to see reality? Then behold,' Burne said.
Suddenly the book that detailed Kelemvor's life of heroism appeared in his uncle's hands. The pages began to turn by themselves, slowly at first, then increasing in speed as it progressed. Kelemvor realized the book was being rewritten even as he watched. The tales of Kelemvor's heroism were vanishing, to be replaced by stories of his true past.
'Your dreams can become reality, Kel! Choose quickly, before the final tale is written over and your only chance to be a true hero passes you by!'
Kelemvor watched as the tale of his rescue of Vance from the assassins was revised. He heard a scream and looked up just in time to see Vance fade away from the hall. The history in the tome was becoming true, and his chance to right the wrongs he had committed was vanishing before his eyes.
Thrum Garr grasped his arm. 'Choose quickly, Kelemvor! Do not let me die again!'
Kelemvor hesitated, and the chapter dealing with Torum Garr was rewritten. The red-bearded king was again slain by the drow. Kelemvor was no longer there to protect him.
Before Kelemvor, Torum Garr vanished.
'It's not too late,' Burne Lyonsbane said. 'It is not too late to change what you remember.' The older man ground his teeth in desperation. He fixed his nephew's gaze with his own. 'You remember how it ended between us, Kelemvor. Do not let it happen again! Do not turn away and let me die again!'
Kelemvor squeezed his eyes shut and hacked at the gold-bound volume before him. The binding of the book shattered, and a glowing mist flowed out. All the heroes in the hall faded into clouds of red mist. Then, the hall itself started to blur around the edges and disappear, too. In seconds, only wisps of illusion hung in the air, then they vanished as well.
Kelemvor found himself in a ruined library on the first floor of the castle. At his feet lay an aged, torn volume of children's fairy tales. Kelemvor kicked the book out of his way as he ran to the doorway.
In the hallway, the fighter saw the savaged corpse of a man — probably the deer from his dream. Kelemvor didn't notice that the dead man wore the symbol of Bane, God of Strife, as he raced for the stairway to Castle Kilgrave's dark lower levels.
