that reigned around them.
The horizon seemed to blur and the earth and sky became one as huge black glass pillars formed from the air and rooted themselves to the ground in a wide circle around the adventurers and the Celestial Stairway, similar to the colonnade where they'd spent the night. The clouds turned black as the pillars rose up to greet them and beautiful gossamer beams of soft pastel-colored light broke from between the black clouds. The beams swept back and forth, searing the surface of the earth and creating fissures big enough to swallow a man.
Rivers of flaming blood filled the cracks in the ground, and the heat that radiated from the boiling rivers of blood was terrible. The black columns were shattered by the beams, and immense pieces of debris crashed to the ground as the beams lost their form and became wisps that sliced through the air, destroying all they touched.
Castle Kilgrave fell before the onslaught, its walls exploding like chalk. The massive towers at each corner collapsed inward and the walls connecting them sank into rubble.
In the sky, Helm stood at the apex of the disaster, his body a silhouette against the blinding light of the sun behind him. Midnight saw Helm bring down his hand once more, cleaving a swirling mass that hung in the air before him.
Was this Mystra's essence? Midnight wondered.
The bluish white fires that escaped Helm's hands wove themselves into an intricate design, similar to Midnight's vision of the magical weave in her illusion. Then a shaft of brilliant light erupted from the center of the weave and penetrated the protective sphere where Midnight and her companions huddled. Against the pure white tapestry of her perceptions. Midnight saw an even brighter light, in the shape of a woman, moving toward her.
'Goddess!' she cried.
I was wrong. Other gods may attempt what I have tried… The Realms may be destroyed. There is another Celestial Stairway in Shadowdale. If Bane lives, he will try to take control of it. You must go there, warn Elminster. Then find the Tablets of Fate and end this madness!
Suddenly an object fell from the sky and passed through the protective sphere. Midnight reached out, and the pendant fell directly into her grasp. Then the light from the weave seemed to pass through the magic-user, as if drawn by the blue-white pendant. Every nerve in Midnight's body rebelled as white-hot fires coursed through her and the last words of the goddess burned into her brain.
Take the pendant to Elminster… Elminster will help you.
'Help me?' Midnight cried. 'Help me to do what!?'
An image of the Tablets of Fate burned itself into Midnight's memory. Formed from clay, the ancient tablets were less than two feet high, small enough to be carried and easily concealed from prying eyes. Runes were carved into them, reporting the names and duties of all the gods. Each rune sparkled with a blue-white glow.
The image of the tablets vanished as the shaft of light withdrew into the weave, taking Mystra's shimmering form with it.
'Goddess,' Midnight whispered. 'Don't leave me.' There was no reply, but through the prismatic sphere, Midnight could see the magical weave disappear. Then the chaos stopped around them, and the heroes saw Helm stand before his gate, cross his arms, and disappear. It was as if he was never there at all.
VIII
Tempus Blackthorne cleared the main chamber of Bane's new temple in Zhentil Keep whenever his Black Lord was not in attendance. Blackthorne was responsible for overseeing the day-to-day operations of the Dark Temple, and he had personally supervised the construction of the second, smaller chamber to the rear of the temple. Then, once the workers had completed the room, the mage had slain them as well. 'No one must know,' Bane had said, and Blackthorne would give his life to protect the secrets of Bane's 'Chamber of Meditation.' In truth, it was a filthy place, but it served its purpose well.
Bane had been careful to hide certain facts from his worshipers; the Black Lord feared that if they knew about his human limitations, his need for sleep and nutrients, their worship might not be so fervent and their willingness to sacrifice themselves to his cause might be impaired. So Bane had Blackthorne bring all his food and drink to him through a secret tunnel, and whenever the Black Lord had to sleep, he did so in the chamber's small bed, with his emissary on guard by his side.
Piled up in the corners of this room were arcane texts that Bane had spent every available moment pouring over. Upon a nearby table lay a collection of sharp, tiny blades that looked like the tools of a sculptor. Bane had used these to perform horrible experiments upon the flesh of a handful of his followers, staring for hours at a time at the flow of blood he had caused, listening intently to the cries of agony from the weaker of his subjects. Blackthorne knew these studies were important to his lord, but he did not know why. Still, Bane was his god, and Blackthorne knew enough not to question the motives of a deity. After a time. Bane had grown tired of the experiments, as if they had not yielded the results he had desired. But the blades had been left in plain sight, a reminder that he had not yet found the answers he sought.
When Bane occupied Castle Kilgrave, the chamber had been empty, but now a swirling vortex came into being, and the Black Lord fell from the rip in space to the hard floor, his breathing shallow, tears dripping from his eyes. He attempted to remember even the simplest of spells, something to levitate his shattered form from the floor to the hard mattress of the bed that sat just out of reach, but his efforts were futile. Then Blackthorne appeared out of the vortex and dragged Bane toward the bed. The emissary grunted as he lifted the Black Lord's avatar and placed him on the bed.
'There, my lord. You will rest. You will heal.'
Bane was comforted by the voice of his faithful emissary. Blackthorne had saved him. He had seen Bane weakened, near the point of death, and still he came. It made no sense to the Black Lord. Had their positions been reversed, he would have allowed the emissary to perish rather than put himself at risk.
Perhaps he feels indebted to me for the life of his friend, Knightsbridge, Bane thought. That must be the reason for his service. Now that he's paid the debt, though, I suppose I'll have to watch my back with him.
Bane saw a pool of his blood on the floor: crimson, with amber streaks floating through it. Though one of his lungs was ruptured and he should not have tried to speak, the god gasped as he reached out and touched the scarlet pool.
'My blood,' Bane cried. 'My blood!'
'You will be well, lord,' Blackthorne said. 'You can grant healing magics to your clerics. Use those same magics to heal yourself.'
Bane did as Blackthorne urged, but he knew that the healing process would be slow and painful. He tried to take his mind from the discomfort by concentrating on the memories of his rescue from Castle Kilgrave. Blackthorne's magic had been strong enough to bring the mage to the castle, and to teleport Bane and himself away. But they had only escaped as far as the colonnade beyond the castle.
Bane had watched as Mystra took the pendant from the dark-haired magic-user. Then, an instant later, the Goddess of Magic was challenging Helm, both gods standing upon a Celestial Stairway.
The Tablets of Fate! Helm asked for the tablets!
Bane watched in complete horror as Helm destroyed the Goddess of Magic. He witnessed the last vestige of Mystra's essence approach the magic-user and heard the warning of the goddess as the pendant was returned to the dark-haired human. Incredible magics had been released during Mystra's battle with Helm, and Bane had seized upon them to finish the task Blackthorne had started, and gated them back to Zhentil Keep.
Bane laughed when he thought that he never would have used the stairway in Shadowdale as part of his plans had it not been for Mystra's warning. If she had accepted her fate quietly, the events she was so worried about might never have been set into motion. So as Bane lay upon his bed, seeking to recover from the grievous injuries inflicted on him by Mystra; he began to make plans, until finally, he settled into a deep, healing trance.
The sky was a deep lavender, with streaks of royal blue and gold. The clouds were still black, reflecting the dead, charred earth below them, and the huge pillars had become trees with wilting stone branches that snaked
