Blackthorne teetered on one foot as he struggled to keep hold of the packages. He touched the lever on the wall, pulling it back three clicks, forward nine, back two. The wall before him vanished, and Blackthorne stepped through into Bane's secret chamber.
The mage turned away from the sight of Bane's dark, bubbling flesh and the froth of blood at his mouth. There was a new hole in the wall beside the Black Lord, and Blackthorne saw that one of the restraints had been torn from the wall. The bed frame had been shattered long ago, and the mattress torn to ribbons. Bane screamed, his body convulsing as the fit grew worse.
Blackthorne was attempting to devise a new excuse for the Black Lord's absence when the noises behind him abruptly ceased. He turned and saw that Bane was absolutely still. As the emissary moved close to his god, he feared that Bane's heart had stopped. There was an odor of death in the room.
'Lord Bane,' Blackthorne called, and Bane's eyes shot open. A taloned hand moved toward Blackthorne's throat, but the emissary fell back and out of the way of the blow, saving himself. Bane sat up slowly.
'How long?' Bane said simply.
'I am pleased to see you well!' Blackthorne fell to his knees.
Bane tore the remaining restraints from the wall and snapped the bonds at his ankles and wrists. 'I asked you a question.'
Blackthorne told Bane everything about the dark times after Bane had been rescued from Castle Kilgrave. The Black Lord sat on the floor, leaning against the wall as he listened, nodding occasionally.
'I see my wounds have healed,' Bane said.
Blackthorne smiled enthusiastically.
'My physical wounds, anyway. There is always the matter of my pride.'
Blackthorne's smile faded.
'Aye. My pathetic human pride…' Bane held up his talons before his eyes. 'But I am not human,' he said, and looked to Blackthorne. 'I am a god.'
Blackthorne nodded, slowly.
'Now help me dress,' Bane said, and Blackthorne rushed forward. As they struggled with Bane's black armor, the god inquired about specific followers and the progress that had been made on his temple.
'The humans that came to Mystra's rescue in Castle Kilgrave,' Bane said at last. 'What of them?'
Blackthorne shook his head. 'I do not know.'
One of the ruby red eyes of Bane's gauntlet opened wide, and the Black Lord grimaced. Memories of Mystra's final moments and of her warning to the dark-haired magic-user filled the mind of the dark god.
'We will find them,' he said. 'They will journey to Shadowdale, to seek out the assistance of the mage, Elminster.'
'You wish them detained?' Blackthorne said.
Bane looked up, startled. 'I wish them dead.' Bane's attentions returned to the gauntlet. 'Then I want the pendant from the woman brought to me. Now leave. I will call for you when I am ready.' The emissary nodded and left the chamber.
The Black Lord fell back against the wall, his body trembling. He was very weak. Bane corrected himself. The body had been weakened. Bane, the god, was immortal and immune to such petty concerns, despite his situation. Bane reveled in his first moments of true clarity since awakening from his sealing sleep, then he considered his options.
Helm had asked Mystra if she bore the Tablets of Fate. When she offered the identities of the thieves instead of the actual tablets, Helm destroyed her. The secret he shared with Lord Myrkul was still safe.
'You are not omniscient after all, Lord Ao,' Bane whispered. 'The loss of the tablets has made you weak, as Myrkul and I suspected it would.'
Bane realized he had said these words aloud in an empty room and felt a coldness in his essence. There were still a few traces of his avatar's humanity to exorcise, but he would accomplish this in time. At least his search for power had not been a strictly human conceit. The quest had begun with the theft of the tablets and would end with the murder of Lord Ao himself.
Yet there were obstacles Bane would have to overcome before he could achieve his final victory.
'Elminster,' Bane said softly. 'Perhaps we should meet.'
In the darkest hours of morning, Bane stood before an assembly of his followers. Only those who had been awarded the highest ranks or privileges were in attendance as Bane sat upon his throne and addressed his followers. He linked the minds of all present so they could share in his fevered dream of incredible power and glory. Without uttering a word, Bane had whipped the humans into a frenzy.
Fzoul Chembryl had the loudest voice and the most intense passion for Bane's cause. Though the God of Strife knew Fzoul had opposed his will in the past, he felt a growing admiration for the handsome, red-haired priest, as Fzoul argued for the eventual dissolution of the zhentarim — of which Fzoul was second in command — and the reformation of the Black Network under the strict authority of Bane himself. Naturally Fzoul requested to be considered for the position of leader of these forces, but the decision would be Bane's alone, Fzoul cried, and Bane's wisdom was beyond criticism.
The Black Lord smiled. There was nothing like a good war to motivate humans. They would march on Shadowdale, Bane leading the troops personally. In the frenzy of battle, Bane would slip away and dispatch the troublesome Elminster. In the meantime, assassins would be sent to intercept Mystra's magic-user before she could deliver the pendant to the sage of Shadowdale. Another group would be sent to occupy the tiresome Knights of Myth Drannor. Satisfied with the plans, Bane went back to his secret chamber in the rear of the temple.
That night the God of Strife did not dream, and that was good.
IX
Whenever the bald man attempted to sleep, his dreams would inevitably return to the same shocking nightmare. He would wake almost the instant it began, but then he would see that his dream only reflected reality: his nightmare was only a memory of the widespread destruction he and his men had faced on their journey from Arabel to the place where Castle Kilgrave had once stood.
And somehow the bald man knew that he was now camped near the place that had been the eye of whatever supernatural storm had taken place. The effects had reached almost as far as Arabel, then stopped. The denizens of the walled city were relieved that their home had been spared, although one only had to look from the watch-towers to view the startlingly altered landscape and see how close the city had come to destruction.
The goddess Tymora had suffered an agonizing attack the day the sky had been filled with the odd lights from the north. Then the goddess had gone into a deep shock from which she had not yet risen when the bald man and his Company of Dawn left the walled city in pursuit of Kelemvor and his accomplices. Constant vigils had been held by Tymora's followers, but the goddess merely sat upon her throne, unresponsive to their calls, staring at something beyond the limited range of human senses.
Dismissing the nightmares and memories, the bald man attempted to get back to sleep. In the morning he and his men would set out from the untouched place of beauty they had found, a lovely colonnade that once may have been a shrine to the gods. The cool, sparkling water of the glorious pool had served lo refresh his men, but they had not washed away the memories of the vast destruction they had witnessed.
Although he was not a worshiper, the bald man uttered a small prayer to Shar, Goddess of Forgetfulness. Just as it seemed his prayer might be rewarded, a scream sounded in the night. The bald man sprang into action.
'There!' one of his men shouted, pointing at the fair-haired fighter who had been lifted from the ground by his neck. The flesh of the man's assailant appeared to be white as chalk, the moonlight casting an unearthly glow upon the headless creature.
'The statues,' another man called. 'They live!'
