fountain of pain and bitterness from which the people of Tilverton had drunk freely, and it cost them all sense of joy and reason.
As Adon stalked the streets of Tilverton, talking to anyone he could find, the words that had been spoken in the darkened chambers of Castle Kilgrave returned to him.
Truth is beauty, beauty truth. Embrace me, and the answers to all your unspoken questions will be made clear.
There was beauty in truth, Adon knew, and he worshiped the Goddess of Beauty. So he spent the night desperately trying to return the light of truth to the eyes of the poor wretches he found. Just before dawn, a woman had looked up into his eyes, a faint glimmer sparking in her eyes as he spoke his sermon, and Adon's heart filled with hope.
'Good woman, the gods have not deserted us. Now more than ever they need our support, our worship, our love. It is in our hands to bring about the golden age of beauty and truth in which the gods will again grant us their favor. Now, in this dark time when our faith is put to the test, we must not falter. We must find solace in our belief and forge ahead with our lives. For in so doing we will pay a greater tribute to the gods than even the strongest prayer can achieve!
'Sune hasn't sought me out, but I haven't given up the hope of one day standing in her presence,' the cleric told the woman. As Adon held her by the shoulders, he was tempted to shake her, just to see if it would help her to understand his words.
The old woman stared at the cleric, a wellspring of tears threatening to flood from her eyes. Adon was pleased that his words had touched the old woman, that she seemed to understand.
And then she spoke.
'It sounds as if you're trying to convince yourself,' she said bitterly. 'Go away. You're not wanted here.' Then she turned from the young cleric and covered her face with her hands as she lay in the street, sobbing.
A single tear ran down Adon's cheek as he walked from the woman and lost himself in the darkness.
Kelemvor awoke and found Phylanna gone. The side of the bed where she had slept was now ice cold. He thought of her gentle kisses and the strength he had found in her embrace, but the thoughts soon became clouded as his mind returned to the same topic again and again.
Midnight.
Ariel.
His debt to her had been fulfilled, but he could not forget her.
Kelemvor knew that Rull would have visited Cyric by this time, and he hoped Cyric would be ready to ride from Tilverton with Midnight come morning, even though he would not be accompanying them.
There was a noise at the end of the corridor outside the bedroom. Kelemvor slipped his mail frock over his head, lifted his sword from its sheath, and rose from the perfumed bed of the priestess. She had brought him to her rooms on the top floor above her brother's shop, leading him up a winding back stairway. No words were passed between them; no words were necessary. Meetings like this had their own subtle language, and Kelemvor knew that in the morning he would leave Tilverton and not think of the woman again.
He was fairly certain she would view their night of passion in much the same way.
Kelemvor opened the bedroom door and drew back as he saw Phylanna standing al the end of the corridor. The huge window had been opened, and the moonlight bathed her naked form, lighting an aura around her as she spread wide her arms and allowed the billowing curtains to caress her as she danced in the cool night wind.
The fighter was about to close the door and return to bed when he heard the voice of a man from the hallway, singing in some strange tongue. Kelemvor stepped out in the hallway and stopped as he saw the silver- haired man from the temple standing near Phylanna.
The man who had called him 'brother,' then vanished.
Phylanna danced with a lilting, graceful quality. Her eyes were open, but she did not seem to see Kelemvor as he approached. The silver-haired man continued to sing to her, although his gaze was now fixed on the fighter. The silver-haired man's blue-gray eyes blazed despite the darkness that shrouded his features, his form a silhouette against the bright moonlight.
The man stopped singing as the fighter got close to Phylanna. 'Take her,' he said 'I mean her no harm.'
Phylanna collapsed in Kelemvor's arms, and he gently laid her down in the hallway.
'Who are you?' Kelemvor said.
'I am known by many names. Who would you like me to be?'
'It's a simple question,' the fighter snapped.
'With no simple answers,' the man sighed. 'You may call me Torrence. It's as good a name as any.'
'Why are you here?' Kelemvor gripped his sword tightly as he felt something dark and heavy churn within his gut.
'I wished to draw you out, that you might join in my banquet. Come. Look.'
Kelemvor stood at the window and looked down to the street. The girl who had been at the silver-haired man's side in the temple lay in the alley below, her clothes shredded, although she did not appear to have been harmed.
Yet.
Torrence shuddered, and the fine white hairs that covered his flesh grew thick. His clothes fell away, gently floating to the ground, as his spine crackled and lengthened. His face became bestial, his jaws extending outward as he emitted a guttural moan of pleasure. His entire body changed. He bent his limbs back and forth, the bones creaking. Huge fangs lined his open snout. His fingers ended in razor-sharp claws.
'A jackalwere,' Kelemvor gasped in astonishment.
Phylanna awoke. She looked up at Kelemvor, confused. She did not see the monster standing next to the window. Kelemvor looked back to Torrence.
'Come, my brother. I will share with you.'
Kelemvor fought against the rising tide within his breast. Abruptly Phylanna saw the jackalwere and rushed to Kelemvor's side. 'Gond help us!' she screamed.
'Yes, bring her closer,' Torrence said. 'We may feast on them both.'
'Get away!' Kelemvor shouted as he slammed the priestess against the far wall and raised his sword. The look of fear in her eyes was almost more then he could bear. 'Now!' he screamed as he felt the familiar agonies begin to play upon his soul.
He was saving Phylanna from the jackalwere, but he was receiving nothing for the heroic act.
'I have erred. You are not one of my kind. You are accursed.' Torrence glanced at Phylanna, then returned his gaze to Kelemvor. 'You cannot save her, cursed one. She will pay for your trickery with her life!'
Kelemvor slowly turned, his skin dark and crawling with black, twisting hairs. He dropped his sword and stripped off the mail frock. His arms were still caught above his head when his flesh exploded and the great beast he held within him leaped at the jackalwere, pushing it out the window. The silver-haired creature howled as the beasts met in midair and plummeted to the ground.
Dawn was breaking, and Adon was shocked from his introspection by the screams of the dying.
The cleric approached the source of the screeches with growing apprehension; the screams he heard were not the sounds a human would make. And as he drew closer, he saw that many townsfolk had been drawn by the noise, as if the sounds had pierced the veil of lethargy that hung over them, allowing awareness to sear across their minds. The commoners stood staring at a nightmare.
The watchers were at either end of the alley, and Adon could only glimpse an occasional blur of movement from the area beyond — a flash of glaring white; a huge black form darting forward, then retreating as it let out an inhuman roar. There were two figures locked in some obscene dance of death.
Adon pushed forward, past the onlookers. Neither of the combatants was human, although one stood on its crooked hind legs. Its face was that of a jackal, but there was human intelligence in the gray-blue eyes, which registered alarm at the crowd that had gathered and at the warm sunlight breaking from above. The creature was covered in soft, matted hair, and it bled profusely from the score of wounds that had been opened in its hide.
The other beast was all too familiar to Adon: the sleek, black, rippling body; the piercing green eyes; the
