There was concern in their eyes. Nothing else.
'My… armors and mails are upstairs.'
'I'll get them,' Cyric offered. He took the steps slowly, his side still sore from holding the bow drawn for so long.
Kelemvor studied Midnight's face. 'Are you not… revolted by what you've seen?'
Midnight touched his face. 'Why didn't you tell us?'
'I've never told anyone.'
Cyric returned with Kelemvor's gear. He set it beside the fighter, then motioned at Adon. 'We'll ensure your privacy as you ready yourself. There is a long road ahead of us, and we'd best meet it with the sun above our heads, not at our backs.'
Adon stood watch at the far end of the alley, while Cyric went back the way they came and stood beside the mounts. Kelemvor bowed his head, and Midnight ran her hand through his hair.
'Ariel,' he said quietly.
'I'm here,' Midnight said, and she held the fighter tightly until he spoke. Once he began the tale, Kelemvor found that he could not stop until the debt of trust he owed to Midnight was fulfilled.
The curse of the Lyonsbanes had been passed down through Kelemvor's family for generations. Kyle Lyonsbane was the first and only of the Lyonsbanes to receive the curse due to his own actions. All those who followed received it from his tainted blood and through no fault of their own. Kyle was known as the quintessential mercenary: every service had its price and he was utterly ruthless in extracting payment, even from grieving widows if they held the gold that he was entitled to.
Kyle's actions caught up to him in a great battle, when he was given the choice of defending a fallen sorceress or continuing to cut through the enemy to reach their stronghold and be the first to plunder the vast riches within.
With Kyle's help, the sorceress might have gathered her strength, but the mercenary knew she would object to the plundering and could see no clear gain in helping her. He left her to die at the hands of the enemy. Before she died, she spat out one last intricate work of magic and cursed him to pursue his fortunes in a form more suitable to his true nature than a human shell could ever be.
When Kyle arrived at the stronghold and attempted to take his share of the gold, he felt a sudden weakness. He dragged himself away to a secluded chamber where he changed into a near-mindless, snarling panther. Instinctively, the beast knew it had to escape the stronghold. Only after half a day's flight from the castle, when the beast had killed a traveler, did Kyle suffer the painful transformation and become human once again.
For the rest of his days, Kyle Lyonsbane suffered the curse of the sorceress: whenever he attempted to perform an act for any type of reward, he became the beast. And even though only selfless, heroic acts were permissible for the mercenary under the curse, he had sworn he would never devote his life to such activities. He was forced to retire from the mercenary life he loved the most and live off the gains he had made from his previous adventures. When his gold ran out and the only avenue open to him was to live off the charity of his wife's family, he took his own life rather than live with the humiliation of poverty or perform any good deeds.
Before Kyle died, he sired an heir to his misfortune. Strangely, when the curse finally revealed itself in Kyle's son, the effects were reversed. Kyle's son could not perform any act, unless it was to protect his own life, without the promise of some type of reward. If he performed an act and did not receive his reward or he dared to perform a charitable act for no reward at all, he became a panther and was forced to take a life.
A roaming mage had a theory that as the original curse was meant as a punishment for evil and greed, and as all babes were born into the world as innocents, the curse found no evil to punish, and instead altered itself to punish the innocence and good in Kyle's son.
The intent of the sorceress' curse had been undone, and a long line of mercenaries with histories as bloody and unscrupulous as Kyle Lyonsbane's were born. It was Lukyan, Kyle's grandson, who discovered an inherent danger in his father's condition as his sire grew old and senile: the aged mercenary could no longer remember when a reward had been offered or warranted, or even when or if it had been paid. Because of this, the old man changed into the beast without provocation, and became a menace to all he came near. It became the responsibility of every child in the Lyonsbane clan to slay their father when they reached fifty summers.
The family survived for many generations, but the ritualistic killing of sires by their offspring was not always necessary: the curse did not strike every generation. Kelemvor's father and uncle had, for example, been exempt from the effects of the curse, free to live their lives the way they pleased. Like Kelemvor, all of the sons of Kendrel Lyonsbane were not as fortunate as their father.
Kelemvor was a seventh generation descendant of Kyle, and he had tried all his life to free himself of the curse. He longed to perform acts of kindness, of charity and right. But the years had passed for the fighter, and there had been no hope of a cure, no hope for redemption. Only the bloody path of service and payment as a mercenary lay before him.
Kelemvor finished the tale and waited for Midnight to respond. She was quiet and caressed the fighter gently as he spoke.
'We'll find a way to cure you,' she said at last.
Kelemvor looked into her eyes. There was compassion, mixed with regret.
'Will you come with me to Shadowdale?' Midnight asked, her hands caressing Kelemvor's face. 'I offer a handsome reward.'
The fighter could not look away. 'I must know what you offer.'
'I offer my love.'
Kelemvor touched her hands. 'Then I will come with you,' he said and held her close.
As Kelemvor and his companions rode back to the Flagon Held High, Cyric stopped a number of times to gather the supplies they would need for their journey to Shadowdale. He found fresh mounts for Adon and himself, and meats and breads for the party. When they reached the inn, Midnight accompanied Kelemvor inside so they might retrieve their few possessions. Cyric and Adon waited outside, near the inn's front door.
The young man with pale gray eyes sat unnoticed in the shadows beside the door. There was an uncomfortable silence between Cyric and Adon. Looking out at the main street of Tilverton, Cyric saw a group of riders approaching from the direction of the temple. A floorboard creaked, and Cyric turned just in time to see the gray-eyed man rise up from the shadows behind Adon, wielding a knife. Cyric was already moving as the cleric turned, but the blade sliced through the air, too quick for even the thief to stop. A spray of blood blossomed onto the wall as the knife struck Adon in the face.
Cyric pulled the unconscious cleric back with one hand as the gray-eyed man prepared to strike again. The thief already had his dagger in his free hand, and he thrust forward, impaling their attacker.
'I die for the glory of Gond,' the gray-eyed man said and fell back into his chair.
Kelemvor and Midnight appeared in the doorway. 'Take him,' Cyric said as he shoved Adon toward Kelemvor. The cleric's face was covered with blood. Midnight moved to help Kelemvor with their wounded, unconscious friend, and Cyric ran for the horses.
The gray-eyed man clutched at his stomach as he leaned back in his chair. 'Phylanna warned us,' he said and pointed at Kelemvor. 'She told us that Lord Gond had sent a monster into our midst to test us. Only by killing it can we prove ourselves worthy of the presence of Lord Gond, the Wonderbringer…'
The gray-eyed man fell out of the chair and sank to his knees, his back scraping against the wall.
Cyric looked to the road. The riders from the temple were approaching and would be upon them in moments. 'We have to leave now, Kel,' he said and turned his mount away from the Temple of Gond, toward the road to the north and Shadowdale.
With a swiftness born of desperation, Kelemvor heaved Adon over his shoulder and climbed to his mount. Midnight grabbed the cleric's belongings as she ran to her horse. The townsfolk were still on their heels when the heroes reached the road and headed out across the Stonelands.
The heroes rode long into the night, their pursuers never far behind. Kelemvor's plan was simple: the riders were not prepared for a lengthy journey, so they would have to slop or turn back at some point. Losing the pursuers was simply a matter of endurance.
It was dawn, and the riders from Tilverton were falling behind by a considerable distance, when the heroes came across a small lake near the mountains of the Shadow Gap. The water was surrounded by a scattering of trees, tired sentinels that longed to reach down and cool themselves in the sparkling water. Kelemvor knew that the
