Kilgrave. This was a creature that had no place in the world of men or gods. Mystra was no longer a creature of flesh and blood or a god of the Planes. She had become a primal essence, a part of the phantasmagoric wonderland of the weave of magic surrounding the world. She could only be called a magic elemental.
Rational thought came only with the greatest of efforts to her now; Mystra was barely conscious and powerless to act. Only the power of Elminster's summoning had been great enough to allow her essence to reform and give her access to the Realms — and a chance to face Lord Bane once again.
Huge threads of primal magic burst from Mystra's eyes and encircled the room. A single, impossible hand clawed from her ectoplasmic flesh, and Mystra reached out toward Bane.
Adon covered Midnight with his body as the bolts of energy raced around the room, scorching the walls and scattering Elminster's books. Then Midnight stirred and looked up at Mystra in horror. 'Goddess,' was all she could say.
Then Elminster released another spell at Bane, but a steady flow of green eggs shot from the old sage's hand and struck the dark god. Elminster cursed and started another incantation. Bane turned from Mystra and released a single bolt of amber light. Just before the amber light struck Elminster, he created a shield to hold the bolt off, but he was knocked, screaming, into the rift anyway. Then blinding bolts of blue-white energy leaped from the hand of Mystra as it fell on the God of Strife.
Bane fell to his knees as the force of his stolen power was turned on him, and his frail human avatar slowly ripped apart. Flesh and blood and bone collapsed into a steaming mass that was now only remotely human.
'I'll not — die — alone!' Bane hissed, and the bloodied avatar crawled forward, reaching out as he saw the dark-haired magic-user huddled with the cleric. Her hands were on the pendant, as if she were about to use the magic against the Black Lord again. Then the pendant snapped from her neck and flew to Lord Bane. The god laughed as his talons closed over it.
'Your power is mine again, Mystra,' the God of Strife said through blistered lips.
Midnight heard the cracking, maniacal voice of Mystra inside her head as the mage got up and walked toward the God of Strife. Strike him the voice said. Use the power I gave you.
A bolt of blue-white power surged from Midnight as she completed her spell. It struck Bane and knocked him closer to Mystra. The Black Lord looked up at Midnight for a moment, confusion in his eyes. 'But I have the — '
Then the God of Strife screamed as Mystra covered him. Here, Lord Bane, Mystra said as she engulfed him. Have all the power you want. There was a flash of blue-white fire and Bane's avatar exploded violently. Mystra's amorphous body stiffened for a second as the avatar died, as she absorbed the power from the blast. Then she, too, disappeared in a flash of brilliant white light.
'Goddess!' Midnight cried, but even as she spoke the word, the mage knew this time that Mystra was dead. Then she remembered that Elminster had been knocked into the rift. When she looked up, Adon was at the rift's edge, staring into the mist that was pouring from it, his arms in front of him as if the cleric were reaching out for someone inside the mist.
'Elminster,' she said slowly. Then Midnight saw a blur of motion inside the rift. The mist parted for only a moment, and she saw the old sage locked in a desperate battle to seal the rift that he had opened.
Midnight ran to Adon's side. The cleric was holding his hands out in front of him, as he would if he were casting a spell. 'Please, Sune,' he said softly, and tears started to run down his cheeks.
Elminster didn't seem to see Midnight and Adon as they stood at the edge of the rift. He was too busy moving his hands in complex patterns and chanting long incantations. Then, the old sage screamed, and a dark violet light poured from the rift. Midnight prepared a spell, but as she raised her hands to throw it, there was a flash, and Elminster and the rift were gone. The temple started to shake, and Midnight fell to her knees.
Adon dragged her to her feet and pulled her forward. She felt the warm air and sunlight rush at her face as they passed through the blinding blue-white lightning that filled the corridor. When they got outside, Midnight looked to the sky and gasped as she saw the massive flames that engulfed the Celestial Stairway blazing into the heavens. For an instant, the charred, black fragments of the stairway itself were visible to her, its aspects frozen in a dizzying array of images. In places she saw the myriad hands she had glimpsed once before; they were trembling and clutching at the air. Then the stairway was gone, and she could only see the flames.
Midnight and Adon fell to the ground and behind them an ear-splitting sound erupted as the walls of the temple splintered, and the wings of the turrets crashed to the ground.
All of Shadowdale trembled as the Temple of Lathander exploded.
To the east of the explosion, there was a moment when almost all fighting on the road near Krag Pool stopped; a moment in which the combatants had stared at the sky in stunned silence. The fires seemed to cascade down from the heavens, cutting through the sky to engulf the area near Lathander's temple.
Kelemvor stared at the flames in shock. His first thought was to abandon his post and ride to Midnight's side, but he knew that Elminster had to be alive. He was legendary for his powers, and he could protect Midnight better than a fighter ever could. Besides, Kelemvor knew he couldn't leave his men without a leader. Midnight's fate was in her own hands, just as she had desired.
The respite caused by the explosion lasted no more than a few seconds, then the fighting resumed. Bane's forces were clearly exhausted, and the loss of their key commanders from the battlefield had reduced the ranks of the Zhentilar to an undisciplined rabble fighting for their lives. Bane had not returned, Sememmon was wounded and unconscious, and Knightsbridge was dead. Most importantly, the defenders of Shadowdale showed no sign of buckling before the dwindling, but still superior numbers of Bane's army.
Commander Bishop stood beside Kelemvor. 'They come from all directions,' Bishop said, barely able to catch his breath. 'By the gods, this is a young man's game!'
'It's a sad and gruesome game, then,' Kelemvor said as he guarded Bishop's back and they slowly moved forward through the pockets of carnage. Bodies were everywhere. The dead numbered in the thousands, and the fighting had become more desperate than ever. Kelemvor heard one of the Zhentilar call out for Lord Bane. Others responded that he had fled.
'Did you hear that?' Kelemvor said, but Bishop was already busy with a swordswoman who matched his every blow and showed no sign of the exhaustion that had overtaken the dalesman.
Before Kelemvor could turn and help Bishop, another Zhentish horseman rode at him, slicing down with his sword. Kelemvor dragged the soldier off his horse and ran him through. Pulling himself onto the ebon mount, Kelemvor held out his hand to Bishop, who had just killed the swordswoman. The commander reached up, then cried out as an arrow pierced his leg. He faltered and Kelemvor grabbed his hand and dragged him to the mount.
Another arrow sailed past them, and Kelemvor kicked the horse into motion. They found a small contingent of dalesmen fighting for their lives against the Zhentilar, and Kelemvor forced the horse to charge into the skirmish.
Kelemvor and Bishop waded into the sea of dark armor, their blades cutting a wide arc in the forces of the Zhentilar. But their efforts weren't enough to even the odds. They were dragged down from opposite sides of the horse, and forced to fight on foot. Then, there was a mad chant from the west, and another troop of ebon-armored riders burst into the battle. But they were not Zhentilar; they wore the symbol of the white horse upon their helmets.
The Riders of Mistledale.
Kelemvor let out a wild scream and gutted the Zhentilar he was fighting. The Riders were the best cavalry in the Dales. Though they only numbered twenty men, they were each a match for five Zhentish soldiers.
Another dalesman let out a cheer and pointed to the west again. 'Look there!'
Kelemvor saw another group of fighters, who could only be the Knights of Myth Drannor, charging down the road. They were leading the majority of Shadowdale's defenders from the town, Lord Mourngrym in their lead.
Before another hour was up, Bane's army started to retreat. The presence of the Riders of Mistledale and the Knights of Myth Drannor had broken the resolve of most of the Zhentilar. Nearly all of the soldiers from Bane's army that managed to break through the gray stone barricade had been killed by the defenders in town. The dalesmen at the bridge had driven off Fzoul and his troops. The Zhentish riders who had attacked from the north had been killed or forced to retreat. Now, the Zhentish forces in the east were running, too.
At the barricades leading to Shadowdale, Kelemvor and Bishop met up with Mourngrym and two of the Knights.
