Midnight?' he asked.
The mage trembled. 'We're going. Let's go, Adon.'
Smiling at the mage, Adon gathered the remaining gear and got out of the skiff. Both he and Midnight turned to Cyric, who was still standing a few yards away. The thief muttered something, walked to the skiff, and grabbed the bow. Midnight and Adon took hold of the stern, and together the travelers flipped the surprisingly light craft upside down and held it over their heads. They followed the path through the woods, parallel to the river, for nearly an hour, speaking only when necessary.
As the thief had suggested, the heroes soon broke from the woods to take the more direct route past the rapids. Soon, they were in view of the low, rolling hills of Battledale. For hours they were surrounded by lush green rises as they carried the boat over the soft ground. The hills in the distance seemed to melt, losing form until they became a hazy, greenish white wall on the horizon. A soft wind whispered over the dale, and occasionally a sound from the river made it to their ears.
The heroes found a path that lay between a series of hills and followed it. On either side of the travelers, the rising earth was marked by ridges that angled up to the top of the hills, then blended into the soft, brownish green of the landscape. As they progressed through the dale, the hills that were closest came into sharp focus, while those in the far distance lost their form and melted into the sky. Slow-moving, puffy clouds drifted past.
The work was tiring, but it was a pleasant break from the steady toil of rowing the skiff down the Ashaba. The heroes set a strong pace, and soon after highsun, they were once again nearing the river.
'The Pool of Yeven should be very close,' Cyric said flatly. 'The river's usually calm here, but who knows what it'll be like now? Be ready for anything.'
The heroes reached the shore, and Midnight and Adon lowered their end of the skiff as Cyric did the same. Midnight was exhausted, and her muscles ached. She sat on the ground beside the skiff, and Adon knelt beside her. The thief stood with his arms crossed, tapping his foot impatiently.
'What do you want from me?' Midnight cried. 'Do you want me to cast a spell that will take us to Tantras? I only wish I could. At this moment, I'd rather be banished to Myrkul's realm than take on the Ashaba again.' The mage put her hands over her face. 'But I don't see that we have a choice.'
Midnight stood and walked toward the thief. 'We're just as worthy to make this trip as you. In fact, I don't know who put you in command of this little expedition in the first place.' Cyric started to speak, but Midnight cut him off.
'The point is, Cyric, I'm not going to be treated as your baggage anymore. Neither is Adon. If you want to continue alone, then I won't stop you. I'm sorry that I couldn't be whatever it is you wanted me to be. I tried to be your friend, but that doesn't seem to be enough for you.'
Cyric's arms had fallen limply to his sides. There was nothing he could say, nothing he wanted to say, to make up for the pain he had caused Midnight. That simply didn't matter. Cyric wanted the Tablets of Fate. The desire for the power and the glory they would bring burned inside him. All other considerations paled beside his need for control of his own fate, and ownership of the tablets would buy him that control.
Cyric had begun his life as a slave, and until he confronted and killed his former mentor from the Thieves' Guild, just before the Battle of Shadowdale, Cyric had never felt like a free man. Phantom chains of servitude had hung around his neck, wrists, and ankles all his life. Now, however, he had a purpose, a quest for his own gain. And if he succeeded, no one would ever control him again. The chains would be removed once and for all.
But Cyric also knew that, for now, he needed Midnight, and perhaps even Adon, to make it to Tantras, to recover the first of the missing Tablets of Fate. He simply couldn't allow the mage's petty anger to spoil everything.
'I'm… sorry,' Cyric lied as he pushed the boat into the water. 'You're right. I have treated you both badly. It's just that… I'm frightened, too.' Midnight smiled and threw her arms around the thief.
'I knew you'd come around, Cyric!' she said happily. Smiling, Midnight removed her arms from around the thief's neck, helped Adon into the skiff, then threw her gear in the bottom of the boat. 'We're all in this together.'
Neither Midnight nor Adon could see the expression on Cyric's face as he turned his back to them and reached for his own pack. A peculiar smile crossed his face — a smile born not of happiness, but of victory. And contempt.
As the heroes rowed toward the Pool of Yeven, Adon sat near the bow of the skiff, his hand hanging over the edge. The cleric watched the rushing, quicksilver lines of current in the blue-green water, and a slight frown formed across his face. 'The direction of the river is changing up ahead,' Adon said softly. His words were smothered by the sounds of the river, and the cleric was forced to repeat himself.
Cyric looked back over his shoulder and gazed toward the vast lake downriver. Adon was correct; the current was changing. A wall of pure white froth arose at the barrier where the river met the lake, obscuring the swirling chaos beyond.
The Pool of Yeven had become a huge whirlpool!
The thief looked to either shore and realized that he could never guide their fragile craft to land before the pull of the current caught them and capsized the boat. The only chance the heroes had was to guide the boat to the outer channels of the violent water and attempt to ride it out.
The thief shouted hurried orders to Midnight and Adon, but his words were lost in the roar from the vortex. As they got closer to the whirlpool, Adon stared at the maelstrom as if it were somehow familiar. Midnight, on the other hand, seemed paralyzed with fear. With only Cyric's frantic efforts to slow them down, the heroes soon passed through the barrier of mist where the river entered the pool. Although they were all soaked to the skin, the skiff did not take on enough water to cause alarm.
Midnight was shocked from her paralysis by the splash of the ice-cold water. When she saw the gigantic, gaping maw of the whirlpool in the center of the once-placid Pool of Yeven, she couldn't hold back a scream.
Cyric couldn't hear her. There was a wall of sound rising up from the center of the vast maelstrom that grew louder as the skiff was pulled into the outer rings of the madly swirling water. The thief jammed a single oar over the right side of the boat to steady the craft, but the tiny skiff spun and bobbed as it was dragged toward the maelstrom.
In a matter of moments, the heroes were poised at the very top of the whirlpool, and they could see down into its lowest depths. A blinding blue-white luminescence was visible at the very bottom of the vortex. Using the oars as rudders, Cyric tried to keep the skiff steady, but the boat was lurching violently. A fine mist surrounded the heroes, and they occasionally caught glimpses of a landmark on the shoreline as they sped dizzily past it. The boat lurched, leaving the water for a brief moment, and Midnight had to force back a wave of nausea. Cyric fought with the oars, cursing loudly. Tears were streaming down Adon's face as he stared at the swirling vortex of water.
'Please, Sune!' the frightened cleric cried as he reached out and nearly fell from the boat. The skiff rocked, and Cyric shot a look over his shoulder.
'Can't you control him?' Cyric shouted, then turned back to the oars to compensate for the disturbance Adon had caused.
'What is it, Adon?' Midnight screamed. 'What is it you see?'
Adon whimpered for a moment, then spoke softly, barely audible above the roar of the whirlpool. 'Elminster's in the rift. I want to save him, but I can't reach him.'
Images of their final moments in the temple returned to Midnight. Bane's avatar had been defeated, and Mystra's essence had vanished in the explosion that destroyed the Black Lord's avatar. During the battle, Elminster had been driven into a swirling vortex he himself had created. Neither Midnight nor Adon could save the old sage when the rift closed.
'I–I tried to save him!' Adon cried. 'I tried to cast a spell. But Sune refused to hear my prayers. She deserted me and let Elminster die!'
'It wasn't your fault!' Midnight screamed. The frame of the skiff was beginning to shake violently under the assault of the surging water.
Adon turned to Midnight. Though his eyes were red from crying, Midnight saw clarity in them, a spark of understanding that had long been missing. 'It is my fault,' the cleric said calmly. 'I was unworthy. I deserved to be forsaken by my goddess.' Adon paused for a moment, closed his eyes, and pointed to the jagged scar that ran down his cheek. 'I deserved this!'
The boat shook violently, pitching the cleric forward. Midnight grabbed Adon and pulled him back from the
