celebrating the fall of Scardale with the crew of the Queen of the Night and the rest of Bane's forces.
'Ramming speed!' Bjorn cried, a maniacal glint in his one good eye.
The ships collided, and a hole was torn in the side of the pursuing Zhentish ship. The Queen of the Night withdrew, and the second Zhentish ship moved in to pick up survivors as the Queen sailed out into the Dragon Reach. But before the galley could put a hundred yards between it and the other Zhentish ship, there was a cry from the bridge. Kelemvor looked up and saw a horrible shape floating in the air above the galley.
Kelemvor's mind seemed to freeze as he realized that Bane must have discovered his betrayal. Sejanus had escaped the suits of animated armor and now sat astride his nightmare, ready to attack the galley. The assassin's bolos whirled in the air. The fighter looked to the bow and saw Midnight about to throw a spell.
'Midnight, get out of the way!' Kelemvor cried, but he was too late. The bolos flew through the air. In seconds, the weapon would wrap around Midnight's torso, and they would knock her over the edge of the ship, into the water. Sejanus would have his prisoner at last.
Suddenly Varden appeared beside the mage and shoved her to the side. The bolos wrapped around the blond thief's neck, and Midnight heard a sickening snap as her friend's neck broke. Varden fell over the side of the ship, already dead.
'No!' Midnight wailed in horror. Images of Cyric being swept away in the Ashaba flooded the mage's mind. She raised her hands once more. Her fingers moved like quicksilver, and the incantation flew from her lips so quickly that it sounded like gibberish.
The assassin reigned in the nightmare and hovered in place for an instant, the extent of his error suddenly becoming clear. A spiral of light leaped from Midnight's hands and struck the water below Sejanus. He was startled to find no ill effects from the spell. Whatever incantation the mage had tried had gone awry. Ordering his mount to descend toward their prey, the assassin charged toward the Queen of the Night.
But as Sejanus raced down through the air, the nightmare he rode slapping fiery hoofprints into the sky, a group of huge, black tentacles burst from the dark green water next to the galley. Pulling a knife from his boot, the assassin looked down and saw the horrible sight. Dozens of writhing, slimy limbs were rising up toward him, curling around the nightmare's legs.
This is only an illusion, Sejanus thought. These figments cannot harm me.
He was wrong.
The tentacles grabbed the assassin and his mount and carefully, methodically pulled them apart. When the last of the black limbs sank back into the Dragon Reach, Midnight collapsed. The few small pieces of Sejanus's armor that had stayed afloat for a moment after striking the water now sank beneath the bloody waves.
Several hours passed, and Midnight would not speak. Liane had been told of Varden's death, and she too had kept to herself. At highsun the following day, Midnight joined Kelemvor in the private quarters Bjorn had set aside for his guests.
The mage was still badly shaken. 'How could I have done that?' she asked as she entered the cabin.
'He deserved death,' Kelemvor concluded coldly. 'An assassin doesn't feel remorse. He doesn't care about the agony he causes to those left behind. You've done the Realms a favor.'
'That's not what I mean,' Midnight said. 'The spell I used. It should have been a fireball spell. That was all I had time to learn when we reached the Sembian's safe house. But something else happened. Something else completely.'
Kelemvor shrugged. 'Magic is unstable, remember? We both know that.'
Midnight shook her head, trying to scatter the unwanted questions that had grown there since the incident. 'Was that all?' the mage asked.
Kelemvor sensed the apprehension in his lover's voice. 'Aye,' he said, reassuring the raven-haired mage. 'What else could it be?'
Midnight shuddered. 'No more talk,' she said as she drew the fighter close to her. 'We've been apart for far too long to talk this day away.' Kelemvor kissed her then smiled. 'I told you there would be time for us,' he reminded her softly.
It was the following day when the lovers left the cabin. On deck, they noticed Adon talking with Liane. The scarred cleric placed a comforting hand on the woman's back as he gestured out to sea. Liane sniffed the flower she held tightly in her hands, then leaned over the railing and faced east, toward Scardale and the spot where Varden's body had sunk beneath the sea.
'I forgive you,' she said quietly and cast the flower upon the waters of the Dragon Reach.
XI
Bane was furious. News of the seizure of the Queen of the Night and Midnight's escape from Scardale had driven the Black Lord into such a state that he had refused to speak to anyone the entire day. Now, sitting alone in his chambers in Scardale, the fallen God of Strife muttered and cursed.
Suddenly the doors to his chamber opened and the sorceress, Tarana Lyr, entered. The blond madwoman was practically drooling with excitement.
'Why do you disturb me when I left strict orders that I wished solitude?' Bane snarled, curling his hands into fists.
The sorceress took a deep breath. 'There is a man who wishes to see you, Lord Bane. He waits just outside this chamber.'
'A man?' Bane asked irascibly. 'Not a god?'
The blond sorceress looked at the Black Lord in confusion. 'A god, Lord Bane?'
The God of Strife closed his eyes, trying to control his anger. 'The presence of another god would have been sufficient cause for you to interrupt my meditation. Not the supplications of a mortal.'
'I think you will see this mortal,' Tarana purred, rocking back and forth on her heels.
Gripping the arms of his throne, Bane grimaced as he growled, 'I do not trust you, mage, but show him in anyway.'
Tarana Lyr sprinted across the length of the chamber and threw the door open wide. 'He will see you now,' she cooed from the door.
A lean, dark-haired man entered the chamber, and the sorceress quietly closed the door behind him.
Bane leaped from his throne, suddenly, frighteningly aware that Fzoul had reclaimed his body.
'You!' the priest shouted in anger, and images of Cyric firing an arrow into the red-haired man at the Ashaba Bridge coursed through the mind he shared with the God of Strife. The priest's anger pushed the Black Lord's consciousness down into his mind's dark recesses. Fzoul reached out to the sorceress. 'Give me your dagger!'
Cyric stood motionless, a thin film of sweat on his brow. 'Lord Bane, you must listen — '
Fzoul grabbed the weapon from Tarana and advanced on the thief. 'Not Bane, you imbecile! It is Fzoul Chembryl who will taste your blood this day.'
The hawk-nosed thief backed away from the red-haired priest. The last thing Cyric expected was to confront Fzoul. He was certain that Bane would have crushed Fzoul's mind completely when he took the priest as an avatar.
Fzoul lunged with the knife and Cyric sidestepped as best he could. But maneuverability was limited in the chamber, and a single misstep could mean death. Cyric couldn't risk drawing a weapon. If he killed the avatar of Bane, the explosion might level the entire port town of Scardale — or the fallen god might choose his body to inhabit next. Worse still, the giggling blond sorceress was chanting and seemed prepared to release a spell.
The red-haired priest feinted to the left then drove his body to the right, crashing into Cyric. Both men tumbled to the ground. The thief's head struck the floor with a sharp crack, and Fzoul drove the dagger toward Cyric's right eye, then stopped. The priest's eyes turned crimson, and Bane smiled as he stared into Cyric's wide, panic-filled eyes.
'Fzoul's anger surprises me sometimes,' the Black Lord said casually as he climbed off the thief and handed the dagger back to the sorceress. 'He has a capacity for hate greater than most gods. Excepting myself, of
