frantic with worry.
'I spent half the night on the docks trying to find you,' Midnight cried as she embraced the fighter and they kissed.
'What did you mean by that note?' Midnight whispered as she pulled away from the fighter and wiped the tears from her eyes.
'Exactly what it said. Cyric is alive, and he tried to kill me. I've seen him, and I have no doubt he will make other attempts on my life… or your life,' Kelemvor growled and stomped across the room. 'Is Adon in his room? We should leave the inn and hide for a while. There's a slum near the docks where we can maintain a much lower profile.'
'Adon hasn't returned yet,' Midnight said.
Kelemvor's face turned white. 'He's still at the temple?'
'Yes. Why?' the raven-haired mage asked in a low tone.
Reaching for the door, Kelemvor gestured for Midnight to follow. 'We'll have to find him. Adon's in terrible danger from the Tormites. I'll explain on the way!'
Midnight nodded and followed the fighter out of the room, stopping only long enough to grab the canvas sack containing her spellbook.
XIV
Outside the Lazy Moon Inn, Adon watched as Kelemvor and Midnight said their farewells. The concern the lovers showed for one another was touching, if a little maudlin. Still, the cleric knew that searching the city alone was dangerous and they might never see one another again. But it was better that way. Midnight and Kelemvor could search for the tablet wherever they pleased, and Adon wouldn't slow them down.
'Adon,' Midnight said, and the cleric snapped to attention. The mage smiled at him warmly. 'Try not to worry. We're going to be fine.'
'So you say,' the cleric mumbled.
Midnight gripped the young man's arm tightly. 'And stop feeling sorry for yourself,' she whispered, then turned and walked away. Kelemvor stared at the mage as she headed down the street, while Adon made his way across the lane, then merged with the crowd.
The cleric expected his mission to the Temple of Torm to be a simple matter. Having visited the clergy of many different gods in his travels, Adon was familiar with the protocol for calling upon priests of rival denominations. Holding both hands side by side, palms facing up, thumbs stretched as far apart as possible, was almost universally accepted as a sign of peaceful intentions. By showing this sign and saying, 'There is room for all,' a cleric could expect to gain admittance to most temples quite easily.
But as the cleric of Sune passed through the Citadel of Tantras, he felt that gaining entrance to Torm's temple might not be so easy. People stared at him as he passed, then looked away and pretended that they hadn't noticed the young man. Others pointed at Adon and whispered amongst themselves. The number of guards Adon encountered increased as he moved farther toward the temple, too. He had the feeling that he was heading toward an armed camp, not a house of worship.
The spires of the citadel were impressive, but Adon expected their allure to pale beside the rebuilt Temple of Torm, a living god. He was stunned by the sight of the plain three-story building that had been surrounded by protective walls and a series of interlocking gates. Pairs of simple one-story towers, with covered walkways leading from one to another, served as gatehouses.
Warriors wearing the symbol of Torm waited outside each gatehouse. Adon approached the first pair of well-armed guards, performed the ritualistic greeting, and announced himself as a worshiper of Sune. Though it pained the young cleric to claim he still worshiped the Goddess of Beauty, he knew that he would be allowed into the temple more quickly if he appeared to be a visiting priest.
The warriors failed to answer the greeting in the customary manner. Instead, one guard ran off to alert his superiors then two more armed guards appeared, and Adon was taken into one of the gatehouses, where he was subjected to a series of interviews. Various clerics and members of the town government asked the scarred young man a wide variety of questions about everything from his hobbies as a boy to his opinions about various philosophical matters. Adon was as helpful as possible, but when he expressed his confusion at the odd treatment he was receiving, he received no explanation. Strangely, what Adon thought would be the most important question — his reason for visiting the temple — was never brought up.
'Why is this questioning necessary?' Adon demanded of the fifth interviewer, a bored civil servant who looked out at the cleric through dark, hooded eyes. It was now several hours after eveningfeast, and the cleric had begun to wish that he had forced himself to eat something before he left the Lazy Moon.
'Why do you worship Sune?' the bored man asked Adon for the fifth time, then looked down at a sheet of parchment that rested on the table before him.
'I'll answer no more questions until I receive some information in return,' Adon said flatly, crossing his arms over his chest. The civil servant sighed, folded up his parchment, and shuffled out of the sparse, stone room. The scarred cleric heard a bolt slide into place on the other side of the door. With the door now locked and the small window in the cell filled with strong, iron bars, Adon knew that it would be futile to search for an escape route. So he waited.
It was almost six hours later that a cleric wearing the robes of Torm entered the chamber where Adon had been left to wait. Introducing himself, the scarred cleric performed the ritual of greeting and waited for a response.
'We have no temple to Sune in Tantras,' the bald Tormite told the prisoner, ignoring Adon's downturned eyes and opened hands. 'Lord Torm walks among us. He is all. Our god sets the hours of the day, the loyalty — '
'The loyalty in your heart, the reason in your head. I've heard it all before,' Adon snapped, his calm facade splintering. He stood up and took a step toward the bald man. 'I want to know why I have been subjected to this insulting test of endurance.'
The Tormite narrowed his eyes, and his features turned cold and lifeless. 'You have no business being in a temple dedicated to Torm, Adon of Sune. You will be shown out immediately.'
As the bald man turned, Adon subdued his anger. 'Wait!' the young cleric called. 'I meant no insult.'
The bald man turned back to face Adon, a sneer on his face. 'You are not a practicing cleric. I've already been told that,' the man growled. 'You have no real business in any house of worship.'
Adon felt his heart race with anger and confusion. He had mentioned nothing to the interviewers of his recent loss of faith.
The bald man must have read the confusion in Adon's eyes, for he growled, 'The nature of the questions we have asked you allows us to make inferences with a very high degree of accuracy. You are as easy to read as any book in our library.'
'What else do you know about me?' Adon asked, worry beginning to well up inside of him. If the Tormites had discovered anything about the Tablets of Fate from his answers, Midnight and Kelemvor might now be in danger.
The cleric of Torm walked to Adon and stood directly in front of him. 'You are disillusioned. That scar on your face is recent. And you want something from us.'
'I seek an audience with Lord Torm,' Adon told the bald man, meeting the Tormite's look of disgust with one of quiet anger.
The bald cleric tried to hide his surprise at Adon's audacity, but he failed miserably. 'That is hardly a request to be made lightly. Besides, why should the God of Loyalty see a faithless wretch such as you?'
'Why shouldn't he?' Adon asked, shrugging. 'I have been witness to sights that only a god or goddess could interpret or appreciate.'
The bald man raised one eyebrow. 'Such as?'
Adon looked away. The cleric knew that he would have to choose his words carefully. 'Tell the God of Duty
