that I have seen Lord Helm stand at the head of a Celestial Stairway. I have heard the guardian's warning to the fallen gods.'
The bald man's lips curled hack in a snarl, and he raised his hand as if to strike Adon, then stopped. The Tormite paused for a moment then forced himself to smile weakly. 'Since you have come to Torm with this knowledge, my superiors may wish to speak with you further.' The bald man gently grabbed Adon's arm and led him from the room. 'Come. We will find a place for you to sleep in the barracks outside the temple. It may be some time before my masters can find a moment to speak with you.'
Adon rested that night on a warm cot inside the building outside the gate to the temple. The cots were usually reserved for guards who were stationed on call, but, on this night at least, there were more cots than guards. For a short time, Adon actually managed to sleep. The rest of the time he spent mulling over his relationship to the gods and forcing images of Elminster's final moments in the Temple of Lathander out of his mind.
During his periods of wakefulness, Adon strained to listen to the guards' conversations on the walkway outside the gate. If he concentrated, the young cleric could hear fragments of various discussions that went on outside his window. Most of the talk concerned women or drink, but a few statements caught Adon's attention.
'To have seen Lord Torm's face is enough. I understand there are those who have even touched his robes…,'one voice said in a reverent tone.
Adon felt a sickness in his heart. The voice had been so pitiful, so awestruck. Would he sound that way if Sune had appeared before him? At one time, perhaps, but certainly not now.
A few minutes later, two more figures paused beside the barracks. 'Dangerous talk!' a woman said, her voice full of fear. 'Don't let anyone hear you say that. Do you want to vanish like the others?'
Later still, another man said, 'I've heard talk of a fringe group that worships Oghma, the God of Knowledge. I have their names and addresses. With Lord Torm's grace, by the end of the week — '
'Lord Torm does not need to be troubled with such matters, my friend!' another voice snapped. 'Just give the information to me. I'll see that the situation is handled properly…'
Finally, just before the hour of dawn was announced, a man stopped directly outside Adon's window. 'He must never find out,' the gravel-voiced man grumbled. 'It was all for him, all in his name.' He paused. 'But Lord Torm might not understand, since he has been removed from the world for so long. He must never know all that has occurred.' Then the men were gone.
As dawn was announced, Adon suddenly realized that a priest had silently entered the barracks and stood no more than ten feet to the side of the cleric's cot. Rising from the cot, Adon gave the ritual greeting and felt relief flow through him when the priest returned the gesture. This Tormite was very tall, and his platinum hair was combed straight down, nearly touching his silver eyebrows. The priest's eyes were sky blue, and his smile was so warm that it instantly set Adon at ease.
Suddenly realizing that his hair was unbrushed, rather dirty, and probably sticking up in places, Adon tried to brush his locks into place with one hand. The priest looked on with amusement. Adon laughed and gave up.
'My clothes have been slept in, my hair is a mess, and I haven't eaten since yesterday,' Adon said with a sigh. 'I suppose I'm hardly what you expected as a cleric of Sune.'
The priest put his hand on Adon's shoulder and guided the young cleric out of the small building, past the gatehouse, and onto the walkway leading to Torm's temple.
'Do not concern yourself, Adon of Sune,' the priest murmured reassuringly. 'We will not judge you by your appearance. As for morningfeast, I have arranged for a private meal to be delivered to my chambers. We will share this, and I will tell you everything that you need to know.'
Adon and the platinum-haired priest entered the temple through a gate. A thousand stone gauntlets lined the doorway, and Adon felt uneasy as he brushed past one of them. It seemed to the faithless cleric that the stone hand might reach out and grab him, might prevent someone who didn't have faith in the God of Duty from entering his home. Of course, nothing happened.
The two men passed down a long corridor lined with oaken doors. Each door was adorned with a painted gauntlet, and sounds of chanting and worship drifted through each of the chamber doors.
Soon the corridor forked into two diagonal pathways that stretched for twenty feet in either direction. These smaller hallways ended in doorways. The priest turned to the left, followed the hallway to its end then opened the polished oaken door. It creaked open, revealing a simple chamber. A straw mattress dominated the cell's floor, and devotional paintings of the God of Duty covered the walls.
The meal that the platinum-haired priest had promised was there, and Adon quickly sat on the floor. A plate of warm bread, along with cheese and fresh fruit, lay on a platter. As the Tormite stood silently over him, the scarred cleric started to eat hungrily. Noticing that the priest was staring, Adon put down his food and waited as the man uttered a prayer over the meal.
Adon started to eat again, and the priest sat down across from him. The platinum-haired man's first words caused the cleric to choke.
'Will you do penance for not blessing your meal?' the Tormite asked softly.
Adon's face turned white, and he got a small piece of bread caught in his throat. He coughed several times then shook his head vigorously.
The priest leaned forward. 'So it's true, then, Adon, that you are no longer a cleric.'
Adon began to feel ill as he realized that this was just another interrogation session. He put the chunk of bread he was eating back on his plate.
The platinum-haired man frowned. 'A cleric is nothing without belief, and yours is very weak.' He paused and studied Adon's eyes. 'Have you come here seeking guidance? Is that why you made up that wild story about delivering a message to Lord Torm?' the priest asked sadly.
'Perhaps,' Adon whispered. He tried to force a look of shame onto his face to hide his growing fear.
The priest, a broad smile covering his face, clutched Adon's shoulders. 'You have just taken the first step toward accepting Lord Torm, the God of Duty. Today you will be allowed to wander the temple freely. You may enter any door marked with the symbol of Torm. All others are off limits to you… for now.' The Tormite paused, and the smile left his face. 'There are serious penalties if you ignore these warnings. I'm sure you understand.'
The priest allowed his perfect smile to return, but now Adon saw that expression as threatening somehow.
The scarred cleric cleared his throat and tried to return the platinum-haired man's smile but failed. 'You haven't told me your name,' Adon said.
'Tenwealth,' the Tormite told Adon happily. 'Dunn Tenwealth, high priest of Torm. Now, put on a cheerful face, friend Adon. There is reason enough to feel fear and depression outside these walls.' The priest stood up and threw his arms open wide. 'While you are here, you are safe within the gauntleted hand of Lord Torm.'
Tenwealth helped Adon to his feet then patted him on the shoulder. 'I must leave you now,' the platinum- haired man said. 'I have other duties to attend to.' Adon stayed in the chamber for a little while after Tenwealth left, then spent the morning and half the afternoon observing services and rituals that were so commonplace the scarred cleric soon grew bored. Adon had been a traveler in his youth. He had once seen a pagan ritual performed on the lip of a violently churning volcano that was at once beautiful and terrifying. Although the cleric could appreciate the well-ordered, perfectly respectable rites the followers of Torm performed to honor their god, he was not impressed.
In the middle of the afternoon, Adon sent a messenger to deliver a note to Midnight at the Lazy Moon. Adon then found himself alone in a lush garden that lay at the rear of the temple. A beautiful statue of a golden lion stood in the center of the garden, seeming to stare lazily at Adon as he sat on a stone bench.
Allowing his facade of contentment to drop, the cleric mulled over all that he had seen and heard since he entered the gatehouse almost a day ago. Obviously something sinister was going on in the temple, and it seemed likely that Lord Torm knew nothing about it. Like all the fallen gods, the God of Duty was forced to rely on a human avatar. But Torm was also locked away in a palace, where only smiles of adoration could penetrate the carefully guarded walls. Adon shivered and closed his eyes.
'The gods are as vulnerable as we are,' Adon murmured sadly after a few moments.
'I've long suspected it,' a voice said nonchalantly. The cleric opened his eyes, turned, and saw a man who was as ruggedly handsome as anyone Adon had ever seen. The man's hair was red, with touches of amber. A
