Elminster's help, we barely managed to defeat Bane. The three of us are going to be hard-pressed to succeed on this quest."
Cyric smiled. "On the journey to Shadowdale, you performed some pretty impressive acts of magic. Spells you had never
studied were suddenly at your fingertips. Incantations far beyond your training seemed to trip off your tongue with ease." The thief
stood up and spread his arms. "You have all the power we need - if we stay away from the gods. Even then..."
"The power was in Mystra's pendant," Midnight mumbled. "And the pendant was destroyed in the Temple of Lathander. The
power you speak of is gone."
"Have you attempted any spells since then?" Cyric asked as he walked toward the mage. "Who can tell what powers that trinket
may have left you?"
"I have no desire to court disaster," the raven-haired mage snapped. "Magic is still unstable. I don't care to attempt a spell
unless I need to."
"Is that your only reason for holding back?" Cyric asked. "Or is it that you're just afraid?"
"I'm not on trial anymore." Midnight hefted the pack and tossed it into the boat, but before she could walk back to Adon's side,
Cyric grabbed her by the arm.
"Just answer one question," Cyric began slowly. "How did you survive the destruction of the temple? I stood in the ruins and
examined the very spot where you and Adon were found. There was wreckage all around, yet you escaped without a scratch."
"Tymora's luck," Midnight mumbled as she pulled away from the thief's grasp.
Suddenly Adon stood up and walked to Cyric's side. "Tymora is dead," he whispered. "All the gods are dead." Both Midnight
and Cyric stared at the cleric as he walked to the boat and climbed in.
"Only magic can account for what happened at the temple, Midnight," Cyric said at last. "Your magic. I don't know how, but you
gained some kind of power from that pendant. And we need that power to recover the Tablets of Fate."
"Why are you so anxious to find the tablets?" Midnight asked as she picked up a sack of food and tossed it to Adon in the boat.
"Because others will want them. Many others. That makes them valuable." Cyric looked back toward the river.
The blood-red pool had dissipated. "Perhaps even priceless."
"What about Mystra's warning?" the mage asked. "She said the tablets must be returned to the Planes, to Lord Ao, before the
gods can go back to their homes and the Realms can return to normal."
"If Lord Ao has the price I seek, then I will gladly deliver them to him. But until then, there is the simple matter of survival." Cyric
put out the small fire, and the camp was thrown into darkness.
"That's madness!" Midnight hissed.
Cyric stood close to Midnight. "No... not even close. We've battled the gods, Midnight. We've seen them die. They don't frighten
me any longer." Cyric paused for a moment, then smiled and whispered, "The gods really are no different from you... or me." Even in
the darkness, Midnight could see the sparkle in the thief's eyes as he spoke.
Less than a quarter of an hour passed before the heroes were on the river once more, the bright moon lighting their way.
Midnight spent most of the night sitting in the bow or taking an occasional turn at the oars, all the while pondering what Cyric had said
about the gods and about her powers.
Midnight slept little that night. However, the next two days passed quietly, so the mage had a number of chances to doze. Adon
gradually became more responsive. When it came time for Midnight's next turn to row, the cleric held her spellbook open so that she
could study, turning pages and searching out specific references at the mage's request.
Cyric grew tired of the preserved meats and cheeses they had brought along for rations, so he decided to fish from the bow of
the skiff. Although he didn't have a bow and arrow, the thief tied their mooring line to the hilt of his dagger and successfully speared
three large flounders on his first three attempts. Rather than enjoying the spoils of his skill, Cyric-seemed disappointed, as if there
were no true challenge in the sport.
With the exception of another skiff traveling upriver an hour after Cyric, Midnight, and Adon had passed out of Mistledale, they
saw no other craft during those two days. As evening approached and the sky turned to a rich amber, Adon noticed a patch of golden
angel seaweed trailing alongside their skiff, as if it had been caught on the underside of the craft.
The cleric's hand was steady as he reached over the side and dipped his fingers beneath the surface of the water to the
seaweed. Its texture was like that of delicate human hair, affected by the strong current, but not snarled or matted. Memories of the
sweet kisses and caresses he had been awarded by a host of beautiful women in his short time in the Realms engulfed the cleric,
and a warm, knowing smile stretched across his face.
"What is he doing?" Cyric called from the bow.
Midnight looked up from her rowing. "He's not harming anyone," the mage said softly. When she noticed that Adon was smiling,
she smiled, too. "It's nice to see him happy."
An almost imperceptible nod came from the cleric as he stared at the surface of the water, his hands tracing delicate forms
upon the angel hair. But Adon tensed as he suddenly felt something solid beneath his hand. The cleric squinted into the golden,
sparkling water and saw a lovely young woman floating underwater alongside the boat, her body translucent. The golden angel
seaweed was in actuality her hair. As Adon watched, a pair of bright yellow eyes opened beneath the surface of the water, and the
woman, as beautiful as any goddess, smiled up at the cleric and covered his hand with hers.
When the woman suddenly stood up, Adon gasped and Midnight nearly lost the oars. Cyric drew his dagger and crouched in a
defensive stance, but the thief felt the fear and anger drain from his body as he gazed at the golden-haired woman. The dagger
slipped from Cyric's grasp and dropped with a clatter to the bottom of the boat.
The woman, who seemed to stand waist-deep in the water, kept pace with the boat as it floated along on the river. She was
clothed in a sheer gold and white gown that clung to her perfectly formed, statuesque figure. Her skin was pale, and she appeared
vaguely wraithlike. A hint of the shoreline was visible through her stunning form. A white shawl was slung across her shoulders.
"Who are you?" she said in a remarkably resonant voice. Her words seemed to echo from the surface of the river and fill the
cradle of water that was held between the opposing shores of deep green trees.
Midnight stopped flailing with the oars and spoke clearly, "I am Midnight of Deepingdale," she said. "My companions are Cyric,
behind me, and Adon, beside you."
The woman smiled. "Would you... like to play?"
The surface of the river seemed to bubble as the golden-haired woman spoke. The skiff rocked back and forth unsteadily. "We
don't have time for games," Midnight declared as she pulled the oars into the boat. "We are on important business."
The golden-eyed woman laughed, her hand rising to her face, the tips of her fingers brushing her lips. "Oh, that sounds
exciting," she murmured. "But really, I think you should stay with me."
The air surrounding the boat shimmered with tiny, amber sparks. Adon and Cyric were suddenly transfixed by the pale-skinned
woman. Both men stood, blank-faced and staring, as the boat rocked and bobbed.
Midnight glanced at her enraptured companions, then realized what it was she faced: a nereid, a strange creature from the
Elemental Plane of Water. And it seemed that the legends the magic-user had heard about the capricious water sprites were also
true. All men who gazed upon a nereid were mesmerized on sight.
Before the mage could break the nereid's spell, she heard a sudden roar behind her, and turned to see a huge tunnel form in
the water directly in front of the boat. Fearing that the boat would be dragged to the bottom of the river by the tunnel, Midnight quickly
turned back to the golden-haired creature. "If you kill us, we won't be able to play your games," Midnight shouted, her mind racing.
"I can play with you alive or dead," the nereid said, then stroked Adon's face and giggled. "It makes no difference."
In desperation, Midnight picked up one of the canvas storage sacks. "We can give you something of great magic. But only we
know how to use it."
Suddenly the tunnel collapsed, just as the skiff was about to enter it. The boat rocked violently, and a fine mist washed over the
heroes. Neither Adon nor Cyric moved, nor did either stop staring at the woman.
"Show me," the nereid murmured. It rose to the top of the water and walked easily on its surface around the outside of the boat,
oblivious to the craft's motion. The creature seemed to glide over the waves, so that its feet never left the Ashaba.
Midnight contemplated the amount of time she would need to cast a single spell, but she decided against it. If only there were
something in the bag I could use against this creature! Midnight thought desperately. Or better yet, something I could use to grab that
shawl! If the legends were correct, then the nereid's soul was encased in that piece of cloth. If Midnight could grab it, then she could
command it to leave them alone.
"Show me!" the golden-haired creature cried, and the river came to life. Suddenly the water congealed into a dozen sparkling
mirror images of the nereid. The water sprite's doubles rose on either side of the small craft and grabbed the sides of the skiff, halting
its motion completely.
As the golden-eyed sprite drew closer, Midnight noticed that it was not made of flesh and blood. Swirling, sparkling water, alive
with streaks of lightning that darted back and forth, lay behind the sprite's delicate features. The bright glow of the sky was trapped
within the nereid's body and shifted lazily as the creature moved. The sight reminded the mage of light passing through a large block
of ice. Midnight raised her hands to cast a spell. "Wait!" a voice cried weakly, and Midnight turned in surprise to see Adon reach out
toward the nereid. The golden-eyed creature seemed intrigued and held its ground. "You are so beautiful," Adon murmured softly.
Thoughts of Sune Firehair, the Goddess of Beauty, the goddess he once served, floated through the scarred cleric's mind.
The nereid smiled and reached back, running its hands through its hair. "I am indeed beautiful," the creature said. Suddenly its
features began to run like wax beneath a flame. The youth and vitality drained away from its form, leaving the image of a withered
hag in its place. "And now?" the nereid asked.
Adon seemed to straighten, and the amber sunlight fell upon his features, filling in the depression of the scar that lined his face.
"There's no difference," he said. "None whatsoever"
Again the nereid's form turned waxen until it returned to the shape of a beautiful young woman. "You're in love with me," it
stated matter-of-factly. "You would do anything I say."
Once, when Adon, Midnight, Kelemvor, and Cyric had entered the ruins of Castle Kilgrave on a mission to rescue the Goddess
of Magic, the God of Strife had assaulted the heroes with visions of their fondest desires. Adon had seen Sune Firehair - and he had
nearly succumbed to the illusion. Only the intervention of his friends had saved him.
Now, as Adon stared at the nereid's beautiful, mesmerizing eyes, something deep inside his mind recalled the memory of that
illusion back to him. The cleric felt his lower lip tremble. "No...," he growled. "No, I don't think I would." Adon sprang into lightning
motion and quickly tore the shawl from the nereid's shoulders.
"No!" the creature screamed as it tried to snatch the shawl back. As it did, the watery doubles of the nereid lifted the boat from
the surface of the river.
Adon tumbled into Midnight, and they both fell to the bottom of the skiff in a tangle of arms and legs. Cyric, on the other hand,
still stood in the stern. He, too, was reaching for the nereid's shawl. Seeing the thief's dagger within reach, Midnight grabbed the
weapon, then snatched the shawl from Adon.
"Put us down!" Midnight cried as she folded the shawl over the sharp blade.
All at once, the water creatures dropped the boat to the river. Cyric fell backward, bumped his head, and stopped moving. The
nereid cried out in pain. "Please!" the sprite screeched piteously. "Leave my shawl alone!"
"I thought you wanted to play," Midnight said, her voice low and cold.
For a moment, the only sound Adon and Midnight could hear was the steady gurgling of the river. Then suddenly a fine mist
struck the back of their necks. The cleric turned to see the nearest of the nereid's doubles contort its face into a terrible visage and
hiss threateningly.
"Dispel your servants!" Midnight demanded, pressing the dagger against the shawl. "Let us go in peace!"
A series of strangled gasps escaped from the watery constructs as they dispersed with a muffled splash. The golden eyes of the
nereid narrowed, and suddenly the skiff was in motion once again. The creatures flanking the boat had returned to their original
watery state.
"Adon, take the oars!" Midnight shouted as the flow of the river spun the boat around and dragged it upstream. The cleric
grabbed the oars and tried to control the craft.
Cyric groaned and sat up in the stern of the skiff. Suddenly the nereid was beside the thief, clutching at his arms, trying to pull
him out of the boat. Before the creature could claim its hostage, however, Adon locked both his hands tightly around Cyric's right
ankle.
At that moment, Midnight drove the dagger through the shawl.
The nereid froze in place momentarily, holding on to the groggy thief's arms. Then violent, painful shudders wracked the
