The green-eyed fighter was jolted from his sleep, but be pretending to wake gradually, making a show of shaking the sleep from
himself, rubbing at his eyes, and yawning broadly. Two guards stood outside Kelemvor's cell, but the fighter didn't want the men to
have the satisfaction of knowing that they had indeed startled him awake, that their little cruelty had affected him.
The fighter knew why the guards had awakened him, too. The Black Lord had expected an immediate answer to his proposition,
hut Kelemvor had argued that he needed time and solitude to consider the bargain. The fact that Bane agreed to his request had
come as a complete surprise to Kelemvor. But now the time to consider the offer was past.
The fighter heard footsteps approaching from down the hall, and from the way the guards snapped to attention, Kelemvor knew
who his next visitor would he. It was no surprise.
"You said I had until morning," Kelemvor noted calmly as Bane stepped between the guards.
"Circumstances have changed. The time for you to act is now. Have you considered my offer?" Bane asked sharply. The edge
in the fallen god's voice told Kelemvor that something had obviously angered him.
"I've been unable to think of anything else," Kelemvor answered as he rose to his feet and stared into the blood-red flickers of
light that danced in the Black Lord's eyes.
It was true. Even the fighter's dreams had been consumed by thoughts of freedom from the curse. Kelemvor had often wished
that he was a hero, someone who could do noble deeds for the sole reward of helping others. But the curse had always stood in the
way. The fighter believed, without a shadow of a doubt, that Bane could deliver on his promise. The God of Strife could make his
dreams a reality.
Which only left the problem of Midnight to consider. If Kelemvor accepted Bane's terms, he would obviously have to betray the
trust the mage had placed in him... and his feelings for her. But Midnight has betrayed me many times, Kelemvor thought bitterly.
Then the fighter reviewed the insults and petty hurts the mage had heaped upon him, trying to rationalize a decision he had
really already made. The mage had left Shadowdale without him. Certainly her words upon Blackfeather Bridge were of love and
commitment. Still, the simple truth was that Kelemvor had known Midnight for but a few weeks.
Suddenly Kelemvor wondered just how well he really knew the raven-haired mage. The fighter no longer worried about whether
Midnight had committed the crimes the dalesmen had accused her of. There was no question that she had not. But Kelemvor
wondered now if Midnight really loved him.
"You had visitors during the night," Bane said casually, snapping Kelemvor away from his thoughts.
"Who?" Kelemvor asked. The fighter took a step toward the bars of his cell.
Bane narrowed his eyes and sneered. "Who do you think, fool. Midnight and her accomplices. She was here to retrieve her
spellbook and whatever other personal items she might have had with her when Durrock and his assassins captured her." The God of
Strife paused for a moment, then smiled. "However, she did not try to rescue you."
The fighter breathed a silent sigh of relief. "Obviously the mage escaped again, or you wouldn't be here," Kelemvor said.
Anger burned in the Black Lord's eyes. "She could not escape before one of her party was wounded and two were killed. Do not
overestimate your importance in my plans, Kelemvor. Midnight will die. Your participation is merely a matter of convenience. By
allowing you to go to her and draw her out, I can minimize the casualties in my own ranks."
Bane's playing this badly, the fighter thought. He's acting like a petty warlord, not a god. Still, the information Bane had just
given the fighter about Midnight's visit to the Zhentish garrison answered some of the questions that had been tugging at the corners
of his mind.
"Very well," Kelemvor said softly but firmly." I will accept your terms."
The Black Lord smiled. "Then you have finally come to your senses. There is nothing more precious than life on your own
terms," Bane hissed. "It's about time you realized that."
The fighter nodded. "I will find Midnight and win her trust. I'll convince her that I escaped on my own, and I'll pretend to lead her
to freedom. Then... I'll subdue her at the first opportunity." Kelemvor paused and ran a hand through his hair. "Later, I will travel to
Tantras to retrieve the Tablet of Fate that you have hidden in the city. In return for all of this, you will remove the curse of the
Lyonsbanes."
"That is correct," Bane said, motioning for the guards to open the cell.
Kelemvor stepped back from the door. "Now that our agreement is settled, where exactly is this Tablet of Fate?" the green-eyed
fighter asked.
"You must show a little faith," Bane answered with a sly edge in his voice. "The information will be yours after you deliver
Midnight to me. Right now there is another small matter that we must deal with."
Kelemvor's heart was beating wildly. He couldn't control his anticipation as the cell door was opened and the God of Strife
moved to his side.
"Guard, give me your sword," Bane ordered sharply. The fires in the Black Lord's eyes suddenly seemed bright enough to light
the corridor without the benefit of torches. The guard complied without a word. The fallen god raised the sword high over his head.
The fires in Bane's eyes spread over the dark god's body and soon his entire form was covered by a blood-red aura. The Black
Lord began to recite a complex incantation. Suddenly the sword burst into flames. The voice of the god rose in intensity as he waved
the sword wildly. His form began to undulate like the body of a snake.
The sword flashed through the air, and Kelemvor screamed as the weapon pierced his chest, cutting a jagged line from his
breastbone to his abdomen. The fighter looked down at the torn cloth and flesh and felt weakness wrap itself around him. Still, the
fighter struggled to stay on his feet. Even if he were dying, he would not kneel before the Black Lord.
The flaps of the parted skin on the fighter's chest seemed to bubble and quake, and Kelemvor nearly shouted in terror as he
saw the panther's ebon head push its way out of his gaping wound. The fighter suffered agony unlike any he had ever known as the
claws of the beast raked at the inside of his body, savaging him in an attempt to break free. This is impossible! Was the only thought
in Kelemvor's mind. Then the fighter's entire world became a white-hot explosion of searing anguish that blurred his perceptions of
everything but the pain itself. The beast was tearing its way free, but it was killing Kelemvor from within at the same time.
There was a loud animal roar, and Kelemvor felt an incredible weight burst free from him. Instantly the pain lessened
considerably, and Kelemvor saw that Bane had gripped both sides of the beast's head. With a sharp, inhumanly swift motion, the god
snapped the creature's neck.
The fighter looked down and stared at his chest. He watched in awe as his torn flesh began to close and mend together. The
wounds were healing at an impossible rate.
"It is done," Bane said nonchalantly and dropped the body of the panther at Kelemvor's feet. The god turned and strolled from
the cell. "Tell him where to find the mage, clean him up, and send him on his way."
"No!" Kelemvor rasped, his voice little more than a whisper.
Bane looked back to the cell, suspicion crossing his features.
"I should look as if I had to fight my way out," the fighter said and collapsed onto the ground, inches from the panther's stillwarm
corpse.
The Black Lord smiled. "Very well," he hissed. "But know this, Kelemvor. If you even think of reneging on our agreement, I will
know. My agents will hunt you down and kill you, no matter where you hide." The God of Strife paused, and another evil grin flitted
across his lips. "Or better still," he added, "I'll put that creature, or one even more horrible, back inside you." The smile widened
slightly. "One that would be far more painful to remove than the panther was. Remember that."
The fighter nodded. "It is no less than I would expect," Kelemvor said. "And no less than I would do in your position. Set your
mind at ease. I will follow the terms of our pact to the letter."
"This could be the beginning of a long and profitable association," Bane called over his shoulder as he continued down the
corridor. "Bring her to me alive, Kelemvor. If that's at all possible."
Kelemvor shuddered and stood up slowly. He didn't look at the guards as he staggered out of the cell. "I shall," the fighter
whispered as he followed the same path from the dungeon that the Black Lord had taken.
IX
A NEW LEADER
Travel through the eastern dales was long and hard for the Company of the Scorpions, but the Zhentilar were well supplied and
used to the difficulties of such a journey. Cyric quickly learned from Tyzack that the Scorpions had been on an expedition to Haptooth
Hill, searching for an artifact of great power that wanderers passing through Zhentil Keep had made some offhand comments about.
The Company of the Scorpions had received its orders before the Battle of Shadowdale, when Lord Bane had been obsessed
with finding any artifacts that might be repositories of magical power. In all the confusion surrounding the battle and its aftermath, the
Scorpions, and their mission, had been forgotten by Zhentil Keep - until the time came to amass every available unit of Zhentilar in
Scardale. A mystical communication from Bane's new sorceress, Tarana Lyr, had come one night, and the Scorpions had actually
been relieved to receive the new orders. Their efforts at Haptooth Hill had been fruitless and extremely tedious.
Two days after Cyric joined them, the Scorpions ran into a small Sembian patrol and were forced into combat, an opportunity for
the thief to measure his new acquaintances' skills, and for them to measure his. The battle was swift and furious, but not without cost
to the Scorpions. Croxton was killed, though whether by a Sembian hand or a Zhentish, Cyric wasn't sure. Much to Cyric's surprise,
Tyzack promoted the thief to second-in-command for his efforts in the battle, with Slater openly supporting the decision and the
others saying nothing, though some - like Eccles - were obviously unhappy with Tyzack's choice.
One day after the clash with the Sembians, the Scorpions encountered the first of many Zhentish patrols heading toward
Scardale. Tyzack automatically assumed command of the ragtag groups of fighters and thieves that the company met. No one
opposed him.
Now, as Cyric rode behind Slater, his mind wandered over a myriad of subjects. But mostly he watched the bright afternoon
sunlight pulse through the prism earring the female warrior had taken from Mikkel's corpse and attached to her right ear. The sparks
of brilliant, multicolored light shot out from the bauble as Cyric stared dreamily at it, washing away all the thief's concerns and fears.
The line of the horizon was choppy, marred with sharp ridges, and the earth was a strange mixture of grayish green stone, with
veins of raw, auburn clay. Small, barren hills and rises surrounded the riders. An immense growth of earth, with a crevice along its
spine and serrated, evenly spaced depressions leading off in crooked gaps, lay ahead and continued for miles. Cyric felt that he was
looking at all the skeletal remains of an incredible giant, which might have lived eons before the gods ruled Faerun.
It should be the form of a god, towering over the Realms, he thought as he looked at the ridge. Tall enough to reach into the sky
and pull down the very heavens, not trapped inside a frail body of flesh, like a mortal.
Shards of light from the stolen earring drew the thief's attention once more, and as the Zhentilar rode - now more than three
hundred strong - Cyric realized that he had become just as fascinated with the prism as Slater was.
The hawk-nosed thief watched the slivers of light as they glittered in a beautiful array of colors, and studied each shard. The
lights came into existence and passed on in the blink of an eye. Much like a human life, he thought. Gone and quickly forgotten. Cyric
wanted more from his life. He thought of the gods and the gift of immortality that they had endangered with their foolish, petty
squabbling. The thief felt contempt for the deities like Bane and Mystra, who had allowed their vast powers to be stripped away.
Cyric tried to calm himself. The dry afternoon heat was sweltering, and even the slight breeze he felt did little to assuage the
bands of broiling, intense heat that assaulted the company as they trekked along the Ashaba. The heat pressed against Cyric's flesh
like scorching, oppressive hands, causing rivulets of sweat to pour into his eyes, obscuring his view of the prism momentarily.
Looking around at dozens of faces that he did not recognize, Cyric considered the fact that each of the Zhentilar rode to
Scardale for the sole purpose of answering Lord Bane's call. Nearly all of them would lay down their lives without a moment's
hesitation if the Black Lord called for them to do so. Incredibly, it was the Company of the Scorpions that these men had turned to for
temporary leadership. The political maneuvering that Cyric had observed Tyzack perform to ensure his own supremacy surprised the
thief. Cyric thought the leader of the Scorpions incapable of even conceiving of such well-thought-out plans, let alone implementing
them.
The thief cleared his eyes and returned his gaze to the prism. The shards of light released from the earring seemed endless,
and as each new shard died away, another took its place. Cyric thought of Tyzack. The man had to have a weak spot, a vulnerability
that Cyric could exploit. What was it? the thief wondered. Ahead, Slater reached for the prism earring, caressing it gently. The thief
smiled. Perhaps there was a simple way of finding out.
An hour later Tyzack was off chatting with the commander of a fifty-man contingent from Tasseldale that was located
