Shadowdale (19 page)

The hakeashar stopped.

Over a hundred images of the hairy human moving forward, sword in hand, registered in the hakeashar’s brain. The beast was filled with an odd sense of curiosity. It moved five of its jaws over the human, clamped down, and was surprised that it did not receive any sustenance from the effort. The human began to laugh and a lancing pain cut through the creature as six of its eyes were shut forever in one mighty sweep of the human’s sword.

The roars of the hakeashar echoed through Castle Kilgrave as the Black Lord knelt in the still water of his ruined scrying pool. Bane had summoned the creature and turned it loose in the castle to search for Mystra.

A small stone struck the puddle of water before Bane’s face, causing the fallen god to look up.

A young girl he had never seen before stood in the doorway. She was smiling from ear to ear. A handful of stones that she had dislodged from the crumbling wall beside her rested comfortably in her hand.

“It’s not pleasant, having your power turned against you, is it?” she said simply, and the voice was horribly familiar.

“Mystra!” Bane shouted, and lunged at the goddess-made-flesh. Mystra threw the handful of stones at the Black Lord, her voice rising as she began to cast a spell. The stones changed in midflight, becoming blue-white missiles that pierced the body of the Black Lord, sending him sprawling back to the floor of the dungeon.

Another roar sounded from the hallway, this one greater than the last. Mystra shuddered as she heard the sounds of the hakeashar, and Bane used the distraction to cast a spell himself. He tore a ruby from his gauntlet. Then the stone vanished and a blood-red shaft of light surged toward the Goddess of Magic.

Bane gasped as Mystra harmlessly absorbed the effects of Nezram’s Ruby Ray, a spell that should have separated the goddess from her avatar. Then Bane shuddered as a red beam of light shot back at him and pierced his chest. The beam hung in the air between Mystra and Bane like a rope.

“You were foolish to try a complicated spell,” Mystra said. “The magical chaos seems to have finally caught up to you.” With that, Mystra grabbed the beam with both hands.

Bane felt a horrible twisting inside. The red beam glowed brightly and a pulse of energy shot from his body to Mystra. The spell had misfired and was allowing Mystra to drain off his power.

Bane struggled to retain his senses as crimson bands grew from the beam and surrounded him, tugging at his flesh as if to tear it from his bones. He felt his ribs crack, one by one, as the force of the attack suddenly reversed itself, and threatened to crush the life from him. Mystra released the beam and it shot back at Bane.

The Black Lord’s chest burst open and a flood of bluish white fires exploded from him and engulfed Mystra, who held her hands out to the flow of magic and welcomed it into her. The fires changed, becoming a blazing amber, then a bright, glowing red as Bane felt the last of the energies he had taken from Mystra leave him and the first of his own depart as well.

“You imprisoned the Goddess of Magic, you fool! Now you will pay in kind for what you did to me.”

Bane cried out as more of his energy left him. “Mystra! I’m —”

“Dying?” she said. “Aye, it would appear so. Do give my regards to Lord Myrkul. I don’t believe he’s ever had a god as one of his charges before. But you’re not a god anymore, are you, Bane?”

Bane raised his hands imploringly.

“All right. Bane, I’ll give you one chance to save yourself. Tell me where the Tablets of Fate are hidden, and I’ll show you mercy.”

“You want them for yourself?” Bane gasped as another pulse of energy left him.

“No,” Mystra said. “I want to return the tablets to Lord Ao and end the madness you’ve caused.”

There was movement in the corridor, and Mystra turned to see Kelemvor and his companions standing in the doorway.

Suddenly a spiralling black vortex appeared before the Black Lord and Tempus Blackthorne stepped from the rift his magic had created. Grasping the body of his wounded master, Blackthorne dragged Bane back into the vortex. Before Mystra could move to strike down the Black Lord and his emissary, they vanished. Mystra’s spell was broken as the vortex closed, and a blast of chaotic energy threw the goddess against the wall. When she looked up, she found Kelemvor standing above her.

The fighter seemed pale. “I knew you were made of stern stuff, little one, but even I am impressed.”

Mystra smiled as she felt the wild flow of power course through her.

“Caitlan,” Midnight said. “Are you alright?” The magic-user leaned toward the avatar, and the star pendant flashed into view.

“The pendant. Give it to me!” Mystra cried.

Midnight stood back. “Caitlan?”

Mystra looked at Midnight once more and realized that the pendant had grafted itself to the magic-user’s skin to protect itself — keep itself from being taken from her if she were asleep or injured.

“We should get the child outside,” Midnight said.

“Wait a minute,” Cyric said. “I want to know how she got out of camp that night, and why she left.”

“Please,” Adon said calmly. “We should be worried about the poor girl’s mistress.”

A sudden anger passed through the goddess. “I am Mystra, Goddess of Magic! The creature I fought was Bane, God of Strife. Now give me that pendant! It’s mine!”

Midnight and Adon stared at the avatar in shock. Kelemvor frowned. Cyric eyed Mystra suspiciously.

Kelemvor folded his arms. “Perhaps the battle has addled her young brains.”

“Caitlan Moonsong and I have become one,” Mystra said calmly. I brought her to this place and merged our souls to save us both from Lord Bane. You aided her on her journey, so you have earned our thanks.”

“And a damn shade more,” Kelemvor said.

“The debt will be repaid,” Mystra said, and Kelemvor remembered the words of Caitlan on her sickbed.

She can cure you.

Mystra turned to Midnight. “On Calanter’s Way, you entered into a pact with me. I saved your life from those who wished you harm. In return, you promised to keep safe my trust. You have done so admirably.” Mystra reached out with her hand. “But now it is time to return that trust.”

Midnight looked down and was shocked as she realized that the pendant hung away from her flesh. She took the pendant from around her neck and gave it to the girl, who instantly blazed with a ferocious blue-white fire.

Hanging back her head, the goddess indulged in a moment of absolute rapture as a portion of the power she had wielded in the Planes coursed through her body. As it had been before the time of Arrival, Mystra’s will was again enough to bring magic into existence, and though she was still considerably weaker than she was before Ao cast her out of the heavens, Mystra was again linked to the weave of magic that surrounded Faerun. The feeling was glorious.

“Let us put some distance between ourselves and this place,” Mystra said as she addressed her rescuers. “Then I will tell you all you wish to know.”

Moments later, the heroes felt the warmth of sunlight as they approached the gate of Castle Kilgrave, and they were blinded for a moment as they left the dark ruins. They walked from the castle with a leaden quality to their step, as if daring the castle to throw one last barrage of madness their way. But the castle was bleak and lifeless.

Mystra looked at the sky. She could see the sparkling Celestial Stairway as it rose toward the heavens, its aspects frequently changing. At times the goddess had a vague impression of a figure standing at the top of the stairway, but then it was gone, the image losing consistency after the briefest of instants.

The adventurers followed Mystra as she made her way toward a spot no more than five hundred feet from the entrance to the castle. Along the way, a heated argument had broken out.

“Have you taken leave of your senses?” Kelemvor shouted.

“I believe her,” Midnight said.

“Aye, you believe her. But can your ‘goddess’ prove her wild claims?”

Mystra commanded the party to wait for her as she turned toward the stairway. Kelemvor stormed forward, ranting about the riches they had been promised and the goddess stared at the man, her eyes blazing with a blue-white fire.

“You have the gratitude of a goddess,” Mystra said coldly. “What more could you want?”

Kelemvor remembered his encounter with the goddess Tymora, after paying admission to gaze upon her.

“I’ll settle for a decent meal, clothes on my back, and enough gold to buy my own kingdom!” Kelemvor shouted. “I’d also like to be able to use my arm again!”

Suddenly Mystra cocked her head to one side. “Is that all? I assumed you wished to be made into deities.”

Cyric’s eyes narrowed. “Is such a thing possible?”

Mystra smiled and glowing fireballs leaped from her hands. Kelemvor almost screamed as the crackling energy of the first fireball engulfed him from head to toe, and suddenly he felt a vitality he hadn’t felt in days. The flames died away and Kelemvor lifted his arm, staring at his healed limb incredulously.

The second fireball struck the ground, bringing into existence two regal mounts to replace the ones that had been lost, and two packhorses carrying restocked supplies and a fortune in gold and precious stones. Then the goddess turned and walked to the stairway. She opened her hands, spread her arms, and lowered her head, as if in meditation.

Kelemvor stood beside Midnight, and soon their argument resumed. Cyric watched without interfering, and Adon stood, silently watching the goddess before him.

“Certainly she is powerful, and her tale of bonding with her mistress may well be true,” Kelemvor said.

“Then why do you deny your senses? Don’t you appreciate Mystra’s gifts of gratitude?” Midnight said.

“They were well earned!” Kelemvor said as he stuffed a large chunk of sweetbread in his mouth. “But a powerful mage, such as Elminster of Shadowdale, could easily perform the same feats. I have seen another of these ‘gods’ and I’m not sure they aren’t powerful lunatics!”

Mystra looked up at the mention of Elminster, and a smile played across her face as some private reverie amused her for a moment, then she returned to her preparations.

“And so you blaspheme in their presence!” Midnight shouted.

“I speak my mind!”

“I believe her!” Midnight screamed as she poked at Kelemvor’s armored chest. “You might never have regained full use of your arm if not for Mystra!”

Kelemvor seemed shaken. He thought of his father, retired from adventuring because of his wounds, prowling Lyonsbane Keep, making young Kelemvor’s life a living hell.

“You’re right,” Kelemvor said. “I should be grateful. But… Caitlan, a god? You must admit, it stretches the imagination.”

Midnight looked back to Mystra. The goddess, cloaked in the form of the girl they had traveled with the previous day, was not an impressive sight.

“Yes,” Midnight said. “But I know it’s true.”

Behind Midnight and Kelemvor, unnoticed, Adon listened to their words, then turned away.

We have fought a god, he thought. And now we serve one, although the others haven’t fully accepted it yet. Even as he experienced this revelation, Adon wondered why he was not filled with excitement and reverence. These were the gods themselves that walked the Realms!

Adon looked at the scrawny child kneeling in the dirt and felt a mild discomfort at the sight. Then he recalled the brief glimpse he had had of the abomination Mystra had identified as Bane, the Black Lord.

These are the gods themselves?

Across from the waiting adventurers, Mystra rose to her feet. She stood before the stairway, preparing herself for ascension. A slight smile inched its way across her avatar’s face, and she realized the importance of this moment as she turned to address her rescuers.

“Before you, invisible to your human senses, is a Celestial Stairway,” Mystra said. “The stairway is a means of traveling between the kingdoms of the gods and the humans. I am about to undertake a dangerous task. If I succeed, the four of you will be my witnesses as I return to the Planes. If I fail, at least one of you must carry my words to the world. This is a sacred task that I may only charge to one whose faith is unquestioning.”

Midnight stepped forward. “Anything,” Midnight said. “Tell me what must be done!”

Kelemvor shook his head and stood beside Midnight as he spoke to her. “Haven’t we done enough? We have risked our lives to save your goddess. Let’s quit while we’re ahead. There’s an entire world to explore and a thousand ways to spend our reward. We should leave.”

“I’m staying,” Midnight said.

Adon stepped forward. “I stand with Midnight.”

Kelemvor looked to Cyric, who merely shrugged. “My curiosity roots me to the spot,” Cyric said in a half mocking tone.

Kelemvor gave up. “What is it you have to say, goddess?”

“The Realms are in chaos,” Mystra said.

“That much we know.”

“Kel!” Midnight said.

“But do you know why?” Mystra said sternly. Kelemvor was silent.

Mystra continued. “There is a power greater than even the gods. This force, which humans are not meant to know about, has cast the gods out of the heavens. Lord Helm, God of Guardians, blocks the gateway to the Planes, keeping us in the Realms. While we are here, we must take human hosts, avatars, or else we are little more than wandering spirits.

“We are paying the penalty for the crimes of two of our number. Lord Bane and Lord Myrkul stole the Tablets of Fate. At least one of these tablets has been hidden in the Realms, although I do not know where. We have been charged with the duty of finding these tablets and returning them to their rightful place in the heavens.”

Cyric seemed confused. “But you don’t have the tablets,” he said. “What do you intend to do?”

“Barter the identities of the thieves for leniency toward those gods who are innocent of this crime,” Mystra said.

Kelemvor folded his arms over his chest and laughed as he leaned against his horse. “This is absurd. She’s making all this up as she goes along.”

Suddenly Mystra’s words bore into the privacy of the fighter’s mind.