Tantras (26 page)

“What’s wrong with you?” Wulstan said as he approached Midnight. “I can still see you. Your spell didn’t work. Why should you be laughing?”

Adon pointed toward Barth, and the heroes turned to see the Sembian staring into the room. “I-I can hear you,” he whispered, “so the spell must have worked. But I still can’t see you. You are there, aren’t you?”

“We’re just testing the effectiveness of the spell,” Midnight said, and the burly fighter started slightly, bumping his head on the top of the crawlspace. “Let’s go, then,” the mage said, and the heroes left the hiding place.

As Midnight and her allies journeyed across the city, Gratus stopped from time to time to point out various safe houses whose residents were likely to admit them should the need arise. “Lashan had friends in the city,” Gratus noted softly as the heroes passed one such house. “And many of them do not approve of Scarsdale’s declared neutrality.”

“I’ve been curious about something, Gratus,” Midnight said softly. “Exactly what is it you do in Scarsdale? You aren’t a mage, a fighter, or a thief. How do you make ends meet?”

Varden laughed. “I’m not so sure he isn’t a thief.”

Gratus leaned close to Midnight. “I was Lashan’s Minister of Propaganda,” he whispered. “The city pensioned me off, but they refused to turn me over to the likes of these two boobs from Hillsfar on the condition that I keep my mouth shut about Lashan’s possible return. Now I sell boots.”

Wulstan overheard parts of what the old merchant said and quickly moved to Gratus’s side. “You’d better watch what you’re saying, old man, if you know what’s good for you,” the fighter growled.

Gratus replied mockingly, “So the rumor is true… people from Hillsfar have no sense of humor whatsoever.”

Wulstan reached for his sword, hut his partner quickly raised his hand. “Stay your arm!” Tymon warned. “We can’t afford to have our invisible shield fade. The moment we attack something… anything… we will become visible.”

Adon stepped between Gratus and Wulstan and looked at the mage. “If only one of us attacks something, will the spell be canceled for us all?” the cleric asked quietly.

Varden took Gratus by the arm and pushed him in front of Midnight. “The way magic works nowadays, I wouldn’t be surprised if we are never visible again,” the thief said with a grin.

Midnight’s flesh paled. She had not even considered the possibility that the spell might work too well.

“Imagine the fortune that could be amassed in this town by a thief gifted with invisibility,” the thief went on, apparently happy for the first time in hours.

The Hall of Records, where Midnight and Adon had met Gratus earlier in the day, came up on the left. The building looked the same as it had earlier in the day, although a lone Zhentilar stood guard at the doors.

“I was worried they’d burn the place down,” Gratus whispered as they passed the guard. “There are some very interesting papers I’d like to retrieve from there.”

They continued on to the end of the block, then took a sharp right. Immediately the heroes spotted the warehouse where the assassins had landed and the Zhentish garrison beyond that. As expected, the sounds of revelry floated through the streets from the garrison. A token number of guards were posted outside the fort, and the entire building that served as the Zhentish headquarters was brightly lit.

“Bane must be allowing his soldiers to celebrate with a victory party,” Midnight said softly as she led the heroes into an alley next to the warehouse.

“How very different from the way he drove his troops in the Battle of Shadowdale,” Adon observed. “I wonder if the Black Lord’s defeat has humbled him in some way…”

“I doubt it,” Midnight replied. “Perhaps he’s simply learned to recognize the value of his troops. In any case, we might just he able to turn his lenience against him.”

“You mean you’ve solved the problem of how we get in?” Varden asked, running his hand through his blond hair.

“We need to check out the warehouse before we worry about the garrison itself,” Midnight said as she turned to Varden. “We should circle around the building and see if there are any other doors.”

The heroes slowly moved around the outside of the warehouse, staying as close to the side of the building as possible. Twice groups of Zhentish soldiers passed them, singing bawdy songs and telling off-color jokes, but they never even suspected that six intruders were only a few yards away.

At the rear of the warehouse, Varden discovered another door, though this one was locked. The thief quickly took out his lockpicks, and in a moment the door was open. He opened it slowly and peered inside.

“We couldn’t have come at a better time,” Varden whispered as he turned to Midnight. “The warehouse looks empty. We should be able to move around freely.” The heroes silently filed into the building, with Midnight in the middle so that no one would stray outside the invisibility spell’s area of effect.

“Close the door,” Midnight hissed when they were all inside.

Wulstan started to follow Midnight’s order, then paused and looked at the door’s lock. “It looks like it locks both ways,” the fighter said, motioning for Midnight to examine the door.

Midnight nodded and removed a piece of the gum that she had left over from her incantation and handed it to the soldier. “Put this in the lock first. The door will shut, but it won’t lock. Then we won’t be trapped if we need to make a quick exit.”

Wulstan and Varden both looked at the mage with surprised expressions.

“An old friend taught me that trick,” the raven-haired magic-user said, her thoughts suddenly turning to Cyric. But then Midnight felt a dark, somber mood settle over her, and for an instant, she was almost overwhelmed by her sorrow. The mage closed her eyes, steeled her will, and dismissed the emotion. Cyric’s dead, and there’s nothing I can do about it, the mage decided calmly. Kelemvor’s alive and in need of my help. I can grieve later.

Midnight’s thoughts were interrupted when Gratus moved to her side. “Could that be something you’re looking for?” the old man asked as he pointed toward the shadows twenty feet to the left of the door.

Midnight squinted. Something sparkled in the moonlight. It looked like tiny shards of amber light.

“It couldn’t be!” she breathed, then advanced toward the light. Adon rushed ahead of her and bent down over a partially open canvas sack.

“Midnight, they’re here!” the cleric cried, a broad smile lighting up his face. “The sphere of detection and your spellbook are right here!”

“The assassins must have forgotten about them in the confusion caused by our escape!” Midnight said, picking up the sack.

“I didn’t forget about it at all,” a voice boomed from a darkened corner across the warehouse. “And I was counting on your not forgetting it either.” Durrock stepped out of the shadows and into the pale moonlight filtering in through the windows. He wasn’t wearing his armor, and his disfigured face was uncovered as he walked toward the heroes.

Midnight nearly gasped as she saw the assassin’s face, and a brief flicker of sympathy flared inside her. Then she felt the canvas bag slip in her grasp, and she tightened her grip on it. Quickly the mage realized that, since she didn’t have the canvas sack with her when she first cast the invisibility spell, it was still visible!

“Thanks for showing me exactly where you are,” Durrock growled as he drew his night-black sword. The assassin was striding straight toward Midnight. “I’ve been waiting here for you for some time now.”

The heroes spread out as far as they dared, and as Durrock came close to the mage, several of them circled behind him. Midnight tossed the sack to the ground and tried to dodge the assassin’s attack, but the scarred killer made a feint forward, then reached out and grabbed the mage’s hair. Midnight screamed.

Suddenly a large wooden plank crashed over the assassin’s head, staggering him and forcing him to release his grasp on the mage. As Midnight scrambled away from Durrock, a blue-white aura enshrouded each of the heroes as the spell of invisibility faded.

Gratus stood behind the assassin, the shattered plank of wood still in his hands. Durrock gripped his night-black sword more tightly and screamed with rage and pain. The assassin’s sword flashed out just as Varden grabbed the old man’s shoulders and yanked him backward. The sword bit into Gratus’s chest and blood spurted from the wound.

Midnight backed away from Durrock in shock. The assassin turned and took a step toward the raven-haired mage, but Adon appeared beside her and look hold of her arm. “Run!” the cleric hissed as he pulled the magic-user toward the door.

Durrock started to follow her, but the two soldiers from Hillsfar stepped into his path, drawing their swords. “Come on, you Zhentish pig. Let us see how you fare against someone closer to your own age!” Tymon taunted as he stood before the scarred man.

Wulstan glanced over his shoulder at Midnight, “Take your treasure and run!” the fighter screamed. Midnight hesitated for an instant in the doorway, then picked up the canvas sack and backed out of the warehouse. Varden was already pulling the wounded merchant to the door, but Adon took hold of Gratus, too, and the heroes disappeared into the night. They slipped into the shadows and were far from the Zhentish garrison before the drunken soldiers even knew what had happened.

“Wake up!” the guard yelled and clanged his sword back and forth over the steel bars of Kelemvor’s cell.

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.