Part 5 (1/2)
Midnight shared Cyric's feelings. As she sat in the bow, trying to study her spellbook, swatting away annoying, bloated mosquitoes, thoughts of fine meals drifted through her head, too.
”A few more hours of this and I'm going to become delirious,” Midnight said at last, slamming her spellbook shut. ”We need to eat something.”
”No one's stopping you,” Cyric croaked, his throat dry from the intense heat of themiddaysun.
Midnight frowned. She was hungry, but she wanted Cyric to rest for a while and eat, too. The thief hadn't allowed her to take a turn at the oars since they left Shadowdale, and he just snorted and shook his head when Midnight had suggested Adon try to row. ”You need to rest, Cyric. Why don't we pull in to sh.o.r.e and all eat something?”
”Because the dalesmen might catch up to us, and I, for one, don't want that to happen,” Cyric said. Midnight crossed her arms and leaned back into the how. The thief scowled and turned away from the raven-haired mage. When he looked over his shoulder, though, Cyric was startled to see Adon holding out a large chunk of bread to him. A warm, foolish smile, like that of a simpleton, flickered across the cleric's face.
”Get away from me!” Cyric growled and slapped the cleric across the face with the back of his hand. Adon fell backward in a heap, and the bread flew from his hand. The boat rocked from side to side as Cyric made a grab for the oar he had released and Adon crawled as far away from the thief as he could manage inside the skiff.
”d.a.m.n you!” Midnight cursed. She climbed over Cyric and moved to Adon's side. The cleric was quivering, his knees drawn up to his chest. A strange mixture of fear and anger lingered in his eyes.
”Why did you do that?” Midnight snapped to Cyric as she caressed the cleric's shoulders.
Cyric thought of making a nasty retort, but instead he only narrowed his eyes and remained silent as he watched Midnight brush the hair from the younger man's face. Adon had pulled himself up into a ball, his hands covering his face as he rocked back and forth, humming an unfamiliar song.
”Answer me!” Midnight hissed. She leaned closer and glared at Cyric.
The thief was silent. There was no answer he could give that Midnight would be able to accept. Ever since Arabel, where their journey began, Cyric had viewed Adon as a liability. Very little had happened to change his opinion. The cleric could not call on his deity for spells, so he was useless as a healer. Adon's fighting skills, when they had been employed, were adequate but not exceptional. We can get along perfectly well without him, Cyric thought. That's why I hate him. I just don't need him.
”Tell me about Tantras again,” Cyric sighed, anxious to change the subject.
Adon stopped rocking and looked up at Midnight . Any anger in his face had disappeared, and now only fear showed in the cleric's features. Don't tell him, Adon whispered in his mind. He doesn't need to know.
However, Midnight didn't see Adon's expression. The mage stopped caressing the cleric's back and looked down at the bottom of the boat. ”One of the Tablets of Fate is hidden there. At least, that's what Elminster told us at theTempleofLathanderbefore the battle with Bane.”
All emotion drained from Cyric's face. ”Where is it hidden in Tantras?”
”Elminster didn't know.” The mage sighed and looked up at the hawk-nosed thief. ”All the sage could tell us... before he died... was that one of the tablets was hidden there.”
At mention of Elminster's death, Adon started to rock again and began to whistle a mindless tune. Cyric scowled at the cleric. He probably would have slapped Adon again if Midnight weren't sitting in his way. ”So how are we supposed to find it? I'm not even sure I know what the tablets look like.”
Midnight s.h.i.+vered. When Mystra, the G.o.ddess of Magic, had been destroyed in her attempt to enter the Planes without the Tablets of Fate, she had granted Midnight a vision of the artifacts. Now the tablets and the death of her G.o.d were irrevocably linked in the magic-user's mind. ”They look like simple clay tablets,” Midnight said with a sigh. She closed her eyes, and an image of the Tablets of Fate formed in her mind. ”They're a little less than two feet high. Runes naming all of the G.o.ds and their duties are etched upon the stones. The runes are magical. They glow with a blue-white light.”
Cyric tried to picture the tablets. However, each time he tried to form an image of them in his mind, thoughts of what he could do with the Tablets of Fate, or, more precisely, the power they could give him, charged into his consciousness. The thief saw himself as a powerful ruler, with armies strong enough to trample the mighty forces of King Azoun of Cormyr into the dirt. The tablets will give me the power to do what I want, the thief thought. At last I will be free to run my own life!
”Cyric?” Midnight said and leaned over to tap the thief on the shoulder. ”I said, let's forget about the tablets for now. All right?”
Cyric frowned. ”Yes, yes. Whatever you say.” The thief paused for a moment, then attempted to smile warmly. ”We should eat something. We need to keep our strength up if we're ever going to reach Tantras.” Adon whimpered softly.
Midnight relaxed a bit and nodded. ”I'm glad you agree. We need to start acting like friends again.”
Cyric guided the skiff toward the sh.o.r.e. Thick forest flanked the river, and when they got close to the bank, Cyric leaped into the shallow water. The thief guided the craft close to the shade of a large, gnarled tree. Securing the boat to the base of the tree, Cyric reached out to help Midnight climb to sh.o.r.e.
When she got a firm footing on the boggy sh.o.r.e, Midnight turned back to the skiff and held out her hand. ”Come on, Adon.”
The cleric did not move.
”Adon, get out of there and join us!” Midnight snapped and put her hands on her hips. The cleric trembled, then rose to his feet.
”And bring us some food while you're at it!” Cyric yelled as he searched the sh.o.r.e for a likely campsite.
Adon reached down and picked up the smaller of the canvas bags that lay near his feet. He handed the sack to Midnight , then grabbed the mage's other hand and climbed from the boat.
”We're a good little dog, aren't we?” Cyric said in a high-pitched, taunting tone. The cleric's shoulders sagged.
”That's enough!” Midnight snapped. ”Why do you keep badgering him?”
The thief shrugged. ”When he acts like a man, I'll treat him like one. Not before.” Cyric dusted off a small rock and sat down.
”There's no need to be so cruel,” Midnight said. ”When you were wounded in the Stonelands, Adon stayed with you. He did all he could to help you. The least you could do is return the favor.” The mage threw the bag of food to the ground.
Instead of responding, Cyric leaned forward, grabbed the sack, and started to rummage through it. In the rough canvas bag, the thief found carefully wrapped preserved meats and flasks filled with mead. ”At least you could see my wounds, when we were ambushed in the Stonelands. Adon's are merely in his head.”
”That doesn't make them any less real,” Midnight said coldly. ”You could at least make an effort to be pleasant... if our friends.h.i.+p means anything to you. A little compa.s.sion won't kill you.”
Cyric looked up and saw Adon leaning against the tree their boat was secured to, one arm around the warped and knotted trunk. The cleric's eyes were filled with apprehension, and he was standing on his toes as if he were prepared to jump out of the way instantly if anything threatened him.
Digging into the canvas sack, Cyric found a chunk of bread and brought it to the cleric. Adon wiped his hands on his tunic. His entire body quaked as he cautiously reached out and took the bread from the thief. Staring at the offering in amazement, the cleric looked as if he were going to burst into tears. ”Thank you,” Adon said in a small, broken voice. ”You are kind.”
”Aye,” Cyric mumbled as he exchanged glances with Midnight . ”I am far too kind.”
They ate quickly and in silence. When they were done, Cyric went to the boat and withdrew the oars. He found a tree stump and set the oars down, then searched until he found a fallen branch the width of his thigh and chopped the log into two even pieces. These he sunk into the earth on either side of the stump. The thief sat down and positioned the oars, using the stumps as the oarlocks in their boat.
”You've trained with a staff,” Cyric said as he led Midnight to the stump, ”so the basic movements of rowing should be easy for you to master.”
”Just a minute, Cyric,” Midnight snapped as she brushed his hand away from her arm. ”I've rowed a boat before. You don't need to teach me.”
”But do you know the best way to row, the most efficient technique?” When Midnight didn't respond, Cyric grabbed her arm again and almost pushed her down onto the stump. ”If you row the wrong way, you'll only tire yourself out, and you won't be of much use to anyone then. Sit down and pick up the oars.”
For the next fifteen minutes, Cyric taught Midnight the proper rowing technique for their skiff. The mage learned quickly, and soon Cyric leaned back and let her practice on her own.
As he lounged against a rock, twirling his dagger, Cyric noticed Adon staring at the oars. ”You'll learn next, cleric. I want the boat in motion as much as possible.”
Adon nodded slowly and a half-smile crept across his face. Cyric continued to look at the cleric for several seconds, but the thief turned away quickly when he realized that he had balled his hands into fists. ” Midnight can teach you later, when we stop for eveningfeast.”
The heroes packed up quickly after that, and Cyric was careful to hide any evidence of their presence on the sh.o.r.e. Midnight took a turn at the oars for several hours that afternoon, and the thief seemed to relax a bit when he saw that Midnight had learned to row properly. In fact, Adon and Midnight were more comfortable, too. The cleric even laughed once when Cyric stretched after a long yawn and nearly fell out of the skiff.
While Midnight was rowing, the boat pa.s.sed into a section of the river where there seemed to be no current at all. That made rowing quite a bit easier for a while, but the current picked up again suddenly - still in the wrong direction, of course. Though this was disheartening for the heroes, they tried to be cheerful. That was difficult, though, and tempers were flaring again by the time Cyric headed toward sh.o.r.e for eveningfeast.
When they docked, Midnight let Cyric start a small fire while she waded into the river to cool off after a long afternoon of rowing. Adon sat on the mossy bank, dangling a long stick in the water as he daydreamed. But as the mage stood in the chilly water of the Ashaba, a sharp pain bore into her leg. She let out a sharp cry and nearly fell over.
Cyric rushed into the waist-deep water and steadied Midnight as she tried to regain her footing. ”What's wrong?” the thief asked as he helped the raven-haired mage toward sh.o.r.e.
”I don't know,” she gasped through clenched teeth. ”I think something bit me.” Midnight felt another spike of pain shoot through her leg. When she looked down, the mage could see a pair of s.h.i.+mmering, crimson lights darting back and forth beneath the surface of the water. Cyric cried out then, too, and a third blood-red glow blinked to life in the Ashaba.
On sh.o.r.e, Adon paced back and forth, holding out his hands. ”Get out,” he said softly, over and over again.
The water churned as Cyric and Midnight rushed to sh.o.r.e. The tiny, lancing pains came more frequently, and more than a dozen of the strange blood-red lights were visible in the river now. The number had doubled before the heroes reached the bank and Adon helped them to sh.o.r.e.