Part 26 (1/2)
Cyric cleared his throat. ”I can't do that.”
Bane leaned forward, putting his fists on the table. The cracked wood creaked under the G.o.d's weight. ”What happened?”
”Durrock is dead. Kelemvor killed him,” Cyric told the Black Lord, his head still bowed. ”The a.s.sa.s.sin put up a spectacular fight, but the fighter tricked him.”
”Why didn't you kill Kelemvor?” Bane asked.
”After Durrock failed, my duty was clear. I had to return to you and inform you that Kelemvor, Midnight , and Adon are in Tantras.” The thief swallowed once and hoped that the other information he had for the G.o.d of Strife would appease him - for the moment, at least. ”And you should know, Lord Bane, that Tantras appears to be preparing for war,”
A wave of surprised whispers rolled through the room. Bane looked at the worried faces of his generals.
”Prepare the s.h.i.+ps and man them with as few of our Zhentilar as possible!”
”No!” Hepton cried. ”This is a grave mistake!”
”Silence!” Bane shouted. ”News of our victory in Scardale has obviously spread to Tantras. The city is preparing its defenses, and it is certain to call upon its neighbors for help if we give them time to do so.” The Black Lord leaned toward Hepton and snarled, ”I want my banner to fly over Tantras within the week.I want it. Do you understand?”
Hepton nodded weakly, and the generals rose from the table and began to file out of the room. Cyric breathed a sigh of relief and turned to leave, too.
”Not you, Cyric!” Bane snapped. The Black Lord gestured for Cyric to come closer. Tarana gripped the back of the Black Lord's chair.
”Shall I kill him for you, Lord Bane?” Tarana asked, her eyes taking on a dreamy glaze.
”No,” Bane said casually then waited until the last of the generals had left before he spoke again. As the door closed, Bane whispered, ”The Company of the Scorpions is still under your command - is that correct, Cyric?”
The hawk-nosed thief nodded and smiled slightly. It was clear that the news of Tantras's preparation for war had turned the fallen G.o.d's thoughts away from murder.
”I wish you and your troops to become my new personal guard. But know this,” Bane snarled and placed his hand on Cyric's shoulder. ”If any harm comes to Fzoul's body, it will be your flesh I will inhabit next. And I will not be as generous as I was with Fzoul. Your mind will be utterly destroyed. Is that understood?” The G.o.d of Strife squeezed the thief's shoulder until the bones felt as if they were about to break.
Wincing in pain, Cyric nodded then hurried from the war room.
The Black Lord turned to his sorceress and pointed toward the door. ”Make sure the door is locked then summon Lord Myrkul for me,” Bane commanded and sat down.
The sorceress checked the door then cast an incantation. There was a brief s.h.i.+mmering of the air, and the amber skull of the G.o.d of the Dead floated in the air before the Black Lord.
”Congratulations on your victory in Scardale,” Myrkul told Bane, and the disembodied head bowed slightly.
”That is unimportant,” Bane grumbled. ”I need to take care of a problem in Tantras. I'll be taking some of my fleet and-”
The G.o.d of the Dead smiled a rictus grin, showing a row of rotting teeth. ”And I am to have a part to play in the battle,” he noted flatly.
”I need the power you gave me in Shadowdale, the soul energies of the dead,” Bane said, drumming his fingers on the table. ”Can you do it?”
”I need a large number of people to die at once in order to empower that spell,” Myrkul said suspiciously, rubbing his chin. ”You sacrificed your troops in Shadowdale. Who will pay this time for the increased power I can give you?”
The G.o.d of Strife sat still for a moment, silently turning the problem over and over in his mind. He certainly couldn't use his soldiers and priests for Myrkul's spell again, yet the souls would have to he aligned to his cause or it might prove difficult to control them. Then the Black Lord realized whom he would make the victims of Myrkul's spell.
”The a.s.sa.s.sins,” Bane whispered through an evil smile. ”The a.s.sa.s.sins have failed me time and again since the night of Arrival. They failed me in Spiderhaunt Woods, in Scardale, and now in Tantras. For this, all the a.s.sa.s.sins in the Realms must die to give me the power I need!”
The G.o.d of the Dead laughed. ”You've become as mad as your a.s.sistant. The a.s.sa.s.sins are valuable to me.”
”Are they?” Bane asked, arching one eyebrow. ”Why?”
The G.o.d of the Dead frowned, and as he did, his cheekbones protruded through his decaying skin. ”They provide my kingdom with souls. There is a pressing need-”
”Ah, yes... the Realm of the Dead,” Bane said dryly. ”Have you been there lately?” Tarana giggled.
Myrkul was silent for a moment. When he spoke, there was no trace of amus.e.m.e.nt in his rasping, hollow voice. ”I have not come here to listen to you state the obvious. We are, of course, both barred from our kingdoms.”
”Then any measure that could help us to regain our rightful homes in the Planes cannot be deemed extreme or worthless, can it?” Bane noted as he stood.
”Only if the effort is wasted,” Myrkul grumbled as the Black Lord walked toward the hovering image of the G.o.d of the Dead.
”I seek to reclaim the Tablet of Fate that I hid in Tantras, Myrkul!” Bane screamed. The Black Lord wished that his fellow G.o.d was in the room with him so he could strike him for his insolence. ”Powerful forces may move against me - against us - if they discover that tablet. In Shadowdale, I was overconfident, and I paid the bitter price of defeat. I would rather die than face that again!”
Myrkul took a moment to consider the Black Lord's words. His expressionless, skeletal visage seemed to s.h.i.+mmer and fade for an instant, causing the G.o.d of Strife to reel with barely controlled panic. Finally the image resumed its full strength, and Bane relaxed. The Black Lord knew from Myrkul's eyes that the G.o.d of the Dead had decided to aid him even before he spoke.
”If you feel so strongly about this matter, then I will help you to recover the tablet,” Myrkul said, nodding slowly.
Bane tried to act confident. With a shrug, he noted, ”I had no doubt that you would aid me.”
”You had every doubt,” Myrkul rasped harshly. ”That is the only reason I chose to help you. I am pleased to note that you are no longer blindly stumbling into situations that you know nothing about.” The G.o.d of the Dead paused and fixed Bane with an icy stare. ”But there is one thing you must consider: You may not have my a.s.sistance the next time you need it, Lord Bane.”
The G.o.d of Strife nodded, dismissing Myrkul's threat as so much pointless rhetoric. Then the Black Lord mocked a look of concern and noted, ”Bhaal will not be pleased if you kill all his wors.h.i.+pers.”
”I will deal with the Lord of Murder,” Myrkul said, rubbing his hand across his decaying chin once more. ”I will contact you when all is in readiness.” The Lord of Bones paused for a moment then added, ”Have you given thought to what form you will use to hold the soul energy my spell will channel to you?”
Bane said nothing.
Rage danced in Myrkul's eyes. ”Your human avatar couldn't handle the strain in Shadowdale, and the rite you wish me to perform will likely yield you far more power than the one I used then!” The G.o.d of the Dead shook his head and sighed. ”Do you still have the small obsidian statue I used to contain your essence in the Border Ethereal?'
”I do,” Bane said, a look of confusion on his face.
”This is what you must do,” Myrkul told Bane. The Lord of Bones quickly listed a complex series of instructions and forced the G.o.d of Strife and his mad sorceress to repeat them several times. Then, as soon as he was satisfied that Tarana and Bane knew how to prepare for the rite, the G.o.d of the Dead's image disappeared in a flash of gray light and a puff of stinking, yellow-and-black smoke.
XV.
THE TABLET OF FATE.
In a darkened chamber, surrounded by a dozen of his most faithful wors.h.i.+pers and high priests, Lord Myrkul stared at the five-tiered stage that had been set for his performance. Emerald and black marble slabs floating in midair formed a stairway, one step for each of the five ceremonies the Lord of Bones had to perform to kill all the a.s.sa.s.sins in Faerun and grant Bane the power of their stolen souls.
From somewhere nearby, the G.o.d of the Dead heard the tortured screams of souls crying for release. Myrkul shuddered as he listened to the cries and thought of his lost home, hisCastleofBonesin Hades. And even though the sounds Myrkul now heard were made by unfaithful wors.h.i.+pers who were receiving punishment and were nowhere near as horrifying as the screeches of those confined to his realm, the Lord of Bones enjoyed them nonetheless.
”Priests, attend me,” Myrkul said as he pushed the memories of his home out of his mind, raised his bony arms, and walked to the first platform. Robed men bearing sharp-ended scepters made of bones approached and placed their offerings in the fallen G.o.d's hands. The robed men then knelt before Myrkul, raising their chins and baring their necks.
The fallen G.o.d started to chant in a hollow, rasping voice. In moments he was joined by the robed men at his feet. As their deep voices reached a crescendo, Myrkul used the scepters to tear open the men's throats one by one. The corpses fell backward onto the floor, their mouths hanging open in wordless protest at the unexpected agony of their final moments.