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 took 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 he pretended 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, but 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 be. 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.