The thief must have aligned himself with the Black Lord, the fighter concluded. But Kelemvor wasn't going to let the thief escape to his master. Cyric would now be returning in a hurry to whatever ship he had come to Tantras in. Yes, the fighter decided bitterly, I'm going to find that vessel, catch up to Cyric, and beat the Black Lord's plans out of him before hacking off his head.
At the harbor, Kelemvor tried to find Alprin to help him search for the Zhentish spy ship, but the harbormaster was nowhere in sight. The fighter made a few inquiries, and learned that Alprin had received a message that so filled him with fear that he ran from his station as if a fire giant were running at his heels.
The fighter walked away in silence, wondering what could have gone wrong to panic the harbormaster so. "Alprin," he said aloud as he realized what must have happened. "Not his wife!"
Kelemvor ran from the harbor, collected his mount, and raced to Alprin's home. The building was in flames when Kelemvor arrived, but he could still get close enough to peer through an open window. Alprin lay on the floor, a bloody smear behind his head. Moira lay beside him. The dead man's hand had been placed around his wife's body in a mockery of the tenderness they had shared in life. A message had been written on the wall behind his body.
I was unfaithful. This is my penance.
A frightened crowd was gathering in the street, calling for the bucket brigade to put the fire out before it spread to their houses and shops. Kelemvor clamped his hands over his mouth and stumbled away from the burning building. All thoughts of finding Cyric were lost in the fighter's grief for the moment.
Horribly shaken, the teary-eyed fighter returned to the Lazy Moon Inn, and scribbled a three-word note to Midnight. By now, the fighter realized that he had little hope of finding the Zhentish spy ship. Cyric had escaped. For now, so the fighter turned his thoughts to the name he'd been given in the Dark Harvest, and set out to find Dunn Tenwealth, a lust to revenge the harbormaster's death burning in his mind.
For many hours, Kelemvor reconnoitered the Citadel of Tantras and the adjacent buildings. The trail had led first to the citadel, the center of Tantras's government. Then it took Kelemvor to the Temple of Torm. There the trail ended, and Kelemvor knew that he did not dare try to barge into the well-guarded place of worship, searching for a murderer.
When Kelemvor finally returned to the Lazy Moon Inn, he found Midnight waiting in their room. The mage was frantic with worry.
"I spent half the night on the docks trying to find you," Midnight cried as she embraced the fighter and they kissed.
"What did you mean by that note?" Midnight whispered as she pulled away from the fighter and wiped the tears from her eyes.
"Exactly what it said. Cyric is alive, and he tried to kill me. I've seen him, and I have no doubt he will make other attempts on my life… or your life," Kelemvor growled and stomped across the room. "Is Adon in his room? We should leave the inn and hide for a while. There's a slum near the docks where we can maintain a much lower profile."
"Adon hasn't returned yet," Midnight said.
Kelemvor's face turned white. "He's still at the temple?"
"Yes. Why?" the raven-haired mage asked in a low tone.
Reaching for the door, Kelemvor gestured for Midnight to follow. "We'll have to find him. Adon's in terrible danger from the Tormites. I'll explain on the way!"
Midnight nodded and followed the fighter out of the room, stopping only long enough to grab the canvas sack containing her spellbook.
XIV
Outside the Lazy Moon Inn, Adon watched as Kelemvor and Midnight said their farewells. The concern the lovers showed for one another was touching, if a little maudlin. Still, the cleric knew that searching the city alone was dangerous and they might never see one another again. But it was better that way. Midnight and Kelemvor could search for the tablet wherever they pleased, and Adon wouldn't slow them down.
"Adon," Midnight said, and the cleric snapped to attention. The mage smiled at him warmly. "Try not to worry. We're going to be fine."
"So you say," the cleric mumbled.
Midnight gripped the young man's arm tightly. "And stop feeling sorry for yourself," she whispered, then turned and walked away. Kelemvor stared at the mage as she headed down the street, while Adon made his way across the lane, then merged with the crowd.
The cleric expected his mission to the Temple of Torm to be a simple matter. Having visited the clergy of many different gods in his travels, Adon was familiar with the protocol for calling upon priests of rival denominations. Holding both hands side by side, palms facing up, thumbs stretched as far apart as possible, was almost universally accepted as a sign of peaceful intentions. By showing this sign and saying, "There is room for all," a cleric could expect to gain admittance to most temples quite easily.
But as the cleric of Sune passed through the Citadel of Tantras, he felt that gaining entrance to Torm's temple might not be so easy. People stared at him as he passed, then looked away and pretended that they hadn't noticed the young man. Others pointed at Adon and whispered amongst themselves. The number of guards Adon encountered increased as he moved farther toward the temple, too. He had the feeling that he was heading toward an armed camp, not a house of worship.
The spires of the citadel were impressive, but Adon expected their allure to pale beside the rebuilt Temple of Torm, a living god. He was stunned by the sight of the plain three-story building that had been surrounded by protective walls and a series of interlocking gates. Pairs of simple one-story towers, with covered walkways leading from one to another, served as gatehouses.
Warriors wearing the symbol of Torm waited outside each gatehouse. Adon approached the first pair of well-armed guards, performed the ritualistic greeting, and announced himself as a worshiper of Sune. Though it pained the young cleric to claim he still worshiped the Goddess of Beauty, he knew that he would be allowed into the temple more quickly if he appeared to be a visiting priest.
The warriors failed to answer the greeting in the customary manner. Instead, one guard ran off to alert his superiors then two more armed guards appeared, and Adon was taken into one of the gatehouses, where he was subjected to a series of interviews. Various clerics and members of the town government asked the scarred young man a wide variety of questions about everything from his hobbies as a boy to his opinions about various philosophical matters. Adon was as helpful as possible, but when he expressed his confusion at the odd treatment he was receiving, he received no explanation. Strangely, what Adon thought would be the most important question — his reason for visiting the temple — was never brought up.
"Why is this questioning necessary?" Adon demanded of the fifth interviewer, a bored civil servant who looked out at the cleric through dark, hooded eyes. It was now several hours after eveningfeast, and the cleric had begun to wish that he had forced himself to eat something before he left the Lazy Moon.
"Why do you worship Sune?" the bored man asked Adon for the fifth time, then looked down at a sheet of parchment that rested on the table before him.
"I'll answer no more questions until I receive some information in return," Adon said flatly, crossing his arms over his chest. The civil servant sighed, folded up his parchment, and shuffled out of the sparse, stone room. The scarred cleric heard a bolt slide into place on the other side of the door. With the door now locked and the small window in the cell filled with strong, iron bars, Adon knew that it would be futile to search for an escape route. So he waited.