It was almost six hours later that a cleric wearing the robes of Torm entered the chamber where Adon had been left to wait. Introducing himself, the scarred cleric performed the ritual of greeting and waited for a response.
"We have no temple to Sune in Tantras," the bald Tormite told the prisoner, ignoring Adon's downturned eyes and opened hands. "Lord Torm walks among us. He is all. Our god sets the hours of the day, the loyalty — "
"The loyalty in your heart, the reason in your head. I've heard it all before," Adon snapped, his calm facade splintering. He stood up and took a step toward the bald man. "I want to know why I have been subjected to this insulting test of endurance."
The Tormite narrowed his eyes, and his features turned cold and lifeless. "You have no business being in a temple dedicated to Torm, Adon of Sune. You will be shown out immediately."
As the bald man turned, Adon subdued his anger. "Wait!" the young cleric called. "I meant no insult."
The bald man turned back to face Adon, a sneer on his face. "You are not a practicing cleric. I've already been told that," the man growled. "You have no real business in any house of worship."
Adon felt his heart race with anger and confusion. He had mentioned nothing to the interviewers of his recent loss of faith.
The bald man must have read the confusion in Adon's eyes, for he growled, "The nature of the questions we have asked you allows us to make inferences with a very high degree of accuracy. You are as easy to read as any book in our library."
"What else do you know about me?" Adon asked, worry beginning to well up inside of him. If the Tormites had discovered anything about the Tablets of Fate from his answers, Midnight and Kelemvor might now be in danger.
The cleric of Torm walked to Adon and stood directly in front of him. "You are disillusioned. That scar on your face is recent. And you want something from us."
"I seek an audience with Lord Torm," Adon told the bald man, meeting the Tormite's look of disgust with one of quiet anger.
The bald cleric tried to hide his surprise at Adon's audacity, but he failed miserably. "That is hardly a request to be made lightly. Besides, why should the God of Loyalty see a faithless wretch such as you?"
"Why shouldn't he?" Adon asked, shrugging. "I have been witness to sights that only a god or goddess could interpret or appreciate."
The bald man raised one eyebrow. "Such as?"
Adon looked away. The cleric knew that he would have to choose his words carefully. "Tell the God of Duty that I have seen Lord Helm stand at the head of a Celestial Stairway. I have heard the guardian's warning to the fallen gods."
The bald man's lips curled hack in a snarl, and he raised his hand as if to strike Adon, then stopped. The Tormite paused for a moment then forced himself to smile weakly. "Since you have come to Torm with this knowledge, my superiors may wish to speak with you further." The bald man gently grabbed Adon's arm and led him from the room. "Come. We will find a place for you to sleep in the barracks outside the temple. It may be some time before my masters can find a moment to speak with you."
Adon rested that night on a warm cot inside the building outside the gate to the temple. The cots were usually reserved for guards who were stationed on call, but, on this night at least, there were more cots than guards. For a short time, Adon actually managed to sleep. The rest of the time he spent mulling over his relationship to the gods and forcing images of Elminster's final moments in the Temple of Lathander out of his mind.
During his periods of wakefulness, Adon strained to listen to the guards' conversations on the walkway outside the gate. If he concentrated, the young cleric could hear fragments of various discussions that went on outside his window. Most of the talk concerned women or drink, but a few statements caught Adon's attention.
"To have seen Lord Torm's face is enough. I understand there are those who have even touched his robes…,"one voice said in a reverent tone.
Adon felt a sickness in his heart. The voice had been so pitiful, so awestruck. Would he sound that way if Sune had appeared before him? At one time, perhaps, but certainly not now.
A few minutes later, two more figures paused beside the barracks. "Dangerous talk!" a woman said, her voice full of fear. "Don't let anyone hear you say that. Do you want to vanish like the others?"
Later still, another man said, "I've heard talk of a fringe group that worships Oghma, the God of Knowledge. I have their names and addresses. With Lord Torm's grace, by the end of the week — "
"Lord Torm does not need to be troubled with such matters, my friend!" another voice snapped. "Just give the information to me. I'll see that the situation is handled properly…"
Finally, just before the hour of dawn was announced, a man stopped directly outside Adon's window. "He must never find out," the gravel-voiced man grumbled. "It was all for him, all in his name." He paused. "But Lord Torm might not understand, since he has been removed from the world for so long. He must never know all that has occurred." Then the men were gone.
As dawn was announced, Adon suddenly realized that a priest had silently entered the barracks and stood no more than ten feet to the side of the cleric's cot. Rising from the cot, Adon gave the ritual greeting and felt relief flow through him when the priest returned the gesture. This Tormite was very tall, and his platinum hair was combed straight down, nearly touching his silver eyebrows. The priest's eyes were sky blue, and his smile was so warm that it instantly set Adon at ease.
Suddenly realizing that his hair was unbrushed, rather dirty, and probably sticking up in places, Adon tried to brush his locks into place with one hand. The priest looked on with amusement. Adon laughed and gave up.
"My clothes have been slept in, my hair is a mess, and I haven't eaten since yesterday," Adon said with a sigh. "I suppose I'm hardly what you expected as a cleric of Sune."
The priest put his hand on Adon's shoulder and guided the young cleric out of the small building, past the gatehouse, and onto the walkway leading to Torm's temple.
"Do not concern yourself, Adon of Sune," the priest murmured reassuringly. "We will not judge you by your appearance. As for morningfeast, I have arranged for a private meal to be delivered to my chambers. We will share this, and I will tell you everything that you need to know."
Adon and the platinum-haired priest entered the temple through a gate. A thousand stone gauntlets lined the doorway, and Adon felt uneasy as he brushed past one of them. It seemed to the faithless cleric that the stone hand might reach out and grab him, might prevent someone who didn't have faith in the God of Duty from entering his home. Of course, nothing happened.
The two men passed down a long corridor lined with oaken doors. Each door was adorned with a painted gauntlet, and sounds of chanting and worship drifted through each of the chamber doors.
Soon the corridor forked into two diagonal pathways that stretched for twenty feet in either direction. These smaller hallways ended in doorways. The priest turned to the left, followed the hallway to its end then opened the polished oaken door. It creaked open, revealing a simple chamber. A straw mattress dominated the cell's floor, and devotional paintings of the God of Duty covered the walls.
The meal that the platinum-haired priest had promised was there, and Adon quickly sat on the floor. A plate of warm bread, along with cheese and fresh fruit, lay on a platter. As the Tormite stood silently over him, the scarred cleric started to eat hungrily. Noticing that the priest was staring, Adon put down his food and waited as the man uttered a prayer over the meal.
Adon started to eat again, and the priest sat down across from him. The platinum-haired man's first words caused the cleric to choke.
"Will you do penance for not blessing your meal?" the Tormite asked softly.