Adon's face turned white, and he got a small piece of bread caught in his throat. He coughed several times then shook his head vigorously.
The priest leaned forward. "So it's true, then, Adon, that you are no longer a cleric."
Adon began to feel ill as he realized that this was just another interrogation session. He put the chunk of bread he was eating back on his plate.
The platinum-haired man frowned. "A cleric is nothing without belief, and yours is very weak." He paused and studied Adon's eyes. "Have you come here seeking guidance? Is that why you made up that wild story about delivering a message to Lord Torm?" the priest asked sadly.
"Perhaps," Adon whispered. He tried to force a look of shame onto his face to hide his growing fear.
The priest, a broad smile covering his face, clutched Adon's shoulders. "You have just taken the first step toward accepting Lord Torm, the God of Duty. Today you will be allowed to wander the temple freely. You may enter any door marked with the symbol of Torm. All others are off limits to you… for now." The Tormite paused, and the smile left his face. "There are serious penalties if you ignore these warnings. I'm sure you understand."
The priest allowed his perfect smile to return, but now Adon saw that expression as threatening somehow.
The scarred cleric cleared his throat and tried to return the platinum-haired man's smile but failed. "You haven't told me your name," Adon said.
"Tenwealth," the Tormite told Adon happily. "Dunn Tenwealth, high priest of Torm. Now, put on a cheerful face, friend Adon. There is reason enough to feel fear and depression outside these walls." The priest stood up and threw his arms open wide. "While you are here, you are safe within the gauntleted hand of Lord Torm."
Tenwealth helped Adon to his feet then patted him on the shoulder. "I must leave you now," the platinum-haired man said. "I have other duties to attend to." Adon stayed in the chamber for a little while after Tenwealth left, then spent the morning and half the afternoon observing services and rituals that were so commonplace the scarred cleric soon grew bored. Adon had been a traveler in his youth. He had once seen a pagan ritual performed on the lip of a violently churning volcano that was at once beautiful and terrifying. Although the cleric could appreciate the well-ordered, perfectly respectable rites the followers of Torm performed to honor their god, he was not impressed.
In the middle of the afternoon, Adon sent a messenger to deliver a note to Midnight at the Lazy Moon. Adon then found himself alone in a lush garden that lay at the rear of the temple. A beautiful statue of a golden lion stood in the center of the garden, seeming to stare lazily at Adon as he sat on a stone bench.
Allowing his facade of contentment to drop, the cleric mulled over all that he had seen and heard since he entered the gatehouse almost a day ago. Obviously something sinister was going on in the temple, and it seemed likely that Lord Torm knew nothing about it. Like all the fallen gods, the God of Duty was forced to rely on a human avatar. But Torm was also locked away in a palace, where only smiles of adoration could penetrate the carefully guarded walls. Adon shivered and closed his eyes.
"The gods are as vulnerable as we are," Adon murmured sadly after a few moments.
"I've long suspected it," a voice said nonchalantly. The cleric opened his eyes, turned, and saw a man who was as ruggedly handsome as anyone Adon had ever seen. The man's hair was red, with touches of amber. A neatly trimmed beard and mustache accentuated his strong, proud jaw. The eyes that gazed into Adon's were a rich blue, with flecks of purple and black. Staring at the man's face was not unlike watching a setting sun.
The man smiled warmly, genuinely. "I am Torm. My faithful call me 'the Living God,' but as I gather you already know, I am just one of many gods in Faerun these days." The man held a gauntleted hand out to the cleric.
Adon's shoulders sagged. This was no god. It was merely another cleric sent to test him again.
"Don't torment me!" Adon snapped. "If this is another test of my worth — "
Torm frowned only slightly then gestured toward the statue of the lion. Suddenly a roar filled the garden, and the golden lion padded toward the red-haired man. Torm caressed the creature's head, and the beast lay obediently at the fallen god's feet. Torm turned to Adon and asked, "Is that proof enough for you?"
The scarred cleric shook his head. "There are many mages who could do that trick," he said flatly.
Torm frowned deeply now.
"And even though your god resides here," Adon added, "you are a madman or a fool for attempting that illusion. Magic is a dangerous force to wield, and I have no desire to endanger myself by remaining in your company." The cleric stood and started to walk away.
"By all the Planes!" the God of Duty cried then stretched. "You don't know how long it's been since someone has dared to stand up to me! I am, above all, a warrior, and I respect that kind of spirit."
Adon snorted. "Please stop the jests, mage. I don't wish to be taunted any longer."
The god's eyes grew dark, and the golden lion stretched and moved to Torm's side. "Though I may value spirit, Adon of Sune, I will not tolerate insubordination."
Something told Adon he had made a mistake in angering the red-haired man. He looked at Torm and saw the purple and black fragments swirling around angrily in his eyes. The cleric saw power in those eyes, too — power and knowledge far beyond that possessed by any mortal being. At that moment, Adon knew that he was looking into the eyes of a god. The cleric bowed his head. "I am sorry, Lord Torm. I expected you to travel with an entourage. I never thought to meet you wandering in the gardens alone, unguarded." The living god stroked his beard. "Ah. You now have faith in my words, I see."
Adon shuddered. Faith? he thought bitterly. I've seen gods destroyed as casually as pigs on a market day. I've seen the beings most of Faerun's humans worship act like petty tyrants. No, the cleric realized. I don't have anything close to faith… but I do recognize power when I see it. And I know when to bow to save my own life.
The God of Duty smiled. "I left an image sitting upon my throne. It rests there, brooding, and I left orders that I was in an inhospitable mood and would severely punish any who dared to disturb me," Torm said.
"But how did you get here without being seen?" Adon asked, raising his head to look at the god once more.
"The diamond corridors," Torm told the cleric. "They begin the center of the temple and connect to every chamber. They are designed as a maze, so that few can travel them without becoming lost." The fallen god paused and stroked the lion's mane. "I've heard you have a message for me… that you have seen Lord Helm." The god sat down again, and the lion slowly lowered itself to the ground at Torm's feet.
The cleric told as much of the story as he could, leaving out mention of the murders that Cyric committed and Elminster's claim that one of the Tablets of Fate was hidden in Tantras.
"Bane and Myrkul!" Torm growled as Adon finished his tale. "I should have known those treacherous curs were behind the theft of the tablets. And Mystra dead, her power scattered throughout the weave of magic surrounding Faerun! Dark and shocking news." The God of Duty closed his eyes and sighed. Adon could almost feel the fallen god's sorrow.
A man wandered into the garden and froze when he saw Adon and Torm, then ran back inside the temple. The God of Duty seemed to have missed the man's entrance and hasty exit, but Adon did not. He knew that the garden would be filled with Tormites very soon.
The god opened his eyes. "I regret that I cannot help you with your quest to save the Realms," Torm told the cleric. "I am needed here. I have a duty to my faithful." The God of Duty put his hand on Adon's scarred cheek and said, "There is something I can help you with, though. You must look inside your heart if you are to banish these dark, guilty thoughts that consume you and make you so bitter. What were you before you joined your order?"