The cleric pulled away from the god's touch as if it were fire. "I was… nothing," he whispered. "I was a burden upon my parents. I had no true friends."
"But now friends and lovers grace your life," Torm noted, smiling once more. "From what you have told me, the mage and the fighter seem loyal to you. That, above all, is important. You should honor them, in return, with faithful service to them and their causes. You cannot do that if you are consumed by your own sorrows."
Torm balled his gauntleted hand into a fist. "Don't waste your life in self-pity, Adon of Sune, for you cannot serve your friends… or your god, if your heart is weighed down with grief," the fallen god said.
Adon heard voices from inside the temple. People were coming. The scarred cleric leaned close to the God of Duty.
"Thank you for sharing your wisdom, Lord Torm," Adon whispered. "Now let me fulfill my duty to help you. All is not as it seems in your temple or in Tantras. There are forces around you that could tear the city apart. You must look to your clerics and find out what they are doing to serve you. Not all dutiful service is done with justice in mind."
The voices grew louder then a dozen high priests entered the garden and fell to their knees before Torm. The lion roared in annoyance as the men babbled an almost endless torrent of problems that required their god's immediate attention. Torm rose, smiled at Adon, and turned to the temple's nearest entrance. The golden lion and the crowd of priests followed the god as he left the garden.
Several minutes later, Adon was taken from the garden and locked away in a dark chamber that was devoid of any furnishings. The room reminded the cleric of the cell he had shared with Midnight in the Twisted Tower, but he tried to push those thoughts aside as he waited. It was several hours before a tray of food was brought to him by a silent, surly guard.
"I'm not hungry," Adon mumbled, his grumbling stomach betraying his lie. "Take the food away and tell me why I'm here."
The guard left the food then departed. An hour later, Adon had finished the meal, which consisted of slightly stale bread and cheese. Soon afterward, a familiar, platinum-haired man entered the chamber, a large smile hanging artfully upon his lips.
"Tenwealth!" Adon gasped and stood up.
"It seems you had quite an adventure today," the priest said. The tone he used would have been suitable for a child. Adon felt insulted. "Would you care to talk about it?"
"What is there to say?" Adon grumbled, a frown pulling at the scar on his cheek, darkening the wound. "I had my audience with Torm. Now I'm ready to leave. Why are your guards unwilling to release me?"
"My guards?" Tenwealth said through the false smile. "Why, they are Torm's guards. They serve the God of Duty and are only doing his will."
"And have I been kept here under his orders?" Adon asked, taking a step toward the priest.
"Not exactly," Tenwealth admitted, running a hand across his chin. "You're not being 'kept' here at all. There's no lock on your door, no guard outside." The priest paused and opened the door. "Of course, there is the danger that you could become lost in Torm's maze before you reach the exit. That would be most unfortunate. Some who have been lost in the diamond corridors have never been heard from again."
Adon looked down at the floor. "I understand," he said dejectedly, then slumped to a sitting position against the wall.
"I thought you might," Tenwealth noted confidently, his perfect smile gleaming in the darkened chamber. "Have a good rest. In a few hours, I'll return for you. You have an audience scheduled with the High Council of Torm. That should set your mind at ease."
The priest left the chamber, and Adon considered the hopelesness of the situation for a little while then fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. Several hours later, Tenwealth returned with two guards. Adon was fast asleep, and the priest had to shake him roughly to awaken him.
As Adon followed Tenwealth out into the corridor, a plan began to form in his mind. The cleric decided that he would grab a weapon from one of the guards as soon as they were clear of the corridors and fight his way out of the temple. He knew that it was probably suicide, but it was a far better way to die than to be executed in secret. So Adon kept careful watch on the proximity of the guards and played the fool as they marched along. Though Tenwealth became annoyed at Adon's idiotic patter, Adon noted that the two guards relaxed considerably.
Adon was about to make his move against the nearer of the guards when, at the end of the corridor, he saw a white-bearded old man carrying a harp. Suddenly the cleric grabbed a torch from the wall, broke away from Tenwealth and the guards, and ran toward the old man. The platinum-haired priest cried out an order, and the guards raced after the scarred cleric.
"Elminster!" Adon cried as he raced down the hall. "You're alive!"
The old man looked up in alarm. He had been arguing with another priest of Torm, and a momentary flicker of surprise passed across his face when he saw Adon racing toward him. Then he frowned and stood perfectly still.
The young cleric stopped directly before the old man. The blazing torch bathed the minstrel's face in warmth and light, and the heat from the flames made the white-bearded man draw back. And though Adon was certain that he had recognized the man from farther down the hall, closer examination revealed the old man to be someone other than Elminster. The scarred young man was about to turn away from the minstrel when he saw the tip of the old man's nose begin to melt.
"Elminster!" Adon said, his voice cracking, just as Tenwealth's guards reached out for him.
The minstrel looked around, gauged the confusion of the Tormites, and cast a spell before anyone was aware of his true intention. The air crackled, and a shimmering mist of blue-white energies filled the corridor.
"All of ye will accompany Adon and me out of the temple and beyond the citadel. Then ye will return and act as if nothing has happened," Elminster ordered. Tenwealth, the two guards, and the priest nodded stiffly.
The sage smiled. The mass suggestion spell had actually worked! It was the first incantation that had gone right in some time, too. The old mage decided that it must be the close proximity of Torm's avatar that was stabilizing magic a bit, then thanked the Goddess of Luck for good measure and gestured for the Tormites to lead the way out of the corridor.
Adon stood frozen, staring in a mixture of shock and relief at the sage. "Elminster, what are you doing here?"
"My intention was not to save thy worthless hide, I assure ye," the mage growled, wiping a bit of wax from his nose, "Unfortunately, ye left me no choice." Elminster started after the Tormites. When Adon didn't move, he turned back and said, "Ye were hit with that spell, too. If ye dally long enough to make me suggest a course for ye to follow, ye'll not like where it takes ye."
Adon gladly followed the sage. Memories and thoughts whirled in the cleric's mind. Adon knew only that he was relieved to see Elminster alive. Tears of joy streamed down his face.
"Wipe that silly grin from your face and those tears from your eyes," Elminster grumbled as they left the corridors and entered the temple's courtyard. "We don't want to arouse any suspicion."
"But I have so many questions — ," Adon began breathlessly.
"They can wait," Elminster snapped.
Adon followed the sage's commands, and within a short time they were several blocks away from the Temple of Torm. They tried to lose themselves in the crowd as soon as Tenwealth and his men headed back to their home.
After a few minutes of pushing their way through milling crowds, Adon turned to Elminster and asked, "Now can you give me some answers?"