At the far end of the room was an amorphous statue of the god Iyachtu Xvim, ten feet high and carved out of oily black rock. There were no real features to the sculpture, just the suggestion of a man's form, but the eyes were set with two huge emeralds, which caught the torchlight and reflected it back with an evil glint. A high priest of Xvim sat on a low dais just to the left of his god's image. He wore elaborate black robes trimmed in green. Long, oily black hair oozed out from beneath the metal skullcap on his head. He hunched forward on his throne like a vulture, giving him the appearance of a more elderly man.
Clumped in a circle before the dais, guarded by warriors in black and green armor, were the pilgrims of Bane-those who had survived the attempt to storm the tower. Joel estimated there were about seventy of them. Between the pilgrims and the dais stood another figure, a small, slender woman in black armor, with a black cape and a plait of ebon hair that hung to her waist. Although Joel could not see her face, he knew she was the same priestess of Bane he'd seen on the deck of the ship.
The Zhentilar guarding Joel and Holly hooked their chains to a ring against one wall and stood flanking them with disciplined precision. Bear stood before the prisoners, his once grim features now gloating unpleasantly. The Zhentilar priest, whose squad had captured them strode up to the dais and whispered to another priest who served as a scribe to the events unfolding.
The high priest of Xvim was addressing the Banite priestess. As he talked, the high priest rubbed his hands, as if trying to remove some stain from his flesh. The priestess stood as still as a statue, no movement betraying her feelings.
The penalty for trespass is severe, Walinda of Bane," the high priest declared in a deep, resonating voice.
The woman's voice was high-pitched but as chill as ice as she replied, "It is only trespass if permission is not given, and I am asking for that permission. The Temple in the Sky was once a temple to my dark lord, Bane. I believe that it still contains knowledge concerning an artifact that will serve him."
"Bane is dead," the high priest declared and spat on the dais.
True, Bane was defeated by Torm the Foolish during the Time of Troubles, but can a god be truly dead," the priestess Walinda answered, "when he lives on in the hearts of his worshipers?"
The high priest snorted. "If all that remains of his worshipers are a rabble of peasants led by a woman, Bane had best not bother to get up again," he taunted.
Several of the warriors in the room laughed. Walinda's back stiffened slightly, but she showed no other sign of irritation. She held out an arm as a signal to one of the Banites behind her. "We have brought an offering as a sign of our good faith," she said, her voice still completely emotionless.
One of Bane's acolytes stepped forward, pulling a cloaked figure with him. With a rough shove, he pushed the figure forward, yanking away the cloak.
A woman in torn black leather armor sprawled on the floor before the dais. Her black hair gleamed like a raven's feathers, and her dark brown eyes flashed with fury, but it was the growths on her back that caught everyone's attention. Sprouting from behind her shoulders were great birdlike wings of dusty rose-colored feathers. The wings hung limp and unnaturally skewed. The winged woman tried to rise, but her strength failed her, and she collapsed back onto the stone floor. Her broken wings shuddered, shedding feathers. Then her whole body was still.
"More than a trifle, you must agree," Walinda of Bane said coolly. "She was a crew member aboard the ship that now serves as my shrine to Bane."
The high priest ran his tongue along his lower lip. "This one would make a suitable formal offering to the Godson," he said. He signaled with a jerk of his chin, and two of the black-and-green-clad warriors came forward and flanked the winged woman. They dragged her prostrate form out through the door.
"For such an offering, we will forgive you for your trespass," the high priest declared. "To gain access to the Temple in the Sky, however-that you must bargain for separately."
The priestess of Bane showed no sign of surprise that she'd been cheated out of her first offering, but she now bargained more carefully. "Name your price for access to the Temple in the Sky," she demanded.
The high priest chuckled, his deep voice reverberating from the stone walls all about them. "Your followers," he said with a malicious smile. "Offer them up to the Godson, and we will allow you to visit the temple. Of course, you and your followers can leave now if the price is too high." His tone suggested he thought he had the better of the priestess. Walinda's reaching the Temple in the Sky might serve Bane, yet the destruction of these faithful few would seriously weaken the god's cause.
Walinda turned to face her followers, the acolytes in their handmade robes and the peasants in their rags. Many had been injured in the storming of the tower; all were hungry and tired from their travels. They stared back at her expectantly, but none uttered a sound. The blood-red tattoos on the priestess's pale cheeks glistened, and the ruby on her smooth brow flashed a bit of reflected light across Joel's eyes. The bard gasped softly, knowing somehow exactly what her decision would be.
Walinda looked directly at Joel, just as she had when he'd been cowering in the grass on the Tethyamar Trail. The ghost of a smile played across her lips.
"Agreed," she announced. "Give yourselves to the swords of the Godson, my children, and perish for the greater good of Bane."
Her last few words were lost in the confusion of the pilgrims, who cried out with astonishment and terror. The high priest of Xvim signaled with both hands, and the guards surrounding the pilgrims pulled their blades.
The acolytes knelt to pray to their dark god, and the Xvimist warriors' swords slit their throats effortlessly. The peasants were less accommodating and tried to bolt for freedom. They trampled over each other in the attempt, but there was no way to escape the blades of their executioners. They were being cut down like cattle.
Holly shouted, "No!" and yanked on the chain attached to the wall, trying to escape to stop the bloodshed.
The Zhentilar standing beside her smacked her in the head with a gauntleted fist and ordered her to be silent.
The paladin sagged against Joel, turning her face away from the massacre. Joel fixed his eyes on Walinda as her people's blood sprayed about the room. The priestess had stepped back to avoid the press of soldiers, but now she stood still, with her hands folded before her. She appeared completely untroubled by the carnage before her. On the contrary, Joel thought he detected a gleam in her eye and a brightness in her face, as if she had just won some noble victory.
One of the peasants broke free from the encircling death and threw himself at Walinda's feet begging, "Mercy, dread sister! Please have mercy!"
Walinda looked down at him as if he were a dog that needed to be put out of its misery. She made no movement or sound as a warrior of Xvim sliced off the peasant's head, splashing the priestess with her follower's blood, Her expression never changed.
A grayish haze, like smoke, rose from the dead and mingled with the scent of incense, the stench of blood, and the piteous moaning of the dying. The Xvimist warriors walked among the fallen, dispatching any who were merely wounded, until the gray haze rose from every individual offered up to Iyachtu Xvim.
The haze thickened into streams of smoke, which joined other streams until there were two rivers of darkness that moved toward the statue of Iyachtu Xvim, drawn there by some evil power. When the rivers of darkness struck the statue's emerald eyes, they were drawn inside the statue.
As the statue fed on the vapors, the corpses grew withered and desiccated, leaving their skin lying wrinkled about their bones. It was as if the Godson sucked out their flesh and blood.
Joel wondered if he had just witnessed the end of the last congregation of Bane's followers in Faerun, Certainly there weren't very many people who would convert to the worship of a dead god.