Othea shifted her gaze from Lanaxis to his brothers. "Now you may leave, my children," she said. "It seems Lanaxis is growing ill in anticipation of his punishment. If we make him wait any longer, I fear he'll collapse."
The giants filed out of the colonnade, disappearing one after the other behind the Mother Queen's bulk. Othea paid them no attention, and raised her goblet to her cavernous mouth She poured the contents down in one gulp. A craggy smile of contentment crossed her lips, and she belched, as she always did when she drank from the Well of Health.
To his surprise, Lanaxis experienced no joy. It seemed to him there was a lump of ice where his heart should have been, and it was not pumping blood through his veins, but half-frozen slush. He began to shiver uncontrollably, his skin growing icy and numb, and the tears rolling down his cheeks stung like windblown sleet. He had saved Ostoria.
Othea stooped over to return her goblet to the ettin. The morning sun shone over her back, casting a rosy wash over Lanaxis's pale skin. The rays felt surprisingly warm and comforting, and the titan began to hope the horrible decision he had made that morning would not bring the death of all that was warm and good in him.
"You don't have to share Lanaxis's punishment," Othea said to the ettin. "You can stay with Vilmos or Nicias."
"Make own kingdom," Arno answered. "Tired of being servant."
That cannot be," Othea said. "You're too hideous. Even on Toril, there is no place for an entire race of your kind."
'Then we will stay," said Julien. The head cast a wistful glance after Dunmore, the last of the departing giants, before he and Arno started back toward the titan. "Lanaxis has always been good to us."
"As you wish," Othea said. The Mother Queen drew herself up to her full height. Once again her immensity eclipsed the sun's rays, plunging the Well of Health into cold dusk. "Now will I tell Lanaxis his punishment."
The titan stood, strengthened by his brief exposure to the sun, and by knowing he had saved Ostoria.
"I am ready," he said. "But first, may I speak?"
Lanaxis knew he could not influence the Mother Queen's decision. He was stalling to let his poison take effect before Othea punished him. By now, his brothers were dying, and it would not be long before the Mother Queen followed.
You may speak," Othea said. "But it will do no good. Already have I laid my curse upon you."
"What do you mean?"
"Can you not feel my shadow?" asked Othea. "When I leave here, it shall remain behind. As long as you stay within it, you will be as you are now, cold and sick with regret for speaking against me. You are free to leave at any time-but when you do, you will no longer be eternal monarch of titans. You will become mortal, growing old and infirm, and dying. The choice is yours: to wait in the cold twilight, hoping I will take mercy and release you one day, or to leave and-"
Othea ended her sentence with a gasp. The Mother Queen clutched at the buttress that was her breast and dropped to the ground. The impact shook the entire colonnade. Half the water in the Well of Health sloshed out of the pool and spread, still bubbling, over the arcade floor.
"What have you done?" Othea gasped. She slumped forward, her head hanging over the colonnade like some immense boulder that had been ready to fall for centuries.
"He's murdered you," said Dunmore. The wood giant stepped into the small gap between her hip and the first pillar of the colonnade. "And all of his brothers, as well."
Othea's face paled to the color of milky quartz, and ashen clouds began to gather about her head. "Dead?"
"Save for me, yes," Dunmore replied, glaring into the colonnade. "The Sons of Annam lie scattered on the snowy plain, as still and lifeless as Ulutiu upon his death raft."
The Mother Queen moaned in agony-whether from Dunmore's news or the pain of dying, Lanaxis did not know. Then she looked down with hazy eyes as gray as the snow clouds whirling around her head. To the titan's surprise, she looked more sad than angry. "Why?"
'To save Ostoria," Lanaxis answered.
With the little strength remaining to her, Othea shook her head. "Foolish child. Ostoria could never be what you-or Annam-wished." She spoke with the voice of sloughing snow, gentle and rumbling, so soft that Lanaxis heard her words more with his chest than with his ears. "An empire of giants would dominate the world, and that is notToril's destiny."
Othea's eyes went as white as snow, then she sat bolt upright and threw her head back. A deep, booming cry broke from her lips and roared into the sky with such fury that it tore the clouds asunder and silenced the wind. The Mother Queen pitched over backward, crashing so hard that the foundations buckled beneath Bleak Palace. Fissures shot through the colonnade, swallowing the spilled waters of the Well of Health, and the pillars began to topple.
"Come, All Father!" Arno pleaded, yelling at the sky.
"Othea is dead!" added Julien. "Help us! Save Ostoria!"
"Fools! The All Father will not come for you1" It was Dunmore's voice, ringing down from far above. "Without the Sons of Annam, Ostoria is already lost-and so are the races of giant-kind. Without their immortal kings, they will fall into eternal chaos and savagery, as surely as you will sink into the everlasting darkness of your own cold hearts."
The floor crumbled beneath Lanaxis's feet, and dark walls of sheer stone rose around him. He felt himself sinking and realized he was descending into the frozen plain, pulling Bleak Palace and all of Ostoria down after him. Soon, nothing would remain of the empire of the giants except the toppled columns and scattered buttresses of their ancient palaces, and for causing that, it seemed to Lanaxis that even the eternal cold of Othea's shadow would never be punishment enough.
Snow began to fall. The flakes were large and heavy, almost like sleet. In the sky, Lanaxis saw, as Dunmore had promised, nothing but cold twilight.
The Walls of Midnight
And with a single spell, Ckai-el-Ckaan forged a tower of shadow from the cold bones of the mountain. He named it Gurthang, which in the old tongue is "midnight," and within its onyx walk he hid away his greatest relic of power, the Finger of Ckai-el-Ckaan. It is written in prophecy that he who tries to climb the walls of Gurthang and fails will lose his life, but that he who tries and succeeds will lose his soul…
From Talfirian Eddas, circa 342 DR
The warrior stood before a dark fortress, her indigo gaze calculating, her fine hands resting with easy strength against her hips. Sunlight glanced off her short, pale hair and soaked into the close-fitting black leather she wore.
After a time she swore, her breath conjuring ghosts on the autumn high-country air. The dark fortress soared above the granite walls of the remote mountain basin, a jagged onyx knife biting into a cold, windswept sky. Its outer wall looked as slick as glass. This was not going to be as simple as she had believed. Yet she had her mission, and she intended to complete it. The warrior's name was Ravendas, and long ago she had vowed to do whatever it took to be strong.
A tenday ago, she had pounded a fist against the gates of Darkhold, the western keep of the Zhentarim, seeking to become an agent of the Black Network. The dark confederation of power-hungry wizards, cruel warriors, and priests dedicated to wicked gods was constantly scheming to extend its dominion over the Heartlands. Thus the Zhentarim were always seeking likely new recruits eager to advance their lots in life. Deadly-looking guards had taken her inside, and she had been granted an audience with Sememmon, the lord of Darkhold.