"It can't be!" Marnok shook his head in disbelief.
Rage blossomed hotly in Ravendas's chest. Was this to be the final joke, then? "By all the blackest gods," she spat furiously, "it's nothing but an old knuckle bone!"
No, it is much more than that, a voice spoke in their minds.
Ravendas and Marnok looked up in shock. A man stood- no, he hovered-behind the pedestal. His long crimson robes drifted slowly on the air, as if feeling the touch of a distant wind. A gold skull-cap covered his head, and his yellow eyes glowed eerily in the angular landscape of his face.
"Ckai-el-Ckaan!" Ravendas whispered in dread.
No, I am but an image he conjured in his likeness long ago, when he raised this fortress to protect his most precious relic.
"Precious?" Ravendas snarled, braver now that she knew she was not facing the ancient sorcerer himself. "What's so precious about an old bone?"
Ah, but it is not any bone, the image said. You see, as great as Ckai-el-Ckaan's magic was, all his sorcery could not reveal to him the time or place he would meet his demise. So he forged this tower, and here within he cut off his littlest finger, and laid it on the pedestal.
"But why?" Ravendas demanded in confusion.
"I think I understand," Marnok whispered. He was trembling. "The book told how Ckai-el-Ckaan was obsessed with living forever. So he must have left a finger here, knowing that, one day, the bone could be used in a spell that would forge a new body for him, and bring his spirit back from the Realm of the Dead."
Ravendas stared at Marnok in amazement.
The image of the sorcerer nodded serenely. That is so. He created this fortress so that only one who was strong, and powerful, and clever enough to see him returned from the dead could gain the relic. Climbing the walls was the first test, the test of strength. Now begins the second. The ghostly wizard gestured toward the relic. Take it. But know that only one who has magic to match that of Ckai-el-Ckaan's may attempt to leave once he has done so.
"What… what If he does not?" Marnok asked tentatively.
Then he will be imprisoned forever. The image of the ancient sorcerer bowed. Fate be with you. Like mist before a wind, the image was gone.
Marnok drew a handful of glistening powder from a pouch and threw it toward the relic. A crimson sphere appeared, surrounding the pedestal. His magic had revealed the ancient trap. They could go no farther.
"So close." Ravendas clenched her hands into fists. "We can almost reach it. Almost." She knew now that the relic was indeed priceless. Certainly the Zhentarim would have the power to resurrect Ckai-el-Ckaan-and to bind the legendary sorcerer as their slave in the process. For that opportunity, the Zhentarim would pay dearly. If only…
"Let's go, Ravendas," Marnok said gently, reaching for her hand. "It's no use."
But that wasn't true. Suddenly she knew it. There was a way, after all.
Time turned to ice. For a crystalline moment, Ravendas could see a future. Not the future, but one future, one of many. She and Marnok stood in the doorway of a country house, his arms encircling her. Golden sunlight spilled through the windows, and small children laughed as they ran on the green grass outside. Marnok whispered something gently in her ear-she could almost hear his words. But then the thread of that future unraveled, and another, darker tapestry was woven to take its place. She had made her choice. Time melted to flow once more.
She drew Marnok close to her. He did not resist. She brushed her lips softly against his.
"I… I'm sorry," she whispered.
His clear green eyes widened in surprise, but before he could react, she shoved him with all her strength. He carened backward, falling hard against the pedestal. Ruby magic flared brilliantly as the basalt cylinder crashed to the floor Asmall white object rolled away. Quickly Ravendas moved to snatch it up. The Finger of Ckai-el-Ckaan.
She stood in victory, but when she turned around, her heart caught in her throat. Marnok floated above the fallen pedestal imprisoned in a sphere of crimson fire. His limbs were contorted in frozen agony, as if he were dead. But his eyes were alive. They watched her with a strange look that was part anguish, part understanding. She could not look away. Without warning the floor lurched violently beneath her feet and thunder cleaved the air. The crystal windows high above shattered, shards falling like glittering rain. The floor shook again, sending her to her knees. Just as the mage's book had foretold, the tower was collapsing.
«You must… go," a voice croaked. It was Marnok. His facewas twisted with the terrible effort of speaking. "Remember the book…" Blood flecked the corners of his lips. "The third… test. Face the sunset… give yourself to… darkness'" The tower shook again in its death throes, but Ravendas could not seem to move.
"Go…" Marnok gasped in agony. "Go… Kela." It was like being freed from a spell. Ravendas turned awayy and dashed toward the stairway. She did not look back. Chunks of stone streaked wildly past her as she leapt off the stairway and sprinted down the spiral corridor. She bounded across the bridge to the top of the wall. A heartbeat later the fortress shook again, and the bridge collapsed into the abyss.
Ravendas did not stop to watch. Marnok's words echoed in her mind. Face the sunset. She picked her way precariously along the jagged top of the wall, clutching the stone each time Gurthang convulsed, until she reached the western edge. She peered down but could see nothing in the gloom. The moon had set behind the mountains. There was no hope in light.
Give yourself to darkness. Yes, she thought. Wasn't that the choice she had made? Sounding a thunderous death knell, Gurthang's central tower began its slow, ponderous collapse behind her. Ravendas did not turn toward the grim spectacle. Closing her eyes, she drew in a deep breath. And stepped off the wall.
For a moment, it seemed she was flying. Darkness en-cloaked her, cradling her gently within its soft, velvet folds. She laughed aloud. It was glorious! Then she plunged into deep, icy water, and the moment was shattered.
Ravendas huddled by a small fire in the scant protection of a wind-twisted cedar, wrapped in the woolen blanket she had retrieved from her pack. The Finger of Ckai-el-Ckaan lay on a stone beside her. She grinned, the glow of victory far warmer than the fire. She had done the impossible. The Zhentarim could not refuse her now. Her path to power was clear before her.
She spread her clothes by the fire, drying them of the tarn's cold water. As she did, she noticed something in the pocket of her leather jerkin. She pulled it out. A card. Though wet and torn, azure magic still shimmered on its surface, tracing an intricate outline, the outline of a spiral. Below it was written, The Cage. Words echoed eerily in her mind. Power can be a prison.
"No," Ravendas whispered fiercely. "I make my own fate."
Shivering, she tossed the card onto the fire.
And Wringing of Hands
I hate my hands. The fingers are long-too long. And sickly thin. They look as if they'd splinter if someone applied the least bit of pressure between the knuckles. And the knuckles bulge like the knobby growths you sometimes see on trees. I've often thought I'd like to chop off my hands and grow new ones, replace the mealy things with the ruddy, powerful hands of a smith or a sword master. I've looked into the possibility, actually. A wizard in Thay, one of the Reds, said it could be done. But he wouldn't guarantee the results. Oh, I'd have working hands. But when I asked if I'd be able to perform the intricate work I do now, he hesitated before nodding and saying, "Sure, I think so." That wasn't good enough, so here they are.