"Is he?…"
"Quite upset, aye."
Kelemvor smirked, despite himself. "You just mentioned gambling?"
Midnight nodded. "Consider this my stake to enter your game."
This time Kelemvor did laugh, a hearty laugh that was cut short as he noticed the disguises that peaked out from the packages that sat beside Cyric's mount. He examined the packages to find wigs, surprisingly lifelike masks, and the tattered dresses of a pair of elderly beggar women.
Caitlan appeared behind them, looking bright and healthy. She greeted Midnight as if the woman had been the answer to her prayers, then looked beyond the party, as if to a sight beyond the walls of Arabel, her expression once again turning serious.
"We must go," Caitlan said gravely. "There isn't much time."
Midnight looked to Kelemvor. "I can help Adon with the supplies, if you'd like."
Kelemvor nodded, and snatched up the packages that contained their disguises. Cyric followed him into the inn.
"What's the name of the place we're going to again?" Midnight asked.
"Castle Kilgrave," Adon said.
Midnight shrugged and removed her cloak to work more freely. Her blue-white star pendant glared in the sunlight as she placed her cloak on her mount's back.
In the shadows of the stables, a single shade broke away from the darkness, assumed the form of a raven, then burst from the stables and flew over the heads of the adventurers, flying at speeds no creature of nature could ever attain.
IV
Bane had not been idle in the two weeks since the time of Arrival, as his worshipers now called the night he was thrown from the heavens. Almost constant activity was needed to avert his attention from his distressingly mortal state, and on the few occasions when he allowed himself to turn his attentions inward and examine the frail mortal shell that necessity had forced him to assume, the Black Lord became lost in the endless intricacies of the machine that gave him movement and voice.
Such gifts and miracles he found within the submicroscopic areas surrounding the cortex! And when he immersed his consciousness in but a single cell of the body's endless stream of blood and allowed the path of his explorations to be decided by the body itself, Bane felt a rapture that rivaled godhood itself.
It was then he understood the trap and forced himself to pull away. He placed barricades within the brain of the body he was forced to inhabit, and fortified his perceptions in an effort to train them outward, ever outward, and never again succumb to the dangers locked within his mortal frame. Bane was a god; miracles had always been boring and commonplace to him before. But now the miracles of the Planes were locked away from him, and he would have to concentrate on the task before him, so that he might one day soon reclaim the heavens and satisfy his ever-gnawing hunger for miracles and wonder in a manner that befitted a god.
During Bane's first days in Zhentil Keep, the human rulers of the city fell on their knees in his presence and placed all their assets at Bane's disposal. Bane was grateful the coup had been bloodless; he would need as much human fodder to grease the wheels of his machinations as he could get his talon-shaped grip on.
Construction of the Black Lord's new temple had begun, and soon the rubble was cleared away and makeshift walls rose to hide the intricate planning sessions Bane called. Although Lord Chess, sensing his own position as nominal ruler of Zhentil Keep at risk, offered to place himself and his staff at Bane's disposal, Bane chose to remain near his black throne. Besides, he didn't care to experience the boredom of the day to day operations of the city, so long as its occupants were loyal and ready to become sacrifices at a moment's notice.
On his third night in the Realms, Bane began to dream, and in his dreams he saw Mystra, smiling in the face of terror, laughing at Ao as the gods were delivered to their fate. Bane, the giver of nightmares, had finally fallen prey to one himself. He cursed his flesh for sharing this new weakness with him. Still, the nightmare served a purpose, and Bane once again pondered the meaning of Mystra's enigmatic farewell to the Planes.
So Bane decided he should seek out Mystra and discover why she viewed Ao's wrath so calmly.
Five days after the time of Arrival, Tempus Blackthorne, a mage of great power and importance, arrived with the news of Mystra's location in the Realms. Bane set a seal upon the doors leading to his private chamber and teleported Blackthorne and himself to Castle Kilgrave. They found Mystra outside the castle, weakened and helpless from some trauma or attack. Perhaps she had attempted a spell that had gone awry, Bane thought, and laughed at the irony.
As the Black Lord stood over her, Mystra suddenly became aware of his presence and released a single shred of her power — a modified geas spell meant for her intended avatar. The spell took the form of a bluish white falcon, soared into the night sky, and escaped. Bane ordered Blackthorne to follow the magical creature. The emissary transformed into a great black raven that took flight after the falcon, only to lose sight of it in Arabel.
When he imprisoned the goddess in the dungeon of Castle Kilgrave with mystic chains born of enchanted fires, Bane felt a wave of power rush across the room. The barren rock dungeon shook as Mystra came to her senses and tested the strength of her bonds.
And then Bane summoned a horror to keep Mystra weak and tractable.
Come, monster, I call you into this plane, as my minions have so many times before.
Bane heard a growl, deep in the back of his mind as the creature replied, I come.
It first appeared as a swirling red mist, spiraling like a cyclone as it rose up and sprouted hundreds of quivering, misshapen hands that cleaved the air before the goddess hungrily. An equal number of pale yellow eyes suddenly opened, and they floated all around the swirling mist, passing like ghosts through their fellows as they darted back and forth, each eye anxious to study its prey from every angle. Finally, a score of wounds tore through the mists, revealing gaping mouths that reached back into an endless succession of dark dimensions. The mouths opened and closed rapidly as a cry that could only be considered one of hunger was loosed from them.
Mystra recognized the creature: it was a hakeashar, a being from another plane with a voracious appetite for magic. Bane had no doubt made a pact with the monster. In return for aid in crossing into the Prime Material Plane, the monster would give the Black Lord something he valued — power. For the hakeashar had the ability to release some of the magic it consumed, and Bane would want that raw energy to power his plans.
Mystra considered her options. If Bane had been foolish enough to enter into a pact with the creature, known for its treacherous nature, there might be a way she could use it to her advantage.
"We have much to discuss," Bane said, the hakeashar hovering behind him.
"Why have you imprisoned me?" Mystra said.
"I will be happy to release you from these shackles once you have heard me out… And you agree to help me complete my plan."
"Go on."
"I wish to form an alliance of the gods," Bane said. "Swear your allegiance to me and my cause, Goddess, and I will set you free."
Despite the presence of the hakeashar, Mystra could not hold back her laughter. "You're mad," she said.
"No," Bane said. "Merely practical." He turned to the creature. "She's yours," Bane said calmly. "But remember our agreement."
Of course.
A hundred eyes turned from Bane and this time Mystra could not hold back her screams.