When it was over, the grotesque creature giggled and fed his own glowing eyes into its gaping maws, ready to sleep now that it had feasted. Mystra was surprised to find herself alive. The pain, even in her nebulous form, had been horrifying.
Bane screamed curses at the creature until it opened a few eyes and let loose a burst of bluish white fire that enshrouded the villain. After a moment, Bane literally pulsed with stolen power.
"Enough!" Bane cried, and the blue-white fires ceased.
"It was you, wasn't it?" Mystra said as she struggled sluggishly with her bonds. "You stole the Tablets of Fate. I suspected you from the beginning."
"I took them," Bane said, and the creature he had brought to this plane slumped in place, swallowed the last of its eyes and fell into a deep, silent slumber. "Along with Lord Myrkul."
"Ao will make you pay for this," she said, and Bane felt a trace of the magic that had been siphoned from her curl within him, waiting to be unleashed.
"Ao will have no power over me," the Black Lord said, his laughter filling the chamber.
Since that night, Bane had let the hakeashar take Mystra's power, which seemed to replenish itself like the blood cells of a human, more than a dozen times. Each time, Bane received a fraction of that energy, according to the terms of his bargain with the creature.
Each time he was given more power, Bane prowled the corridors of New Acheron, the former Castle Kilgrave, longing for his true temple, and wishing for someone to share his triumphs with. Blackthorne was away almost constantly, either supervising matters in Zhentil Keep or searching for some sign of the magic Mystra had loosed before her capture. The handful of humans Blackthorne had conscripted to look after Bane's human needs were pitiful examples of the species, and Bane had no interest in any of them.
Today, Lord Bane stood in the massive dungeon beneath Castle Kilgrave, staring at the still water of the scrying pool he had constructed, speaking to Lord Myrkul. Much of the room — much of the castle, in fact — had been modified to suit Bane's needs, and Castle Kilgrave had undergone many changes since the god took it over as a base. The Black Lord had attempted to magically sculpt certain chambers and hallways into replicas of his Temple of Suffering in Acheron, although his efforts had met with failure much of the time. The instability of magic made it impossible, even for a god, to throw every spell accurately, and when using magic, Bane felt like an artist attempting to paint without benefit of hands. The shape of the castle was almost amusing to Bane except for its existence as a monument to his loss, and in that regard it gave no pleasure to the displaced god.
"What do you hope to achieve by draining Mystra's power?" Myrkul said impatiently. "Your mortal form can contain only so much power at a time, and the vessel must always be refilled."
"You miss the point," Bane said. "You and I formed an alliance when we stole the tablets together."
"A temporary alliance," Myrkul said. "Which has hardly proven successful. Look at what we have become. Less than gods, more than men. What place have we in the Realms, Lord Bane?"
Bane looked at the emaciated, almost skeletal face of Myrkul's avatar, then thought of his own hideous form and shuddered.
"We have our birthright," Bane said. "We are gods, no matter what trials Ao puts us through." Bane shook his head, then stopped himself as he realized it was a purely human gesture. "Myrkul, think back to why we took the Tablets of Fate."
Myrkul scratched his bony face, and Bane nearly laughed. The sight of the feared God of the Dead plagued by something so ordinary as a human itch was so pathetic it was almost funny. The God of Strife sighed at the idea and went on.
"We stole the tablets because we believed Ao drew strength from them, and without the tablets, Ao would be less inclined to interfere with our dealings."
"So we believed," Myrkul said ruefully. "We were fools to do so."
"We were right!" Bane shouted. "Think for a moment! Why has Ao not taken the tablets back?"
Myrkul set his bony hands at his side. "I have wondered that myself."
"I think it is because Ao cannot!" Bane said. "Perhaps he no longer has the strength. That may be why our liege exiled us from the Planes! Our plan succeeded, and Ao feared that the gods would unite, and rise up in revolt. That is why Ao has scattered us across the Realms and made us suspicious, afraid, and vulnerable to attack."
"I see," Myrkul said. "But this is only your theory."
"Supported by the facts," Bane said. "I have already captured our first pawn in this game, if you would call her that."
"Mystra?"
"With her power, all the magic in the Realms will be ours to control!" Bane laughed. He was lying, of course. If the goddess had such power, he never would have captured her so easily.
"Those gods who do not wish to go along with your plans will be enslaved or destroyed, I assume," Myrkul said suspiciously. "And you will use Mystra's power to accomplish this."
"Of course," Bane said. "But we are already allies. Why speak of such things?"
"Indeed," Myrkul said.
"Further, I believe there is power to free us from this state," Bane said. "Power Mystra has secreted somewhere in the Realms."
Myrkul nodded. "How do you plan to proceed?"
"We will discuss that later," Bane said. "For now I must deal with other, equally pressing matters."
Myrkul lowered his head, and his image faded from the scrying pool. In truth, Bane had contacted Myrkul prematurely; he had not yet decided what the next move should be.
Bane turned sharply as a black raven flew into the dungeon at a mind-boggling speed, and then became his servant, Blackthorne.
"Lord Bane, I have much to report. I believe I have located the human in Arabel that holds a gift from Mystra. She wears it as a blue-white star-shaped pendant."
Bane smiled. The pendant Blackthorne described was identical to the symbol Mystra had worn in the Planes.
"Better still," Blackthorne said, "the magic-user who wears the pendant is coming here."
The party left Arabel separately. Adon departed the city first, alone. Half an hour later, Midnight and Caitlan followed, leading two packhorses. Finally, at highsun, Kelemvor and Cyric, dressed as elderly beggar women, made it through the gate without incident. Then they rendezvoused a half hour's ride away, as Kelemvor had planned. The fighter insisted on burying the costumes he and Cyric had worn. Actually he wanted to burn them, but he worried that the smoke would be visible from the watchtowers in Arabel.
Now, the better part of an hour had passed since the oppressive walls of Arabel dwindled away into nothing but a faint speck marking the horizon at the heroes' backs, then vanished altogether. There was nothing in sight but the well-traveled road before them and the flat earth that stretched endlessly across the land to the east and west. The mountains of Gnoll Pass were visible in the distance to the north.
Kelemvor rode up beside Cyric and slapped him on the back. Cyric was thrown forward in his saddle by the blow and he looked at the other man warily.
"Ah, this is the life, is it not, Cyric?"
Simple pleasures for simple minds, Cyric thought, but merely responded with a grin and a healthy "Aye!" Soon Kelemvor moved on, and Cyric stopped to check the tethers that secured the packhorses attached to his mount and found everything to be in order.
After a time, Cyric set the wanderings of his fanciful imagination on another, more pleasant course, and studied the silky smooth legs of Midnight as they clung to the sides of her horse just ahead. Every now and again he caught a glimpse of her beautiful features as they contorted into a pained grimace. Adon, riding beside the magic-user, was deluging her with a constant and embarrassing stream of compliments.
Cyric wondered if the cleric was trying to seduce Midnight with his words. It didn't seem likely. It seemed, instead, that Adon preferred the din of constant conversation, even if he were the only willing participant, to the silence of the land they passed through. Perhaps Adon doesn't want to be alone with his own tedious thoughts, Cyric noted.