In the same instant, Bhaal rushed forward and kicked Midnight’s door. The bolt snapped off and the door flew open, sending the magic-user sprawling.
Adon missed Bhaal’s head and his mace struck the floor with a hollow clang. Two stones fell out of the landing. The cleric stepped back into the doorway to his room and frowned at the hole in astonishment.
Bhaal turned to face Adon, the avatar’s face betraying irritation. Then the entire landing collapsed, carrying the Lord of Murder and the body of one fallen guard with it. The landing crashed onto the first floor with a deafening clatter. Clouds of dust billowed up out the newly opened pit.
Midnight crawled back to her doorway, and, for a moment, both she and Adon stared down into the hole. When the air finally cleared, they both saw that Bhaal’s crumpled form lay in the rubble, its neck cocked at a severe angle and obviously broken. The small body, sprawled and twisted, had been crushed in a dozen places.
But the avatar’s eyes remained opened, and they were staring at Adon with deliberate wrath. The god curled first his left hand into a fist, then his right.
Midnight gasped, unable to believe the avatar still lived.
“What does it take to kill you?” Adon cried.
As if in answer, Sneakabout stuck his head out of a hole below the cleric’s doorway. It was where the beam supporting the landing should have been.
“That didn’t do it?” the halfling asked. “What have you dragged me into?”
“What happened?” Midnight asked, still staring in wonder at the collapsed landing.
“It was a trap,” Sneakabout noted casually. “A last line of defense. The landings in this tower are designed to collapse, in case the keep is breached and the residents need to slow down pursuit while they retreat to the roof.”
As the halfling spoke, Bhaal drew a knee up to his chest, then propped himself into a sitting position.
“Never mind,” Adon said, pointing at the avatar.
Sneakabout gestured at the top of Adon’s doorway. “There’s a crank behind the door!” he cried, waving his hand for emphasis. “Turn it!”
The cleric stepped behind the door. The crank was where Sneakabout said it would be. The cleric began turning it. A terrible, rusty screech filled the room. The beam overhead—the one that supported the landing on the third floor—began moving.
“Hurry!” Sneakabout screamed.
Midnight backed away from her door, sensing it might be wiser to be completely inside her room when the landing fell.
Adon cranked harder. The supportive beams slowly withdrew, and a stone dropped out of the landing. Then two more dropped. Then a dozen. Finally, the whole thing crashed down, falling through the hole where the second floor landing should have been.
Sneakabout poked his head out of his hole again, and Midnight crawled to look out her doorway. The Cormyrian reinforcements finally reached the second floor, Kelemvor stumbling along behind them. Everybody peered through the hole and stared at the rubble on the first floor.
“Is he dead?” Sneakabout asked.
Adon shook his head. “No. When a god’s avatar dies, the destruction is immense.”
“A god!” Sneakabout gasped, nearly tumbling out of his hole.
Adon nodded. “Cyric wasn’t lying. Bhaal is chasing us.” The cleric paused and pointed at the rubble. “That’s him.”
As if in response to Adon’s revelation, the dust clouds cleared. Bhaal lay buried under a small pile of rock, a hand and foot protruding from beneath the stones.
“He looks dead to me,” Sneakabout declared.
The hand twitched, then it pushed a stone away.
Midnight gasped. “If we can’t kill him,” she said, looking to Adon, “isn’t there some way to imprison him?”
Adon frowned and closed his eyes, searching his memory for some trap that might hold a god. Finally, he shook his head, “Not that I know of.”
The hand pushed another stone away.
“To the first floor, men,” ordered the Cormyrian sergeant.
“Quick, before he frees himself!” Kelemvor added, turning and leading the way down the stairs—to die in a hopeless fight, Adon thought.
“Perhaps we should leave now,” Sneakabout offered weakly.
Midnight was not listening. As soon as she had suggested imprisoning Bhaal, a spell unlike anything she had ever studied had formed in her mind.
The mage went back into her room and rummaged through her cloak, then emerged with two balls of clay and some water. After soaking the first ball in water, Midnight crumbled it between her fingers and sprinkled it over the pile of rubble below.
“What are you doing?” Sneakabout asked, watching the bits of mud fall.
“Encasing him in stone,” Midnight explained calmly. She continued crumbling the clay.
“Magically?” Adon asked.
“Of course—do I look like a stonesmith to you?”
“What if you miscast it?” Adon objected. “You might bring the tower down around our ears!”
Midnight frowned. The spell’s appearance had excited her so much that she hadn’t considered the possibility of it going awry.
Bhaal shoved away several more stones.
“What do we have to lose?” Midnight asked. The magic-user closed her eyes and focused on her magic. She quickly uttered the chant, crushing the last of the first clay ball.
When she opened her eyes, the rubble had turned to a syrupy, translucent fluid the color of ale. She had expected mud, not pine sap, but at least Bhaal’s mangled form remained encased. His hateful eyes were focused on Midnight, and he was struggling to free himself.
Kelemvor and the Cormyrians charged into view on the first floor, then stopped at the edge of the golden glob. One tried to stick his sword through the goo and stab Bhaal, but the syrup gripped his blade and would not release it.
“What’s the meaning of this?” the sergeant demanded.
“How are we supposed to attack through that mess?”
“I wouldn’t advise attacking at all,” Adon replied, “unless you have no other choice.”
Midnight soaked the other clay ball, then began sprinkling it over the yellow glob.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” the sergeant demanded, pointing at Midnight’s hand with his sword.
Sneakabout replied for the magic-user. “Never mind. By the way, I’d stand back if I were you.”
Midnight closed her eyes and recited another spell, this one designed to turn the sticky mess solid. When she finished, the golden fluid began hardening. The avatar’s struggles slowed and completely stopped within seconds.
The Cormyrian sergeant tapped the yellow glob with his sword. The blade chimed as if he had tapped granite.
“Where did you learn that?” Adon asked.
“It just came to me,” Midnight replied, her voice weak and tired. “I don’t understand myself.” She suddenly felt very dizzy, and realized that the spell had taken more out of her than she’d expected.
Adon stared at Midnight for a moment. Each day, it seemed the mage learned something new about her magic. Thinking of his lost clerical powers, he could not help but feel a tinge of jealousy.
“Will this hold?” Kelemvor asked, tapping the glob.
Adon looked at Bhaal’s prison. The liquid had dried into eighteen inches of clear, crystalline rock. Inside, the avatar continued to stare at Midnight.
“I hope so,” Adon replied, resting his own gaze upon Midnight’s weary face.
5
A Green Sun
Despite a fitful night of sleep, Midnight woke just an hour after dawn. Slivers of light slipped through the seams in the window shutters, illuminating her room in eerie green tones. She pulled her cloak on and opened the window. Where the sun should have hung was an immense, multifaceted eye similar to a fly’s or spider’s. It burned with a radiant green light that turned the entire sky to emerald and cast a lush glow over the gray mountains around High Horn.