Meanwhile, several hundred feet away, Dalzhel’s horse reared at the edge of a dry gully. On the opposite bank, something rustled the spindly bushes. The Zhentish lieutenant reached for his sword, then a man’s form leaped from the hedge. The horse reared again, lashing out with its fore-hooves. Two sharp cracks sounded as it struck the attacker.
The dark form growled, then grabbed one of the horse’s forelegs. There was a hollow pop, then tendons and cartilage began cracking. When the horse dropped back to the ground, whinnying in terror and pain, it was missing a leg. Dalzhel leaped free as his mount collapsed.
On the other side of the fallen horse stood Kae Deverell’s form. He hardly looked human. His body had bloated and taken on a doughy texture made more sickening by the silvery light of the luminescent clouds. Because it had been used without regard to preserving it, the body was covered with wounds and bruises from head to toe. The fecund odor of infection hung in the air around the avatar.
The four riders immediately knew they had found Bhaal—or rather, Bhaal had found them. Choking his gorge back, Kelemvor spurred his mount forward and lifted his sword. Bhaal raised his fist and rushed forward. Kelemvor transferred his free hand from the reins to the saddlehorn so he could lean down to Bhaal’s level.
They met with a crash and Kelemvor’s sword sliced into soft flesh. However, Bhaal’s fist also found its mark. The warrior slipped from his stirrups and landed on his back. The impact knocked the breath from his lungs.
Cyric came next, leaping over Kelemvor the instant the fighter hit the ground. The thief’s sword flashed. A sharp hiss sounded as its red blade bit into the avatar. Bhaal roared in anger and turned. The Lord of Murder grabbed a handful of hide, then tore a long strip of flesh off the flank of the thief’s horse. Cyric’s mount screeched in alarm and kicked, throwing its rider.
As Cyric fell, Bhaal retreated into the hedge on the far bank.
Adon spurred his mount forward, barely clearing Kelemvor as the warrior tried to rise. The horse’s hooves landed in front of Kelemvor’s nose, then Adon galloped on in pursuit of Bhaal. The cleric’s horse crashed into the hedge and slowed to a dead stop, unable to penetrate the thick brush into which Bhaal had disappeared. The horse then slipped down a steep bank and stumbled, spilling Adon onto the creek’s bed.
By the time the young cleric and his three companions recovered, Bhaal was gone. Cyric’s horse had run off. Kelemvor’s and Adon’s mounts were nervously pacing up and down the dry wash. Dalzhel’s horse lay on the ground whimpering. Its left leg had been snapped off at the knee, leaving a white, rounded knob exposed.
Approaching the wounded beast from behind, Dalzhel quickly ended his mount’s suffering. Afterward, he said, “No animal should have to face the likes of that.”
“Nor any man,” Adon replied. “But here we are.”
Cyric quickly joined them. His eyes sparkled with excitement and the blade of his sword was deep red. “Dalzhel, take the point,” he ordered. “Kel, Adon, take the flanks. We’ll flush him out.”
“And do what?” Dalzhel demanded.
The burly Zhentilar seemed a prudent and not altogether evil man, and Kelemvor had trouble understanding why Dalzhel followed the likes of Cyric. In the three days they had ridden together, Kelemvor had come to regard the man not altogether unkindly.
“We’ll kill Bhaal, of course!” Cyric said.
“You’re mad,” Kelemvor replied, shaking his head.
Cyric turned. “Mad?” he exclaimed. The thief lifted his sword, being careful not to appear threatening. He merely wanted Kelemvor to look at the blade. “Mad? … perhaps. But with this, I wounded Bhaal. Imagine, I injured a god!”
“We chased him away,” Adon said, “that’s all.” He picked something out of the sand, then held it up for the others to see. It was a dirty, bloated thing: a hand severed at the wrist. “We can hack the avatar to pieces, but we’ll never kill Bhaal.”
“No,” Cyric insisted. “I can destroy him—I can feel it!”
“Maybe we’ll kill Bhaal and maybe we won’t,” Kelemvor grumbled. “But that’s not why we’re here. We came to find Midnight.”
“Look!” Adon pointed skyward. The clouds had arranged themselves into a mass of perfect rhombuses. But that was not what had excited the cleric. The pegasi were flying away.
“They’re fleeing!” Adon said. “They must have seen Bhaal.”
Kelemvor nodded. “We’ve got to hurry!”
“Why?” Dalzhel asked. “Adon just said we couldn’t—”
“Bhaal has Midnight and the tablet. He could be leaving,” the green-eyed fighter replied.
By the time Kelemvor finished the sentence, Cyric was halfway up the bank. Kelemvor was soon close behind the thief. Adon and Dalzhel had no choice except to follow.
At the top of the gully, they split into two groups. Dalzhel and Cyric took the left flank, Adon and Kelemvor the right. In the heavy brush, the two pairs soon lost sight of each other. Kelemvor and Adon moved as quietly as possible, as much to hide their position from Cyric as from Bhaal. Midnight was here somewhere. If they found her, the thief would turn on them the instant she was safe. They preferred to make that eventuality as difficult as possible.
Dalzhel’s surprised yell announced that he and Cyric had found the Lord of Murder. Kelemvor and Adon went toward the scream, moving as rapidly as possible without making much noise. When they finally reached the battle, it nearly took Kelemvor by surprise. Dalzhel’s burly form rushed past him a few yards ahead, his black armor gleaming in the glowing clouds’ silvery light. Bhaal was only four steps behind the Zhentish lieutenant. Then came Cyric, slipping noiselessly behind the foul god, maneuvering for a surprise attack.
Kelemvor started forward, but Adon quickly pulled him back. “Let them deal with Bhaal,” the cleric whispered. “We should find Midnight.”
Without warning, Bhaal stopped and spun on his pursuer, jabbing at Cyric with the sharp bone protruding from his severed wrist. The fallen god followed the jab with an openhanded strike from his other hand. Cyric barely dodged the blows, then returned the attack with a wild slash and backed away.
Dalzhel finally noticed his pursuer had turned on his commander, then stopped and turned around. Moving cautiously but quickly, he advanced on Bhaal’s back.
The Lord of Murder ignored the other Zhentilar and moved toward Cyric. The god’s attention was focused intently on the red blade, as if it was his only concern. The thief stopped, then made a foolhardy lunge. Bhaal dodged easily, but Cyric followed the blow with a ferocious kick and caught the avatar in the ribs.
Bhaal did not fall. Instead, he grabbed Cyric’s leg and grinned. Remembering what Bhaal had done to Dalzhel’s horse, the thief turned and tried to dive away. Luckily, Cyric pulled his leg free and landed in a somersault. Bhaal sneered and advanced, moving out of Dalzhel’s striking range just as the Zhentilar lifted his sword.
Afraid to take the time necessary to stand, Cyric continued forward with a series of rolls. Bhaal followed three feet behind, prepared to strike the instant the thief stopped moving.
“They need help!” Kelemvor whispered.
“Do you think they’d help us?” Adon objected.
“No, but—”
“Save your strength,” the cleric insisted. “Whether it’s Bhaal or Cyric, there’s no doubt we’ll have to kill the winner.”
If Cyric had been fighting the God of Assassins alone, Kelemvor would have honored Adon’s wish without hesitation. The thief deserved to die. But so far, Dalzhel had treated them fairly. Kelemvor did not like standing by while the Zhentish lieutenant risked his life.