But the flame remained a flame.
Myrkul tried once more to work his variation of a commune spell, and again the flame remained a flame. The Lord of the Dead considered the possibility that magical chaos had caused his spell to fail, but rejected the idea. If the failure had been due to chaos, the magic would likely have misfired somehow. His spell had simply failed to go off.
That could only mean Bhaal had perished. The avatar had been destroyed and the Lord of Murder’s essence had been dispersed through the Realms and the Planes. The thought distressed Myrkul, and not only because it reminded him of his own mortality. Of all the gods, perhaps he and Bhaal had been the closest. Bhaal presided over the process of death and killing, while Myrkul had dominion over those already dead. Theirs was a symbiotic relationship. One could hardly exist without the other.
Myrkul allowed himself a moment of distress for his fellow god’s passing, then turned his thoughts back to his plans. The last time they had communed, Bhaal had reported that the woman knew about the entrance to the Realm of the Dead. Therefore, she would be going toward Dragonspear Castle. His plan remained unchanged, save that the woman would arrive at the castle unescorted. He could still spring his surprise and separate her from the first tablet.
But Myrkul was far from happy. If she had defeated Bhaal, Midnight possessed the power to counter his trap and take the first tablet with her into the Realm of the Dead. Then, if she succeeded at Bone Castle, she would have both tablets. After returning to the Realms, it would be a simple matter to find a Celestial Stairway and present them to Helm.
If that happened, Myrkul would be defeated.
He and Bane were the ones who had stolen the Tablets of Fate. By now, Ao had surely discovered that, and Myrkul doubted there would be a reward if he returned what he had stolen in the first place. Though the Lord of the Dead had not revealed this to Bhaal, he had no use for either of the tablets. His sole purpose for recovering them was to be sure that no one ever returned them to the Planes, for Myrkul suspected the overlord of the gods would destroy him as soon as the tablets were recovered.
But the Lord of the Dead knew that preventing the return of the tablets was a temporary solution. Sooner or later, Ao would grow tired of waiting and deal out his punishment anyway. If Myrkul wanted to survive, he had to strike first. And that was why, through another complicated series of plots, the Lord of the Dead had arranged for Midnight to recover the second tablet.
After stealing the Tablets of Fate, Myrkul and Bane had each taken one and hidden it away. Bane had placed his in Tantras. Myrkul had hidden his tablet in Bone Castle, in the heart of the Realm of the Dead. To prevent anybody from stealing the artifact, the Lord Myrkul had placed a trap on it.
The minute Midnight took the second tablet out of the Realm of the Dead, she would release the realm’s denizens and all the spirits of the dead. When that happened, Myrkul intended to be waiting. He would kill Midnight and take the second tablet from her. Then, utilizing the same methods he used to power Bane’s avatar in Tantras, he would harness the souls of the dead—this time for his own avatar.
After that, he would be prepared to meet Ao. Myrkul was far from certain that even given the energy of millions of souls, he would prevail. Above all, the Lord of the Dead hated to reveal himself to his enemies. Still, this desperate plan was his only chance to turn defeat into victory.
But, if Midnight took her tablet to the Realm of the Dead, Myrkul’s plan would grow even more dangerous. When she returned to the Realms with both tablets, it would prove difficult to find her in the confusion accompanying the emergence of his denizens. The mage would be able to slip away and take the tablets to Helm.
The safest plan, Myrkul knew, was to make sure she did not take the first tablet into the Realm of the Dead with her. He would have to take extra precautions at Dragonspear Castle to insure the mage lost the tablet she had recovered in Tantras.
The sword remained in his hand. Cyric knew that and no more. His thoughts drifted aimlessly through the fog that had become his mind.
He felt as though he had been beaten to death.
Fists. Fists as hard as stone. Bhaal, beating him senseless, smashing his jaw and ribs and nose, finally stopping and leaving the job undone. Then Cyric remembered rising to his feet, despite his serious injuries, and stabbing the Lord of Murder.
That had been his undoing. The avatar had turned white and flashed into oblivion. Cyric wondered where he himself was now. Probably the Realm of the Dead, he thought for an instant.
No, he was alive. His head hurt too much, and the agony in his ribs came only when he breathed. He felt as though he had been trampled.
The hawk-nosed man opened his eyes and found it was dark. He lay face down in snow, apparently in the middle of a road. Around him, three figures were rising to their feet.
“Where are we?” Adon asked, studying the snow-covered fields on both sides of the road. His vision had completely recovered.
“Farther up the road to Waterdeep, I hope,” Midnight answered wearily. “That’s where I was trying to take us, anyway.” Her limbs felt heavy with fatigue. Her last incantation had been taxing on her body.
“How’d we get here?” Kelemvor muttered, rubbing his eyes. His vision had partially returned, but the fighter still saw spots of light dancing across the snowy landscape.
“I teleported us,” the mage replied. “Don’t ask me to explain how.”
Cyric decided to remain motionless. He was outnumbered three-to-one and doubted that he could have moved even if he tried. With the return of full consciousness, his pain had grown worse.
Kelemvor chuckled, a bit nervously. “It’s good to see you again!” he said, hugging Midnight. Back at Boareskyr Bridge, their initial greeting had been too hurried for his liking. “I can hardly believe you’re alive!”
“Why should that surprise you?” Midnight asked, returning his hug warmly.
Assuming a stern tone, Adon grumbled, “After the way you ran off—”
“It’s a good thing I did,” Midnight interrupted, freeing herself from Kelemvor. She could not believe how quickly the cleric’s condescending manner had set her nerves on edge. “Or you’d both be dead!”
“We’d be dead?” Adon exclaimed, stepping backward in frustration. “Bhaal didn’t—”
Before the cleric finished, he tripped over Cyric and crashed to the ground. Only Adon’s scream of astonishment kept the wounded thief’s muffled groan from being heard. Cyric kept his eyes closed and did not move. His only hope was to convince his rivals that he was harmless.
Kelemvor came over and casually kicked Cyric’s body. “Look what’s lying here in the road like a dungheap!” the warrior growled. He felt the pulse in Cyric’s neck. “And he’s alive!”
The thief made sure he had a solid grip on his sword.
“Cyric!” Adon hissed, standing and turning to Midnight. “Why’d you bring him?”
“Believe me, it wasn’t intentional,” Midnight snapped, frowning at the thief’s immobile body. “Besides, I thought you were working with him.”
“We were,” Kelemvor said. His sword scraped free of its scabbard. “But we’re finished with that now.”
Cyric peeked out of a half-opened eye, trying to find the strength to lift his sword.
Adon stepped between Kelemvor’s blade and Cyric’s body. “We can’t kill him in cold blood.”
“What?” the warrior demanded. “Ten minutes ago, you wouldn’t let me fight Bhaal with him.” He tried to step around the cleric.
“At that time, he was dangerous to us,” Adon said, shuffling to keep himself between the warrior’s sword and the motionless thief. “That’s not true any longer.”