Tantras (46 page)

The God of Strife stood his ground and sighed. “You have no idea what you’re doing, Torm. If you destroy me, your pitiful little encampment will be wiped from the face of Faerun.”

Torm stopped for an instant then took another step forward. “You’re lying.”

Bane laughed, and the deep, bellowing noise shook the roofs on the houses near the city wall. “I saw Mystra destroyed in Cormyr, you fool. She tried to return to the Planes, and Helm simply murdered her.” The obsidian avatar paused and smiled. “And when she died, bolts of energy swept the land and destroyed everything for miles around. It was actually rather pleasant.”

Torm stood in shocked silence, so Bane continued. “I am here to retrieve something of mine that I left in Tantras a short time ago. Allow my soldiers to take my property to one of my ships, and I will leave,” the Black Lord lied. “There need not be any violence between us.”

“Something of yours?” Torm asked, shocked out of his silence. “You mean the Tablet of Fate that found its way to my temple.”

Bane was genuinely surprised. If Torm had the tablet, why hadn’t he simply returned it to Helm? the dark god wondered. Actually, it didn’t matter, as long as the tablet was still in Faerun and not in Ao’s hands. “I placed the Tablet of Fate in your temple myself, only a few hours before Ao cast us out of our homes,” Bane said, trying to seem at ease. “I thought it was a rather amusing little joke, hiding something stolen by an unfaithful servant in a temple to the God of Duty.”

Torm gripped his sword tightly. “Turn back, Bane. I will not let you take the tablet. It belongs to Ao and it’s my sworn duty-“

Bane snorted. “Please spare me the lecture on duty, Torm. You should know me well enough by now to realize that an appeal to honor is the last thing that would impress me.”

“Then we have nothing else to say, Lord Bane,” Torm spat. “If you will not leave, prepare to defend yourself.”

Bane took a step back as Torm’s sword sliced the air in front of him. Bane willed a night-black shield to materialize on his arm, and he raised it just in time to block Torm’s next blow. There was an explosion as the mystical sword and shield met. Both items shattered into fragments of energy and dissipated.

Bane surged forward and rammed into Torm. The God of Duty had raised his shield in time to protect himself from the deadly spikes jutting from the obsidian avatar, but the shield itself shattered from the blow. The God of Duty and the God of Strife stumbled together, back through the twenty-five-foot wall that surrounded Tantras. The giants crashed into Torm’s temple, and part of the building collapsed.

Bane pushed Torm against the remains of the temple, and huge chunks of stone toppled to the ground. From somewhere close by, the God of Duty heard tiny screams. Panic seized Torm as he realized that the cries were coming from the few people left in his house of worship.

The God of Duty struck Bane in the throat. When the God of Strife fell back from the force of the blow, Torm struck him again and again in the same spot. The God of Strife felt a slight crack open in his neck, and he reached out in desperation to grab Torm’s mailed fist.

At the same time, the God of Duty opened the massive jaws of his lion head and leaned toward the Black Lord’s face. The God of Strife fell backward to avoid the rows of jagged, golden teeth, and Torm’s mouth snapped shut in the air near Bane’s neck. Seeing that the Black Lord was off balance, Torm drove his foot into the obsidian giant’s chest and pushed him back outside the crumbled city wall. The God of Strife crashed to the ground, sending tremors throughout Tantras.

Torm stood over Bane and raised his mailed fist. The Black Lord struggled to rise, but the huge spikes in his armor had been pushed deep into the hard earth by his fall. Torm’s fist crashed into Bane’s throat again, and the tiny, almost imperceptible fissure there opened wider. A tiny flow of reddish amber light seeped into the air.

But Torm did not escape this attack unharmed either. As Bane thrashed about, trying to defend himself against the God of Duty, one of the spikes on the Black Lord’s armor punctured Torm’s lower arm. The lion-headed avatar wailed in pain, and he fell back, clutching his ragged wound.

As the God of Duty stumbled away from the Black Lord, toward the edge of the cliff, he felt a horrible weakness. Looking down to the wound Bane had inflicted, the god saw a steady flow of sky-blue light pouring into the air. He felt a morbid fascination as he watched the soul energies of his worshipers pass from the ragged hole. Torm looked away from the wound just in time to see the Black Lord’s fist crash into his face.

Stunned by the ferocity of the attack, Torm was unprepared as the God of Strife struck him again. After the second blow, the God of Duty swung wildly at the Black Lord and hit him in the face with the back of his hand. Bane’s head snapped back and a small chip flew from his face. The God of Strife instinctively raised his hand to the wound. In the shiny black of the avatar’s hand, the fallen god glimpsed a reflection of the tiny jet of the greenish amber flame that escaped from the hole. With a scream, Bane leaped forward and tackled Torm.

Both avatars tumbled over the edge of the cliff. As the giants fell, they separated. Bane struck the mountainside twice before he landed on the rocky shore. Torm, another hole in his shoulder from the spikes on Bane’s body, reached out and tore a tree from its roots in an effort to slow his descent. The effort was futile, of course, and he crashed to the beach several hundred yards from the Black Lord. For the avatars, though, this was a distance that could be crossed in seconds.

Torm rose first. As he stood up, he saw two ships that bore the Zhentish flag wallowing in the Dragon Reach, far from shore. A few small boats were rushing to shore, up the coast a little ways off. The God of Duty swore a silent oath that he would kill every Zhentish invader he could catch… as soon as he had slain their master.

The Black Lord was only now beginning to rise. As he lifted his head from the sand, Bane looked down and saw another crack in his chest. More reddish black vapors streamed from the opening. “You fool,” the God of Strife hissed. He looked up and saw Torm standing over him.

The God of Duty held a boulder over his head. The chunk of stone was so large that the giant, lion-headed avatar was using both hands to hold it up. “You must pay for your sins,” Torm said flatly, then smashed the boulder over Bane’s head. The rock burst into pieces and more of the obsidian avatar’s face cracked. In return, Bane impaled the God of Duty’s leg with one of the spikes on his arm. Torm stumbled back, a geyser of soul energy rising from his wounds.

“I’m dying!” Bane cried as he staggered to his feet. He looked at his wounds, saw his energy draining away. The Black Lord’s eyes blazed with crimson light as he lowered himself into a crouch. “Come, Torm. We will visit Myrkul’s kingdom together.”

Before the God of Duty could get away, the Black Lord charged to his side, grabbed his shoulders, and drew Torm into a deadly embrace. A dozen spikes pierced the lion-headed avatar, and Torm roared in pain.

The juggernauts teetered back and forth for a moment, standing only because they were supporting one another. Bane laughed, low and hollow, and the sound drifted out over the Dragon Reach. Torm looked into the Black Lord’s eyes, then opened his sharp-toothed maw and slowly brought the rows of teeth down upon Bane’s throat.

The God of Strife’s laughter abruptly ceased.

On the southern hill of Tantras, Midnight released her hold on the bell’s rope. It was no use. She had tried time and again to force the Bell of Aylen Attricus to sound once more, but she had failed.

“Try again!” Elminster snapped then turned to look out at the sky over Tantras.

“Elminster, I can’t,” Midnight cried, her shoulders sagging with exhaustion.

The old sage did not take his gaze from the strange lights above the city. The frail bonds of reality seemed to be coming undone and lines of force were snaking out across the sky. The center of this web of energy rested just above the avatar’s battleground and took the form of a swirling vortex that rose toward the clouds. Sky-blue streaks of power intertwined with amber, green, and reddish black strands. The souls of the followers of the Black Lord and the God of Duty battled for control of Tantras, even beyond death.

Huge, glowing meteors had begun to rain down upon the city, too. The fiery balls struck the earth in every direction. Some demolished buildings, others devastated ships in the harbor. As Adon watched, one fireball tore a hole in the side of a Zhentish craft and the galley foundered then sank in the Dragon Reach.

Still another meteor struck the amber dome that protected the bell tower. Though it couldn’t reach the heroes, the glowing chunk of rock bounced off the magical wall and fell into the hundreds of panicked Tantrasans who had seen the shield from the distance and had flocked around it. Kelemvor had to watch in helpless anger as the meteor killed two dozen people and injured a score more.

Inside the tower, Elminster felt his aged heart racing. “Ye must try again,” the sage said slowly, turning back to the raven-haired mage.

Midnight fell to her knees, the rope in her hands. “Can’t you teleport some of the refugees inside the shield?”

“Magic won’t penetrate this barrier,” Elminster grumbled. “Ye should know that.”

The old sage paused and walked to Midnight’s side. He helped her to her feet and rested his hand on her shoulder. “Midnight,” Elminster said in a comforting tone the mage would never have associated with the cranky old sage, “ye alone have the power to complete this task. Mystra believed in ye. It’s about time ye did the same and justified her trust. Now, force away thy fears and concentrate on saving this city.”

With those words, the old sage turned and left the tower. Midnight stared up at the bell and imagined it ringing. For a moment she could almost see the bell swinging back and forth in the tower, its rich tones filling her ears. She closed her eyes and the image remained. In that instant, Midnight finally understood the reason for the magical silence that gripped the tower before the bell was rung. Only by blocking out all distraction, by concentrating fully on the task of ringing the bell, could a mage hope to make it sound.

For a moment, Midnight did not think. She did not feel. For an instant, she didn’t even breathe.

Then, the raven-haired mage pulled the rope, and the Bell of Aylen Attricus sang out again, its song of power so loud that it nearly deafened her. The bell tower glowed with a bright amber light, and a terrifying chill flowed down and engulfed Midnight. Amber waves of energy and black lightning flashed in the tower then leaped from the high windows to the dome that protected the heroes. The walls of the shield quickly spread outward, and the huddled Tantrasans suddenly found themselves safe within its confines.

Midnight ran to the tower’s door and watched as the dome continued to expand. She gasped, though, as she saw that the shield was slowing as it moved across the southern hill. She raced back inside and grabbed the rope once more. The mage pulled with all her strength, ignoring the blasts of cold and the maddening sound of the bell tolling. She pulled on the rope again and again, with no regard for herself. All that mattered was the city.

Still, Midnight was only human, and after a time that seemed like an eternity to her, the mage felt her arms grow limp, her hands slide from the rope, and her legs buckle beneath her. She collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath. When Midnight opened her eyes again, only a moment had passed, but Elminster, Kelemvor, and Adon were now inside the tower with her.

The green-eyed fighter fell to his knees and threw his arms around Midnight. “The shield is over the city,” Kelemvor said. “It’s over.”

“I don’t think so,” Adon whispered as he turned back to the door.

The cleric saw that the shield was still expanding, although it had not yet reached the citadel and the Temple of Torm. Suddenly there was an explosion that made the sound of the bell tolling seem like a small child clapping his hands. A massive, night-black form rose over the north hill of the city. The shape was amorphous, and a blood-red spiral of energy curled within its center. A second shape rose behind the ebon blob, but it was sky blue with an amber core that looked not unlike a shining sun.

The unprotected part of the city, which contained both the Temple of Torm and the citadel, was covered by a wave of searing flame. The land turned black, and the waters of the Dragon Reach bubbled and changed to vapor under the intense heat. The Zhentish ships exploded as the waves of flame struck them. Bane’s troops died instantly.

On the shore to the north of the city, the discarded bodies of the avatars lay upon the rocks, charred and brittle. Bane’s obsidian giant was shattered in a dozen places, and its head lay yards from its body. The golden-skinned avatar of the God of Duty had been ripped to shreds, and its proud lion’s head lay twisted, its soulless eyes staring up toward the essences of the rival gods that hung over the coast.

In the sky, the pulsating essences of Bane and Torm were dragged upward, caught in the pull of the vortex created by the freed souls of their followers. The vortex swallowed the shimmering, swirling masses that had once been gods, and a blinding white flash filled the air. The crimson spiral, the heart of what had once been Lord Bane, the God of Strife and Tyranny, and the amber soul of Lord Torm, the God of Duty and Loyalty, met in the whirlwind. A high-pitched shriek, the final cries of both gods, filled the air. The vortex swallowed the deities and the screams stopped. Both gods were dead.

At the Tower of Aylen Attricus, Kelemvor and Adon helped Midnight to her feet. Together, they walked from the stone obelisk, Elminster trailing behind them. A group of Tantrasans had gathered around the tower, and the crowd was suddenly silent as the heroes stepped outside.

Midnight smiled when she saw the people gathered around, safe from the destruction that had savaged the northern shoreline, but when she looked closer and saw the awe in their faces, she shuddered. Their expressions were composed of the same look of fear mixed with adoration that the mage had seen on the faces of those who’d given their lives for Torm.