Tantras

by Scott Ciencin

  Cyric is alive.

  The parchment fell from Midnight’s trembling hands and sailed to the floor, where it lay as the mage ran from the inn, her heart thundering with fear.

  Outside the Lazy Moon Inn, Kelemvor stood face to face with Midnight as the heroes said their farewells. The mage kissed the green-eyed fighter for the fifth and final time, then brushed the hair from his face. Kelemvor stared into her dark and beautiful eyes, and felt a chill.

  I couldn’t stand to lose her again, the fighter thought, then said, “Perhaps we should stay together after all. I don’t like the idea of you risking your life—”

  The mage placed her fingers to Kelemvor’s lips, then smiled gently. “We’re all at risk. The best chance we have is to get what we came for and move on quickly,” she told her lover. “You know that we can cover more ground and accomplish our task faster this way.”

  Kelemvor reached up and covered Midnight’s hand with his own. “Aye,” he grumbled as he kissed her fingers. “Be careful.”

  Midnight made a sarcastic comment and patted the fighter’s face. Kelemvor watched as the mage broke from him, said good-bye to the cleric, and walked away.

  Kelemvor turned to Adon. “Until we meet again,” he said to the scarred cleric, though he was still watching Midnight as she walked down the street. “Adon?”

  No response. Kelemvor turned and saw the cleric across the street, already losing himself in the crowd. The fighter shrugged and headed toward the docks. Kelemvor simply studied the area of the waterfront for the first few hours after he left the Lazy Moon Inn and became familiar with a few of the larger merchant ships that were currently docked in Tantras.

  If all else fails, we can always join up as crew on a merchant vessel, Kelemvor thought, though the idea repulsed him.

  At length, Kelemvor investigated the warehouses, too, but after an hour of doors slamming in his face, the fighter gave up that line of inquiry. Instead, he walked south along the docks, gazing out at the waters of the Dragon Reach. On the horizon, a long patch of purple and blue rose toward the sky and gave way to a field of perfect blue. In all the other cities nearby, the sun was already fading.

  “An odd sight, isn’t it?” a voice asked from behind the fighter. Kelemvor turned and faced a hazel-eyed man in a brightly colored uniform. The man was a few years younger than Kelemvor, and he sported a brownish blond beard that was immaculately trimmed. His eyebrow was a single, continuous line that stretched across his face, and he had an odd, crooked smile.

  “Odd? Not compared with others that I have seen recently,” Kelemvor told the hazel-eyed man. “It’s actually quite attractive, in a way.”

  “Men have been driven mad by the eternal light,” the man sighed. “To many, it’s worse than the blackest, vilest darkness that night ever visited upon Faerun.”

  The fighter smiled and thought of the horrors he had faced in the Shadow Gap, on the road to Shadowdale. “When the hills of this city rise up to crush the residents between them, then you have cause to worry.”

  The man laughed. “You speak with the conviction of a man who’s seen such terrible things.”

  “That and much more,” Kelemvor said, a tinge of sadness in his deep voice.

  “How incredible.” The hazel-eyed man held out his hand to the fighter. “My name is Linal Alprin, harbormaster of Port Tantras.”

  “Kelemvor Lyonsbane,” the fighter answered, and grasped the outstretched hand that had been offered to him.

  The harbormaster shook his head and sighed. “I’ve been stuck in Tantras ever since the gods came to Faerun, but I’ve seen things in the last few weeks that I wouldn’t have believed possible a year ago.”

  Alprin and Kelemvor stood on the dock for a while, trading stories about the magical chaos and instability in nature each man had witnessed since Arrival. After about an hour, the harbormaster turned to the fighter and asked if he had any plans for eveningfeast.

  “Well,” Kelemvor told the hazel-eyed man, “I was planning to go back to the inn.”

  “I’ll not hear of it,” Alprin snapped brightly. “You’re coming home to meet my wife and share a few stories over our meager table.” The harbormaster paused and smiled. “That is, if you don’t mind, of course.”

  “That would be nice,” Kelemvor said. “I’m grateful.”

  Alprin looked around at the now-crowded docks. Two guards and a handful of sailors were staring at him. “There are venders along the avenue,” he said hurriedly, pointing to the south. “Follow that road until you find a stand that sells fancy hats. Wait for me there. I need to pick up a present for my wife on the way home.”

  Then Alprin left the fighter and disappeared into the crowd. Kelemvor milled about the docks for ten minutes, then headed down the shop-lined avenue.

  The only stand that sold fine hats bore a sign that read “Messina’s Elegant Boutique.” The fighter felt somewhat strange standing outside the rows of beautiful women’s clothing, and the occasional stare he received from the women who met in clusters near the shop to gossip made him even more uneasy.

  Eventually, Kelemvor noticed a white-haired minstrel who busied himself at a nearby stand and occasionally glanced in the fighter’s direction. Just as the fighter was about to walk to the man and question him, a beautiful, silver-haired woman stumbled into him. She seemed frightened, and a huge red welt covered the right side of her pretty face. Clinging to the fighter, she pleaded, “Help me. He’s gone crazy!”

  Before Kelemvor could say a word, a young man approached the woman, his hands balled into fists.

  “That’s my property,” the man growled at Kelemvor. “Take your hands off her.”

  The fighter felt his lips curl back in disgust as he looked carefully at the man. Dressed in a simple brown felt outfit that bore several large stains, the man was small and mean. From his stench and his swagger, Kelemvor knew that he was also very drunk.

  “Stand away,” Kelemvor said, although in his head a voice screamed, The curse! What if it’s not really gone? He grimaced and drove the thoughts out of his mind. Now’s as good a time as any to find out, the green-eyed fighter decided.

  The grubby little man stood still for a moment, shocked at the fighter’s words. “You stand away,” the man said. “That’s my woman.”

  “She seems to have other ideas,” Kelemvor snarled. He put his arm around the woman’s waist and gently maneuvered her to his side. Then he drew his sword. The brightly polished steel blade glinted in the sunlight. “But I’ll tell you what. I’ll fight you for her.”

  The man’s gaze took in the full measure of Kelemvor’s blade, rose to the fighter’s cold eyes, then moved to the frightened face of the silver-haired woman. The drunken man lowered his head, turned his back, and walked away. Once the little man was out of view, Kelemvor returned his sword to its sheath and faced the woman.

  “I know his type,” the fighter muttered. “He’s frightened now, but he’ll return for you.” The fighter pulled out his bag of gold. Taking the woman’s soft hand, he spilled a fistful of gold into her palm, then gently closed her fingers. “Book passage on the next boat heading for Ravens Bluff. You can send for your things.”

  A tear fell from the silver-haired woman’s eye. She nodded, kissed the fighter, then hurried north, vanishing into the crowd. Kelemvor felt a satisfaction that he had not known since he was a young boy, since before the Lyonsbane’s curse first took hold of his life. If I am still cursed, the fighter thought, it’s dormant … for now, at least.

  Suddenly the minstrel was beside Kelemvor, leaning in close. “Young love can be daunting,” the minstrel sighed. “Still, that was a good thing you did. Not many would take an interest in the trials of a stranger.”

  “Good deeds can be their own reward,” Kelemvor said quietly and turned to gaze at the minstrel. The old man’s face was rimmed by a long, white beard and his eyes were surrounded by a patchwork of endless wrinkles.

  “In Waterdeep, they tell a grand tragedy of youn
g love and dark desire,” the old man said, looking into Kelemvor’s eyes. “Some call the tale’s ending terribly sad. Others see the finale as gloriously happy. I could sing it to you, if you like.”

  The minstrel strummed his harp and opened his mouth to begin his tale. However, before he uttered a single word or played a single note, the old man stopped suddenly and held out his empty hand.

  The fighter smiled and put a gold piece into the open hand. “Sing away, minstrel.”

  “Kelemvor!” a voice sounded, and the fighter looked to his left to see Alprin emerge from the crowd. When Kelemvor turned back to the minstrel, he saw that the old man had vanished.

  “You seem troubled,” Alprin noted sagely as he walked to Kelemvor’s side.

  The fighter frowned as he looked for the wandering minstrel in the crowd. “Not troubled, my friend. Just annoyed. I wanted to hear the tale that the old man promised me. Now I never will.”

  After purchasing a hat for Alprin’s wife, Kelemvor and the harbormaster headed east, into the heart of the city, then took a winding road to the north, where the incline of the streets became quite sharp. A moderate one-story house was soon before the riders. Alprin placed the hat, a rose-colored bonnet with pink silk styling, behind his back, then entered the dwelling.

  “And how is my poor, neglected wife today?” Alprin called out from the front door.

  “She’d be a damn shade better if her husband spent some time with her,” a voice cried in response. Moments later, the owner of the voice, a plain woman with straight black hair and a dark complexion, came into view. She uttered a little scream of delight when Alprin showed her the hat.

  “For you, my love,” the harbormaster laughed as he rested the hat on his wife’s head, then kissed her.

  “Who’s this?” the woman said suspiciously, pointing to Kelemvor.

  Alprin cleared his throat nervously. “A dinner guest, dear,” the harbormaster said innocently.

  “I might have known,” she huffed. Then a smile crossed her face and she reached out to take Kelemvor’s hand. “I’m Moira. You’re welcome if you’re a friend of my husband.”

  An hour later, over the finest meal the fighter had tasted since he left Arabel, Kelemvor spoke of the many strange sights he had seen in his recent travels, although he was careful to leave out many of the reasons for his journeys through Faerun.

  “Such madness you’ve witnessed,” Alprin gasped delightedly and turned to his wife. “To think, Moira, you and I could be free to travel, to see such amazing sights.”

  “Why don’t you just leave the city when you want?” the fighter asked with his mouth half-full of bread.

  Moira immediately stood and started to clear the table. Alprin’s expression grew serious. “Kelemvor,” he said somberly, “if I can secure safe passage for you and your companions, will you leave Tantras as quickly as you can?”

  “That’s my intention … eventually,” the fighter told his friend. “But why are you so anxious to see me go?”

  “People have been vanishing,” Alprin whispered flatly. “Good people.”

  Moira dropped a metal goblet, and it clattered noisily to the floor. Alprin bent to help his wife clean up the spilled water and she whispered, “He might be one of them! Watch what you say!”

  “What sort of people have been vanishing?” Kelemvor asked, not letting on that he had overheard Moira’s hushed comments. “Strangers, like myself?”

  Alprin shook his head as he deposited a damp cloth on a plate. Moira fixed him with an angry glare, then took the plate and went into the kitchen. “I wouldn’t blame you if you thought I were mad once you’ve heard my story,” the harbormaster murmured.

  “I don’t think that at all,” Kelemvor said, surprise evident in his voice.

  “A friend of mine, Manacom, disappeared,” Alprin began. “One day he was here, the next day he was gone. No one in the guards or the city government would talk about him. All of his records disappeared from the city’s books.

  “I tried to find out what happened to him. Within a few hours, I was caught by a band of robbers and beaten within an inch of my life. I tried to fight back, but there were too many of them.” Alprin paused and looked into the kitchen, where his wife was cleaning plates. “Moira had some healing potions that someone had given to us as a wedding present. I might have died if not for them.”

  “Couldn’t the clerics of Torm heal you? If their god is nearby, they should have the power to heal,” Kelemvor said.

  “The power, but not the desire,” Moira grumbled as she entered the room once more, wiping her hands on her apron.

  “Who do you think took your friend?” Kelemvor asked quietly.

  Alprin shook his head. “I don’t know. But I have my suspicions. It’s best that I don’t involve you.”

  Kelemvor laughed. “You’ve already involved me just by telling me anything about this. You might as well finish what you started. At least you can tell me what you think is going on, even if you won’t tell me who’s doing it.”

  Alprin sighed and nodded. “I think that someone has been quietly pushing all those who believe in gods other than Torm out of the city. I’ve heard rumors that a few clerics, like Manacom, refused to leave, and so they were killed,” the harbormaster guessed. “And whoever took Manacom must believe that I know too much, that I’ll snoop around until I uncover their plot.”

  The fighter shook his head. “Then why not just kidnap you now?”

  “Because that would arouse too much suspicion,” Moira whispered. “Alprin’s well known around here. His disappearance would cause quite a stir. And that’s the last thing they want right now.”

  Alprin shook his head. “But if you and your friends go nosing around after religious artifacts, as you’ve said you were going to, you’re sure to draw their attention.” The harbormaster paused and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “I couldn’t save my friend. Maybe I can save you, Kelemvor.”

  Kelemvor started to get up from the table, but Moira put her hand on his arm. “Stay,” Moira told the fighter firmly. “We may have put you in danger just by talking to you. The least we can do is put you up for the night.”

  Alprin smiled. “Anyway, I can’t tell you how long it’s been since Moira and I have been able to tell stories with guests until late into the night. And if you do stay, I can give you the names of some men who will likely take the lot of you away from Tantras. I know personally most of the captains who stop in this port.”

  “And perhaps you can talk my husband into booking passage for the two of us as well,” Moira whispered as she leaned close to the fighter.

  Kelemvor sighed and sat back in his chair. “Very well. I’ll stay.”

  Kelemvor slept in a room that had been meant as a nursery, until Moira learned that she was unable to bear children. He had a fitful sleep, and a few hours later, the fighter woke to find that Alprin had already left for the harbor. Moira fixed a late morningfeast for the fighter, and the two talked for a little while. Soon, though, Kelemvor returned to the Lazy Moon Inn. There he found a letter from Midnight. His lover related her limited successes of the previous day. She also told Kelemvor of the strange goings-on at the temples throughout the city.

  Kelemvor read the letter through to the end, then left the inn without writing a reply. Midnight’s comments on the temples in Tantras seemed to concur with the harbormaster’s fears of conspiracy. The fighter wanted to investigate a little before he alarmed Midnight needlessly, though, so he went in search of information, the final words of Midnight’s letter echoing in his mind.

  “The Dark Harvest is dangerous. Avoid it at all costs. Will explain later …”

  At the harbor, Kelemvor found Alprin and learned that tentative arrangements had been made for him and his companions to leave Tantras on a small galley from Calaunt. The captain was a superstitious fellow, but trustworthy, and the ship would be in port for at least a few more days. Alprin made sure, for security’s sake, that no member of the
ship’s crew would be apprised of the additional passengers until just before they left the port.

  Satisfied with the arrangements, Kelemvor asked Alprin about the criminal underground of Tantras and the Dark Harvest.

  “Those two things are one and the same,” Alprin spat, looking around the docks nervously. “The city leaves that particular festhall alone because some of their spies get their information there. It’s the slimiest hole in the city, a stinking pool of depravity and foul worship.”

  It was suddenly obvious to the fighter that Midnight’s fear of the Dark Harvest was understandable. Still, Kelemvor thought of himself as an experienced professional, a seasoned adventurer. He knew that the best way to uncover information on dark dealings was to dig through the filth with the criminals, even if it meant getting dirty along the way.

  “And who would be the best person to contact there for information?” Kelemvor whispered, “Someone who has knowledge of the entire underworld of this city?”

  Alprin scanned the faces of the dozen or so people that were within a hundred-foot radius. No one appeared to be watching. “Why do you ask?” Alprin said suspiciously, running a hand across his weatherbeaten face.

  “My friends and I came here for a purpose that I can’t discuss,” Kelemvor told the harbormaster. “I’ve got to ask you to trust me on this.” The fighter picked at a wooden railing for a moment, then leaned on it.

  Alprin sighed and shook his head. “Now you do sound like Manacom.” He turned away from the fighter. “Look, I thought we had this discussion last night. Besides, we shouldn’t be speaking of such things in the open. The danger is too great. Wait until tonight.”

  “I can’t wait until tonight,” Kelemvor snapped, his anger rising, the volume of his voice attracting unwanted stares. His hands had balled into fists, but the fighter forced his body to relax. “My apologies,” he whispered. “But tonight could be too late for what I need to do.”

  The harbormaster turned back to the fighter, then leaned on the railing next to him. “I don’t like it,” Alprin grumbled sourly. “But if you’re determined to go to the Dark Harvest, the one you want to ask for is Sabinus. He’s a smuggler with ties to the city government and the Tormites, too. Now go. I’ve told you too much already. If anyone suspects I’ve told you—”