Tantras

by Scott Ciencin

  The scarred cleric shook his head. “There are many mages who could do that trick,” he said flatly.

  Torm frowned deeply now.

  “And even though your god resides here,” Adon added, “you are a madman or a fool for attempting that illusion. Magic is a dangerous force to wield, and I have no desire to endanger myself by remaining in your company.” The cleric stood and started to walk away.

  “By all the Planes!” the God of Duty cried, then stretched. “You don’t know how long it’s been since someone has dared to stand up to me! I am, above all, a warrior, and I respect that kind of spirit.”

  Adon snorted. “Please stop the jests, mage. I don’t wish to be taunted any longer.”

  The god’s eyes grew dark, and the golden lion stretched and moved to Torm’s side. “Though I may value spirit, Adon of Sune, I will not tolerate insubordination.”

  Something told Adon he had made a mistake in angering the red-haired man. He looked at Torm and saw the purple and black fragments swirling around angrily in his eyes. The cleric saw power in those eyes, too—power and knowledge far beyond that possessed by any mortal being. At that moment, Adon knew that he was looking into the eyes of a god.

  The cleric bowed his head. “I am sorry, Lord Torm. I expected you to travel with an entourage. I never thought to meet you wandering in the gardens alone, unguarded.”

  The living god stroked his beard. “Ah. You now have faith in my words, I see.”

  Adon shuddered. Faith? he thought bitterly. I’ve seen gods destroyed as casually as pigs on a market day. I’ve seen the beings most of Faerun’s humans worship act like petty tyrants. No, the cleric realized. I don’t have anything close to faith … but I do recognize power when I see it. And I know when to bow to save my own life.

  The God of Duty smiled. “I left an image sitting upon my throne. It rests there, brooding, and I left orders that I was in an inhospitable mood and would severely punish any who dared to disturb me,” Torm said.

  “But how did you get here without being seen?” Adon asked, raising his head to look at the god once more.

  “The diamond corridors,” Torm told the cleric. “They begin in the center of the temple and connect to every chamber. They are designed as a maze, so that few can travel them without becoming lost.” The fallen god paused and stroked the lion’s mane. “I’ve heard you have a message for me … that you have seen Lord Helm.” The god sat down again, and the lion slowly lowered itself to the ground at Torm’s feet.

  The cleric told as much of the story as he could, leaving out mention of the murders that Cyric committed and Elminster’s claim that one of the Tablets of Fate was hidden in Tantras.

  “Bane and Myrkul!” Torm growled as Adon finished his tale. “I should have known those treacherous curs were behind the theft of the tablets. And Mystra dead, her power scattered throughout the weave of magic surrounding Faerun! Dark and shocking news.” The God of Duty closed his eyes and sighed. Adon could almost feel the fallen god’s sorrow.

  A man wandered into the garden and froze when he saw Adon and Torm, then ran back inside the temple. The God of Duty seemed to have missed the man’s entrance and hasty exit, but Adon did not. He knew that the garden would be filled with Tormites very soon.

  The god opened his eyes. “I regret that I cannot help you with your quest to save the Realms,” Torm told the cleric. “I am needed here. I have a duty to my faithful.” The God of Duty put his hand on Adon’s scarred cheek and said, “There is something I can help you with, though. You must look inside your heart if you are to banish these dark, guilty thoughts that consume you and make you so bitter. What were you before you joined your order?”

  The cleric pulled away from the god’s touch as if it were fire. “I was … nothing,” he whispered. “I was a burden upon my parents. I had no true friends.”

  “But now friends and lovers grace your life,” Torm noted, smiling once more. “From what you have told me, the mage and the fighter seem loyal to you. That, above all, is important. You should honor them, in return, with faithful service to them and their causes. You cannot do that if you are consumed by your own sorrows.”

  Torm balled his gauntleted hand into a fist. “Don’t waste your life in self-pity, Adon of Sune, for you cannot serve your friends … or your god, if your heart is weighed down with grief,” the fallen god said.

  Adon heard voices from inside the temple. People were coming. The scarred cleric leaned close to the God of Duty.

  “Thank you for sharing your wisdom, Lord Torm,” Adon whispered. “Now let me fulfill my duty to help you. All is not as it seems in your temple or in Tantras. There are forces around you that could tear the city apart. You must look to your clerics and find out what they are doing to serve you. Not all dutiful service is done with justice in mind.”

  The voices grew louder, then a dozen high priests entered the garden and fell to their knees before Torm. The lion roared in annoyance as the men babbled an almost endless torrent of problems that required their god’s immediate attention. Torm rose, smiled at Adon, and turned to the temple’s nearest entrance. The golden lion and the crowd of priests followed the god as he left the garden.

  Several minutes later, Adon was taken from the garden and locked away in a dark chamber that was devoid of any furnishings. The room reminded the cleric of the cell he had shared with Midnight in the Twisted Tower, but he tried to push those thoughts aside as he waited. It was several hours before a tray of food was brought to him by a silent, surly guard.

  “I’m not hungry,” Adon mumbled, his grumbling stomach betraying his lie. “Take the food away and tell me why I’m here.”

  The guard left the food, then departed. An hour later, Adon had finished the meal, which consisted of slightly stale bread and cheese. Soon afterward, a familiar, platinum-haired man entered the chamber, a large smile hanging artfully upon his lips.

  “Tenwealth!” Adon gasped and stood up.

  “It seems you had quite an adventure today,” the priest said. The tone he used would have been suitable for a child. Adon felt insulted. “Would you care to talk about it?”

  “What is there to say?” Adon grumbled, a frown pulling at the scar on his cheek, darkening the wound. “I had my audience with Torm. Now I’m ready to leave. Why are your guards unwilling to release me?”

  “My guards?” Tenwealth said through the false smile. “Why, they are Torm’s guards. They serve the God of Duty and are only doing his will.”

  “And have I been kept here under his orders?” Adon asked, taking a step toward the priest.

  “Not exactly,” Tenwealth admitted, running a hand across his chin. “You’re not being ‘kept’ here at all. There’s no lock on your door, no guard outside.” The priest paused and opened the door. “Of course, there is the danger that you could become lost in Torm’s maze before you reach the exit. That would be most unfortunate. Some who have been lost in the diamond corridors have never been heard from again.”

  Adon looked down at the floor. “I understand,” he said dejectedly, then slumped to a sitting position against the wall.

  “I thought you might,” Tenwealth noted confidently, his perfect smile gleaming in the darkened chamber. “Have a good rest. In a few hours, I’ll return for you. You have an audience scheduled with the High Council of Torm. That should set your mind at ease.”

  The priest left the chamber, and Adon considered the hopelessness of the situation for a little while, then fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. Several hours later, Tenwealth returned with two guards. Adon was fast asleep, and the priest had to shake him roughly to awaken him.

  As Adon followed Tenwealth out into the corridor, a plan began to form in his mind. The cleric decided that he would grab a weapon from one of the guards as soon as they were clear of the corridors and fight his way out of the temple. He knew that it was probably suicide, but it was a far better way to die than to be executed in secret. So Adon kept careful watch on the proximity
of the guards and played the fool as they marched along. Though Tenwealth became annoyed at Adon’s idiotic patter, Adon noted that the two guards relaxed considerably.

  Adon was about to make his move against the nearer of the guards when, at the end of the corridor, he saw a white-bearded old man carrying a harp. Suddenly the cleric grabbed a torch from the wall, broke away from Tenwealth and the guards, and ran toward the old man. The platinum-haired priest cried out an order, and the guards raced after the scarred cleric.

  “Elminster!” Adon cried as he raced down the hall. “You’re alive!”

  The old man looked up in alarm. He had been arguing with another priest of Torm, and a momentary flicker of surprise passed across his face when he saw Adon racing toward him. Then he frowned and stood perfectly still.

  The young cleric stopped directly before the old man. The blazing torch bathed the minstrel’s face in warmth and light, and the heat from the flames made the white-bearded man draw back. And though Adon was certain that he had recognized the man from farther down the hall, closer examination revealed the old man to be someone other than Elminster. The scarred young man was about to turn away from the minstrel when he saw the tip of the old man’s nose begin to melt.

  “Elminster!” Adon said, his voice cracking, just as Tenwealth’s guards reached out for him.

  The minstrel looked around, gauged the confusion of the Tormites, and cast a spell before anyone was aware of his true intention. The air crackled, and a shimmering mist of blue-white energies filled the corridor.

  “All of ye will accompany Adon and me out of the temple and beyond the citadel. Then ye will return and act as if nothing has happened,” Elminster ordered. Tenwealth, the two guards, and the priest nodded stiffly.

  The sage smiled. The mass suggestion spell had actually worked! It was the first incantation that had gone right in some time, too. The old mage decided that it must be the close proximity of Torm’s avatar that was stabilizing magic a bit, then thanked the Goddess of Luck for good measure and gestured for the Tormites to lead the way out of the corridor.

  Adon stood frozen, staring in a mixture of shock and relief at the sage. “Elminster, what are you doing here?”

  “My intention was not to save thy worthless hide, I assure ye,” the mage growled, wiping a bit of wax from his nose. “Unfortunately, ye left me no choice.” Elminster started after the Tormites. When Adon didn’t move, he turned back and said, “Ye were hit with that spell, too. If ye dally long enough to make me suggest a course for ye to follow, ye’ll not like where it takes ye.”

  Adon gladly followed the sage. Memories and thoughts whirled in the cleric’s mind. Adon knew only that he was relieved to see Elminster alive. Tears of joy streamed down his face.

  “Wipe that silly grin from your face and those tears from your eyes,” Elminster grumbled as they left the corridors and entered the temple’s courtyard. “We don’t want to arouse any suspicion.”

  “But I have so many questions—,” Adon began breathlessly.

  “They can wait,” Elminster snapped.

  Adon followed the sage’s commands, and within a short time they were several blocks away from the Temple of Torm. They tried to lose themselves in the crowd as soon as Tenwealth and his men headed back to their home.

  After a few minutes of pushing their way through milling crowds, Adon turned to Elminster and asked, “Now can you give me some answers?”

  “Not until we’re safe,” Elminster grumbled.

  Adon’s relief was quickly giving way to anger. Grabbing the sage’s arm, the cleric forced the old man to stop. They were on a crowded main street that led to the highest of the citadel’s towers, and that building’s golden spires were in full view from where they stood. Shops lined the avenue around them.

  “Listen to me, old man,” the scarred cleric growled. “We’ll never be safe as long as we remain in Tantras. The Council of Torm will send its agents after us no matter where we hide. Where we stand at this instant is as good a place as any for you to explain yourself. Now tell me what I want to know.”

  “Unhand me,” Elminster said calmly, his eyes as narrow as a cat’s before it springs. “Then I’ll tell ye what ye wish to know.”

  Adon let go of the sage’s arm. “Tell me what happened to you in Shadowdale at the Temple of Lathander. I thought you’d died … and that it was my fault,” Adon said. He felt anger bubble over inside of him and he added, “You can’t imagine the hell I’ve been through because of you!”

  “I can readily imagine,” Elminster sighed and turned away from the cleric. “Considering where that rift took me.”

  A voice rang out. “Adon!”

  The cleric recognized the voice as Midnight’s, and he turned around to look for the mage. A horrible realization dawned upon the cleric then, and he immediately whirled around and grabbed the old sage’s arm. Adon looked at Elminster. The mage was ready to walk into the crowd that surrounded them.

  “You’re not leaving my sight,” Adon said. Elminster simply scowled and crossed his arms.

  Midnight arrived, with Kelemvor directly behind her. When she saw Elminster, she wrapped her arms around the sage, nearly crushing him in her embrace. The old mage grumbled in protest and pushed her away.

  “I’d never have believed it!” Midnight cried as she stepped back from the sage. “I thought I saw you once, yesterday, but I convinced myself that I was only hoping too hard that you’d survived.” Tears were streaming down the raven-haired mage’s face.

  “Never do that again!” Elminster shouted, gesturing with the harp he’d forgotten that he held.

  Kelemvor had been surprised to see Elminster, too, but he was now feeling angry, not overjoyed, that the old sage was alive. “Quite a singing voice you have there,” the fighter commented sarcastically. “It’s too bad you use it to cause so much trouble.”

  Adon stood a few feet away, staring at the old sage, a barely subdued fury roiling across his features. “You weren’t even going to tell us that you were alive. You cruel old buzzard. We’re here, risking our lives on your damn quest—”

  “Lady Mystra set ye on thy quest,” Elminster reminded the cleric. “I simply helped ye along the way.”

  “We’re wanted criminals,” Midnight told the mage softly. “Adon and I were nearly executed in Shadowdale for your death.”

  “That charge has been dropped,” Elminster mumbled as he rubbed his neck and motioned for the heroes to follow him. Passersby were beginning to stare, and the heroes agreed that it was probably best to move along.

  “I’ve been to Shadowdale,” the sage added. “Ye are no longer suspects in my killing. But there is still the matter of six guards that were murdered during your escape. That ye will still have to answer for.”

  “You were spying on us,” Kelemvor noted flatly. “That’s what you were doing here. Checking up on us.”

  “What else could I do?” Elminster grumbled. “If the charges against ye are true, then ye’re hardly fit to serve as champions of Mystra and all of Faerun.”

  Kelemvor explained that it had been Cyric who’d committed the murders, without Midnight or Adon’s knowledge or assistance. The fighter noted, too, that Cyric was now in the employ of the Black Lord.

  “You don’t know that for sure!” Midnight snapped, shooting the fighter an angry glance. “When you arrived at the safe house in Scardale, you were pretending to work for Bane just to get free of him. Cyric might have been forced into a similar position.” The mage turned to Elminster. “I never saw him commit any of the murders of which he’s been accused, and Shadowdale has a history of convicting innocent people, as far as I’m concerned.”

  Adon folded his arms over his chest, and his eyes grew wide with surprise, but the surprise was tinged with fear. “Cyric’s alive! He’ll come after us next, Midnight.”

  The raven-haired mage shook her head. “Adon, we have no proof—”

  The cleric stopped in the middle of the street. “Cyric is dang
erous, Midnight. And not just to us. After the trip down the Ashaba, you should understand that!”

  “Let’s keep moving,” Elminster whispered, scanning the crowd for guards or priests of Torm. “I have a sanctuary nearby where the two of ye can continue thy discussion.”

  Adon walked to Kelemvor’s side, but Midnight put her hand on Elminster’s arm. “We’ll go, but first, tell us what happened in the Temple of Lathander,” the mage ordered. “Adon and I were convinced you’d died. How did you survive the rift?”

  Elminster glared at the heroes. “Must we do this now?” “Aye,” Adon said. “Right now.”

  The sage rolled his eyes and motioned for the heroes to follow him into a nearby alley. “My attempt to raise the Eye of Eternity went afoul because of the instability in the magic weave that surrounds and envelops all things. When I examined the rift, I saw that the spell had opened a gate to Gehenna, a terrible place filled with awful, nightmarish creatures.”

  The sage paused and glanced up and down the alley. “I knew that the only way to seal the rift was to do it from the other side, where the effects of the magical chaos were very slight and my spells were almost certain to succeed. I let the rift pull me into Gehenna, and once I was through, I cast the spells that sealed the gateway. There was only one point of difficulty.”

  “You were trapped outside of the Realms?” Midnight gasped, her eyes wide with wonder.

  “Escape from the Plane of Gehenna, where Loviatar, Mistress of Pain, made her home before the gods were cast down, was not a simple matter. I was forced to fight my way through imps, mephits, and every form of unholy creature imaginable.” Elminster shuddered and rubbed his hands up and down his arms. “Eventually I found an area even the monsters feared to tread. Mystra had blessed a patch of ground on that terrible plane centuries ago during a dispute with Loviatar.”

  A cleric of Torm appeared in the crowd at the end of the alley, and Elminster started to make his way farther up the passage. “When I returned to Shadowdale,” he said over his shoulder, “there was little to do but pick up the pieces. And now I am here, wasting time jabbering with ye three even as the damned palace guard makes preparations to hunt us down.”