Shadowdale

by Scott Ciencin

  Midnight began the movements and the chanting that would release a spell to dispel the magical assault. As she prayed that the spell would not go awry, the tiny fires upon the pendant crackled. There was a blinding flash of blue-white light as Midnight’s spell released a maelstrom of magics that enveloped the courtyard.

  * * * * *

  Bane fell back, crying out as the water of the scrying pool became a scalding torrent of blood that erupted in a geyser as the pool exploded. All around Castle Kilgrave, the spells Bane had used to transform the ruins into a minor reflection of his home in the Planes were shattered by Midnight’s magic.

  Bane’s temple, his New Acheron, was crumbling. The fantastic gateways he had opened were now closing. The corridors and chambers that so cleverly held replicas of Bane’s former temple in the Planes lost their tenuous hold on reality and burned away.

  In moments all that was left was the ruined remains of a mortal’s castle. Bane fell forward, sobbing, and part of his mind marveled at discovering another new sensation these humans lived with every day of their short existence:

  Loss.

  New Acheron was gone.

  When at last he turned and summoned the hakeashar so he could gather the power to kill Mystra’s would-be rescuers, the Black Lord was shocked to find the mystical chains that held the goddess empty.

  Mystra had escaped.

  Midnight was on her knees, recovering from the shock of her spellcasting, when Adon appeared beside her. The courtyard of Castle Kilgrave displayed no vestige of the battle that had taken place in its confines.

  “It’s gone,” Adon said. “Sune’s kingdom is gone, as if it never truly existed.”

  Midnight looked up at him. When she spoke, it was in a comforting tone. “I’m sure it exists somewhere, Adon. When the time comes, you will find your way there.”

  Adon nodded, then he and Cyric helped Midnight to her feet. A few yards away, Kelemvor coughed twice and slowly came around. “What happened?” Kelemvor said, holding his wounded shoulder.

  “Something was playing games with our minds,” Midnight said. “It tried to control us, set us against one another. I tried a simple dispel magic incantation and—”

  “You caused that explosion?” Kelemvor said, sitting up abruptly.

  “You shouldn’t move,” Adon said, and attempted to force the man to lay back. His efforts were futile.

  “Damn it, Adon. We lost a day at the colonnade because I was flat on my back. Just leave me alone; I’ll be fine!”

  “Let him go, Adon,” Midnight said, smiling at the fighter. “Yes, Kel, I caused the explosion—or my magic did, anyway. I gathered from what was happening to us that someone was casting a powerful illusion on all of us. I tried to dispel it, but the spell caused some kind of backlash. It seems to have stopped whoever was throwing the spell.”

  “The voice of Bane,” Cyric said, laughing. “Probably just some madman with delusions of godhood.”

  “Then I suggest we find him,” Kelemvor said as he looked around. “He’s got to be the one who has Caitlan’s mistress captive.”

  “I thought you’d given up on finding her,” Cyric said.

  Kelemvor smiled and looked at Midnight. “I had. But I think the reward I’ll get for concluding the quest will be worth toughing it out.” The fighter looked at the bloody rags over his shoulder and wondered if he would be able to wield his sword with only one arm. He was able to make a loose fist with his right hand, although the process caused sparks of pain to erupt before his eyes.

  Cyric simply shook his head as he went to the courtyard’s entrance and looked out into the hallway. There was no sign of movement. The corridors looked much the same as they had when Cyric first examined the castle.

  “We should find Caitlan’s mistress and escape while we can,” Cyric said as he went back into the courtyard. Kelemvor nodded in agreement, and soon the adventurers were in the hallway.

  “Now what?” Kelemvor said. “Search the castle again, floor by floor?”

  Midnight turned and froze, her mouth open wide.

  “I don’t think we’ll have to,” Cyric said. “Look!”

  Kelemvor looked over his shoulder and saw a horrible, blood-red mass barreling down the corridor at them—the hakeashar. From the mist that composed the creature’s form, Kelemvor saw hundreds of ten-fingered hands reaching out, clawing at the air. Disembodied yellow eyes broke from the mist, anxious to study the prey before it.

  Kelemvor’s shoulders slumped. “I’ve had about enough of this for one day,” he said as he drew his sword with his one good hand. His movements weren’t graceful, but he hoped the stance would be impressive enough to frighten the huge creature.

  The creature let out a roar that sent a burrowing pain through the heroes’ skulls. The creature had grown large, gaping mouths, that seemed to grow larger as it approached. Cyric grabbed Midnight’s arm and they ran down the hall, away from the hakeashar.

  “Perhaps you could stand a little more?” Adon said, imploringly, as he backed away, then ran.

  The creature let out another roar.

  “Perhaps,” Kelemvor said as he broke his stance and ran, the swirling mist biting at his heels as he attempted to catch up to the others.

  The heroes kept well ahead of the mist creature for a few moments, but they soon tired. By the time they’d reached the turret located two hundred yards from the courtyard, the hakeashar was in close pursuit. In the turret, the stairs leading to the upper levels of the castle were filled with debris, so the heroes followed the stairs down, Adon in the lead. In the darkness of the subterranean corridors, the hakeashar appeared as a burst of light as it exited the turret.

  Midnight realized that the corridor ahead of them was blocked by rubble at the same moment the hakeashar caught up with the adventurers. Turning to face the creature, she shouted for her fellows to move out of the way. She was already casting a spell as the creature filled the width of the corridor and stopped, its eyes blinking wildly as Kelemvor held up his sword and Cyric put on his cloak of displacement.

  Suddenly a gust of wind surged through the corridor, originating at Midnight’s fingertips. The wind cut through the creature, holding it at bay for a moment. Abruptly the wind died away.

  The hakeashar slowly moved forward, the incredible power it had sensed in Midnight’s pendant drawing it’s attention.

  Cyric walked forward, his cloak of displacement creating a dozen phantom images of him. The many eyes of the hakeashar fixated on the images created by the cloak as they wildly crossed one another to alter their vantages of the illusion.

  “Besides managing to confuse this thing, what good have we done?” Kelemvor whispered to Midnight. The magic-user stepped away from the fighter just as the hands of the creature shot forward and grabbed the cloak from Cyric. The images disappeared as the cloak was devoured by the hakeashar.

  A dozen new eyes and mouths opened as the creature grew larger.

  “What are you waiting for?” Kelemvor said. “Cast your spell!”

  The hakeashar giggled, memories of feeding from the magic of the goddess flooding into its mind.

  Midnight stopped, and turned to face the fighter. “Kel.”

  The hakeashar was drifting closer.

  “Hack it to pieces,” Midnight said.

  Kelemvor tightened his grip on the sword with his one good arm.

  The hakeashar stopped.

  Over a hundred images of the hairy human moving forward, sword in hand, registered in the hakeashar’s brain. The beast was filled with an odd sense of curiosity. It moved five of its jaws over the human, clamped down, and was surprised that it did not receive any sustenance from the effort. The human began to laugh and a lancing pain cut through the creature as six of its eyes were shut forever in one mighty sweep of the human’s sword.

  * * * * *

  The roars of the hakeashar echoed through Castle Kilgrave as the Black Lord knelt in the still water of his ruined scrying pool. Bane had su
mmoned the creature and turned it loose in the castle to search for Mystra.

  A small stone struck the puddle of water before Bane’s face, causing the fallen god to look up.

  A young girl he had never seen before stood in the doorway. She was smiling from ear to ear. A handful of stones that she had dislodged from the crumbling wall beside her rested comfortably in her hand.

  “It’s not pleasant, having your power turned against you, is it?” she said simply, and the voice was horribly familiar.

  “Mystra!” Bane shouted, and lunged at the goddess-made-flesh. Mystra threw the handful of stones at the Black Lord, her voice rising as she began to cast a spell. The stones changed in midflight, becoming blue-white missiles that pierced the body of the Black Lord, sending him sprawling back to the floor of the dungeon.

  Another roar sounded from the hallway, this one greater than the last. Mystra shuddered as she heard the sounds of the hakeashar, and Bane used the distraction to cast a spell himself. He tore a ruby from his gauntlet. Then the stone vanished and a blood-red shaft of light surged toward the Goddess of Magic.

  Bane gasped as Mystra harmlessly absorbed the effects of Nezram’s Ruby Ray, a spell that should have separated the goddess from her avatar. Then Bane shuddered as a red beam of light shot back at him and pierced his chest. The beam hung in the air between Mystra and Bane like a rope.

  “You were foolish to try a complicated spell,” Mystra said. “The magical chaos seems to have finally caught up to you.” With that, Mystra grabbed the beam with both hands.

  Bane felt a horrible twisting inside. The red beam glowed brightly and a pulse of energy shot from his body to Mystra. The spell had misfired and was allowing Mystra to drain off his power.

  Bane struggled to retain his senses as crimson bands grew from the beam and surrounded him, tugging at his flesh as if to tear it from his bones. He felt his ribs crack, one by one, as the force of the attack suddenly reversed itself, and threatened to crush the life from him. Mystra released the beam and it shot back at Bane.

  The Black Lord’s chest burst open and a flood of bluish white fires exploded from him and engulfed Mystra, who held her hands out to the flow of magic and welcomed it into her. The fires changed, becoming a blazing amber, then a bright, glowing red as Bane felt the last of the energies he had taken from Mystra leave him and the first of his own depart as well.

  “You imprisoned the Goddess of Magic, you fool! Now you will pay in kind for what you did to me.”

  Bane cried out as more of his energy left him. “Mystra! I’m—”

  “Dying?” she said. “Aye, it would appear so. Do give my regards to Lord Myrkul. I don’t believe he’s ever had a god as one of his charges before. But you’re not a god anymore, are you, Bane?”

  Bane raised his hands imploringly.

  “All right, Bane, I’ll give you one chance to save yourself. Tell me where the Tablets of Fate are hidden, and I’ll show you mercy.”

  “You want them for yourself?” Bane gasped as another pulse of energy left him.

  “No,” Mystra said. “I want to return the tablets to Lord Ao and end the madness you’ve caused.”

  There was movement in the corridor, and Mystra turned to see Kelemvor and his companions standing in the doorway.

  Suddenly a spiralling black vortex appeared before the Black Lord and Tempus Blackthorne stepped from the rift his magic had created. Grasping the body of his wounded master, Blackthorne dragged Bane back into the vortex. Before Mystra could move to strike down the Black Lord and his emissary, they vanished. Mystra’s spell was broken as the vortex closed, and a blast of chaotic energy threw the goddess against the wall. When she looked up, she found Kelemvor standing above her.

  The fighter seemed pale. “I knew you were made of stern stuff, little one, but even I am impressed.”

  Mystra smiled as she felt the wild flow of power course through her.

  “Caitlan,” Midnight said. “Are you alright?” The magic-user leaned toward the avatar, and the star pendant flashed into view.

  “The pendant. Give it to me!” Mystra cried.

  Midnight stood back. “Caitlan?”

  Mystra looked at Midnight once more and realized that the pendant had grafted itself to the magic-user’s skin to protect itself—keep itself from being taken from her if she were asleep or injured.

  “We should get the child outside,” Midnight said.

  “Wait a minute,” Cyric said. “I want to know how she got out of camp that night, and why she left.”

  “Please,” Adon said calmly. “We should be worried about the poor girl’s mistress.”

  A sudden anger passed through the goddess. “I am Mystra, Goddess of Magic! The creature I fought was Bane, God of Strife. Now give me that pendant! It’s mine!”

  Midnight and Adon stared at the avatar in shock. Kelemvor frowned. Cyric eyed Mystra suspiciously.

  Kelemvor folded his arms. “Perhaps the battle has addled her young brains.”

  “Caitlan Moonsong and I have become one,” Mystra said calmly. I brought her to this place and merged our souls to save us both from Lord Bane. You aided her on her journey, so you have earned our thanks.”

  “And a damn shade more,” Kelemvor said.

  “The debt will be repaid,” Mystra said, and Kelemvor remembered the words of Caitlan on her sickbed.

  She can cure you.

  Mystra turned to Midnight. “On Calanter’s Way, you entered into a pact with me. I saved your life from those who wished you harm. In return, you promised to keep safe my trust. You have done so admirably.” Mystra reached out with her hand. “But now it is time to return that trust.”

  Midnight looked down and was shocked as she realized that the pendant hung away from her flesh. She took the pendant from around her neck and gave it to the girl, who instantly blazed with a ferocious blue-white fire.

  Hanging back her head, the goddess indulged in a moment of absolute rapture as a portion of the power she had wielded in the Planes coursed through her body. As it had been before the time of Arrival, Mystra’s will was again enough to bring magic into existence, and though she was still considerably weaker than she was before Ao cast her out of the heavens, Mystra was again linked to the weave of magic that surrounded Faerun. The feeling was glorious.

  “Let us put some distance between ourselves and this place,” Mystra said as she addressed her rescuers. “Then I will tell you all you wish to know.”

  Moments later, the heroes felt the warmth of sunlight as they approached the gate of Castle Kilgrave, and they were blinded for a moment as they left the dark ruins. They walked from the castle with a leaden quality to their step, as if daring the castle to throw one last barrage of madness their way. But the castle was bleak and lifeless.

  Mystra looked at the sky. She could see the sparkling Celestial Stairway as it rose toward the heavens, its aspects frequently changing. At times the goddess had a vague impression of a figure standing at the top of the stairway, but then it was gone, the image losing consistency after the briefest of instants.

  The adventurers followed Mystra as she made her way toward a spot no more than five hundred feet from the entrance to the castle. Along the way, a heated argument had broken out.

  “Have you taken leave of your senses?” Kelemvor shouted.

  “I believe her,” Midnight said.

  “Aye, you believe her. But can your ‘goddess’ prove her wild claims?”

  Mystra commanded the party to wait for her as she turned toward the stairway. Kelemvor stormed forward, ranting about the riches they had been promised and the goddess stared at the man, her eyes blazing with a blue-white fire.

  “You have the gratitude of a goddess,” Mystra said coldly. “What more could you want?”

  Kelemvor remembered his encounter with the goddess Tymora, after paying admission to gaze upon her.

  “I’ll settle for a decent meal, clothes on my back, and enough gold to buy my own kingdom!” Kelemvor s
houted. “I’d also like to be able to use my arm again!”

  Suddenly Mystra cocked her head to one side. “Is that all? I assumed you wished to be made into deities.”

  Cyric’s eyes narrowed. “Is such a thing possible?”

  Mystra smiled and glowing fireballs leaped from her hands. Kelemvor almost screamed as the crackling energy of the first fireball engulfed him from head to toe, and suddenly he felt a vitality he hadn’t felt in days. The flames died away and Kelemvor lifted his arm, staring at his healed limb incredulously.

  The second fireball struck the ground, bringing into existence two regal mounts to replace the ones that had been lost, and two packhorses carrying restocked supplies and a fortune in gold and precious stones. Then the goddess turned and walked to the stairway. She opened her hands, spread her arms, and lowered her head, as if in meditation.

  Kelemvor stood beside Midnight, and soon their argument resumed. Cyric watched without interfering, and Adon stood, silently watching the goddess before him.

  “Certainly she is powerful, and her tale of bonding with her mistress may well be true,” Kelemvor said.

  “Then why do you deny your senses? Don’t you appreciate Mystra’s gifts of gratitude?” Midnight said.

  “They were well earned!” Kelemvor said as he stuffed a large chunk of sweetbread in his mouth. “But a powerful mage, such as Elminster of Shadowdale, could easily perform the same feats. I have seen another of these ‘gods’ and I’m not sure they aren’t powerful lunatics!”

  Mystra looked up at the mention of Elminster, and a smile played across her face as some private reverie amused her for a moment, then she returned to her preparations.

  “And so you blaspheme in their presence!” Midnight shouted.

  “I speak my mind!”