As they approached the tower, Joel found that craning his neck to watch the floating temple became uncomfortable. Moreover, now he had to watch his footing. The ground about the tower was strewn with corpses of Banites and the missiles the giants had thrown at the Banite ship, which consisted of boulders and the fetid contents of the tower's midden.

Scavengers would feast well tonight on the garbage, though they'd have to share with the flies, which were already buzzing about it.

A second patrol of Zhentilar approached and surrounded their party as they steered toward the tower's doors.

Holly was muttering under her breath. Joel glanced in her direction. Her brow was furrowed and her eyes were mere slits.

"Are you all right?" the bard asked softly.

The paladin didn't reply immediately, but held up a hand to bid Joel to wait. A moment later she opened her eyes a little wider and answered, "There is so much maliciousness here it's giving me a headache. None of it is focused in one place-fortunately, I suppose. I was just finishing a prayer to Lathander for his strength."

Joel grunted softly. He hadn't thought of his own god since he awoke. He couldn't imagine how his prayers could be of any use in his current predicament.

The double doors of the tower were some twenty feet high, enough to accommodate the giants, constructed of hardwood reinforced with steel bands. The symbol of Zhentil Keep had once emblazoned the door, but the black and orange paint had long since peeled and flaked away. Nevertheless, Joel could still discern the shadow of a gauntlet and gem on the weathered wood.

The doors opened silently, and their captors rode into the courtyard, dragging their prisoners along. In the darkness that swallowed them, Joel could barely make out his surroundings. They were in an enclosed courtyard that ended before a second large doorway. Once through the second doorway, they found themselves in a dark, wide hallway. The Zhentilar dismounted beside a door that, from the smell of hay and manure, Joel guessed must lead to a stable. The priest of Xvim ordered four Zhentilar from the tower to take charge of the prisoners and follow him to the Godson's audience chamber.

As Joel and Holly were dragged down the dark hallway, Bear fell in step behind them. The priest led them up a staircase, down another hall, and through another set of doors.

Within was a great hall, running nearly the entire length of the fortress, its ceiling concealed in darkness above. The air was cloying with incense, burning torch smoke, and the smell of unwashed human bodies. Something else hung in the air, less substantial, but no less formidable. Joel finally recognized it. It was fear.

At the far end of the room was an amorphous statue of the god Iyachtu Xvim, ten feet high and carved out of oily black rock. There were no real features to the sculpture, just the suggestion of a man's form, but the eyes were set with two huge emeralds, which caught the torchlight and reflected it back with an evil glint. A high priest of Xvim sat on a low dais just to the left of his god's image. He wore elaborate black robes trimmed in green. Long, oily black hair oozed out from beneath the metal skullcap on his head. He hunched forward on his throne like a vulture, giving him the appearance of a more elderly man.

Clumped in a circle before the dais, guarded by warriors in black and green armor, were the pilgrims of Bane-those who had survived the attempt to storm the tower. Joel estimated there were about seventy of them. Between the pilgrims and the dais stood another figure, a small, slender woman in black armor, with a black cape and a plait of ebon hair that hung to her waist. Although Joel could not see her face, he knew she was the same priestess of Bane he'd seen on the deck of the ship.

The Zhentilar guarding Joel and Holly hooked their chains to a ring against one wall and stood flanking them with disciplined precision. Bear stood before the prisoners, his once grim features now gloating unpleasantly. The Zhentilar priest, whose squad had captured them strode up to the dais and whispered to another priest who served as a scribe to the events unfolding.

The high priest of Xvim was addressing the Banite priestess. As he talked, the high priest rubbed his hands, as if trying to remove some stain from his flesh. The priestess stood as still as a statue, no movement betraying her feelings.

The penalty for trespass is severe, Walinda of Bane," the high priest declared in a deep, resonating voice.

The woman's voice was high-pitched but as chill as ice as she replied, "It is only trespass if permission is not given, and I am asking for that permission. The Temple in the Sky was once a temple to my dark lord, Bane. I believe that it still contains knowledge concerning an artifact that will serve him."

"Bane is dead," the high priest declared and spat on the dais.

True, Bane was defeated by Torm the Foolish during the Time of Troubles, but can a god be truly dead," the priestess Walinda answered, "when he lives on in the hearts of his worshipers?"

The high priest snorted. "If all that remains of his worshipers are a rabble of peasants led by a woman, Bane had best not bother to get up again," he taunted.

Several of the warriors in the room laughed. Walinda's back stiffened slightly, but she showed no other sign of irritation. She held out an arm as a signal to one of the Banites behind her. "We have brought an offering as a sign of our good faith," she said, her voice still completely emotionless.

One of Bane's acolytes stepped forward, pulling a cloaked figure with him. With a rough shove, he pushed the figure forward, yanking away the cloak.

A woman in torn black leather armor sprawled on the floor before the dais. Her black hair gleamed like a raven's feathers, and her dark brown eyes flashed with fury, but it was the growths on her back that caught everyone's attention. Sprouting from behind her shoulders were great birdlike wings of dusty rose-colored feathers. The wings hung limp and unnaturally skewed. The winged woman tried to rise, but her strength failed her, and she collapsed back onto the stone floor. Her broken wings shuddered, shedding feathers. Then her whole body was still.

"More than a trifle, you must agree," Walinda of Bane said coolly. "She was a crew member aboard the ship that now serves as my shrine to Bane."

The high priest ran his tongue along his lower lip. "This one would make a suitable formal offering to the Godson," he said. He signaled with a jerk of his chin, and two of the black-and-green-clad warriors came forward and flanked the winged woman. They dragged her prostrate form out through the door.

"For such an offering, we will forgive you for your trespass," the high priest declared. "To gain access to the Temple in the Sky, however-that you must bargain for separately."

The priestess of Bane showed no sign of surprise that she'd been cheated out of her first offering, but she now bargained more carefully. "Name your price for access to the Temple in the Sky," she demanded.

The high priest chuckled, his deep voice reverberating from the stone walls all about them. "Your followers," he said with a malicious smile. "Offer them up to the Godson, and we will allow you to visit the temple. Of course, you and your followers can leave now if the price is too high." His tone suggested he thought he had the better of the priestess. Walinda's reaching the Temple in the Sky might serve Bane, yet the destruction of these faithful few would seriously weaken the god's cause.

Walinda turned to face her followers, the acolytes in their handmade robes and the peasants in their rags. Many had been injured in the storming of the tower; all were hungry and tired from their travels. They stared back at her expectantly, but none uttered a sound. The blood-red tattoos on the priestess's pale cheeks glistened, and the ruby on her smooth brow flashed a bit of reflected light across Joel's eyes. The bard gasped softly, knowing somehow exactly what her decision would be.