"Not at all," Adon said, removing his mace from its sling so he could sit comfortably. "The people of Tegea will be happy for our help-once we've won their confidence."
"And how are you going to do that?" demanded the novice.
"I'll think of a way," Adon said. He looked out over the village he had come to rescue.
Located in the southern reaches of the Dragonjaw Mountains, Tegea seemed idyllic enough. The mountains surrounding it were covered with towering cypresses, as slender and pointed as spearheads. Closer to the village, the terraced slopes supported huge groves of strangely gnarled olive trees. The warped boughs were laden with silvery leaves that danced in the evening breeze and seemed to whisper the soft songs of pastoral life. In the town itself, the muffled clang of a goatbell occasionally echoed off a stone wall, but no other sound rose from the narrow lanes running through the labyrinth of whitewashed huts.
On the far side of the village, the local duke's dusky castle squatted upon the edge of a thousand-foot cliff. Its craggy towers were silhouetted against the distant waters of the Dragonmere Sea, where the sun was just sinking below the turquoise horizon.
Normally Adon would have been staying in the citadel instead of the local inn. As an important cleric in the Church of Mysteries, he could expect most nobles to extend their hospitality to him. However, the patriarch had been warned that the duke of Tegea disliked all priests, so he hadn't bothered to call at the castle.
Adon felt Corene's warm touch on his arm. "Here's dinner-at last," she said.
The cleric returned his attention to the veranda. A serving girl had just stepped out of the kitchen with a heavy tray in her hands. Her bountiful figure was accentuated by a tightly laced bodice and a billowing skirt just clingy enough to hint at the slender legs beneath. She had skin the color of ginger, with black hair that cascaded over her bare shoulders in silky waves. Her almond-shaped eyes were as brown as topaz and lined with kohl.
It was impossible to see the rest of her face. From her cheeks down to her collarbone, the maid's visage was hidden by an unsightly veil. Brushing against the skin of such a beautiful girl, the shroud seemed sorely out of place. It was made of coarse, black wool and suspended from a strand of rough twine.
The young woman rested the serving tray on the edge of their table. "I'm Sarafina, Myron's daughter," she said, placing a goblet of golden wine and a steaming bowl in front of Corene. "Tonight, we have plum wine and lamb stew. I hope you'll enjoy it."
As Sarafina turned to serve Adon, her eyes fell on the left side of his face and remained fixed there. Although the patriarch was a handsome man with a patrician nose and a cleft chin, he often elicited such stares. During the Time of Troubles, when the gods had walked Faerun in the bodies of mortal avatars, his good looks had been taken from him by a zealot. Now a red scar traced a crooked path from his left eye down to his jawline. Adon self-consciously turned his face away so the young woman would not have to look upon his blemish.
After placing the patriarch's wine and stew on the table, Sarafina asked, "Is there anything else you'd like?"
Adon continued to look away and shook his head without answering. He was not angry with the girl for staring, merely ashamed of his appearance.
"Please, Your Grace," said Sarafina. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. If you could see beneath this veil, you'd know that I'd be the last to mock another's scars."
Adon looked back, touched by the sincerity in her voice. "I thought it unusual for a woman to wear a veil in this part of the world," he said. "Perhaps you should let me have a look at your affliction. I may be able to heal it."
"I don't think so." Sarafina wiped sudden tears from her eyes. "Many priests have tried, and each time they've only made matters worse." "But I'm no ordinary cleric-"
"Please don't ask again," said Sarafina, still looking away. "Can I bring you anything else?"
"Some bread would be nice, if you have any," said Corene.
Sarafina nodded. "My mother has just taken a few loaves out of the oven. I'll bring you some as soon as it's cool enough to cut."
As the young woman returned to the kitchen, Adon shook his head in frustration. "Why are these people so reluctant to accept our help?"
"You can't blame the girl for being cautious," said Corene, pointing at the crooked blemish marring Adon's good looks. "Why should she think you can mend her face when you haven't bothered to heal your own?"
"Our travels together have made you too familiar," Adon snapped. "You'd do well to remember who's the novice and who's the patriarch."
The cleric's threat did not intimidate the young woman. "So why haven't you mended it?" she pressed.
"Don't you think I've tried?" Adon retorted. "I've been praying to Midnight-er, Mystra-since she became the Goddess of Magic."
"And she hasn't answered?"
"Not in this matter," Adon said, sipping the powerful wine Sarafina had placed in front of him.
"I can't believe Our Lady of Mysteries would deny such a thing to someone she once called friend, someone who fought beside her during the Time of Troubles."
"That was before she became a goddess," said Adon, then paused. "Now that she's an immortal, I suppose she must behave as one. She doesn't even like me to call her Midnight. That's the name of my avatar,' she says. The Midnight you knew exists only as a memory.' "
"She calls herself Mystra to honor the goddess of magic before her," Corene noted dogmatically.
"The reason she hasn't healed me is a bit more complicated than an occasional breach of divine etiquette," Adon murmured into his wine.
"Meaning?"
'That she's angry with me for more important things," Adon answered, looking away in embarrassment. "Her church has stopped growing in the last two years, while others continue to flourish."
"Because Mystra doesn't resort to buying worshipers with misleading dreams of wealth and power, as do the other gods," Corene objected. "You can't be blamed for that."
"Perhaps not, but that doesn't change facts," said the patriarch. "Before allowing the gods back into the planes, their overlord made it clear their status and power would depend upon the faith of the mortals who worship them.
Mystra's church is smaller than Cyric's. And that means I've allowed Our Lady's foulest enemy to outstrip her power."
"But you've always said that the Goddess of Magic is special-"
"I know what I've said, but the truth is that I'm failing," Adon replied. He turned his scar toward Corene and pointed a finger at it. "And this is the symbol of my inadequacy."
"If what you say is true, what are we doing in this forlorn place?" Corene asked. "We should be back in Arabel, converting the masses to Our Lady's cause."
Adon shook his head. "That isn't Mystra's will," he said. "In a dream, she made her wishes clear. I must lift the curse afflicting this village-whatever it is."
The novice shook her head. "The will of the gods is difficult to comprehend."
'True, but in this case I think I understand Our Lady's design," Adon said. "We cannot hope to contend with the priests of the other churches. Chauntea gives her worshipers bountiful crops. Helm protects his followers from harm. Lliira promises her devotees a lifetime of bliss. As clerics of Mystra, we have nothing to offer except a lengthy and difficult study of the mysteries of magic."
"But the rewards-"
"Are a long time in coming and difficult to grasp," Adon interrupted. "No-if I've learned one thing since becoming a patriarch in this church, it's that we won't earn worshipers for Mystra by competing with other religions. Instead, we must try something different-something like what Our Lady sent me here to do."
'To lift a curse?" Corene asked.
"That's only the beginning," Adon said. "What's most important is what happens later."
Corene looked puzzled. "Now I'm having as much trouble understanding you as I do the gods."
The cleric smiled. "That's because I haven't told you the most important part of Mystra's plan," he said. "After I remove the curse, we'll convert the villagers to the Church of Mysteries. I've selected you to administer the priory we'll build here-if we succeed."
Corene looked flattered for a moment, then an expression of understanding came over her face. "You mean stay behind?" she gasped. "We're over a hundred leagues from anything that could be called a city!"
"Relax," Adon said. "The assignment isn't permanent. I'll replace you in a few years-"