An hour later…

“He betrayed us, my lord, you know that!” Lars, priest of Xvim exclaimed. “That little scum and his stupid wife must have sold us to the dogs of Cyric!”

“So you say.” Gillian said calmly. “I know all along that you don’t like him, thinking there is never enough belief in that one, and if there was one betrayer within our order, it would be him.” The Imperceptor paused for a moment to let Lars digest his words, “But I say there is neither enough nerve in Sorrell or Dalmara for any action a league’s way from betrayal. They are common citizens who remain loyal to Bane and Xvim out of fear for later punishment, in which the iron control of our former order had made them believe.”

“And there will be.” Octevia, priestess of Xvim, twin sister of Lars, emphasized her word by pounding her gauntleted fist on the table set between the four of them, leaving several dents on the polished wood. “Those crazy fools of Cyric, and others who actually believe in their words that the Mad One now claim Lord Bane’s divine power as his own, shall no doubt face the terrible ire of the Black Fist, and eventually meet their fated doom! Let them rise to a great height, let them taste the sweetness of limitless power, let them take the city as their own playground and walk around hunting down followers of other deities like beasts, for these will only make their fall all the more painful. When at last they are all crawling on the ground, begging everyone around them for mercy, we shall strike hard and smite these heretics to nothingness!”

“Yes, yes, that is the promise of Lord Xvim, in which we all believe.” the Imperceptor answered, his tone showing a tiny hint of impatience, as if he had heard this being proclaimed all too often. “And that petty couple, betrayers or not, should be the least of our concern. What can they sell the order out for? The dogs of Cyric will have their way what so ever. Sorrell just can’t be so ignorant as to believe that they will hold their side of bargain. Everyone in this city knows that there is a great difference between the spies of Cyric and our Black Network, which is that the former just don’t pay.” Seeing the twin finally nodding in agreement, Gillian knew his logic had eased his zealous fellow clerics a bit, so he changed the topic. “And that’s preciously why no one sells information to the order of Black Sun. It’s also why I don’t worry about Mark abandoning our course.”

“As if he dares,” a wicked smile found its way to Octevia’s face. “Sometimes, even without the possibility of his betraying us, I find myself wondering if it would be better to tear that annoying creature to shreds with my bare hands.”

“From all we are seeing, he is doing his job well.” Gillian ignored the vicious woman, “he’s supposed to sell our secrets to the highest bidder, and like we have discussed before, the clergy of the Dark Sun is the only bidder. And being desperate for informers only makes it easier for Mark to win their trust. Now he abides in their temple, pretending to be hiding from us but all the time sending information back.”

The Imperceptor grinned as he silently congratulated himself one more time for his successful plan and continued: “He is a rather poor bard, as almost everyone who knows him would agree, but I always have confidence in his ability of acting, especially when he was to act as a wicked and miserable wretch, which our dear Mark actually is.”

“So far, so good.” The fourth man in this secret room, who had kept silent before, suddenly spoke. He wore black chain mail covered by a finely decorated vest made of black dragon hide, several tokens and talismans were pinned on it, gleaming in the dull light cast by the candles on the table. His face was framed by flaming red hair, and his powerful arms folded in front of his broad chest. “There is something far more important than a petty spy I want to speak with you. I have received information via certain ways, for example, seeking consul and making deals with beings of other planes of existence, which indicates that Cyric is going down.” Receiving sharp glances and short gasps from his fellow clerics, the red-haired man nodded grimly and continued, “Yes, I know the Black Sun is, from many aspects, all powerful, more so than the other great Powers. Maybe even some of them combined will not be able to bring him down, though they must wish to do so. But as a…agent of mine claimed, Cyric’s immense power will be exactly the cause of his downfall.”

Lars arched a thin brow and asked: “Might we know the identity of your ‘agent’, just to verify the credit of his, her or its claim?”

The man hesitated for a moment, during which Lars and Octevia stared at him with undisguised doubt but Gillian stood there patiently.

“Let me explain it first.” The fourth man finally answered. Lars raised his brow higher but didn’t question him further and waited for his explanation. “Every god wants more power, even those who stand for ‘good’ and ‘law’; they are all hungry for it and their hunger are beyond a mortal’s imagination. The more power a god has, the greater becomes the hunger. So is the case for Cyric, who has taken Death, Decay, Murder, Deception, Strife and many others into his office. This leaves him only one single target to strike against and seize more power.”

“Who?” It was the Imperceptor who asked. “There is no other god more powerful than him, and I doubt any mortal is worth the trouble.”

“With all due respect, High Priest, but I have to say you are wrong.” The man clearly saw his fellows’ confusion but still waited a moment for the surprise to sink in. “A far greater Power exists. The true god of all gods. Few know his existence, and I don’t think anyone knows what he is called. What is he capable of, no one can tell, not even the powerful beings that reside beyond the Prime. But it is rumored among the planes that this Time of Trouble is his doing.”

“And Cyric, always desiring more power, would eventually challenge the highest one and, if that one is really the highest, find his own demise.” Gillian understood the logic and mused out loud.

“Indeed, Imperceptor.” The man answered. “And this bit of information came out of the mouth of a nelfeshnee but a prince of the Abyss was the origin of his knowledge.”

“A nelfeshnee and a demon prince…” Lars nodded after a moment of pondering, “Chaotic as the denizens of Abyss are, those with higher rank don’t easily feed you pointless lies, and I see no reason why they would make up such an outrageous story just to make you a fool.”

The red-haired man stared daggers in the cleric’s way, and seeing the tension between them, Gillian stepped in. “So let’s assume this information is trustworthy, then how do you see it?”

“I don’t see it simply as an opportunity for us to make our strike. Even in a weakened state, the followers of Cyric are too strong, and being in a state of desperation will only make them fiercer. We can’t waste the strength of our clergy and the Black Network in any hopeless attempt…”

“To simply say so will be enough to incur our Lord’s terrible wrath, and we shall not tolerate such blaspheme!” Octevia burst like a volcano and her gauntleted fists tightened on her side. “One favored by the Dark Tyrant should never speak like a weakling! Or are you still in his favor?”

“I would say yes, but tell me yourself,” the man in question turned and glared at the priestess with eyes set ablaze by emerald fire, and an instant later the same flame burst forth from all over his body. He glowed like another sun, surrounded by the evil fire, illuminating the small room in bright green light. “Am I still in the favor of the Black Hand?” Octevia fell backwards, hands covering her eyes, and cowered into a corner, whimpering indistinct words.

“Glad you agree.” Sensing Gillian tense behind him, he pulled back his flame. And ignoring a furious Lars, who was at the same time filled with awe and dread, the red-haired man turned back and said calmly: “This is all for today. I will take my leave, Imperceptor. The Black Network needs my attention.”

“Go with the blessing of Xvim, Chosen One.” Gillian said, relieved that neither part of the little conflict went too far. Bane’s demise was bad enough, their weakened clergy would be damned if some high-ranking members tried to kill each other for foolish pride.

He remembered the days when the Black Hand ruled with iron fist, when no one dared to speak out of term, when they sat within Bane’s mighty temple and held absolute power over literally everyone. No more. And Cyric was to blame. Of course Mystra and Kelemvor shall pay, and pay dearly, but only after Xvim has crushed the Dark Sun like a mortal as he once was. The Imperceptor gave the man in front of him an almost sorrowful nod, knowing after so many years of working together, he would understand.

Without another word, Fzoul Chembryl, the Chosen of Bane and Xvim, returned a same meaningful nod and headed out of the room.