The people of Toril had grown used to worshipping many gods. They could never go back to simply worshipping the world. Hill smiled mockingly. More importantly, no one had forgotten how much trouble the Netheril Empire had caused Toril.
Even if Calimshan could never reach those heights, the ruthless Overgod would not give Amaunator another chance.
If, after his resurrection, the Sun God still could not let go of his former glory and tried to regain the power he had wielded in the days of the Netheril Empire—power enough to challenge Mystra—life would not be easy for him.
Besides, he had managed it back then not because he was strong enough, but because that Mystra had been innocent enough... Edna was another matter. She had spent years learning the basics from Black Eye, learning how to deal with people from the Undead, and growing up surrounded by elves who excelled at spoiling children rotten. With his paltry tricks of coaxing and deception... he had not even managed to win over Selûne. Did he think he could handle a brand-new Midnight?
Hill moved his fingers and made two copies of some books he had finished transcribing, then left Liszt to handle them... One set would go to the Mage Tower inside Purvi, and the other to the library in the Demiplane.
Carrying a stack of books, he went into the little garden and sat down in his usual spot. The Undead's magic ship could already see the port of Imbutu.
At the once-bustling port of Sarshel, a city at the entrance to the Eastern Gulf on Imbutu's inland sea, only two or three sailing ships now lay at anchor... Ships that had not been put into storage had long since been destroyed by the Spellplague storms that had swept through time