by Kate Novak
The torque created by her spin was enough to rip the mouths from her body. Phalse’s head went spinning from the tower with the sword still embedded in it.
Thirty feet from the balcony, Phalse and Dragonbait’s sword achieved maximum potential and burst into a ball of white light as bright as the recent detonations near Westgate.
Alias shielded her eyes from the explosion with her arms and backed away from the balcony. She felt a familiar burning pain on her arm. A welcome pain. Phalse’s sigil flared and vanished from her arm.
* * * * *
A sharp pain on Dragonbait’s chest broke his concentration. The air filled with the scent of violets as the saurial realized the source of the pain. Phalse was dead.
Suddenly, the twelve figures before him faded to shimmering, glassy outlines and then vanished completely.
A last trick of Phalse’s? the saurial wondered. He hadn’t had time to learn if he’d succeeded. Now he might never know.
* * * * *
Alias swayed unsteadily and put her hand against a wall. Dragonbait stood in the doorway between the feast hall and the courtyard. He looked disturbed but uninjured.
Then Alias saw two figures bent over the bodies of her companions and she leaped toward them. One of them turned toward her, and she paused.
It was Nameless, and he and his companion were smearing healing ointment over Akabar’s body. The other man moved toward Olive and told Alias, “She’s alive, too.”
There was something familiar about the figure and voice, but Alias was too weak to place it. She sank to her knees, chiding Nameless, “About time you showed up.” Then she allowed herself the luxury of collapsing.
The Tale Told
Elminster and Nameless smeared Alias with foul-smelling ointments and bound her wounds. When she came to, Dragonbait was using his power to heal Akabar, who had been the most grievously hurt. Olive had a nasty gash on her forehead, but the old man who worked beside Nameless assured the halfling that if she would only keep her mouth shut, her headache would go away.
Alias felt no pain, courtesy of the ointments, but she was bone-weary. Akabar, who sat beside her, gave her a nudge and pointed to the old man. “That one was talking to Dragonbait in Shadowdale,” the mage told her.
Elminster crouched beside Akabar. “I understand ye wanted to see me on a matter of grave importance.”
Akabar flushed with sudden understanding. “Elminster?”
“Really?” Alias said. “And I thought you were just a goatherd who knew more than was good for me.” She realized now that Akabar had never actually spoken with Elminster.
“He’s nothing at all like you described him, Akabar,” she teased. “For one thing, he talks funny.”
“Have you ever considered keeping an appointment calendar?” Akabar asked the old sage angrily.
“Yes,” Elminster replied. “They make excellent tinder.”
“You knew all about Nameless,” Alias accused him. “You knew what I was, didn’t you?”
“I knew about Nameless,” Elminster confessed sadly. “But I was not sure about thee. Ye seemed too human to be the made thing he had envisioned. In disbelief, I put off coming here to ascertain if the bard was still safe in his prison. As they say, the wise aren’t always.”
“Aren’t always what?” Olive chirped.
“Wise,” supplied Alias.
Elminster nodded. “Got off my hindquarters fast enough when Moander was unleashed, though. Took me two days to trek out here. I watched thy arrival on the roof. New portal—must remember it.”
“But you tried to get me to give up the songs, and I refused. You let me go. You knew it was wrong to try to squelch Nameless’s songs.”
“Let’s say I was uncertain. I was prepared to sacrifice them to a greater good. Thy vehemence made me rethink the greater good. It was hard to argue with a soul so pure.”
Alias looked shyly at Dragonbait. If they’d given me a piece of someone else’s soul, she wondered, would I have succeeded in freeing myself?
“What will happen to Nameless?” she asked. “It’s a little late to keep him locked up to protect his secret. And you most certainly aren’t going to lock me up.”
Elminster looked startled momentarily. “No,” he agreed. “That would be unjustifiable. What he did may have been wrong, but what we did may not have been right. The time has come, I think, to review the matter.”
“A second trial?” asked Nameless.
“Perhaps,” said Elminster. “If so, I will speak in thy defense.”
“As will I,” Alias said.
Nameless smiled at her. “You really refused to give up my songs?”
“It was wrong to abandon them, and I knew it.”
Something tickled the base of her wrist, and Alias held her arm up. In the once-empty space a blue rose blossomed, shimmering among the stiller pattern of waves and serpents.
Dragonbait clutched at his chest and looked down. The snaking pattern on his green scales was replaced by a wreath of blue ivy.
“A sign of the gods’ favor?” Nameless asked the sage.
“It would appear so,” Elminster agreed. He turned to Alias. “I have closed the portal leading to Phalse’s domain, so ye will be safe here.”
Alias could see that there was only water where the portal had been. The sight of her reflection brought to mind the copies of her Phalse had created. Struggling to her feet, she limped to the feast hall door.
“They’re gone!” she cried. “What happened to them?”
Dragonbait shrugged his shoulders. The smell of brimstone rose from his body.
“You hoped to lay them to rest by destroying Phalse,” Akabar reminded her. “It appears your wish was granted.”
“Maybe they were never really there,” Olive conjectured. “Maybe they were just an illusion Phalse conjured up to use against you. They must have vanished when you killed him.”
“Perhaps,” Alias whispered sadly. She could not believe either explanation.
Elminster, detecting the scent of lemon and ham from the saurial’s body, cocked an eyebrow but said nothing.
“I think it’s time to check the larder and see what goodies Phalse left behind,” Olive suggested.
“In the cellars of this place,” Nameless said to Dragonbait, “you will find a sword. I would be honored if you would accept it in place of the one you lost.”
Dragonbait nodded graciously.
Nameless knelt by the injured halfling, who still cradled her head in her hands. “There’s something I’d like you to have, too, Mistress Ruskettle.”
The halfling’s eyes shone as she held her hand out. In it Nameless placed a small, silver harp and crescent moon pin, the symbol of a Harper. She smiled up at Nameless. “Really? For me?” She pinnned the gift to her tattered gown. “Thank you.”
“That’s going to raise some hackles,” said Elminster quietly.
“Let it,” Nameless said.
Elminster smiled at Akabar. “I have a gift for ye, Akabar Bel Akash, a piece of advice perhaps more valuable than any magic item. It takes less time to solve thy own riddles than to wait in Lhaeo’s office.”
Akabar grinned and nodded.
Nameless looked uncertainly at Alias. “I have no more gifts to give you, yet I would ask for something from you.”
Uncertainty gripped the swordswoman, a fear that Nameless would ask for something she could not give him, or something she would not wish to. “What is it?” she asked.
“I know of your birth,” her ‘father’ said, “and Mistress Ruskettle has told me something of your travels. But I wish to hear you tell your tale.”
Alias laughed with relief. Moving to the edge of the pool, she sat down and beckoned her audience to draw close. Olive perked up attentively, eager to hear the tale that would bring her fame throughout the Realms when she began telling it herself.
“I woke in Suzail, in the land of Cormyr, to the sound of two dogs barking.…”
As the three men and the saur
ial listened to Alias’s beautiful voice, Olive leaned back and promptly fell asleep.
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