Finder's bane h-15

by Kate Novak

  Joel was just about to back away when a waft of breeze brushed the curtain up against his face. The priestess's head jerked up, and she turned to stare straight at Joel just as she had twice before. Joel froze. She's in the light; I'm in the dark. She can't possibly see me, the bard thought.

  The priestess leapt toward the curtain with a curse on her lips. Still on his hands and knees, Joel tried rolling sideways into the darkness, but to no avail. Carrying her light with her, the priestess cornered him against the altar. With a curse on her lips, she held out her right hand. A blue flame flickered in her palm.

  "Hey, take it easy," Joel cried out. "I was just looking. No harm done."

  "Oh, it's only you," the priestess replied. The hostile look on her face was replaced with one of cool indifference, and the flame in her hand died out. "I thought you'd be dead by now," she added.

  "Who, me?" Joel asked, feigning nonchalance. "Whatever gave you that idea, Walinda of Bane?"

  Walinda's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "It occurs to me you have the advantage of knowing my name. Might know yours?"

  The bard stood up and brushed the dirt from his hands. "I'm Joel," he said, offering his hand. "Joel of Finder."

  The priestess ignored the bard's hand. "Finder," she said with a nod. "Ahh… of course. The poppinjay bard who slew Moander to become a petty god."

  The priestess stepped back. "As a priest of a rival god, albeit a petty one," she noted, "you will be sacrificed by the Xvimists in the dark of the moon beside the harpy I offered to them. You may have temporarily escaped your prison cell through these tunnels, but eventually the cultists will find you. Swear fealty to me, and I will help you escape the cultists," Walinda offered. The expression on her face softened, and her tone of voice was suddenly warm and sincere. Joel was taken aback, not only by the priestess's offer, but by the sudden urge he had to accept it just to please her. Had she tried to ensorcell him with a charm spell? But if Bane was dead, she couldn't cast any spells… unless she had used some sort of magical amulet. But why? Why betray her hosts to help a priest of what she considered to be a minor poppinjay god?

  Joel grinned with sudden insight. "I will if you will," he retorted.

  Walinda glared at him. "What folly do you speak?" she demanded.

  "Well," Joel replied, "if you were really a guest of the cultists, you wouldn't need me and my fealty. You'd just give a shout and have them put me in another prison cell. When I sneaked up on you, though, you had no idea I wasn't a cultist, yet you were prepared to attack me. Now that I think about it, the deal you made with the Ruinlord of Xvim only guaranteed you access to this place. Nothing was said about granting you passage back down to the ground. You're a prisoner here, too, Not much of a deal maker, are you?"

  "I'm a Dreadmaster of Bane, the Dark One, first among his priests," Walinda replied haughtily, "not some merchant scum. You are wrong. I am not a prisoner. I wheeled to attack in case you were some fell beast left wandering these passages as a guardian of this abandoned temple. Now accept my offer, or die soon regretting that you did not."

  Joel chuckled, unable to hide his amusement. She was good at bluffing, but she still had no reason to help him unless she needed his help. "Thanks, no," he replied. "I've seen how little you value those who've sworn fealty to you."

  "My followers," Walinda said softly. Her lip quivered, and she turned away.

  Joel was surprised. He'd expected her to react with contempt for her people, or even anger that he'd raised the subject. Instead, she acted as if she genuinely grieved their loss. Of course, the bard reminded himself, she could simply be a good actress.

  After a moment the woman straightened and replied proudly, "You would not think I sold them so cheap if you knew how great was my goal." She turned again to face him. "My god demanded I gain entry to this place, and I obeyed. Even though their sacrifice brought power to Bane's bastard son, they have earned the favor of Bane. Their loyalty and the price they paid for it will not be forgotten."

  Joel shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other. "I know this must be a sore point, and I really hate to have to bring it up, but isn't Bane, um, dead?"

  Walinda smiled. It was a smile of great joy, and it made her face positively lovely. "Bane is a god. Death can have no power over the gods. He will return."

  "All right," Joel said slowly, beginning to sense this was not a topic they could sensibly debate.

  "You doubt me, Joel of Finder," Walinda said. "Tell me, if everyone told you Finder was dead, would you believe it?"

  "For me it's different. I have proof Finder lives; he grants my spell prayers."

  "Are you so certain that Bane does not grant mine?"

  Joel remembered the blue flame at her palm. "You probably just have some sort of magical talisman."

  "That is a possibility. At any rate, suppose Finder did not grant you spells, yet still he spoke to you?" Walinda asked.

  Joel took a deep breath, then breathed out. Hearing the voice of her god might be some madness of Walinda's, but having just received a vision from Finder, Joel hardly felt in a position to argue with her. Still, the alternative, that Bane might return, was too unpleasant to think about.

  "It is true," the priestess admitted, "that I have been made a prisoner by the cultists, yet Bane foresaw this when he bade me to come here. This temple was once his, and he has told me all its secrets. It was a simple matter to escape from my cell to search for the information my god bade me to seek.

  "Which is?" Joel asked, curious despite himself.

  Walinda smiled again, and her eyes glittered with excitement. Once again her face appeared quite lovely. Then the smile faded to a smirk. "You are most curious, little poppinjay," the priestess noted. "No doubt your curiosity led you to find a way from your cell."

  "Maybe Finder told me how to escape," Joel suggested. "The same as Bane told you."

  Walinda glared at the bard, obviously finding the comparison between her god and his distasteful. "Perhaps I should simply betray you to the cultists in exchange for my freedom," she said.

  Joel leaned against the bloodstained altar, appearing as casual as he could. "You could try," he agreed amicably. The priestess had been prepared to attack him with some sort of spell. Whether Bane had granted it or not was moot at this point. He had no combat magic or weaponry at his disposal, which she probably guessed. Still, if she didn't subdue him quickly with magic, he could no doubt overcome her with brute strength.

  With cold smiles, each priest eyed the other warily, Finally Walinda said, "Yet the cultists cannot be trusted to honor a bargain. Perhaps, since neither of us seems inclined to kill the other, we should ally with one another against the cultists in order to escape from this place."

  Joel rubbed his hand against the stubble on his chin, debating the wisdom of such an act.

  "You are slave to a petty god who will one day be crushed by the Dark Lord," Walinda declared, "yet I will swear by Bane that if you aid me, I will aid you, and not raise my hand against you until we have escaped from this rock."

  "I have a companion I have to rescue," Joel informed her.

  Walinda's eyes narrowed. "The girl dressed in the colors of a Lathanderite?" she asked.

  "That's her," Joel replied.

  "Lathander is the sworn enemy of Bane."

  "I'm not leaving without her," Joel insisted.

  "When she looked at me, her eyes were full of hate," the priestess said. "Would she be willing to honor our truce?"

  Holly, Joel realized, would not be happy about allying with Walinda, but she was a reasonable girl. Surely, he told himself, the paladin could restrain her enmity if it meant a chance to escape certain death at the hands of the Xvimists. He was sure he could convince her.

  Was he himself convinced an alliance was a good idea? There were several points in its favor. It was only temporary. Once he'd found Holly, the two of them would outnumber the priestess should she attempt to betray them. If Walinda really did know all the secrets o
f this place, she would be useful. Alternatively, Walinda was a woman who had willingly sacrificed her own followers. She was probably the torturer and murderer of the great black-skinned creature she had used as a figurehead on her ship. Joel knew he not only shouldn't trust her, but he should despise her.

  Yet he held a grudging respect for the priestess. To walk into this proverbial dragon's den had taken more than courage or foolhardiness. The woman was devoted to her god. Joel wondered if he would ever show himself as worthy of Finder as she had proven herself to Bane. Until he knew the answer, he felt a curious tie to the priestess, as if only she could help him discover it.

  "I agree," he answered at last. "We have a truce, you and I, until we escape. We will aid each other. You will help me rescue my companion, and I will ensure she keeps the bargain as well." Joel paused, then remembered it was to be an oath. "I swear this in Finder's name," he added.

  Walinda bowed. Despite the plate armor encasing her figure, the bard couldn't help being impressed with hot slender and graceful the woman was. She replied, "And I, too, declare that we have a truce, you and I, and your companion, should we rescue her, until we are well dear of the Temple of the Sky and the Flaming Tower. I vow this in the name of the mightiest of gods, Lord Bane, who sleeps, waiting for his faithful to come to him."

  And may he wait a long, long time, Joel thought privately. Aloud he asked, "So what now?"

  "Keep watch, Poppin, while I complete my research. I shall not be very much longer," the priestess said Then she returned to the book in the alcove.

  Joel watched her for a few minutes as she skimmed the pages of the book, apparently oblivious to his presence. Either she really trusted him now because he'd made an oath, or she did not perceive him to be any threat to her. The smile had returned to her face, and Joel found himself enchanted by the beauty of her features.

  A voice inside chided him. Stop being an idiot. The less you look at her, the safer you'll be. The bard began pacing back and forth before the alcove, anxious to get going and free Holly. He thought of leaving Walinda to search for Holly himself, but realized it was far more reasonable to wait, since the priestess knew her way around.

  From the alcove, Walinda whispered, "Yes. At last.'

  Joel poked his head into the alcove. Removing a tiny blade from inside her bracers, Walinda began slicing pages out from the chained book. Something dark and liquid oozed from the cut edges that remained and pooled and clotted in the book's spine.

  "It's-it's bleeding," Joel gasped.

  Walinda looked up at the bard as she carefully folded the stolen leaves. "If you put your ear close," she said "you can hear it weep as well. A sweet sound… but we must go." She slid the paper beneath her breastplate and swept out of the alcove.

  Joel turned away from the book with a shudder and hurried after his newly pledged ally.

  Walinda led the bard down the corridor opposite the one he'd arrived by. She turned down the third side passage on the left, a route Joel might have avoided. The tunnel was deteriorated and difficult to traverse. They were forced to climb over rockfalls, crawl under low ceilings, and balance on thin ledges in places where most of the tunnel floor had collapsed into deep, dark chasms. Oily water seeped from the wall and ceiling and made the floor slick. Despite all the difficulties, Walinda didn't seem the least bit uncertain, not even when they reached a dead end.

  "Here" she said, touching a section of the wall. "Push here," she ordered Joel.

  Joel put his shoulder to the wall and shoved hard. The seam became a crack, but something within the wall squealed alarmingly.

  "Wait!" Walinda whispered urgently. She stepped up beside Joel and set her hands on the center of the door where it pivoted. She murmured words Joel did not recognize. Then she stepped back and said, 'Try it now."

  Joel pushed again. In his bones, he could feel the grating of rust and iron, but no noise came from the shifting wall.

  The door opened into an all-purpose storage room, lit with bright magical light. Cuts of meat hung from the ceiling. Rope, wood, hides, jugs, and other items were stacked all about. Walinda led Joel past a pair of butchering tables to a firepit, which seemed to serve as a makeshift smithy. The ashes within were cold at the moment. On the wall beyond the smithy hung all manner of weapons, most of which were in poor shape, rusted or broken, but some appeared quite serviceable.

  "We must arm ourselves," the priestess explained, "before we rescue your companion."

  Joel took a short sword and a dagger for himself. Choosing a weapon for Holly was more difficult. There was nothing on the wall like the curved blade that had been her father's. The bard picked out two different swords for the paladin, so she could select whichever was more comfortable. He also snagged her a crossbow and a quiver of bolts.

  Walinda selected a mace and a thick-headed metal club. She grinned at his weapon-bedecked figure. "You are the very image of a holy warrior, Poppin," she teased. "Come. Your companion should be in a prison cell nearby. We will make better time if we move through the main hall, but we must be very quiet."

  Walinda made for the storeroom's regular door and opened it just enough to peer out. She waved him forward and slipped through the doorway. Joel padded after her.

  The bard had barely cleared the archway when he slammed into Walinda, who was backing up swiftly.

  The priestess turned and forced him back into the storeroom. She pressed him against the wall just inside the doorway, whispering, "Hush! Don't move. Don't even breathe." She opened her long black cape and wrapped it around the pair of them.

  Joel froze as Walinda pressed herself up against him. He could have sworn he felt her heart pounding even through her breastplate. Joel was wondering what could possibly have frightened the icy priestess when he saw it.

  Floating toward the storeroom in complete eerie silence was a great sphere, bristling with eyestalks that swayed like snakes. It drooled yellow ichor from a fanged mouth at the center of its spherical body.

  Joel hoped the cloak had some magical property that hid them, for they stood not in the shadows, but out in the open in a lighted room. He offered up a short, silent prayer to Finder in case it did not. As he remained still and breathless, he became uncomfortably aware of the rose scent of Walinda's hair and the sensation of her hands clenching his shoulders.

  The many-eyed creature drifted just outside the doorway and began muttering to itself in some unknown language. It was too big around to squeeze through the doorway. A minute later it drifted away.

  Walinda relaxed her grip on Joel's shoulders and backed away. Her cloak fell from him, but her scent lingered. She brushed back a stray wisp of hair and readjusted her cloak.

  "What was that?" Joel whispered.

  "An eye tyrant," Walinda replied softly. "Some call it a beholder. The beast cultists are so debased they worship it. Bane warned me of its presence here, that it was the greatest danger I could face."

  "Great," Joel whispered sarcastically. "I don't suppose Bane happened to mention how you were supposed to get down to the ground."

  "Lord Bane is all-wise and all-powerful," the priestess retorted. "He told me I would find you, Poppin, and that you would find a way to escape from here."

  Six

  The Winged Woman

  Holly kept an eye on the woman sleeping on the straw in the corner. The cultists had shoved the paladin into the same cell as the winged woman the priestess of Bane had offered the Xvimists. The woman had not stirred upon the paladin's arrival or since then. Holly waited patiently, knowing rest was a crucial part of healing, not to mention a temporary escape from cares. Like any Daggerdale girl worth her keep, she'd learned something of the healer's art long before she'd accepted the calling to paladinhood. That knowledge added immensely to her success when calling on healing powers from her god. She sat beside the woman, visually examining her injuries, mentally preparing a list of things she would need to do to restore her to health.

  For the most part, the wounds on the
woman's flesh, while undoubtedly painful, were minor, the work of a skilled torturer intent on keeping the victim alive a long time. It was the damage to the woman's wings that worried Holly more. They dangled at odd angles. The ulna and radius of both wings had been broken, one snapped, the other crushed. The humerus of the right wing had been dislocated from the woman's back. Several of the primary and secondary feathers had been plucked away. The covert feathers on one wing were scorched and curled, probably by a hot iron poker.

  Holly could imagine how the torture had gone, but she pushed that thought aside. It wasn't until the woman began to thrash and cry out in her sleep that Holly decided waking her might be more merciful than letting her sleep. She reached out and shook the woman's shoulder gently but firmly, saying, "Wake up. It's all right. You're only dreaming."

  The woman's eyes opened, and she glared at Holly for several moments before she seemed to get her bearings. "Who in the nine hells are you?" she demanded.

  "Holly Harrowslough," the girl replied. "I'm a prisoner like yourself."

  "That's too bad," the woman muttered. She sat up; her face contorted in agonizing pain as the bones in her wings twisted about. "I'm Jas," she said between clenched teeth. "Short for Jasmine. Just call me Jas."

  "I can heal your wings," Holly said.

  Jas's eyes narrowed, reappraising the girl before her. "What are you, some priest acolyte?" she asked.

  "I'm a paladin of the Order of the Aster, Protectors of Lathander's church," Holly explained.

  "A paladin. No tour of Toril would be complete without one," the winged woman muttered sarcastically. Try curing that nasty bruise on your face," Jas said, pointing to the mark left by the Zhentilar's gauntlet. "I might be a little more than you can handle."

  "I'm not hurt as badly as you," Holly argued. "And I have healed wings before-the wings of birds, that is. I bow how crucial it is to arrange the bones correctly. A wing healed crooked doesn't fly."