Tymora's Luck

by Kate Novak

  “I feel old all of a sudden,” Emilo noted with some surprise.

  “The higher you go, the less air there is,” Jas explained.

  “Of course, here in the Abyss, it could just be there’s less air as you approach dangerous powers,” Joel suggested.

  The ridge and the ledge ended abruptly at a deep gorge and continued on the opposite side. A towering stream of water poured down a cliffside nearly half a mile away. It was the longest waterfall Joel had ever seen, and he could hear the roar of the water in the distance. It was the color of the water, however, that made the sight so eerie. It was blood-red.

  The water, Joel thought, must be why the mountain is called the Blood Tor. It looks like blood pouring from a wounded land. He wondered briefly why the water was red, then decided he didn’t want to know.

  The water surged down the gorge below them toward the sea, where the goddess Umberlee made her realm. There was a rope bridge over the gorge, but it wasn’t sheltered by the ridge. Consequently the bridge had been battered by the wind with such violence that it was a knotted tangle of ropes and reeds that appeared completely uncrossable.

  “You want to try unravelling the bridge, or should I just fly us across?” Jas asked Joel.

  Joel watched the bridge flap about as the wind came ripping up the gully. “Do you think you can fly in that wind?” he asked.

  Jas shrugged. “I trust my wings more than I trust that contraption.”

  “I knew a caravan guard who used to say all the luck in the world won’t make up for willful stupidity. I’m thinking we should test the reverse of that rule. Perhaps some willful reasoning will make up for all the bad luck in this realm. We’re not going to leave anything to chance.”

  Since Emilo was the smallest, and together Joel and Jas could bear his weight easily, they rigged up a harness for the kender to use while he tried to unravel the bridge. They attached the harness to two lines of rope. Joel held one line and Jas took the other. Should the bridge collapse, Joel would keep the kender from falling into the gorge and Jas would risk flying upward to keep him from slamming into the sides of the ravine.

  Emilo started down the rope bridge, untangling it as he went with his dexterous hands. The moment the kender had gotten all of the reed walkway to lie flat, he dashed across the rest of the bridge like a startled rabbit. The whistling wind made communication impossible, so they weren’t sure what had alarmed Emilo. The kender turned, and to demonstrate the bridge’s unreliability, he gave a sharp tug on one of the old worn ropes.

  The ropes snapped in the center of the bridge, and the bridge flopped sideways. Emilo removed both lines from his harness and attached them around a boulder. Joel held both lines on the opposite bank. With a lead rope attached to the lines, Jas flew across with the first knapsack. The winds buffeted her, but the lead rope held and kept her from losing control of her direction. She checked the lines Emilo had affixed before flying back for the second backpack.

  Before Jas carried him across, Joel hammered a piton into the rocky ridge, slipped one line through the piton, and joined the lines into one. Jas had more trouble with the bard’s weight. She lost altitude rapidly shortly after taking off. Joel’s stomach lurched. Then the wind forced the winged woman back upward. When they reached the other side, she ducked behind the ridge and collapsed onto the ledge.

  Joel untied the knot joining the two lines Emilo had affixed about the boulder. He tugged the rope through the piton. Somehow he’d forgotten to check the ends of the line before he began pulling. A knot near the end of the line caught in the piton. He tried yanking at the piton to no avail. Then he cut the rope and let it fall back into the gorge, where it hung forlornly from the piton until a gust of wind caught it and sent it flapping about until it was tangled with the useless rope bridge.

  When they reached the mountain slope where the ridge ended, the finder’s stone’s light pointed to the right of the ridge, which meant walking once again into the wind. Wearily they started out again.

  They’d only been traveling a short while on the new face when there was a tremor in the ground and a great thunderous rumble all around them. Small rocks tumbled down the slopes, pelting the adventurers until they took shelter downslope of a great boulder. All the while, Joel prayed that the boulder wouldn’t suddenly start rolling. The tremor subsided. Then suddenly the wind died and they were encased in a thick gray fog.

  “Are earthquakes followed by fog regular occurrences in the Abyss?” Jas asked Joel. “Or do you think it had something to do with you-know-who and her sister?”

  Joel shrugged. It was possible that Tymora had released another burst of power, and Beshaba, unable to absorb it quickly, had to disperse it into her realm. It made sense, but it was mere speculation.

  Fearful of the terrain’s uncertainties, the adventurers decided to make camp right where they were. The ground sloped at least thirty degrees where they halted, but Joel doubted they’d find a gentler incline if they continued. They fixed a rope between two boulders and stretched a tarp overhead. Huddled in their makeshift tent, they feasted on the contents of Winnie’s backpacks.

  There were packages of fresh berries that had been magically enchanted. Just a few berries left them feeling reasonably nourished. To dispel the chill brought on by the fog-laden air, Joel heated one of the metal flasks with a spell to boil the water within.

  With his back against the boulder, Joel kept watch while Jas and Emilo slept. By the light of the finder’s stone, the bard perused the magical scrolls Winnie had placed in the backpacks. Some time later Emilo woke and took over the watch. From one of Winnie’s packs, Joel pulled out a magically glowing lantern and gave it to Emilo. Then the bard rolled the finder’s stone into a spare tunic and used the tunic for a pillow.

  The kender stared into the fog, imagining all sorts of creatures in the swirling mists. He began whistling softly to keep awake and to fight off the cheerlessness of this place. Whenever he fell prey to bad dreams, this was the sort of place in which the dreams were set. He whistled a second tune, and just as he began whistling a third melody he spotted a flame burning somewhere off in the mists downhill from their camp.

  It’s a campfire, Emilo thought, and not too far off. He wondered whether something evil had settled nearby. He knew he should wake the others, but he suspected Joel would be overly cautious and insist they avoid going anywhere near the light. His curiosity roused, Emilo couldn’t stand that thought. The flame seemed to draw the kender like a moth. He had to see it up close.

  Leaving the magically glowing lantern behind, Emilo slipped out from under the tarp and padded silently downhill toward the flame. As he got closer, he slowed his steps and proceeded more cautiously. The kender ducked behind a boulder no more than twenty feet from the fire and peered around the edge. The flame flickered a foot off the ground with nothing to fuel it, as if it were an illusion or some other sort of magical fire.

  Emilo could see no one around the fire. The kender wondered if whoever had created the fire was invisible. He watched carefully for shadows across the flame or an outline in the fog and listened for the noise of breathing, but there was no sign of anyone.

  Unable to contain his curiosity, Emilo stepped out from behind the boulder and walked right up to the fire. He put a hand out. Heat emanated from the flame.

  Welcome, Emilo Haversack, a voice whispered inside his head.

  Emilo whirled around in surprise, but there was no one behind him.

  Turn and look at me, the voice in his head ordered.

  Emilo spun around and looked back at the flame. “Are you talking to me, fire?” he asked with amazement.

  I am forming thoughts inside your head, the voice explained. The fire is only a manifestation of my being that I created to draw you away from your companions so I could speak with you in private.

  “Who are you?” Emilo asked.

  Can you not guess? the voice asked. You find yourself in a perilous adventure fraught with gods. Does it surprise y
ou that one of your own gods takes an interest in your safety?

  Emilo’s jaw dropped. He shook himself. “You’re a god, too?” the kender whispered. “Which one are—wait, I know. Are you Sirrion? The Flowing Flame?”

  The fire flared high over the halfling’s head. Emilo thought he saw a red rose blossoming in the tongues of flame.

  I cannot manifest in this dark place for long, kender. You must listen carefully and do as I say.

  “Yes, sir,” Emilo said with a nod.

  You must take the finder’s stone from the bard-priest and dispose of it where it will never be found.

  “Why?” the kender asked with astonishment.

  The stone is cursed. It will lead your friends to their doom, but your companions will not believe you if you try to warn them. They will use the stone anyway, unless you take it from them. Toss it down the mountain so it will never be found. You will find a safer entrance to Beshaba’s realm down this hill. When the fog clears, look for the bats returning to the cave.

  “But Finder made the stone into a power key. Without it, Joel can’t cast spells in the Abyss,” Emilo objected.

  Joel will need no more spells. Have faith. The path I have prepared for you is clear. Take the finder’s stone and throw it away. It is the only way to save your friends.

  The fire flared higher, then suddenly vanished. Emilo was left alone in the fog.

  The kender turned in the direction of the tarp. Through the fog, he could spy the lantern he’d left in the entrance. He made his way back to the camp and slipped beneath the tarp. Ever so carefully he slid his hand into the rolled-up shirt beneath Joel’s head until fingers felt the finder’s stone. Slowly he eased it out from beneath the bard’s head. Joel stirred slightly as his head sank deeper into the rolled-up shirt, but he did not awaken.

  Emilo slipped out of the tent again with an uncomfortable feeling that something wasn’t quite right. Once outside, he held up the yellow crystal and examined it. The stone was a thing of beauty. Cut and polished to perfection, it reflected back dozens of Emilos.

  It’s a shame that it’s cursed, Emilo thought. He pulled back his arm to pitch the stone downhill, but he couldn’t bring himself to release it. Even though he’d taken it for a good reason, it was still Joel’s property. It didn’t feel right to cast it away.

  Surely, the kender thought, it will be enough to hide it from Joel so he can’t use it. Once we find Sirrion’s entrance to Beshaba’s realm, we’ll be safe. Then I can give it back to Joel.

  The kender tucked the stone into his knapsack, feeling a little less uneasy about the compromise he’d made.

  Offstage

  Somewhere in the Prime Material Plane on the world known as Toril in Realmspace, Amberlee Wyvernspur watched from an upper window as her two younger brothers joined the flock of cousins in the courtyard. They were up to some mischief, led, no doubt, by Aunt Julia’s twin sons, Tavan and Toran Sudacar. Uncle Giogi’s son, Cory, and Amberlee’s brothers, Lumen and Ferrin, followed them like moths to the flame.

  As the oldest and most mature at nine years old, Amberlee generally made an effort to ignore her cousins’ antics, but today the youngest cousins, Uncle Giogi’s daughter, Olivia, and Aunt Julia’s daughter, Heather, and even Amberlee’s littlest brother, Pars, were part of the flock. Tavan and Toran were not responsible enough to keep the little ones safe. All the adults but Uncle Steele and their great-grandaunt, Aunt Dorath, had gone to a wedding at one of the nearby farms. Amberlee realized it would be up to her to find out what the older children were up to and discourage them from including Heather, Olivia, and Pars.

  As the Wyvernspur and Sudacar brood disappeared into the stables, Amberlee raced down the stairs of the castle out into the courtyard and hurried after her younger kinfolk. Just outside the stable, Cory sat upon his own pony. Olivia, Heather, and Pars were waiting in Olivia’s pony cart. Inside the stable, Tavan, Toran, Ferrin, and Lumen were saddling up their own ponies. After hitching up the coaches for the adults to attend the wedding, all the stablehands had taken the rest of the day off.

  “And just where do all of you think you’re going?” Amberlee asked Cory. He had the most sense of all the boys, and she could usually get him to come clean.

  “Don’t tell her, Cory,” his sister Olivia whispered. “She’ll only go running to Aunt Dorath.”

  “No, she won’t,” Cory said, giving Amberlee his most charming smile. “She’ll come with us. I’ve already saddled her pony.”

  “That’s very presumptuous of you, Cory Wyvernspur,” Amberlee retorted with a sniff.

  “We all have to go,” Cory said.

  “Go where?” Amberlee demanded.

  “To the family crypt to meet the guardian.”

  Amberlee gasped. The guardian was the spirit of a fierce wyvern who guarded the family’s underground burial chamber. The girl’s alarm was replaced a moment later by reason. “You can’t do that,” she said. “The crypt is locked.”

  From the back of the cart, Heather held up a silver key on a chain.

  “Where did you get that?” Amberlee whispered anxiously.

  “I took it from Uncle Steele’s sock drawer when he was sleeping,” Heather said with a giggle.

  Uncle Steele referred to his nieces and nephew as a pestilence of brats and barred them from his quarters completely. Whenever he had too much to drink, however, he showed a partiality to Heather, whom he mistook for his little sister Julia, although Julia was now a matron. At such times Heather was able to coax coins and candy from her uncle and was allowed to rummage through his old toys, which he still hoarded in chests beneath his bed.

  “When Uncle Steele finds out, you’re going to be in a lot of trouble,” Amberlee said.

  “We’ll return it before he notices,” Cory said.

  “Only if you’re very lucky,” Amberlee replied.

  “That’s the beauty of it,” Cory said. “We are very lucky. I heard Mother Lleddew tell Father last night that Tymora’s power is leaking. Anyone who calls upon her gets scads of luck. This morning we each tossed a toy in the well as an offering to Lady Luck. We should have more good fortune than we need.”

  “That’s how I managed to get into Uncle Steele’s room without Aunt Dorath noticing and without Uncle Steele waking up,” Heather explained.

  “Cory, the crypt opens onto the catacombs, and the catacombs are filled with evil monsters,” Amberlee said. “You can’t go down there, especially not with the little children.”

  “We are not little children,” Olivia snapped.

  “I want to go,” Pars shouted and began blubbering like the four-year-old that he was.

  “We aren’t going into the catacombs,” Cory insisted, “just the crypt. We have to talk to the guardian and find out who’s her favorite of the cousins so we know which one can use the wyvern’s spur.”

  A horrible suspicion seized Amberlee. “Cory Wyvernspur, you didn’t steal the wyvern’s spur from your father, did you?”

  With an unashamed grin, Cory held up the mummified piece of wyvern’s foot that enabled the guardian’s favorites to turn into a wyvern at will. “I took it out of his pocket.”

  “You can’t do this,” Amberlee insisted, stomping her foot on the ground. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “We’ll be too lucky to get hurt,” Tavan said as he led his pony from the stable. Toran, Lumen, and Ferrin followed with Amberlee’s and their own ponies in tow.

  “Lumen and Ferrin and Pars, as your older sister, I forbid you to go,” Amberlee said imperiously.

  Lumen and Ferrin laughed and mounted their ponies.

  “I want to go,” Pars screeched.

  “I’m going to tell Aunt Dorath,” Amberlee declared.

  Tavan grabbed Amberlee’s arm. Although a year younger, Tavan was taller and far stronger than Amberlee. “You don’t want to do that, Lady Amber,” Tavan said with menace.

  “And why not, Tavan Sudacar?” Amberlee asked.

  “Because while you�
��re telling Aunt Dorath, we’ll go off without you. Aunt Dorath won’t be able to catch us, and she’ll spend the whole day fretting. Probably die of worry. And then we’ll all be in the crypt for her funeral. And it will be your fault.”

  “Tavan, that wasn’t very nice,” Cory reprimanded.

  “But probably true,” Tavan’s twin, Toran, said darkly.

  “Aunt Dorath will send Uncle Steele after you.”

  “He’s probably drunk half a flask of brandy by this time of the day. He’ll be sleeping till supper,” Tavan said.

  “Please, Amberlee,” Cory asked again. “We could use your help and advice.”

  Amberlee glared at her charming cousin, knowing full well his flattery could lead her to her doom. She looked back at Redstone Castle uncertainly. Tavan was right about Uncle Steele. Aunt Dorath was probably snoozing over her knitting as well. There was no one she could rely on. It was up to her. “All right, I’ll go,” Amberlee announced, “but only to keep you all out of trouble.”

  Act Two

  Scene 5

  Joel awoke with a start, feeling alarmed. He’d been having a nightmare. He lay very still, trying to piece together the dream. He’d been traveling with a group of children riding ponies, and they’d ridden into a graveyard. The children dismounted and took him into a large family tomb. It was dark and chill in the tomb, and Joel wanted to leave, but he was afraid to say so because then he would be left behind and the children would be alone. Ordinarily crypts held no fear for Joel. He could, after all, turn the undead and lay them to rest, but in this dream, he sensed he couldn’t do that.

  More disturbing than the feeling of dread was the sense that he knew the children in the dream. While traveling to Finder’s temple in the Lost Vale, Joel had passed through Immersea in Cormyr and been welcomed into the home of Giogi Wyvernspur, a descendant of Finder’s brother, Gerrin. Two of the children in the dream had been Giogi’s son and daughter.

  Joel wondered if the dream had any meaning. Perhaps he’d dreamed of children in crypts because he and Jas and Emilo were like children to the gods venturing in this deadly realm. He may only have dreamed of Giogi Wyvernspur’s children because they’d been the last human children he’d seen in the Realms. On the other hand, there was the troubling possibility that he had dreamed of them because Tymora’s troubles had directly affected them in some way.