by Kate Novak
Walinda, Joel, and the marilith spun about. One small lobsterlike yugoloth and six giant cricket companions stood on the roof between them and the trapdoor leading into the tower. More yugoloths of varying sizes quickly joined them.
The marilith drew out six ornate swords and engaged in battle with the front line of yugoloths, her tail lashing at those her arms couldn’t reach. The hezrou, armed with spears, took up the fight on their mistress’s flanks.
Jas landed on the roof, carrying Holly. The paladin’s armor was scorched, and there was a coating of ash on her skin and hair. Despite the column of flame that had struck her, she was not only conscious but able to stand, much to Joel’s relief.
“Are you all right?” the bard asked.
“Just fine,” Holly growled through clenched teeth. She drew her sword and proceeded to engage the yugoloths in combat.
Then the bard remembered that Holly, too, had a ring of fire resistance.
Jas drew her weapon and took up a stance next to Holly.
The marilith struck at a yugoloth, and the giant cricket creature disappeared. At almost the same instant, Holly hit one of the giant cricket fiends, and it, too, vanished. Both had been illusions. The marilith and the hezrou struck two more yugoloths, but these yugoloths were real and did not disappear.
“They’ve mirror-imaged themselves,” Walinda noted with annoyance. “They can continue to do so over and over again.”
“And in the meantime, more can teleport up here,” Joel pointed out. “But remember, you didn’t mind a fight, as long as it was between your pawns and Xvim’s pawns,” he accused the priestess.
Walinda smiled coldly. “This is a minor problem, Poppin,” she said. “Carpet, up twelve feet,” she said.
Joel rolled from the carpet before the priestess was able to drag him away from his friends a second time.
Walinda hovered over the combat and called out,” Yugoloths, hear me!” The priestess’s voice was deep and booming. “I will offer one hundred gold pieces to each warrior who serves me for the next hour.”
All the yugoloths looked up at the priestess. The yugoloths in the front line stepped away from Holly, Jas, and the marilith.
One of the shorter yugoloths stepped forward and looked up at Walinda. The creature must have addressed the priestess telepathically, for Walinda nodded and said, “Done.”
With a gesture from the priestess, a brass chest appeared at the small yugoloth’s feet. The yugoloth opened the chest. It was filled to the brim with gold coins.
“You will allow us to enter the tower, then you will guard the door behind us and keep any others from following us for one hour,” Walinda said.
The yugoloth drew back from the trapdoor.
“Go,” Walinda ordered Joel, Jas, and Holly.
The paladin and the winged woman hurried to the trapdoor and rushed down the stairs, but Joel sat down on the magic carpet. He was unwilling to leave it behind.
“The stairway is wide enough to fly down,” he told the priestess.
“Is your leg still aching, Poppin?” the priestess asked in mock sympathy.
“Of course it’s still aching. You’re a lousy healer,” Joel retorted.
Walinda smiled tightly and knelt down beside the bard. Then she gave orders for the carpet to rise a foot and glide forward.
Stentka Taran and the hezrou followed behind them. Joel pulled out the finder’s stone to light the way as Walinda maneuvered the carpet expertly down the stairs.
As they soared down the vast staircase, the magic that gave Joel the form of a priest of Xvim faded, having reached the limit of the spell’s power. Walinda made no comment when the bard changed appearance. She seemed to be lost in thought, occasionally glancing back at Stentka Taran.
The bard sat very still, trying to compose himself. He was still furious with Walinda for abandoning Holly, but he knew he couldn’t allow that emotion to color his dealings with Beshaba. Finder had told him to bring the goddess to the spire, and Joel was determined not to disappoint his god.
The throne room was just as Joel had left it. Walinda landed the carpet on the dais beside Beshaba’s unconscious figure. The priestess bowed her head before her goddess and held her hands before her. She appeared to be praying silently. Joel rose to his feet and backed away.
“Is that you Marin?” Ratagar called from his cage. “You’ve shed your scales, but I recognized the red hair. I knew you weren’t a tiefling. I can’t believe you came back. Are you nuts, kid?” he asked Joel.
The bard didn’t reply. He was looking around anxiously for his friends.
He spied Holly standing at the base of the dais. The paladin was cradling her head in her hands. Either she was shocked by the death and destruction all around or overwhelmed by the tremendous sense of evil that pervaded the throne room. Probably both, Joel thought.
“You certainly have an eclectic group of friends, Marin the Red,” the imp noted. “Paladins, mariliths, evil priestesses, pretty girls with wings …”
Jas landed just behind the bard.
“Where’s Emilo?” Joel whispered.
“He’s beside Holly,” Jas said.
Then Joel spotted the kender, who was standing on the third step of the dais. Emilo reached out and stroked the paladin’s hair in a comforting gesture. Even more odd than the kender’s gift of being overlooked was the way Jas could always spot him. The bard shook his head, unable to understand it.
“You really have no idea of the evil you’re perpetrating,” Ratagar said to Joel.
Stentka Taran slithered up beside the paladin. Before Joel realized what was happening, the marilith wrapped two of her arms about Holly’s waist, and with two more hands grabbed the paladin’s wrists. With her third set of hands, the snake-woman manacled Holly’s arms together. The marilith tossed the chain attached to the manacles to one of her hezrou lieutenants.
“No!” Joel shouted, leaping toward the stairs, but the marilith lunged forward and, with a single deft action, tossed him down the stairs. He landed on his uninjured leg, twisting his knee.
“Walinda!” Jas shrieked as she took to the air. “Stop that snake creature, you bitch!”
Walinda looked up from her prayer, slightly annoyed.
“I’m sorry, Poppin,” she said, “but I was forced to pay the yugoloths on the roof with all the gold that was meant for Stentka Taran. She has agreed instead to take the paladin in payment.”
“Ooooo! Betrayal,” Ratagar squealed with glee. “What fun!”
Unable to stand, his knee burning with pain, Joel was forced to plead from the floor. “Walinda, think what you’re doing.” He struggled for some argument, no matter how useless, knowing only that he had to stall for time. Still unnoticed by all the evil beings, Emilo was even now picking the locks on the manacles that bound Holly’s wrists.
“Lathander offered his paladin to help your goddess,” Joel said fervently. “If you let this creature take Holly, you will be offending the Morninglord, and he is far more powerful than Beshaba.”
“For all his goodness, Lathander has no interest in helping Beshaba,” Walinda countered. “He only wants to know what she knows so that he might help Tymora. I care not whether he is offended.”
Emilo finally finished picking the locks on the manacles. Holly jerked the restraints from her wrist and let them fall to the floor with a clatter. She leaped backward and drew her sword, leveling it at the belly of the hezrou.
“Hey,” the imp cried out in surprise. “How’d she do that?”
Jas landed beside Holly, her sword also drawn. “You won’t take her without bloodshed,” the winged woman snarled at the marilith.
Stentka Taran looked toward Walinda.
The priestess sighed. “You will have to charge me interest on what I owe you,” she said to the marilith. “We will settle accounts in a few days time.”
The marilith nodded. She slithered away, back up the stairs. The hezrou hopped behind her.
Walinda glared a
t Holly. “You have cost me dearly,” she said accusingly.
Holly laughed, completely astounded by the evil priestess’s selfishness.
“That was an interesting trick. How did you do it?” she said, repeating the imp’s question.
“Walinda, don’t you think we should be getting on with reviving your goddess?” Joel asked, trying to keep the priestess from guessing at the presence of the unnoticed kender.
Walinda nodded. “Yes, of course,” she agreed.
The priestess approached her goddess slowly and reverently. With an atypical tenderness, she reached out for one of the giant-sized hands, clasping it in both of her own. In a soft voice, she began to chant words Joel did not understand, but Walinda spoke them with joy in her face. She was smiling, and there were tears in her eyes.
Slowly the dark aura about Walinda faded away from her body as an even darker nimbus grew about Beshaba. Walinda began to look pale and haggard. She was giving more back to her goddess than the power her goddess had given her. Or perhaps her goddess was simply taking more.
“Nooo!” Ratagar shrieked. “You’ve got to stop her, Marin! This is a bad thing. Trust me.”
Joel could not even stand up at the moment, let alone stop Walinda from restoring her goddess to power. Walinda’s shiny black hair began to turn gray, then colorless. Lines etched themselves in her face, and her back grew stooped. Joel watched in horror as the goddess began to stir at the expense of her priestess’s vitality.
Holly and Jas crept to the bard’s side. Holly began a soft prayer to heal the bard’s injured knee. Joel sighed with relief at the warm feeling that spread through him as Lathander’s gift of healing passed through his paladin’s hands. Jas and Holly helped the bard to stand.
Suddenly the goddess sat bolt upright, blinking in the light of the finder’s stone. The whites of her eyes were shot with red, giving her a look of madness. The dark aura that surrounded her being seemed to spread throughout the whole room. The light from the finder’s stone dimmed to the brightness of a single candle. Looking upon her, Joel felt an unknown fear grip at his heart.
Beshaba pulled her hand away from her priestess, and Walinda collapsed to her knees at her goddess’s feet beside the imp’s cage.
Seizing the moment, Ratagar lashed out with his tail, burying its tip in Walinda’s back. “That’s for the death of my Noxxe!” the imp screamed. “Your priestess for my priest, Beshaba!”
Walinda’s body began to twitch with a violent seizure, poisoned by the imp’s stinging tail. She looked up at her goddess, her mouth opening and closing, but no words came forth.
Beshaba slid her right hand through the bars of the cage, and with a single squeeze, crushed the life out of Ratagar Perivalious. She squeezed again until Ratagar was no more than a pulpy mass of red flesh and green ichor, then dropped his body on the floor of the cage.
The goddess turned her attention to Walinda. Without any trace of emotion, she watched as her priestess’s body ceased twitching and lay still.
Holly ran toward the dais, clearly intent on trying to aid the very same woman who moments ago nearly made her slave to a fiend of the Abyss.
“Leave her be, paladin,” Beshaba commanded. Her voice was soft and sweet, like a young girl’s, but it echoed throughout the whole chamber. “She is among the honored dead now. I do not want her body defiled with Lathander’s stench.”
Holly pulled back, insulted and aghast, but she had the sense to choose her words carefully. “Is there nothing you can do for her, lady?” she asked the goddess.
“She has no need of aid. She had done her duty here. Her spirit is already returned to the Blood Tor, where it will serve as my petitioner.”
Holly lowered her eyes to the ground so that her shock would not be so obvious. She was appalled that Beshaba did not value Walinda’s life, but only the service the priestess rendered her goddess.
“So. The servants of Lathander, Finder, and my hateful sister Tymora have all come to my aid. How amusing,” Beshaba said.
Joel bowed low, with a flourish of his hand, making sure his greeting was every bit as graceful as the one he’d first given Tymora. Beshaba was renowned for the jealousy she bore her sister. “Greetings, fair Beshaba,” the bard said as he rose. “My lord, Finder, bids me to escort you to the spire, should you agree.”
“The spire … aye,” Beshaba replied. “There I might find sanctuary from this sickness. Then I can better plan how to avenge myself on the upstart Xvim.”
“Forgive my impertinence, Lady Beshaba,” Joel begged, “but how is it you are so certain Iyachtu Xvim is behind your sickness?”
“I read Xvim’s name in the minds of the hydroloths who attacked me in my realm. He sent the creatures to goad me into using my power, and then I discovered I could not control the power. This is his doing, I am sure. No doubt Lathander can discover exactly what Xvim is up to. Come, we will leave this place finally. Bring your flying carpet. You may need it.”
Beshaba rose with a goddess’s grace and flowed down the stairs of the dais like a ghost. She drifted over the bodies of the dead Xvimlar she’d slain days earlier.
Joel, Holly, Jas, and Emilo hurried up the dais, slipping past the corpses of Walinda and Ratagar, and sat down on the carpet.
“Airheart,” Joel whispered, giving the carpet a pat. “Carpet, rise and go forward slowly.”
The carpet glided along behind the Maid of Misfortune.
Beshaba stopped at the door to the tower. Joel halted the carpet beside her.
“Leave the bastion,” Beshaba ordered, “and await me in the canyon where my proxy gathered her army. I will join you once I have taken care of some unfinished business.”
Beshaba knocked softly three times on the door. The bar holding the door fell away, the door’s hinges snapped, and the door collapsed outward. The ground began to tremble. Beshaba stepped out of the tower, and Joel ordered the carpet to follow on her heels. He was eager to be out in the open before the quake grew stronger.
Yugoloth corpses, felled by the marilith’s deadly cloud, littered the stairs to the tower door. In the courtyard, yugoloths and tanar’ri continued to fight, even though the battle no longer served any purpose beyond the fiends’ desire to shed blood.
Joel ordered the carpet to rise far above the combat and soar toward the only exit from the fortress. Joel slowed as they approached the gate. The gatehouse was choked with bar-lgura keeping the passage open for their fellow tanar’ri.
Fortunately the apelike creatures seemed to recognize the adventurers as allies. They did not attack, but neither did they clear the way for the carpet to exit through the gate.
Holly addressed the tanar’ri. She had to shout to be heard over the clashing and screaming of the battle. “The battle is over,” the paladin announced. “Walinda is dead. Her goddess follows us. You have no reason to stay.”
The bar-lgura looked at the paladin uncertainly. Holly raised her hands to her forehead, agonized by the barrage of telepathic queries the tanar’ri were sending.
“It is true,” Holly insisted. “I do not lie. Tell your fellows to retreat while they still can.”
The bar-lgura began backing out of the fortress. Joel ordered the carpet through the gatehouse.
Once free of the confines of the fortress, the bar-lgura began vanishing in beams of shimmering air, presumably teleporting back to their homes in the Abyss. Joel gave a last look up at the gatehouse, but he saw no sign of petitioner Perr. He wondered if the former priest of Xvim had any clue that he had been deceived. The bard ordered the carpet to rise twenty feet and sent it back toward the canyon as Beshaba had ordered.
Holly looked back at the fortress, shaking her head.
“What’s wrong?” Emilo asked.
“The bar-lgura will flee,” the paladin explained, “but they said the bulezau have gone into a battle frenzy and will never leave.”
“Their loss,” Jas said.
“Evil’s gain,” Holly argued. “No good is serv
ed by their deaths.”
“Even dead, Walinda manages to ruin the lives of others,” Jas commented. “And she never actually had to pay for any of it.”
“She paid with her life,” Holly said, aghast.
“That’s not payment enough,” Jas growled. “Now she’s a petitioner, still serving an evil power.”
“But that is all she will ever be now,” Holly said, “until she merges with Beshaba. It is only as living beings that we can choose the course our spirits will take. Now Walinda can never be redeemed by the light. She will never know joy or love or mercy.”
“Walinda could have lived a thousand years, and she would never have changed,” Jas declared. “She was evil incarnate.”
They had just reached the ridge overlooking the Bastion of Hate when they heard another rumble.
“Beshaba’s bad luck seeping out?” Holly asked.
“Pouring out is more like it,” Joel replied. “She must be casting some very powerful magic.”
Floating above the ground, the four carpet riders didn’t feel the vibrations of the earthquake, but they still weren’t safe from its violence. Geysers of ash and molten lava began to shoot up around them, and rocks from the slope above rained down on them. Joel ordered the carpet to back away from the mount a hundred feet.
Hovering near the darkness of the void, the adventurers could hardly even feel the heat, but they had an excellent view of the havoc wrought on the Gehennan mount.
The realm of Iyachtu Xvim trembled like jelly, yet neither the walls, nor the temple, nor the tower collapsed. Xvim had built them well. Finally Mount Chamada itself gave way. The great, wide ledge beneath the Bastion of Hate broke from the side of the mount and began to slide down the slope. It moved slowly at first, but soon picked up a terrifying speed, carrying with it Xvim’s fortress.
The noise was deafening, a continuing roar that battered their ears and left an ache in their foreheads. Then the air grew foul with dust, ash, smoke, and foul vapors. The four adventurers lay on the carpet with their arms over their heads and their faces, choking and gasping.
