Finder's Bane

by Kate Novak

  As the statue fed on the vapors, the corpses grew withered and desiccated, leaving their skin lying wrinkled about their bones. It was as if the Godson sucked out their flesh and blood.

  Joel wondered if he had just witnessed the end of the last congregation of Bane’s followers in Faerûn. Certainly there weren’t very many people who would convert to the worship of a dead god.

  Jedidiah had once told Joel, “You are Finder’s strength, and every follower you bring to him adds to that strength. Take care of yourself, and keep yourself strong for Finder’s sake.” The bard could imagine how horrified the old priest would be if those dead before him were the wasted faithful of the god Finder.

  Walinda did not look as if she thought the sacrifice a waste. She turned back to the high priest and asked coolly, “Are you satisfied with the payment?”

  “Well enough,” the high priest replied, one hand patting his stomach as if he himself had feasted on the repast of death. He waved a hand. “Escort our guest, Walinda of Bane, to the Temple in the Sky.”

  Two of the guards stepped forward and flanked the priestess. Walinda seemed to glide between the guards as they marched her from the room. She did not look back.

  “Next!” the high priest boomed.

  The Zhentilar priest to whom Bear had delivered Joel stepped in front of the dais and spoke. “My novice from Daggerdale with another offering, O Ruinlord.”

  Bear nodded to the Zhentilar guard, who unlatched Joel and Holly from the ring on the wall. As Bear strode forward, the guards gave his prisoners a rough shove and fell in behind them.

  Joel cast an eye at Holly as they were forced toward the dais. She appeared to be quite ill. Her breathing was shallow and her face gray. If the presence of evil had disturbed her before they had entered this place, she must now be suffering.

  Bear skirted the corpses of the Bane worshipers, kicking aside the bones of the one who had begged Walinda for mercy. When he stood before the dais, he dropped to one knee. “Darkness falls,” he intoned.

  “And darkness rises again,” the high priest responded impatiently. “Rise, Vermin Bear. What have you brought us?”

  Bear stood up. “A paladin of Lathander, Ruinlord,” he grunted, “and a priest of Finder.”

  The high priest laughed. “A priest of Finder? Moander’s usurper has priests now?” he asked, sounding most amused.

  The high priest’s taunt did not exactly offend Joel, but it did annoy him. Rashly the bard spoke up. “Finder does indeed have priests,” he announced. “Many of them. And they have many powerful friends in Daggerdale, who will soon discover that we have been kidnapped and send an army to our rescue. Then you’ll have a taste of—”

  Bear smacked his hand into Joel’s mouth, sending the bard reeling backward. “Finder will have one less priest soon,” the huge man growled. Joel shook his head slowly, trying to dispel the pain-induced fog that enveloped his head.

  The high priest eyed the prisoners and reached out with his right hand and stroked the side of the lumpy statue of his god. Joel felt an unpleasant gripping sensation about his heart. It did not stop until the high priest pulled his hand away from the statue.

  “Their souls are strong,” the high priest whispered softly. Then he looked back to Bear and the Zhentilar priest. “Yes. They will make an excellent addition to the formal offering of the winged one. You have earned Xvim’s favor. You may attend the sacrifice.”

  “I also bring word of Randal Morn’s activities,” Bear added. “The Rebel Lord is planning a string of attacks to drive the Zhentarim out of southern Daggerdale.”

  Joel noted with surprise how many words Bear could string together in one sentence. Too bad Randal Morn couldn’t hear him now.

  Fortunately, for the Rebel Lord at least, the high priest showed no interest in Bear’s report. He gave a dismissive wave of his hand, saying, “That news matters little to us.”

  Joel felt a certain satisfaction seeing Bear’s jaw drop. It took the big man several moments to form a reply. “But, Ruinlord,” he argued, “if Randal Morn takes the southern part of Daggerdale—”

  “If he tries,” the high priest interrupted, “it will be one more thing to trouble those Cyric-worshiping fools in Zhentil Keep. We followers of the Godson cannot concern ourselves with the plans of some petty dale lord.”

  Bear’s mouth moved silently as the man tried to summon the courage to contradict his superior. In the end, he abandoned the attempt and muttered, “Yes, Ruinlord.”

  The high priest dismissed Bear’s party with a wave of his hand. After making a hasty bow, Bear turned and strode from the room. The Zhentilar guards pushed Holly and Joel after him.

  After the oppressive audience chamber, the air in the hallway felt delightfully cool and rich. The sense of release overwhelmed Joel, and he couldn’t restrain himself. “Too bad, Bear!” he said. “You go to all that risk and put up with all those fools in Daggerdale just to bring back Morn’s secret plans, and your high priest boss is a bigger clod than you are. I hope you’re still around when Daggerdale takes this place so Morn can give you a taste of a dale dagger.”

  “Aye,” Holly agreed.

  Bear whirled about. Joel stood firm, mentally prepared, but the huge man did not strike him. Instead, an evil grin spread across the Xvimist’s face. “In the darkness of the new moon, you will be sacrificed in a formal offering to the Godson. The Ruinlord will bring you pain such as you have never known before.” Bear’s eyes shone and his breathing quickened as he continued. “In the end, the Ruinlord will feed to you your beating heart. I have been granted the honor of watching. The Ruinlord may even allow me to participate. I am hoping for it.”

  Joel blanched, partly in fear, but partly, too, in disgust with Bear’s delight. That Randal Morn’s plans were not to be betrayed to the Zhentarim was cold comfort in light of the fate the bard and the paladin were soon to face.

  Five

  THE PRIESTESS

  The guards and Bear marched Holly and Joel through the corridors of the tower and up staircases until they had reached the roof. The sun had set, and it took Joel a few minutes to adjust to the darkness outside. Bear called to two men who were busy grooming a pair of griffons as the Zhentilar unfastened the manacles about the prisoners’ hands and feet. It was then that Joel realized he and Holly were being taken to the Temple in the Sky.

  The griffon riders came forward. Beneath the red capes they wore, they were clothed in tunics made of poorly tanned hides, decorated with a circular pattern of nine human eyes. Joel remembered Holly saying that the floating temple was occupied by a beast cult. There was something far more sinister, though, about the pattern of eyes, but Joel couldn’t quite place it.

  “My master asks that you keep these prisoners in your temple until the new moon,” Bear said. “They are meant for offerings, so be sure to tie them to their saddles so they do not try to jump.”

  Wordlessly each rider took a prisoner and led them toward the griffons. Joel noted that although the Zhentilar guard followed behind to prevent them from making a break for it, the soldiers avoided getting anywhere near the griffons. A moment later Joel understood why, as one griffon turned its great eagle head, shrieked, then snapped at the bard’s face. The griffon’s rider tapped the creature on the beak with his riding crop, and the raptor head followed the crop until the griffon faced forward again. From a pouch at his belt, the rider pulled out a piece of raw meat, dripping blood, and rewarded the mount.

  The rider shoved Joel onto the creature’s back and lashed his feet to its harness. When the rider mounted behind Joel, the bard could feel the rumble in the griffon’s chest as it complained of the extra weight. Joel looked for Holly, but the griffon and rider carrying her were already in the air.

  A moment later Joel’s ears were full of the sound of his griffon’s beating wings, and he was airborne.

  The waning moon still cast enough light to reveal features of the land below, the fields and forest, the tower, the clouds, the
River Tesh glittering miles away. Joel studied the shape of the moon.

  If he and Holly were to be sacrificed at the new moon, that gave them at least three more days to escape. He tried to focus on what the rider did to control the griffon, thinking such knowledge might come in handy if he could arrange an escape. The rider didn’t seem to be giving the beast any instructions. Joel soon realized the griffon flew of its own volition, like a horse returning to its home stable, where it knew there would be food and water waiting.

  All too soon the temple blocked out his view of the moon and the stars. The griffon flew through a great hole in the bottom of the floating rock. A few moments later they set down into a vast cavern lit by torchlight. The hole by which they’d entered was set in the floor of the cavern.

  Joel could see two other griffons stabled in the cavern. They were being groomed by two other men, who also wore hide tunics marked with the pattern of eyes.

  The riders untied the prisoners from their mounts and led them up a very long, frighteningly steep set of stairs. At the top of the stairs, Joel’s guard shoved him to the left.

  Holly cried out, “No!”

  Joel spun about to see what was wrong. He just had time to see Holly being led off in the opposite direction when his guard smacked him across the face with his riding crop.

  Joel shouted, “It’s all right, Holly. I’ll find you.” The next moment the riding crop slammed into the bard’s ear, so if the paladin called back a reply, Joel didn’t hear it.

  The corridors above the stables were all lit with a bright magical light. Everything was carved out of the rock, which appeared to be the same oily stone as had been used to create the statue of Iyachtu Xvim in the tower below.

  At the bottom of a second staircase, his guard pushed him down a short dead-end corridor and slammed a gate closed behind him. Bedding in the cell consisted of some straw piled in the corner. The guard slipped two buckets through a hole in the gate’s bars. One was empty, the other filled with water.

  “Don’t spill the water,” the beast cultist ordered. “It’s all you’ll get until tomorrow night.” From the pouch at his belt, he pulled out a piece of raw, bloody meat and tossed it at the bard’s feet. Then he left the prisoner completely alone.

  Joel looked down at the piece of meat and felt his stomach churn. He hadn’t eaten for two days, but the raw flesh served as a reminder of the massacre of the Banites. Even if he could bring himself to sample it, the bard suspected he wouldn’t be able to keep it down. He toed the meat into a corner, then sipped at the water in the bucket until his stomach settled.

  He spent some time examining the gate that made up his cell door. He tried to give it a shake, but it didn’t even rattle. It slid in grooves in the floor and the ceiling, and its sides disappeared into the rock walls. Whatever mechanism held it in place was also buried in the walls. The grillwork was solid iron.

  Joel emptied out his pockets to take stock of his possessions. His captors had missed the hidden pocket in his belt, so he still had his map to the Lost Vale. They’d taken everything else but his clothing and boots. He could understand the Zhentilar taking his sword and dagger and, of course, the wand, but the fact that they’d taken his birdpipes really irritated him. He wondered whether Bear, no lover of music, had taken them and smashed them. It wasn’t likely the Xvimist would try to play them. Joel chuckled just at the thought of the big man’s paws trying to cover the holes over the reeds.

  Joel sat down on the straw and leaned against the wall. He’d only been conscious for a few hours, and between his hunger and his injuries, he felt exhausted. He thought of Holly, all alone in some cell, no doubt praying to Lathander.

  “I don’t imagine you’re available to get me out of this predicament, are you, Finder?” the bard whispered. He began humming, and soon he was singing softly. Between the winged woman and the ride on the griffon, his thoughts were stuck on flight. He sang a song of Finder’s about larks called “Birds Who Sing in Flight.” For the first time, it occurred to him that the song could be interpreted to include people, too. It was the last thing he remembered before he drifted off to sleep.

  When next Joel opened his eyes, Jedidiah stood leaning against the cell door, stuffing a short clay pipe with a fine black, sparkling powder. “Were you planning on sleeping the night away?” the old priest asked with a grin.

  Joel was ready to spring up, embrace the old man, and tell him how glad he was to see him, but some powerful force held him down in the straw. That’s when he realized he was dreaming. In his heart, he had wanted to see Jedidiah, so he summoned him in his sleep.

  The old priest was dressed just as he had been when Joel had last seen him in Berdusk. He wore black boots and trousers, a white shirt, a red velvet tunic, and a huge dagger. His glaur, a valved brass horn, hung from his belt. His white beard was neatly trimmed, and his white hair was drawn back into a short ponytail.

  “This place is abysmal,” Jedidiah declared. “Believe me, I know.” He kicked at the piece of raw meat on the floor. “The food is terrible, and the room doesn’t even have a view.”

  When Joel finally managed to speak, his voice sounded remote even to himself. “I’m sorry, Jedidiah,” he said, “but I’ve failed. I’m not going to be able to complete my pilgrimage to the Lost Vale. I’ve been captured by priests of Iyachtu Xvim, and they’re going to sacrifice me to their god. They’re going to sacrifice Holly, too. She’s a paladin of Lathander.”

  “There,” the old man said, pointing at a spot on the solid wall behind Joel. Joel wondered in confusion whether the priest didn’t hear him or he was ignoring him.

  Jedidiah lit his pipe and tossed it at the wall where he’d just pointed. There was a great flash of light and an explosive boom, and when the smoke cleared, a large, perfectly shaped window had appeared in the rock. On the other side, there were blue skies, white clouds, and bright sunshine.

  Jedidiah sprang across the room to the far wall and leapt up onto the windowsill. With hands on either side of the window, he leaned out over the void. “Much better,” he said. “It’s not such a dead end now.”

  Joel marveled as he always did at Jedidiah’s spryness and daring. The innumerable creases on his brow, about his eyes, and in the corners of his mouth marked the old priest as ancient, yet he was as strong and energetic as a boy.

  Jedidiah sat down on the windowsill and pulled out a second pipe from his tunic and tapped the bowl on the sill until a huge chunk of tobacco spilled out. In the tobacco was a white egg.

  “They’re going to kill me,” Joel reiterated.

  “Only if you let them,” Jedidiah said. He tapped on the egg. Something within tapped back.

  “I haven’t a chance of escaping,” Joel argued.

  Jedidiah laughed. It was the same laugh he used for overly self-important musicians. “You have to look for chances,” he said, tapping on the eggshell again.

  The shell cracked open, and a tiny golden warbler popped out of the shell. The bird grew at an impossible rate until it had reached full adult size. Then it peeped and flew up to Jedidiah’s hand.

  “I’m locked in a cell, in a floating rock filled with beast cultists, a half mile off the ground!” Joel complained.

  Jedidiah looked out the window. “A quarter mile,” he retorted. He whistled at the warbler, and the bird sang back seven notes.

  “So even if I break out of this cell, how do I get down off this rock?” Joel asked, beginning to feel quite irritated at Jedidiah’s casual air in the face of Joel’s impending doom.

  “You don’t get down off a rock; you get down off a goose,” the old priest teased.

  With an amazing sleight of hand that Joel had seen the priest use before, Jedidiah passed one hand over the golden bird and transformed it into a piece of golden jewelry, no larger than his palm, shaped like a pair of wings. When the priest passed his hand back over the talisman, it transformed back into the golden warbler. The bird sang one more time, then launched itself out the windo
w.

  As the bird flew off, Joel felt his heart lighten. Jedidiah laughed, and Joel felt his exhaustion draining away, replaced with a youthful energy. Of course he would escape, he thought. Of course he would rescue Holly. Of course he would reach the Lost Vale.

  “Of course,” Jedidiah said, “you’re never going to get anything done sleeping your life away.” The priest bent down and poked Joel on the forehead for emphasis. Joel felt a jolt pass through his body.

  Joel awoke with a start, sitting up immediately in the straw bedding. He blinked and looked around. Jedidiah wasn’t there, of course, and the cell looked just as it had before his dream.

  He sat and thought about the dream for a few minutes. It could just have been his heart playing tricks on his mind, offering escape in sleep when there was none in life. Yet the dream had seemed so real. For one thing, he recalled it vividly … the exploding pipe, the window, the newly hatched bird, the winged talisman. Of course, Jedidiah had been annoyingly vague, but he was that way in real life as well. The view from the window though hadn’t been quite right. The cell was far too deep inside the rock to command an outside view.

  There was something rather peculiar about the way the hallway dead-ended on nothing but a prison cell. Why not just excavate a cell? Why add a hallway? Unless …

  Jedidiah had said something about it not being such a dead end.

  Joel knelt in the straw and examined the wall where Jedidiah had created a window. The stone was oily and quite roughly hewn. A chunk broke off in his hand. Curious, Joel tossed the rock in the air. Although it came from the floating rock fortress, it did not float of its own accord. The cell was well lit by the same magical light that illuminated everything, but it was still hard to examine the blackness of the wall. The rough surface cast shadows over each crack and niche. Joel ran a piece of straw horizontally across the stone. It stuck in a shadowed crevice. Joel ran the straw up vertically. There was definitely a crack there. Just at the edge of his reach, the crack took a sharp ninety-degree turn.