Song of the Saurials

by Kate Novak

  Olive looked back at Xaran, expecting the beholder to shoot a death ray at them at any moment, but the old beholder had sunk into the pillows and disappeared like a wounded creature going to ground. She looked back at Finder. The old bard was grinning arrogantly at the chaos all around him as he slipped the horn back in his belt.

  The sagging portion of the ceiling crashed just in front of them. With alarm, Olive noticed the ceiling directly over their heads was beginning to sag. The room grew darker as the light stone failed to penetrate the falling rock and dirt and rising dust.

  “Which way is out?” Olive screamed.

  Finder spun around, then pointed toward a passage leading off the side of the cavern. “That way,” he cried, grabbing the halfling by the waist and carrying her away moments before the ceiling over Xaran’s pile of pillows collapsed.

  As they ran down the passageway, Xaran’s voice cried, “Freeze!”

  “Keep going!” Finder ordered, pushing Olive deeper into the dark tunnel. The bard whirled around to face the dark spherical shadow that hovered in the tunnel just behind them. Finder’s dagger still protruded from the beholder’s central eye socket.

  “You cannot refuse the gift of the Darkbringer,” the beholder cried. He spat the green, sticky burr at the bard and laughed maniacally.

  Finder fell backward, brushing frantically at his tunic. He caught the burr in one hand, but he couldn’t pull the sticky thing away from his clothing.

  Suddenly the burr opened with the crack of a small explosion. A cloud of moldy dust wafted into the bard’s face, and he choked and sneezed and spat, trying to keep from inhaling whatever it was.

  “Finder!” Olive shouted as she turned and lunged forward to help. She grabbed the bard’s belt to pull him away from the beholder.

  “Your turn,” Xaran sang out gleefully, floating toward Olive. “All must serve the Darkbringer!”

  Olive snatched the horn from Finder’s belt, intent on throwing it at the beholder, but some instinct prompted her to raise it to her lips instead. She shouted the command words she’d heard Finder use, “Siege strike,” and blew into the mouthpiece with all her might.

  No sound issued forth from the instrument. Xaran’s lips puckered to spit a second seed at Olive. Frantic with terror, Olive blew again into the horn, and a feeble blat sounded in the beholder’s face. The noise was nothing compared to the blast Finder had blown, but combined with the magic of the horn, it was more than enough to blow Xaran backward like a soap bubble caught in the wind.

  “I did it! I did it!” Olive shouted. In her excitement, she was oblivious to the sagging ceiling over her head.

  Finder scrambled to his feet, grabbed up the halfling, and dashed down the tunnel a split second before the ceiling gave way. Farther down the passage, he set Olive down and took his horn back from her. “You could have brought the roof down on yourself and been killed,” the bard chided.

  “That would’ve been better than being made immortal the Darkbringer way,” Olive retorted. “At least I’ve sealed the tunnel between us and Xaran. Are you all right? What happened when that thing exploded?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” Finder said with a shrug. “Either my clothes protected me, or it was a dud. Maybe it was meant to be swallowed for it to work.”

  “You’re sure you’re feeling all right?” Olive asked.

  “Better than you, I’ll bet. How’s your shoulder?”

  “Lousy. Um, Finder?” Olive said, looking down the corridor with her brow knit in concern.

  “Yes, Olive?”

  “This tunnel is a dead end.”

  “It can’t be,” Finder said spinning around. He walked down the passageway until he could inspect the end with his hands as well as his eyes. He glared at the rock wall before them. There was no way out of the passage. They were sealed in a cul-de-sac.

  “This is impossible. I’m sure I heard the wind whistling in this passageway. It has to lead to the outside,” the bard growled angrily. He stood very still for a moment. “Listen,” he told Olive. “Don’t you hear it?”

  Olive stood still and listened. Sure enough, there was a whistling noise in the cul-de-sac, and a stream of cold air, too. The halfling held her light stone up high. The passageway ceiling was some twenty feet overhead. The cave must once have been full of water, for breaking through the ceiling was an old well shaft. Even with the light stone, it was impossible to judge how much higher up the well went.

  “It would be a good way out,” Olive said. “If we were birds.”

  Alias awoke in the dawn twilight before sunrise. She hadn’t slept well. She had had nightmares about the time Moander had captured her, and all through the dreams, she’d had the feeling that Nameless was in danger, too, though she couldn’t say what in the dream made her think so. The sooner she found Grypht and made him tell her what he’d done with Nameless, the better she would feel.

  The swordswoman threw off Dragonbait’s blanket and cloak and stomped off into the forest. When she returned, she went to her own blanket and cloak at the edge of the clearing and began rolling them into her saddlebags. Dragonbait had left her enchanted chain mail on her saddle, and she slipped into it with righteous indignation. She pulled on a clean tunic and clean socks and her pants and boots. Then she went over to the fire and poured herself a cup of tea from the kettle Dragonbait must have prepared earlier.

  Dragonbait signed something to her, but Alias turned away to stand by the fire with her back to him. Breck rose and joined her a few minutes later. His face was scraggly with a day’s growth of beard, but he was fully dressed and armed. He gave the swordswoman an odd look as he poured himself some tea. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “Just fine,” Alias said. “Why didn’t you wake me to take second watch?” she asked.

  “Dragonbait offered to take it,” Breck said with a shrug. Hastily he added, “I thought we’d break camp at sunrise and start searching in a circular pattern from the place where we lost Grypht’s trail. We may as well keep Zhara with us.”

  Alias nodded. She didn’t want to lose any time finding Grypht now. She’d resigned herself to the idea of remaining in Zhara’s and Dragonbait’s company until she could discover Nameless’s whereabouts.

  “In the meantime, I want to take another look at those treants,” the ranger said. He gulped down his tea. “I’ll be back by sunrise,” he promised, and he trudged out of camp.

  Alias sipped her tea slowly. When she finished, she strapped on her sword. Then she nudged the sleeping Zhara with the toe of her boot.

  The priestess awoke with a tiny gasp. She sat up, immediately alert. “What’s wrong?” she said.

  Alias snorted. “I want to talk to you,” she said.

  Akabar shook Grypht awake. The beast growled at him.

  “It’s dawn,” the Turmishman said. “We should be going before this place collapses.”

  Grypht didn’t understand a word the mage had said, but the tone was clear. Akabar was impatient to be on the road. The saurial wizard looked around them. He’d forgotten they were in the extradimensional space he had created. They’d have to leave soon before it collapsed and they fell to the ground. Grypht already hurt all over his body, and he was anxious to avoid acquiring any extra bruises.

  Akabar lowered the rope out of the space and climbed down to the ground. Grypht tossed down his staff and climbed down after it. He made a soft bellowing sound as he climbed.

  Akabar pointed to the ground. “Look there. We’ve been followed,” he said, indicating two sets of bootprints and another set of three-toed prints. “You know, these almost look like Dragonbait’s prints,” the Turmishman said.

  Grypht sniffed the air. His head perked up and his eyes grew bright with surprise. Akabar could smell the lemony scent of the saurial.

  “Shall we follow?” Akabar asked.

  Grypht was already tracking Champion with his nose.

  Zhara stood face-to-face with Alias. From beside the fire, Dragonbait watc
hed both women nervously. If Alias wouldn’t pay attention to his signing, Zhara was his only hope of reconciling with the swordswoman. Now he prayed the priestess could calm Alias’s anger enough for her to give him a chance to apologize.

  “Assuming you’re right and Moander is returning—which I still refuse to believe—I want to know why Akabar must be the one to destroy Moander,” Alias demanded. “Why couldn’t the gods have picked some powerful wizard—like Elminster or Khelben of Waterdeep or King Azoun’s flunky, Vangerdahast.”

  “I do not know,” Zhara answered calmly. “I presume because Akabar has fought Moander once already.”

  “I think it’s because Akabar is the one you’ve got wrapped around your finger,” Alias retorted. “If you could have wormed your way into a more powerful mage’s heart, you’d have chosen him to fight Moander. If you really loved Akabar, you’d keep him as far away as possible from Moander. Don’t you know what Moander did to Akabar before? How it used him?”

  “I know,” Zhara whispered. “But if Akabar does not destroy Moander, then Moander will destroy him.”

  “What do you mean?” Alias snapped.

  “Moander wants revenge on Akabar. Tymora warned me that the Darkbringer’s minions are searching everywhere for my husband. Our family decided that Akabar should flee to the north. My co-wives sent me with him so he couldn’t be scried upon. I possess the same misdirection shield as you do,” Zhara explained.

  “Then you’re safe. There’s no need to go looking for Moander,” Alias argued.

  “We cannot stay in hiding all our lives,” Zhara retorted. In a softer voice, she added, “I know that you have good reason to be afraid of Moander, but you cannot run from your fears.”

  “Can’t I? You just watch me,” Alias said. “As soon as we find Grypht, and I get the finder’s stone, I’m leaving. I was stupid enough to get drawn in by Moander’s siren call once, but I’m not going to let it capture me again. I’m going to go find Nameless and stay with him as far away from Moander as I can get.”

  “Akabar needs your help. Don’t you care about him anymore?”

  “Why should I?” Alias growled. “He obviously doesn’t care about me.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. He cares about you very much,” Zhara persisted.

  “If Akabar cared about me, he wouldn’t have married you, would he?” Alias snapped.

  “He asked you to come to Turmish with him, and you turned him down. What did you expect him to do, follow you around the Realms? Please don’t abandon him when he needs your help just because you’re jealous of me.”

  Alias stepped up to Zhara and waved her forefinger in the priestess’s face. “For your information, this has absolutely nothing to do with being jealous of you. You’re just a copy of me—one of Phalse’s second-rate copies. Akabar told me he was my friend, that he thought of me as a human, and then he turned around and married you, as if my body was a thing he could have for the right price.” Alias’s voice cracked with anger and pain.

  “I am not a thing,” Zhara snapped. “I am nothing like you. I am a person, too—”

  “Did you know,” Alias interrupted, “that when we found you in the Citadel of Exile and Akabar saw how upset I was, he offered to destroy you for me?”

  “Yes,” Zhara replied quietly, nodding her head. “He told me all about it.”

  “And you married him anyway? Are you crazy?” Alias cried. “Of course you are,” she said bitterly. “After all, Phalse made you.”

  “Of all our sisters that I have met, you are the only one to treat me this way. The others were pleased to have a family.”

  “Sisters! You mean the other eleven monsters are walking around?”

  Zhara gritted her teeth to hold back her anger. She took a deep breath and spoke in measured, even tones. “I have met three others. One is a sage in Candlekeep, one a mage in Immersea, one a warrior like yourself from the eastern lands. I know of two others. One was a thief who was murdered this past spring. The other is a lady of some power in Waterdeep.”

  “Did Akabar marry any of these others, too?” Alias asked. “I’m surprised a shrewd merchant like him didn’t think of it when we discovered you in the Citadel of Exile. He could have picked you up cheaper by the dozen and sold you off for a profit.”

  Zhara’s face went livid with rage. “You witch! How dare you!” she cried and backhanded Alias solidly across the face.

  The swordswoman stumbled back several feet. Then she leaped forward onto Zhara. “Let’s finish what we started yesterday, shall we?” she growled as they both fell to the ground.

  Zhara fought back with fury, but she had no weapons or armor to protect her now. She stubbed her toes kicking at the swordswoman and bruised her knuckles on Alias’s skull.

  Alias punched at Zhara’s stomach, and Zhara curled up, whimpering like a dog. “Had enough?” Alias snarled, sitting up over the priestess.

  Zhara slammed her elbow into Alias’s kidney. Alias raised her fist over the priestess’s head, but something overhead grabbed her wrist and lifted her off the ground by her arm. She twisted her neck around to see what was holding her.

  A beast over ten feet tall, covered in scales and armor plates of bone, dangled the swordswoman in front of his face, studying her with some interest. In his other hand, he held out a lump of clay fashioned into a miniature four-story tower.

  Alias looked around for Dragonbait. The saurial paladin stood at the edge of the forest, looking down at the ground. Akabar stood beside him with an astonished look on his face.

  “Are you through beating my wife?” Akabar asked the swordswoman angrily.

  “She started it,” Alias growled. “You must be Grypht,” she said to the creature holding her. “Put me down.”

  Akabar stepped into the clearing and helped Zhara to her feet.

  “How could you do such a thing?” the Turmish mage asked his wife. “Have you forgotten the promise you made after you broke Kasim’s arm? You swore you would not hit another woman,” he said angrily.

  Zhara spat in Alias’s direction. “That witch makes Kasim seem like an angel. Alias is no different from her mother, Cassana. I do not care one bit if I hurt her.”

  Akabar looked up at Alias. “What is going on here?” he asked, motioning for Grypht to set the swordswoman down.

  Grypht lowered Alias until her feet touched the ground. The saurial wizard did not, however, release her wrist. The scent of fresh-mown hay rose from his body, and the tower in his hand glowed red hot, then shattered. Startled, Alias tried to pull away from the beast, but it wouldn’t release her.

  Alias and Zhara both glared at each other but did not speak.

  “How could you hit my wife, your own sister?” Akabar asked Alias.

  Alias glared at the mage. “She seemed like a good substitute in your absence, Turmite,” Alias replied.

  “I beg your pardon?” Akabar said coolly, offended by the vulgar term.

  “You heard me,” Alias shouted. “You married this fiend spawn. Why didn’t you just accept Cassana when she offered herself to you? Was Zhara better because she was younger, or because you could have her behind my back?”

  The blood rushed from Akabar’s face, shocked as he was by Alias’s words.

  In saurial, Grypht asked Dragonbait. “Who is Cassana?”

  “A dead sorceress,” the paladin answered in saurial. “Please, Grypht, try to convince them to turn their energies to the dangers we face.”

  Grypht nodded. “Alias,” the beast began.

  Alias turned suddenly and stared at the huge saurial in astonishment. “You can talk!” she exclaimed.

  Grypht snorted with amusement. “Since I was two years old,” he said.

  “I mean, you can talk in common, not just in saurial,” Alias explained.

  “I know what you meant,” Grypht said. “I cast a tongues spell. It will not last for long, so I need your undivided attention, child. You must let go of your anger for now. We face a great danger, and yo
u must behave now like an adult and set your differences with these people aside, for they are your allies.”

  “I don’t need any allies,” Alias snapped. “All I need to know is what you did with Nameless. Where is he?” she demanded. “And Olive, too?”

  “The bard and the halfling must have fled to escape Kyre after she imprisoned me in a soul trap. I do not know where they went. We have more important things to concern ourselves with at the moment.”

  “Kyre imprisoned you in a soul trap?” Alias asked incredulously. “Why didn’t she tell anyone?”

  “Because she was a minion of Moander, preparing the way for the Darkbringer’s return to your world,” Grypht said.

  “You’re all crazy!” Alias declared. “Moander is dead. Dead!”

  “You merely destroyed the body of Moander in this world, but Moander’s power and spirit live on in the Abyss, and the Darkbringer’s slaves in this world are building it a new body, a new abomination for it to possess. The Darkbringer will return once the body is finished.”

  “Moander hasn’t got any followers left in the Realms to build him a body,” Alias protested.

  “That,” Grypht explained, “is why Moander enslaved my tribe and brought them to the Realms—”

  Grypht gurgled suddenly, released Alias, and clutched at his throat. There was an arrow lodged in his neck. The great creature teetered once, then fell over backward and landed on the forest floor with a crash.

  13

  The Soul Song

  Dragonbait rushed to Grypht’s side as Alias whirled around. Breck stood at the edge of the clearing, a second arrow already notched in his bow. He must have rediscovered Akabar and Grypht’s trail and tracked them right back to the camp, the swordswoman realized.

  Dragonbait knelt beside the saurial wizard, cursing himself for having forgotten the ranger’s bloodlust.