by Novak, Kate
“It’s one small bit of luck,” Holly replied. “Before the Time of Troubles, when the Zhents were all united under Bane, their power was nearly unassailable. Since Bane’s death, the people of the dales have been given some breathing space.” Holly paused, then nodded toward a single rider climbing the hill toward them. “There’s the scout our captors sent out,” she said.
The rider dismounted before the priest of Xvim. Joel and Holly couldn’t hear what he reported, but they heard the laughter of their captors. One of the Zhentilar, a tall woman with a shaved head, mounted her horse and rode over to where Joel and Holly sat. With a practiced smoothness, the soldier leaned over with a pole and snatched up the center of the chain linking the prisoners. Yanking on the chain, the woman barked a sharp command for them to get up and start moving.
Joel fought back his urge to resist. The Xvimists had shown no compunction about injuring their captives, and he wanted to arrive at the tower conscious and alert. Feeling as stiff as a board, he accepted Holly’s help getting to his feet, but once standing, he found he could move without pain. Together bard and paladin walked alongside the soldier’s horse as she followed her unit down into the vale. They crossed a stream, and Holly and Joel, unmounted, were expected to endure the chill water seeping into their boots. The party followed the stream for some distance before coming to a trail that led up to the tower.
As they climbed the hill, Joel could pick out people on the roof of the tower throwing rocks down on the Banite ship. It was only when the hulking ship’s battering ram broke off and its hull rocked perilously close to tipping over that Joel realized the rocks were boulders, and the people on the roof throwing the missiles were giants.
Whoever controlled the Banite ship apparently chose retreat over obliteration. The vessel turned about in place, then floated westward, still appearing majestic despite its damage.
Their captors laughed at the ship and continued up the trail toward the tower, which squatted on the hilltop like a massive spider. A hundred yards beyond the tower lay the edge of the greatBorderForest , which, according to Holly, the Zhentarim plundered for the lumber and burned down for the land.
The fortress itself Joel estimated to be three hundred feet square and a hundred feet high. Its black granite block walls were broken only by a series of arrow slits The mortar seaming the granite blocks was the color of dried blood and gleamed in the light of the setting sun like burning coals.
It was theTemple in the Sky, however, that impressed Joel more. A great chain fastened it to the roof of the tower, as if it might float off like a dandelion seed were it not moored, yet its mass was even greater than the tower. The impression Joel had earlier that it resembled a great hornet’s nest was strengthened when a flying creature issued from a hole at the base of the rock and darted downward like a busy insect. The creature had the hindquarters of a lion and the wings, head, and claws of a massive eagle. Joel watched it with fascination. Although he’d never seen one before, he realized it was a griffon, a dangerous carnivore which, according to lore, could be trained as a mount if raised from a hatchling. The griffon settled on the roof of the tower, and a red-cloaked rider dismounted from its back.
As they approached the tower, Joel found that craning his neck to watch the floating temple became uncomfortable. Moreover, now he had to watch his footing. The ground about the tower was strewn with corpses of Banites and the missiles the giants had thrown at the Banite ship, which consisted of boulders and the fetid contents of the tower’s midden.
Scavengers would feast well tonight on the garbage, though they’d have to share with the flies, which were already buzzing about it.
A second patrol of Zhentilar approached and surrounded their party as they steered toward the tower’s doors.
Holly was muttering under her breath. Joel glanced in her direction. Her brow was furrowed and her eyes were mere slits.
“Are you all right?” the bard asked softly.
The paladin didn’t reply immediately, but held up a hand to bid Joel to wait. A moment later she opened her eyes a little wider and answered, “There is so much maliciousness here it’s giving me a headache. None of it is focused in one placefortunately, I suppose. I was just finishing a prayer to Lathander for his strength.”
Joel grunted softly. He hadn’t thought of his own god since he awoke. He couldn’t imagine how his prayers could be of any use in his current predicament.
The double doors of the tower were some twenty feet high, enough to accommodate the giants, constructed of hardwood reinforced with steel bands. The symbol of Zhentil Keep had once emblazoned the door, but the black and orange paint had long since peeled and flaked away. Nevertheless, Joel could still discern the shadow of a gauntlet and gem on the weathered wood.
The doors opened silently, and their captors rode into the courtyard, dragging their prisoners along. In the darkness that swallowed them, Joel could barely make out his surroundings. They were in an enclosed courtyard that ended before a second large doorway. Once through the second doorway, they found themselves in a dark, wide hallway. The Zhentilar dismounted beside a door that, from the smell of hay and manure, Joel guessed must lead to a stable. The priest of Xvim ordered four Zhentilar from the tower to take charge of the prisoners and follow him to the Godson’s audience chamber.
As Joel and Holly were dragged down the dark hallway, Bear fell in step behind them. The priest led them up a staircase, down another hall, and through another set of doors.
Within was a great hall, running nearly the entire length of the fortress, its ceiling concealed in darkness above. The air was cloying with incense, burning torch smoke, and the smell of unwashed human bodies. Something else hung in the air, less substantial, but no less formidable. Joel finally recognized it. It was fear.
At the far end of the room was an amorphous statue of the god Iyachtu Xvim, ten feet high and carved out of oily black rock. There were no real features to the sculpture, just the suggestion of a man’s form, but the eyes were set with two huge emeralds, which caught the torchlight and reflected it back with an evil glint. A high priest of Xvim sat on a low dais just to the left of his god’s image. He wore elaborate black robes trimmed in green. Long, oily black hair oozed out from beneath the metal skullcap on his head. He hunched forward on his throne like a vulture, giving him the appearance of a more elderly man.
Clumped in a circle before the dais, guarded by warriors in black and green armor, were the pilgrims of Banethose who had survived the attempt to storm the tower. Joel estimated there were about seventy of them. Between the pilgrims and the dais stood another figure, a small, slender woman in black armor, with a black cape and a plait of ebon hair that hung to her waist. Although Joel could not see her face, he knew she was the same priestess of Bane he’d seen on the deck of the ship.
The Zhentilar guarding Joel and Holly hooked their chains to a ring against one wall and stood flanking them with disciplined precision. Bear stood before the prisoners, his once grim features now gloating unpleasantly. The Zhentilar priest, whose squad had captured them strode up to the dais and whispered to another priest who served as a scribe to the events unfolding.
The high priest of Xvim was addressing the Banite priestess. As he talked, the high priest rubbed his hands, as if trying to remove some stain from his flesh. The priestess stood as still as a statue, no movement betraying her feelings.
The penalty for trespass is severe, Walinda of Bane,” the high priest declared in a deep, resonating voice.
The woman’s voice was high-pitched but as chill as ice as she replied, “It is only trespass if permission is not given, and I am asking for that permission. TheTemple in the Sky was once a temple to my dark lord, Bane. I believe that it still contains knowledge concerning an artifact that will serve him.”
“Bane is dead,” the high priest declared and spat on the dais.
True, Bane was defeated by Torm the Foolish during the Time of Troubles, but can a god be truly dead,�
�� the priestess Walinda answered, “when he lives on in the hearts of his worshipers?”
The high priest snorted. “If all that remains of his worshipers are a rabble of peasants led by a woman, Bane had best not bother to get up again,” he taunted.
Several of the warriors in the room laughed. Walinda’s back stiffened slightly, but she showed no other sign of irritation. She held out an arm as a signal to one of the Banites behind her. “We have brought an offering as a sign of our good faith,” she said, her voice still completely emotionless.
One of Bane’s acolytes stepped forward, pulling a cloaked figure with him. With a rough shove, he pushed the figure forward, yanking away the cloak.
A woman in torn black leather armor sprawled on the floor before the dais. Her black hair gleamed like a raven’s feathers, and her dark brown eyes flashed with fury, but it was the growths on her back that caught everyone’s attention. Sprouting from behind her shoulders were great birdlike wings of dusty rose-colored feathers. The wings hung limp and unnaturally skewed. The winged woman tried to rise, but her strength failed her, and she collapsed back onto the stone floor. Her broken wings shuddered, shedding feathers. Then her whole body was still.
“More than a trifle, you must agree,” Walinda of Bane said coolly. “She was a crew member aboard the ship that now serves as my shrine to Bane.”
The high priest ran his tongue along his lower lip. “This one would make a suitable formal offering to the Godson,” he said. He signaled with a jerk of his chin, and two of the black-and-green-clad warriors came forward and flanked the winged woman. They dragged her prostrate form out through the door.
“For such an offering, we will forgive you for your trespass,” the high priest declared. “To gain access to theTemple in the Sky, howeverthat you must bargain for separately.”
The priestess of Bane showed no sign of surprise that she’d been cheated out of her first offering, but she now bargained more carefully. “Name your price for access to theTemple in the Sky,” she demanded.
The high priest chuckled, his deep voice reverberating from the stone walls all about them. “Your followers,” he said with a malicious smile. “Offer them up to the Godson, and we will allow you to visit the temple. Of course, you and your followers can leave now if the price is too high.” His tone suggested he thought he had the better of the priestess. Walinda’s reaching theTemple in the Sky might serve Bane, yet the destruction of these faithful few would seriously weaken the god’s cause.
Walinda turned to face her followers, the acolytes in their handmade robes and the peasants in their rags. Many had been injured in the storming of the tower; all were hungry and tired from their travels. They stared back at her expectantly, but none uttered a sound. The blood-red tattoos on the priestess’s pale cheeks glistened, and the ruby on her smooth brow flashed a bit of reflected light across Joel’s eyes. The bard gasped softly, knowing somehow exactly what her decision would be.
Walinda looked directly at Joel, just as she had when he’d been cowering in the grass on the Tethyamar Trail. The ghost of a smile played across her lips.
“Agreed,” she announced. “Give yourselves to the swords of the Godson, my children, and perish for the greater good of Bane.”
Her last few words were lost in the confusion of the pilgrims, who cried out with astonishment and terror. The high priest of Xvim signaled with both hands, and the guards surrounding the pilgrims pulled their blades.
The acolytes knelt to pray to their dark god, and the Xvimist warriors’ swords slit their throats effortlessly. The peasants were less accommodating and tried to bolt for freedom. They trampled over each other in the attempt, but there was no way to escape the blades of their executioners. They were being cut down like cattle.
Holly shouted, “No!” and yanked on the chain attached to the wall, trying to escape to stop the bloodshed.
The Zhentilar standing beside her smacked her in the head with a gauntleted fist and ordered her to be silent.
The paladin sagged against Joel, turning her face away from the massacre. Joel fixed his eyes on Walinda as her people’s blood sprayed about the room. The priestess had stepped back to avoid the press of soldiers, but now she stood still, with her hands folded before her. She appeared completely untroubled by the carnage before her. On the contrary, Joel thought he detected a gleam in her eye and a brightness in her face, as if she had just won some noble victory.
One of the peasants broke free from the encircling death and threw himself at Walinda’s feet begging, “Mercy, dread sister! Please have mercy!”
Walinda looked down at him as if he were a dog that needed to be put out of its misery. She made no movement or sound as a warrior of Xvim sliced off the peasant’s head, splashing the priestess with her follower’s blood, Her expression never changed.
A grayish haze, like smoke, rose from the dead and mingled with the scent of incense, the stench of blood, and the piteous moaning of the dying. The Xvimist warriors walked among the fallen, dispatching any who were merely wounded, until the gray haze rose from every individual offered up to Iyachtu Xvim.
The haze thickened into streams of smoke, which joined other streams until there were two rivers of darkness that moved toward the statue of Iyachtu Xvim, drawn there by some evil power. When the rivers of darkness struck the statue’s emerald eyes, they were drawn inside the statue.
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 Faerun, 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 theTemple 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 he 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.
