Finder's Bane

by Novak, Kate

  “Follow,” the dwarf croaked.

  Jedidiah picked up his light stone, stood up, and helped Joel to his feet. “Joel, I need to concentrate on protecting our minds so Ilsensine can’t tell what we’re thinking,” the older man whispered in his ear. “You must do the talking. Tell it whatever it takes to get us out of here.”

  Together god and priest followed the zombie dwarf through a twisting maze of tunnels until they came to a vast cavern. Over fifty zombie grell and five zombie humans stood guard over a myriad of tunnel entrances that led into the cavern. A strange scent, like vinegar, assaulted Joel’s nostrils.

  In the center of the cavern was a bed of what appeared to be burning coals, except that the coals glowed not red but green. Acidic vapors rose from the coals, apparently the source of the vinegary smell. Joel was wondering if they were going to be thrown into the fire when the coals began to bubble and rise like bread. In another moment, the coals took on the appearance of a huge brain, the color of polished jade, ten times larger than the brains of the grell. Sections of the brain pulsed and throbbed. Innumerable tentacles hung down from the brain and reached, like roots, into the stone below. Two shorter tentacles waved before the creature’s brain body.

  The voice that had shouted in Joel’s head began to reassert itself, like the droning of a self-absorbed lecturer. He felt an incredible sense of pressure on his brain, as if it were a walnut someone were trying to crack. His skin crawled with a primal instinct. He stood in the presence of a power so great and so evil he didn’t need Holly’s paladin’s sense to detect it.

  Then the voice in the bard’s head spoke directly to him, and Joel knew then that the green monstrosity before him was the god of the illithids, Ilsensine.

  What have you to say for yourselves, thieves?

  Joel bowed low before the floating brain. “Your pardon, great one,” he said, ‘Taut we are not thieves.” His voice in the great cavern sounded very small.

  You were caught with the stolen property of our people. You are thieves.

  “The spelljammer, yes,” Joel said. “My associates took it from the thieves, and together we brought it to your realm, Lord Ilsensine. In reparation for the damages done to the vessel, please accept the spelljammer helm attached to the vessel. It belonged to the thieves.”

  The pressure on Joel’s brain increased. He raised his hands to his throbbing temples in a futile effort to massage away the pain.

  Your mind cannot remain closed to us forever, the voice declared. We will know if you are lying.

  “It is as you say, great lord, but perhaps we can come to some agreement that you will find more satisfying than draining the dregs of our minds,” Joel replied.

  We must know who you are, the voice insisted.

  “I am Joel, and this is Jedidiah. We are priests of Finder,” Joel replied.

  We have never heard of this Finder.

  “Thank you very much,” Jedidiah muttered softly, so that only Joel heard him.

  “Finder has dominion over the cycle of life and the transformation of arts,” Joel explained, trying to deepen his voice to fill the room. “He is worshiped by artists and bards seeking to renew their work.”

  Now we recall. The slayer of Moander. A demi-power worshiped only in Abeir-Toril. There are so many gods worshiped in that world it’s hard to keep track of them all. We wouldn’t be surprised to find they have a god there with dominion over the tableware and ale mugs.

  Jedidiah chuckled with amusement. The laughter sounded so genuine that Joel would have been hard pressed to say whether his god was truly amused or just humoring Ilsensine. Joel chuckled as well.

  If you are not thieves, why did two of your party flee? the voice asked.

  “They were priests of Bane, Lord Ilsensine,” Joel explained. “They stole the ship from the original thieves. We tricked them into flying over your territory.”

  There was a momentary silence. Then the god of the illithids said in their heads, Even if you did not steal our people’s ship, there is still the question of trespass. No one enters our realm without paying tribute to us.

  “We brought you your ship,” Joel pointed out.

  You cannot offer what you do not own as tribute.

  “What can we offer you, Lord Ilsensine?” Joel asked.

  Knowledge is the only power, Ilsensine said. Unless there is some knowledge you possess that we do not, your lives are forfeit.

  Joel choked back his anger at the god’s injustice and struggled with his fear that he had nothing to offer. He bowed his head modestly. “My only expertise is music, O great lord.”

  Then we will have a song. Something we have never heard before. Come forward so that we might take one from your mind. Be warned, however, that we will not stop until we find one we have not heard before.

  Joel swallowed. There had to be something in his repertoire that the god hadn’t heard … he hoped. He stepped forward.

  “No!” Jedidiah declared, yanking the Rebel Bard back to his side. The incognito god stepped forward. “With respect, Lord Ilsensine,” he said, “surely what you seek is not merely new knowledge, but exclusive knowledge. This one”—he nodded at Joel—”is my pupil. There is no song he knows that I do not. I, on the other hand, have many songs in my mind, some as yet unwritten. Take one of those. Then it will be yours and yours alone.”

  That would be satisfactory, Ilsensine replied. Come forward.

  Jedidiah handed Joel his light stone, then stepped toward Ilsensine. The illithid god raised one of its short tentacles and stroked the older man’s forehead. Jedidiah flinched, but whether from fear or pain, Joel could not tell.

  Then in an instant the tentacle pulled backward and lashed forward, burying itself inside Jedidiah’s head like an arrow. Jedidiah gasped.

  Joel shouted and tried to leap to his god’s defense, but three zombie grell lashed their tentacles around his arms and legs and held him fast. The young bard struggled furiously, horrified that Jedidiah might be harmed. He shouted for Ilsensine to leave the priest be, to take something from his own mind instead. The illithid god made no reply, but the grell tentacles tightened painfully about his limbs. With a sense of futility and despair, Joel went limp.

  After a minute, Ilsensine withdrew the tentacle from Jedidiah’s head. To Joel’s relief, there seemed to be no wound. On the tip of the tentacle was a smear of pink, like raspberry jam. Ilsensine pulled it back toward its brain and smeared it into a fissure between two throbbing convolutions.

  Joel felt a sigh in his mind… Ilsensine’s sigh.

  Mmmm. That is good. Very good.

  Jedidiah collapsed to the floor in a heap.

  “What have you done?” Joel cried out, struggling again in the grail’s tentacles.

  There is no need for alarm. He is not seriously injured. He will recover. We are most pleased. You have earned your freedom. My servants will escort you to the borders of our realm. Where will you be heading?

  “The Palace of Judgment,” Joel said, his eyes straining for some sign of movement from Jedidiah.

  You will like it there. It is very beautiful. At least, that is what I have tasted in the minds of humans who have visited there.

  A zombie grell scooped up Jedidiah’s fallen form and floated from the hall. The grell holding Joel released him. The Rebel Bard followed after his god. Two grell followed him.

  The grell carrying Jedidiah led the party through a glowing portal. On the other side was a straight passageway that climbed back to the daylit surface of the Outlands. After the cool, dark corridors, the bright sky, with or without a sun, was a pleasure to see, and the air felt gloriously warm. Even better was the quiet that settled in Joel’s head.

  The grell set down Jedidiah and disappeared back into the dark tunnel in the earth.

  Joel rushed to Jedidiah’s side and shook him by the shoulders, calling out his name. The god remained unconscious, and he was very pale, but at least his breathing was steady. Joel rolled his cape up to pillow the older
man’s head.

  Joel surveyed the land. He stood on a low bluff looking out over a great level plain. From the center of the plain rose a great city, laid out in perfect order, surrounded by a high wall. Everything was built of the same uniform red brick. The roofs all sparkled with glazed yellow tile. The streets were all paved with gray stone. Joel could see at least three large gardens, each growing around a blue lake. Even from this distance, the young priest was inclined to agree with Ilsensine— or, rather, with the victims whose minds the god had drained. The Palace of Judgment was indeed beautiful.

  Yet the palace was only a stepping stone to Sigil. He and Jedidiah would have to reach the City of Doors quickly. If they didn’t find the Hand of Bane before Walinda did, they would have nothing to barter for the stolen half of the finder’s stone. Finder would remain a very weak god for a long time, and Bane the Tyrant would return to the Realms.

  Joel shuddered. He knelt down beside Jedidiah, shook him gently, and called out his name—his real name this time.

  The older priest woke with a start. He smiled up at Joel. ” ‘Lo,” he said.

  “Hello yourself,” Joel replied with a grin, relief flooding over him.

  “Been sleeping long, have I?” Jedidiah asked. He sounded like an invalid recovering from a long illness.

  “Not too long,” Joel answered. He helped his god sit up.

  Jedidiah’s head twitched involuntarily. It was a movement Joel had never seen before.

  “Are you all right?” Joel asked Jedidiah.

  “I’m not sure,” the older bard said. “They have a saying in the Outlands: ‘One would be wise to question the wits of anyone who makes it back alive from Ilsensine’s court.’”

  “You should have let Ilsensine take a song from me,” Joel chided. “I must have known something it had never heard.”

  Jedidiah shook his head. “It was too great a risk.”

  Joel chuckled. “And Grypht warned me what a reckless fellow you are.”

  Jedidiah smiled. “Well, I am. I’m the kind of fellow who climbs to the top of a high wall and dances a jig. But I never intend to fall from the wall and break my neck. You might have known a song that Ilsensine had never heard—one of your own that you haven’t performed yet. But then instead of leaving you completely brain-burned, Ilsensine would have only left you addled. No. I stood a better chance of resisting its probe.”

  “Why didn’t Ilsensine just keep us and drain us?”

  “Have you ever eaten crab?” Jedidiah asked.

  Joel looked completely confused by the question.

  “Some people enjoy cracking the crab and getting the meat piece by laborious piece. Ilsensine prefers to have the crab shell itself and hand its meat over. Just one of its sick games. Not one you want to play, believe me.”

  “Do you know what song it took? Did it take only one?”

  “I can’t remember,” Jedidiah said, his face drawn. “I can feel there’s a void, but I don’t know what was there.”

  Joel nodded. “I’m sorry. I know how you feel about your songs. They’re like your children. You want them to live and flourish. Now one of them is gone forever.”

  Jedidiah looked out across the plain toward the Palace of Judgment. A look of grief swept across his face. “It wouldn’t be the first time,” he said. He stood up awkwardly. “Let’s go,” he said.

  Fourteen

  The Palace Of Judgment

  After so much time in the wilderness, the crush of humanity approaching the Palace of Judgment was jarring. A steady stream of travelers moved along the paved road toward the palace gates. They all seemed to be traveling on foot. Some were empty-handed, while others carried small sacks of food and belongings. They were all pale, like ghosts. Almost all had dark hair and unusual eyes. There was no traffic headed in the opposite direction. “They look like the Tuigan Horde,” Joel joked. “Not so loud,” Jedidiah admonished him. “These are the dead of Kara-Tur. The Tuigans invaded their lands as well. Comparisons between the two peoples would be considered a grave insult. The Kara-Tur consider the Tuigans barbarians. Of course, the Kara-Tur consider all outsiders to be barbarians, from the king of Cormyr to the sage of Shadowdale.”

  They stepped into the stream of traffic and approached the gate amongst the orderly dead. Standing to one side of the gate, outside the walls, stood one of the living. Walinda of Bane was examining each traveler who approached the gates. The two living priests stood out among the crowd, and the priestess recognized them only a moment after they spotted her. She hurried toward them.

  “My master said you would arrive soon,” the priestess said as she took a place beside them on the road.

  On one hand, Joel was relieved to see that the priestess hadn’t gotten to Sigil before them. On the other hand, he wasn’t about to forgive her for abandoning them. “What are you doing here?” the bard asked. “Did the banelich kick you out of his chariot?”

  “My master has gone on to the astral plane to search for Bane’s body,” the priestess replied coolly. “In the meantime, I have been instructed to oversee the hand’s recovery.”

  “You left us behind in Ilsensine’s realm,” Joel accused her.

  ““What difference does it make? You escaped. You are alive and unscathed, as far as I can see.”

  “No thanks to you,” Joel retorted.

  “And I escaped from the Temple in the Sky without your help,” Walinda reminded him.

  Joel was silenced.

  “But you can’t get into the palace without our help, can you?” Jedidiah taunted. “I guess I forgot to mention that entry to living creatures is rather restricted.”

  Walinda’s face reddened, and she glared coldly at Jedidiah.

  Like a dramatic tour guide, Jedidiah waved his arm to indicate the palace. “All the dead of Kara-Tur,” the priest explained, “come here to be judged by the Celestial Bureaucracy and sent on to the plane for which the deeds and misdeeds of their lives suited them. That’s why there are gates to every plane here. It is also a place of great order. All who serve within report to a bureaucrat, who in turn reports to a higher bureaucrat, who reports to an even higher bureaucrat, who reports to Yen-Wang-Yeh, Illustrious Magistrate of the Dead, the sole ruling power here. His law is enforced by General Pien and his army of men-shen and go-zu-oni. The gods of Kara-Tur, good or evil, orderly or chaotic, and all those in between rely on this part of the Celestial Bureaucracy to provide them with the inhabitants of their realms. Not one would dare disrupt the business that takes place here. So the palace is also a place where powers and their ambassadors can meet to parlay and exchange prisoners. The powers of other pantheons also meet here, knowing that General Pien and his forces would instantly squelch any disorder.” “If my master had a fortress such as this, plus all these dead at his command,” Walinda said, “he could rule the Realms.”

  “So could Yen-Wang-Yeh,” Jedidiah replied. “But there is nothing in the Realms he desires. All the gods of the Kara-Tur, even the evil and chaotic ones, have a place in the Celestial Bureaucracy and duties to perform. To step out of one’s place, to fail in one’s duty, would bring dishonor.”

  “What is dishonor when one has power?” Walinda declared.

  “Of course,” Jedidiah replied, “if your master had Yen-Wang-Yeh’s position and his honor wasn’t enough to keep him performing his assigned duties, it would all be over at the end of the year. The Celestial Emperor would call on him to make his report, judge him bereft of his duties, and boot him out. Someone else would be assigned to his position. Your master would be without a job…. Well, here we are.”

  They’d reached the iron gate in the wall surrounding the palace. The gate stood wide open, but standing in the gateway, serving as guards, were a number of fearsome, bull-headed creatures that stood over eight feet tall. Some were orange, some gray, some purple. They wore polished armor and ornate robes and were armed with swords and spears.

  “Those are the go-zu-oni,” Jedidiah whispered. “Don’t e
ver get them mad at you.”

  The go-zu-oni guards addressed each arrival in a tongue Joel had never heard and pointed out where they should go. One of the bull-headed creatures stepped in front of Jedidiah and addressed him in short bursts in the same foreign tongue.

  Jedidiah bowed low and held out a strip of copper engraved with symbols and characters Joel could not identify.

  The go-zu-oni took the strip of metal, examined it briefly, and said something else to Jedidiah, then handed back the strip of metal.

  Jedidiah bowed again, then instructed the others, “Follow me.”

  They stepped through the gate. A few paces inside, beyond the press of the crowd, Jedidiah halted. His companions stopped beside him.

  “Lo,” Jedidiah said, gesturing with his arm. “The Palace of Judgement.”

  Joel looked at the scene that lay before them. The palace was the size of a city, with thousands of buildings. Unlike a typical city, everything was orderly. Every building was constructed of red brick and stone, and the people moving between the buildings did so in an orderly fashion. There was bustle, but no pushing or shoving or disturbances. There were throngs of the dead in the entry courtyard waiting to enter different buildings, guarded by the go-zu-oni, yet the spacious courtyard still seemed almost empty. Joel guessed the courtyard could have held more than a few armies. Officials dressed in brightly colored robes carried armfuls of scrolls from building to building. Joel spotted a party of tanar’ri and another of baatezu arguing heatedly, but not fighting. A creature like an elephant standing on its hind legs stood addressing a pair of foxes, who also stood on their hind legs. Everything about the scene suggested duty and harmony. Joel stood in silent awe.

  “Have we stopped for a reason?” Walinda asked.

  Jedidiah chuckled. “No. No reason. Let’s go, Joel.” The older priest led them across the courtyard to the far right. They climbed a stair, passed through the archway of a building, and came out beneath an archway on the other side. Then they descended another set of stairs into a smaller courtyard. There, across the courtyard, stood a building with four staircases leading up to four arched doorways. Intelligent beings stood in four separate lines leading from the doorways, down the stairs, and out into the courtyard. Most of the beings were human, but there were many nonhumans as well, from centaurlike creatures with ram’s horns on their heads to odd creatures that looked like metallic boxes with legs. Some of the beings chatted amicably with others in line, some slouched or griped impatiently, while still others stared straight ahead with blank expressions.