Finder's Bane Page 16

  “But you can’t give the Hand of Bane to the banelich,” Joel argued.

  Jedidiah smiled grimly. “You were afraid of what Finder would think when you allied yourself with Walinda. Now I have to decide which of two evils would displease Finder more—the loss of his relic containing the power he granted me or the resurrection of Bane.”

  Jedidiah turned to gaze at Jas and Holly. They were leaning against the railing as far from the cabin as they could get. Holly was still clutching her head. Her paladin ability to sense evil was overloading from prolonged exposure to the banelich’s proximity. Jas was stroking the girl’s hair comfortingly, even though the winged woman herself looked deathly pale and exhausted.

  “We may find another course yet,” Jedidiah said, “between now and when we’ve retrieved the Hand of Bane. In the meantime, I’m going to help your companions. The banelich’s painwrack spell can actually do physical damage to its victims. As priests of Finder, we were protected from it by our god, but they weren’t. When Walinda returns, try to keep her entertained so she isn’t goading Jas and Holly. The strife only serves to amuse the banelich and might possibly be nourishing him.”

  Joel nodded. He watched the old priest tending Holly, singing a Dales lullaby while he used his healing power to ease the pain in her head. Holly fell asleep with her head in Jas’s lap. Jedidiah then spoke softly with Jas. The winged woman looked angry and disdainful, but as the bard spoke, her features softened. In the end, she nodded. Jedidiah laid his hands on her shoulders, and healing energy rippled about the woman’s body. When the old priest had finished, he sat back beside Jas, leaning against the railing. Apparently the winged woman had come to some sort of peace with Joel’s mentor, for she laid her head on his shoulder to sleep.

  Jedidiah closed his eyes. Joel couldn’t remember ever seeing the old priest so tired. For that matter, he couldn’t remember ever seeing the old priest tired at all.

  Joel waited for Walinda to reappear. It was nearly half an hour before she emerged from the cabin. She carried two goblets and joined him at the railing.

  “Bane is most generous. He has agreed to the old man’s request,” she said.

  “I don’t think it was a request,” Joel countered.

  Walinda appeared not to have heard Joel’s comment. “I thought we might drink to our quest,” she said, handing him a goblet.

  Joel met the woman’s forthright gaze. Several thoughts raced through his head. Jedidiah had asked him to entertain this woman, ostensibly to keep her from goading Jas and Holly into any fights, but the old priest was canny enough to realize that Walinda’s interest in the Rebel Bard could be used to his advantage. For Jedidiah’s sake, to regain the finder’s stone, Joel was prepared to let himself be used. Still, there were things he could not do.

  “I would prefer to drink to the return of the finder’s stone to Finder’s priests,” he said, holding up his goblet.

  “Then I will drink to the resurrection of Lord Bane,” Walinda replied.

  They sipped from their drinks. The liquid was mead, old and mellow.

  “Is there nothing to which we can both drink?” Walinda asked demurely.

  “I don’t think we have all that much in common,” Joel said, laying his left hand on the railing.

  “I know,” Walinda said “We can toast our escape from the Temple in the Sky.”

  Joel lowered his eyes with embarrassment.

  “It’s all right, Poppin,” the priestess said, laying her right hand on his left. “I forgive you for abandoning me.”

  “Are Banites allowed to forgive?” Joel asked in mock surprise.

  Walinda lowered her eyes as if she’d truly been chastised, then looked back up at the Rebel Bard. “Perhaps I should have said I understand that you were not at fault. My lord came to my rescue in this ship. He found a way to make it fly. His power grows with my faith,” she said.

  Recalling Jedidiah’s explanation of the spelljammer, Joel replied, “Actually, any spellcaster, priest or mage, can make this ship fly.”

  Walinda’s eyes half closed in anger.

  “Your lord didn’t tell you that?” Joel asked. “Well, you are just a slave,” he added, relishing the chance to make her feel less exalted.

  Walinda winced as if she’d been cut. She looked back up at Joel, a sly smile on her face. She slid her right hand up from his fingers into the cuff of his sleeve and squeezed his wrist. “See? We do have something in common. You want to degrade me.”

  Startled by the priestess’s words and the gleam in the her eyes, Joel pulled his arm away from her grasp and looked away, into the night sky. He couldn’t think of a safe reply that was either honest or sensible.

  “You remind me of myself,” Walinda said, “before I met my god. I did not know my purpose. I could command a legion and break any man in interrogation. I could heal soldiers who had earned Bane’s grace and raise the dead. I had so many duties, yet my worship seemed to have no purpose. Now I know fully why I am a priestess. I serve Bane. I am his servant, his slave. It is the sweetest knowledge imaginable. There is nothing greater I can be.”

  Walinda took a sip from her goblet, then continued. “You are a priest of Finder. You recreate art, search for new meaning in every variation, use your art to bring about change.”

  Joel looked back at Walinda with surprise.

  “Yes,” the priestess said. “You see, I understand something of the tenets of your faith as well as the old priest understands ours. But there is something that transcends the tenets of our separate faiths, something that I have, but so far you can only long for. You do not believe that your service has meaning. Are you just another whisper to Finder? Does he send you your spells automatically, without thinking, in that careless manner the gods sometimes have? If another were to take your place, if you were to become something besides a priest, would it make any difference?”

  Joel sipped at the mead, wondering if it was really possible that this woman could have felt all the things that he had. Perhaps, he thought, she’s just used some magic trinket to read my thoughts.

  “If you heard his voice say your name and command you, as I heard Lord Bane’s,” Walinda whispered, “then you would know your purpose, and your heart would question nothing.” The priestess leaned against Joel. The bard could smell the rose perfume in her hair and the spicy incense that clung to her velvet gown. She laid her hand on his neck. Her hand was very warm. She stroked his shoulder with the tips of her fingernails. Exhausted as the bard was from days of fleeing in the rough countryside, the woman’s touch was quite relaxing.

  “See,” the priestess whispered, “you do want to be a slave.”

  Joel sighed softly. Then her words connected in his brain. He pulled away from her hand and stepped back from the railing. He could sense the danger in the woman’s touch.

  Walinda laughed at his reaction. She leaned forward and whispered, “Your reserve is very becoming, Poppin. I could break through all those barriers. Stay with me on the ship. Why walk miles through rough terrain when you can enjoy a smooth ride in the company of someone who knows what you really want? You can tell the old man you are protecting his stone.”

  “Does the finder’s stone need to be protected?” he asked.

  “You tell me. Lord Bane is fascinated by it, yet I do not think he understands it. If he thought it would bring him power, he would crack it like a nut Would it bring him power?” Walinda asked.

  Joel frowned at the question. Walinda must presume the stone held some power. Would the banelich really risk breaking the stone to try to steal Jedidiah’s power? Could the creature succeed? Should I stay, Joel wondered, to be sure the stone is kept intact until Jedidiah returns?

  “Think how you will feel, Poppin,” Walinda said, “if you reach the Lost Vale and visit the temple to Finder, yet nothing changes. Finder does not need you.” She pointed to Jedidiah. “Finder already has a priest with no doubts. A priest who doesn’t question the meaning of his service. But you will neve
r truly know the joy of serving. Your journey is in vain. When it is finished you will not even have your hope left.” She drained her goblet and tossed it overboard.

  Joel looked at Jedidiah with envy. The old priest was so favored that he carried half of the finder’s stone. Or at least he did. Jedidiah had told him the pilgrimage to the Lost Vale was important, but did the elderly priest really understand him, know how he felt? Probably not. Walinda was right; Jedidiah had no doubts about being a priest.

  “Stay with me and I will give you new hopes,” the priestess offered, sliding her hands about his neck. She squeezed at his throat ever so gently.

  Alarmed by the choking sensation, Joel dropped his goblet and snatched Walinda’s wrists. She did not resist as he pulled her hands from his neck.

  Joel released her and backed away another step. “Hopelessness … that’s the specialty of the house in a temple of Bane, isn’t it?” he asked. “And you are a master in its uses.”

  Walinda bowed her head in acknowledgment of the compliment.

  “I took a vow to make a pilgrimage to the Lost Vale,” the bard declared. “I will not be foresworn, whether my journey brings me closer to my god or not.”

  “Pride, not faith,” Walinda commented. “Very well, Poppin. But I know you will be back. Only one god can enslave as Bane can. And when you return, I shall make you suffer for making me wait. But, then, making you suffer will not displease me either,” she added. Then she strode from the deck into the cabin.

  Joel shivered in the warm night air. The ease with which a murderess could manipulate his feelings filled him with despair. He wrapped his cloak about him and lay down on the deck, hoping sleep would release him from his fears and doubts. For a long time, he lay awake thinking of Walinda’s threat that he would be back. Finally he heard Jedidiah singing softly in the darkness, another lullaby, only this one from Berdusk, a cradlesong Joel’s own mother had once sung to Joel. Then the Rebel Bard slept.

  Ten

  JOURNEY TO THE LOST VALE

  Joel awoke to Jedidiah’s gentle shaking of his shoulder.

  “We’ve made port,” the old priest said. “Time to kiss the earth, as the sailors say.”

  The sun was just rising over the Dagger Hills. Jedidiah was smiling, but he looked tired.

  Joel sat up and wiped the sleep from his eyes. “Did you get any sleep?” he asked. “Someone should have awakened me to take a watch.”

  Jedidiah shook his head. “I couldn’t have slept here anyway, and it was my turn to take the watch. Besides, there wasn’t anything really to watch for. The banelich has made his deal. There aren’t too many creatures about to fight a ship in the sky.”

  Joel stood up and looked around. The ship sat at the base of a magnificent waterfall. The water’s flow was not great, but it fell over a hundred feet, sparkling in the sunshine. It would join with several other streams to become the River Ashaba. Holly and Jas were leaning over the railing, watching the water with obvious pleasure. Walinda was seated in her chair, watching the bard.

  “That woman gives me the shivers,” Jedidiah muttered. He turned and bowed low to Walinda. “Until we meet again, lady,” he addressed her.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stay?” she asked, her eyes still fixed on Joel.

  “Certain,” Jedidiah replied.

  “I wasn’t addressing you, old man,” the priestess snapped.

  Jedidiah transformed his expression into the comically crestfallen look worn by mimes in Westgate. Joel was unable to keep himself from chuckling.

  Jedidiah patted Joel on the back. “It’s up to you,” he said with a shrug. Then he whispered, “But I’d have another look at those teeth if I were you.”

  Joel met Walinda’s gaze. The priestess smiled, showing her teeth. They were small, white, and perfect. They reminded Joel of doll teeth … unnatural. The bard shuddered. “I have to go,” he said. He made a hasty bow and joined the others at the ship’s rail.

  From her chair, Walinda called out, “Four days, old man. Don’t keep me waiting.”

  “Cat’s Gate. I’ll be there,” the old priest called back. Beneath his breath he muttered, “Nag, nag, nag.”

  Holly giggled and even Jas smiled. The paladin unrolled a rope ladder down the side of the ship and began to climb down. Jedidiah followed as Jas fluttered into the air and settled near Holly. Joel climbed on the railing and looked back at Walinda. The priestess still sat in her chair, facing forward, soon to be left alone on a ship piloted by an undead priest of a dead god.

  “Do you ever get lonely?” Joel asked.

  Walinda turned her head to face the Rebel Bard. “I know you will return to me, Poppin,” she answered.

  Joel scrambled down the ladder.

  The moment the bard’s feet were on the ground, the great ship rose into the sky and disappeared behind the mountain.

  “Worst inn I’ve ever slept in,” Jedidiah said. “Can’t think why Volo would recommend it.”

  “I can still sense the banelich,” Holly said. “They’re not too far off.”

  “No doubt they’ll try to follow us from the air,” Jedidiah said. “It won’t do them any good.” He turned to Joel and explained. “For reasons of their own, Holly and Jas have agreed to accompany us to the vale.”

  “Oh,” Joel said. He could understand Holly wanting to see the vale. To her mind, it was another dale, a possible ally, a secret to take back to Randal Morn. The young bard wondered about Jas’s reasons, however. He remembered the long conversation Jedidiah had with the winged woman the night before. He couldn’t begin to guess what agreement she’d reached with Jedidiah.

  Jedidiah knelt down on the ground and spread his cloak out before him. He sang a simple grace, and the air above the cloak shimmered blue. When the old priest had finished, two fat loaves of bread lay on his cloak. Jedidiah held out his arms, inviting the others to join him.

  When they’d finished their breakfast of Jedidiah’s bread, plus cold, refreshing water from the stream, Jedidiah said, “Time, I think, to go. Do you need to pull out the map?”

  Joel shook his head. He’d studied the map so often on his trip north he had large portions of his route memorized … especially the route through the waterfall.

  Joel stepped into the stream. The water was cold but bearable. He began to walk toward the waterfall.

  “Why do I have a sinking feeling we’re going to get all wet?” Jas groused. “I hate getting my feathers damp.”

  “Pretend you’re a duck,” Jedidiah teased.

  “Are we going behind the waterfall?” Holly asked with delight, chasing Joel into the stream. “No wonder Lord Randal’s men couldn’t discover how to get into your vale.”

  Jedidiah and Jas followed the bard and the paladin up the stream. The streambed was slick with small, rounded rocks. Closer to the waterfall, Joel discovered a chain beneath the water and picked it up. It was fastened to something behind the waterfall. The bard handed the end to Holly, and they used it to steady themselves as they pulled their way through the strong current until they came to the curtain of water.

  The bard and paladin stood just behind the falls, looking out, as Jedidiah and Jas came through.

  “Isn’t it beautiful?” Holly asked, pointing back at the sunshine rippling through the waterfall.

  “Very,” Joel agreed.

  Jedidiah picked up a rock and sang a quick scale, imbuing the stone with a luminous glow.

  Behind the waterfall was a cavern. The floor was covered with sand. Footprints ran from the back of the cavern to the waterfall. One set was booted; the other was unlike any print Joel had ever seen before—shaped like a dragon’s, but smaller than a human’s.

  “Whose tracks are these?” Holly asked.

  “The swordswoman Alias and one of the saurials,” Jedidiah said.

  They followed the footprints back to a staircase cut into the rock. It was a long climb up the stairs. They had to pause to rest twice. At the top of the stairs, they came out
into a cave looking out over a valley.

  “Is that the vale?” Jas asked.

  Jedidiah laughed. “We’ve miles and miles to go yet.”

  The cave contained a little shrine to Tyr, god of justice. Bits of ash from burned paper dusted the tiny altar before the god’s statue.

  They rested again before they followed the path that led from the cave down the opposite side of the mountain. The path stayed beneath the trees, skirting the edge of any clearings, or, if the trees thinned on an especially rocky slope, the trail passed through tunnels cut into the mountainside.

  Jas smiled with satisfaction. “I hope that witch wastes lots of time trying to spot us from the air,” she said.

  They traveled along the path all morning, stopping only once to pick raspberries. By noon, they’d reached their goal: Finder’s harp symbol, carved into the gray rock of a cliffside and painted white with a solution of lime. Etched into the cliffside just below the symbol of Finder was the outline of an archway. Jas knocked, pushed, pried, and tapped all about the outline of the archway but could discover no opening.

  “It’s solid rock,” the winged woman insisted.

  Joel nodded. He warmed up his voice with a scale, then, with a nod from Jedidiah, he began to sing a marching song the old priest had taught him. The song described the trail so far and asked Finder to unravel an easier path for the rest of the journey. It had two verses and a refrain. Jedidiah joined in on the refrain.

  Joel closed his eyes and smiled as he sang the second verse. The weariness of the past few days seemed to drain away. He felt calm, as if he and Jedidiah were singing a drinking song in a tavern in Berdusk. The sounds reverberated from the cliffside, amplifying their voices until they rang throughout the mountains.