Song of the Saurials Read online

  Dragonbait dashed up to one of the treants and hacked through the creature’s branchlike arm with his brightly flaming sword.

  The tendrils about the swordswoman’s body went limp.

  Breck dashed up to the saurial paladin, screaming, “What are you doing?”

  Dragonbait stepped back and held his flaming sword out to keep Breck from approaching any closer.

  “He saved my life,” Alias said, wriggling out of the tendrils.

  “He’s desecrating a dead body,” the ranger growled.

  Dragonbait signed to Alias.

  “Breck,” Alias said softly, “I think you’d better take a closer look at these treants. Don’t they look peculiar to you?”

  “They look dead,” Breck answered angrily.

  “They look sick,” Alias corrected. “They didn’t even burn well. They only scorched—like rotted wood.”

  “They were wet, like the rest of the brush around here,” Breck replied stubbornly.

  “Look at them!” the swordswoman demanded, grabbing the ranger’s shoulders and forcing him to face the treant Dragonbait had just encountered. “They’re diseased … rotted completely through. Look inside of it,” Alias said, pointing at the treant’s severed arm. “Have you ever seen a treant with vines growing inside of it like that?”

  With the tip of ah arrow, Breck poked gingerly at the branch. The vines within looked like maggots infesting a corpse. The ranger turned away from the sight, horror in his eyes.

  “Well?” Alias said. “What do you think it is?”

  “I … don’t know,” the ranger said slowly. “I’ve … I’ve never seen anything like it before. Have you?”

  “Yes,” the swordswoman answered. “They remind me of the tendrils the undead god Moander used to control people, but the first time I saw them, the tendrils were all attached to him.”

  “Moander’s dead,” Breck said.

  Alias shifted uneasily, realizing that the treants could be a sign that the god was returning to the Realms. Akabar could be right after all, but she still couldn’t bring herself to admit it aloud. “Yes … Moander’s dead.” she said.

  “Then this rot, these tendrils in the treants must be something Grypht did to them,” Breck claimed. “We’ll know for certain when we catch him. We’ll follow his trail until we’re out of the burnt-over region. Then we’ll go back and get the horses.” The ranger began looking for tracks near the broken saplings.

  Alias rubbed her temples. She was tired and hungry and frustrated with the ranger’s single-mindedness. “Breck,” she called, deciding to try once more to enlighten the ranger. “It could be that Kyre was wrong about Grypht. These treants might have attacked the creature. Of course it would have defended itself as best it could.”

  Breck spun about angrily. “Is that why it murdered Kyre—to defend itself from her?”

  “Something else might have killed Kyre,” Alias replied.

  “Or someone—like your friend Akabar,” Breck suggested.

  Alias threw her hands up in the air. For lack of another thought, she addressed the ranger’s previous supposition. “Suppose Grypht did kill Kyre in self-defense? Suppose she mistook him for a monster and attacked, and he fired back?”

  “Kyre didn’t mistake Grypht for a monster. He is a monster!” Breck declared and stomped off to search for the trail.

  Alias looked at Dragonbait and shrugged. After a few moments, the pair of them followed the ranger.

  Grypht’s trail wasn’t hard to follow, even in the moonlight. The creature had been running, oblivious to the fact it left a clear trail behind. Suddenly the trail ended abruptly, however. Beside Grypht’s tracks were two sandal prints—Akabar’s. Then there was nothing. The creature and the southern mage had vanished into thin air.

  “Beshaba’s brats!” Breck cursed. “They’ve whisked themselves away by magic again.”

  “Let’s get back to the horses and make camp,” Alias said. “We’ll have a look around in the morning.”

  “They could be anywhere by then,” Breck objected.

  “They’re already gone, ranger,” the swordswoman snapped. “And I’m not going anywhere in the dark. Neither are you.”

  Breck’s shoulders slumped. He turned wordlessly and headed back to the stream where they’d tied their horses, with Alias and Dragonbait following him, as usual.

  When they’d reached the spot where they’d tied the horses, they found their mounts were missing. No portions of their lead ropes were left attached to the branch at all. The horses hadn’t chewed through the ropes; they’d been untied.

  “Someone’s stolen the horses,” Breck said.

  Alias glanced at Dragonbait. “Who?” she asked. “We’re out in the middle of nowhere.”

  “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out,” Breck said, looking over the ground until he found a set of bootprints.

  “Here we go again,” Alias muttered as they followed the ranger out of the clearing after the horse thief. This is Zhara’s doing, isn’t it? she signed to Dragonbait.

  The saurial began examining the ground with exaggerated interest.

  Suddenly Breck broke into a run, heading upstream. Alias looked up and gasped. There, not far from the stream, framed in a clearing in the moonlight, was a female figure in robes standing in front of a horse.

  “Why doesn’t she just throw another light spell so he can see her better?” the swordswoman cracked sarcastically.

  Dragonbait sheathed his sword and dashed after Breck.

  Apparently unaware that she was being observed and about to be attacked by an angry ranger, the robed figure stood calmly stroking the horse’s muzzle and feeding it something from the palm of her hand. Alias was pretty sure it was Zhara—only a priestess was stupid enough to stand out in the open like that.

  Alias walked slowly toward the scene. This trouble is Dragonbait’s fault, she thought. Let him handle it.

  Breck leaped at the woman, knocking her to the ground. The horse neighed and shied backwards. Zhara screamed. Dragonbait pounced on Breck.

  Alias pulled an apple out of her knapsack and began munching on it. While the ranger, priestess, and saurial rolled about on the wet grass, Alias grabbed hold of the horse—it was Breck’s—and pushed it out of harm’s way. Slowly she fed it her apple core as Dragonbait pulled Breck off Zhara.

  The priestess made it to her feet and moved away, shielding herself from Alias by standing on the opposite side of Breck’s horse. Alias shot a glance at the priestess, but Zhara had already pulled the hood of her cloak back up, hiding her face.

  Dragonbait and Breck rolled around in the grass a few more times until the swordswoman asked, “Are you two having fun?”

  Dragonbait looked up suddenly. When he caught sight of Zhara, safely out of the fracas, and Alias, watching with a bemused expression, he looked almost sheepish. He went limp and let Breck pin him to the ground.

  “I have you now!” the ranger declared.

  “Yes, but what are you going to do with him? You can’t ride him, and he’s too tough to eat,” Alias said with a chuckle. “He might make an interesting pair of boots—maybe.”

  Breck looked at Alias and turned purple with fury at the sight of the swordswoman laughing at him. He released Dragonbait and leaped to his feet. “You!” he shouted, pointing a finger at Alias. “You helped her to escape! No wonder you were so anxious to defend her husband. Did Lord Mourngrym know?”

  “Know what?” Alias asked, disdainful of the ranger’s confused accusations.

  “That she’s your sister,” Breck snarled.

  “What are you talking about?” Alias snapped back. “I haven’t any sisters.”

  “Then who is she?” Breck demanded, yanking the hood of Zhara’s cloak off the priestess’s head.

  The swordswoman squinted in the moonlight at Zhara and saw, for the first time, what Breck had seen when he’d been rolling on the ground with the priestess. There was something familiar about the pointed chin,
the high cheekbones, the thin nose, the green eyes, and the red hair. Alias gasped and backed away. Zhara’s features were familiar because they were the swordswoman’s own features. Except for the dusky hue of her southern skin, Zhara could have been Alias’s twin. Alias realized in a flash just what Zhara was.

  “No!” Alias shrieked furiously, drawing her sword. “She’s not my sister! She’s one of the fiend Phalse’s spawn!”

  11

  Betrayals

  Breck pulled away from Zhara and drew his own sword, but he looked at Alias doubtfully. Then he remembered the sage’s words at the tribunal. “Elminster told us Phalse had been destroyed,” he said.

  “Yes,” Alias admitted, “by my own hand. Before that, though, the little monster created her and eleven other of my look-alikes, pawns that he intended to use to destroy his old enemy, Moander.” Alias raised the tip of her sword to Zhara’s throat. “That’s why you’re so eager to have Akabar go after Moander, isn’t it? Because you’re Phalse’s creature.”

  Zhara met Alias’s eyes with her own and replied calmly, “And are you still Moander’s creature that you are so eager to see the Darkbringer live? Here is your chance to destroy me. You have your weapon in hand. Why not use it and finish me off?”

  “You witch!” Alias growled. She threw her sword down and leaped at Zhara.

  The two women tumbled to the ground. Dragonbait moved quickly to separate them, but Breck put his hand out to stop the saurial. “One thing you never want to do,” he said with a chuckle, “is get between two women in a brawl.”

  The paladin’s eyes narrowed angrily at Breck’s patronizing tone and amused grin, but upon consideration, he accepted the wisdom of the ranger’s words. He stood by watching Alias and Zhara roll about on the wet ground, thinking how ironic it was that only a few minutes before, the swordswoman had found his own battle with Breck so amusing.

  Alias tried to wrap her hands around Zhara’s throat, but she drew her hands away hastily, pricked by some shards of metal. Beneath her robe, the priestess wore a studded leather collar around her neck. The swordswoman’s eyes widened with a sudden suspicion. She grabbed the front of the priestess’s robe and ripped the white fabric from the neck to the waistline. Beneath her robe, Zhara wore a chain shirt cut very low.

  “You stole my armor!” Alias screeched. She raised a fist, but before she could slam it into Zhara’s face, the priestess whipped a flail out from her sleeve and clubbed the swordswoman on the side of the head.

  Alias rolled off Akabar’s wife, moaning and clutching her ear and temple with both hands. Zhara stood and backed away from the swordswoman. Dragonbait bent over Alias, who was struggling to her knees.

  “Have you finished your little catfight?” Breck asked.

  “Catfight?” Zhara repeated, looking puzzled. “What does that mean?”

  “When two women fight,” Breck explained, “it’s called a catfight.”

  “Why?” Zhara asked.

  “Well, because women fight differently from men—more like cats. You know, with your claws,” Breck said, grinning.

  Zhara’s eyes narrowed angrily, and she twirled the end of her flail menacingly. “Come here, ranger, and I will show you how women fight,” she growled.

  Dragonbait abandoned Alias’s side to step between Zhara and Breck. He grabbed the Turmishwoman’s weapon arm and shook his head furiously.

  “Let me go, Dragonbait!” Zhara demanded. “This arrogant northern barbarian is in need of a lesson,” she said, tossing her head in Breck’s direction.

  Dragonbait threw his hands up in the air. This was like a nightmare, he thought. The only worse thing he could think of would be a fight between himself and Alias.

  “Give me back my armor, you thief,” Alias said, retrieving her sword and stumbling to her feet. A large bump and a dark bruise were forming on the side of her temple.

  “I will return it to you,” Zhara snapped. “I never wanted to wear it in the first place. Only a barbarian like yourself would do so without shame.”

  “You never wanted …” Alias looked from Zhara to Dragonbait. “You gave her my armor, didn’t you?” the swordswoman demanded of the paladin. “And that cloak, and those boots. They’re mine, too, aren’t they?”

  Dragonbait nodded guiltily, signing that he was sorry. He moved toward Alias, reaching out to tend the wound on her head.

  Alias drew back sharply from the saurial. “Don’t touch me!” she growled.

  I’m sorry, Dragonbait signed again. Forgive me.

  Alias turned her back on the saurial. “Never! Stay away from me. Don’t talk to me,” she said. “I’ve nothing to say to you.” The swordswoman stalked away from the saurial. At the edge of the clearing, she stopped and leaned against a tree.

  Dragonbait could see Alias’s shoulder shaking, and he knew she was weeping. He felt sick to his stomach. He sat down on the grass and put his head on his knees.

  Suddenly embarrassed, Breck looked for something constructive to do. Bending down to pick up his horse’s lead rope, he asked Zhara, “What did you do with Alias’s horse?”

  “I let it go free,” Zhara said.

  “You what?” Breck snapped.

  “I let it go free so that you could not use it to hunt down my Akabar,” Zhara explained. “I tried to get this one to run away, too, but it would not.”

  “Of course it wouldn’t. It’s my horse, and it’s too well trained to do anything stupid like that. Where did you leave Alias’s saddle?” Breck asked.

  “It’s on her horse,” Zhara said.

  Breck snorted. “Southerners,” he muttered. “Don’t you know anything about horses?” he asked.

  “No,” Zhara said simply, not in the least ashamed of her ignorance. “I am a priestess of Tymora, not a stablehand.”

  “Which way did it go?” Breck asked with annoyance.

  “Why should I tell you?” Zhara said with a sniff.

  “Because if you don’t, the horse you ‘let go free’ is going to end up with saddle sores and bug bites and infections and probably die because you didn’t bother to take off its saddle.”

  Zhara looked chagrined. “It went that way,” she said pointing in the direction of Shadowdale.

  “Come on, then,” Breck said, pulling Zhara’s arm. “You’re going to help me find that horse.”

  Zhara pulled a light stone from her pocket and held it high so the ranger could search the ground for tracks. Fortunately the beast was tired and hungry, and they found it grazing on grass not too far off. Breck called out to it, and it came right up to him. “Silly creature,” the ranger chided it as he grabbed its halter and scratched its forehead. “How could you leave us?” He pulled the horse’s bedraggled lead rope up from the ground. “She could have caught this in something,” Breck said, waving the end of the rope in Zhara’s face. “Then she’d have starved to death or died of thirst.”

  “I am sorry,” Zhara said. “I did not know. But I cannot let you kill my Akabar. He is no less innocent than this animal.”

  “How do you know? You weren’t even there when Kyre was killed.”

  “Akabar is my husband. I know him very well. And Dragonbait says he knows Grypht well, and Grypht is not a monster.”

  “Kyre wouldn’t lie,” Breck insisted. “Kyre was my teacher. I knew her well, too.”

  “Was she your lover?” Zhara asked, with the detachment of a southern scholar.

  The ranger flushed. “What kind of question is that?” he said angrily. “That’s none of your business.”

  “Yes, it is,” Zhara said. “You loved Kyre. That much is obvious. Lady Shaerl says Kyre was not ugly, but very beautiful. If she would not have you as a lover, perhaps you killed her out of anger or jealousy.”

  “You’re crazy,” Breck growled.

  “Maybe she was afraid of your temper,” Zhara suggested.

  “She was not! She thought I was too young!” Breck shouted.

  “Oh,” Zhara said softly. “How old are you?
” she asked the ranger.

  “Twenty winters. Tymora! I can’t believe I just told you that!” Breck exclaimed.

  “That you’re twenty years old? Why?” Zhara asked. “Is it some kind of a secret?”

  “It’s not that,” Breck said, rubbing his temples. “Just forget it.”

  “Twenty is not so young,” Zhara said.

  Breck sighed with exasperation. “When I was eighteen, I made a fool of myself and pestered her too much about … how I felt about her. She thought we should stop working together for a while. She went away—disappeared for over a year. When I heard she’d asked the Harpers to assign me to the same tribunal with her, I thought maybe she finally considered me old enough.”

  “But she didn’t?” Zhara asked.

  Breck shrugged. “I don’t know. Since she arrived in Shadowdale two days ago, I haven’t managed to get more than a few moments alone with her, and she …” Breck hesitated.

  “She what?” Zhara prompted gently.

  “She was different … sort of unapproachable.” Breck shook himself and looked down at the ground, feeling disloyal to the half-elf’s memory. “No,” he said, “that’s not quite true. I was afraid to approach her … afraid of what she’d say. Now it doesn’t matter anymore. I just wish she was still alive.”

  Without another word, Breck began to lead Alias’s horse back to the clearing where they’d left Alias and Dragonbait. Zhara followed, lost in thought.

  They found Dragonbait starting a cooking fire in the center of the clearing. Alias was grooming Breck’s horse at the edge of the clearing with her back to the saurial. She kept her face a tight mask of concentration, trying to hide her turbulent mood.

  Breck led Alias’s horse over to a tree near Alias and wrapped its lead rope around a branch. His horse’s saddle and saddlebags were spread out over a fallen tree.

  “I went in your saddlebags for your brushes,” Alias said.

  “That’s fine,” Breck replied. “Hand me my scraper, and I’ll start on your horse,” he offered, unsaddling Alias’s mount. He laid the saddle on the fallen tree beside his own and tossed the sweaty horse blanket on top.