Tymora's Luck Page 23

  “That was the last captain of the guard,” the voice announced matter-of-factly.

  Hastily Joel muttered a spell to cast light upon his sword, but no light appeared. Without the finder’s stone his power as a priest wasn’t even great enough to cast a simple spell.

  “Ouch,” the voice said. “I’ll bet that’s embarrassing. Can’t even spit out a light spell. You must be a looong way from your god.”

  Joel crawled back toward the door until he came upon his backpacks. He rummaged around until he found a few torches and tucked them under his belt. Then he crawled toward the dimly glowing brazier. Nothing else blocked his way. From the coals in the brazier, he lit one of the torches. In the flickering light, he could see that the room was littered with bodies, the corpses of priests of Xvim and human guards. Joel estimated there were at least a hundred.

  “Quite a mess, eh?” the voice commented.

  The voice no longer seemed to come from everywhere. Joel got a fix on the speaker’s direction. It was definitely somewhere up ahead, in the darkness at the far end of the chamber. Holding the torch in his left hand and his sword in his right, the bard continued forward cautiously. The throne room was a vast chamber. The floor was of marble, and the walls were covered with tapestries depicting detailed, vile scenes of murder. There were several braziers scattered throughout the room, but all but the one near the door were cold and dark. There were no other furnishings. At the far end of the room, a broad set of steps led up to a raised dais. Joel continued to inch his way forward.

  The voice laughed again and quipped, “Kid, if you’re a tiefling, I’m a faerie dragon.”

  Joel held the torch up higher and peered ahead. There, atop the dais, slumped in a giant-sized throne, was a giant-sized woman. Save for her size, which Joel estimated to be over ten feet tall, the woman appeared to be a lovely human maiden, slender and shapely. Her head lay slumped upon one arm, and her long, white hair cascaded to the floor. She wore a black velvet gown, which contrasted sharply with her milky white skin. Brilliant gem-encrusted gold jewelry glittered on her arms, about her throat, and in her hair. The beauty of her features outshone the jewelry. Joel could see a faint resemblance to Tymora. There could be no doubt this was Lady Luck’s “sister.”

  Joel climbed halfway up the steps and whispered, “Beshaba?”

  “Oooo, aren’t you well informed,” the high-pitched voice commented with a hint of surprise in its tone.

  Joel turned toward the sound and finally discovered the speaker. At the foot of the throne, beside Beshaba’s legs, was a large gilded birdcage. Inside the cage was a winged male humanoid creature about a foot and a half high, with bright red skin and a long, scorpionlike tail. It had sharp teeth, an oversize nose, long, pointed ears, and two sharp-tipped, curved horns protruding from its brow, just above its eyes. Although it was completely naked, the creature showed not the least bit of shame as it stood casually leaning against the bars of its cage. Despite Jas’s teasing that he only recognized female fiends, Joel knew this creature was an imp. Back home, they served as the familiars of evil wizards and priests. Joel also knew that the stings from their tails were deadly. He moved back a step, just to be sure the tail couldn’t reach him through the bars.

  “You wound me with your distrust,” the imp said. “You have nothing to fear from me. I’m so bored and lonely that I’m grateful for your company. Allow me to introduce myself, Marin the Red. I am Ratagar Perivalious, former associate of the late Tyrannar Noxxe.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Ratagar,” Joel said, letting a hint of sarcasm drip into his tone. He sat down on the step and set the torch down with its flaming end hanging over the edge of the dais. “What happened here?” he asked the imp.

  “Ah, thereby hangs a tale,” the imp replied. He pointed to Beshaba’s unconscious form. “Her Highness showed up two nights ago in a foul mood. When she discovered Xvim wasn’t here to meet her, she settled down to wait for him. While she waited, she took out her annoyance on Xvim’s priests and followers. See that body just beside that brazier on the left? The one in the fancy green and black brocade?” The imp pointed in the direction of the body in question. “That’s the late Tyrannar Noxxe. I tried to warn him not to get involved in these little spats between gods, but you know how young people are these days. You can’t tell them anything.”

  “He didn’t try to attack her, did he?” Joel asked in surprise.

  “Nothing so courageous,” Ratagar replied. “He tried to suggest she go home until Lord Xvim returned. Beshaba decided his beard was hideous—something else I’ve been trying to tell him for years. Anyway, Her Highness used a little magic to suggest Noxxe shave right there and then. Noxxe’s hand slipped. Most unfortunate, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Definitely bad luck,” Joel agreed.

  “Most of the others met with similar fates. Those back there were the original guards.” Ratagar pointed to a heap of about twenty bodies in a back corner. They had been burned and were still smoldering. “When Her Highness first appeared, they didn’t realize how outmatched they were. They sent a lightning bolt in her direction, and the bolt ricocheted back on them. Then the ground started to shake. The floor and the ground beneath it collapsed. Poisonous gas rose up from the sinkhole. That’s what killed most of the priests. The gas dissipated quickly when the next wave of priests came rushing in to check out the noise. Of course, they were more cautious, like Noxxe, but none of them groveled and sniveled sufficiently to please Her Highness.”

  “Except you?” Joel asked.

  “Well, I am an imp, after all. It is part of my job. More importantly, I’m not one of the Dark One’s followers, so she didn’t waste her energy on me, except to imprison me into this cage so I couldn’t run off. Shortly after that, she passed out. It was several hours before they sent anyone else in here. See that guy over there?” Ratagar pointed to a man lying at the base of the dais with the point of a sword sticking out of his back. “He thought he could attack Her Highness while she slept. He tripped on the stairs and fell on his sword.”

  “So even though she’s unconscious, she’s still leaking bad luck,” Joel noted.

  “A most accurate assessment. You’re one clever fellow, even if you aren’t a tiefling.”

  Joel ignored the comment. “What did you mean by calling me a sacrifice when I arrived?” he asked.

  “Apparently,” Ratagar said, “if there’s no one around to soak up the bad luck, it leaks out of the building. So every hour or so they toss someone in here to sponge it up, so to speak. One guy choked on an apple. Another slipped on some blood and cracked his head against the floor. He moaned a long time before he finally expired. One of the guards had the bright idea of sitting perfectly still. A chunk of the ceiling fell on him. I take it Tyrannar Neri the Nitwit has seized power out there.”

  “That’s who sent me here,” Joel said.

  “He must be desperate to think sending you here would work,” Ratagar commented.

  “Why?” Joel asked.

  “Well, according to one of the captains of the guard they sent in this morning, the one who choked on the apple, Her Highness seems to be directing the bad luck even in her unconscious state. He said the bad luck is only affecting the followers of Xvim. It isn’t influencing the yugoloths. That’s one reason there aren’t any of them in here. Not that they’d allow themselves to be used as sponges anyway. They’re mercenaries, not tremendously devoted to Xvim. Anyway, the priests tossed a captive barghest in here yesterday, but apparently barghests aren’t on Her Highness’s cursed list either. Nothing happened to it, and the bad luck kept leaking out of the tower. The next person they sent in here, a nasty little novitiate, passed the time by torturing the barghest. The barghest got free and tore the priestling to pieces. Then the barghest died.”

  “So that’s why Neri insisted I join the Xvimlar before he sent me in here,” Joel realized.

  “Yep. Dotardly old fool. Whatever made him think initiating you would take?”
<
br />   “Why do you say that?” Joel asked.

  “For the same reason I know you’re not a tiefling,” Ratagar explained. “You’ve got the stink of goodness on you. Not as bad a stench as a paladin, but I’m willing to bet you’re an honorable guy, a good friend, kind to animals, that sort of nonsense.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Joel said. “I’m afraid I’ve done my share of evil.” He was thinking of Jas’s transformation and how his marvelous plan might actually have been a betrayal.

  “Ahhhh, the self-excoriating type. So rare these days. Too many people deny responsibility,” the imp declaimed.

  “So where’s Xvim?” Joel asked.

  “Ah! Now, that’s the big question. No one knows. He told Noxxe he’d be incommunicado for a few days. Noxxe was supposed to hold down the fort, so to speak.”

  “Any other ways out of here besides the front door?” Joel asked.

  “Of course. Let me out of this cage and I’ll show you the way,” Ratagar offered, waving his fingers in Joel’s direction.

  The bard felt an urge to free the fiend, but he realized immediately that the imp had used magic to make the suggestion seem more palatable. Joel shook his head. It was bad enough he was dealing with Walinda. Adding an imp to his list of associates didn’t seem like a good idea. He also had to wonder why Beshaba had seen fit to cage the imp instead of killing him or letting him go. So far, Beshaba’s bad luck hadn’t touched the bard, but if the goddess perceived Joel freeing what she’d seen fit to imprison, he might be the target of her wrath. “I’ll have to think about that for a while,” Joel said. “I’ll get back to you.” He picked up his torch and started down the stairs.

  “Hey! Where you going, pal?” Ratagar demanded. “Don’t leave me here alone,” he whined. “I’m afraid of the dark!”

  “Don’t worry,” Joel said as he made his way toward the outer wall of the throne room. “This will all be over soon.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Ratagar said with rising panic.

  Joel began pushing at the tapestries along the wall until he found one with no wall behind it. Behind the tapestry, he discovered a staircase leading upward. The steps were high and wide, made for the feet of a god with a form as large as the one Beshaba had assumed. Joel fetched his backpacks, then returned to the stairs and began climbing toward the top of Xvim’s tower.

  Act Three

  Scene 7

  Jas looked out over the Bastion of Hate from the roof of Xvim’s tower. From here, she could see the dark outline of the canyon ridge where Walinda’s bar-lgura kept watch in their invisible form. If she looked directly down, Jas could see the torches twinkling along the fortress wall and in the courtyard below. She and Emilo had witnessed the mezzoloths toss someone with a crest of red hair through the tower’s front door and lock him inside. The finder’s stone confirmed that Joel was somewhere beneath them, but its beam stubbornly pointed to a trapdoor entrance on the tower’s roof, which was bolted securely from the other side.

  The windows to the tower were blocked by invisible magical barriers, and there were at least twenty yugoloths guarding the front door, so the roof entry was the only way to reach Joel. Emilo was examining it now by the light of a torch, looking for some way to slip the bolt or break through the trapdoor.

  After depositing Emilo on the roof of the tower, Jas had tried flying toward Walinda’s camp, but the barrier that kept things from flying into the fortress also prevented her from flying away. As far as she could tell, the barrier was a dome that came to a peak over the tower, then fell straight down to the city walls. She returned to the tower roof, having ascertained there was no way out but the gate.

  Now she leaned against the parapet and enjoyed the slight breeze. It was hot atop the tower, but not as hot as it was down below. She was feeling a lot calmer now. At first she’d been annoyed that Finder and Tymora had allowed her to continue in her state of self-deception, but she realized she wouldn’t have believed them if they’d told her the truth. She believed Emilo, though. She wasn’t sure why, but she was certain the kender was incapable of deceiving her.

  Her hands had returned to normal, but her face was still covered with feathers and her eyes still glowed. She suspected that in this unholy realm of the god of hate, where she couldn’t forget her hatred of Walinda, she could never shed the dark stalker form entirely. The sense that she was possessed by something evil had faded, however. She had set aside her guilt that she had not yet destroyed Walinda by focusing, as Emilo had suggested, on the word yet. She would find a way to mete out justice to the evil priestess. In the meantime, Jas was left with only her grief, which was far more painful but much less frightening.

  Frustrated by his failure to slip the bolt on the trapdoor, Emilo poured some lantern oil along the edge of the door and set it alight. The door was made from stout wood, though, and did not catch ablaze easily. The kender succeeded only in charring the wood. Then Jas began stabbing at it with her dagger, trying to create a hole large enough for Emilo to get his slender arm through.

  “How mad do you think Iyachtu Xvim would be if he suddenly came home and discovered us vandalizing his tower?” Emilo asked.

  Jas snorted. “From what I’ve heard about him, you’d be dead before you found out, which is probably preferable to being left alive. The church of Xvim is known for its elaborate methods of torturing their sacrifices to death, which they wouldn’t do if it displeased their god.”

  “I wonder why they locked Joel in there,” the kender mused.

  The tip of Jas’s dagger chipped on an iron plate beneath the wood. “Damn!” she cursed, kicking the door with irritation. She fingered the dagger blade to survey the damage. “What I wouldn’t give for a packet of smoke powder,” she said.

  “What’s that?” Emilo asked.

  “Magic powder that causes explosions,” Jas explained. “The beauty of it is you don’t have to be a wizard to use it.”

  “But wouldn’t an explosion attract too much attention?” Emilo asked.

  “Probably, but it would tear this door to shreds in moments,” Jas replied.

  Suddenly the door moved. Emilo, who’d been sitting on top of it, hopped off in alarm. Jas flew straight up into the darkness.

  The door swung open, and a tall, black-scaled figure with a crest of red hair climbed out of the tower. He had his sword drawn and a grim look on his face.

  Jas landed behind the figure with her sword at its back.

  In Joel’s voice, the figure cried out, “Hey, watch who you poke with that thing.”

  Sheepishly Jas lowered her weapon, remembering that Joel had disguised himself before they’d arrived. “About time you got up here,” she chided the bard. “We’ve been trying to dig our way through this door for nearly an hour.”

  Joel collapsed on the rooftop, gasping for air. “You try climbing all those stairs in better time,” he challenged Jas when he’d caught his breath once again. “That was worse than the staircase in the Blood Tor. The steps are huge. I had to abandon one of the backpacks after the first hundred steps.” The bard tilted his head and peered at Jas. “So you’re all right now?” he asked. “I thought—”

  “That I’d lost my sanity?” Jas asked. She looked over at the kender and winked. “I gave a pretty good performance, didn’t I?”

  “You’re telling me that was an act?” Joel demanded with disbelief. “What about the way you were transformed?”

  “Well, that I can’t help,” Jas admitted.

  “You really had me worried,” Joel said.

  “Sorry,” Jas said.

  There was an awkward silence as the bard stared at Jas, trying to discern if she was telling the truth about her earlier behavior.

  “So what’s down there?” Emilo asked as he peered down into the darkness of the tower.

  Joel put the question of Jas’s sanity aside for now. “I didn’t stop to look into any of the rooms in the upper stories,” he explained. “The first floor was
interesting enough.” The bard described what he’d seen in Xvim’s throne room and related everything he’d learned from Ratagar Perivalious.

  “Xvim didn’t even come back to save his followers from Beshaba?” Emilo asked, wide-eyed with astonishment.

  “It’s not like he really cares about any of them,” Jas pointed out.

  Joel shook his head. “He may not care, but he must realize that without his followers, he has no power. And not coming to their defense is a tremendous display of weakness,” Joel pointed out. “He didn’t even return when Beshaba became unconscious. It’s very strange. It’s possible he can’t return.”

  “So what now?” Jas asked.

  “From what I can tell,” Joel said, “all Xvim’s priests and followers are cringing in the temple, trying to keep away from Beshaba’s bad luck. I noticed one exception. There was a human at the gate. The priests don’t dare leave the fortress’s only access in the hands of yugoloth mercenaries. Xvim doesn’t trust anyone or anything, but his priests preach that humans are the chosen people. My bet is there’s a human priest at the gate. He could be fanatically loyal, or he could be dying to leave his post so he can cower in the temple with his fellow priests. I’m going to change my shape into another priest and check him out.”

  “What about Emilo and me?” Jas asked.

  “Well, I thought the pair of you could just run around causing trouble … without getting caught, of course. One of the priests told me the yugoloths live in caverns in the cliff wall, but the lava from the mount makes it too dangerous there for humans. I saw several yugoloths coming and going from the bastion walls. Concentrate your sabotage there. Take advantage of any opportunities that present themselves. Scatter Walinda’s false gemstones, steal or destroy any weapons or magic you can. When you’re done, fly back up here and hide. I’ll signal you with the finder’s stone when I’m finished at the gate.”

  Joel used another scroll to change his shape back to human form, creating the illusion of a shaved head and pierced lip and the robes of a hatemaster. In a superficial way, he now resembled Hatemaster Morr.