Song of the Saurials Read online

“Silence!” Xaran shouted, hovering nearer to the bard. Three of his eyes had been crushed in the cave-in, but tendrils tipped with fanged maws slithered from the damaged eye stalks. The mouths waved in Finder’s face, hissing like snakes. “How you resisted the seeds of possession I will never know,” the beholder said to Finder, “but you will not resist them a second time. If it weren’t for the master’s interest in you, bard, you’d be a dead man. Still, there is no reason you should not suffer as I have suffered.”

  The bard gasped as Xaran focused his wound-giving eye on the bard’s right hand. Instantly an ugly gash appeared across the back of the bard’s hand and thumb, cutting through the flesh and muscles down to the bones. Blood oozed from the veins and dripped to the floor. The pain in his hand traveled up his arm like a fire through dry undergrowth, but Finder gritted his teeth and said nothing. He wrapped his hand in the hem of his cloak.

  “You endure pain easily,” Xaran said. “How else can I make you suffer, bard? Hmm? Shall we see if your singer is as brave as you are?” The beholder turned slightly and focused its wounding eye on Alias. A long gash quickly spread along her sternum, and blood dripped into her chain mail shirt. She drew in a sharp breath, but she made no other noise.

  “Leave her be, you fiend!” Finder shouted. “I’ll … I’ll do what you want.”

  “That’s better. Now tell the halfling to come down,” the beholder ordered.

  “It won’t do any good,” Finder said. “She has a mind of her own. She won’t obey me.”

  That’s for sure, Olive thought vehemently.

  “Then I’ll have to go up and get her,” the beholder said. “She can have a taste of pain as well.”

  Olive tightened her grip on her dagger. The moment she saw Xaran hovering beneath the hole, she leaped down on top of the monster. She grabbed hold of an eyestalk and used it as a handle so she could remain perched on the beholder’s head. Xaran sank the mouths at the end of its tendrils into the arm Olive was using to hold onto its eyestalk.

  The halfling screamed and slashed through one of the tendrils where it emerged from the eye stalk. The mouth at the end of the severed tendril released its grip on her flesh and dropped to the floor. Olive stabbed the eye at the end of the eyestalk she was using to hold onto the beholder.

  Xaran shrieked with its own mouth and the two tendril mouths biting the halfling.

  Alarmed by the noise made by the beholder, one of the orcs released Alias’s legs and aimed a crossbow at the halfling.

  With her one free leg, Alias kicked savagely at the orc’s face and sent him sprawling backward. Using her other leg to gain leverage, the swordswoman pushed herself into a backward somersault and twisted her arms free from the grips of the other two orcs.

  Finder grabbed Olive’s sword from the ground and ran to help Alias. He slammed into one of the orcs and stabbed at it furiously while the swordswoman fought with the other two.

  Loaded down with the extra weight of the halfling, the beholder began sinking toward the ground. It retracted its tendril mouths from Olive’s arm and focused its eye of levitation on her. Olive felt herself slowly begin to float upward, but she kept her grip on Xaran’s eye stalk. “I’m not going anywhere without you, Xaran!” she snarled.

  “Release me or I will use my death ray,” the beholder threatened her.

  “I’m betting it was crushed in the cave-in,” Olive said, “or you would have used it by now.”

  “There is something I have yet to use on you, halfling,” Xaran whined. The beholder’s tongue rolled out of its mouth and flipped a chestnut seed burr at the halfling. The burr stuck to Olive’s cloak.

  Olive gave a shriek, dropped her dagger, and released the beholder’s eye stalk as she frantically groped at the strings of her cloak. Xaran turned its eye of levitation on the halfling and levitated her rapidly away from itself until she slammed against the ceiling.

  Olive flung her cloak down on top of beholder’s head, covering all the creature’s eye stalks, including the one that held the levitation eye. The halfling screamed as she began falling, but to her amazement, something appeared suddenly and caught her before she hit the ground.

  The halfling stared up into the blue eyes and green snout of Dragonbait’s saurial friend. “Grypht!” Olive cried. “It’s good to see you!”

  Between the two of them, Alias and Finder quickly dispatched the three orcs who had been holding Alias. Alias reached down to retrieve her sword from the orc that had taken it from her, then turned her attention to the beholder.

  “Let Grypht handle it,” Finder said, holding her back by her cloak. “It’s good to see you,” he said with a grin. “How have you been?”

  Alias looked at the bard in astonishment at his nonchalance. “How have I been! I’ve been worried sick about you! What are you doing in this awful place?” she demanded, surveying the surroundings.

  While Finder paused to consider his words before answering the angry swordswoman, Grypht bent over to set the halfling down gently and pat her on the head. Then the saurial wizard stood back up straight and turned his attention to Moander’s minion. Olive could smell the scent of fresh-mown hay, and Alias and Finder could hear him as he called out in saurial, “Firefingers!”

  A fan of flame burst out of Grypht’s fingertips and ignited Olive’s cloak, which still hung over the beholder.

  Xaran shrieked and rolled over, so that Olive’s burning cloak fell to the floor, but the beholder was already charred horribly and sinking downward.

  Olive ran forward and snatched up her dagger. She pounced on Xaran as the creature reached the ground and stabbed the beholder with her dagger, twisting her weapon viciously before yanking it out.

  The beholder lay still on the ground.

  Just then Breck came crawling through the hole in the rubble, screaming a battle cry as he ran down the pile of rubble with his sword drawn. He stopped short just in front of the dead beholder and stared wordlessly at the slimy tendrils oozing out of the creature’s wounded eye.

  A moment later, Dragonbait, Akabar, and Zhara came crawling through the rubble to join the others in the cul-de-sac.

  “You missed all the excitement,” Olive said cheerfully. “I just finished off the beholder.”

  15

  The Reunion

  While Akabar was convincing Breck to hold still so that Zhara could use her clerical powers to heal his injuries, Dragonbait hurried to Alias’s side. Through the soul link he shared with her, he could sense the pain the swordswoman felt from the wound Xaran had given her. The paladin laid his hands on Alias’s shoulders and began a prayer.

  Although Dragonbait had once explained to Alias that he prayed when he healed, she had never actually heard the words of his prayer before. A sense of embarrassment came over her as she listened to the paladin’s pious request to his gods for the power to relieve her pain. Dragonbait, she realized, was as devout as all the clergy members she had joked about for as long as she had known him.

  When the wound on Alias’s chest had ceased bleeding and the skin had knit together, Dragonbait ran a teasing finger down the brand on her arm so that it tingled pleasantly, as if to remind her that he still cared for her even if she was an impious barbarian.

  “The beholder injured Nameless’s hand, too,” Alias reminded him.

  Dragonbait turned wordlessly and, taking the bard’s hand in his own, repeated his prayer. The gash in Finder’s hand stopped bleeding and closed, though the bard was left with a long scar.

  As Olive watched Dragonbait heal Alias and Finder, she caught sight of a familiar yellow gem tucked in the paladin’s belt. “Finder! Dragonbait’s found your stone!” the halfling cried.

  Dragonbait pulled out the gleaming magical stone. “I found it in the passage through the rubble,” he said in saurial, handing the stone to the swordswoman.

  “I dropped it when the orcs grabbed me,” Alias recalled, taking the stone. She glanced at Olive, then looked at the bard with surprise. “What did Olive jus
t call you?” she asked.

  “Finder,” the bard replied. “That’s my name, Alias. Finder Wyvernspur. The Harpers didn’t quite succeed in wiping it out completely. Olive discovered what it was.”

  “Leave it to Olive to uncover the Harpers’ best-kept secrets,” Alias muttered. Suddenly she laughed. “Finder, as in the finder’s stone? All this time we’ve been using your name and never knew it.” She held the magic stone out to the bard and said, “I believe this is yours. We used it to find you.”

  Finder smiled with delight. “That’s the second time in as many days that a pretty woman has returned my property to me,” he said, taking the stone.

  The bard’s compliment wasn’t lost on either Olive or Alias. Olive shook her head at Finder’s unrelenting flattery as she bent over to retrieve the bard’s magical horn. Alias, though, hadn’t seen the bard for over a year, and she was overcome with emotion. Her joy at finding him safe and all her yearning to be with him and please him came rushing to the surface. She threw her arms around Finder’s neck and hugged him.

  “I’ve missed you so,” the swordswoman whispered. “I tried to see you back in Shadowdale, but the Harpers wouldn’t let me visit you. I was so worried when you disappeared.”

  For a moment, Finder felt uncomfortable in Alias’s embrace; she had never been quite so demonstrative toward him before. Then he noticed Dragonbait watching him curiously. The paladin was looking, Finder suspected, for some proof that the bard loved Alias as a daughter, not merely as his singing simulacrum.

  Almost defiantly, Finder embraced Alias in return and discovered to his surprise that, beyond the fierce pride he felt as her creator, he did indeed harbor some tender feelings for her. “I missed you, too,” he admitted softly.

  Akabar watched the bard and swordswoman’s reunion with satisfaction. He liked Dragonbait, but the mage felt Alias needed more contact with humans. He felt even greater pleasure noting how thoughtfully Breck watched Finder and Alias. I hope the Harper will show some mercy and take the father’s and daughter’s affection for one another into account in his final judgment upon the bard, Akabar thought.

  Olive, who was trying to remain casual about the fuss Finder was making over Alias, kept her eyes on the Turmish woman who was healing the Harper ranger. Despite the dark shade of the woman’s skin and the different texture of her hair, the halfling quickly recognized that the priestess was another one of Alias’s “sisters.” Finder, the halfling noted, hadn’t even noticed the woman yet. He only had eyes for his eldest “daughter,” the one who sang.

  When the priestess finished healing the ranger, she began speaking softly to Akabar in Turmish. With the magic earring Finder had given her, Olive eavesdropped on the couple’s conversation.

  Zhara tugged on her husband’s sleeve. “Our reunion has not yet been so sweet as theirs,” she whispered in Turmish. “Are you still angry with me for fighting with Alias?”

  Akabar looked down at his wife and sighed. She, too, he realized, needed human contact. She’d had her share of terror since yesterday, and although she was very much like Alias, she wasn’t used to the horrors and rigors of adventuring. The mage slipped his arms around his wife’s shoulders and kissed her tenderly on the lips. “There is nothing left of my anger but smoke,” he whispered back.

  Zhara squeezed him around the waist, laid her head on his chest, and sighed deeply.

  Akabar stroked Zhara’s thick auburn hair. Unbidden, a vision of Kyre came to his mind. He couldn’t keep from picturing the half-elf’s long, silky black hair.

  Zhara sensed his unease. “What’s wrong?” she asked, gazing up at him, concerned.

  “Nothing,” Akabar replied, shaking his head. There was no sense worrying Zhara about his feelings for a dead woman. He held Zhara even tighter, but the vision of the half-elf remained.

  Olive grew uncomfortable watching Akabar embrace his wife, so she turned her attention to the remains of Xaran’s body. Someone had once told her that alchemists would buy beholder eyes for potions, but she doubted she could get much for Xaran’s eyes. Even before they’d been crushed by the cave-in, stabbed at by herself, and frozen and then burnt by Grypht, they hadn’t exactly been fresh-looking.

  There was something worth retrieving from the beholder, though. Finder’s dagger was still lodged in Xaran’s central eye. Olive began to roll the beholder over so she could reach the dagger.

  Grypht caught Dragonbait’s eye and cocked his head. The paladin moved away from the others to join his fellow saurial.

  “Well, Champion, what does your shen sight tell you about the bard?” Grypht asked quietly.

  “The Darkbringer does not possess him,” Dragonbait replied, but there was not much relief or pleasure in his voice.

  “So he does not burn with the fires of evil,” Grypht said with a shrug. “But you have not told me what your shen sight does reveal about him,” the wizard said.

  “He is much the same as before, High One,” Dragonbait said. “A mountain of pride, wrapped in gray fog.”

  “Neutral … neither good nor evil,” Grypht noted. “A man who walks the wall. He does not lack the strength to abide by convictions. Why doesn’t he have any?” the wizard growled.

  “Perhaps,” Dragonbait suggested, “convictions are not as interesting to him as he is to himself.”

  “Do you want your dagger, Finder?” Olive called out.

  The bard looked in Olive’s direction. “Of course I do, little Lady Luck,” he said, winking at the thief.

  Olive sniffed in mock disdain at the flattering nickname and turned away so no one could see her blushing. Leaning over Xaran’s corpse, she pulled Finder’s dagger from the beholder’s central eye.

  As Olive’s leg brushed against the remains of her cloak, Grypht could see that the burr that Xaran had spit at the halfling still lay in the folds of the charred fabric. Alarmed, the wizard noticed that the magic seed pod had begun to swell. He rushed to Olive’s side and lifted her from the ground by her arm, snatching her away from the seed.

  “Hey!” she shouted. “Put me down!” she demanded. “You’re hurting my arm!”

  An explosive crack came from Olive’s cloak as the burr split open, releasing a cloud of blue-black dust.

  With his free hand, Grypht grabbed Akabar’s robe and pulled the merchant-mage and his wife farther away from the cloud. “Use the stone!” the wizard ordered. “Get us out of here! Now!”

  Finder held up his magic stone with his good hand and took up Alias’s right hand with his injured one. “Dragonbait, get over here,” the bard shouted.

  The paladin leaped to Alias’s side and grabbed her left hand.

  As if it had a mind of its own, the black cloud drifted toward the halfling, tucked under the wizard’s arm.

  Dragonbait grabbed Zhara, and Zhara held onto Akabar. Grypht reached out for Akabar. Finder sang a note, and the party glowed a vivid yellow, then vanished.

  The cloud of black dust swirled once around the spot where they’d stood, then sank to the floor, unable to sustain itself without a host.

  When the light from the finder’s stone’s teleportation spell died out, the adventurers found themselves once again on the hillside outside the crumbling stone manor.

  “We should be safe here for a while, at least,” Finder said. To Olive, he added, “You should be more careful, little Lady Luck.”

  “Me?” the halfling said increduously, thinking of all the risks Finder had taken in the past day alone.

  Grypht set Olive down, and the halfling sank into the grass, exhausted by the teleportation and groaning from the pain in her injured shoulder.

  Grypht waved a finger at the halfling, and the scent of honeysuckle rose from his body.

  “Grypht says you should be more careful, too, Olive,” Alias translated for the halfling. “You nearly became Moander’s smallest minion.”

  Confused, Olive looked at Finder. “How come I didn’t understand what he said?” she asked the bard, tapping meaningful
ly on the magical diamond earring he’d given her.

  “The earring will only work for languages that are spoken in the Realms,” the bard explained. Suddenly he turned to Alias. “How did you understand what Grypht said?” he asked.

  “I cast the tongues spell from the finder’s stone—your stone,” Alias said.

  “That’s impossible,” Finder said. “I enchanted the stone so that only a Wyvernspur can cast—” The bard halted in midsentence, and his brow furrowed. “Then Olive was right,” he said. “In the eyes of the gods, you are my daughter.”

  “It’s true, then, that the tongues spell cast from your stone is permanent?” Grypht interrupted. “You can still understand me?”

  Finder nodded.

  “But permanency requires tremendous power,” Grypht said. “Where does it come from?”

  “From the stone,” Finder explained in saurial. “It was a simple artifact before I inserted a shard of para-elemental ice into it, making it a device which could store music, lore and magic”

  “You tampered with an artifact?” Grypht asked, looking at the bard as if he were insane.

  “Why not?” Finder asked Grypht. “It worked.” Turning away from the saurial wizard, the bard glanced at the other adventurers. “This is quite a party you’ve assembled to rescue me,” he commended Alias.

  Zhara sniffed in annoyance. “You flatter yourself, bard,” the priestess said. “We are here because we wanted to make sure you did not do Moander’s bidding.”

  Finder looked at Zhara in surprise, finally taking notice of her resemblance to Alias. “You’re one of the copies of Alias that Phalse made, aren’t you?” the bard asked Zhara.

  “Nameless—um, Finder,” Alias said, “this is Zhara, priestess of Tymora and Akabar’s wife,” she added. Although she managed to keep her voice even when she said it, she couldn’t keep herself from glowering at the merchant-mage.

  Finder turned his most charming smile on the priestess and bowed low. “I am pleased to meet you, my lady,” he said.

  “Why should you be pleased?” Zhara asked coolly. “I don’t sing.”