Tymora's Luck Page 30

  “Bors! Kenda!” Holly gasped.

  Finder obviously recognized the warrior, for he addressed him. “If you’ve come for your treacherous friend, Sensate Bors,” the god growled, “you had best abandon your mission now.”

  “Lord Finder,” Kenda Fretterstag said hastily, making a slight curtsy, “Factol Montgomery bids us inform you there is a dark region in Lathander’s realm that defies all attempts to scry into it. You cannot sense your priest because he was taken inside this region. But if he still lives, you will still be able to sense the area in Elysium surrounding the dark region.”

  It took only a moment for Finder to take in what the Sensate wizardess was saying, but it seemed to Jas like an eternity before the god relaxed the muscles in his neck and closed his eyes to follow Kenda’s suggestion.

  “Yes,” Finder whispered. “It is like a dark spot on my inner eye.” The god looked up at the Sensates. “What is the purpose of this darkness?”

  “We do not know,” Bors replied.

  Kenda snorted derisively and said, “But some of us suspect Lathander has imprisoned both Tymora and Beshaba. We have scried tinker gnomes moving in and out of this dark region.”

  “Gnomes!” Emilo said excitedly. “What were they building?”

  “We cannot see,” Bors said.

  Finder looked at Holly. “What is it, paladin?” he demanded.

  “It is a great clockwork machine,” Holly explained, “which Lord Sirrion is building for Lord Lathander to help cast the spell that will right an ancient wrong. Lord Sirrion wouldn’t tell me anything more, but I heard the gnomes call it a ‘few chin chamber.’ ”

  “A fusion chamber?” Emilo suggested.

  “That could have been it,” Holly agreed.

  “Those are neat,” the kender said. “I would love to see another one work.”

  “What does a fusion chamber do?” Finder asked.

  “Well, when the gnomes make scrambled eggs for a large group of people,” Emilo explained, “they beat up all the eggs with a little milk and salt and pepper, and then they cook the eggs. But there’s always leftover egg mixture. They pour the leftover egg mixture in a fusion chamber, and the fusion chamber puts the eggs back into their shells so the gnomes can use them again later. I’m not sure what happens to the milk and salt and pepper. I’m not sure the gnomes know either.”

  “The gnomes were making omelets, not scrambled eggs,” Kenda said.

  Emilo shrugged. “I guess it doesn’t make much difference.”

  “Somehow I don’t suspect Lord Sirrion is in Elysium just to oversee tinker gnomes making omelets,” Finder said irately.

  “Well, it does explain why Sirrion wanted Holly to fetch some chickens,” Emilo pointed out.

  “But what were the other things for?” Jas asked. “The luck charms and the rose and the coin and the crystal sphere?”

  “Spell keys?” Kenda suggested.

  “What?” Finder asked in surprise.

  “What are spell keys?” Emilo asked.

  “They’re special requirements necessary for a wizard to cast magic in different planes,” Kenda explained. “Spell keys vary greatly from plane to plane and spell to spell. Sometimes the wizard must perform a certain action, such as free a bird or sacrifice a goat or spit in the wind or sing a song. Other times the wizard need only possess a certain item, like a dagger or cat or a feather or some sort of gemstone.”

  “Or something like the power key that Finder gave Joel?” Emilo asked.

  “Well, similar to that, yes,” Kenda replied. “But power keys are created by gods for their priests.”

  “That’s it!” Finder said excitedly. “Lathander must know some of Tymora’s major power keys. He may have guessed at some of Beshaba’s.”

  “Is that important?” Jas asked.

  “A power key allows a priest to siphon off some of his god’s power,” Finder explained. “That’s why they’re kept secret, or made to be temporary, or made so they can only be used by one person. If they aren’t, they can be used by the wrong person to drain a god’s powers.”

  Finder turned to Holly and asked sternly, “So what is this ancient wrong Lathander intends to right, paladin?”

  “I—I don’t know,” Holly said, her voice trembling.

  “But you suspect something,” Finder said. “I can sense it. Tell me what it is,” he growled.

  “Dawnbringer Aurora said Lord Lathander would right an ancient wrong, but when Lord Sirrion said the same thing, I knew he was lying. I didn’t know how that could be … unless …”

  “Unless Lord Sirrion has lied to Lord Lathander, and Lord Lathander and his priestess were taken in by the lie,” Finder suggested to the paladin.

  “Yes,” Holly whispered.

  “So perhaps Sirrion only intends to drain away the two goddesses’ powers,” Bors suggested.

  “But what’s the ancient wrong that Lathander thinks he’s righting?” Jas asked.

  “Oh! I get it! He’s going to put Tymora and Beshaba back together again!” Emilo cried out excitedly.

  “What are you talking about?” Holly demanded.

  “The kender has the dark of it,” Kenda said. “Lathander wants to put Tyche back together as if she were a cracked egg.”

  Act Four

  Scene 4

  After discovering that their teleport, dimensional doorways, and magical portal spells all failed within the chamber, the bard and the two goddesses set about to explore their prison from top to bottom. The fusion chamber was filled with the chaotic matter that Tymora had said was very similar to that found in the plane of Limbo. Both goddesses could manipulate the matter into an organized form with a mere thought, and once they did so, the matter stayed fixed in place. With much concentration, Joel found that he, too, could manipulate the matter, but the moment he ceased concentrating on it, it reverted to a swirling chaos of earth, air, water, and fire that threatened to choke, drown, or burn him unless one of the goddesses re-formed it for him.

  By forcing the chaotic matter to the side, forming vast spaces of air only, the prisoners puzzled out that the fusion chamber was actually a large pyramid nearly a hundred feet high, with a square base over a hundred feet on each side. The temple that Beshaba had created actually took up very little of the space within the fusion chamber. The boundaries of the chamber were silvery, shimmering magical walls of force. The prisoners could find no doors, so they began testing the nearest wall. They smashed at it with weaponry, magic missiles, lightning bolts, and fireballs. They rubbed at it with water and acid and lye created out of the chaos matter. They chanted ancient spells of disintegration at it and spells to dispel it. They cursed it and blessed it. Nothing they tried seemed to penetrate or even weaken the barrier.

  Tymora and Beshaba began exploring every inch of the walls in greater detail, looking for a flaw they could work on. Because the bard was unable to travel safely through the Limbo-like chaos outside the region the goddesses had formed, they left him in Beshaba’s temple. There Joel practiced manipulating the chaotic matter with his mind, feeling much like a child who’d been given a lump of clay to play with while his parents went about their adult business.

  The bard found that fields of grass and groves of trees were the easiest to create, while rooms took a great deal more concentration. He challenged himself by creating rooms he remembered well, like his grandmother’s parlor, the mess hall of the barding college he’d attended as a boy, and the tavern where he first met Finder and spent a long night discussing music and art.

  His creations were nowhere near as organized or detailed as the goddesses’; nonetheless, it was an amazingly powerful sensation manipulating the chaos into order. Concentrating proved to be taxing work, however, and Joel was forced to retreat periodically to the temple so he could rest without thinking.

  As he played with the Limbo matter, Joel began to recognize a certain common denominator in each the environments he created—the window. It appeared in each of the interior
s Joel created, although he was certain there was no window in the real mess hall or the tavern. He tried hard to envision the space without the window, but it would not go away.

  The temple Beshaba had created had a tunnel shaft, and the dungeon that Beshaba’s mind had formed without even consciously thinking about it had a window. Joel concentrated on forming the hull of the spelljammer he’d ridden in, which definitely had no windows, but his creation was marred by a ragged hole in the hull. Something, or someone, was keeping the Limbo matter from completely surrounding him.

  Joel could think of only one reason for the opening: Someone outside the fusion chamber wanted a window in order to watch the prisoners.

  Joel imagined some sacks of sand along the hull of the imaginary spelljammer and climbed atop them so he could peer through the hole. A dim, rosy light shone through.

  In the dim light, on the other side of the spelljammer hull, Joel could make out what looked like a stone altar, adorned with glowing crystals and sparking balls of glass. Strewn about the table were varying tokens of luck both good and bad—a horseshoe, a luck stone, a four-leaf clover, a broken mirror, a new knife, and a black cat curled into a ball, sleeping. Suspended magically above the table were three items: an old coin and a pink rose, both of which glowed as bright as a lightning flash, and a blue crystal sphere.

  The space beyond the stone altar looked like a grassy clearing beneath a bright red tent large enough to hold a wedding party.

  The hole in the hull seemed to Joel like a magical portal out of the fusion chamber. Joel tried to put his hand through the hole, but found his way blocked by an invisible magical barrier. Unlike the shimmering walls of the fusion chamber, the barrier that blocked the portal was not completely impenetrable. Joel poked at it with his dagger, and in doing so discovered that nonliving objects could penetrate through the magical opening. Standing this close to the hole, he became aware of a faint clanking sound. Then he heard voices, muffled, he suspected, by the magical barrier.

  In his excitement, Joel’s concentration on the hull ceased, and he was surrounded again by chaos. Staving off panic, he swam back through the swirling matter until he reached Beshaba’s temple. He coughed up the water and dirt he had inadvertently breathed in and smacked out the tiny patches of flame dancing in his clothing and hair.

  Once he’d caught his breath, the bard concentrated on the tunnel near the ceiling. He reformed the chaos matter so the shaft was considerably larger, reaching down to the floor. In doing so, he uncovered another magical portal through which he could look out of the fusion chamber. Oddly enough, this portal opened to the exact same spot as the hole in the spelljammer hull—above the altar in the tent. Apparently only portals to the altar functioned. Just like the one in the spelljammer hull, this portal was blocked by a magical barrier through which Joel could push his dagger but not his hand.

  Joel listened carefully for the voices again and was rewarded when he heard someone say, “My lord, I do not recommend that you speak with them. It will only cause them unnecessary anxiety, which is likely to affect your ability to control the spell.”

  The voice was deep and familiar. Joel was pretty sure it was the same voice that had ordered Beshaba to be placed in the fusion chamber.

  The second speaker’s voice was also deep, but softer than the first, making it hard for Joel to distinguish the words.

  “… would think … anxiety … happening to them would be worse.… ease the transition … be cowardly … Nothing will alter my will” were all the words Joel caught.

  Suddenly two tall male figures appeared in the doorway of the tent. One was particularly handsome, with the body of a tall, slender, youthful athlete and fiery red-orange hair. He was dressed in a tunic of opalescent reds and golds. He could only be the god Lathander, Joel thought. The other figure was even taller, with hair, eyebrows, and beard of living flames. His robe shimmered with the colors of fire. Joel guessed this was the mysterious Sirrion of the Flowing Flame. Each god possessed an aura so bright that Joel stood blinking like an owl in daylight.

  “What is he doing in the fusion chamber?” Lathander demanded, pointing directly at the bard.

  Immediately Joel dived behind the cover of the altar.

  “In our haste to place Beshaba into the fusion chamber,” Joel heard Sirrion reply, “I neglected to have your servants search her. She must have smuggled him in as a smaller creature. It will make no difference to our spell. He is a mere mortal and cannot affect the outcome.”

  “But he will die in the chaos of the creation,” Lathander objected.

  “I warned you, my lord, that some sacrifices would have to be made,” Sirrion said. A slight impatient whine had crept into his voice.

  “No,” Lathander insisted, “not one such as this. He is the priest of another god. He must be taken out. I sense him hiding there behind that altar. Open the portal so the guardinals can fetch him.”

  “My lord,” Sirrion objected, “it’s too risky. Lady Beshaba and Lady Tymora are both conscious. They may sense the exit and seize the opportunity to escape.”

  “Then you must drain enough power from them so that they become unconscious again,” Lathander ordered.

  “That could delay the spell by nearly another day,” Sirrion declared. “Selune’s suspicions have already been aroused because you placed Tymora where she cannot sense her presence. If we don’t hurry, Selune may enter this place unbidden and discover our plan. She isn’t likely to agree with your decision. She may find a way to thwart us.”

  “And what exactly is this plan, Lord Lathander?” Tymora asked suddenly in an angry tone. “I was doubtful of Beshaba’s claim that you were involved in this, but I see you have betrayed my trust.” Lady Luck pointed to the gold coin suspended above the stone altar outside the fusion chamber. “You have drained my power from me by using the power key I gave to one of your priests as a favor to you.”

  Joel peered out from behind the altar. Tymora and Beshaba had just flown into the temple. They stood on either side of the tunnel window Joel had enlarged and glared out of the fusion chamber at their captors.

  “Lady Tymora, Lady Beshaba, welcome to Elysium,” Lathander said with a low bow. “Please forgive me for your abduction and imprisonment, but it is for a good cause, I assure you.”

  “I don’t give a damn about your ‘good cause,’ ” Beshaba retorted. “Free me this instant, you arrogant peacock.”

  Lathander gave Beshaba a coldly polite smile and said, “I did not expect you to care, Lady Beshaba. But I will explain our plan for Lady Tymora’s sake. Please feel free to listen.”

  Lady Beshaba scowled at the Morninglord.

  “Do go on, Lord Lathander,” Tymora said with mock sarcasm.

  “Some time ago,” Lathander began, “Lord Sirrion petitioned me to become a patron of an important cause. He seemed to feel that there was an imbalance among the gods of Faerûn that, if left unchecked, could lead to bloody wars on Toril.”

  “Sirrion isn’t worshiped on Faerûn,” Beshaba said. “Why should he care?”

  “Lord Sirrion,” Lathander explained, “has reason to believe that an imbalance of good on Faerûn would lead to an exodus of evil. which would end up on Krynn, where he does have worshipers. Krynn is already beset with much evil, and Lord Sirrion is anxious to avoid the influx of any more. From the first I found his arguments in favor of his plan quite compelling, but I didn’t agree to sponsor him immediately. I am not as rash as many of the gods believe me to be.”

  “Please get to the point, Lathander,” Tymora snapped. “My attention tends to wander when I’m a captive audience.”

  Joel peered around another corner of the altar so that he could view Lathander and Sirrion. Sirrion had started to manipulate the crystals and glass balls on the altar just outside the fusion chamber.

  “Lord Sirrion seemed to feel that your church, Lady Tymora, was about to face a grave conflict with that of Lady Beshaba’s, which would lead to horrendous wars. The only
way to prevent this catastrophe,” Lathander said resignedly, “was to bring the two of you, and hence your followers, together. To accomplish this, you need to be united once again in the form of Tyche, the goddess you once were.”

  Beshaba guffawed loudly. “Have you lost your wits?” she asked Lathander.

  “Lathander,” Tymora said with horror, “Tyche is dead. You can’t mean you’re going to try to resurrect her.”

  “No, Lady Tymora. Tyche is not dead. She lives in you and your sister, and when the two of you are fused into one with the aid of this machine and the power of our magic, Tyche will be whole again. Toril will remain at peace, and Krynn will not be disturbed by our troubles.”

  “But only at our expense,” Tymora declared. “Lathander, I am happy as I am. I do not want to be united with Beshaba. You have no right to force this upon us.”

  “Yes. For a long time, that is what kept me from supporting Sirrion’s plan. But then I was left to dwell on a matter of equal importance.” The Morninglord looked away from Tymora and stared off into space with a haunted look. “An ancient wrong will be righted by this plan,” he said. “Tyche was a great goddess. She should never have been destroyed. To this day, I blame myself for that tragedy. Had I not started the Dawn Cataclysm, Moander might never have corrupted Tyche, and she would yet live.”

  “It’s a little late to think of that now,” Beshaba said accusingly. “You tried to claim power that was not yours. Only a fool would be surprised the other gods of Faerûn chose to war against you. By the time the Dawn Cataclysm ended, your allies had suffered more losses than the enemies you hoped to contain in your bid for leadership.”

  “You may come to regret this move as well,” Tymora warned.

  “I’m sorry you are unwilling, my lady,” Lathander said, “but believe me, this is for the greater good. It will serve both Toril and Krynn as well as restore Tyche.”

  “Not to mention that it will help you assuage your guilt,” Beshaba growled. “You’re a complete fool, Lathander. It’s no wonder the others wouldn’t accept your leadership, nor that Tyche left you.”