Finder's Bane Read online

  There was laughter and a few cheers from the crowd, and some members of the audience joined in on the chorus. A few even smiled when Joel met their gaze. The bard cornered Kharva as she tried surreptitiously to clear away the tureen from Joel’s table. The dwarven woman frowned sternly as the young man sang a verse in her honor.

  “We toast good Kharva’s cooking skills,

  Which cure all human and dwarven ills,

  For with each sip and with each bite,

  We’re soon too stuffed to start a fight!”

  Kharva guffawed heartily, and laughter burst from the crowd. More joined in on the chorus. One table punctuated the last two words of each line by pounding on the table, creating an accompanying percussion section.

  Joel walked about the table until he stood behind his next victim.

  “We toast Lathander’s paladins,

  Whose lives are without stains or sins,

  Who’ll leap into every fray or mess,

  Provided they have the proper dress!”

  Holly squealed and covered her face with her hands. Joel could see the flush beneath her dark skin. Now nearly the whole house sang the chorus, each group trying to outshout or outpound the others. Next Joel circled behind the stoic form of Bear, still grim-faced and silent, his arms folded.

  “Let’s toast the absent Zhentarim,

  Who loose upon us evil grim.

  To know these fools and avoid their sting,

  Just watch for those who will not si—”

  Bear’s fist came out of nowhere. One moment Joel had a clear view of grinning dalesfolk, and in the next a small meteorite of flesh closed directly with his nose. There was a flash of light, then darkness. When Joel’s eyes opened again, he was lying on the floor. Holly was hovering over him, obstructing his view, but he could hear Randal Morn castigating the huge bodyguard.

  “What did you do that for?” the Rebel Lord snarled.

  “He insulted me,” Bear grunted. “Us. Daggerdale. He was mocking us.”

  “The only insult was the interruption of our song,” Morn snapped. “If you’d paused to look around, you might have noted that everyone else was laughing and singing.”

  Bear blushed deeply and reiterated, “I thought he was insulting us.”

  “Save your offended zeal for fighting the Zhentarim,” Morn retorted. Turning to Holly, he asked, “How is he?”

  Holly had placed her hands on Joel’s face lightly, but the pressure was nearly unbearable. Then the bard recognized the rosy-hued aura of the paladin’s healing touch. The sharp pain in the back of his head subsided to a dull throbbing and an unpleasant itching all about his nose.

  “Feeling better, Joel?” the girl asked.

  “Talk about your rough audiences,” Joel muttered.

  Morn grunted agreement and reached out with his hand. Joel missed the hand the first try, but grabbed it the second. The Rebel Lord pulled the Rebel Bard to his feet.

  Joel cocked his head at Bear. “If he hits the Zhents that hard, you’ll soon have no worries,” the bard joked. Then the room swayed about him, and he had to steady himself against the table.

  “Take him to one of the cottages to rest,” Morn instructed Holly. “When he’s recovered and wants to continue his journey, Bear will serve as his escort, by way of an apology.”

  Neither Holly nor Bear looked pleased with that arrangement. Bear opened his mouth, no doubt to argue, but shut it again a moment later. The huge man nodded to his lord, then turned on his heel and disappeared into the crowd. A few members of the audience raised a mug to Joel, but most of them had returned to their earlier diversions. Another typical evening in Daggerdale, the young bard suspected.

  Morn handed Joel his pipes. “Sorry about that,” he said sheepishly. “Bear often sees threats where none exist. He’s a good man, though.”

  “So you’ve said,” Joel replied, taking the pipes with one hand while holding his tender nose with the other. “Really, though, you needn’t spare him for my sake. Holly’s been a wonderful guide.”

  “Yes, but I’m afraid I have need of her skills in the days to come. Yet I would prefer knowing you were escorted safely through my land.”

  “Bear it is, then,” Joel agreed, though only so as not to appear disagreeable to Morn.

  “I’ll have someone see to your horse while Holly shows you to your quarters,” Morn said.

  Holly led Joel to the door. Outside, the air had turned cool. The moon had not yet risen, and the sky was a jumble of stars. Not far off, hidden in the dark, a large cat snarled. Joel remembered the guardian that had scared his horse.

  A young dwarf handed Holly a lantern, and the paladin led the bard away from the manor down a meadow path. Firestars zipped about them. Holly halted at the door to a small cottage and set the lantern down on the front stoop.

  “I’m sorry I can’t escort you farther,” the girl said.

  “I understand. You have a duty to Morn. I’ll be fine with Bear.”

  “About Bear …” Holly paused, as if searching for the right words. “Just watch yourself with him.”

  “I’ll stay out of arm’s reach,” Joel assured her with a grin.

  “I don’t trust him,” the paladin whispered.

  “Why not?” Joel asked, thinking immediately of the legendary paladin’s ability to plum the depths of the soul.

  “It’s not what you think,” Holly replied. “I don’t sense evil about him. And it’s not that he’s ever done anything really wrong. He’s just so utterly devoted, so grim, so humorless. He makes my stomach knot. It’s not exactly something I can tell to Lord Randal.”

  Joel nodded with understanding. Morn wasn’t likely to have his judgment swayed by a girl’s gut instinct, even if she was a useful and loyal subject. “I’ll keep my eyes open,” he assured her.

  “Just take care of yourself,” she ordered. “And thanks for everything back there, with the Zhents.”

  “My pleasure,” the bard insisted. He thrust out his hand, and Holly grasped his wrist as he held hers.

  “Good-bye and good luck,” the girl said. A moment later she disappeared into the darkness.

  “Good luck to you, Holly Harrowslough,” Joel sang softly after her. Then he picked up the lantern and retired into the cottage.

  Once inside, Joel tugged off his boots and flopped down on the bed. Placing his fingertips across his brow, he sang a short discordant scale and concentrated his energies as Jedidiah had taught him. His hands glowed a soft blue, and a moment later the throbbing in his head and the tingling in his nose dissipated.

  He still felt a little fuzzy, but that, he suspected, was the ale. Just need to get some sleep, he told himself. A few minutes later he was snoring softly.

  The next morning the young dwarf who’d served him ale brought by a tray of bread and milk and a message from Bear that he was waiting at the manor and would be ready to leave whenever the bard gave the word.

  Joel sent back word he’d be ready within the hour.

  Scrubbed and fed, the bard strolled down to the manor house where Butternut was tied up, groomed, fed, bridled, and saddled. Bear stomped up leading a heavy black draft horse for his own mount. Joel greeted him a good morning, to which Bear grunted. The huge man had no words of greeting, let alone any of apology. At least he did not glare so much as he had the night before, or so Joel imagined.

  Kharva poked her head out of the door. “Lord Randal and Harrowslough left at dawn. They said to wish you fair travel. There are fresh provisions in your saddlebags. I packed you some pies made from the leftover stew.”

  “I can smell them,” Joel noted. “The scent will drive me crazy all morning. I thank you.” He made a deep bow. Kharva laughed and disappeared back into the manor.

  No one else came to see them off. They must all be working, Joel told himself. Still, it felt odd that not even a few children or one old geezer stood by to wave them out of town.

  Joel mounted Butternut. “I’m headed for the opposite bank of
the River Ashaba, then into the mountains,” he explained to Bear.

  Bear grunted and mounted his draft horse.

  “Anytime you want to stop and point out some local sites of interest, feel free,” Joel added.

  Bear grunted again and kicked his horse into motion.

  Having expended all the topics for morning conversation, Joel followed behind with Butternut.

  Bear led Joel out of the dell by a northward path wide enough for a single rider, which suited the Rebel Bard perfectly. He lagged behind the black draft horse by several lengths, alone with his own thoughts.

  Mostly those thoughts were preoccupied with Holly and the nature of her faith. She was so much younger than he, yet she seemed to have effortlessly melded her duties as a paladin of Lathander into the rest of her life. Was it something she had prepared for all her life? If I wear the title of priest long enough, will it finally feel like it fits? he wondered.

  From the time he had first spoken with Jedidiah, Joel had been excited by the idea of following Finder, but he still couldn’t fathom why Jedidiah had been so eager for him to be more than a follower. What in the Realms made Jedidiah think I would make a good priest?

  Finally thoughts about the scenery shoved their way into the forefront of Joel’s mind. The path Bear chose led them past, by Joel’s count, over thirty abandoned farms, each marked by great swaths of meadow that had once been fields, overgrown orchards, and burnt-out farmhouses. Between the deprivations of the Zhentilar occupation, marauding orcs, and no doubt a dragon or two, the Daggerdale folk hereabouts had apparently given up and left their land to lie fallow. Anathar’s Dell’s survival was a lone exception to the rule.

  Hoping to brighten his mood, Joel was about to suggest to Bear that they stop for an early lunch. He urged Butternut into the field and pulled her up alongside Bear’s draft horse. That’s when he spotted the Zhentilar. There was a whole patrol resting in the shade of an old orchard at the far side of the meadow he and Bear were now crossing. Most had dismounted and were idly chucking rocks at the tree trunks, but at least three remained in their saddles watching the horizon.

  “Hey,” Joel whispered, “what’s—”

  Bear held up a single hand. Despite himself, Joel flinched.

  “Just ride on,” Bear growled softly. “There won’t be any trouble.”

  Joel nodded, realizing Bear must know what he was doing. The trick was to remain calm and ride on past just as Bear and other native Daggerdalefolk must do dozens of times a day.

  This patrol was larger than the two Joel had encountered the day before, but it was much more ragged. The soldiers’ leather jerkins were motley, and not all of them sported the Zhentarim badge of black and yellow. There was an even mix of men and women in the group. The men’s faces were all unshaven and the women’s hair tangled, and none of them appeared to have washed since the last rainstorm. They looked more like brigands than soldiers. Nonetheless they were intimidating. More than half of them looked as if they could give Bear a good wrestling match.

  It was the sight of their leader that unnerved Joel the most. He was one of those who remained mounted. Over a full suit of black plate mail, the man wore an open black robe with green piping. Emerald-colored stones glistened from the backs of his black gauntlets. Any doubt Joel may have had concerning the leader’s profession vaporized upon spotting the green stole he wore. Embroidered on either end was the symbol of a black hand with glowing green eyes. The leader was a priest of the god Iyachtu Xvim, Godson of Bane.

  Iyachtu Xvim’s followers, called Xvimists, were growing in numbers in the north, poaching on the not-so-faithful of Cyric, the Mad God. Xvimists held to many of the same dogmas as the former Banites. Tyranny and hatred were their reasons for living. There was no love lost between Iyachtu and the dead god who’d been his father, yet Iyachtu’s people considered Banites the property of Bane’s heir, their god. They were said to embrace Banites into their fold, willing or not. Joel wondered if they’d heard reports of the pilgrim Banites Joel had spotted yesterday. Banite and Xvimite doctrine held that followers of all other religions were fools to be despised and abused.

  Bear nodded as they approached the orchard. A few of the Zhentilar nodded back. Joel gave a jerky copy of the nod, keeping his expression completely neutral, trying to appear neither weak nor aggressive.

  The priest leader nudged his mount forward, partially blocking the path. Bear halted his mount. Joel urged Butternut to move up alongside the draft horse. His mind raced as he tried to think what to say, and what not to say, to these people. Then he realized that this was Bear’s country, and this was Bear’s problem. Bear would know exactly what to say.

  “Darkness falls,” the priest of Xvim greeted them, holding up his left hand, palm outward. For a brief moment green flame flickered at the priest’s fingertips.

  “And darkness rises again,” Bear responded, holding up his left hand. Green flame danced along his fingertips as well. Joel started with surprise, and Holly’s warning about Bear instantly came to mind.

  “And your cause?” the priest queried.

  “I bring an offering,” Bear explained. “A priest of Finder.”

  Offering! Joel thought. Realizing he had foolishly come within arm’s reach of Bear, Joel pulled on Butternut’s reins. Butternut tried to step backward, but another Zhentilar had positioned himself right behind the mare. Annoyed, the mare kicked backward, then leapt forward, delivering Joel right into Bear’s fist.

  The blow struck the bard in the side of the head. Then, before he could react, the huge man lifted the bard from the saddle and hurled him to the ground.

  Joel had the presence of mind to roll away from Butternut’s hooves, but before he could rise to his feet, another Zhentilar booted him in the stomach. The bard doubled over and fell back to the ground. When he’d finally caught his breath and looked back up, Bear was standing over him, smiling, finally amused by the bard.

  Behind the huge man, Joel could see the priest of Xvim, still mounted, also smiling. “Alive,” the priest said to Bear. “Make him hurt all you want, but keep him alive for later.”

  Some of Branson’s instructions in combat finally worked their way to the bard’s thoughts. He rolled away from Bear and up to his feet with his sword drawn. The weapon did not stop Bear’s advance.

  Determined that the huge man should at the very least learn to respect his steel blade, Joel lunged outward. The tip of his sword hit something hard beneath Bear’s leather jerkin and skittered out and downward until it finally sunk into something soft. Joel jumped back a step, yanking his sword with him. There was blood on the end of the blade. Bear remained standing like some magical golem.

  A split second later the huge man closed on the surprised bard, wrapping one massive hand about Joel’s right wrist and the other about Joel’s windpipe. The sword clattered from Joel’s nerveless fingers. With his left hand, Joel grabbed for the wand at his belt and pointed it at Bear’s belly, hoping it might turn the huge man into something small, like a beetle, but without air, the bard couldn’t choke out the wand’s command word. Bear let go of Joel’s right hand and yanked away the wand. Once he’d thrown the magical stick to the ground, he tightened his grip about his opponent’s throat. Dark spots began appearing before Joel’s eyes.

  Then suddenly Bear released both his neck and wrist. Joel tumbled to the ground. Groggy, he rose again to his feet, expecting some worse punishment from the traitorous Bear. After a moment he realized Bear’s attack would not be forthcoming any time soon.

  As the dark spots faded from his eyes, he could see that the Zhentilar were fighting with someone else. Someone mounted on a Zhentilar horse, wielding a sword. Someone wearing a crimson and yellow blouse with blue and green peacock stitching.

  Holly followed us, Joel realized. The damsel in distress has come to my rescue. Now we have to escape from the Zhents again. I’ve got to get my wits about me.

  Most of the Zhentilar had begun swarming around Holly. Bear t
urned half away from Joel to warn them. “Look out!” the huge man bellowed. “She’s a practiced killer!”

  Joel caught sight of the wand lying on the ground at Bear’s feet. He looked back up at Bear and caught the glitter of the traitor’s steel eye patch. He was on the huge man’s blind side.

  Keeping bent over low, Joel dashed past Bear, scooping up the wand as he moved. He stopped and spun about with his back to a tree and the wand out before him. He looked back at Holly. At least three Zhentilar lay on the ground around her, but those remaining had managed to trip her horse to the ground, yank her from the saddle, and disarm her. Still she fought, kicking and punching with unerring precision. Unfortunately, Joel realized, he couldn’t fire the wand at her attackers and risk injuring her.

  He had other targets, however. The priest of Xvim, still mounted on his horse, sat watching the paladin’s battle with an amused smile on his face. Joel aimed the wand at him, pleased to see that Bear stood in the line of fire. The bard whispered the command word.

  A vast cloud of black smoke issued from the wand and coalesced a moment later into a horrific creature completely unknown to Joel. It was larger than the largest bull Joel had ever seen, with wrinkled gray skin and a single horn in the center of its head. It charged toward Bear and the priest with a bellowing roar.

  Bear spun about just in time to sidestep the beast’s charge, but the priest of Xvim, his attention focused on Holly, did not react quickly enough to keep his horse from being gutted by the beast’s horn.

  Joel pointed the wand again at Bear, but he was too late. The huge man had already closed on him. He slammed into the bard, flattened him into the ground, then delivered blow after blow with his elbows to the bard’s face.

  From far off, Joel could hear Holly screaming. Then silence and blackness enveloped him.

  Four

  THE SACRIFICE

  How long he remained unconscious Joel could not tell, but at some point he began to sense he was rolling from side to side. Somehow he knew he was on a ship bound for some far-off land. Through a gray haze, he saw the prow of the floating ship that had accompanied the pilgrim Banites. Standing on the deck over his prone form was the Banite priestess with her silver goad. She turned to face him, wearing a pitiless smile.