Song of the Saurials Read online

  “She said she was a Harper,” Finder said incredulously. “She couldn’t be a Harper.”

  “She is,” Olive said. “I told you—she’s one of the tribunal judges.”

  “I can’t believe she tried to kill me,” Finder said. “She never would have gotten away with it.”

  “She didn’t care,” Olive said. “You said something to her about Grypht being a foe of the Darkbringer. That’s Moander, the Darkbringer god, right?”

  “Yes. Grypht said he was looking for Dragonbait because Moander was threatening their tribe.”

  “Oh, great!” Olive muttered, slapping her hand against her forehead.

  Finder looked at her blankly. “I don’t see the connection,” he said.

  “Don’t you get it? Kyre’s one of Moander’s servants.”

  “That’s impossible. No Harper would aid the Darkbringer.”

  Olive huffed in frustration. “I recognized those slimy tendrils Kyre used to grab the finder’s stone. They’re just like the ones Moander had all over its body. Moander was probably controlling her mind, the same way it controlled Akabar’s mind last year.”

  “Akabar,” Finder mused. The bard recalled the southern mage, Akabar bel Akash, who had befriended Alias the previous year, and how he had been captured by the Darkbringer when he had tried to free Alias from the god’s clutches. “But Akabar destroyed the body Moander used in the Realms,” Finder argued. “There’s no way Moander could have possessed Kyre.”

  “Suppose Kyre visited a world outside the Realms?” Olive asked.

  Finder considered the halfling’s suggestion and frowned darkly. “It’s possible,” he admitted.

  “We have to get back to Shadowdale and tell Dragonbait so he can rescue Grypht,” Olive said. “Where are we, anyway?” she asked, tossing a pebble at a thistle.

  “Home,” Finder said.

  “Home? It doesn’t look like Immersea,” Olive replied.

  “It’s not. Were you under the impression I lived at Redstone Castle with my family?” Finder asked.

  Olive grinned, thinking of all the Wyvernspurs she’d met and trying to imagine Finder getting along with them. “I guess I should have known better.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Finder asked.

  Olive chuckled at his defensiveness. “Did they kick you out?” she asked.

  Finder’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I left them. They never took me seriously.”

  “Never a prophet in your own land,” Olive teased. Finder’s face darkened, and the halfling realized she might be pushing him too far. She decided to change the subject. “So where is this home?” she asked.

  Finder made a sweeping motion with his arm, indicating something behind Olive. “Finder’s Keep,” he said.

  The halfling turned around abruptly. The walls of a crumbling manor rose behind her. Thistles and grass grew between cracks in the stone. Kudzu covered the chimneys. Moss and fungus grew from the fallen roof beams. “I think you need a new decorator,” Olive quipped.

  “The underground complex was sealed. It should be in good condition,” Finder said.

  “Are we still in the Dales?” Olive asked.

  Finder nodded. “The southern edge of the Spiderhaunt Woods.”

  “That’s not too far from Shadowdale,” Olive said, her mind racing. “We can walk to the road connecting Shadowdale and Cormyr. There should be plenty of traffic on it this time of the year. Then we can get a lift from a caravan going north. We should be able to reach Shadowdale in about four days.”

  “Olive, you’ve been trying all morning to convince me to flee Shadowdale,” Finder reminded the halfling. “Now you want me to go back and turn myself in to the Harpers. Suppose Kyre isn’t the only one in Moander’s possession?”

  “You are a problem, aren’t you?” Olive sighed. “All right. When we get to the road, we’ll go south to Cormyr, and we’ll send a message back to Dragonbait with the first caravan we meet that’s heading north to Shadowdale.”

  “No,” Finder said. “I don’t want to do that.”

  “Then how are we ever going to tell Dragonbait about Grypht?” Olive asked, exasperated.

  “We’re not,” Finder said simply. “If Dragonbait finds out about Grypht, he’ll try to help him.”

  “That’s the idea, isn’t it?” Olive asked.

  “Alias, in turn, will want to help Dragonbait,” Finder explained. “And I don’t want her going anywhere near Moander or Moander’s minions. Moander wants her for a servant. I won’t have the god using her again.”

  “That’s Alias’s business, not yours,” Olive replied.

  “She’s my daughter. I’ll protect her as I see fit,” Finder retorted sharply.

  “Then don’t you think you should warn her that Moander might be after her again?” Olive asked.

  “Moander can’t detect her if she doesn’t go looking for the god,” Finder said. “What she doesn’t know can’t hurt her.”

  Olive shrugged. “Whatever you say. No note to Dragonbait. We still want to get to the road before dark. Well catch a caravan going south to Cormyr. That place I told you about, where we can’t be detected magically, is in Cormyr.”

  Finder shook his head. “I’m not hiding anywhere. I’ve decided you were right. I’ve credited the Harpers with too much power. Once I get access to my workshop, they’ll never capture me again.”

  Olive sighed. She had planned to send a note to Dragonbait anyway. It didn’t look as if she’d get a chance unless she left Finder.

  The halfling didn’t really want to leave the bard, though. Olive genuinely liked Finder. He knew more about her than anyone in the Realms, yet he didn’t condemn her for her greed or her cowardice or her minor jealousies. He’d shown a lot of patience in teaching her more about music in one month than she’d learned during the rest of her whole life. In addition, he’d offered her a passage to respectability by giving her his Harper’s pin.

  “You know,” the halfling said, rubbing her chin, “I’m beginning to worry that I might be a bad influence on you.”

  Finder chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’m not influenced easily.” He turned and headed up the hill toward the crumbling manor house.

  That’s what I’m afraid of, Olive thought, but she held her tongue and followed.

  When Alias heard that Nameless had been kidnapped, the blood drained from her face and she swayed alarmingly. Akabar put his hand on her elbow to steady her.

  “Don’t worry, Alias,” the mage said softly. “We’ll find him.”

  “Kyre, this is Alias of Westgate,” Mourngrym explained to the half-elf. “Alias, this is the bard Kyre, one of the members of the Harpers’ tribunal.”

  After taking a few deep breaths, Alias had recovered from her shock enough to nod politely to the Harper bard. Kyre nodded back at the swordswoman, but it was Akabar who held the half-elf’s gaze.

  “This is Alias’s friend, Akabar bel Akash,” Mourngrym added, noting how Kyre stared at the mage. “Akabar used his magic to destroy the wall of ice for us.”

  “A pity that your effort, though great, came too late,” Kyre said to Akabar.

  “I don’t understand how anything from a lower plane could have gotten into the tower,” Alias said impatiently. “Elminster had it warded against entry by that sort of creature.”

  “Elminster also had a no-exit spell cast on Nameless’s room,” Mourngrym said. “How could Grypht teleport past that?”

  “Such wards and spells sometimes deteriorate, your lordship, or they can be broken by powerful magic,” Kyre replied. Though she addressed Mourngrym, the half-elf’s attention was still fixed on Akabar. “As you saw, I just left the room without any trouble.”

  Mourngrym frowned. “I’ve never heard of any spell of Elminster’s deteriorating or breaking. He’s the most powerful mage in the Realms.”

  “Excuse me, your lordship,” Akabar replied, “but the lady is quite correct. Such things do happen on occasion. In fact, there is consider
able evidence of many spells having failed this past summer when the gods walked the Realms.”

  “Elminster took extra care to reset all the wards on the tower after that,” Mourngrym interposed.

  “Yet we cannot deny the evidence of our eyes,” Akabar said.

  “Speaking of Elminster, where is he?” Alias asked suddenly.

  “He disappeared before our very eyes. Grypht appeared in his place,” Kyre explained. “Perhaps his absence weakened his spells.”

  That didn’t sound likely to Mourngrym, but he had no training in magic. He turned to Thurbal and the two guards. “Better have the tower searched, in case something else has managed to sneak in.”

  Thurbal nodded and ushered the two guards off with him.

  Still unconvinced, Alias asked Kyre, “What type of monster was it? What did it look like?”

  “Grypht is not a type of monster but one unique unto itself,” Kyre replied calmly. “Grypht is a duke of Caina, in the Nine Hells. The Zhentarim often use Grypht for their evil schemes. It stands ten feet tall. Its hide is covered with green scales. It has horns, claws, and a tail.”

  Alias walked into Nameless’s former cell. Sigils and symbols were scrawled on the walls and the windowsill and even the doorsill, evidencing the wards protecting the room from entry by creatures from the lower planes. They looked all right to her. “Akabar, what do you think?” Alias asked, motioning the mage into the room.

  Akabar stepped into the cell and began to study Elminster’s wards. As she watched Kyre’s eyes follow the mage, Alias wondered if the half-elf recognized the Turmishman from somewhere, but when the half-elf reached up to adjust the orchid behind her ear, Alias realized that Kyre was physically attracted to the merchant-mage. Akabar was, after all, a handsome man. Even Cassana, a connoisseur of men, had lusted after him.

  Alias turned around to survey the rest of the room. Elminster had sworn to her that he had made Nameless as comfortable as possible. The old sage hadn’t lied. Everything about the room was lovely—the furniture, the curtains, the carpeting. A well-crafted songhorn lay on the table beside a silver fruit bowl. “Oh!” Alias cried out suddenly in disgust, revolted by the sight of the rotting, moldy plums, pears, and apples within the silver bowl.

  “What is it?” Akabar asked, hurrying to her side. Mourngrym was close behind him.

  Alias pointed at the bowl of fruit. “Is this some sick joke to taunt Nameless?” she asked.

  Mourngrym scowled angrily when he saw what had upset the swordswoman.” I can’t imagine who would do such a thing,” he said curtly, “but I guarantee I will find out who is responsible.”

  “The sign,” Akabar whispered.

  “What?” Alias asked, looking up at the Turmishman. Even beneath his dark skin, the swordswoman could see that the blood was draining from her friend’s face. Akabar’s body trembled visibly.

  “Akabar, what’s wrong?” Alias asked.

  “It’s the sign of danger. From my dreams. The bowl of rotting fruit marks its coming,” Akabar said.

  Alias shivered, momentarily frightened by Akabar’s words. With a deep breath, she cast off the ridiculous idea that Akabar’s dreams were rooted in reality.

  From the doorway, Kyre called Akabar’s name. The half-elf’s face was clouded with concern. When Akabar looked up at her, she spoke a word to him that neither Alias nor Mourngrym could comprehend, though it sounded to Alias as if it was in Turmish.

  Akabar didn’t appear comforted by whatever the half-elf had said. He reeled around and was forced to lean heavily on the tabletop to keep from falling over. He began muttering, “The sign … the rotting,” over and over again.

  “Get hold of yourself, Akash,” Alias demanded, placing her hands on Akabar’s shoulders.

  “I think your friend is not well,” Kyre said, hurrying into the room and taking Akabar’s hands in her own.

  “What is it?” Mourngrym asked Kyre. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “He’s in shock. He should lie down. Here, Akabar Bel Akash,” the half-elf said softly. She tugged gently on Akabar’s wrists until she’d led him to the bed. “Sit here,” she ordered.

  As if he were in a trance, Akabar obeyed wordlessly.

  “Now lie down,” Kyre said.

  Akabar swung his feet up on the bed and laid his head down on the pillow.

  “Perhaps we should fetch Morala,” his lordship suggested, alarmed by the mage’s glassy-eyed stare.

  “There’s no need to trouble the priestess, your lordship,” Kyre said. “I’m sure he’ll recover soon.”

  “I’m sure she’s right,” Alias said. “Akabar’s been having these strange dreams,” she explained. “I’m afraid he takes them a little too seriously.”

  “Perhaps I can help,” Kyre said. “I have made a study of dreams. If he will speak to me about them, perhaps I can tell him what they mean.”

  “Alias,” Mourngrym said from the bedside, “I think he’s trying to say something to you.”

  Alias knelt by the Turmishman’s side. “I’m here, Akabar. What is it?”

  Fighting to get the words out, Akabar whispered slowly, “Take … me … to … Zhara.” His eyes glittered and his breathing was too quick.

  Alias looked up at Kyre.

  “I don’t think you should move him,” the half-elf said softly. “Who is Zhara?”

  “His wife,” Alias said reluctantly. She stood up again and explained more to Kyre in a whisper. “His third wife, a priestess. She’s got him believing his dreams are real.”

  “Dreams are only real in our heads,” Kyre said.

  “Can you convince him of that?” Alias asked hopefully.

  “Perhaps. If you and Lord Mourngrym will leave me alone with him for a time, it will be easier to speak with him about it,” Kyre suggested.

  Alias looked down anxiously at Akabar. Perhaps this attack of nerves, or whatever it was, was a blessing in disguise, she thought. Kyre was a beautiful woman, and Alias found herself hoping that if the half-elf was left alone to care for Akabar, he would find Kyre as attractive as Kyre obviously found him. If Akabar liked Kyre enough, Kyre might break Zhara’s spell on him and convince him that Zhara was wrong, that his dreams of Moander weren’t some godly command to place himself in the path of evil, but only the memories of old terrors.

  Alias nodded her consent. “Summon me if you need me,” the swordswoman said.

  “I will let his wife know he is in my care,” the half-elf said. “Where is she?”

  “The Old Skull Inn. I asked Jhaele to put Akabar and his wife in the Red Room,” Alias said. “There’s no hurry. Zhara won’t be expecting Akabar to return right away.”

  Kyre nodded as she laid her slender hand on Akabar’s forehead.

  Mourngrym put a comforting hand on Alias’s shoulder as they left the room. “He’ll be fine,” his lordship said, pulling the door closed behind them. “I’m told Kyre is quite clever.”

  “She seems very sensible,” Alias said, but she couldn’t keep from adding, “Do you think she’s right that this Grypht is a duke from the Nine Hells?”

  Mourngrym shrugged. “I really don’t know. You heard what she said about its working for the Zhentarim. Whatever Grypht is, the Zhentarim would certainly like to get their hands on Elminster. Still, I can’t imagine that Elminster is in any real danger. He has an evasion spell to take him to safety if his life is ever seriously threatened.”

  “But Nameless doesn’t have such a spell,” Alias said. “The Zhentarim could be holding him to force Elminster to stay with them. Nameless and Elminster were once close friends. Elminster wouldn’t abandon him. Suppose the Zhentarim heard some rumor about me and decided to try to coerce Nameless into creating another creature like me so they could use it as an agent? They might try to force Elminster to help him.”

  Mourngrym’s face clouded over with concern. Alias’s theory was too sensible to be discounted. “Why don’t you pay a visit to the sage’s scribe? If anyone knows anything about Elm
inster, it would be Lhaeo. In the meantime, I’ll try to find some spell-casters who could scry for Nameless and Elminster.”

  Immediately after Alias and Mourngrym left Nameless’s former cell, Kyre crept to the doorway and listened for a few moments as the swordswoman and the lord of Shadowdale moved away down the hall. When their footsteps and voices had faded into the distance, Kyre whispered a chant to hold the door closed so that nothing would interrupt her talk with the Turmishman. With Elminster gone and Akabar indisposed, it would take Mourngrym some time to scare up a mage capable of forcing the door. By then she would be gone and Akabar would be gone with her.

  The half-elf crossed back to the bed and sat down beside Akabar. The Turmishman rolled his head and shook, as if he were in the midst of a bad dream. It must seem to him as if he were, Kyre realized. She had stunned him with a power word right in front of the lord of Shadowdale and the swordswoman, but since Kyre had spoken the word in Turmish, neither Mourngrym nor Alias had the slightest suspicion that the merchant-mage’s state of shock had been brought on by a magical attack. Like most northerners, they had never bothered to learn Turmish or any of the related southern tongues, and now the half-elf would reap a great reward because of their ignorance.

  For a brief moment, when Akabar had found the strength and wits to ask Alias to take him to his wife, the half-elf had feared her scheme would be ruined. Fortunately Alias had been more willing to trust a stranger than accept the Turmishman’s trust in his priestess wife. Cassana had done a good job conditioning the swordswoman to dislike members of the clergy, Kyre thought with satisfaction.

  Kyre ran her finger down the sleeve of Akabar’s robe. After she had spent months of fruitless searching for the Turmishman, he had brought himself to her, and now he lay here completely at her mercy. Before he regained his senses, she would have to put him under a stronger enchantment. She could place him in a gem of soul-stealing to carry him off to her master, but it would be easier and far more amusing to convince him to come with her of his own free will.