by Kate Novak
Joel trusted the girl’s instincts, but he was unable to squelch his curiosity. Leaving the horses and Holly behind, the bard crawled back the way they’d come until he could peer through the tall grass at the trail beyond.
Whatever was coming had frightened more than just Holly. The woods that he and Holly had just exited erupted with an alarmed chatter. A moment later flocks of birds soared out of the trees and flew overhead. Five deer bounded down the trail and into the grass, the lead buck settling only a few feet from the ravine where Holly and the horses were hidden.
A minute later a great procession of people emerged from the woods. There had to be a hundred at least, peasants mostly, their heads bowed down, mumbling incoherently, their feet shuffling in the dirt, kicking up clouds of dust. Four young men and two young women in poorly tailored acolytes robes of red and black carried banners of crimson, emblazoned with a black hand. They chanted, louder and more clearly than the peasants, so that Joel could make out their words.
“Lord Bane comes. Fear him always. To defy him is to die. Lord Bane comes. Fear him always. To defy him is to die.”
Joel buried his head in his arms and worked hard to stifle his laughter. It was a group of Banites, still worshiping their dead god. Their capacity for self-deceit was unbelievable. The black lord of hatred and tyranny had perished nearly a decade ago, yet he still had worshipers who refused to accept the fact. With their god’s death, even Bane’s priests were magically impotent, yet here they were, parading about and declaring their god’s power.
It was then that Joel noticed the ground was rumbling. He peered down the road, guessing the rumbling might be caused by elephants, or perhaps a captured dragon.
It was no living thing that shook the earth, however, but something far more diabolical. Floating along the trail, its keel hovering inches from the ground, was the strangest-looking ship Joel had ever seen. The hull was fashioned of gigantic tree trunks, bound together with iron bands. Engraved in the iron bands was a script Joel was sure did not originate in the Realms. The hull was nearly a hundred feet long, with a fifteen-foot beam. Charred bits of wood on the lower deck led Joel to guess the upper decks had been destroyed by fire. Three of the bound tree trunks thrust outward from the lower deck, entwined together to form a three-pronged ram. The ship’s broken rudder plowed through the earth, creating a great furrow in the trail and making the ground shake.
Bound to the ship’s bow, looking as if it were standing on the ram, was a giant ebon figurehead of a creature Joel had never seen before. It looked like a great pig or a small elephant with a mushed-in snout, only it stood upright like a human. Its arms were bound to either side of the bow. The statue wore no clothing, and its black skin had a sheen as if it were highly polished.
Behind the figurehead, on the lower deck, stood a small, slender woman in black plate armor, with a black cape. She held a silver goad, its spiked point honed to a needlelike sharpness. Her long, silky black hair was fastened in a single plait that reached her waist. It was her face, though, that captured Joel’s attention. On her cheeks and her chin were diamond-shaped tattoos the color of fresh blood, and set into her forehead was a huge ruby, worth a king’s ransom—the telltale markings of one of Bane’s chosen priests. Her features might have been attractive, but now they were frozen into a stern, bored expression. She looked no older than Joel, but the bard knew such priests often used their powers to appear youthful.
For a moment the priestess seemed to look right at the spot where Joel hid in the grass. Her lips curled into the slightest hint of a smile. Joel could have sworn he’d been detected, that in the next minute she’d order her minions to flush him out like a bird. Then the bow of the boat reached the trail just in front of where he lay in hiding, and the bard lost sight of the priestess. The boat rumbled past and continued on. A few more peasants straggled behind the floating ship, but they did not stop.
Joel rolled on his back and breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn’t seen him. If she hadn’t seen him, though, why had she smiled? the bard asked himself. Perhaps she had seen him, but in her pride, she had ignored him, smiling at the way he cowered. Joel felt annoyance churn in his gut. As priestess to a dead god, she was unable to cast even a simple healing spell, yet there she stood, proud of her power and position, and here he lay, priest to a living god, lying low like a snake in the grass.
Healing. He’d forgotten about that. He was so self-conscious about revealing his priesthood he hadn’t even offered to heal the wounds on Holly’s arms. She was a tough little thing, but the gashes from the Zhentarim swords must hurt badly.
Joel crawled back through the grass to the wash where Holly and the horses were hidden. He was rehearsing what he would say—“I’m not just a bard. I’m a priest, too. Of Finder. I don’t expect you’ve heard of him”—when he spied Holly by the wash. The bard froze in place and stared.
Holly sat cross-legged in the grass, her arms raised over her head, softly singing a chant to Lathander Morninglord, god of the dawn. Her singing was off-key, but apparently that was no impediment to her prayer being answered. An aura as rosy as the dawn sky gathered about her head and upraised arms. She lowered her arms and wrapped them about herself. The aura contracted about her as if it were sinking into her flesh, then vanished. The cuts on her arms were now nothing more than pale lines scarring her dark brown skin.
So much for my usefulness as a priest, Joel thought. Now, though, he understood this girl who wielded a sword with the skill of a veteran mercenary, who sensed Banites approaching, who could heal her wounds with a prayer.
“You’re a paladin, aren’t you?” he asked Holly, though he was quite sure of it already.
Holly looked up at him and nodded. “Order of the Aster,” she explained, “protectors of Lathander’s church.”
It felt odd meeting someone with such great responsibilities and so skilled who was even younger than he. For a moment Joel had the unpleasant sensation that he was growing old at twenty.
“Um, I hadn’t mentioned it, but I’m a priest of Finder.”
“I know,” Holly replied.
“My real name’s Joel. Joel of Finder,” the bard admitted, then realized what Holly had just said. “How did you know?” he asked with surprise.
“That you were a priest? I watched you cast a blessing on us before we fought the second patrol of Zhents.”
“Oh. Right. I only mentioned it because I wasn’t sure if there was any problem with you helping a priest of a different god.”
Holly shook her head. “Not with Finder’s folk.”
“Finder’s folk?” Joel asked. “You know some of his followers in Daggerdale?”
“Not in Daggerdale, no. But some of the creatures in Tarkhaldale are supposed to follow him. There’s a priestess and a temple there.”
“Tarkhaldale?” Joel asked. He’d never heard of the place. Jedidiah had certainly never mentioned it.
“Tarkhaldale. It’s up in the mountains on the edge of the Great Desert.”
“You mean the Lost Vale?” Joel asked.
“Well, I guess that’s what outsiders call it. We’ve always called it Tarkhaldale. You can hardly go on calling it the Lost Vale now that its been found and people live there and all,” the girl pointed out.
“I suppose not. That’s where I’m headed, actually, to the Lost—uh, Tarkhaldale.”
“How are you going to get there? There’s no path into the mountains. They say Alias the sellsword only gets in and out with the magic of a wizard that lives there.”
“I have a map a friend gave me. How do you know so much about the people of Tarkhaldale?”
“Elminster talks about them,” Holly explained. “Elminster talks about everything, actually. He’s so interesting. I could sit and listen to him for hours.”
“I’ve heard he has quite a reputation with the ladies,” Joel noted.
Holly snorted. “Honestly! You sound just like Brother Robin. That’s the priest who teaches me. Elminster is
old enough to be my grandfather.”
“Elminster is old enough to be the grandfather of quite a few women—probably is, for that matter,” Joel replied.
“Well, he’s always treated me like a lady,” Holly said, defending the wizard’s honor.
“That’s his secret, is it?” Joel teased.
Holly bent her head, and even through her dark skin, Joel could see the blush rising to the surface. Not wanting her to feel awkward, he hastily changed the subject.
“You were right about getting off the trail and hiding. Did you know there was a herd of Banites coming or did you just sense evil?” the bard asked.
“I sensed a great evil. I thought it might be Cyricists or the Xvimists, or some evil beast, but I never expected Banites! I thought they were all worshiping Cyric or Xvim. Don’t they know their god is dead?”
“Well, it had occurred to me to run after them and let them know—kind of clue them in, as it were, just in case they hadn’t heard, but, well, you know how some people get. What they believe is just as strong as, if not stronger than, the truth.”
Holly chuckled. “You’re wise beyond your years,” she teased.
“I guess it takes one to know one.”
Holly grinned, and Joel suddenly felt at ease. At the barding college, he hadn’t had many friends. His fellow students had thought him strange, and while his teachers had seemed to like him, they’d all been much older. None of them, students or teachers, had been interested or even tolerant of his joining Finder’s priesthood. The college discouraged followers of the new god, fearful they would draw the faithful away from the more traditional barding gods like Oghma or Milil. It was comfortable talking with someone close to his own age who didn’t seem to find his priesthood odd or subversive.
“You think it’s safe to move on, O native guide?” he asked.
Holly faced northward and seemed to be concentrating in the direction the Banites had taken. After a moment she looked back up at Joel. “Yes. So long as we’re not in a hurry to catch up with those Banites.”
Once they’d led their horses back to the trail and remounted, they made their way northward at a leisurely pace up and down the meadow-covered hills. Joel pumped Holly for reports about Daggerdale and was soon flooded with information. The girl obviously loved her native land, despite all its trials and dangers.
“We were once called Merrydale,” she explained. “That was long before the Zhents came and began using us as a doormat. Back then my people didn’t need a dagger to greet strangers.”
She knew the history of Daggerdale’s founding, its great lords and wizards of the past, all the wealth that could be grown or discovered in its hills and dells, and the names of many of the members of the Black Network who had perpetrated crimes against the Daggerfolk.
Despite how readily and easily the girl talked, there were times when she did not finish one sentence before going on to another. Joel was left with a sense that there was something she wasn’t telling him about the dale. He suspected it had something to do with her visit to the lord and mage of Shadowdale, but he wasn’t about to press her for details. He was just glad of having found a guide, particularly since Branson had warned him the Daggerfolk were not keen on putting up strangers for the night. With Holly, he suspected he’d be accepted, if not welcomed, at some farm.
Noting how close the sun was to the peaks of the Desertsmouth Mountains, Joel decided it was a good time to ask about lodging for the evening. “There’s nothing on my map about any inns between here and Dagger Falls. Can we get a farmer to put us up?”
“We should reach Anathar’s Dell just about suppertime.”
“Is that an inn?” Joel asked.
“It’s a safe place,” Holly answered simply.
They crested a hill and were treated to a view of the trail for miles ahead as it descended into a wide valley and climbed back up the next hill. Off in the distance, they could see the procession of Banites climbing the hill.
Holly squinted her eyes, trying to focus on the distant group. “What’s pulling that big cart?” she asked.
“It’s not a cart,” Joel explained. “It’s some sort of big ship hovering over the ground by means of some magic.”
“A magic ship?” Holly puzzled. “What are they doing with a magic ship?”
Joel shrugged. “You tell me. When I was in school, I didn’t think I’d need to study much about Bane’s followers, Bane being dead and all.”
“Let’s wait here till they’re out of sight,” Holly said.
“Fine by me,” Joel agreed.
They dismounted and let the horses graze on the grass growing by the trail while they waited for the procession to reach the summit in the distance. All the while Holly watched them with a suspicious glare.
Joel looked down into the valley. Off to the west of the road, he spotted several buildings with wisps of smoke rising from them that might indicate someone cooking supper. “I don’t suppose that could be Anathar’s Dell,” he said hopefully, nodding in the direction of the buildings.
Holly nodded.
“I take it you don’t want the Banites to spot us leaving the road and entering the dell,” Joel guessed.
“That’s right,” Holly replied. “The trail leading there is hidden. If you know where to look, it’s not hard to find, so we try not to draw attention to it.”
When the last pilgrim Banite had crested the far hill and disappeared, Holly began walking Butternut down the trail. Joel followed with the Zhentarim mount. Holly kept her gaze fixed on the far hill, not taking any chances in case the followers of Bane had kept a watch behind them.
At the bottom of the hill, alongside the road, was a field of poppies and daisies. In the center of the field stood a small stone shrine. A sheaf of wheat was engraved on the stone over the shrine’s entrance—an ancient symbol of the goddess Chauntea, the earth-mother. Like many shrines to Chauntea, this one housed a natural spring, and a stream flowed from the shrine across the field to the trail and then through a stone culvert beneath the trail. At the moment there was nothing more than a trickle of water in the streambed.
“Something’s wrong,” Holly murmured.
“What?” Joel asked.
“It’s the shrine spring,” she explained. She tied Butternut’s lead rope to a sapling, and Joel did likewise with his mount. He followed Holly up the streambed toward the shrine, wishing she weren’t in the lead. He didn’t have to know a lot about Banites to know they held a lot of animosity for Chauntea and weren’t above desecrating her shrines.
Something large and black lay across the doorway to the shrine, and water was pooling up behind it. There was something vaguely familiar about the shape, which made Joel uncomfortable.
Holly drew her sword and approached the shape cautiously, but some inner sense told Joel whatever the thing was, it was dead, and the bard strode up ahead of the paladin. He set his hands on the corpse’s shoulder and rolled it toward them. Water gushed out from the shrine, pouring over the dead thing and Joel’s boots. The creature was naked and quite evidently male.
“This is the thing I saw on the Banites’ ship,” Joel explained. “They had it bound to the bow, and since it wasn’t moving, I thought it was a figurehead, a statue. I guess it was just dead. I hope it was just dead.”
Holly reached down and touched the creature’s neck. “He’s been dead a long time,” she said. “Unless—” Her voice trailed off.
“Unless what?” Joel demanded.
“Priests of Bane cast all sorts of chilling spells to torture their sacrifices. They say that during their evil ceremonies, Bane himself used to reach out and kill the victims with his chilling touch. Then again, this might not even be a warm-blooded creature. Is he a saurial, do you think?” Holly asked the bard.
Joel shook his head. “I doubt it. They’re supposed to resemble large lizards. This looks like—well, certainly not like a lizard. I’ve never seen or heard of anything like this in all my readings and travels.
”
“Well, we can’t leave him blocking the spring. Help me move him aside,” Holly insisted.
The creature was over nine feet long, and it took a great deal of energy to roll him away from the shrine’s entrance. Fortunately Holly seemed satisfied to stop moving the corpse once the spring-fed stream was no longer blocked.
As Joel pulled his hands away, he realized they were covered with blood. At first he thought the creature was oozing blood from his pores, but closer inspection revealed that every inch of his thick, black hide had been punctured by something long and needlelike. The blood had been what had made his skin seem to shine when Joel had seen him tied to the Banites’ ship. Joel recalled the pointed goad he’d seen in the hand of the priestess of Bane, and he felt his stomach churn in disgust.
“I wonder if they saved his corpse just to desecrate the shrine, or if the shrine was just a convenient drop site,” Joel growled angrily.
“Probably the latter,” Holly answered softly. “The followers of Bane like death, but like the rest of us, they don’t care for its stench.” From her knapsack, the paladin pulled out a shawl and used it to cover the creature’s loins. “Men from the dell will come to bury him,” she said. “I’m going to say a prayer for him before we leave him.”
Joel drew back along the streambed. Oddly enough, Jedidiah hadn’t taught him any prayers to Finder for the dead. Somehow, though, he suspected this poor creature’s gods were not known in the Realms.
Three
THE SAFE HAVEN
Beyond the shrine a wall of closely planted, long-needled pines lined the western side of the trail. Following Holly’s example, Joel led his mount on foot directly toward the trees. Taking care of their horses’ eyes, they pushed their way through the lower branches. The horses’ hooves left hardly a trace in the thick blanket of pine needles. On the far side of the tree wall was a forest of pine trees, each about the same girth and height, planted in even rows. The effect was both eerie and lovely. Holly remounted and guided her horse between two rows. Joel did the same.