by Kate Novak
Instinctively the Rebel Bard tried to back away, but his hands and feet were chained. He shouted. A moment later when he opened his eyes, he realized he had been dreaming. The rolling had stopped, and the ship and the priestess of Bane were gone.
Holly hovered over him, surrounded by a rosy glow, which quickly faded. She’d been using her paladin’s gift of healing to repair the damage done by Bear’s beating. Her pretty features were darkened with concern. Joel raised an arm to ruffle her hair reassuringly, then realized the chains were not just part of a dream. He and the paladin both were shackled hand and foot, short chains linking the shackles and a slightly longer one attached to the chains at their wrists, linking them one to the other.
Joel squinted and blinked in the sunlight streaming over Holly’s shoulder. The sun was westering over the mountains, but the brightness still hurt Joel’s eyes. Holly shifted her position to shade his face. “Are you all right?” the girl asked.
“Just tell me the priestess of Bane was a dream,” Joel croaked, his throat raw and parched.
“Why would you dream about a priestess of Bane?” Holly asked. “It’s a priest of Xvim who’s captured us. Don’t you remember?”
“Priest of Xvim, a dozen Zhentilar, and one ugly Bear,” Joel muttered, remembering now what had happened. With Holly’s help, he sat up and looked around. He could see all the parties named seated beneath the shade of a tree. “What were you doing there?” he demanded of Holly.
“I took a detour from my route to check on Bear,” Holly explained. “When I saw him throw you from your horse I tried to ride to the rescue.”
“You should have ridden right to Lord Randal and let him know.”
“I couldn’t just let them keep beating you up,” Holly argued. “With Bear there, I couldn’t bluff them like you did, so I just attacked. It was the only thing I could think of.”
Joel sighed. As much as he liked the paladin, subtlety, he realized, was not her forte. Trying to sound hopeful, the bard asked, “So where are we now?”
“You’ve been out since yesterday. We passed through Dagger Falls some time after noon today. They had you slung across the back of a packhorse. Now that you’re awake, you’ll have to march.”
“What happened to Butternut?” Joel asked.
“She had the sense to bolt,” Holly answered.
Joel thought of all the things in Butternut’s saddlebags that were lost to him now, especially Kharva’s beef stew pies. He felt his stomach growl.
“So Bear can’t risk going back to Anathar’s Dell,” Holly explained. “When your horse shows up there, riderless, there will be a great many questions asked.”
“Well, that’s a small blessing, at any rate. Where are they taking us now?” Joel asked.
“There,” Holly said, motioning with both manacled hands over Joel’s right shoulder.
The bard twisted about. They sat on a slope looking down over a vale. On the opposite side of the vale, where Holly had just motioned, was a squat black tower. Hanging in the sky over the tower was a huge chunk of rock shaped like a great hornet’s nest.
“That’s the Flaming Tower, and the flying rock above it is called The Temple in the Sky,” Holly explained. “No one knows much about the rock except that it’s supposed to be inhabited by a beast cult. The beast cult has made an alliance with the people in the tower.”
“And who’s in the tower?” Joel asked.
“It used to be held by Zhents who followed Cyric, God of Lies, but since Cyric’s madness has grown, their power’s been slipping. In his last report, Lord Randal said the tower’s now held by Zhents who follow Iyachtu Xvim.”
“Same as our captors,” Joel noted. “So why aren’t our captors hurrying across the vale to get home in time for supper?”
“Look harder … at the east side of the tower,” Holly replied.
Joel focused on the area Holly had indicated. He started with surprise. There, parked at the tower gate, was the floating ship of the Banite pilgrims. The hulking vessel seemed small and fragile next to the massive tower. Joel squinted, but he couldn’t see any sign of the pilgrims or the priestess on or near the ship.
“There was some sort of fight going on when we arrived,” Holly explained. “The Banites were trying to get in the tower, and the Xvim people were trying to keep them out. Our captors sent a scout down to find out if it was safe to approach.”
“Sounds like the Zhents are spending more time with religious feuds than in conspiring to conquer the Realms,” Joel noted.
“It’s one small bit of luck,” Holly replied. “Before the Time of Troubles, when the Zhents were all united under Bane, their power was nearly unassailable. Since Bane’s death, the people of the dales have been given some breathing space.” Holly paused, then nodded toward a single rider climbing the hill toward them. “There’s the scout our captors sent out,” she said.
The rider dismounted before the priest of Xvim. Joel and Holly couldn’t hear what he reported, but they heard the laughter of their captors. One of the Zhentilar, a tall woman with a shaved head, mounted her horse and rode over to where Joel and Holly sat. With a practiced smoothness, the soldier leaned over with a pole and snatched up the center of the chain linking the prisoners. Yanking on the chain, the woman barked a sharp command for them to get up and start moving.
Joel fought back his urge to resist. The Xvimists had shown no compunction about injuring their captives, and he wanted to arrive at the tower conscious and alert. Feeling as stiff as a board, he accepted Holly’s help getting to his feet, but once standing, he found he could move without pain. Together bard and paladin walked alongside the soldier’s horse as she followed her unit down into the vale. They crossed a stream, and Holly and Joel, unmounted, were expected to endure the chill water seeping into their boots. The party followed the stream for some distance before coming to a trail that led up to the tower.
As they climbed the hill, Joel could pick out people on the roof of the tower throwing rocks down on the Banite ship. It was only when the hulking ship’s battering ram broke off and its hull rocked perilously close to tipping over that Joel realized the rocks were boulders, and the people on the roof throwing the missiles were giants.
Whoever controlled the Banite ship apparently chose retreat over obliteration. The vessel turned about in place, then floated westward, still appearing majestic despite its damage.
Their captors laughed at the ship and continued up the trail toward the tower, which squatted on the hilltop like a massive spider. A hundred yards beyond the tower lay the edge of the great Border Forest, which, according to Holly, the Zhentarim plundered for the lumber and burned down for the land.
The fortress itself Joel estimated to be three hundred feet square and a hundred feet high. Its black granite block walls were broken only by a series of arrow slits. The mortar seaming the granite blocks was the color of dried blood and gleamed in the light of the setting sun like burning coals.
It was the Temple in the Sky, however, that impressed Joel more. A great chain fastened it to the roof of the tower, as if it might float off like a dandelion seed were it not moored, yet its mass was even greater than the tower. The impression Joel had earlier that it resembled a great hornet’s nest was strengthened when a flying creature issued from a hole at the base of the rock and darted downward like a busy insect. The creature had the hindquarters of a lion and the wings, head, and claws of a massive eagle. Joel watched it with fascination. Although he’d never seen one before, he realized it was a griffon, a dangerous carnivore which, according to lore, could be trained as a mount if raised from a hatchling. The griffon settled on the roof of the tower, and a red-cloaked rider dismounted from its back.
As they approached the tower, Joel found that craning his neck to watch the floating temple became uncomfortable. Moreover, now he had to watch his footing. The ground about the tower was strewn with corpses of Banites and the missiles the giants had thrown at the Banite ship, which consisted of b
oulders and the fetid contents of the tower’s midden. Scavengers would feast well tonight on the garbage, though they’d have to share with the flies, which were already buzzing about it.
A second patrol of Zhentilar approached and surrounded their party as they steered toward the tower’s doors.
Holly was muttering under her breath. Joel glanced in her direction. Her brow was furrowed and her eyes were mere slits.
“Are you all right?” the bard asked softly.
The paladin didn’t reply immediately, but held up a hand to bid Joel to wait. A moment later she opened her eyes a little wider and answered, “There is so much maliciousness here it’s giving me a headache. None of it is focused in one place—fortunately, I suppose. I was just finishing a prayer to Lathander for his strength.”
Joel grunted softly. He hadn’t thought of his own god since he awoke. He couldn’t imagine how his prayers could be of any use in his current predicament.
The double doors of the tower were some twenty feet high, enough to accommodate the giants, constructed of hardwood reinforced with steel bands. The symbol of Zhentil Keep had once emblazoned the door, but the black and orange paint had long since peeled and flaked away. Nevertheless, Joel could still discern the shadow of a gauntlet and gem on the weathered wood.
The doors opened silently, and their captors rode into the courtyard, dragging their prisoners along. In the darkness that swallowed them, Joel could barely make out his surroundings. They were in an enclosed courtyard that ended before a second large doorway. Once through the second doorway, they found themselves in a dark, wide hallway. The Zhentilar dismounted beside a door that, from the smell of hay and manure, Joel guessed must lead to a stable. The priest of Xvim ordered four Zhentilar from the tower to take charge of the prisoners and follow him to the Godson’s audience chamber.
As Joel and Holly were dragged down the dark hallway, Bear fell in step behind them. The priest led them up a staircase, down another hall, and through another set of doors.
Within was a great hall, running nearly the entire length of the fortress, its ceiling concealed in darkness above. The air was cloying with incense, burning torch smoke, and the smell of unwashed human bodies. Something else hung in the air, less substantial, but no less formidable. Joel finally recognized it. It was fear.
At the far end of the room was an amorphous statue of the god Iyachtu Xvim, ten feet high and carved out of oily black rock. There were no real features to the sculpture, just the suggestion of a man’s form, but the eyes were set with two huge emeralds, which caught the torchlight and reflected it back with an evil glint. A high priest of Xvim sat on a low dais just to the left of his god’s image. He wore elaborate black robes trimmed in green. Long, oily black hair oozed out from beneath the metal skullcap on his head. He hunched forward on his throne like a vulture, giving him the appearance of a more elderly man.
Clumped in a circle before the dais, guarded by warriors in black and green armor, were the pilgrims of Bane—those who had survived the attempt to storm the tower. Joel estimated there were about seventy of them. Between the pilgrims and the dais stood another figure, a small, slender woman in black armor, with a black cape and a plait of ebon hair that hung to her waist. Although Joel could not see her face, he knew she was the same priestess of Bane he’d seen on the deck of the ship.
The Zhentilar guarding Joel and Holly hooked their chains to a ring against one wall and stood flanking them with disciplined precision. Bear stood before the prisoners, his once grim features now gloating unpleasantly. The Zhentilar priest, whose squad had captured them strode up to the dais and whispered to another priest who served as a scribe to the events unfolding.
The high priest of Xvim was addressing the Banite priestess. As he talked, the high priest rubbed his hands, as if trying to remove some stain from his flesh. The priestess stood as still as a statue, no movement betraying her feelings.
“The penalty for trespass is severe, Walinda of Bane,” the high priest declared in a deep, resonating voice.
The woman’s voice was high-pitched but as chill as ice as she replied, “It is only trespass if permission is not given, and I am asking for that permission. The Temple in the Sky was once a temple to my dark lord, Bane. I believe that it still contains knowledge concerning an artifact that will serve him.”
“Bane is dead,” the high priest declared and spat on the dais.
“True, Bane was defeated by Torm the Foolish during the Time of Troubles, but can a god be truly dead,” the priestess Walinda answered, “when he lives on in the hearts of his worshipers?”
The high priest snorted. “If all that remains of his worshipers are a rabble of peasants led by a woman, Bane had best not bother to get up again,” he taunted.
Several of the warriors in the room laughed. Walinda’s back stiffened slightly, but she showed no other sign of irritation. She held out an arm as a signal to one of the Banites behind her. “We have brought an offering as a sign of our good faith,” she said, her voice still completely emotionless.
One of Bane’s acolytes stepped forward, pulling a cloaked figure with him. With a rough shove, he pushed the figure forward, yanking away the cloak.
A woman in torn black leather armor sprawled on the floor before the dais. Her black hair gleamed like a raven’s feathers, and her dark brown eyes flashed with fury, but it was the growths on her back that caught everyone’s attention. Sprouting from behind her shoulders were great birdlike wings of dusty rose-colored feathers. The wings hung limp and unnaturally skewed.
The winged woman tried to rise, but her strength failed her, and she collapsed back onto the stone floor. Her broken wings shuddered, shedding feathers. Then her whole body was still.
“More than a trifle, you must agree,” Walinda of Bane said coolly. “She was a crew member aboard the ship that now serves as my shrine to Bane.”
The high priest ran his tongue along his lower lip. “This one would make a suitable formal offering to the Godson,” he said. He signaled with a jerk of his chin, and two of the black-and-green-clad warriors came forward and flanked the winged woman. They dragged her prostrate form out through the door.
“For such an offering, we will forgive you for your trespass,” the high priest declared. “To gain access to the Temple in the Sky, however—that you must bargain for separately.”
The priestess of Bane showed no sign of surprise that she’d been cheated out of her first offering, but she now bargained more carefully. “Name your price for access to the Temple in the Sky,” she demanded.
The high priest chuckled, his deep voice reverberating from the stone walls all about them. “Your followers,” he said with a malicious smile. “Offer them up to the Godson, and we will allow you to visit the temple. Of course, you and your followers can leave now if the price is too high.” His tone suggested he thought he had the better of the priestess. Walinda’s reaching the Temple in the Sky might serve Bane, yet the destruction of these faithful few would seriously weaken the god’s cause.
Walinda turned to face her followers, the acolytes in their handmade robes and the peasants in their rags. Many had been injured in the storming of the tower; all were hungry and tired from their travels. They stared back at her expectantly, but none uttered a sound. The blood-red tattoos on the priestess’s pale cheeks glistened, and the ruby on her smooth brow flashed a bit of reflected light across Joel’s eyes. The bard gasped softly, knowing somehow exactly what her decision would be.
Walinda looked directly at Joel, just as she had when he’d been cowering in the grass on the Tethyamar Trail. The ghost of a smile played across her lips.
“Agreed,” she announced. “Give yourselves to the swords of the Godson, my children, and perish for the greater good of Bane.”
Her last few words were lost in the confusion of the pilgrims, who cried out with astonishment and terror. The high priest of Xvim signaled with both hands, and the guards surrounding the pilgrims pulled their blades.<
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The acolytes knelt to pray to their dark god, and the Xvimist warriors’ swords slit their throats effortlessly. The peasants were less accommodating and tried to bolt for freedom. They trampled over each other in the attempt, but there was no way to escape the blades of their executioners. They were being cut down like cattle.
Holly shouted, “No!” and yanked on the chain attached to the wall, trying to escape to stop the bloodshed.
The Zhentilar standing beside her smacked her in the head with a gauntleted fist and ordered her to be silent.
The paladin sagged against Joel, turning her face away from the massacre. Joel fixed his eyes on Walinda as her people’s blood sprayed about the room. The priestess had stepped back to avoid the press of soldiers, but now she stood still, with her hands folded before her. She appeared completely untroubled by the carnage before her. On the contrary, Joel thought he detected a gleam in her eye and a brightness in her face, as if she had just won some noble victory.
One of the peasants broke free from the encircling death and threw himself at Walinda’s feet begging, “Mercy, dread sister! Please have mercy!”
Walinda looked down at him as if he were a dog that needed to be put out of its misery. She made no movement or sound as a warrior of Xvim sliced off the peasant’s head, splashing the priestess with her follower’s blood. Her expression never changed.
A grayish haze, like smoke, rose from the dead and mingled with the scent of incense, the stench of blood, and the piteous moaning of the dying. The Xvimist warriors walked among the fallen, dispatching any who were merely wounded, until the gray haze rose from every individual offered up to Iyachtu Xvim.
The haze thickened into streams of smoke, which joined other streams until there were two rivers of darkness that moved toward the statue of Iyachtu Xvim, drawn there by some evil power. When the rivers of darkness struck the statue’s emerald eyes, they were drawn inside the statue.