Finder's Bane

by Novak, Kate

  Walinda held her goad at the ready as Jedidiah moved to Jas’s side. The winged woman’s skin was gray and covered with frost. The black flame had obviously been a coldfire missile.

  “Keep an eye on her, Joel,” Holly ordered the bard as she hurried to join Jedidiah.

  Joel stood before the priestess. He nodded at her injured arm. “Bear do that?” he asked.

  “Bear?” the priestess asked.

  “The dark stalker you have chained to your bow,” Joel said.

  Walinda nodded. “Yes.”

  “I could heal it for you,” the bard offered.

  The priestess glared at the priest and backed away with a look of feral fear. “My god does not wish the injury healed,” she growled.

  “Why not?” Joel demanded angrily.

  “This was not the first attack on my god that I failed to prevent. I was not sufficiently watchful. The dark stalker sneaked aboard while I slept and attacked Bane. I wear my wounds as punishment, but they are nothing compared to the loss of my god’s love and approval. I will earn his forgiveness, though. Then he will grant me my spells again and I can heal myself.”

  Joel’s stomach churned with disgust and anger. ‘That thing is a monster!” he said. “How can you remain by its side, let alone worship it?”

  Walinda looked at him coolly. “You still do not understand what it means to truly serve your god. You learned nothing in the Lost Vale, did you?” Joel fought back the urge to correct the priestess. It wouldn’t be wise to let her know that he, too, traveled beside his god, that his god had been prepared to risk his power arguing for the life of his disobedient priest. “Maybe not,” Joel answered the priestess, “but I suspect that Finder would forgive his priests for a little failing like sleeping.” He turned and strode over to where Jedidiah and Holly were healing Jas.

  Jedidiah had done all he could. Jas’s skin was no longer so gray, but her breathing was shallow and she moaned in pain. Now Holly was calling on Lathander to help the winged woman. The paladin’s arms glowed rosy pink, and she laid them on Jas’s head, on her face, on her shoulders and arms and chest. Jas began to breathe more evenly, and she fell into a deep, peaceful sleep. Walinda approached them and peered down at her master’s victim.

  Jedidiah stood up, looking drained and tired. “She’ll be all right,” he said to Joel. “She’ll be out for a while. All things considered, that’s probably for the best.”

  “The black flaming death of Bane is most efficient,” Walinda said, a touch of pride creeping into her voice.

  Jedidiah harrumphed. “It was a coldfire missile … a standard trick of all baneliches,” he lectured the priestess. “It’s nasty, but not in league with a real god’s power.”

  Walinda raised her head proudly. “Delude yourself if you wish, priest. Deny that the living Bane is among you. But still he wields his might!” she declared, pointing with her goad toward the Cat’s Gate.

  The banelich hovered in front of the buried gate with its arms raised, chanting in its ancient tongue. The sand about the gate began to heave and roil as hundreds of skeletal forms, the dead from the army of the wizards of Netheril, pulled themselves from the earth. The banelich commanded them to clear the sand from the gate and they began to dig stiffly, using their own skulls to scoop out the sand.

  “All praise and glory to mighty Bane!” Walinda whispered, her eyes riveted on the undead at their work.

  “Animate dead,” Jedidiah muttered. “Another favorite banelich trick.” He turned to Joel. “Go help Holly move Jas under the tarp,” he ordered. “I’ll keep an eye on this fool woman.”

  As Joel turned, Jedidiah put a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll have to tell Holly that she’ll have to stay behind. There’s no way the banelich is going to take her aboard after this stunt. But I suspect she knew that.”

  Joel nodded. “Thank you for your help,” he said.

  Jedidiah shrugged. He wasn’t pleased, but then Joel suspected he would forgive his priest before the banelich forgave Walinda.

  Using a cape as a stretcher, Joel helped Holly move Jas up the dune into the tarp shelter. Though a dead weight in her sleep, fortunately the winged woman wasn’t very heavy.

  “You knew Jas was coming. You gave her that holy water, didn’t you?” the bard asked the paladin. “How could you? You promised Jedidiah you wouldn’t do anything reckless.”

  Holly sighed. “When I visited the shrine to Lathander in the Lost Vale, I had another vision of a sunrise. When I came to, there was the holy water, in four little vials. It was a gift from my god. I showed the vials to Jas. She took them from me while I slept. I didn’t notice they were missing until after she flew off. I didn’t know she planned to follow us and use them.”

  “But it was a good bet she would,” Joel said. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

  “She might have succeeded. You saw how the water vaporized the banelich’s flesh. A few more attacks like that might have destroyed the creature.” The paladin looked down on the winged woman with concern and disappointment. “Will she be all right until Grypht gets here?”

  “She will if you watch over her,” Joel said. “You’re not coming with us now.” I

  Holly bristled. “I have to come with you,” she insisted.

  “Holly, think. The banelich is never going to agree to your coming after this. It thinks you were responsible for this attack. Jedidiah has used all his influence just to save your life. Besides, Jas needs you. Be reasonable. Please.”

  Holly looked down at Jas and brushed the woman’s hair from her forehead. She looked back up at Joel. “You made Jedidiah stand up to the banelich, just as Grypht asked you to do,” she said.

  Joel looked down at the ground, unwilling to admit that Jedidiah had not behaved properly without Joel’s urging.

  “When Jedidiah has the Hand of Bane, can you make him do the right thing again?” she asked.

  Joel shrugged, completely uncertain how far he could push his god, the god he had sworn to serve.

  “Will you at least try?” Holly asked.

  “I’ll do what I can,” he promised.

  When Joel returned to Jedidiah’s side, he found the older priest dragging Bear’s deformed and mutilated body away from the spelljammer. “I convinced the banelich his figurehead might be considered in poor taste in the Outlands,” he explained to the younger bard. “I suggest we cremate the creature.”

  Joel nodded. Together he and Jedidiah scavenged pieces of wood from the damaged portions of the spelljammer for a funeral pyre. Joel played a dirge as the former dalesman’s corpse went up in flames. When the flames died out, the two men spread the dark stalker’s ashes on the sand.

  Before sunset, the gate was clear. The sight was amazing. Green light shimmered between the pillars, and every so often a bolt of green lightning streaked across the gate.

  Joel and Jedidiah went to bid Holly good-bye. Jas was still sleeping. Jedidiah warned Holly, “Don’t try to follow us. You’d never keep up with the spelljammer, and you’d be challenged everywhere you went in the Outlands, possibly even enslaved. It’s not like the dales where you can simply roam where you please.”

  “Unless you’re traveling with a banelich?” Holly asked sarcastically.

  Jedidiah looked pained, but the paladin put him at his ease. “I’m sorry. I won’t follow you through the gate,” she said. “Take care,” she added. She embraced the older priest.

  Jedidiah smiled grimly. “It’s been an honor traveling with you, Holly Harrowslough,” he said and left her alone with his student.

  Holly turned to Joel and gave him a quick hug. It occurred to the Rebel Bard that, while she had embraced Jedidiah like a father, she treated him with maidenly modesty. For the first time, the bard thought of her as a pretty girl and not simply a warrior. He smiled shyly and wished her luck. Then he turned to follow Jedidiah down the sand dune.

  When Joel and Jedidiah came aboard, the banelich was smiling. It looked exceedingly pleased with itself. Walinda loo
ked at the gate with excitement in her eyes.

  “I give you leave to heal my slave’s injuries,” the banelich said to Joel. “If it pleases you,” it added with a smirk. Then it disappeared into the ship’s cabin. The spelljammer rose slowly and began to turn toward the gate.

  “Should I heal her arm?” Joel asked Jedidiah in a whisper, uncertain how his god would feel about his offering aid to the priestess of Bane.

  “I think that would be a good idea,” Jedidiah said, but he didn’t elaborate.

  Joel prayed over Walinda’s bandages. Blue healing energy flowed from his hands over the priestess’s arm. Carefully he unwrapped the bandages. The healing was perfect. The skin on the priestess’s arm was soft and smooth, but there were bruises beneath the skin that were too old to have been caused by Bear. Joel remembered that when she had fought the Xvimists for entry into the Flaming Tower, she had worn bracers. “The banelich did this to you, didn’t it?” Joel asked, feeling sympathy for the woman despite himself.

  “Yes,” the priestess replied. “It is his right,” she said with the far-off look and smile of a woman smitten.

  Joel turned away in disgust, not wishing to hear a single word more.

  Slowly the ship moved toward the Cat’s Gate. Joel looked back and caught a glimpse of the paladin watching them leave. He raised his hand to wave good-bye, but in the next instant, the ship was bathed in a green radiance and he could see nothing beyond the light. A dizzy sensation came over him as the ship crossed from the Realms to a new plane.

  From the dune above, Holly watched as Jas’s spelljammer seemed to be consumed with green fire. As it passed between the gate’s pillars, it disappeared. Even as she watched, sand began drifting back into the gate, filling up the space between the pillars.

  Holly sighed. There was no sense following them. Jedidiah had been right. She’d never keep up with the spelljammer. She was almost ready to wish she hadn’t remained silent about Jas and the holy water. “If only there was another way to follow them,” she muttered.

  “Well, actually, there is,” a melodious voice called out from behind her.

  Holly jumped and wheeled about. Perched on the top of the dune was a large bird. As she watched, the bird spread its tail feathers in a magnificent display of yellow, crimson, and magenta. It was a ruby peacock, Lathander’s bird.

  Holly felt a great blast of hot wind, just as she had in her last two visions. She dropped to one knee and bowed her head.

  “I bring word for you from Lathander,” the bird chirped. “He is most pleased with your actions in his name. You’ve done as well as can be expected for someone with your limitations. Lathander has chosen to reward your efforts with a chance to serve him further.”

  “I live to serve,” Holly whispered modestly.

  “The Hand of Bane is in Sigil. You must go there and find it.”

  “I don’t know the way,” Holly said.

  The peacock’s tail began to glow brightly and grew as hot as the sun. The tail flared and became an arched doorway. A red light, like the setting sun, glowed in the archway.

  “Take this door to Sigil,” the peacock’s voice commanded.

  Holly looked back at the tarp shelter where Jas rested. “But my friend is wounded. I have to wait for help so she’ll be safe,” the paladin explained.

  “Come now, Holly Harrowslough,” the bird said softly. “Your god needs your services. Do you deny your god?”

  “I need to make sure my friend is all right,” the paladin said.

  “I will watch over her,” the bird’s voice offered, “even though she does not follow our master. I will make sure she awakes safely.”

  “Thank you,” Holly said. She climbed to the top of the dune, took a deep breath, and plunged into the crimson portal.

  The doorway flashed gold, then transformed back into a ruby peacock. The large bird shrank until it was the size and shape of a cardinal, then hopped up to the edge of the tarp to watch over Jas’s inert form.

  Shortly after dark, the winged woman stirred, called out Holly’s name, and sat up. She blinked in the darkness, then lay back down to sleep again.

  Having fulfilled the letter of its promise, the bird flew off toward the east. It passed over a group of human riders, dressed in black armor, whose leader wore the green and black of Iyachtu Xvim. The riders were heading west toward Cat’s Gate. At the speed they traveled, they would reach the gate before dawn.

  Thirteen

  Ilsensine’s Realm

  As the spelljammer passed through the gate into the lands beyond, Joel felt a jolt to his equilibrium. The ship’s bow pitched upward, as if it had encountered a wave at sea. As the ship shot up into the sky, Joel fell backward and slid back into the cabin. Jedidiah, who had managed to grab the ship’s rail, cried out, “Level her out!”

  The ship’s bow came down, pitched forward slightly, then leveled off again. Joel pulled himself shakily to his feet and made his way back to Jedidiah’s side, clinging to the rail like a seasick novice. The tusk throne in which Walinda sat must have been fastened to the deck, for it remained upright. The priestess clung to the chair’s armrests, looking startled. “What was that?” Joel asked. Jedidiah pointed back toward the magical gate. While it had been perfectly perpendicular to the ground back in the desert, here it had tilted backward forty-five degrees, so they had entered the Outlands at a steep angle in relation to the earth.

  “That explains the sand,” Jedidiah muttered.

  “What?” Joel asked.

  “The sand burying the gate back in the desert,” the older priest explained. “It should have spilled out onto this side of the gate, blocking our entrance into this plane, but the way the gate is tilted on this side, any sand that passes through it falls right back to the other side.”

  “How did the gate get tipped like that?” Joel wondered.

  “Judging from the land about us,” Jedidiah replied, “I’d say it’s the natural state of things.”

  Joel surveyed the world he’d just entered. “The natural state of things” seemed to be quite unnatural. It was as if some god had strewn the geographical features about at random. Tall, spindly mountains rose from perfectly level plains without a hint of a foothill about them. A stone ledge, wider than the base of the peak it surrounded, jutted out like a shelf mushroom on a tree. Several peaks bent over and downward, like trees growing on a windy slope. Rivers originating from nowhere meandered about and ended without outlet; one stream even circled back on itself. Lakes dotted mountain plateaus. A swamp grew out of a hillside. Fields had been tilled in serpentine squiggles. Trees were planted to spell out entire lines of unknown script.

  The colors of the land were unusual as well—pale and indistinct. When Joel focused on any one feature of the landscape, its color seemed to blur with the background.

  “Painted by a mad and myopic god with a muddy palette,” Jedidiah joked. “Or maybe it’s just faded from a thousand too many launderings, eh?”

  Walinda, who had joined the priests at the railing, soon turned away, looking disturbed. “It’s horrible,” she said.

  “It’s not that bad,” Joel replied.

  “There is no order, no reason,” Walinda insisted.

  “But it’s so interesting, so … wild,” Joel argued.

  “Forget it, Joel,” Jedidiah said. “You’ll never get a Banite to appreciate the beauty of chaos.”

  “It’s a beautiful sky,” Joel pointed out to the priestess. “Bright and blue.”

  “There’s no sun,” Walinda said. “It’s broad daylight, yet there is no sun.”

  Joel searched the sky and the horizon carefully. Far off in the distance, a great brown spire rose from the horizon, reaching so far into the sky that clouds obscured its summit. But Walinda was right. There was no sun.

  “Well, the air is good,” Joel said. Indeed the air felt fresh, as if it had just been created and never breathed before by any other living creature. It made his skin tingle. At first he thought he was
just noting the different between the hot, dry air of the desert and the cool, moist air of the Outlands, but the sensation persisted. There was a vitality to this plane he could sense.

  Walinda shrugged, indifferent to the air. “My lord Bane said there are gods who make their homes here. Why would they choose such a place?” she asked.

  “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” Jedidiah said. winking at Joel. “In this case, the beholder would be Gzemnid, god of the eye tyrants. He makes his home in this plane. Judging from the chaotic landscape, I’d guess we’re not too far from his realm. Other parts of this plane are very different. All the outer planes have at least one gate leading to the Outlands. The area surrounding each gate takes on characteristics of the plane to which it leads. For instance, in the far-off city of Rigus, there’s a gate to Acheron, where your lord Bane made his home before he became a corpse floating in the astral plane. Everyone in Rigus has a rank: slave soldier, citizen, private, sergeant, lieutenant, captain, general. You’d feel right at home.”

  The ship drifted downward, settling in a rocky field where the ground was ridged and uneven, like a frozen, choppy sea.

  The banelich came out of the cabin and walked toward the bow. It stopped at the railing and flung one skeletal arm in the direction of the great spire that rose beyond the horizon. “Lo!” it bellowed.

  “Hello, yourself,” Jedidiah replied with a grin.

  The banelich ignored the taunt. “There,” the creature announced, “is our goal. Upon that peak rests the city of Sigil, wherein is hid the Hand of Bane. We will besiege the city to reclaim what is mine, and with it, my power.”

  As if on cue, the clouds about the spire drifted outward, revealing the spire’s summit. Floating above the summit was a huge circular ring.

  Jedidiah guffawed.

  The banelich frowned and wheeled about to face the priest.

  Jedidiah continued to laugh, long and hard, clutching his side.

  “I said nothing amusing,” the banelich declared coldly.