Song of the Saurials

8 Grypht

As Alias was leading Dragonbait and Zhara from the Harpers’ courtroom to Nameless’s former cell, Dragonbait halted suddenly and sniffed the air. No doubt, the swordswoman realized, the saurial can smell Grypht. She turned around and explained to him. “Something teleported into the tower—some creature, probably a wizard—and kidnapped Elminster and Nameless, maybe Olive, too.”

Dragonbait shook his head as if confused, and his tail twitched with nervous excitement. Alias didn’t notice. Her attention was attracted to the sound of thumping coming from the corridor that led to Nameless’s cell. She hurried through the passages, anxious to see what was going on.

Lord Mourngrym and Breck stood outside the door to Nameless’s cell. Breck was hacking furiously at the door with a battle-axe, but for all the ranger’s strength and the weapon’s sharpness, the door wouldn’t give.

Alias heard Lord Mourngrym say, “It’s no good, Orcsbane. The door’s made of ironwood.”

“What’s wrong?” Alias asked as she and Dragonbait and Zhara hurried toward the two men.

“Akabar and Kyre aren’t answering,” Lord Mourngrym replied. He turned the door handle and pulled on it, but the door remained closed. “The door’s unlocked, but it won’t budge. It feels as if it’s being held shut by magic.”

Remembering Morala’s suspicion that Grypht could be an evil wizard and that Kyre may have made an alliance with him, the swordswoman suddenly felt nervous and foolish. She hadn’t believed the half-elf’s claim that Grypht was a denizen of the Nine Hells, yet she had been so eager for Kyre to break Zhara’s hold on Akabar and talk him out of his belief in Moander’s return that she had trusted the half-elf anyway. “Maybe Kyre and Akabar just don’t want to be disturbed,” Alias suggested hopefully, without believing it herself.

Breck lowered his axe and fixed her with a cold stare. “Kyre isn’t shy. If she wanted to be alone with a man, she’d have no qualms about telling us all to go away,” he replied. “Something is wrong,” he insisted. “We need a spell-caster to break in the door.”

Zhara pushed her way past Alias. “Stand back,” she ordered everyone. In her hand, she held a lump of clay fashioned just like the stone arch surrounding the door to Nameless’s cell. With her fingers, she pushed one side of the clay arch away, then touched the clay to the stone arch in front of them, whispering, “Sculpture.”

Alias gasped as the rock of the wall beside the door curled back like a potato peel, forming a gap large enough to walk through.

Zhara slipped into Nameless’s cell before anyone else could stop her. She looked around in confusion. “He isn’t here!” she whispered. “Where’s Akabar?” Turning to face Alias, she demanded angrily, “Where’s Akabar? What have you done with him?”

Alias slipped into the room and looked around, equally confused. Akabar and Kyre were nowhere in sight. The songhorn lying on the table was cracked and some of its keys were broken off. Bits of broken crystal lay on the table. Something crunched in the carpeting beneath her foot. Alias looked down. Walnut shells lay scattered about on the floor.

Then she spotted the ashes, and her face went pale. Gray ashes formed the unmistakable shape of a person. A pair of elven boots, a dagger, a sword, a belt, and a scabbard lay off to one side. Two gold rings, a silver ankle bracelet, and a Harper’s pin were on the other side of the ashes.

“Mourngrym!” Alias called back into the hallway. “You’d better come and see this.”

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Breck demanded, squeezing his way into the room. When he saw the ashes and equipment lying on the floor, his eyes widened in fury. “Kyre! No!” he shouted. “She’s dead! He killed her, didn’t he? That fiend Akabar killed Kyre!”

In the Harpers’ courtroom, Morala had grown bored scrying on Nameless and Olive Ruskettle beneath Finder’s keep. She abandoned her watch on the bard and his halfling cohort while the pair was still digging through the piles of rubble. Now the priestess stood over her silver scrying bowl a third time. It had occurred to her that she might learn more if she turned her attention to the creature who had been responsible for Elminster’s and Nameless’s disappearances. She drew out the piece of clay Grypht had dropped and envisioned the huge creature.

The colors in the water of Morala’s bowl swirled into Grypht’s shape. The beast was bent over beneath a monstrous oak tree, yanking a handful of oak seedlings out of the ground. He straightened and munched absentmindedly on the seedlings as he studied a yellow gem he held in his hand.

Suddenly a beam of light shot out from a facet in the gem. Morala gasped, recognizing immediately that Grypht held the finder’s stone. The Harpers had entrusted Elminster with the artifact’s safety, but somehow this scaly creature had gotten hold of it. Is that why Elminster and Nameless had been abducted? the priestess wondered. Just to obtain Nameless’s toy?

Grypht shook his head, and the first beam of light from the crystal faded away and a second beam burst out of another facet of the stone, aimed downward at the ground. Morala pulled her scrying view back until she could see more. At Grypht’s feet lay a dark-skinned, bearded man dressed in striped robes, with the blue dots of a southern scholar and mage tattooed on his forehead. The light from the finder’s stone struck the man’s eyes, but although his chest rose and fell, he did not move. Apparently he was unconscious. Morala’s brow furrowed. Who is he? she wondered.

Grypht nodded at the finder’s stone with satisfaction.

He’s experimenting with it, Morala realized.

Grypht shook his head, and the light on the southerner’s eyes faded. Then the creature closed his eyes, and the crystal stone began to glow all over, but this time no beam shot out. Grypht squeezed his eyes tighter, as if he were concentrating hard. The stone glowed even brighter, but it gave no indication of the location of the person the scaly creature was thinking of. Grypht sighed and opened his eyes; the stone ceased glowing.

“How deliciously ironic!” Morala muttered. “You’ve gone to all this trouble to steal the finder’s stone, and it can’t find whoever it is you’re looking for.”

Grypht bent over and began pulling more oak seedlings from the ground. Suddenly a beam of light shot out from the yellow crystal in the direction of the setting sun. Grypht started with surprise and straightened up. After scanning the horizon for a few moments, he bent over and shouldered the unconscious southerner.

“Who are you after?” Morala mused as Grypht straightened and began trundling away toward the setting sun.

Mourngrym looked over the ashes lying beside Kyre’s equipment and shook his head regretfully. “It doesn’t look good, Alias,” he said softly.

“I can’t believe Akabar would do such a thing,” the swordswoman said. “Something else must have attacked them.”

“Then why isn’t Akabar’s body in a pile of ash on the carpeting?” Breck snarled. He was shaking with anger and barely controlled grief.

“How do you know those aren’t his ashes mingled in with Kyre’s?” Alias retorted hotly.

Zhara moaned and sank to the bed. Dragonbait glared at the swordswoman, but Alias ignored him. She couldn’t afford to be tactful for Zhara’s sake. She had to clear Akabar’s reputation.

“If he was incinerated along with Kyre, too,” Breck said, “his boots would be here.”

“He was wearing rope sandals,” Alias argued.

“And he didn’t carry a single piece of metal with him?” Breck asked.

That, Alias realized, was hardly likely. She changed her tack. “Whoever killed Kyre could have carried Akabar off,” she stated. “Grypht might have returned and eaten him, for all you know.”

Zhara gave a keening wail. The swordswoman shot an annoyed look at Akabar’s wife. Dragonbait nudged Alias angrily with his elbow.

“I believe Grypht has indeed carried off Akabar,” a voice said, “but the beast appears to prefer greenery to human flesh. Akabar is still alive.”

Everyone looked around. Standing in the new entrance to the room that Zhara had fashioned with her magic was Morala. The old priestess leaned heavily on Captain Thurbal’s arm, but she was smiling.

“I have just been scrying upon Grypht. He was carrying a southern mage dressed in a red-and-white-striped robe,” Morala said.

“Akabar!” Zhara cried out eagerly. “His robes are red and white!”

“Then he is in league with Grypht!” Breck declared.

Mourngrym exchanged a distressed look with Alias. “Was Akabar being carried off by force, Morala, or using the beast as a mount?” his lordship asked.

“Akabar was unconscious, so I couldn’t tell his wishes,” Morala explained, shuffling into the room with Captain Thurbal beside her.

“What about Nameless?” Alias asked anxiously. “Was he with Grypht?”

Morala shook her head. “No,” she said. “Nameless appears to be in an underground tunnel of some sort, digging his way through, though whether he is trying to escape the tunnel or burrow in farther, I could not tell. There is a halfling woman with him. They both appear uninjured, but their location remains a mystery. I think we best concentrate on tracking Grypht,” Morala said. “Grypht has the finder’s stone, and with that, he can track both Elminster and Nameless.”

“A finder’s stone?” Alias asked. “Like the one Elminster gave to me?”

“The finder’s stone,” Morala corrected her. “There is only one. It’s an old artifact that Nameless made to store his music and his spells,” the priestess explained. “For anyone else, it worked as a compass.”

“But we lost it in Westgate, battling Moander,” Alias said.

The wrinkles in Morala’s forehead doubled as she tried to think of how the stone got from Westgate into Grypht’s hands. Unable to come up with a satisfactory explanation, the priestess huffed in frustration. “Well, Grypht has found it somewhere, somehow,” she said. “When I last saw him, he was using it. He was standing atop a hill covered with many small oak trees and crowned with a single immense oak, laden with mistletoe and ivy and moss.”

“That would have to be Oakwood Knoll, your lordship,” Captain Thurbal said. “East of the river.”

“A monster that size will be easy to follow,” Breck said, heading for the door.

Mourngrym’s arm shot out and caught Breck’s tunic, pulling him back. “Hold on a minute there, man,” his lordship said. “This … thing’s already attacked you once today. You can’t go after it alone. The dale’s full of hiding places. You could be tracking it for days. Let me get a party of guards and provisions together. It will only take a few hours.”

“A few hours!” Breck shouted. “Kyre’s been murdered, and you expect me to wait a few hours? I’m going to bring this creature’s head back on a pike—and Akabar’s, too, if I find he’s in league with it.”

Zhara rose quickly and rushed at Breck, pushing him back against the table with a surprising show of strength. “My husband,” she hissed, “is a man of honor, a scholar and a mage.” The young priestess’s voice rose in fury, and her eyes flashed with fire. “How dare you suggest such a thing?” she shouted. “If you harm one hair on his head, I will bring Tymora’s curse down upon you!”

Breck looked stunned by the veiled woman’s verbal attack. It took him only a moment to recover, however. “You could be in league with him, too, for all I know,” he said to Zhara.

Zhara called Breck one of the few Turmish words Mourngrym knew. His lordship blushed. Fortunately, Breck didn’t realize he’d been insulted.

Dragonbait gently pulled Zhara away from the ranger. Then he signed to Alias. She nodded.

“Your lordship,” Alias announced to Mourngrym, “Dragonbait and I can be ready to leave in a quarter of an hour. If you can wait that long, Breck Orcsbane, we will join you.”

“He can wait that long,” Mourngrym said firmly. “Try to keep in mind, Orcsbane, that if you bring nothing but heads back, we may never find Elminster or Nameless or Olive Ruskettle. I understand how you feel about Kyre, but we have to think of those who are still alive. I want you to try to capture the beast.”

“Capture a denizen of the Nine Hells?” Breck shouted. “That’s impossible!”

“Try,” Lord Mourngrym said. “It may not be a fiend.”

“Kyre said that it was!” Breck hissed angrily.

“Try to capture it anyway,” Mourngrym insisted. “And return Akabar Bel Akash alive, whether he resists or not.”

“I will go, too, to see that this man obeys,” Zhara said.

“Oh, no, you don’t!” Breck insisted. “Your lordship, this woman is the man’s wife. I want you to arrest her.”

“I can’t arrest a woman for being a man’s wife,” Mourngrym said, barely able to contain his own annoyance with the ranger.

“But she could warn him that we’re coming and foil our attempts to capture him,” Breck argued.

“Lady Zhara,” Morala said softly, “it would be best if you remain here in the tower. As you said, your husband is a man of honor. The least we can do is keep you safe until his return.”

“Keep me hostage, you mean!” Zhara exclaimed hostilely.

“We’re riding into the wilderness, and we’ll probably end up having to fight this Grypht,” Alias said with annoyance. “You’d only slow us down and get in the way.”

“I am following my husband,” Zhara insisted angrily.

“No, you aren’t!” Breck shouted.

“Please stay here, Lady Zhara,” Morala coaxed.

Dragonbait made two short, sharp signs to the Turmishwoman, which Alias did not see. Zhara bit her lip and took a deep breath. “I will stay,” she said softly. “Show me to my room.”

“Captain Thurbal, would you escort this lady to my wife’s quarters and ask Lady Shaerl to look after her?” Mourngrym asked.

“Yes, your lordship,” the captain said, nodding. “This way, lady,” he said, motioning for Zhara to follow him.

Akabar’s wife laid her hand on Dragonbait’s chest and looked into his eyes. The paladin ran a clawed finger down the sleeve of her robe and nodded. Then Zhara turned and followed Thurbal from the room, as meekly as a child.

Dragonbait signed to Alias that he would fetch their things from the inn.

Alias nodded. “I’ll gather some provisions together if Harper Breck will take care of saddling our horses,” she said.

“I’ll be waiting for you at the bridge,” Breck replied. He strode from the room. Dragonbait followed him out.

“You have your work cut out for you,” Mourngrym warned Alias. “If you think you need help handling Breck, I can ride along with you.”

“No, thank you, your lordship,” Alias said. “I’m sure Kyre was wrong about Grypht’s origins, but if she was correct about his working for the Zhentarim, the Zhentarim may be planning an attack on Shadowdale. The dale folk need you here. As a favor to me, however, please see that Akabar’s wife stays here.”

“We’ll keep her safe,” Morala promised.

“Just keep her out of my way,” Alias muttered.

Mourngrym pursed his lips with disapproval. Alias never seemed to get along with clergy. It was lucky Dragonbait had so much influence over the Turmishwoman. His lordship wondered what it was the saurial had signed to the priestess to make her obey so readily. “I’ll be sure the guards know she’s not to leave the tower, Alias,” Mourngrym said. “I’ll take you down to the storeroom to help you collect provisions.”

“I think I’ll stay here to rest awhile,” Morala said. She stepped closer to the swordswoman. “We should say our good-byes now, Alias of Westgate. If you happen to meet Nameless before we meet again, remember to ask him to tell you the whole truth.”

“I’ll remember,” Alias replied.

Morala reached up and laid a hand on Alias’s shoulder. “Grief and pain lie in your path. May sweet music and brave songs bring you strength to endure them until you know joy again.” Morala removed her hand from Alias’s shoulder.

Alias sighed. She didn’t believe prayers did any good, but at least Morala’s blessing hadn’t been too silly. “Good-bye, Morala,” the swordswoman said. “It’s been … interesting meeting you.”

Morala smiled wryly.

Alias turned and strode from the room, and Mourngrym followed after her.

Grypht looked with a great deal of satisfaction down the ravine that cut across his path. It was quite deep and long, but far too wide to leap across. It was just what he needed to slow down any would-be trackers. He walked north along the edge for a hundred yards, then halted. The scent of fresh-mown hay rose again from his body as he summoned another dimensional portal to take him across the ravine with his burden. Once he stood on the other side, he moved as carefully as possible so as not to leave a trail that could be easily spotted from across the ravine. Then he turned once again toward the sinking sun, following the beam of the yellow crystal.

Dragonbait loped back to the tower carrying two sacks in addition to his pack and Alias’s. One sack was full of Alias’s weaponry and armor, both old and new; the other contained leftover dried rations he’d had stored in his room. The saurial nodded politely to the guards as he passed through the tower’s front gate once again. He crossed the entrance hall quickly, then dashed up the stairs and raced through the corridors. He didn’t have much time. He stood before the door to Lady Shaerl’s quarters and took a few deep breaths to steady his nerves.

He was about to engage in a deceit, something which always made him uncomfortable, even when he believed it was for a good cause, such as allowing Zhara to accompany her husband’s rescue party. Without Alias’s support, Dragonbait knew he’d never break down Breck’s opposition to the priestess’s presence. The paladin needed time to persuade the swordswoman to accept Zhara, but things were happening too quickly. He didn’t want to defy Lord Mourngrym, Breck, or most especially Alias, but he had no other choice.

The saurial knocked on Lady Shaerl’s door.

From within, Lady Shaerl called out, “Come in.”

Dragonbait opened the door and stepped inside. Zhara sat on a couch beside Mourngrym’s wife, Shaerl, who held a sleeping Scotty in her arms. The saurial signed very quickly to her ladyship.

Shaerl understood the signing immediately and laughed. “Certainly, Dragonbait. Any time you wish to be alone with a lady in my quarters, just ask,” she said lightly.

The paladin raised his eyes to the ceiling. Her ladyship’s teasing could be most inappropriate at times. But then what else could one expect of a Cormyte noblewoman who understood the thieves’ sign language? Not even motherhood, Dragonbait noted, had dampened the woman’s taste for mischief and adventure. Obviously she did not intend her future to be any less colorful than her past. The saurial signed that his business was urgent.

“Excuse me, Zhara,” Shaerl said, “while I go put this little monster to bed.” Her ladyship rose and carried Scotty into an adjacent room and closed the door behind her.

“I did as you asked,” the priestess said in low tones once the two of them were alone. “I pretended to submit. But I will not remain here while Akabar is in danger.”

Dragonbait signed to Zhara that he was sure that Akabar had nothing to fear from Grypht; Grypht was his friend. Hastily the paladin signed his plans for her escape; then he began pulling pieces of Alias’s armor out of the sack. A few minutes later, the pair of them descended the stairway into the front entrance hall. “This will never work,” Zhara whispered, tugging at the uncomfortable studded leather collar she now wore around her throat. “Even if I look like Alias, my skin is too dark,” she argued.

Dragonbait made a wheezing noise. Zhara realized he was chuckling. They won’t see your skin, he signed, only your flesh.

Zhara shuddered and clutched the bundle that held her robes closer to her chest. Dragonbait stepped in front of her, and Zhara halted. The saurial forced her arms down from her chest, revealing a healthy cleavage between her breasts that Alias’s enchanted chain armor did not cover.

Carry your bundle under one arm, the saurial ordered with his fingers. Hold your head up higher. Don’t look modest. Gods know, Alias isn’t. Dragonbait reached up and arranged a lock of Zhara’s hair over the scholar’s tattoo of three blue dots on her forehead. Don’t rest your hand on the sword hilt, he added. That’s for swaggering amateurs.

Zhara moved her hand from the blade’s handle, and Dragonbait continued to instruct the priestess as they made their way down the staircase. Just nod to the guards when you go past. Pay attention to my signing, and they’ll realize you’re too busy to chat.

When they reached the entrance hall, the saurial began to encourage Zhara with a steady banter. Remember, you’re Alias, the warrior who defeated the Iron Throne’s hired kalmari and the evil fiend Phalse. They all admire your courage. You’re probably the most talented singer in the Realms. They all love your singing. You are very beautiful. The young women want to be like you and the young men want to be with you.

Zhara’s eyes met with those of one of the guards at the door. The guard nodded politely. Zhara nodded in return and hastily averted her eyes back to Dragonbait’s signing hands. She could feel herself flushing. She had never before appeared in public without her veil, let alone without her priestess’s robes. Only her husband had ever seen this much of her body before, and the priestess felt more than embarrassed. She felt ashamed, as though she’d been unfaithful to Akabar.

Once they’d stepped through the tower’s front gate, Dragonbait clutched Zhara’s arm and hurried her toward the stable. They passed an ornamental rose arbor, and the saurial dodged into it, yanking the priestess after him. The arbor protected them from the rain that continued to fall as well as from curious eyes.

Give me the sword, but put your robes back on over the armor. You may need its protection, Dragonbait signed.

“How much protection can it possibly offer?” Zhara asked, unstrapping the sword’s sheath from the metal girdle about her waist. “There’s nothing to it. Besides, what will Alias wear?”

Don’t be fooled by the chain mail’s looks. It’s heavily enchanted, Dragonbait explained. Alias can wear her spare armor. Remember what I told you, he warned as she donned her robes, once you are across the bridge, hide in the woods until you see us pass. Wait awhile longer before you follow. Look for strips of white or blue cloth. Here, take this cloak, he ordered, handing her one of Alias’s old cloaks. Cover your head with the hood—a veil will attract too much attention.

Handing her a small sack of dry rations, he signed, This is all the food I could collect, but we will pass several farm fields. The farmers will not object if you glean from them. Take care, lady, until we meet again.

Zhara grabbed Dragonbait’s tunic. “All those things you said about Alias in the tower … I am not like her. I’m not nearly so brave or so talented or so beautiful. I do not think I can do this,” she whispered anxiously.

Dragonbait stroked Zhara’s arm, and the priestess felt the blue brand on her arm tingle just as it had when he had touched it before. It was an oddly comforting feeling.

You are different from Alias, the paladin signed, but you can do this. You must and you will. The smell of garlic surrounded them, the scent of the saurial’s determination. Without another word, Dragonbait gave Zhara a light shove toward the road. The woman hurried toward the bridge and passed by the sentries stationed on the near side. In the drizzling rain, they didn’t find it unusual that a traveler should keep her face covered under the hood of her cloak. When Zhara had reached the opposite side, the lizard strode back to the tower, carrying his and Alias’s packs and the sack containing the swordswoman’s spare armor.

The guards at the gate exchanged confused looks as Dragonbait returned to the tower. “Forget something, Dragonbait?” one of them asked.

The saurial nodded and strode past quickly.

The guards shrugged as Dragonbait raced down the hall toward the tower storerooms.

The paladin followed the trail of Alias’s scent until he found her standing beside Mourngrym in the armory, examining longbows. Dragonbait shook the sack of armor to attract her attention.

“Just a minute, Dragonbait,” Alias said, choosing a hornwood bow and handing it to Mourngrym.

“You change,” Mourngrym said, picking up a quiver of arrows. “I’ll take this out to your horse and make sure Breck doesn’t bolt off without you.” His lordship left the storeroom.

When they were alone, Alias asked the saurial, “What took you so long?”

Dragonbait set the sack of armor down and signed, I went to say good-bye to Zhara and to try to reassure her about Akabar.

“Tymora! You are so naive,” Alias chided. “Zhara doesn’t need any comforting. That woman doesn’t care anything about Akabar. As far as priests are concerned, gods come first; husbands and wives place a poor second,” she declared.

You are wrong, Dragonbait signed. She is a good woman.

“She’s a fanatic,” Alias countered.

So are you, the paladin signed. You denied everything she and Akabar said without considering it carefully.

“Moander is not coming back,” Alias snapped.

You argue from emotion, not reason, Dragonbait signed. You cannot change the truth by denying it. Moander is returning, Alias, and Akabar must destroy him.

“Why Akabar?” the swordswoman cried. “Why should he have to fight Moander again? Why not someone else?”

I don’t know, the paladin signed, but you are not helping him by insulting his wife and his faith.

Alias lowered her eyes, realizing uneasily that Dragonbait could be right but unwilling to admit it. “We have to hurry or Breck will try to leave without us,” she said, bending over and dumping out the contents of her sack of armor. “Where’s my other chain shirt?” she asked.

Dragonbait shrugged and signed that he hadn’t been able to find it.

“Dragonbait!” the swordswoman cried with annoyance. “It was lying across the chair. Are you certain you didn’t just choose not to bring it?”

Dragonbait shrugged.

For months the paladin had tried to talk Alias out of wearing the chain shirt she’d gotten from the evil sorceress Cassana. The piece of armor was exceedingly immodest and consequently earned Alias a good deal of unlooked-for attention from men, but it also carried powerful enchantments that protected her far more than a full breastplate could. After she’d worn it for over a year, Dragonbait had ceased objecting to it. Alias thought that he had finally surrendered to her logic. Until now.

“You are such a stick-in-the-mud!” Alias grumbled. “Next thing I know, you’ll try to get me to wear a veil like Zhara.”

It would be easier to get Zhara into Cassana’s armor, the paladin signed.

Alias laughed. “There’s no time to argue about it now.” She picked up her old chain shirt and slipped it over her tunic, then picked up the breastplate. “Well, now that I have no choice but to wear this awful, bulky plate, you could at least help me get into it.”

Dragonbait helped the swordswoman attach the breast and back plates of her old armor about her torso and fastened the shoulder plates to the chain.

“Forget the rest of the pieces,” Alias said. “I’m not used to that much weight. Leave them here.” She strapped on her sword and shouldered her pack as Dragonbait placed the rest of her armor on an empty shelf.

The swordswoman stepped up behind the saurial. When he turned around, she lowered her head meekly and said, “I’m sorry I was so rude to Zhara. Forgive me?”

Dragonbait looked very stern and signed, It is Zhara you need to apologize to.

“I will,” Alias promised. “Later. The next time I see her. Don’t be angry with me now … please?”

Dragonbait ran his claw along her sleeve, so that her brand tingled comfortingly.

Alias could sense from the saurial’s smell that he was still disturbed by something. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

Grypht isn’t from the Nine Hells, the paladin signed.

“I know that,” Alias agreed. “He couldn’t be, but there’s no sense arguing with Breck about it. Kyre said he was, and Breck worshiped Kyre.”

Grypht is a friend, Dragonbait signed. He is one of my people.

Alias’s jaw dropped. “You mean he’s a saurial?”

Dragonbait nodded.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Alias asked.

Breck wouldn’t trust Zhara because she was Akabar’s wife. He would not trust me if he knew I was Grypht’s friend. Breck is too angry, Dragonbait signed.

“Of course he’s angry. Wouldn’t you be if you found me in ashes like Kyre?” Alias asked.

Breck’s anger is dangerous. He cannot be trusted. Grypht and Akabar could not have murdered Kyre, but Breck is too angry to consider any other possibility.

“He’ll cool off on the trail,” Alias replied.

Only bloodshed will cool him off, the paladin signed, but Alias was distracted by the sound of Heth calling her name.

The page appeared in the armory door all out of breath. “Lord Mourngrym asks that you hurry,” the boy said. “He says it would be easier to hold back the tide than to keep the ranger waiting any longer.”

“We’re coming,” Alias said.

Let’s leave by the kitchen door—it’s closer to the stables, Dragonbait signed.

Alias nodded, and they hurried to join Breck Orcsbane.

Grypht laid Akabar down on a bed of crushed grass and sank to the ground beside him. His burden had begun to stir, and the lizard decided the ape would probably prefer to waken in a less awkward position then slung over the shoulder of a stranger. Actually, Grypht was grateful to find an excuse to rest. He’d grown unaccustomed to trekking up and down hills for long stretches of time. Not wanting to waste time, Grypht laid his staff across his lap and studied the notches and lines cut into it. He would need to relearn the spell Kyre had prevented him from casting when he first arrived in this world.

The ape’s sleep grew more and more restless. He began to toss and turn and mutter. When Grypht finished studying his magic staff, the saurial turned his attention back to the creature he’d rescued. The ape began to shout in his sleep. Grypht couldn’t understand his language, but the creature seemed quite upset, so the saurial shook him gently.

Akabar came awake with a start, but he quickly realized he was too weak to sit up. His eyes darted about in confusion. The creature he’d freed from Kyre’s soul trap sat beside him. “Elminster?” he whispered.

Grypht shook his head. He understood the word “Elminster,” and that certainly wasn’t him. The lizard pointed to himself and said, “Grypht” in saurial, but of course the ape could not comprehend.

Grypht pulled out a lump of red clay from his pocket and began fashioning it into a series of five short cylinders, each with a smaller circumference than the previous one. He piled one on top of the other until he had formed the model of a ziggurat.

A clay ziggurat is the component of a tongues spell, Akabar realized. In his excitement, he found the energy to sit up. He fidgeted impatiently for Grypht to finish casting so that they could communicate.

The scent of fresh-mown hay filled the air about them, and the miniature tower balanced on the lizard’s palm glowed as if it were sitting in a kiln. Then the tower shattered into several pieces. Grypht turned his hand upside down, spilling the shards of baked clay into the grass. “I am Grypht,” he said in a deep, low voice.

“I am Akabar Bel Akash,” the Turmishman replied. “I presume you are not a creature of evil as Lady Kyre told us.”

Grypht shook his head. “I am a saurial.”

“A saurial!” Akabar said excitedly. “Like Dragonbait?”

Grypht chuckled. He couldn’t wait to find Champion and ask how he’d picked up such a bizarre nickname. “In our tribe, the one you call Dragonbait is known as Champion. He is the sworn protector of our people. I must locate him.”

Akabar nodded. “He’s here in Shadowdale.”

“Shadowdale?” Grypht asked.

“The town we’re in—” Akabar paused and looked around. “The town we were in. Where are we now?”

“I fled the tower with you after I destroyed Kyre.”

“Kyre,” Akabar whispered. “You killed her?” he said.

Despite his relief at having escaped the half-elf’s clutches, the Turmishman was unable to control the feeling of misery that swept over him upon learning she was dead.

“She was a minion of Moander,” Grypht said, disturbed by Akabar’s expression. “She would have drained your spirit and fed you to her master.”

“I know,” Akabar said, “but I loved her.”

Grypht shook his head. Love makes such fools of mages, he thought. “When I last scried Champion, you and he and a halfling traveled on the back of a red lair-beast—what you call a dragon, I believe—but I have been unable to locate Champion magically for over a year now. Are you certain Champion is in the town we left?”

Grypht waited for several moments for Akabar’s answer, but the only noise to fill the silence was a cricket in the brush. Finally the saurial poked the Turmish mage and growled, “Forget Kyre and answer my question.”

Akabar looked up with a start. Realizing it was imperative he communicate with Grypht while the tongues spell still functioned, he shook off his misery and answered the saurial mage. “You probably couldn’t find Dragonbait because he travels with Alias. She’s a warrior with a powerful misdirection spell cast on her, which protects her companions, too.”

“I could not detect you magically, either. Were you with them all this time?” Grypht asked.

“No,” Akabar said. “My wife is also enchanted with a charm of misdirection, but she’s back in Shadowdale. If you couldn’t locate Dragon—er, Champion, how did you know to come to Shadowdale?”

“I chose it because Olive was there. Since she had once been a companion of Champion’s, I hoped she could tell me where to find him,” Grypht explained.

“Olive? Olive Ruskettle is in Shadowdale?” Akabar asked in amazement.

“She was in the tower,” Grypht explained. “I teleported there, prepared to cast a tongues spell to explain my presence, but Kyre disrupted the spell and convinced others to attack me, so I fled. I managed to find Olive, but I was unable to speak with her. I talked with her friend—a bard, as tall as you are, very arrogant. He would not tell me where Champion was. He professed he needed proof that I was a friend of Champion’s, but I think he did not want me to find Champion at all. Kyre interrupted us and scooped me into her soul trap. I thought she must have killed Olive and the bard, but now I believe they escaped, for this stone points out the halfling’s location.” The saurial held out the yellow crystal.

“The finder’s stone!” Akabar said. “Dragonbait lost it in Westgate. How did you find it?”

“The bard had it. I found the stone in Kyre’s boot, so I assumed she had killed the bard and Olive. I was using the stone to search for Champion, but it could not discover him for me. By accident, I thought of Olive, her clever fingers and brash nerve, and the stone sent out a directional light immediately. I couldn’t believe my luck, or the halfling’s, either. She had escaped from Kyre, something I would not have managed without your help.”

“But how did the bard get the finder’s stone?” Akabar asked.

“He said he created it. He used its magic to speak with me,” Grypht explained.

Akabar’s brow furrowed. The bard had to be Nameless. It was possible that he did create the stone. He was known as the Crafter as well as the Nameless Bard. Then Akabar found himself wondering why Nameless had kept Dragonbait’s location from Grypht. Did he have some reason to distrust Grypht? Then it occurred to the Turmishman that he still hadn’t found out about Elminster. “What did you do to Elminster?” he demanded. “He disappeared before you left.”

“I transferred him to my tower and took his place,” the saurial explained. “It was the only way I could absolutely guarantee my safe magical arrival here.”

“Do you know the trouble you caused? Everyone thought he’d been kidnapped,” Akabar said.

“My apprentices were instructed to greet him and apologize for the inconvenience. He was free to leave at any time. He is a great wizard, with the power to travel between planes. I scried for Olive for some time, waiting for her to approach such a one so that I did not strand anyone in my world.”

“If Elminster was free to leave, why hasn’t he returned yet?” Akabar asked.

“He hasn’t?” Grypht asked in return.

Akabar shook his head.

“Oh, dear,” the saurial said softly.

“Oh, dear!” Akabar exclaimed. “Is that all you can say? You snatched Elminster from his home to another dimension just to guarantee you had a safe arrival and could find Dragonbait.”

“It is imperative that I find Champion. Our people’s very existence is imperiled. I must have his help if I am to save them.”

“Why? What’s wrong with your people?” Akabar asked suspiciously.

“The minions of Moander from the Abyss have come into our land and enslaved them all. Only my three apprentices and I remain uncaptured. The others have been marched forcibly through the plane of Tarterus and into this world. The Darkbringer is using them to recreate a body to use in the Realms.”

“Moander,” Akabar whispered and shivered. “So my dreams did not lie. It is returning.”

“You, too, are an enemy of the Darkbringer?” Grypht asked.

“I have come north to destroy it,” Akabar said with a quavering voice.

“Then you tread a dangerous path, Akabar Bel Akash,” the saurial said. “For of the Darkbringer’s minions in your plane, Kyre the bard was the least, and yet she nearly destroyed you.”