Finder's bane

Three

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.

It was much darker beneath the pine than it had been on the Tethyamar Trail. The birds had quieted down considerably.

Joel started suddenly. To his left, he spied a flash of an orange light like a torch or a campfire in the woods. With reflexes that had been finely tuned in the past few hours, the bard gripped the hilt of his sword and whispered Holly's name. In the silent woods, it sounded like a shout. Without halting, the girl twisted about, leaning one hand leisurely on Butternut's rump. "What's wrong?" she asked. Joel nodded in the direction of the light. "I thought I saw a torch." To his dismay, he spied a second light on his right, then a third in front of Holly's horses. "We have company," he said.

Holly laughed, and the sound echoing through the pines startled the bard. It was a relaxed laughter, and all fears of Zhentilar and Banites retreated before it, but still it puzzled the bard.

"What are they? Are they people from the dell? How did they know we'd be coming?" he demanded.

"No," Holly said with a chuckle. "They're just piggy little firestars, hoping you'll light a campfire or cast a light spell."

One of the lights broke free of the woods and drifted within a few feet of Joel's face. It was a free-floating ball, about the size of his fist, glowing a radiant orange. Peering more closely, the bard could make out bands and sparkles of blue dancing across its surface.

Realizing he still held on to the hilt of his sword, Joel asked, "Are they dangerous?"

"Only if you attack them," Holly explained. "They have a shocking sting. Otherwise they're harmless. They're wild creatures that eat any light they can get near-firelight or magic light. They quench it somehow, They're more of a nuisance than anything else, except when they bother the Zhentilar. Then they're loyal allies of the people of Daggerdale."

Holly's tone was so serious Joel had to laugh. "Perform a lot of forays against the Zhents, do they?” the bard asked.

"They sting the Zhents a lot. The Zhents can't seem to get the hang of ignoring them," Holly explained. "The Zhents would attack a chipmunk if they caught it staring at them too long."

Feeling rather foolish, Joel released the hilt of his sword. A second firestar, this one lemon-shaded, drew close. The pair floated alongside him until a third, somewhat larger, reddish sphere, with glittering spangles of white, joined them. All three lights bobbed and zipped about one another, until the larger one left. A few minutes later the first two floated back into the woods.

Every few minutes new firestars swooped about the horses, then drifted off. Joel was reminded of the squirrels in the parks of Suzail, gorged on the bread crumbs of Cormyrean nobles and merchants, constantly begging from every passerby.

"Are they intelligent?" Joel asked curiously.

Holly shrugged. "Who knows?" she replied.

After half a mile, the pine forest ended as abruptly as it had begun. They now stood at the edge of a meadow. The last rays of the sun poked between two peaks of the Desertsmouth Mountains, but the rest of the sky was a blanket of dark blue, speckled with the earliest stars.

They rode side by side now, in the twilight, downward into the dell, through planted fields and well-tended orchards. Every few acres they passed a barn. The barns were so weather-beaten that from a distance they appeared abandoned. As he passed by one such structure, Joel could see that it was really quite sturdy. Farther on, he spotted a girl with a milking pail coming out of another barn.

The bard was just wondering if a hidden path and old buildings were all that kept the dell safe from intruders when something very large rustled in the rye grass off to his right, startling his horse to a bolt. It took several seconds to bring the beast under control. Holly trotted up to his side. "What was that?" Joel asked.

"It was just a guardian," Holly answered. "It knows better than to attack. The silly Zhent horse probably got a whiff of it. Keep moving."

"What sort of guardian?" Joel asked.

The sort that starts out as a cute cub and grows up to eat Zhents for dinner," Holly answered. Then she began telling him the history of the dell. Joel listened with one ear while the other remained alert for some sound of a guardian. The dell was named for the wizard Anathar, who had perished long ago protecting the local dwarves from a marauding dragon. That act apparently sealed the friendship of the humans and dwarves of the dell, and the small community had flourished ever since.

Joel couldn't see any mine entrances or other indications of dwarvish presence. No doubt, he thought, the dwarves of Daggerdale are just as insular and protective as the humans.

Finally they came to the heart of the dell, the center where people lived. It was dominated by a large stone manor, blazing with light from every window. Many small cottages surrounded the manor, a few with lamplight glittering in their windows, but most of them were dark. As they approached the manor, Joel could hear human voices. No doubt the larger building was the hub of the community. Outside its windows, firestars hovered like moths, blocked from entry by wire grates cunningly fashioned in intricate geometric designs Dwarven workmanship at its finest, Joel realized, both useful and lovely.

Holly and Joel tied their mounts to a hitching post and hurried through the door before any firestars could flit past them. They stood in a large common room, occupied by at least fifty people, mostly human, the rest dwarves. Tonight the common room served as a local tavern. Most of the inhabitants sat on benches at rows of great oak tables, drinking from frothy-topped mugs and conversing, but a few more boisterous souls bowled ninepins in the aisles between the tables, while several others cheered on a pair of dart players.

Upon Joel's entry, a silence spread from the doorway outward as every person within, to the last solitary being, stopped what he or she was doing and eyed the bard. Their stares were most unwelcoming, even hostile. Joel stiffened.

Holly strode forward and addressed the room. "This is Joel, a priest of Finder. He rescued me from a Zhent patrol and vanquished our pursuit. I vouch for him."

The hard glares softened slightly. Most of the onlookers gave Joel a dismissive nod and returned to their amusements and conversations. From what Joel had heard about the Dalesmen of Daggerdale, that was a better reception than he'd have gotten had Holly not spoken for him and as good a welcome as he could expect. Joel couldn't help but note the conversations had become much more subdued in his presence. He might be tolerated, but it would take more than Holly's word for him to be trusted.

Holly made for a table by the hearth in the center of the room. About the table were seven large oaken chairs, richly carved with figures of men and elves battling against drow, dragons, and other fell creatures. The chairs' armrests were polished smooth with years of use, and their backs and sides held more than a few gouges and cuts, as if they had seen battles of their own.

Seated at the head of the table, in the largest chair, was a man dressed in worn leathers. He was an older man with handsome features, long brown hair combed down his back, and a neatly cropped beard. As Holly approached, he rose to greet her, calling out, "Harrowslough. Welcome."

Holly dropped to one knee before the man. Joel stood uncomfortably behind her, not sure what he should do. The older man raised Holly to her feet.

"My lord," Holly said, "allow me to present Joel of Finder. I owe the success of my mission to him. Bard, this is Lord Randal Morn, rightful ruler of the lands you now cross."

Joel's mouth went dry. Although Branson had few kind words for the people of Daggerdale in general, the caravan guard had spoken of Randal Morn with the respect and awe reserved for a legend. Daggerdale's beleaguered lord was a tough guerilla fighter who had been harrying the Zhentilar patrols for years now. The Zhents had a sizable bounty on his head. Wordlessly Joel bowed deeply. Not only had Joel not expected to meet Morn, but Morn was not what Joel anticipated at all. The lord of Daggerdale was several inches shorter than Joel. His physique was more like a farmer's-lean, with muscular forearms. His movements were graceful. His hazel eyes did not pierce one to the bone, but looked dreamy and sad.

"Joel has another title, my lord," Holly said, filling in the void Joel's silence created. "He calls himself the Rebel Bard."

Morn laughed as Holly stood there, grinning at some joke.

Joel looked from Holly to Morn, confused.

"Then it is destined that we meet, Rebel Bard," Morn said, his voice as smooth as polished wood, "for I am known in theses parts as the Rebel Lord."

Joel flushed at the coincidence. Finally he found his voice. "I thank you for the opportunity to visit your fair land, your lordship," he said. "It has a beauty unknown to many."

"He's a polite one, Harrowslough," Morn noted with a chuckle. "Would that the Zhentilar were so well-mannered."

"That could hardly be, sir," Joel replied, "seeing how they come without invitation and leave such rude calling cards."

Morn snorted with amusement, and Joel allowed himself to relax a little.

"You must excuse us, Rebel Bard, but I need to speak privately with young Harrowslough. Take my place here," Morn insisted, tapping on the chair from which he'd risen, "and we'll see that you get fed." He looked about the room and shouted, "Kharva!"

A dwarven woman carrying a large tureen wove her way through the room's inhabitants. A younger dwarf carrying bowls and spoons trailed behind her. Randal Morn spoke some words in dwarvish, then led the young paladin away. They disappeared into the crowd, doubtlessly to another room far from prying ears.

Kharva had set down the soup tureen and stood staring up at Joel expectantly. The Rebel Bard lowered himself nervously into Randal Morn's seat, wondering if he were usurping the traditional throne of the rebel leader. Kharva's assistant clattered a wooden bowl and spoon in front of him, and the dwarven woman, standing on a chair, removed the top of the tureen.

The odor of beef stew wafted across Joel's face, and his stomach growled. He realized his last meal had been over eight hours ago, and that had been nothing but dried fruit and hardtack. The beef stew before him was bountiful, with huge lumps of beef that peeled apart in delicious strings, potatoes and carrots that were neither undercooked nor too soft, tiny onions that glittered like pearls, and a rich broth flavored with wine. Another secret of the Daggerfolk, Joel noted, was that they could cook.

From an apron pocket, Kharva pulled out a round loaf of warm, crusty bread and pressed it into Joel's hands. Waving her hand at the tureen, she said, "Take all you want, but-" the woman hesitated ominously- "leave room for dessert," she finished with a wink. A second young dwarf laid a brimming mug of ale by the tureen. Then all three melted into the crowd of the room.

Joel tore off a hunk of bread and, sampling it, sighed. It was honeyed and fresh enough to have been baked that morning. He slurped at the ale, then set to work devouring his first helping of the stew, mopping up every last drop of the broth with the bread. It wasn't until he'd worked halfway through his second helping that the bard realized he was being watched.

While most of the dalesfolk had seen fit to ignore him, one, a giant of a man seated in a chair to Joel's right, fixed his gaze on the bard's every move. At first Joel just glanced up at the man between mouthfuls of stew and bread. The watcher had the sort of appearance Joel had expected from the legendary Rebel Lord. The man's crossed arms were like tree trunks. His chest, clad in scaled armor, could have served a small room as a wall. The long black braid hanging down his back bristled with silvered spikes. His thick beard framed a permanent scowl. One eye was covered with a steel eye patch, while the other eye, sheathed below a sullen brow, glared daggers at the bard.

Unable to stand the examination without answering it somehow, Joel ventured, "This is really good food."

The huge man did not respond.

"You have a very good cook here," the bard added.

The huge man remained impassive and as silent as stone.

Joel took a swallow of ale, then tried again. "Lord Randal has been a most gracious host."

Unexpectedly, the scowl deepened on the huge man's face, and Joel began to feel oppressed by the silence.

"Yes, sir," the bard said as he served himself thirds, "this is really good food."

Although the lack of conversation left Joel with nothing to do but eat, he restrained himself from taking a fourth serving. Shortly thereafter, Kharva came by to reward him with another flagon of ale and the promised dessert-fresh strawberries in cream. "First of the season," the dwarf informed him with a smile, letting him know how privileged he should feel.

After polishing off the berries, Joel slumped back in Randal Morn's chair with his flagon of ale and turned his attention to the bowlers, pointedly ignoring the big man on his right. Finally Joel caught sight of Holly and Morn. Morn had stopped to speak with one of the ninepins bowlers, but he kept Holly by his side, including her in their conversation.

Holly had changed from her blood-spattered wool outfit to an ornate yellow and crimson robe of silk, embroidered with blue and green peacock feathers, very much the style of a follower of Lathander. In Morn's company, she seemed older somehow. Perhaps it was the intense look of concentration she wore as she listened to the Rebel Lord speak, or the respectful way Morn listened in turn when she spoke. Whatever it was, Joel realized he'd been very lucky in his choice of damsels in distress. The bard rose as Holly and Morn approached his table, but Morn waved for him to be seated, taking the seat to Joel's left, across from the huge man who had kept a silent, scowling watch on his guest.

"Has Bear here been keeping you company?" Morn asked, indicating the huge man with a nod of his head.

"Rarely have I found so riveting a conversationalist," Joel replied, straight-faced.

Randal blinked for a moment, then grinned. "Aye. Once you get him started, there's no stopping him."

"And knowledgeable!" Joel placed a hand flat against the table, "Why, I never knew there were so many naughty limericks involving Elminster."

Randal Morn chuckled, but Bear remained as impassive as if he'd been carved in stone.

"Bear's a good man," the lord stated. "His job is to trust no one, so that I might still trust a few. His distrust has saved my life more than once in these hazardous times," Morn explained, nodding his gratitude to the huge man. Then he turned his attention back to Joel. "Harrowslough tells me you're a bard, schooled in the western colleges."

"Berdusk," replied Joel, "but I've broken with their traditional methods."

"I fancy myself fairly accomplished in music," Morn said, reaching for a lute by the fire. "Would you do me the honor of accompanying me?"

Joel was accustomed to singing for his supper, though it was unusual to be asked to accompany his host. Warmed by the stew in his belly, the ale coursing through his veins, and Morn's gracious manner, Joel was prepared to go to any lengths to entertain the Rebel Lord. He unhooked his birdpipes from his belt. He'd cut the reeds and fashioned this set of pipes himself in his student days. One teacher had criticized the instrument for its lack of standard tones, but it was Joel's favorite. It made lovely music.

"Do you know 'Jonstan the Rover'?" Morn asked, strumming the first chord. The lute's tuning was slightly flat, but Joel played a matching chord on the bird-pipes, then blew the notes to the first five bars. Heads turned in his direction. The bowlers and dart players paused expectantly.

With a signal from Morn, the pair played the song from the beginning. Fortunately Morn's voice was better than his tuning. It flowed smoothly and melodiously over the words to the old dales tune. Joel played a third lower than the singer, matching his meter and pacing. Morn paused between the third and fourth verse, allowing Joel the opportunity to improvise a smooth bridge.

At the end of the first song, Joel segued into "The River of Life," an old nursery rhyme the mortal Finder had set to music. Morn needed only a measure to pick up the chords, then the verse, which gave Joel great pleasure. Ever since the Harpers had lifted their ban on Finder's music, Joel's god's songs had flourished in the Realms. Next the Rebel Lord began the melody of "The Ballad of the Dream Weaver," and Joel joined in without missing a beat, but the lyrics Morn sang were different from the ones Joel had learned. The bard noted them with interest.

As the melodies shifted between the two men, the others around them grew quiet and all conversation died away. A few sang along, but quietly, in half mumbles. There were no outstanding voices beyond Morn's, which was not too unusual, but it was odd that no one else sang out with gusto. No wonder Randal was anxious to play with another minstrel.

At the close of "Dalesman's Holiday," Joel launched into "The Toasting Song." The tune was an old staple, and Morn strummed along as Joel set aside his pipes to sing.

The Toasting Song" was what bards called a button song. Its chorus was easy to learn and repeat, and the meter of its verses so simple anyone could "button" any number of names and situations into the song. In general, it was used to thank-or tweak-one's host, or to report on everything from the weather to the latest court gossip. Joel rose from his chair and sang the standard chorus:

"And now we give a Toast, a Toast To guests and friends and hosts, and hosts For lies and tales and boasts, and boasts Of who can drink the most, the most!"

Then Joel fired off the first impromptu verse:

"We toast the folk of Daggerdale, Whose hearts and minds will never fail, Whose land holds wondrous firestars And truly great and noble bars!"

There was laughter and a few cheers from the crowd, and some members of the audience joined in on the chorus. A few even smiled when Joel met their gaze. The bard cornered Kharva as she tried surreptitiously to clear away the tureen from Joel's table. The dwarven woman frowned sternly as the young man sang a verse in her honor.

"We toast good Kharva's cooking skills, Which cure all human and dwarven ills, For with each sip and with each bite, We're soon too stuffed to start a fight!"

Kharva guffawed heartily, and laughter burst from the crowd. More joined in on the chorus. One table punctuated the last two words of each line by pounding on the table, creating an accompanying percussion section. Joel walked about the table until he stood behind his next victim.

"We toast Lathander's paladins, Whose lives are without stains or sins, Who'll leap into every fray or mess, Provided they have the proper dress!"

Holly squealed and covered her face with her hands. Joel could see the flush beneath her dark skin. Now nearly the whole house sang the chorus, each group trying to outshout or outpound the others. Next Joel circled behind the stoic form of Bear, still grim-faced and silent, his arms folded.

"Let's toast the absent Zhentarim, Who loose upon us evil grim. To know these fools and avoid their sting, Just watch for those who will not si-"

Bear's fist came out of nowhere. One moment Joel had a clear view of grinning dalesfolk, and in the next a small meteorite of flesh closed directly with his nose. There was a flash of light, then darkness. When Joel's eyes opened again, he was lying on the floor. Holly was hovering over him, obstructing his view, but he could hear Randal Morn castigating the huge bodyguard.

"What did you do that for?" the Rebel Lord snarled.

"He insulted me," Bear grunted. "Us. Daggerdale. He was mocking us."

"The only insult was the interruption of our song," Morn snapped. "If you'd paused to look around, you might have noted that everyone else was laughing and singing."

Bear blushed deeply and reiterated, "I thought he was insulting us."

"Save your offended zeal for fighting the Zhentarim," Morn retorted. Turning to Holly, he asked, "How is he?"

Holly had placed her hands on Joel's face lightly, but the pressure was nearly unbearable. Then the bard recognized the rosy-hued aura of the paladin's healing touch. The sharp pain in the back of his head subsided to a dull throbbing and an unpleasant itching all about his nose.

"Feeling better, Joel?" the girl asked.

Talk about your rough audiences," Joel muttered.

Morn grunted agreement and reached out with his hand. Joel missed the hand the first try, but grabbed it the second. The Rebel Lord pulled the Rebel Bard to his feet.

Joel cocked his head at Bear. "If he hits the Zhents that hard, you'll soon have no worries," the bard joked. Then the room swayed about him, and he had to steady himself against the table.

Take him to one of the cottages to rest," Morn instructed Holly. "When he's recovered and wants to continue his journey, Bear will serve as his escort, by way of an apology."

Neither Holly nor Bear looked pleased with that arrangement. Bear opened his mouth, no doubt to argue, but shut it again a moment later. The huge man nodded to his lord, then turned on his heel and disappeared into the crowd. A few members of the audience raised a mug to Joel, but most of them had returned to their earlier diversions. Another typical evening in Daggerdale, the young bard suspected.

Morn handed Joel his pipes. "Sorry about that," he said sheepishly. "Bear often sees threats where none exist. He's a good man, though."

"So you've said," Joel replied, taking the pipes with one hand while holding his tender nose with the other. "Really, though, you needn't spare him for my sake. Holly's been a wonderful guide."

"Yes, but I'm afraid I have need of her skills in the days to come. Yet I would prefer knowing you were escorted safely through my land."

"Bear it is, then," Joel agreed, though only so as not: appear disagreeable to Morn.

"I'll have someone see to your horse while Holly shows you to your quarters," Morn said.

Holly led Joel to the door. Outside, the air had turned cool. The moon had not yet risen, and the sky was a jumble of stars. Not far off, hidden in the dark, a large cat snarled. Joel remembered the guardian that had scared his horse.

A young dwarf handed Holly a lantern, and the paladin led the bard away from the manor down a meadow path. Firestars zipped about them. Holly halted at the door to a small cottage and set the lantern down on the front stoop.

"I'm sorry I can't escort you farther," the girl said.

"I understand. You have a duty to Morn. I'll be fine with Bear."

"About Bear…" Holly paused, as if searching for the right words. "Just watch yourself with him."

"I'll stay out of arm's reach," Joel assured her with a grin.

"I don't trust him," the paladin whispered.

"Why not?" Joel asked, thinking immediately of the legendary paladin's ability to plum the depths of the soul.

"It's not what you think," Holly replied. "I don't sense evil about him. And it's not that he's ever done anything really wrong. He's just so utterly devoted, so grim, so humorless. He makes my stomach knot. It's not exactly something I can tell to Lord Randal."

Joel nodded with understanding. Morn wasn't likely to have his judgment swayed by a girl's gut instinct, even if she was a useful and loyal subject. "I'll keep my eyes open," he assured her.

"Just take care of yourself," she ordered. "And thanks for everything back there, with the Zhents."

"My pleasure," the bard insisted. He thrust out his hand, and Holly grasped his wrist as he held hers.

"Good-bye and good luck," the girl said. A moment later she disappeared into the darkness.

"Good luck to you, Holly Harrowslough," Joel sang softly after her. Then he picked up the lantern and retired into the cottage.

Once inside, Joel tugged off his boots and flopped down on the bed. Placing his fingertips across his brow, he sang a short discordant scale and concentrated his energies as Jedidiah had taught him. His hands glowed a soft blue, and a moment later the throbbing in his head and the tingling in his nose dissipated.

He still felt a little fuzzy, but that, he suspected, was the ale. Just need to get some sleep, he told himself. A few minutes later he was snoring softly.

The next morning the young dwarf who'd served him ale brought by a tray of bread and milk and a message from Bear that he was waiting at the manor and would be ready to leave whenever the bard gave the word.

Joel sent back word he'd be ready within the hour.

Scrubbed and fed, the bard strolled down to the manor house where Butternut was tied up, groomed, fed, bridled, and saddled. Bear stomped up leading a heavy black draft horse for his own mount. Joel greeted him a good morning, to which Bear grunted. The huge man had no words of greeting, let alone any of apology. At least he did not glare so much as he had the night before, or so Joel imagined.

Kharva poked her head out of the door. "Lord Randal and Harrowslough left at dawn. They said to wish you fair travel. There are fresh provisions in your saddlebags. I packed you some pies made from the leftover stew."

"I can smell them," Joel noted. "The scent will drive me crazy all morning. I thank you." He made a deep bow. Kharva laughed and disappeared back into the manor.

No one else came to see them off. They must all be working, Joel told himself. Still, it felt odd that not even a few children or one old geezer stood by to wave them out of town.

Joel mounted Butternut. "I'm headed for the opposite bank of the River Ashaba, then into the mountains," he explained to Bear.

Bear grunted and mounted his draft horse.

"Anytime you want to stop and point out some local sites of interest, feel free," Joel added.

Bear grunted again and kicked his horse into motion.

Having expended all the topics for morning conversation, Joel followed behind with Butternut.

Bear led Joel out of the dell by a northward path wide enough for a single rider, which suited the Rebel Bard perfectly. He lagged behind the black draft horse by several lengths, alone with his own thoughts.

Mostly those thoughts were preoccupied with Holly and the nature of her faith. She was so much younger than he, yet she seemed to have effortlessly melded her duties as a paladin of Lathander into the rest of her life. Was it something she had prepared for all her life? If I wear the title of priest long enough, will it finally feel like it fits? he wondered.

From the time he had first spoken with Jedidiah, Joel had been excited by the idea of following Finder, but he still couldn't fathom why Jedidiah had been so eager for him to be more than a follower. What in the Realms made Jedidiah think I would make a good priest?

Finally thoughts about the scenery shoved their way into the forefront of Joel's mind. The path Bear chose led them past, by Joel's count, over thirty abandoned farms, each marked by great swaths of meadow that had once been fields, overgrown orchards, and burnt-out farmhouses. Between the deprivations of the Zhentilar occupation, marauding orcs, and no doubt a dragon or two, the Daggerdale folk hereabouts had apparently given up and left their land to lie fallow. Anathar's Dell's survival was a lone exception to the rule.

Hoping to brighten his mood, Joel was about to suggest to Bear that they stop for an early lunch. He urged Butternut into the field and pulled her up alongside Bear's draft horse. That's when he spotted the Zhentilar. There was a whole patrol resting in the shade of an old orchard at the far side of the meadow he and Bear were now crossing. Most had dismounted and were idly chucking rocks at the tree trunks, but at least three remained in their saddles watching the horizon.

"Hey," Joel whispered, "what's-"

Bear held up a single hand. Despite himself, Joel flinched.

“Just ride on," Bear growled softly. "There won't be any trouble."

Joel nodded, realizing Bear must know what he was doing. The trick was to remain calm and ride on past just as Bear and other native Daggerdalefolk must do dozens of times a day.

This patrol was larger than the two Joel had encountered the day before, but it was much more ragged. The soldiers' leather jerkins were motley, and not all of them sported the Zhentarim badge of black and yellow. There was an even mix of men and women in the group. The men's faces were all unshaven and the women's hair tangled, and none of them appeared to have washed since the last rainstorm. They looked more like brigands than soldiers. Nonetheless they were intimidating. More than half of them looked as if they could give Bear a good wrestling match.

It was the sight of their leader that unnerved Joel the most. He was one of those who remained mounted. Over a full suit of black plate mail, the man wore an open black robe with green piping. Emerald-colored stones glistened from the backs of his black gauntlets. Any doubt Joel may have had concerning the leader's profession vaporized upon spotting the green stole he wore. Embroidered on either end was the symbol of a black hand with glowing green eyes. The leader was a priest of the god Iyachtu Xvim, Godson of Bane.

Iyachtu Xvim's followers, called Xvimists, were growing in numbers in the north, poaching on the not-so-faithful of Cyric, the Mad God. Xvimists held to many of the same dogmas as the former Banites. Tyranny and hatred were their reasons for living. There was no love lost between Iyachtu and the dead god who'd been his father, yet Iyachtu's people considered Banites the property of Bane's heir, their god. They were said to embrace Banites into their fold, willing or not. Joel wondered if they'd heard reports of the pilgrim Banites Joel had spotted yesterday. Banite and Xvimite doctrine held that followers of all other religions were fools to be despised and abused.

Bear nodded as they approached the orchard. A few of the Zhentilar nodded back. Joel gave a jerky copy of the nod, keeping his expression completely neutral, trying to appear neither weak nor aggressive.

The priest leader nudged his mount forward, partially blocking the path. Bear halted his mount. Joel urged Butternut to move up alongside the draft horse. His mind raced as he tried to think what to say, and what not to say, to these people. Then he realized that this was Bear's country, and this was Bear's problem. Bear would know exactly what to say.

"Darkness falls," the priest of Xvim greeted them, holding up his left hand, palm outward. For a brief moment green flame flickered at the priest's fingertips. "And darkness rises again," Bear responded, holding up his left hand. Green flame danced along his fingertips as well. Joel started with surprise, and Holly's warning about Bear instantly came to mind. "And your cause?" the priest queried. "I bring an offering," Bear explained. "A priest of Finder."

Offering! Joel thought. Realizing he had foolishly come within arm's reach of Bear, Joel pulled on Butternut's reins. Butternut tried to step backward, but another Zhentilar had positioned himself right behind the mare. Annoyed, the mare kicked backward, then leapt forward, delivering Joel right into Bear's fast.

The blow struck the bard in the side of the head. Then, before he could react, the huge man lifted the bard from the saddle and hurled him to the ground.

Joel had the presence of mind to roll away from Butternut's hooves, but before he could rise to his feet, another Zhentilar booted him in the stomach. The bard doubled over and fell back to the ground. When he'd finally caught his breath and looked back up, Bear was standing over him, smiling, finally amused by the bard.

Behind the huge man, Joel could see the priest of Xvim, still mounted, also smiling. "Alive," the priest said to Bear. "Make him hurt all you want, but keep him alive for later."

Some of Branson's instructions in combat finally worked their way to the bard's thoughts. He rolled away from Bear and up to his feet with his sword drawn. The weapon did not stop Bear's advance.

Determined that the huge man should at the very least learn to respect his steel blade, Joel lunged outward. The tip of his sword hit something hard beneath Bear's leather jerkin and skittered out and downward until it finally sunk into something soft. Joel jumped back a step, yanking his sword with him. There was blood on the end of the blade. Bear remained standing like some magical golem.

A split second later the huge man closed on the surprised bard, wrapping one massive hand about Joel's right wrist and the other about Joel's windpipe. The sword clattered from Joel's nerveless fingers. With his left hand, Joel grabbed for the wand at his belt and pointed it at Bear's belly, hoping it might turn the huge man into something small, like a beetle, but without air, the bard couldn't choke out the wand's command word. Bear let go of Joel's right hand and yanked away the wand. Once he'd thrown the magical stick to the ground, he tightened his grip about his opponent's throat. Dark spots began appearing before Joel's eyes.

Then suddenly Bear released both his neck and wrist. Joel tumbled to the ground. Groggy, he rose again to his feet, expecting some worse punishment from the traitorous Bear. After a moment he realized Bear's attack would not be forthcoming any time soon.

As the dark spots faded from his eyes, he could see that the Zhentilar were fighting with someone else, Someone mounted on a Zhentilar horse, wielding a sword. Someone wearing a crimson and yellow blouse with blue and green peacock stitching.

Holly followed us, Joel realized. The damsel in distress has come to my rescue. Now we have to escape from the Zhents again. I've got to get my wits about me.

Most of the Zhentilar had begun swarming around Holly. Bear turned half away from Joel to warn them "Look out!" the huge man bellowed. "She's a practiced killer!"

Joel caught sight of the wand lying on the ground at Bear's feet. He looked back up at Bear and caught the glitter of the traitor's steel eye patch. He was on the huge man's blind side.

Keeping bent over low, Joel dashed past Bear, scooping up the wand as he moved. He stopped and spun about with his back to a tree and the wand out before him. He looked back at Holly. At least three Zhentilar lay on the ground around her, but those remaining had managed to trip her horse to the ground, yank her from the saddle, and disarm her. Still she fought, kicking and punching with unerring precision. Unfortunately, Joel realized, he couldn't fire the wand at her attackers and risk injuring her.

He had other targets, however. The priest of Xvim. still mounted on his horse, sat watching the paladin's battle with an amused smile on his face. Joel aimed the wand at him, pleased to see that Bear stood in the line of fire. The bard whispered the command word.

Vast cloud of black smoke issued from the wand and coalesced a moment later into a horrific creature completely unknown to Joel. It was larger than the largest bull Joel had ever seen, with wrinkled gray skin and a single horn in the center of its head. It charged toward Bear and the priest with a bellowing roar.

Bear spun about just in time to sidestep the beast's charge, but the priest of Xvim, his attention focused on Holly, did not react quickly enough to keep his horse from being gutted by the beast's horn.

Joel pointed the wand again at Bear, but he was too late. The huge man had already closed on him. He slammed into the bard, flattened him into the ground, then delivered blow after blow with his elbows to the bard's face.

From far off, Joel could hear Holly screaming. Then silence and blackness enveloped him.