Song of the Saurials

16 The Lost Vale

Finder’s stone teleported the eight adventurers into the Singing Cave at the edge of the Lost Vale. They stood about twenty feet from the cave’s mouth. Sunlight poured in on the green carpet of moss and ferns just inside the cave’s entrance. Condensation sparkled on the stone walls. Little red and yellow skinks skittered over the floor, walls, and ceiling, and orange swallows shot in and out of the cave carrying insects for their young, which twittered in nests in nooks and crannies at the back of the cave.

Olive pulled her hands away from Alias and Dragonbait. For the first time, the teleportation hadn’t exhausted her. I must be getting used to it, she thought as she walked to the mouth of the cave, which faced a steep mountainslope to the south. Olive stared down the mountainside and her eyes widened. “What a mess!” she muttered.

The others came up beside the halfling to look out. Far below them, a vale nearly five miles wide stretched from the mountains to the east down into the foothills bordering on the Anauroch Desert to the west. The steeper slopes of the vale were covered with meadows, which sparkled with wild flowers, and woods carpeted with ferns and teeming with a great variety of trees. Many of the trees were laden with fruit and flowering vines. Crystal blue streams ran from the mountains through the meadows and woods.

The greenery on the gentler slopes and in the lowlands, though, had been devastated. Nearly a quarter of the vale’s plants had been hacked to the ground and uprooted. Some larger trees still lay dying where they’d been cut down, but most of the vegetation had been hauled off, leaving the reddish brown earth bare. As the streams flowed lower into the vale, they, too, took on the color of the earth.

Breck Orcsbane whistled softly. “I’ve seen a flight of dragons cause less damage,” he said. The ranger pointed to a great green butte nearly a thousand feet in diameter that rose several hundred feet straight up from the bottom of the vale. “Those specks moving around that hill must be the possessed saurials,” the ranger speculated. “With all that activity around one spot, I’ll bet Moander’s new body is hidden in a cave somewhere in that hill.”

Alias, Dragonbait, Akabar, and Olive exchanged nervous glances with one another.

“Who wants to tell him?” Olive asked.

Akabar put one hand on the ranger’s shoulder. “That hill,” the mage said slowly, “is Moander’s new body.”

“What?” the ranger exclaimed.

“Moander’s minions must have created the hill from all the plants and trees they’ve cut down in the vale,” Alias said. “Moander grows on decaying things. When I first released the god from its prison in Yulash last year, it plunged into a refuse pit and soaked it up, ate some soldiers’ corpses, and then headed for the elven wood to tear up a few hundred acres of trees.”

“This body is a bit smaller than Moander was in the Elven Woods,” Olive noted.

“You can’t be serious!” Breck said.

“I have scried on my people for months as they built this new body, but I had no idea it was so huge,” Grypht said. “I never attempted to view it all at once. I never imagined the scale they’ve built it to.” From the hamlike smell the wizard emitted, Alias could tell that Grypht was extremely worried.

“Grypht didn’t realize it was so large, either,” Alias explained to the adventurers who couldn’t understand saurial.

“If Moander’s last body was bigger than this one, how did you ever destroy it?” Breck asked incredulously.

“We burned it … with the help of a red dragon,” Akabar said.

Grypht shook his head unhappily. “That must be why the minions have been casting special enchantments on this new body to protect it from fire,” he said.

“Grypht says this one’s protected from fire,” Alias translated. From the surprised look on Akabar’s face, she could see the mage hadn’t counted on this possibility.

“Well, what are we supposed to do with it, then?” Breck asked. Fear and frustration had begun to creep into his voice.

“Grypht could disintegrate it,” Olive suggested.

“Perhaps,” the wizard mumbled. “Given a thousand years.”

“It’s simply too big,” Akabar replied. “It would take hundreds of wizards working years and years.”

“Then gate it into another dimension,” the halfling said.

“It would take the power of a god to create a gate large enough,” Akabar said.

“As long as the seed isn’t brought to it, the body isn’t important. Right?” Zhara declared. “Without its minions, Moander is helpless. Somehow we must free the saurials from the Darkbringer’s possession.”

“Is that possible?” Alias asked.

“There are ways to free those who haven’t been possessed too long,” Grypht replied. “Those who were possessed first, at the same time Kyre was, harbor too many tendrils of possession. Even if we succeeded in destroying all the tendrils in their bodies, so much of their flesh is rotted away that they would die anyway. But those are blessedly few. Most of our people could be saved by a cure disease spell. That will destroy the tendrils that possess them. If we cannot get near them easily, we can cast cold spells on them instead. That will also destroy the tendrils.”

After Finder had translated Grypht’s words into Realms common, Akabar said, “But cold spells could kill the saurials.”

“No,” Dragonbait said. “We saurials don’t react to cold the same way you humans do.” The paladin turned to Alias. “Remember what happened to me last winter in Shadowdale when I was watching you skate on the duck pond?”

“You fell asleep, and we couldn’t get you to wake up until we brought you back inside the inn,” Alias recalled.

The paladin nodded. “Cold doesn’t harm saurials the way it harms you humans—damaging your flesh and hurting your lungs, pulling so much heat from your bodies that you could die. Instead, our scales protect the flesh. We fall into a torpor so we breathe less cold air, and we stop moving, which conserves heat. The larger we are, the less prone we are to the effect, but we can’t control it. Even the High One,” Dragonbait said, nodding in Grypht’s direction, “would fall into the cold sleep if he stayed outdoors in Shadowdale in winter for more than an hour or so.”

Alias translated all this for Akabar.

“Well, maybe we’ll get lucky and the vale will have an early frost,” Olive said.

Finder shook his head. “Part of the vale’s magic keeps it especially warm in the winter,” he said.

“There are over a hundred of my people down there,” Grypht said. “We will need the help of warriors to capture them without harming them and priests who can cast spells to cure diseases and mages who know magical cold spells.”

Alias translated Grypht’s words.

“If Finder can teleport me back to Shadowdale,” Breck said, “I’ll muster a force of fighters and spellcasters.”

“I can take you to Elminster’s tower,” Finder said, “but I can’t wait for you. If Morala discovers I’ve returned, she may insist I be returned to prison. I refuse to risk leaving my daughter to face Moander without me.”

Breck nodded in agreement. Finder was right—Morala could be aggravatingly stubborn. She might refuse to recognize their need for Finder’s help.

“If you can’t find mages to teleport you back here to this place by tomorrow noon,” Finder said, “I’ll return for your forces then.”

“He should take Zhara with him,” Akabar said. “If she is with him in Shadowdale, Moander won’t be able to detect them as they raise the forces we need to combat its minions.”

Zhara frowned. “I don’t want to be parted from you, husband,” she said.

“It’s only for a day,” Akabar replied.

For a moment, Zhara looked as if she might argue further, but instead she said to Alias, “You will look out for my Akabar?”

“He’ll be fine,” Alias said, surprised that Zhara would entrust the mage to her care.

“That is not what I asked,” the priestess said.

The swordswoman stole a glance at Akabar; he looked embarrassed by Zhara’s request.

Zhara stepped closer to Alias and whispered to her, “Please. It is not true, what you said, that he does not care for you. He once destroyed Moander to save you. I know you care for him as well.”

Alias sighed. She didn’t approve of the way Akabar shared his love with so many women, and she couldn’t believe his marriage to Zhara had nothing to do with Zhara’s resemblance to herself, but she couldn’t deny the priestess’s words. Akabar had risked his life to save her because they were friends, and she still cared deeply for him.

“Yes … I’ll look out for him,” she promised. She could see Dragonbait looking at her expectantly. He didn’t need to speak or even sign for her to know what was on his mind.

“I’m sorry I hit you and for the things I said,” the swordswoman apologized to Zhara. “I guess you aren’t so bad, as priestesses go.”

A smile flickered across Zhara’s face. “And you aren’t so bad for a northern barbarian who smells of wet wool,” she said.

Alias laughed. She held out her arms wrists upward.

Zhara laid her own arms over Alias’s, and they both clasped their hands over the other’s forearm in an adventurer’s embrace. The magical brand on Alias’s arm tingled, just as it did when Dragonbait touched it, and Alias realized Zhara must feel the same sensation from the brand Phalse had put on her.

“Till next season, sister,” Alias whispered.

“Tymora’s luck be yours,” Zhara replied.

Akabar moved to his wife’s side, and Alias stepped back. She looked away as Akabar embraced Zhara and kissed her.

“If Breck and Zhara are to return here by tomorrow, they have to leave before then,” Finder noted wryly.

Akabar nodded and stepped away from his wife. Zhara took Finder’s and Breck’s hands and the bard sang out a note.

Less than a minute after the three disappeared, Finder reappeared alone. “Lhaeo said Elminster hasn’t returned yet,” the bard reported.

“Morala said the sage was all right when she scried for him. Could Moander really prevent him from returning home?” Alias asked.

“The Darkbringer’s power is very great in our world,” Grypht said, “but it couldn’t prevent me from leaving.”

“Perhaps it could have stopped you but chose not to,” Alias suggested. “Then when Elminster arrived on your world, Moander decided it couldn’t chance allowing the sage to return and interfere with its plans. It knows we could use Elminster’s help.”

“We could use some food, too,” Olive piped up.

“She’s right,” Dragonbait said. “There’s not much left in our supplies. I’ll see what I can scavenge.”

“Not alone,” Alias insisted. “Take Olive with you.”

Dragonbait nodded and signed for Olive to follow. The paladin and the halfling slipped out of the cave and down the mountainside.

From the pocket of his robe, Grypht pulled out a long thin silver box and slid open the top. Inside was a wand made of bone. “This is a wand of frost. It’s seen a lot of use these past few months, so there isn’t much power left in it, but I want Akabar to use it to cast cones of cold against Moander’s minions. I can cast such spells without the wand.”

Alias translated the wizard’s words for Akabar. Akabar bowed and accepted the wand. “What about your stone?” the Turmishman asked Finder. “You could release the shard of para-elemental ice. That would blanket a large area in deep cold.”

“If I released it,” Finder said. “But I won’t release it. That would destroy the stone.

“But you would be freeing the saurials and preventing Moander’s return,” Akabar argued.

“I spent a decade searching for that stone, and another decade improving it at the risk of my own life,” Finder replied coolly. “The stone holds more powerful magic than most mages learn in a lifetime, and it can recall any one of my songs on command.”

“So can Alias,” Akabar snapped, “but you are ready to risk her life!”

“No, I am not,” Finder growled. “I asked her to stay behind, but she wouldn’t. She chose to risk her own life. If she dies, the stone will be the only record left of my music.”

“She is acting in a selfless manner to save her friend’s tribe,” Akabar said, his voice rising in pitch and volume. “How can you be so greedy as to save a stupid piece of magic instead of her life?”

“Akabar!” Alias said sharply. “Calm down, and leave me out of your arguments. Finder’s right. I chose to do this myself. As for the stone, it’s Finder’s stone. He may use it or not as he pleases.”

Grypht tugged on Akabar’s sleeve.

“Grypht says you should cast a spell so you can understand him. He wants to show you how to use the wand” Alias translated for the wizard.

Akabar shot Finder an angry look, but he allowed Grypht to lead him away from the bard. The two magic-users settled down near the cave entrance. Akabar pulled out his magic book to study the comprehend languages spell.

Alias sighed. “There’s nothing for us to do now but wait, is there?” she asked Finder.

“We could sing,” the bard suggested, “to pass the time.”

“I smell roses,” Olive said as she inspected a small golden apple and tossed it into her knapsack. Dragonbait was digging in the dirt nearby while she collected windfalls beneath a gnarled old apple tree. Dragonbait had discovered the tree by following his nose to the vinegary scent of the fruit rotting on the ground. “It’s a little late in the year for roses. Guess it’s that magical warmth of the vale.”

Olive hefted her knapsack with a groan. It was loaded. Dragonbait helped her slip it on over her shoulders. Then he shoved in a bunch of wild carrots and onions he’d dug up.

“Aren’t you going to carry anything?” Olive asked with a huff.

I’m going to hunt, the paladin signed. Go back to the cave.

“Alias wouldn’t want me to leave you alone,” the halfling protested.

I’ll be fine, Dragonbait signed.

Olive stood with her feet apart and her hands on her hips, scowling with stubborn disapproval.

Wouldn’t you like duck? Or wild pig? the paladin asked.

“You’re doing just what Finder does,” Olive said. “He gets around my better judgment with bribes. The last time I let him have his way, we got captured by orcs. I can’t believe I’m getting the same thing from you, too, of all people.”

Dragonbait hung his head sheepishly. Sorry, he signed.

“Apology accepted,” Olive said. “Now let’s go. We can do without meat for once.”

Dragonbait shook his head. I’m going to scout out the vale, he signed.

“What? Are you crazy?” Olive gasped. “It’s too dangerous!”

I have to do it, the paladin signed.

Olive sighed. “Fine. Go right ahead.” She waved a finger up at the saurial’s chest. “If you don’t come back, though, I’m never going to speak to you again.”

I’ll be back, the saurial’s hands promised. Tell Alias not to worry.

“I’ll tell her, but it won’t do any good,” Olive said. She turned around and stormed back up the mountain road to the Singing Cave.

Dragonbait watched her disappear around a bend, all the while sniffing the rose scent that came from the brush deeper into the vale. Olive had forgotten how similar the smell of saurial grief was to the flower’s perfume. Of course, not even the halfling’s sharp ears could discern the sound of a saurial weeping.

The paladin walked into the brush about fifty feet toward the scent and the sound. When he spotted the source of the grief, he froze. Twenty feet away from him stood another saurial, a female, very similar in size and shape to the paladin but with scales of pearly white. She wore a tattered black smock, and a circlet of wilted clover hung from her head fin. Otherwise she was unadorned and unarmed. She was picking apples off another apple tree and dropping them in a sack. Her work, however, did not interfere with her weeping.

The lemony scent of joy rose uncontrollably from Dragonbait’s body. He whispered in saurial, “Coral.”

The white saurial turned to face him. Her eyes widened in surprise, and the violet scent of fear wafted from her skin. “Champion!” she gasped. “Stay back!”

Dragonbait moved closer. “Coral, it’s all right. I won’t hurt you.”

“You fool,” Coral said. “What makes you think I won’t hurt you? I’m tainted. I’m under the Darkbringer’s power.”

“I can cure you,” the paladin said. He moved closer to Coral.

“Yes,” Coral said, “I remember. You can cure diseases with your touch.” A waft of lemon scent rose from her body as her hopes rose with it.

“You’d never hurt me,” Dragonbait said, hurrying to her side. “I know you could never hurt me.” A honeysuckle scent of tenderness mingled with the smell of woodsmoke as he began a prayer for power to destroy the tendril disease that controlled Coral. His hands glowed blue as he laid them on the white saurial’s shoulders. He felt the power flow from his soul into her body.

Coral gasped and stumbled against him.

“You did it!” she exclaimed. “You destroyed Moander’s tendrils of possession! I’m free again!” She leaned heavily on him though, as if she’d been injured.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I feel weak,” she replied.

“Lean on me.”

Coral threw her arms around the paladin’s neck and clung to him. Dragonbait wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close.

“I’m so sorry for all the things I did, for all the things I said. For leaving you,” the paladin whispered, emitting a minty smell of remorse.

“It’s all right now,” Coral answered. From her throat came the scent of cinnamon.

Dragonbait ran the tip of his muzzle along Coral’s neck glands, breathing in the reassuring scent of her love. “I insulted your goddess and your friends and tried to bully you into leaving them. I damned you and left you. How can you forgive me for all of that?” he wondered aloud.

Coral looked up at him. “You said you were sorry, and I know you meant it,” she answered. She stroked his throat with her fingers, and the scent of cinnamon wafted from him so strongly that it masked even the smell of the rotting apples on the ground about them.

He wanted to hold her longer, but Coral pushed him away. “You can’t stay here,” she said. “It’s not safe.”

“We have a hiding place,” Dragonbait said. “I’ll take you there. We’ll surprise the High One.”

“The High One!” Coral gasped. “Grypht is here? Where is he?”

“I’ll take you there. Come.” Dragonbait tugged on Coral’s arm.

“I … I can’t,” the white saurial said, holding her ground.

“You must,” Dragonbait said. “Now that I’ve cured you, you can’t fall under the Darkbringer’s power again.”

“I must go back, or the overlords will look for me in my hut, and they will find the egg.”

“What egg?” Dragonbait asked in surprise.

“My sister Lily’s egg. She died last week. Her mate was an overlord. I’m the only one left to hide the egg. The young can’t work, so the overlords don’t let us hatch our eggs. They break them into the pile to become one with the Darkbringer.”

The scent of baking bread rose from the paladin and his body shook, so great was his fury.

“Champion, wait here. I will get the egg and return,” Coral said.

Dragonbait shook his head. “I’ll go with you.”

“One minute,” Coral said. “If you are to pass unnoticed before the overlords, you’ll need to look as if some plant possesses you.” The priestess pulled a twig of ivy from the ground, fashioned it into a wreath, and laid it over the paladin’s head fin.

“Is there anything else I need to know to pass for one of the possessed?” the paladin asked.

“Hide your weapon in here,” Coral said, holding out her sack.

Dragonbait unfastened his sword and scabbard from his belt and slid them inside, amongst the apples.

Coral embraced him again. “I’m so glad you have come back to us,” she said.

Dragonbait ran his palm along the ridge of her head fin. “So am I,” he replied. “We have to hurry, though. The High One and my other friends will become worried if I’m away too long.”

Coral nodded. She released the paladin and motioned for him to follow her. She led him to a path that twisted down into the vale.

As Dragonbait followed Coral into the clearing at the bottom of the vale, he was reminded of the last verse of the song Alias had sung back at the inn in Shadowdale:

The lyrics described exactly the conditions Dragonbait witnessed. A few members of the tribe, mages and clerics like Coral, wore only a token vine or flower about their heads. Most of the tribe members, though, those who were incapable of casting spells, wore vast tangles of slimy green vines about their legs or waists or throats. The vines grew out of holes in their backs. Dragonbait struggled to keep his face an impassive mask.

He sneaked a quick glance at the huge pile of rotting vegetation that the possessed intended to turn into Moander’s new body. Mages and clerics stood around the mountain of greenery chanting spells at it, while others moved back and forth between it and the forest, building it larger and higher with trees and brush.

Set in rings around the pile were several tiny huts made of pine boughs.

“Here,” Coral whispered, stopping at the entrance to one of the huts in the innermost ring. “The egg is buried under my blanket. I’ll keep watch at the door.”

Dragonbait slipped past the door curtain. The structure was so small he had to duck his head to keep from brushing the roof, and the blanket spread out against the opposite wall was only a pace away. There were no windows in the hut, so the only light was heavily filtered through the needles of pine in the roof and walls. Dragonbait pulled aside the blanket. He tried to use his warmth vision to detect exactly where the egg was buried, but he could see nothing warm in the ground. He began clawing quickly at the dirt, afraid that the egg might have gotten too cold buried in so dark a place.

Outside the hut, he heard Coral chanting a prayer. The woodsmoke scent of devotion drifted though the pine boughs. No doubt she was casting something to protect herself, perhaps even to make her less noticeable to the enemy all around them. Coral was a priestess of the goddess of luck. She would be a powerful addition to the attack the High One planned. He had to get her back to the Singing Cave. He began to dig with even more energy.

After several minutes, when he’d dug up nearly half the floor of the hut and still found nothing, Dragonbait finally realized there was no egg. Moander’s higher minions, the overlords, must have found it while Coral was out picking apples, The paladin swallowed hard, knowing the pain the priestess would suffer when he told her.

He began to slip past the curtain over the door, but as he did, a powerful electrical tingling ran down his shoulder, and he leaped back into the hut. Someone outside yanked the curtain aside. Dragonbait peered out. Several saurial mages and clerics stood outside the door, staring at him. The paladin looked around anxiously for Coral. Have they discovered her, or has she escaped? he wondered.

Then Coral stepped in front of the doorway, and his heart sank. The priestess wore a clean white robe. Painted in red in the center of the robe was an eye, surrounded by a mouth of fangs—the symbol of Moander’s high priest.

“Well, Champion,” Coral said, “you wanted me to give up my goddess for another. What do you think of my choice?”

Dragonbait was too shocked to reply. He could only manage to mumble, “But I cured you!”

Coral laughed. “You fool! Your feeble power can have no influence on the Mouth of Moander. The root of the Darkbringer was planted in me months ago. It grows strong in every limb, down my tail, and even in my brain. You are getting careless, paladin. There was a time when you never met anyone—friend or stranger—without using your shen sight. You were always keeping watch over our souls, judging us constantly. Yet how eagerly you came to me today, even after I warned you. I knew you’d never believe my warning.”

“I loved you,” Dragonbait said. “Coral, I’m sorry this happened to you.”

The priestess scowled. “You should be, paladin, for now I am your doom. While you were busy digging for Lily’s egg—which, by the way, went into the pile with my sister’s corpse—I traced a glyph of warding around this hut. You cannot escape. Moander’s root could never grow in anything as pure as you, but you will serve Moander in another way. Where you are, the servant can’t be far off. She will come to rescue you, and we will capture her. Then we will sacrifice you to bind the servant’s will to Moander’s.”

“You can’t bind Alias to Moander as long as Moander isn’t in the Realms,” Dragonbait protested.

“Moander will take possession of its new body before the moon sets tonight,” Coral announced.

Dragonbait shivered. The minions must have recovered the seed somehow. He couldn’t believe how badly things were going, nor could he believe he’d been fooled so easily. “I don’t understand. Coral, you were so different on the mountain. Why were you weeping?”

Coral sneered. “To attract your attention, of course,” she replied. “One of our fliers spotted you from the air. I teleported to a spot nearby and feigned tears until you came to me. You were incredibly easy to fool.”

“I smelled your grief, your hope, your love. What I smelled was true,” Dragonbait said.

“You have deceived yourself. I felt none of those things,” Coral snapped. “The only truth I told was that I was glad you had returned to us. Now I can slay you in the name of the Darkbringer. Yours will be the first blood Moander tastes in its new body.”