Song of the Saurials

17 Finder’s Secret

As Olive approached the cave, she could hear Alias singing. Though she couldn’t quite make out the swordswoman’s words, the halfling recognized the melody. Alias was singing “The Tears of Selûne,” one of Finder’s most haunting love songs. Something didn’t sound quite right, however. Olive halted to listen more carefully. It took her a moment to realize what was wrong—Alias was singing the song in the wrong key.

Olive heard a shout, and the singing stopped suddenly in the middle of a verse. She could imagine what had happened. Finder had ordered Alias to stop. Why the swordswoman had sung the song in the wrong key, Olive couldn’t imagine. Alias knew how Finder hated anyone altering his tunes, and it wasn’t like her to goad the bard. Olive crept to the mouth of the cave and peered in.

Alias sat on the floor of the cave, her head hanging like an embarrassed child. Finder sat nearby, glowering at the woman. Akabar and Grypht sat opposite the bard and swordswoman. Both spell-casters stared at Alias anxiously.

Olive could hear Alias whispering, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be a fool, Finder,” Akabar said. “She was just expressing what the saurials are feeling by turning your song into a soul song.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were changing my songs to sing these saurial things?” Finder demanded of Alias.

“I thought it might upset you,” Alias said softly.

“If you’d let her finish,” Akabar said, “we might learn something.”

“She was singing gibberish,” Finder protested.

Grypht must have begun speaking to the bard in saurial, for Finder turned his attention to the wizard for a moment. The bard answered Grypht in Realms common. “We’ve learned enough about Moander. We don’t need to hear any more.” Finder turned and snapped at Alias, “How dare you change my songs?”

“I can’t help it,” Alias whispered. “It just happens.”

“Nothing just happens,” Finder said. “If I meant as much to you as the saurials do, you’d be able to control it. If you can’t control it, don’t bother to sing my songs anymore.”

The swordswoman blanched, and Olive could detect the smell of violets in the cave. Alias was frightened and was communicating her fear through the saurial scent.

Grypht and Finder glared at each other, and now Olive could also smell baking bread, the scent of anger. Meanwhile, Akabar leaned toward Alias and tried to encourage her to ignore Finder and resume her singing.

After listening to Grypht for a short time, Finder had had enough. As the bard rose to his feet and turned away from the others, his blue eyes flashed red in the sunlight streaming into the cave. “Go ahead and sing their songs if you want,” he said coldly to Alias. “It makes no difference to me what you do.”

Alias swallowed, licked her lips, and took a deep breath. It was obvious she wanted to sing, but from the way the swordswoman trembled, Olive could see that she was too frightened to rise to her father’s challenge.

“Careful, bard,” Akabar taunted Finder. “She might just improve on your song. Then what would you do? Go ahead and sing, Alias.”

Akabar’s goading of the bard wasn’t helping to encourage Alias any. Akabar didn’t understand how desperately she wanted to please Finder. Olive understood it all too well.

Alias began rocking back and forth, clutching her knees to her chest and whimpering softly with a glazed look in her eyes. Grypht and Akabar hovered over her, trying unsuccessfully to comfort her. Finder stood stubbornly with his back to his daughter.

Olive entered the cave and padded over to the bard’s side. “Finder, think about what you’re saying for once,” the halfling said softly. “Look what you’ve done to her,” she insisted, pointing toward the swordswoman. “Have you forgotten? She’s not even two years old. She needs your love even when you don’t agree with her. You can’t just slap her and make her do everything your way like you do with everyone else.”

“I didn’t touch her,” Finder said, offended.

“You don’t have to touch her. You’re a master at using words as weapons,” Olive accused him. “Whether you injure her body or her heart, you’ll be making the same mistake you made with Flattery.”

The bard looked down at Olive with confusion—and fear. “What are you talking about?” he whispered.

“You know what I mean,” Olive said impatiently. “The way you bullied him.”

“How do you know about that?” the bard demanded.

“He left a long message in your workshop,” Olive said.

“So why didn’t you say anything?” the bard asked coldly. “Did you intend to sneak back to Elminster and tell him?”

Olive brushed angrily at the tears beginning to form in her eyes, but she held her head up proudly “The message was two centuries old, Finder,” she said. “I didn’t think it mattered anymore. I thought you’d changed.”

Finder stepped back as though he’d been slapped.

Olive turned her attention to the swordswoman. “Come on, Alias,” she said, patting the swordswoman’s shoulder. “Sing for us. It doesn’t matter if you change the song. Finder will understand. Won’t you, Finder?” the halfling asked with feigned sweetness.

Finder shot an angry look at Olive, but the glare she gave him in return shocked him into submission. “Yes,” he answered softly.

Olive signed sharply for the bard to sit down near Alias. He obeyed with a defiant look, but when Olive put his hand on Alias’s and he felt the swordswoman’s trembling, his expression changed to one of alarm. Not even a trapped bird trembled as fiercely as the woman before him did now. The bard saw, too, how pale she’d become—as white as the moment before she’d drawn her first breath. Her eyes stared blindly at him.

“I didn’t do this to her,” he said, refusing to admit his words could have so much power over anyone.

“Yes, you did,” Olive hissed. “Now fix it.”

“How?” the bard challenged.

“How do you think?” Olive whispered with frustration. “Apologize, you idiot.”

Finder bristled at the insult, but the blind look in Alias’s eyes softened his anger. “Alias … I’m sorry,” he whispered, squeezing her hand gently, “I didn’t … think about what I was saying. I want you you to sing. It doesn’t matter about the soul songs.”

Alias tilted her head and seemed to see the bard for the first time. She looked uncertain.

“Really. It’s all right,” Olive said encouragingly.

Alias looked at the halfling, confused. “Will you sing with me?” she asked Olive.

Olive started with surprise. Alias had taught her some of Finder’s songs, but they had never sung together. Olive had always been too jealous of the swordswoman’s voice to dare try to blend her own in with it.

“Please,” Alias whispered.

Olive was suddenly reminded of Jade, the copy of Alias who had been a thief. Olive had loved Jade, but Flattery had killed the thief. If I wasn’t jealous of Alias, would I love her, too? the halfling wondered. “Sure, I’ll sing with you,” she said. She sat down beside the swordswoman. “What should we sing?” she asked.

Alias seemed at a loss to suggest any songs, so Olive chose one Finder hadn’t written, a lighthearted one. The song seemed to improve Alias’s mood. When they had finished, Olive suggested a tune of Finder’s, “The Hero of the Watch,” a seemingly innocuous song about a cat that saved a regiment of soldiers from an attacking horde of goblins. The swordswoman shivered slightly but nodded in agreement.

The voices of the two women blended nicely, but Olive felt as if she were the carrying Finder’s song alone. Alias was concentrating too hard on keeping control of the song instead of letting the music flow naturally. She kept her eyes fixed on the ground or Olive instead of directing them at her audience. She didn’t change the lyrics or tune or key, but without her spirit behind them, the songs were like ghosts.

Sensing that the song wasn’t going well, the swordswoman protested with a childlike cry, “I … I can’t do it,” and stopped singing in the middle of the last verse.

“Alias, just relax,” Olive said. “Don’t worry about changing the song. Finder said it was all right.”

Alias looked toward the bard. Finder nodded, but something in his look made Alias flinch as if the bard had struck her.

“That’s what he said,” Alias answered, “but Finder won’t love me if I change his songs.”

The bard rubbed at his temples, confused at how stubbornly Alias clung to her desire to please him. Flattery, on the other hand, had grown to hate him readily. “Alias, love is something people are supposed to give freely. It’s not a commodity to be earned or forfeited,” he said.

“Yes,” Alias said. “That’s what you taught me, but it’s not what you believe … is it?”

“Of course it’s what I believe,” Finder protested. “It’s what most of my songs are about.”

“You hold it up as an ideal,” Alias said, “but you don’t act that way yourself.”

Olive nodded, knowing Alias was right. Finder withheld his love when he was displeased and dispensed it lavishly only when Alias was behaving as he thought she should.

“Alias, I’m not perfect,” Finder said. “I became angry and said some stupid things. It doesn’t mean I won’t love you if you change my songs.”

“You say that, but it’s not true,” Alias insisted.

Finder sighed in frustration. “It is true. How can I prove it to you if you won’t sing?”

Alias’s eyes lit up suddenly. “Prove you believe it,” she said. “Take the risk yourself.”

“What?” Finder asked.

“You know I love you. Prove to me you’re sure I love you no matter what you do … or did,” Alias demanded.

“What are you talking about?” Finder asked. He looked frightened.

“Morala said there was something you didn’t tell the Harpers about the first singer you tried to create … something Maryje knew, something you were ashamed of,” Alias said. “Tell me what it was.”

Finder shuddered and shook his head. “I … I can’t,” he said.

“We need to hear Alias sing her soul song,” Akabar said. “It may make all the difference in whether or not we can defeat Moander. Does your pride mean more than that, bard?”

Olive shot Akabar an angry look. The mage’s life was so virtuous, he couldn’t understand the shame the bard felt. Olive patted Finder’s hand. “Tell her, Finder,” the halfling said. “She’s not going to love you any less for admitting your mistakes. I didn’t.”

Finder smiled sadly at the halfling, wondering if she was speaking as an agent for the goddess of luck or the god of justice. He looked back at Alias. Would his confession bind her closer to him or drive her away? Cast the dice, he thought, and pray for better luck than you deserve. “Very well,” he said.

In an impassive, distant tone, Finder began his tale. “I lied when I told the Harpers that I failed in my first attempt at making a singer like you. I created a man identical to me, with my thoughts and memories. My apprentice Kirkson named the man Flattery to tease me about my ego. The singer accepted the name and would take no other.”

Finder looked down at the floor for a moment, then raised his head back up and looked directly into Alias’s eyes as he made his confession. “I wasn’t the good parent to Flattery that Dragonbait was to you when you were created. When Flattery came to life, I demanded immediately that he sing for me, much the same way I ordered the finder’s stone to perform a task for me. Flattery attempted a tune. His voice was weak and immature. He was only a child, but I didn’t understand that. After my success with the finder’s stone, I expected instant success with Flattery. I grew frustrated when, after a mere three days of drilling, Flattery didn’t produce the quality of music it had taken me over a hundred years to achieve. In a rage, I struck him.”

“After that, Flattery wouldn’t attempt to sing again. He even refused to speak. I apologized, I begged, I shouted, I … beat him. Every day I went through the same cycle of contrition and violence, but he said nothing. Kirkson tried to convince me that what I was doing was wrong, but I wouldn’t listen. My other apprentice, Maryje, was too loyal to speak out in any sort of protest, but I could see she was terrified over what I was doing. That didn’t matter to me either. I refused to quit. On the thirteenth day of his life, Flattery escaped from his cage and stole a disintegration ring from my desk. He aimed it at me, but Kirkson threw himself in front of the ray and saved my life, forfeiting his own. Flattery slashed Maryje’s throat and fled from the workshop.

“I teleported Maryje to Shadowdale to be healed, then rushed back to the workshop to hide the evidence of Flattery’s existence. I knew what I had done to him was evil, but I was too ashamed to admit I’d done it. I concocted a story about the para-elemental ice exploding and asked Maryje to back up my lie. Maryje couldn’t lie, but she couldn’t betray me either. She simply stopped talking altogether. Her wound was healed, but she wouldn’t speak, or sing, ever again.

“Imagine my surprise when the Harpers condemned me for recklessly endangering my apprentices. A lifetime of exile and my songs wiped out forever. What, I’ve often wondered, would they have done if they’d learned the full extent of my crimes?”

“What happened to Flattery?” Alias asked.

“He’s dead. Olive can tell you more about that than I,” the bard replied. He stroked Alias’s hair with his hand. “So tell me, my daughter,” he asked, “can you still love me knowing how evil I’ve been?”

“Flattery, Kirkson, and Maryje are the people you have wronged,” Alias said. “Since they are dead, you can never make peace with them. You must try to make it with yourself. As for me, I’ll always love you.” She embraced the bard and kissed him on the cheek.

“And I you,” Finder replied. “Now will you sing?” he asked softly.

Alias nodded.

“Try ‘The Tears of Selûne’ again,” Akabar said. “It made you think of something that started you soul singing before.”

“You know,” the halfling said, “an old priestess of Selûne told me something interesting about that song. Selûne is the goddess of the moon,” Olive explained for Grypht’s benefit. “Anyway, this priestess said that the Shards—those are Selûne’s most powerful minions,” she explained for Grypht again. “The Shards sing the song for Selûne, but they sing it as a duet.”

“It should be sung as a solo,” Finder said automatically.

“I know,” Olive said, “but a modest halfling like me—”

Akabar guffawed at Olive’s description of herself.

“—like me,” Olive continued, “didn’t have the nerve to correct so venerable a priestess. Perhaps, Master Wyvernspur, the next time you run into the goddess Selûne, you should tell her to keep her minions under control. In the meantime, why don’t you try singing it with Alias, just this once?”

“Just this once,” Finder agreed with a chuckle. He took Alias’s hand and they began the song.

The first two verses went without a hitch, but as they began the third, Alias’s voice began to trail off, although her mouth still moved. Finder stopped singing and stared at the swordswoman. From the way Alias rocked back and forth and stared unblinkingly at the cave wall, Olive and Akabar could tell the swordswoman had gone into a soul-song trance. Finder and Grypht were listening to her intently. The cave became awash in the scents of violets and roses, and Olive realized that Alias was singing in saurial—singing with terror and despair.

The swordswoman began to shout in Realms common, “Release me! Release me! Release me!” Then she gasped and swayed and snapped out of her trance. “Dragonbait!” she cried out. “They’ve captured Dragonbait!”

Finder looked quickly at Olive. “Where is Dragonbait?” he demanded.

“He said he wanted to scout the vale,” the halfling replied, cursing herself for leaving the paladin alone.

Grypht put a hand on Alias’s shoulder. Olive supposed he’d said something, for Alias calmed slightly.

“The soul song was mostly Dragonbait’s song,” the swordswoman explained. “He followed Coral into the saurial camp.”

“Who is Coral?” Akabar asked.

Alias looked at Grypht. “Coral was Dragonbait’s lover, wasn’t she?” she asked the wizard, though she was already certain of it from the soul link she’d just experienced.

Grypht nodded. “Once she was. She was also a priestess of the goddess of luck before Moander captured her. She’s the Mouth of Moander now, the most powerful minion the god has in the Realms.”

“The last part of the song came from her, not Dragonbait,” Alias said. “Moander is keeping such a tight hold on her mind that her thoughts are hard to understand, but I know she doesn’t want to live. She’s begging for her goddess to release her from life before—” Alias gasped again. “Before Moander makes her kill Dragonbait! Moander plans for her to sacrifice Dragonbait to enslave my will! We have to free Dragonbait before it’s too late!” Alias cried, rising suddenly to her feet.

“They can’t sacrifice the paladin before Moander is resurrected,” Finder said, standing and grabbing hold of Alias’s arms before she rushed off and did something foolish. “And they can’t perform the sacrifice without you. Stay put, and when Breck gets back from Shadowdale, we’ll rescue Dragonbait.”

“There isn’t time to wait for Breck to get back!” Alias insisted. “They have the seed! They’re going to resurrect Moander tonight! We have to stop them now!”

Akabar turned pale, and Grypht muttered an oath under his breath.

“How did they find the seed?” Olive asked. “Only this morning they expected Finder to go look for it.”

“I don’t know,” Alias said, “but Coral told Dragonbait that Moander will be resurrected tonight. If we hurry, we have a chance of reaching Dragonbait before then. Coral’s keeping Dragonbait in a hut warded with a glyph.”

“Alias, there are only five of us against over a hundred saurial minions,” Finder protested. “A lot of those minions are spell-casters. Even with Grypht’s and Akabar’s magic and the spells I have in the finder’s stone, we don’t stand a chance.”

“We would if you used the piece of para-elemental ice in the finder’s stone as Akabar suggested,” Alias said. Her voice rose excitedly. “It could put most of the saurials into a torpor, and Grypht and Akabar could handle anyone it misses. Then we could just walk in and get Dragonbait. We could find the seed, too, and destroy it. It would be centuries before Moander could get back the energy to return to the Realms.”

“Alias, I’m sorry about Dragonbait,” Finder replied softly, “but it’s not my fault he was captured. You’ve got to keep away from Moander so the god can’t enslave you again.”

Alias looked at Finder with astonishment. “What are you saying?” she asked suspiciously.

“I’m not going to destroy the finder’s stone,” Finder answered calmly. “Maybe the reinforcements Breck brings can manage to rescue Dragonbait.”

“If we wait too long and give the minions a chance to resurrect Moander,” Alias protested, “the god will suck Dragonbait into his body and we’ll never be able to rescue him. We have to use that ice, Finder.”

“No,” Finder said determinedly.

“Finder, we’re talking about Dragonbait!” Alias shouted. “How can you turn your back on him after all he’s done for you?”

“Alias, try to understand. There’s nothing like this stone anywhere in the Realms. I made it. If you destroy it, I can’t make another.”

“Give me that stone!” Alias demanded, lunging for Finder.

The bard just barely managed to sidestep the swordswoman, and Alias fell into the ferns on the cave floor.

Akabar reached out to grab the bard, but Finder had drawn his dagger and thrust it out in front of him. The mage retreated hastily. “I curse your stone!” the Turmishman said hotly. “May it bring you no joy. May it be your death.”

Olive shuddered. A curse was bad luck.

“Olive, over here!” the bard barked, pulling out the stone.

Olive shook her head. “I’m staying here, Finder,” she said.

For a brief moment, the bard looked shocked and hurt. Then he snapped, “Fine. Have it your way.” He sang out an E-flat and vanished in a yellow light.

Alias stood in the mouth of the cave watching the sun sink into the desert beyond the vale. Although there was no sign of movement from Moander’s new body, she kept imagining Dragonbait being swallowed by it, lying trapped inside the god’s body. In her mind, she pictured the cage Moander had used to imprison her last year, when the god had tortured her with its lies and tried to seduce her into its service with the promise of freedom. She didn’t regret trying to take Finder’s stone from the bard, and she was still furious with him for his selfishness, but she wished he’d come back. They could use him, with or without the stone.

Olive sat beside the swordswoman, idly throwing rocks at trees. She was regretting staying behind. It was a grand gesture, but if she’d gone along with the bard, she might have been able to talk some sense into him. Now he was no doubt feeling self-righteous and getting himself into some other trouble. She missed him already, and she was afraid she’d never see him again.

Akabar and Grypht were in the back of the cave. Grypht was rehearsing Akabar in the use of the saurial command word that triggered the wand of frost he’d given the mage.

The four of them had worked out a strategy to sneak into the vale, free Dragonbait, and hit as many saurials as possible with the cold magic they had at their disposal. Grypht would hide their forms and scents with magic. In order to disguise the warmth of their bodies from those saurials who could detect heat, Akabar had suggested that they go at sunset when the day’s heat rising from the ground would mask their own warmth. They could have left ten minutes ago, but Alias had wanted to wait a few more minutes in case Finder changed his mind.

Finder had been gone for an hour. If he didn’t return in the next few minutes, they’d have to leave without him.

“He’s not coming back, Olive,” Alias said.

Olive sighed and tossed another rock at a tree twenty feet off, hitting it dead center. “Not in time, anyway,” the halfling said.

“I can’t believe he wouldn’t help us,” Alias said. “Why won’t he give up that stupid stone?”

Olive shrugged. She’d been trying to understand that herself. “Before you came along,” she said, “the stone was Finder’s crowning achievement. He can’t really take all the credit for you, though, like he can for the stone. The stone is a little like his life. He can never make another one. It’s one thing to say his songs and his daughter make him immortal, but in the end, his songs will change, and you aren’t him. He’s never going to get another chance to live.”

Akabar joined the two women. “Grypht says we’ve got to leave in a few minutes,” he said.

Alias nodded.

The Turmishman put his hand on Alias’s shoulder. “Don’t feel bad about Finder. He’s not worth your grief,” he said. “He’s a selfish, arrogant man. He hasn’t returned because he’s too cowardly to join us.”

“Akabar,” Olive snapped angrily, “we’re about to go into the camp of an enemy god. We may get possessed or killed. Aren’t you afraid at all?”

Akabar looked down at Olive with a faint smile. “You forget that I was possessed by Moander before,” he reminded the halfling. “It’s not an experience I’d care to repeat. But I must do all I can to fight Moander. I defeated the Darkbringer once. I must believe I will defeat it again.”

“The last time we fought against Moander, we had a red dragon fighting alongside us. This time you might die,” Olive pointed out.

“Then I’ll die for a good cause,” Akabar said.

“My mother used to say life is wasted on the young, that the young always believe they’ll never die. You’re not very old. Maybe you don’t believe you’ll ever die,” the halfling suggested, “and that’s why you’re not afraid.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t afraid. All men are afraid. I’m prepared to die because my life has been full. I have lived with three beautiful wives and will leave behind four beautiful children. That was Finder’s mistake. He was too interested in himself. He should have had a family.”

“He has a family. He has Alias and me” Olive said. “Some people aren’t as easily satisfied as you are. They want more out of life than to have children and die for a good cause.”

“Tb get something more out of life, a man must live for others,” Akabar replied. “No monument, no empire, no song or tale left to posterity will satisfy the soul the way bringing joy to another person will. Finder Wyvernspur will not learn this, so he could live another three and a half centuries and still not be satisfied, still be unprepared for death. Death will come, though, whether a man is prepared or not.”

Grypht came up behind Akabar. “It’s time to go,” he said.

With the setting of the sun, the wind began to whistle into the cave.

Finder sat in the ruins of his old mansion, staring at the sun setting over the Desertsmouth Mountains and the moon rising over the Elven Wood. Beside him, courtesy of the finder’s stone, sat an illusion of himself singing “The Tears of Selûne” the way it was meant to be sung, the way he’d written it three centuries ago.

The first part of Akabar’s curse seemed to be working. Finder had been listening to the song for hours without pleasure.

The bard ordered the stone to halt. He looked at his image seated beside him—a young image with a charming smile, more sure of itself than the master beside it. The image was one of a man who’d thought he’d discovered the secret of cheating death. He’d deceived himself into thinking his music would be immortality enough. Now Finder realized that it wasn’t. He wanted to live forever. “Damn!” he muttered.

“Sleep,” he ordered the stone. Instantly the image beside him vanished.

Finder’s mind began to wander. Unable to resolve the problem of death, he began to plan ways to improve the finder’s stone. He should record Alias singing into the stone. He should record her singing some songs with Olive, too. Their voices blended well together.

Finder looked at the stone. It wouldn’t be the same, though, he thought. The recording wouldn’t be Alias and Olive. He couldn’t teach the stone to compliment him when he was especially clever, or worry about him or tease or chide him the way Alias and Olive did. He couldn’t get the stone to love him.

He wanted to be with Alias and Olive, he realized. Before he could change his mind, he sang to the stone to return him to the Singing Cave. The yellow light appeared, blocking out his vision of the ruined keep. When it faded again, he stood inside the Singing Cave.

The cave was empty. The wind whistled through it like an eerie voice. The four of them couldn’t have gone alone to rescue Dragonbait, he thought. It would be suicide, yet he realized that was exactly what they’d done.

Finder stroked his beard, trying to decide the best way to help without risking the finder’s stone. Some sort of diversion, perhaps, he thought.

As he brought his hand down from his chin, he noticed that his fingers were stained green, as if he’d been rubbing a leaf. He scratched at his beard with both hands. A moment later, he looked down at his fingernails with disgust. He’d scratched away great gobs of moss and lichen from his face.

Then he felt something sticky moving in his ear. Shuddering at the thought of earwigs and other gruesome bugs, the bard brushed at his ear. His fingers caught on something fragile and soft, but when he pulled on it, a stabbing pain shot across his temple.

He held up the finder’s stone to look at his reflection. A small orchid hung beside his ear, its tendrils wrapped around his earring and other tendrils were sliding into his ear.

“No!” Finder gasped. He slipped his earring off and yanked harder at the orchid, ignoring the stabbing pain in his head. The flower snapped off in his fingers, and he threw it to the ground and crushed it under the heel of his boot.

He felt something trickle back down his ear canal, then tickle his ear again. Finder looked again at his reflection in the stone. Another orchid squeezed its way out of his ear and began to wrap its tendrils about his hair.

Breathing hard with fear, Finder reached up to pinch the second orchid away between his fingernails, but at that moment, a pain gnawed at his stomach. He doubled over with a howl. Something was inside him, growing and eating his insides.

The pain in his stomach subsided. With a sense of horror mixed with irony, the bard realized what had happened. The black spores that had burst from the burr that Xaran had thrown at him had indeed penetrated into his body. They must have been partially destroyed and greatly slowed down by the potions that had been in his blood. It had taken them a full day to grow. He’d been possessed by Moander all that time without even knowing it.