Song of the Saurials

21 New Lives

Back in the Lost Vale, Alias, Grypht, Dragonbait, and Olive waited for over an hour, watching the pile of rotting greenery for some sign of Finder and Akabar. When the two men failed to appear, Alias’s anxiety grew unbearable. “We have to find them!” she declared, heading for the path that led down into the vale, but Grypht put a restraining hand on her shoulder.

“Use the stone,” he said softly.

“What?” Alias asked in confusion.

“The half of Finder’s stone that he left you. Use it.”

Alias pulled the stone from her cloak. “Akabar,” she said, thinking of the mage, but the stone didn’t even glow. Alias’s hands began to tremble.

The wizard took the stone from the swordswoman’s hands. “I’ll try the direction of Sweetleaf, as a test,” he said, thinking of the saurial cleric he had rescued earlier. The stone lit up and sent a feeble beacon toward the eastern slopes of the vale.

Next Grypht spoke the bard’s name, concentrating on Finder’s face, then his voice, and finally his songs. There was no reaction from the stone.

“There could be many reasons why it will not locate them,” the wizard said. “Because they are possessed, or enchanted with a misdirection, or—” Grypht halted.

“Or dead,” Alias said flatly. There was no sense denying it. She felt completely numb. Finder had saved the Realms from Moander, but it had cost his life and Akabar’s.

“We should look after the living,” Grypht said after a moment. “There are saurials who need our help.”

Alias nodded, but as the adventurers trekked down to the east side of the vale, the air around them grew heavy with the scent of roses and the sounds of Alias’s and Olive’s weeping.

In the early light of dawn, Olive climbed back up to the Singing Cave. She had spent the rest of the night nursing saurials until she was sick of looking at their scaly hides. She needed to sleep, but more than that, she needed to be alone. Now she sat in the mouth of the cave, watching the sun rise over the Desertsmouth Mountains and listening to the wind whistle around her, weeping silently.

Someone in the cave behind her cleared his throat politely and asked, “Mistress Ruskettle? Are you all right?” Olive looked around listlessly. Breck Orcsbane stood in the cave; assembled behind him were Elminster, Mourngrym, Morala, Zhara, and three young saurials.

“You’re a little late,” Olive said. “We already took care of Moander—Finder did, that is.” With a wave of her hand, she indicated the trail of frost-covered vegetation strewn down the mountainside, ending in a large, frozen mass of greenery.

Lord Mourngrym whistled in awe. “How did he do that?” he asked.

“He broke open the finder’s stone and used the piece of para-elemental ice that was inside,” Olive said.

Elminster and Morala exchanged surprised looks. “Where is Finder now?” Elminster asked.

“He went into the god’s body to find Akabar,” Olive said, “but he never came out again. Alias has a broken piece of the finder’s stone she’s been using to locate missing saurials for Grypht, but when she tried to locate Finder and Akabar, nothing happened.” Olive choked back a sob and forced herself to say what she didn’t want to admit: “They’re both dead.” The halfling looked up at Zhara. “I’m … sorry,” she said to the Turmish priestess.

Zhara lowered her head. “I knew already,” she said softly. “My husband’s spirit visited me in a dream last night. He is with our gods, and his soul is at peace.”

Olive looked at Zhara with surprise. “Did he say anything about Finder?” she asked hopefully.

Akabar’s wife shook her head.

Olive turned her head, as if she were looking at the vale below. The vale blurred before her eyes as she blinked back more tears.

“I’ve brought Grypht’s apprentices,” Elminster said. “They’re anxious to see him.”

Olive wiped her eyes on her tunic sleeve and turned again to speak with the others. “Grypht’ll be glad to see them, too. He can use all the help he can get. Most of the saurials are pretty sick from being possessed. Moander’s vines of possession didn’t leave them time to get enough food to eat or heal any injuries.”

“Morala and I have brought magic to help them,” Zhara said. “Take us to them, please.”

Olive led the others out of the cave and down to the eastern slopes of the vale, where the saurials were recovering from their ordeal.

Elminster and Grypht’s apprentices hurried forward to meet with the saurial wizard, while Morala went to Alias’s side. The elderly priestess looked up at the swordswoman. “I’m sorry that you lost your friend Akabar … and Finder, too,” she said.

Alias acknowledged Morala’s sympathy with a nod. Tossing her head proudly, she said, “Before he died, Finder told me about Flattery.”

Morala looked down at the ground, and Alias could see that the priestess’s eyes were moist. After several seconds, Morala looked back up at her. “Then I am doubly sorry for your loss,” the old woman whispered.

“Thank you,” Alias said sincerely, though she was a little surprised to discover that Morala appeared to grieve for a man she’d once condemned. “Did you know that Finder destroyed the finder’s stone to try to rescue Akabar from Moander?” Alias asked.

The priestess nodded. “The halfling told us,” she said. “She seems quite upset by his death.”

Alias watched as Olive bent over an injured saurial and checked his bandages. “Finder and Olive were a good influence on each other. Olive’s in the habit of behaving herself now, but it’s not the same to her without knowing it will please Finder. I’ll always feel empty whenever I sing, wishing he were there to hear.”

A saurial nearby chirped for water, and Alias excused herself to tend to the creature.

Once she’d picked up the basics about the saurials’ physiology, Morala took charge of the work to be done. She dismissed Alias, Dragonbait, and Olive, ordering them to get some rest, and the three adventurers gratefully obeyed. Next the white-haired priestess mustered Zhara, Breck Orcsbane, and Lord Mourngrym and set them to work making a comfortable campsite for the hundred or so saurials that remained, most of whom were too weak to care for themselves, let alone one another. By the time Alias awoke four hours later, Morala had cleaned, fed, and sheltered every saurial in sight. She and Zhara had also healed and cured diseases in as many of them as their power and potions could handle in one day.

The swordswoman joined Grypht, his three apprentices, and Elminster for a meal of bread and fruit under the shade of an old oak tree. The five mages had just finished tracking down those saurials who had escaped the cones of cold the night before. Grypht was beginning to look exhausted, but he wouldn’t sleep until he had finalized arrangements for his tribe’s welfare.

Grypht explained to Alias, “My people and I could return to our world today, but the land that belongs to our tribe has been poisoned by Moander’s minions. It will be years before any plant or creature could live there. Our whole tribe would become homeless vagabonds at a time when they are already very weak. Elminster thinks we should stay here in the Realms, in this vale. We can work at healing the scar Moander forced us to put on this land. What do you think?”

“I think that would be wonderful,” the swordswoman replied.

“Wonderful? Why wonderful?” Grypht asked.

“Because then Dragonbait could be with his people, but I wouldn’t lose him entirely,” Alias explained.

“You are Champion’s sister and a singer of soul songs for our tribe; we are your people as well. Will you stay with us awhile?” the wizard asked. “We could use your advice.”

“Yes, of course,” Alias agreed. The emptiness that the deaths of Akabar and Finder had created in her heart lifted slightly with the realization that someone else needed her, that she had a new family and new duties.

“You are certain that no one will contest our occupation of this vale?” the saurial wizard asked Elminster. “In our world, a place like this would be envied by many tribes.”

Elminster shook his head. “This vale was once the home of elves. They left long ago. It has been hidden magically for so long that few know of its existence. Should ye have any problems, the Harpers and the Lord of Shadowdale are eager to become thy allies and help defend thy tribe until ye are able to defend thy selves again.”

Grypht nodded. “That is enough. If the people agree, we will stay. Now I will sleep,” he said. Then he rose to his feet and went off to rest, his apprentices following him.

When they were alone, Alias asked Elminster, “Where have you been? Why didn’t you return right away from Grypht’s world after his transference spell took you there? Mourngrym said you can always get back home no matter where you go.”

“I assure thee, Alias, I didst try,” the old sage replied, “but unbeknownst to Grypht, Moander had cast a powerful lock spell that prevented anyone from escaping Grypht’s world by teleportation or worldwalking. Grypht managed to escape only because he used a transference spell that Moander had not foreseen to include in the lock spell. I might have cast a transference spell myself, but I could not use it on Grypht’s apprentices and I didst not wish to abandon them. The four of us began trekking overland, trying to reach a gate to Tarterus.”

“But when Morala scried for you, you were alone,” Alias said.

“Nay. Grypht’s apprentices traveled with me, but I made them invisible to keep them safe,” Elminster explained. Olive and Dragonbait came up to them at that moment and sat on either side of Alias. Dragonbait stroked Alias’s sword arm once, and she smiled up at him, grateful to have her brother with her. Olive began playing with the fruit and bread laid out on the ground, but she didn’t feel tempted to eat any of it.

“And when you reached the gate to Tarterus, what happened?” Alias asked Elminster.

“We did not reach the gate. It was another two days’ journey. Fortunately I was finally able to cast a worldwalk spell to take myself and Grypht’s apprentices to Shadowdale when Moander’s lock spell failed.” The sage stressed the last four words so strongly that Alias realized immediately there was something unusual about Moander’s failed spell.

“So why did it fail?” she asked.

“Because not only has Moander’s body in the Realms been destroyed this past night, but someone killed Moander’s true body in the Abyss. The god has been destroyed forever.”

“Akabar?” Alias asked with astonishment. “He said the gods told him to do just that.”

“Partly” Elminster replied. “Remember last year when I told thee of the old prophecy that ye would free the Darkbringer?”

Alias nodded wordlessly.

“There was another prophecy that went with it: ‘When the good man teaches wisdom to the fool, the Darkbringer will die.’ ”

“Akabar and Finder,” Alias whispered.

Elminster nodded.

“But how did they get to the Abyss?” the swordswoman asked.

“There is a gate to Tarterus in this vale. The saurials built Moander’s new body around it. Akabar and Finder must have passed through the gate and arrived somehow in the Abyss.”

“So they’ve saved everyone from Moander, not just the Realms?” Olive asked.

“Yes,” Elminster replied.

“You don’t look too happy about that,” Olive said.

“I am not unhappy, only anxious,” the sage answered. “When a god’s existence ends, something or someone else is always ready to snatch up its powers. There is no knowing whether the power will go to a good or evil being.”

Morala, Breck, and Mourngrym walked up to the old oak tree where Elminster and the two adventurers sat.

“We wanted you to know that Lord Mourngrym has taken Kyre’s place as the third Harper in our tribunal, and we have come to a decision,” Morala said, “regarding the Nameless Bard.”

“Finder Wyvernspur,” Alias reminded the priestess.

“Exactly,” Breck said. “We’ve voted to rescind our decree banishing his name and songs and pardon him for his crimes.”

“Sort of a case of closing the gate after the cows have escaped, isn’t it?” Olive asked.

“There is a principle involved here, Mistress Ruskettle,” Morala said.

“We understand that it won’t make up for his loss, Alias,” the Lord of Shadowdale said. “But the truth will be told about him, and everyone will know he died a hero.”

“Thank you, Mourngrym,” Alias replied. “I appreciate it. Finder would appreciate it, too.”

“Finder would rather be alive,” Olive muttered.

Olive felt something tug at one of her curls, and she heard Finder’s voice whisper in her head, Don’t sulk, little Lady Luck. It doesn’t become you.

The halfling looked around suddenly, her eyes wide.

“What’s wrong, Olive?” Alias asked.

“Did you hear something?” Olive asked. “A voice?”

Alias shook her head.

“And since Finder is no longer a Harper in disgrace,” Breck Orcsbane said, “we must welcome his choice of candidates to our ranks.”

Olive, struggling to understand why she had suddenly heard Finder’s voice so clearly when no one else had, was oblivious to the fact that everyone’s eyes were on her.

Dragonbait signed subtly to the halfling in the thieves’ hand cant. They mean you, rogue.

“Me?” the halfling said. “What about me?”

“I told them,” Alias explained, “that Finder gave you his Harper’s pin.”

“Pin?” Olive asked slyly, suddenly aware that if she didn’t watch her step, she could end up an official snooty, goody-goody Harper, complete with responsibilities to live up to and rules to follow. “I haven’t got any pin,” she insisted. It was true, since she’d fastened Finder’s Harper’s pin to his cloak before he’d gone off to fight Moander. She tossed her hair defiantly.

Something slid down her hair and landed on the ground directly in front of her. There was no mistaking the glittering silver harp-and-crescent-moon pattern of the pin, which had seemed to dislodge itself from behind her ear.

Elminster reached over and held up the pin. “Yes … this is Finder’s pin,” the sage said. “I saw him give it to the halfling last year after she freed him from Cassana’s dungeon, then helped him rescue Akabar, Alias, and Dragonbait.”

“Actually, we’ve been looking for someone just like you for a special project,” Breck Orcsbane said, “so we’re lucky you came along.”

Olive sighed. She didn’t know how he’d done it, but she suspected that Finder had once more gotten her mixed up in some crazy adventure.

The bard chuckled and leaned back against the frozen corpse of Moander—the Darkbringer’s true body. He was very tired—nearly exhausted, in fact. Scrying on and sending a message to Olive and teleporting his silver Harper’s pin to the Realms had expended more energy than he could really afford. Still, it had been worth it, just to see the look on the halfling’s face when she discovered herself inducted into the ranks of the Harpers.

Alias would be fine with Dragonbait, but since the bard wasn’t sure when or if he’d ever find the power to return to the Realms, he had decided that the Harpers would have to look after Olive for him.

In the meantime, he’d have to find a realm of his own somewhere else in the outer planes. Just because he’d managed to wrestle the Darkbringer’s powers away didn’t mean he had to dwell in the former god’s abysmal abode. The bard rose to his feet and began humming a new song as he flew down to the banks of the Styx to catch a ride to his new home … wherever he decided to make it.