Кейт Новак - Finder's Bane

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 fist.

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.