Кейт Новак - Finder's Bane

“I also bring word of Randal Morn’s activities,” Bear added. “The Rebel Lord is planning a string of attacks to drive the Zhentarim out of southern Daggerdale.”

Joel noted with surprise how many words Bear could string together in one sentence. Too bad Randal Morn couldn’t hear him now.

Fortunately, for the Rebel Lord at least, the high priest showed no interest in Bear’s report. He gave a dismissive wave of his hand, saying, “That news matters little to us.”

Joel felt a certain satisfaction seeing Bear’s jaw drop. It took the big man several moments to form a reply. “But, Ruinlord,” he argued, “if Randal Morn takes the southern part of Daggerdale—”

“If he tries,” the high priest interrupted, “it will be one more thing to trouble those Cyric-worshiping fools in Zhentil Keep. We followers of the Godson cannot concern ourselves with the plans of some petty dale lord.”

Bear’s mouth moved silently as the man tried to summon the courage to contradict his superior. In the end, he abandoned the attempt and muttered, “Yes, Ruinlord.”

The high priest dismissed Bear’s party with a wave of his hand. After making a hasty bow, Bear turned and strode from the room. The Zhentilar guards pushed Holly and Joel after him.

After the oppressive audience chamber, the air in the hallway felt delightfully cool and rich. The sense of release overwhelmed Joel, and he couldn’t restrain himself. “Too bad, Bear!” he said. “You go to all that risk and put up with all those fools in Daggerdale just to bring back Morn’s secret plans, and your high priest boss is a bigger clod than you are. I hope you’re still around when Daggerdale takes this place so Morn can give you a taste of a dale dagger.”

“Aye,” Holly agreed.

Bear whirled about. Joel stood firm, mentally prepared, but the huge man did not strike him. Instead, an evil grin spread across the Xvimist’s face. “In the darkness of the new moon, you will be sacrificed in a formal offering to the Godson. The Ruinlord will bring you pain such as you have never known before.” Bear’s eyes shone and his breathing quickened as he continued. “In the end, the Ruinlord will feed to you your beating heart. I have been granted the honor of watching. The Ruinlord may even allow me to participate. I am hoping for it.”

Joel blanched, partly in fear, but partly, too, in disgust with Bear’s delight. That Randal Morn’s plans were not to be betrayed to the Zhentarim was cold comfort in light of the fate the bard and the paladin were soon to face.

The guards and Bear marched Holly and Joel through the corridors of the tower and up staircases until they had reached the roof. The sun had set, and it took Joel a few minutes to adjust to the darkness outside. Bear called to two men who were busy grooming a pair of griffons as the Zhentilar unfastened the manacles about the prisoners’ hands and feet. It was then that Joel realized he and Holly were being taken to the Temple in the Sky.

The griffon riders came forward. Beneath the red capes they wore, they were clothed in tunics made of poorly tanned hides, decorated with a circular pattern of nine human eyes. Joel remembered Holly saying that the floating temple was occupied by a beast cult. There was something far more sinister, though, about the pattern of eyes, but Joel couldn’t quite place it.

“My master asks that you keep these prisoners in your temple until the new moon,” Bear said. “They are meant for offerings, so be sure to tie them to their saddles so they do not try to jump.”

Wordlessly each rider took a prisoner and led them toward the griffons. Joel noted that although the Zhentilar guard followed behind to prevent them from making a break for it, the soldiers avoided getting anywhere near the griffons. A moment later Joel understood why, as one griffon turned its great eagle head, shrieked, then snapped at the bard’s face. The griffon’s rider tapped the creature on the beak with his riding crop, and the raptor head followed the crop until the griffon faced forward again. From a pouch at his belt, the rider pulled out a piece of raw meat, dripping blood, and rewarded the mount.

The rider shoved Joel onto the creature’s back and lashed his feet to its harness. When the rider mounted behind Joel, the bard could feel the rumble in the griffon’s chest as it complained of the extra weight. Joel looked for Holly, but the griffon and rider carrying her were already in the air.

A moment later Joel’s ears were full of the sound of his griffon’s beating wings, and he was airborne.

The waning moon still cast enough light to reveal features of the land below, the fields and forest, the tower, the clouds, the River Tesh glittering miles away. Joel studied the shape of the moon.

If he and Holly were to be sacrificed at the new moon, that gave them at least three more days to escape. He tried to focus on what the rider did to control the griffon, thinking such knowledge might come in handy if he could arrange an escape. The rider didn’t seem to be giving the beast any instructions. Joel soon realized the griffon flew of its own volition, like a horse returning to its home stable, where it knew there would be food and water waiting.

All too soon the temple blocked out his view of the moon and the stars. The griffon flew through a great hole in the bottom of the floating rock. A few moments later they set down into a vast cavern lit by torchlight. The hole by which they’d entered was set in the floor of the cavern.

Joel could see two other griffons stabled in the cavern. They were being groomed by two other men, who also wore hide tunics marked with the pattern of eyes.

The riders untied the prisoners from their mounts and led them up a very long, frighteningly steep set of stairs. At the top of the stairs, Joel’s guard shoved him to the left.

Holly cried out, “No!”

Joel spun about to see what was wrong. He just had time to see Holly being led off in the opposite direction when his guard smacked him across the face with his riding crop.

Joel shouted, “It’s all right, Holly. I’ll find you.” The next moment the riding crop slammed into the bard’s ear, so if the paladin called back a reply, Joel didn’t hear it.

The corridors above the stables were all lit with a bright magical light. Everything was carved out of the rock, which appeared to be the same oily stone as had been used to create the statue of Iyachtu Xvim in the tower below.

At the bottom of a second staircase, his guard pushed him down a short dead-end corridor and slammed a gate closed behind him. Bedding in the cell consisted of some straw piled in the corner. The guard slipped two buckets through a hole in the gate’s bars. One was empty, the other filled with water.

“Don’t spill the water,” the beast cultist ordered. “It’s all you’ll get until tomorrow night.” From the pouch at his belt, he pulled out a piece of raw, bloody meat and tossed it at the bard’s feet. Then he left the prisoner completely alone.

Joel looked down at the piece of meat and felt his stomach churn. He hadn’t eaten for two days, but the raw flesh served as a reminder of the massacre of the Banites. Even if he could bring himself to sample it, the bard suspected he wouldn’t be able to keep it down. He toed the meat into a corner, then sipped at the water in the bucket until his stomach settled.

He spent some time examining the gate that made up his cell door. He tried to give it a shake, but it didn’t even rattle. It slid in grooves in the floor and the ceiling, and its sides disappeared into the rock walls. Whatever mechanism held it in place was also buried in the walls. The grillwork was solid iron.