Кейт Новак - Finder's Bane

Joel emptied out his pockets to take stock of his possessions. His captors had missed the hidden pocket in his belt, so he still had his map to the Lost Vale. They’d taken everything else but his clothing and boots. He could understand the Zhentilar taking his sword and dagger and, of course, the wand, but the fact that they’d taken his birdpipes really irritated him. He wondered whether Bear, no lover of music, had taken them and smashed them. It wasn’t likely the Xvimist would try to play them. Joel chuckled just at the thought of the big man’s paws trying to cover the holes over the reeds.

Joel sat down on the straw and leaned against the wall. He’d only been conscious for a few hours, and between his hunger and his injuries, he felt exhausted. He thought of Holly, all alone in some cell, no doubt praying to Lathander.

“I don’t imagine you’re available to get me out of this predicament, are you, Finder?” the bard whispered. He began humming, and soon he was singing softly. Between the winged woman and the ride on the griffon, his thoughts were stuck on flight. He sang a song of Finder’s about larks called “Birds Who Sing in Flight.” For the first time, it occurred to him that the song could be interpreted to include people, too. It was the last thing he remembered before he drifted off to sleep.

When next Joel opened his eyes, Jedidiah stood leaning against the cell door, stuffing a short clay pipe with a fine black, sparkling powder. “Were you planning on sleeping the night away?” the old priest asked with a grin.

Joel was ready to spring up, embrace the old man, and tell him how glad he was to see him, but some powerful force held him down in the straw. That’s when he realized he was dreaming. In his heart, he had wanted to see Jedidiah, so he summoned him in his sleep.

The old priest was dressed just as he had been when Joel had last seen him in Berdusk. He wore black boots and trousers, a white shirt, a red velvet tunic, and a huge dagger. His glaur, a valved brass horn, hung from his belt. His white beard was neatly trimmed, and his white hair was drawn back into a short ponytail.

“This place is abysmal,” Jedidiah declared. “Believe me, I know.” He kicked at the piece of raw meat on the floor. “The food is terrible, and the room doesn’t even have a view.”

When Joel finally managed to speak, his voice sounded remote even to himself. “I’m sorry, Jedidiah,” he said, “but I’ve failed. I’m not going to be able to complete my pilgrimage to the Lost Vale. I’ve been captured by priests of Iyachtu Xvim, and they’re going to sacrifice me to their god. They’re going to sacrifice Holly, too. She’s a paladin of Lathander.”

“There,” the old man said, pointing at a spot on the solid wall behind Joel. Joel wondered in confusion whether the priest didn’t hear him or he was ignoring him.

Jedidiah lit his pipe and tossed it at the wall where he’d just pointed. There was a great flash of light and an explosive boom, and when the smoke cleared, a large, perfectly shaped window had appeared in the rock. On the other side, there were blue skies, white clouds, and bright sunshine.

Jedidiah sprang across the room to the far wall and leapt up onto the windowsill. With hands on either side of the window, he leaned out over the void. “Much better,” he said. “It’s not such a dead end now.”

Joel marveled as he always did at Jedidiah’s spryness and daring. The innumerable creases on his brow, about his eyes, and in the corners of his mouth marked the old priest as ancient, yet he was as strong and energetic as a boy.

Jedidiah sat down on the windowsill and pulled out a second pipe from his tunic and tapped the bowl on the sill until a huge chunk of tobacco spilled out. In the tobacco was a white egg.

“They’re going to kill me,” Joel reiterated.

“Only if you let them,” Jedidiah said. He tapped on the egg. Something within tapped back.

“I haven’t a chance of escaping,” Joel argued.

Jedidiah laughed. It was the same laugh he used for overly self-important musicians. “You have to look for chances,” he said, tapping on the eggshell again.

The shell cracked open, and a tiny golden warbler popped out of the shell. The bird grew at an impossible rate until it had reached full adult size. Then it peeped and flew up to Jedidiah’s hand.

“I’m locked in a cell, in a floating rock filled with beast cultists, a half mile off the ground!” Joel complained.

Jedidiah looked out the window. “A quarter mile,” he retorted. He whistled at the warbler, and the bird sang back seven notes.

“So even if I break out of this cell, how do I get down off this rock?” Joel asked, beginning to feel quite irritated at Jedidiah’s casual air in the face of Joel’s impending doom.

“You don’t get down off a rock; you get down off a goose,” the old priest teased.

With an amazing sleight of hand that Joel had seen the priest use before, Jedidiah passed one hand over the golden bird and transformed it into a piece of golden jewelry, no larger than his palm, shaped like a pair of wings. When the priest passed his hand back over the talisman, it transformed back into the golden warbler. The bird sang one more time, then launched itself out the window.

As the bird flew off, Joel felt his heart lighten. Jedidiah laughed, and Joel felt his exhaustion draining away, replaced with a youthful energy. Of course he would escape, he thought. Of course he would rescue Holly. Of course he would reach the Lost Vale.

“Of course,” Jedidiah said, “you’re never going to get anything done sleeping your life away.” The priest bent down and poked Joel on the forehead for emphasis. Joel felt a jolt pass through his body.

Joel awoke with a start, sitting up immediately in the straw bedding. He blinked and looked around. Jedidiah wasn’t there, of course, and the cell looked just as it had before his dream.

He sat and thought about the dream for a few minutes. It could just have been his heart playing tricks on his mind, offering escape in sleep when there was none in life. Yet the dream had seemed so real. For one thing, he recalled it vividly … the exploding pipe, the window, the newly hatched bird, the winged talisman. Of course, Jedidiah had been annoyingly vague, but he was that way in real life as well. The view from the window though hadn’t been quite right. The cell was far too deep inside the rock to command an outside view.

There was something rather peculiar about the way the hallway dead-ended on nothing but a prison cell. Why not just excavate a cell? Why add a hallway? Unless …

Jedidiah had said something about it not being such a dead end.

Joel knelt in the straw and examined the wall where Jedidiah had created a window. The stone was oily and quite roughly hewn. A chunk broke off in his hand. Curious, Joel tossed the rock in the air. Although it came from the floating rock fortress, it did not float of its own accord. The cell was well lit by the same magical light that illuminated everything, but it was still hard to examine the blackness of the wall. The rough surface cast shadows over each crack and niche. Joel ran a piece of straw horizontally across the stone. It stuck in a shadowed crevice. Joel ran the straw up vertically. There was definitely a crack there. Just at the edge of his reach, the crack took a sharp ninety-degree turn.

Ultimately the crack formed a perfect rectangle exactly where the window had been in Joel’s dream. Had the dream actually been a vision? the bard wondered.

Joel cast a glance back down the corridor, but it was empty. His jailers, trusting the strength of the cell, hadn’t posted a guard.

Joel pushed gently along the seam, but the rock didn’t move. The opening could be mortared shut, secured with some secret mechanism, or merely stiff from disuse.