Кейт Новак - Finder's Bane

“Who, me?” Joel asked, feigning nonchalance. “Whatever gave you that idea, Walinda of Bane?”

Walinda’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “It occurs to me you have the advantage of knowing my name. Might I know yours?”

The bard stood up and brushed the dirt from his hands. “I’m Joel,” he said, offering his hand. “Joel of Finder.”

The priestess ignored the bard’s hand. “Finder,” she said with a nod. “Ahh … of course. The poppinjay bard who slew Moander to become a petty god.”

The priestess stepped back. “As a priest of a rival god, albeit a petty one,” she noted, “you will be sacrificed by the Xvimists in the dark of the moon beside the harpy I offered to them. You may have temporarily escaped your prison cell through these tunnels, but eventually the cultists will find you. Swear fealty to me, and I will help you escape the cultists,” Walinda offered. The expression on her face softened, and her tone of voice was suddenly warm and sincere.

Joel was taken aback, not only by the priestess’s offer, but by the sudden urge he had to accept it just to please her. Had she tried to ensorcell him with a charm spell? But if Bane was dead, she couldn’t cast any spells … unless she had used some sort of magical amulet. But why? Why betray her hosts to help a priest of what she considered to be a minor poppinjay god?

Joel grinned with sudden insight. “I will if you will,” he retorted.

Walinda glared at him. “What folly do you speak?” she demanded.

“Well,” Joel replied, “if you were really a guest of the cultists, you wouldn’t need me and my fealty. You’d just give a shout and have them put me in another prison cell. When I sneaked up on you, though, you had no idea I wasn’t a cultist, yet you were prepared to attack me. Now that I think about it, the deal you made with the Ruinlord of Xvim only guaranteed you access to this place. Nothing was said about granting you passage back down to the ground. You’re a prisoner here, too. Not much of a deal maker, are you?”

“I’m a Dreadmaster of Bane, the Dark One, first among his priests,” Walinda replied haughtily, “not some merchant scum. You are wrong. I am not a prisoner. I wheeled to attack in case you were some fell beast left wandering these passages as a guardian of this abandoned temple. Now accept my offer, or die soon regretting that you did not.”

Joel chuckled, unable to hide his amusement. She was good at bluffing, but she still had no reason to help him unless she needed his help. “Thanks, no,” he replied. “I’ve seen how little you value those who’ve sworn fealty to you.”

“My followers,” Walinda said softly. Her lip quivered, and she turned away.

Joel was surprised. He’d expected her to react with contempt for her people, or even anger that he’d raised the subject. Instead, she acted as if she genuinely grieved their loss. Of course, the bard reminded himself, she could simply be a good actress.

After a moment the woman straightened and replied proudly, “You would not think I sold them so cheap if you knew how great was my goal.” She turned again to face him. “My god demanded I gain entry to this place, and I obeyed. Even though their sacrifice brought power to Bane’s bastard son, they have earned the favor of Bane. Their loyalty and the price they paid for it will not be forgotten.”

Joel shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other. “I know this must be a sore point, and I really hate to have to bring it up, but isn’t Bane, um, dead?”

Walinda smiled. It was a smile of great joy, and it made her face positively lovely. “Bane is a god. Death can have no power over the gods. He will return.”

“All right,” Joel said slowly, beginning to sense this was not a topic they could sensibly debate.

“You doubt me, Joel of Finder,” Walinda said. “Tell me, if everyone told you Finder was dead, would you believe it?”

“For me it’s different. I have proof Finder lives; he grants my spell prayers.”

“Are you so certain that Bane does not grant mine?”

Joel remembered the blue flame at her palm. “You probably just have some sort of magical talisman.”

“That is a possibility. At any rate, suppose Finder did not grant you spells, yet still he spoke to you?” Walinda asked.

Joel took a deep breath, then breathed out. Hearing the voice of her god might be some madness of Walinda’s, but having just received a vision from Finder, Joel hardly felt in a position to argue with her. Still, the alternative, that Bane might return, was too unpleasant to think about.

“It is true,” the priestess admitted, “that I have been made a prisoner by the cultists, yet Bane foresaw this when he bade me to come here. This temple was once his, and he has told me all its secrets. It was a simple matter to escape from my cell to search for the information my god bade me to seek.

“Which is?” Joel asked, curious despite himself.

Walinda smiled again, and her eyes glittered with excitement. Once again her face appeared quite lovely. Then the smile faded to a smirk. “You are most curious, little poppinjay,” the priestess noted. “No doubt your curiosity led you to find a way from your cell.”

“Maybe Finder told me how to escape,” Joel suggested. “The same as Bane told you.”

Walinda glared at the bard, obviously finding the comparison between her god and his distasteful. “Perhaps I should simply betray you to the cultists in exchange for my freedom,” she said.

Joel leaned against the bloodstained altar, appearing as casual as he could. “You could try,” he agreed amicably. The priestess had been prepared to attack him with some sort of spell. Whether Bane had granted it or not was moot at this point. He had no combat magic or weaponry at his disposal, which she probably guessed. Still, if she didn’t subdue him quickly with magic, he could no doubt overcome her with brute strength.

With cold smiles, each priest eyed the other warily. Finally Walinda said, “Yet the cultists cannot be trusted to honor a bargain. Perhaps, since neither of us seems inclined to kill the other, we should ally with one another against the cultists in order to escape from this place.”

Joel rubbed his hand against the stubble on his chin, debating the wisdom of such an act.

“You are slave to a petty god who will one day be crushed by the Dark Lord,” Walinda declared, “yet I will swear by Bane that if you aid me, I will aid you, and not raise my hand against you until we have escaped from this rock.”

“I have a companion I have to rescue,” Joel informed her.

Walinda’s eyes narrowed. “The girl dressed in the colors of a Lathanderite?” she asked.

“That’s her,” Joel replied.

“Lathander is the sworn enemy of Bane.”

“I’m not leaving without her,” Joel insisted.

“When she looked at me, her eyes were full of hate,” the priestess said. “Would she be willing to honor our truce?”

Holly, Joel realized, would not be happy about allying with Walinda, but she was a reasonable girl. Surely, he told himself, the paladin could restrain her enmity if it meant a chance to escape certain death at the hands of the Xvimists. He was sure he could convince her.

Was he himself convinced an alliance was a good idea? There were several points in its favor. It was only temporary. Once he’d found Holly, the two of them would outnumber the priestess should she attempt to betray them. If Walinda really did know all the secrets of this place, she would be useful. Alternatively, Walinda was a woman who had willingly sacrificed her own followers. She was probably the torturer and murderer of the great black-skinned creature she had used as a figurehead on her ship. Joel knew he not only shouldn’t trust her, but he should despise her.