Кейт Новак: Finder's Bane

The rider did not halt, and Joel thought he could see the man smiling.

“Fine. You asked for it,” the bard muttered. “Chaos!” he shouted.

A pulse of blue light issued from the tip of the wand and struck the Zhentilar’s sword. The weapon began to glow with a vivid blue light as the soldier closed on Joel. With a yell, the Zhentarim swung his blade downward. The bard raised his own sword to fend off the blow, but the blow never struck. The Zhentilar’s blade passed right through the bard’s weapon like a ghost. In the next instant, the enemy’s sword vanished entirely.

With unerring aim, Holly put a crossbow bolt through the rider’s chest. As his horse passed by, she grabbed the beast’s reins and pushed the soldier from the saddle.

Undeterred by the fate of their comrade, the other Zhentilar continued charging toward the bard and the girl.

“Some people never learn,” Joel said with a sigh. Once more he pointed the wand at the approaching foe and called out the command word.

A sphere of light, buttery yellow like bright sunshine, bubbled from the tip of the wand. When the sphere of light had grown as large as a pumpkin, a large butterfly fluttered forth. The insect was beautifully marked with orange and black spots and was as large as Joel’s hand. A second butterfly emerged, then a dozen, then hundreds of butterflies swarmed out of the sphere of light. The mass of beating wings blinded the bard and startled Butternut and the dead soldier’s horse into flight down the trail. Holly shouted as Butternut carried her away.

The Zhentilar patrol’s horses must have been equally startled, for Joel could hear them neighing in panic, and none of them came bursting through the cloud of orange and black. Joel backed away from the colorful swarm. The butterflies began spiraling upward toward the treetops, and Joel could see beyond their fluttering wings. The Zhentarim soldiers were getting their mounts back under control and moving in his direction.

Joel realized now the meaning of the command word etched on the wand. The wand’s magic was determined by chaos, completely random. He understood now what the jackdaw had meant about Lady Luck’s favor. To tip the odds in his favor, he needed luck.

“Tymora,” he whispered, invoking the goddess of luck, who had always been a friend to his own god, Finder. “Smile on this fool.” He aimed the wand for a third time and called out, “Chaos!”

Either the third use was truly charmed or the bard’s request of Lady Luck had fallen on sympathetic ears. The wand spat out a glowing red sphere no bigger than a pea that streaked down the trail into the midst of the Zhentilar patrol. Then the pea burst into a fireball so powerful the force of the blast knocked Joel off his feet.

Complete silence fell over the woods as every living creature, seen and unseen, took a moment to wonder at the blast. Then the silence broke as the charred corpses of the Zhentilar patrol and their horses thudded to the ground. Birds in the trees overhead began twittering loudly, as if mistaking the fireball for a second sunrise.

Joel picked himself off the ground. He took a few steps toward his vanquished foes, but the sight of the carnage and the stench of burning flesh was too terrible to bear. He turned about and loped down the trail after Holly.

Still mounted on Butternut, the girl came riding back toward him with the first Zhentilar’s horse in tow. “I heard an explosion,” she said. “What happened?”

“They’re dead,” Joel whispered. “All of them?” Holly asked.

“All the ones who were chasing us,” Joel replied. He patted the side of the Zhentarim horse for a few moments, making sure the beast was steady, then swung himself into the beast’s saddle.

“Are you all right?” Holly asked. “You’re not injured?”

Joel shook his head from side to side, then studied the girl for a moment. Her arms and tunic were splattered with the blood of the last Zhentilar she’d killed and from the wounds she’d received from the first Zhent patrol, but she didn’t seem the least bit unnerved.

“I suppose this is all business as usual for you Daggerdale folk,” the bard commented dryly.

“If by business as usual, you mean, do we defy invaders to our lands whenever we can, then the answer is yes,” Holly replied coolly. “To do anything less would be inviting the fate of Teshendale, conquered by the Black Network and now only an empty chair at the Dales Council. As it is, the Zhent soldiers harass our citizens, their orc mercenaries raid our herds, and their puppet rulers force our lord into exile. If you plan to travel through Daggerdale, you had best get used to our ‘business as usual.’ ” Having said her piece, the girl clucked her tongue at Butternut and rode off down the trail.

Joel sat still for a moment, stunned by the girl’s tirade, but after some reflection, he convinced himself he hadn’t really said anything that could give offense. There was more than the reputed Daggerdale unfriendliness behind Holly’s outburst. Her words had a defensive and rehearsed sound, as if Holly had said it before or had wanted to say it to someone else for a long time.

Joel dug his heels into the ribs of the Zhentilar horse and soon caught up with his guide.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” the bard said as his horse drew up alongside Holly’s, “but I sense I’ve just caught an arrow meant for someone else.”

The girl lowered her eyes, and Joel knew he’d hit the mark, but he also knew that wouldn’t necessarily gain him any points with her. It would be up to him to bring some civility back to the conversation.

“I didn’t mean to imply you or your people had no right to defend yourselves,” he insisted.

Holly looked up at him. “I know that. You’re right about my speech being meant for someone else. Someone I met said something that really made me angry, but I couldn’t think what to reply until the next day. I’ve been thinking about what I said to you for days now, repeating it over and over, wishing I could go back in the past and answer the person who made me angry. Pretty foolish, huh?”

Joel laughed. “Not really,” he replied. “We’ve all done that before. So who was this scoundrel who slandered the honor of the Daggerdale folk?”

“Some stupid Cormyte serving as an envoy to Shadowdale. He said we were a ruthless, mean-spirited people. Elminster and Lord Mourngrym didn’t pay any attention to him, but he made me terribly angry. I wasn’t sure how much respect he warranted, so I didn’t reply. Then I felt stupid because I’d lost the chance to show Shadowdale how loyal Daggerfolk are to their dale.”

“Elminster and Lord Mourngrym probably admired you all the more for your self-discipline,” Joel assured her.

“Do you really think so?” Holly asked with surprise.

“Well, having never met the gentlemen, I can only guess based on what I’ve heard about them. Sharp words are never wielded so skillfully as silence. So what business did one so young have with such powerful men?” the bard asked curiously.

Holly grinned at him but said nothing.

Joel laughed. “Well, now that you’ve demonstrated your mastery of silence, perhaps you will deign to move on to the art of small talk. I’ll try another question. Where’d you get that curved blade of yours?”

“It was my father’s blade,” Holly explained. “He was from Zhakara. That’s far to the south.”

Joel nodded.

“When he was a young man, he put on a cursed ring and was teleported to the north, where the Zhents captured him. He was a slave of the Zhents for years. So was my mom’s brother, Burl. My dad helped Uncle Burl escape, so Uncle Burl brought dad to Daggerdale and introduced him to my mother.” Holly looked away into the woods and added, “They all died in an orc raid last year—my mom, my dad, my Uncle Burl, my grandma Harrowslough.”