The banelich began chanting harsh words in an ancient tongue. Black flame sprang from its hands and arced upward. Just as Jas released two more flasks, the banelich's missiles slammed into her diving form. Jas screamed, a bone-chilling, inhuman cry.
The flasks of holy water hit their mark again, one on the banelich's shoulder, the other on its leg. The banelich howled once more, but its cry was drowned out by the shrieks of the winged woman. Like a burning black serpent, the banelich's flame wrapped itself about her form as she plunged headfirst into a sand dune.
Jas rolled in the sand, extinguishing the black fire but not the pain. She continued to thrash in agony.
"Kill her!" the smoking banelich demanded. Gripping her silver goad, Walinda leapt from the side of the ship, landing on both feet with the grace of an acrobat.
Her cutlass drawn and raised, Holly interposed herself between the priestess and the winged woman. Startled, the priestess pulled back. Wounded as she was, Walinda must have known she was no match for the holy warrior.
"You!" the banelich screeched at the paladin. "This water stinks of Lathander. This is your doing." He raised his arms in Holly's direction and began barking out the words to summon the black flames again.
"No!" Joel shouted, throwing himself in front of the paladin, determined to protect her.
The banelich halted. Fire danced in his hands, but he did not hurl it forward. "Tell your priest to move," he ordered Jedidiah, "or his life will be forfeit, too."
"Joel," Jedidiah implored, "back away."
Joel looked at his god with shock. "I can't let them kill Holly," he insisted. "Or Jas either."
"Jas and Holly started this," Jedidiah reminded him. "I don't want you to pay for their folly. I don't want you hurt."
Joel's eyes narrowed with anger. He recalled Grypht's parting words that Jedidiah could be reckless and thoughtless. He remembered, too, the saurial wizard's advice to use his influence to make the god show moderation and consideration.
"Joel!" Jedidiah snapped, his voice rough with warning.
"I'm not moving," Joel retorted.
Jedidiah's face clouded with anger.
Joel could picture the scene woven into a tableau someday on a tapestry in the Singing Cave-Jas lying in the sand, Holly poised with her cutlass raised between the winged woman and Walinda with her goad, the banelich standing on the spelljammer with his hands burning, and in the middle, Joel silently begging his angry god to do the right thing-assuming, of course, they lived through the next few moments to tell the tale to Copperbloom.
"I'm calling on you, Jedidiah, to protect us," the young priest announced.
Then Jedidiah's face flushed with shame, and Joel understood more than he wanted to about the god's feelings. Copperbloom had been Finder's first priestess, but Joel was his chosen priest. The god couldn't bring himself to refuse the young bard's prayer. On the other hand, without his power, he was vulnerable. He could lose face just as easily by trying to protect Joel and failing.
Jedidiah, though weak, was not without the resources of his wits. "Bane," the older priest barked, "end this now, or you will regret it."
"I do as I wish," the banelich retorted, his normally low voice rising in amazement. "Your arrogance is remarkable." He held his finger to the finder's stone embedded in his forehead. "I can crumble your precious stone with a touch. Or have you forgotten?"
"Then you will have nothing to bargain with when I retrieve the Hand of Bane."
"The hand for the stone… that was our agreement," the banelich said. "That does not leave you anything to barter for the lives of these vermin." He pointed his hands in Holly's direction.
"I will snap one finger off the Hand of Bane for every death you cause here," Jedidiah threatened.
The banelich hesitated. Joel could feel his heart pounding in his chest. Five beats later the banelich lowered his hands, and the eldritch flames about them died. "The deaths of these vermin do not concern me," he said. He looked at Walinda. "Keep a watchful eye on them, slave," he ordered. He muttered a short, sharp chant and drifted over the railing of the spelljammer and down to the pillars of the gate.
Walinda held her goad at the ready as Jedidiah moved to Jas's side. The winged woman's skin was gray and covered with frost. The black flame had obviously been a coldfire missile.
"Keep an eye on her, Joel," Holly ordered the bard as she hurried to join Jedidiah.
Joel stood before the priestess. He nodded at her injured arm. "Bear do that?" he asked.
"Bear?" the priestess asked.
"The dark stalker you have chained to your bow," Joel said.
Walinda nodded. "Yes."
"I could heal it for you," the bard offered.
The priestess glared at the priest and backed away with a look of feral fear. "My god does not wish the injury healed," she growled.
"Why not?" Joel demanded angrily.
"This was not the first attack on my god that I failed to prevent. I was not sufficiently watchful. The dark stalker sneaked aboard while I slept and attacked Bane. I wear my wounds as punishment, but they are nothing compared to the loss of my god's love and approval. I will earn his forgiveness, though. Then he will grant me my spells again and I can heal myself."
Joel's stomach churned with disgust and anger. 'That thing is a monster!" he said. "How can you remain by its side, let alone worship it?"
Walinda looked at him coolly. "You still do not understand what it means to truly serve your god. You learned nothing in the Lost Vale, did you?" Joel fought back the urge to correct the priestess. It wouldn't be wise to let her know that he, too, traveled beside his god, that his god had been prepared to risk his power arguing for the life of his disobedient priest. "Maybe not," Joel answered the priestess, "but I suspect that Finder would forgive his priests for a little failing like sleeping." He turned and strode over to where Jedidiah and Holly were healing Jas.
Jedidiah had done all he could. Jas's skin was no longer so gray, but her breathing was shallow and she moaned in pain. Now Holly was calling on Lathander to help the winged woman. The paladin's arms glowed rosy pink, and she laid them on Jas's head, on her face, on her shoulders and arms and chest. Jas began to breathe more evenly, and she fell into a deep, peaceful sleep. Walinda approached them and peered down at her master's victim.
Jedidiah stood up, looking drained and tired. "She'll be all right," he said to Joel. "She'll be out for a while. All things considered, that's probably for the best."
"The black flaming death of Bane is most efficient," Walinda said, a touch of pride creeping into her voice.
Jedidiah harrumphed. "It was a coldfire missile… a standard trick of all baneliches," he lectured the priestess. "It's nasty, but not in league with a real god's power."
Walinda raised her head proudly. "Delude yourself if you wish, priest. Deny that the living Bane is among you. But still he wields his might!" she declared, pointing with her goad toward the Cat's Gate.
The banelich hovered in front of the buried gate with its arms raised, chanting in its ancient tongue. The sand about the gate began to heave and roil as hundreds of skeletal forms, the dead from the army of the wizards of Netheril, pulled themselves from the earth. The banelich commanded them to clear the sand from the gate and they began to dig stiffly, using their own skulls to scoop out the sand.
"All praise and glory to mighty Bane!" Walinda whispered, her eyes riveted on the undead at their work.
"Animate dead," Jedidiah muttered. "Another favorite banelich trick." He turned to Joel. "Go help Holly move Jas under the tarp," he ordered. "I'll keep an eye on this fool woman."
As Joel turned, Jedidiah put a hand on his shoulder. "You'll have to tell Holly that she'll have to stay behind. There's no way the banelich is going to take her aboard after this stunt. But I suspect she knew that."