Across the room, Kyre laughed and held out her arms. Long, slimy green tendrils shot out from her sleeves toward Finder. Olive cried out once more, this time in fear. There was something terrifyingly familiar about Kyre’s tendrils.
The tendrils reached over Olive’s head just as Finder sang a second E-flat, this time an octave lower than the first. The yellow light shimmered with the deep resonance of the bard’s voice and then glowed so brightly that Kyre, her tendrils, and the room faded from his and Olive’s view.
Alias, Mourngrym, and his guards waited anxiously around the corner of the hallway as Akabar chanted his fireball spell. The mage’s voice rose sharply, then a great explosion shook the floor and walls around them and echoed through the corridors. A second later a burst of steam came rushing down the corridor, past the side passage in which they stood. Clouds of hot, moist air billowed around them.
Anxious about Akabar, Alias rushed around the corner and into the steam. The floor was covered with water and the walls were dripping with moisture. Alias spied Akabar in the dispersing mist. Not even the darkness of the mage’s skin could hide the flush of his face from the scalding he’d received, but he still stood. He was drenched from the steam, and when he shook himself, drops of water scattered from his beard, hair, and robes.
“Are—are you all right?” Alias asked.
“I think so,” Akabar replied. “As a mage I have more immunity from the power of magic than you. At any rate, the wall is melted,” he said, gesturing at the clear passage ahead.
Mourngrym and Thurbal and the two tower guards rejoined the mage and the swordswoman.
“Good work, Akabar,” his lordship said, clapping the mage on the back.
Assured that the Turmishman was all right, Alias prepared herself for combat. Having brought no weapon with her, she retrieved the great axe that Lord Mourngrym had been using to chip at the wall of ice. Then she started down the corridor, silently hoping that Nameless was unharmed and swearing vengeance if he was not.
His sword drawn, Mourngrym took the lead with Alias. Akabar, Thurbal, and the two guards brought up the rear. A shadow fell across them, framing the doorway at the end of the corridor. Mourngrym and Alias halted and raised their weapons, poised to charge into combat.
A slender half-elven woman appeared in the doorway. She wore a silky yellow tunic and fine elven boots; a sword in a scabbard hung from the black belt at her hips, and a bright red orchid hung in her long, dark hair. The half-elf stepped into the corridor.
“Kyre!” Mourngrym gasped. “Are you all right?”
The half-elf looked up at Mourngrym. “You broke through the wall of ice?” she asked. There was a hint of confusion in her voice.
“What happened?” Mourngrym demanded, ignoring her question. “Kyre, where is Grypht? Where is Nameless?”
Kyre lowered her head. “I’m afraid I’ve failed, your lordship. I could not stop Grypht from reaching the Nameless Bard. Grypht grabbed Nameless and teleported away with him.”
For what seemed an eternity, Olive felt as if she were trapped in a golden web. When the light from the magical stone finally dimmed, she and Finder stood looking out over a grassy meadow on a sloping hillside.
Olive quickly sank to the ground, exhausted by the magical teleportation.
“Admit it, Finder,” she murmured, “whatever spell Elminster used to keep you inside that cell, it was almost a match for your rock, artifact or no.”
Finder cursed angrily under his breath. The halfling looked up at the bard. His face was drenched with sweat, and his complexion was pale. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Are you all right?”
“Kyre snatched the finder’s stone away from me just before we teleported,” Finder growled with rage. “That bitch has my stone!”
“Oh,” Olive said uncertainly. “Well, at least we escaped.”
“But she has my stone!” Finder snarled irritably.
“She could have you, like she got Grypht,” Olive snapped back. If you hadn’t been so stubborn about waiting for the Harpers’ blessing, you would have escaped before she arrived, Grypht wouldn’t have been captured, and you’d still have your precious rock.”
“She said she was a Harper,” Finder said incredulously. “She couldn’t be a Harper.”
“She is,” Olive said. “I told you—she’s one of the tribunal judges.”
“I can’t believe she tried to kill me,” Finder said. “She never would have gotten away with it.”
“She didn’t care,” Olive said. “You said something to her about Grypht being a foe of the Darkbringer. That’s Moander, the Darkbringer god, right?”
“Yes. Grypht said he was looking for Dragonbait because Moander was threatening their tribe.”
“Oh, great!” Olive muttered, slapping her hand against her forehead.
Finder looked at her blankly. “I don’t see the connection,” he said.
“Don’t you get it? Kyre’s one of Moander’s servants.”
“That’s impossible. No Harper would aid the Darkbringer.”
Olive huffed in frustration. “I recognized those slimy tendrils Kyre used to grab the finder’s stone. They’re just like the ones Moander had all over its body. Moander was probably controlling her mind, the same way it controlled Akabar’s mind last year.”
“Akabar,” Finder mused. The bard recalled the southern mage, Akabar bel Akash, who had befriended Alias the previous year, and how he had been captured by the Darkbringer when he had tried to free Alias from the god’s clutches. “But Akabar destroyed the body Moander used in the Realms,” Finder argued. “There’s no way Moander could have possessed Kyre.”
“Suppose Kyre visited a world outside the Realms?” Olive asked.
Finder considered the halfling’s suggestion and frowned darkly. “It’s possible,” he admitted.
“We have to get back to Shadowdale and tell Dragonbait so he can rescue Grypht,” Olive said. “Where are we, anyway?” she asked, tossing a pebble at a thistle.
“Home,” Finder said.
“Home? It doesn’t look like Immersea,” Olive replied.
“It’s not. Were you under the impression I lived at Redstone Castle with my family?” Finder asked.
Olive grinned, thinking of all the Wyvernspurs she’d met and trying to imagine Finder getting along with them. “I guess I should have known better.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Finder asked.
Olive chuckled at his defensiveness. “Did they kick you out?” she asked.
Finder’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I left them. They never took me seriously.”
“Never a prophet in your own land,” Olive teased. Finder’s face darkened, and the halfling realized she might be pushing him too far. She decided to change the subject. “So where is this home?” she asked.
Finder made a sweeping motion with his arm, indicating something behind Olive. “Finder’s Keep,” he said.
The halfling turned around abruptly. The walls of a crumbling manor rose behind her. Thistles and grass grew between cracks in the stone. Kudzu covered the chimneys. Moss and fungus grew from the fallen roof beams. “I think you need a new decorator,” Olive quipped.
“The underground complex was sealed. It should be in good condition,” Finder said.
“Are we still in the Dales?” Olive asked.
Finder nodded. “The southern edge of the Spiderhaunt Woods.”
“That’s not too far from Shadowdale,” Olive said, her mind racing. “We can walk to the road connecting Shadowdale and Cormyr. There should be plenty of traffic on it this time of the year. Then we can get a lift from a caravan going north. We should be able to reach Shadowdale in about four days.”
“Olive, you’ve been trying all morning to convince me to flee Shadowdale,” Finder reminded the halfling. “Now you want me to go back and turn myself in to the Harpers. Suppose Kyre isn’t the only one in Moander’s possession?”