“You are a problem, aren’t you?” Olive sighed. “All right. When we get to the road, we’ll go south to Cormyr, and we’ll send a message back to Dragonbait with the first caravan we meet that’s heading north to Shadowdale.”
“No,” Finder said. “I don’t want to do that.”
“Then how are we ever going to tell Dragonbait about Grypht?” Olive asked, exasperated.
“We’re not,” Finder said simply. “If Dragonbait finds out about Grypht, he’ll try to help him.”
“That’s the idea, isn’t it?” Olive asked.
“Alias, in turn, will want to help Dragonbait,” Finder explained. “And I don’t want her going anywhere near Moander or Moander’s minions. Moander wants her for a servant. I won’t have the god using her again.”
“That’s Alias’s business, not yours,” Olive replied.
“She’s my daughter. I’ll protect her as I see fit,” Finder retorted sharply.
“Then don’t you think you should warn her that Moander might be after her again?” Olive asked.
“Moander can’t detect her if she doesn’t go looking for the god,” Finder said. “What she doesn’t know can’t hurt her.”
Olive shrugged. “Whatever you say. No note to Dragonbait. We still want to get to the road before dark. Well catch a caravan going south to Cormyr. That place I told you about, where we can’t be detected magically, is in Cormyr.”
Finder shook his head. “I’m not hiding anywhere. I’ve decided you were right. I’ve credited the Harpers with too much power. Once I get access to my workshop, they’ll never capture me again.”
Olive sighed. She had planned to send a note to Dragonbait anyway. It didn’t look as if she’d get a chance unless she left Finder.
The halfling didn’t really want to leave the bard, though. Olive genuinely liked Finder. He knew more about her than anyone in the Realms, yet he didn’t condemn her for her greed or her cowardice or her minor jealousies. He’d shown a lot of patience in teaching her more about music in one month than she’d learned during the rest of her whole life. In addition, he’d offered her a passage to respectability by giving her his Harper’s pin.
“You know,” the halfling said, rubbing her chin, “I’m beginning to worry that I might be a bad influence on you.”
Finder chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’m not influenced easily.” He turned and headed up the hill toward the crumbling manor house.
That’s what I’m afraid of, Olive thought, but she held her tongue and followed.
When Alias heard that Nameless had been kidnapped, the blood drained from her face and she swayed alarmingly. Akabar put his hand on her elbow to steady her.
“Don’t worry, Alias,” the mage said softly. “We’ll find him.”
“Kyre, this is Alias of Westgate,” Mourngrym explained to the half-elf. “Alias, this is the bard Kyre, one of the members of the Harpers’ tribunal.”
After taking a few deep breaths, Alias had recovered from her shock enough to nod politely to the Harper bard. Kyre nodded back at the swordswoman, but it was Akabar who held the half-elf’s gaze.
“This is Alias’s friend, Akabar bel Akash,” Mourngrym added, noting how Kyre stared at the mage. “Akabar used his magic to destroy the wall of ice for us.”
“A pity that your effort, though great, came too late,” Kyre said to Akabar.
“I don’t understand how anything from a lower plane could have gotten into the tower,” Alias said impatiently. “Elminster had it warded against entry by that sort of creature.”
“Elminster also had a no-exit spell cast on Nameless’s room,” Mourngrym said. “How could Grypht teleport past that?”
“Such wards and spells sometimes deteriorate, your lordship, or they can be broken by powerful magic,” Kyre replied. Though she addressed Mourngrym, the half-elf’s attention was still fixed on Akabar. “As you saw, I just left the room without any trouble.”
Mourngrym frowned. “I’ve never heard of any spell of Elminster’s deteriorating or breaking. He’s the most powerful mage in the Realms.”
“Excuse me, your lordship,” Akabar replied, “but the lady is quite correct. Such things do happen on occasion. In fact, there is considerable evidence of many spells having failed this past summer when the gods walked the Realms.”
“Elminster took extra care to reset all the wards on the tower after that,” Mourngrym interposed.
“Yet we cannot deny the evidence of our eyes,” Akabar said.
“Speaking of Elminster, where is he?” Alias asked suddenly.
“He disappeared before our very eyes. Grypht appeared in his place,” Kyre explained. “Perhaps his absence weakened his spells.”
That didn’t sound likely to Mourngrym, but he had no training in magic. He turned to Thurbal and the two guards. “Better have the tower searched, in case something else has managed to sneak in.”
Thurbal nodded and ushered the two guards off with him.
Still unconvinced, Alias asked Kyre, “What type of monster was it? What did it look like?”
“Grypht is not a type of monster but one unique unto itself,” Kyre replied calmly. “Grypht is a duke of Caina, in the Nine Hells. The Zhentarim often use Grypht for their evil schemes. It stands ten feet tall. Its hide is covered with green scales. It has horns, claws, and a tail.”
Alias walked into Nameless’s former cell. Sigils and symbols were scrawled on the walls and the windowsill and even the doorsill, evidencing the wards protecting the room from entry by creatures from the lower planes. They looked all right to her. “Akabar, what do you think?” Alias asked, motioning the mage into the room.
Akabar stepped into the cell and began to study Elminster’s wards. As she watched Kyre’s eyes follow the mage, Alias wondered if the half-elf recognized the Turmishman from somewhere, but when the half-elf reached up to adjust the orchid behind her ear, Alias realized that Kyre was physically attracted to the merchant-mage. Akabar was, after all, a handsome man. Even Cassana, a connoisseur of men, had lusted after him.
Alias turned around to survey the rest of the room. Elminster had sworn to her that he had made Nameless as comfortable as possible. The old sage hadn’t lied. Everything about the room was lovely—the furniture, the curtains, the carpeting. A well-crafted songhorn lay on the table beside a silver fruit bowl. “Oh!” Alias cried out suddenly in disgust, revolted by the sight of the rotting, moldy plums, pears, and apples within the silver bowl.
“What is it?” Akabar asked, hurrying to her side. Mourngrym was close behind him.
Alias pointed at the bowl of fruit. “Is this some sick joke to taunt Nameless?” she asked.
Mourngrym scowled angrily when he saw what had upset the swordswoman.” I can’t imagine who would do such a thing,” he said curtly, “but I guarantee I will find out who is responsible.”
“The sign,” Akabar whispered.
“What?” Alias asked, looking up at the Turmishman. Even beneath his dark skin, the swordswoman could see that the blood was draining from her friend’s face. Akabar’s body trembled visibly.
“Akabar, what’s wrong?” Alias asked.
“It’s the sign of danger. From my dreams. The bowl of rotting fruit marks its coming,” Akabar said.
Alias shivered, momentarily frightened by Akabar’s words. With a deep breath, she cast off the ridiculous idea that Akabar’s dreams were rooted in reality.
From the doorway, Kyre called Akabar’s name. The half-elf’s face was clouded with concern. When Akabar looked up at her, she spoke a word to him that neither Alias nor Mourngrym could comprehend, though it sounded to Alias as if it was in Turmish.