Finder’s sudden interest in her luck made Olive nervous. It was bad luck to talk about luck. “You tell me first. What went wrong when you created Flattery?” Olive asked.
Finder shrugged. “He didn’t want to sing. We argued about it, and he got angry. I had two apprentices with me at the time, Kirkson and Maryje. Flattery killed Kirkson and injured Maryje. Then he ran off. By the time I’d gotten help for Maryje, the trail was cold. Then the Harpers brought me to trial and exiled me. I tried scrying for Flattery all these years, but he kept himself hidden with his magic.”
“Did you name him Flattery?”
Finder’s face turned stormy. “That was Kirkson’s fault,” he said. “A practical joke to tease me. Once he told the creature that was its name, it wouldn’t accept a different one.”
“What were you going to name it?”
“I hadn’t decided yet.”
“Hadn’t decided or hadn’t even considered giving it a name?” Olive guessed.
Finder looked contrite. “I remembered to give Alias one,” he said defensively.
“Alias. Some name,” Olive replied. “I still can’t figure out why you lied to Elminster.”
“I was afraid the Harpers might hunt down the crea—Flattery. I hoped if he was free, he might relent and sing my songs after all.”
“Not a chance,” Olive said. “Flattery hated your guts. He wanted to destroy you and wipe out the whole rest of the Wyvernspur clan, too.”
Finder turned away from the halfling. In the torchlight, Olive couldn’t tell what emotion he was concealing. With his back to her, the bard asked, “So how did you meet him?”
“I was in Immersea,” Olive explained. “You know the wyvern’s spur—your family heirloom that turns the bearer into a wyvern and protects him from magic and—”
Finder spun around and interrupted her. “I know all about the spur,” he said with annoyance. “I watched my idiot brother use it often enough. Get to the point, please.”
“Well, Flattery didn’t know all about it. Fourteen years ago, one member of your family, Cole Wyvernspur, Giogi Wyvernspur’s father, discovered that Flattery was slaughtering people. Cole figured out that Flattery was a member of the family and challenged him to a duel to keep the family honor intact, so to speak. Flattery killed Cole, but Cole, using the spur, nearly killed Flattery. So Flattery tried to steal the spur, thinking he could use it against you and the rest of the clan. Giogi stopped him, though.”
“Giogi? Giogi Wyvernspur? That ridiculous fop whom Alias nearly killed last year?” Finder asked.
“That’s the one. Grown some since then. Nice boy.”
“What happened to Flattery?” Finder demanded impatiently.
“Giogi had to kill him,” Olive said softly. “Even if Flattery couldn’t use the spur, he would have wiped out the Wyvernspur family. He was powerful enough and certainly crazy enough.”
Finder looked down at the tunnel floor and gave a resigned sigh. Olive thought he might be grieving, but when he looked back up, she saw a look of relief on his face.
“If it hadn’t been for Dragonbait, Alias would have been just as bad as Flattery,” Olive said. “Maybe worse.”
“No, she wouldn’t!” Finder answered vehemently. “I didn’t make the same mistake with her.”
“What mistake?”
Finder didn’t answer. Instead, he bent over and resumed pulling stones from the debris that obstructed the passageway.
Olive reached down and grabbed one of the bard’s fingers. “What mistake?” she repeated.
“Nothing,” Finder said. “You’re right. Dragonbait made all the difference.”
Olive couldn’t think of anything that could make Finder relinquish any credit for his success with Alias, but she was certain he was lying. However, she wasn’t sure she really wanted to know why. She did know that she didn’t want to see the workroom where Flattery had been created.
Olive released Finder’s finger and patted him gently on the wrist. “Finder, let’s leave. I told Giogi about you. He said you’re welcome in his home anytime. That’s where I was going to take you.”
The bard looked up and laughed. “Giogi? That’s who you expected to protect me from the Harpers? Ruskettle, have you taken leave of your senses?”
“Giogi has a friend called Cat who can keep you hidden. I thought you’d want to meet her.”
“Why?”
“She’s one of the copies that Phalse made of Alias,” Olive explained.
Finder reached up and grabbed Olive’s wrists. “What?” he shouted.
“You know—one of the twelve copies he made,” Olive explained. “I found another one—Jade. We were friends, but Flattery killed her. He thought she was Cat. He was mad at Cat because he thought she’d betrayed him. She was his apprentice for a while, since she’s a mage. Jade was a pickpocket—a good one, too. Anyway, Cat sided with Giogi against Flattery. He was horrible to her—Flattery, that is.”
Finder sat on the pile of rock he’d been shifting. “Olive, I think I’m getting too old to keep up with you. If you have any more revelations, give them to me now, while I’m sitting down.”
“Cat’s going to have Giogi’s baby next spring. So you’ll be a grandfather, sort of, besides being an eleventh-generation great-granduncle.”
Finder closed his eyes and began to rub his temples with his fingers.
“So how about heading for Immersea?” the halfling asked, hoping Finder would be more open to the suggestion in his shocked state.
Finder shook visibly and rose to his feet. “I need to get into my workshop first. Then we can discuss what to do next.”
“Suppose whatever’s set up housekeeping down here is between us and the workshop?” Olive protested.
“I’m not going to let some squatter keep me from my own home,” the bard answered angrily.
“Finder, you’ve been in exile for two hundred years. It’s not as if whatever it is didn’t wait a decent interval before moving in.”
The bard grinned slyly. “It’s getting awfully late to be on the road, Olive,” he said. “Wouldn’t you rather have a bath and spend the night in a comfortable bed before we leave? I can get you that with the magic in my workshop.”
Olive tried to fend off the temptation by imagining a ray of disintegration coming toward her.
“The door to the workshop is only about another hundred feet down this passage,” Finder said.
Olive pictured the green ray of disintegration Flattery had used to destroy her friend Jade and did not reply.
“Then we wouldn’t have to walk at all.” Finder added. “I have copies of my spellbooks in my workshop. I can teleport us to Immersea.”
Olive sighed at her own weakness. She slipped on her gloves, picked up her shovel once again, and started shifting dirt. Finder began to sing a dwarven mining tune as he returned to digging out the rocks. In spite of her annoyance with the bard’s stubbornness and her fear of whatever lay beyond the obstructions, Olive hummed along in harmony. It was too hard to resist the power of Finder’s voice.
They were both growing tired, so they worked more slowly. They’d been at it nearly an hour when Olive felt a flutter of air waft through her hair. “Got it!” she whispered down to the bard.
“Do you see anything?” Finder asked.
The halfling put her face near the flow of air and squinted. “It’s too dark,” she reported. Her talent for seeing in the dark had never been as well developed as most of her folk, but her other senses were sharp enough. “It feels warmer,” she said, “and—phew! Your home’s new tenant isn’t much of a housekeeper. It smells like garbage.”