“We’ll keep her safe,” Morala promised.
“Just keep her out of my way,” Alias muttered.
Mourngrym pursed his lips with disapproval. Alias never seemed to get along with clergy. It was lucky Dragonbait had so much influence over the Turmishwoman. His lordship wondered what it was the saurial had signed to the priestess to make her obey so readily. “I’ll be sure the guards know she’s not to leave the tower, Alias,” Mourngrym said. “I’ll take you down to the storeroom to help you collect provisions.”
“I think I’ll stay here to rest awhile,” Morala said. She stepped closer to the swordswoman. “We should say our good-byes now, Alias of Westgate. If you happen to meet Nameless before we meet again, remember to ask him to tell you the whole truth.”
“I’ll remember,” Alias replied.
Morala reached up and laid a hand on Alias’s shoulder. “Grief and pain lie in your path. May sweet music and brave songs bring you strength to endure them until you know joy again.” Morala removed her hand from Alias’s shoulder.
Alias sighed. She didn’t believe prayers did any good, but at least Morala’s blessing hadn’t been too silly. “Good-bye, Morala,” the swordswoman said. “It’s been … interesting meeting you.”
Morala smiled wryly.
Alias turned and strode from the room, and Mourngrym followed after her.
Grypht looked with a great deal of satisfaction down the ravine that cut across his path. It was quite deep and long, but far too wide to leap across. It was just what he needed to slow down any would-be trackers. He walked north along the edge for a hundred yards, then halted. The scent of fresh-mown hay rose again from his body as he summoned another dimensional portal to take him across the ravine with his burden. Once he stood on the other side, he moved as carefully as possible so as not to leave a trail that could be easily spotted from across the ravine. Then he turned once again toward the sinking sun, following the beam of the yellow crystal.
Dragonbait loped back to the tower carrying two sacks in addition to his pack and Alias’s. One sack was full of Alias’s weaponry and armor, both old and new; the other contained leftover dried rations he’d had stored in his room. The saurial nodded politely to the guards as he passed through the tower’s front gate once again. He crossed the entrance hall quickly, then dashed up the stairs and raced through the corridors. He didn’t have much time. He stood before the door to Lady Shaerl’s quarters and took a few deep breaths to steady his nerves.
He was about to engage in a deceit, something which always made him uncomfortable, even when he believed it was for a good cause, such as allowing Zhara to accompany her husband’s rescue party. Without Alias’s support, Dragonbait knew he’d never break down Breck’s opposition to the priestess’s presence. The paladin needed time to persuade the swordswoman to accept Zhara, but things were happening too quickly. He didn’t want to defy Lord Mourngrym, Breck, or most especially Alias, but he had no other choice.
The saurial knocked on Lady Shaerl’s door.
From within, Lady Shaerl called out, “Come in.”
Dragonbait opened the door and stepped inside. Zhara sat on a couch beside Mourngrym’s wife, Shaerl, who held a sleeping Scotty in her arms. The saurial signed very quickly to her ladyship.
Shaerl understood the signing immediately and laughed. “Certainly, Dragonbait. Any time you wish to be alone with a lady in my quarters, just ask,” she said lightly.
The paladin raised his eyes to the ceiling. Her ladyship’s teasing could be most inappropriate at times. But then what else could one expect of a Cormyte noblewoman who understood the thieves’ sign language? Not even motherhood, Dragonbait noted, had dampened the woman’s taste for mischief and adventure. Obviously she did not intend her future to be any less colorful than her past. The saurial signed that his business was urgent.
“Excuse me, Zhara,” Shaerl said, “while I go put this little monster to bed.” Her ladyship rose and carried Scotty into an adjacent room and closed the door behind her.
“I did as you asked,” the priestess said in low tones once the two of them were alone. “I pretended to submit. But I will not remain here while Akabar is in danger.”
Dragonbait signed to Zhara that he was sure that Akabar had nothing to fear from Grypht; Grypht was his friend. Hastily the paladin signed his plans for her escape; then he began pulling pieces of Alias’s armor out of the sack. A few minutes later, the pair of them descended the stairway into the front entrance hall. “This will never work,” Zhara whispered, tugging at the uncomfortable studded leather collar she now wore around her throat. “Even if I look like Alias, my skin is too dark,” she argued.
Dragonbait made a wheezing noise. Zhara realized he was chuckling. They won’t see your skin, he signed, only your flesh.
Zhara shuddered and clutched the bundle that held her robes closer to her chest. Dragonbait stepped in front of her, and Zhara halted. The saurial forced her arms down from her chest, revealing a healthy cleavage between her breasts that Alias’s enchanted chain armor did not cover.
Carry your bundle under one arm, the saurial ordered with his fingers. Hold your head up higher. Don’t look modest. Gods know, Alias isn’t. Dragonbait reached up and arranged a lock of Zhara’s hair over the scholar’s tattoo of three blue dots on her forehead. Don’t rest your hand on the sword hilt, he added. That’s for swaggering amateurs.
Zhara moved her hand from the blade’s handle, and Dragonbait continued to instruct the priestess as they made their way down the staircase. Just nod to the guards when you go past. Pay attention to my signing, and they’ll realize you’re too busy to chat.
When they reached the entrance hall, the saurial began to encourage Zhara with a steady banter. Remember, you’re Alias, the warrior who defeated the Iron Throne’s hired kalmari and the evil fiend Phalse. They all admire your courage. You’re probably the most talented singer in the Realms. They all love your singing. You are very beautiful. The young women want to be like you and the young men want to be with you.
Zhara’s eyes met with those of one of the guards at the door. The guard nodded politely. Zhara nodded in return and hastily averted her eyes back to Dragonbait’s signing hands. She could feel herself flushing. She had never before appeared in public without her veil, let alone without her priestess’s robes. Only her husband had ever seen this much of her body before, and the priestess felt more than embarrassed. She felt ashamed, as though she’d been unfaithful to Akabar.
Once they’d stepped through the tower’s front gate, Dragonbait clutched Zhara’s arm and hurried her toward the stable. They passed an ornamental rose arbor, and the saurial dodged into it, yanking the priestess after him. The arbor protected them from the rain that continued to fall as well as from curious eyes.
Give me the sword, but put your robes back on over the armor. You may need its protection, Dragonbait signed.
“How much protection can it possibly offer?” Zhara asked, unstrapping the sword’s sheath from the metal girdle about her waist. “There’s nothing to it. Besides, what will Alias wear?”
Don’t be fooled by the chain mail’s looks. It’s heavily enchanted, Dragonbait explained. Alias can wear her spare armor. Remember what I told you, he warned as she donned her robes, once you are across the bridge, hide in the woods until you see us pass. Wait awhile longer before you follow. Look for strips of white or blue cloth. Here, take this cloak, he ordered, handing her one of Alias’s old cloaks. Cover your head with the hood—a veil will attract too much attention.