“Moander’s dead,” Breck said.
Alias shifted uneasily, realizing that the treants could be a sign that the god was returning to the Realms. Akabar could be right after all, but she still couldn’t bring herself to admit it aloud. “Yes … Moander’s dead.” she said.
“Then this rot, these tendrils in the treants must be something Grypht did to them,” Breck claimed. “We’ll know for certain when we catch him. We’ll follow his trail until we’re out of the burnt-over region. Then we’ll go back and get the horses.” The ranger began looking for tracks near the broken saplings.
Alias rubbed her temples. She was tired and hungry and frustrated with the ranger’s single-mindedness. “Breck,” she called, deciding to try once more to enlighten the ranger. “It could be that Kyre was wrong about Grypht. These treants might have attacked the creature. Of course it would have defended itself as best it could.”
Breck spun about angrily. “Is that why it murdered Kyre—to defend itself from her?”
“Something else might have killed Kyre,” Alias replied.
“Or someone—like your friend Akabar,” Breck suggested.
Alias threw her hands up in the air. For lack of another thought, she addressed the ranger’s previous supposition. “Suppose Grypht did kill Kyre in self-defense? Suppose she mistook him for a monster and attacked, and he fired back?”
“Kyre didn’t mistake Grypht for a monster. He is a monster!” Breck declared and stomped off to search for the trail.
Alias looked at Dragonbait and shrugged. After a few moments, the pair of them followed the ranger.
Grypht’s trail wasn’t hard to follow, even in the moonlight. The creature had been running, oblivious to the fact it left a clear trail behind. Suddenly the trail ended abruptly, however. Beside Grypht’s tracks were two sandal prints—Akabar’s. Then there was nothing. The creature and the southern mage had vanished into thin air.
“Beshaba’s brats!” Breck cursed. “They’ve whisked themselves away by magic again.”
“Let’s get back to the horses and make camp,” Alias said. “We’ll have a look around in the morning.”
“They could be anywhere by then,” Breck objected.
“They’re already gone, ranger,” the swordswoman snapped. “And I’m not going anywhere in the dark. Neither are you.”
Breck’s shoulders slumped. He turned wordlessly and headed back to the stream where they’d tied their horses, with Alias and Dragonbait following him, as usual.
When they’d reached the spot where they’d tied the horses, they found their mounts were missing. No portions of their lead ropes were left attached to the branch at all. The horses hadn’t chewed through the ropes; they’d been untied.
“Someone’s stolen the horses,” Breck said.
Alias glanced at Dragonbait. “Who?” she asked. “We’re out in the middle of nowhere.”
“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out,” Breck said, looking over the ground until he found a set of bootprints.
“Here we go again,” Alias muttered as they followed the ranger out of the clearing after the horse thief. This is Zhara’s doing, isn’t it? she signed to Dragonbait.
The saurial began examining the ground with exaggerated interest.
Suddenly Breck broke into a run, heading upstream. Alias looked up and gasped. There, not far from the stream, framed in a clearing in the moonlight, was a female figure in robes standing in front of a horse.
“Why doesn’t she just throw another light spell so he can see her better?” the swordswoman cracked sarcastically.
Dragonbait sheathed his sword and dashed after Breck.
Apparently unaware that she was being observed and about to be attacked by an angry ranger, the robed figure stood calmly stroking the horse’s muzzle and feeding it something from the palm of her hand. Alias was pretty sure it was Zhara—only a priestess was stupid enough to stand out in the open like that.
Alias walked slowly toward the scene. This trouble is Dragonbait’s fault, she thought. Let him handle it.
Breck leaped at the woman, knocking her to the ground. The horse neighed and shied backwards. Zhara screamed. Dragonbait pounced on Breck.
Alias pulled an apple out of her knapsack and began munching on it. While the ranger, priestess, and saurial rolled about on the wet grass, Alias grabbed hold of the horse—it was Breck’s—and pushed it out of harm’s way. Slowly she fed it her apple core as Dragonbait pulled Breck off Zhara.
The priestess made it to her feet and moved away, shielding herself from Alias by standing on the opposite side of Breck’s horse. Alias shot a glance at the priestess, but Zhara had already pulled the hood of her cloak back up, hiding her face.
Dragonbait and Breck rolled around in the grass a few more times until the swordswoman asked, “Are you two having fun?”
Dragonbait looked up suddenly. When he caught sight of Zhara, safely out of the fracas, and Alias, watching with a bemused expression, he looked almost sheepish. He went limp and let Breck pin him to the ground.
“I have you now!” the ranger declared.
“Yes, but what are you going to do with him? You can’t ride him, and he’s too tough to eat,” Alias said with a chuckle. “He might make an interesting pair of boots—maybe.”
Breck looked at Alias and turned purple with fury at the sight of the swordswoman laughing at him. He released Dragonbait and leaped to his feet. “You!” he shouted, pointing a finger at Alias. “You helped her to escape! No wonder you were so anxious to defend her husband. Did Lord Mourngrym know?”
“Know what?” Alias asked, disdainful of the ranger’s confused accusations.
“That she’s your sister,” Breck snarled.
“What are you talking about?” Alias snapped back. “I haven’t any sisters.”
“Then who is she?” Breck demanded, yanking the hood of Zhara’s cloak off the priestess’s head.
The swordswoman squinted in the moonlight at Zhara and saw, for the first time, what Breck had seen when he’d been rolling on the ground with the priestess. There was something familiar about the pointed chin, the high cheekbones, the thin nose, the green eyes, and the red hair. Alias gasped and backed away. Zhara’s features were familiar because they were the swordswoman’s own features. Except for the dusky hue of her southern skin, Zhara could have been Alias’s twin. Alias realized in a flash just what Zhara was.
“No!” Alias shrieked furiously, drawing her sword. “She’s not my sister! She’s one of the fiend Phalse’s spawn!”
11
Betrayals
Breck pulled away from Zhara and drew his own sword, but he looked at Alias doubtfully. Then he remembered the sage’s words at the tribunal. “Elminster told us Phalse had been destroyed,” he said.
“Yes,” Alias admitted, “by my own hand. Before that, though, the little monster created her and eleven other of my look-alikes, pawns that he intended to use to destroy his old enemy, Moander.” Alias raised the tip of her sword to Zhara’s throat. “That’s why you’re so eager to have Akabar go after Moander, isn’t it? Because you’re Phalse’s creature.”
Zhara met Alias’s eyes with her own and replied calmly, “And are you still Moander’s creature that you are so eager to see the Darkbringer live? Here is your chance to destroy me. You have your weapon in hand. Why not use it and finish me off?”
“You witch!” Alias growled. She threw her sword down and leaped at Zhara.
The two women tumbled to the ground. Dragonbait moved quickly to separate them, but Breck put his hand out to stop the saurial. “One thing you never want to do,” he said with a chuckle, “is get between two women in a brawl.”