Finder pulled the horn out of the pile of charred yartings, melted flutes, and cracked harps and brushed it off carefully.
“Not completely stingy with your luck today, are you, Tymora?” the bard muttered.
Olive, too curious to remain silent, asked hopefully, “Is that horn magical?”
“Why don’t you try it and find out for yourself, Olive?” Finder suggested, handing her the instrument.
Olive needed both hands to hold the heavy brass horn up to her lips. She puffed out her cheeks and blew with all her might, but without results. “My mouth is too small,” she said, handing the horn back to the bard.
“Astonishing, considering the amount of noise that manages to come out of it,” Finder said, straight-faced. He held the horn up to his own lips and blew a hunting flourish, then a military call to arms. Finally he fastened the horn to his belt, like a weapon.
“Well? Is it magic?” Olive asked again.
Finder nodded.
“What does it do?”
“With the right command words, it will bring down the house,” the bard replied, “literally.”
“Considering that orc audiences aren’t particularly noted for their appreciation of music,” Olive said, “that could be useful.”
Finder bent back over the pile of destroyed musical instruments. He pulled out a harp. Its wooden frame was broken and charred, and the strings were all snapped and frayed. He slid open a tiny secret compartment in the harp’s base. “Did I leave something in—Aha!” the bard exclaimed as something small and glittering dropped into his hand. “Here, Olive. You should wear this,” he said and held out an earring.
Without taking it, Olive eyed the piece of jewelry appraisingly. From the wire ear loop hung a platinum pendant set with a brilliant white diamond, which the halfling estimated must weigh more than a carat. The workmanship was obviously elvish and very beautiful. “A little fancy for entertaining orcs, isn’t it?” she asked, trying to resist her desire to accept the gift.
Finder sat down beside her. He removed the tiny gold loop earring she already wore and slipped the wire loop of the diamond earring into the pierced hole in her earlobe. He flicked at the diamond pendant to set it swaying. “Olive,” he asked suddenly, “do you speak any elvish?”
“Not really,” Olive answered, shaking her head. In spite of her anger with Finder, she couldn’t help but be delighted by the feel of the tiny pendant bumping against her neck. “Except some numbers and a few words—for trading.”
“The elves have a saying: ‘May you hear as clear as a diamond.’ How’s your hearing, Olive?”
Olive looked at Finder with a touch of confusion. Then it dawned on her. “You’re speaking elvish!” she exclaimed. “I understood you perfectly! The earring’s magic, too!”
Finder nodded. “You should be able to understand most of the languages of the Realms with it,” he explained. “Still angry at me?”
“I should be,” Olive said haughtily.
“I know. But are you?” he asked.
Olive sighed and shook her head from side to side.
Finder smiled and took a gulp of water from Olive’s water flask. “Olive,” he began, “is that all Flattery’s image said—that he cleaned out the lab, and I should be dead?”
“That was it,” Olive lied. “Then he sent the spokes of disintegration around the room and cropped off my hair.”
Finder ran a finger along the strip of soft, auburn fuzz that was all that was left of Olive’s hair on the crown of her head. “I suppose being short has its advantages,” the bard joked feebly.
Olive sniffed. “So does crawling around on your belly, but its not very dignified,” she said.
“Olive, will you give it a rest?” the bard growled. “We haven’t any choice but to deal with Xaran.”
“No, I will not,” Olive replied, stamping her foot. Her anger returned instantly. She couldn’t allow herself to be bribed by diamonds, magic or not. “You cannot make a deal with a beholder,” she told Finder. “Didn’t you learn anything after Cassana and Phalse left you to rot in Cassana’s dungeon?”
“Olive, we are not exactly negotiating from a position of strength,” the bard said, indicating the empty room with a wave of his hand. “We haven’t even got a potion of healing for your shoulder.”
“You didn’t know that before, when you started dealing with Xaran,” Olive accused him.
“Immortality is nothing to sneeze at,” Finder said angrily.
“Fine!” Olive snapped. “Swallow it whole. I hope you choke on it.”
“Oh, for—” Finder broke off and sighed. “By now, immortality is a negotiating point I’ll probably have to relinquish. There’s nothing here I can offer him, and I have no intention of spending another year building simulacrums for evil monsters.”
“So you’re going to sell out Akabar just so you can get out of here alive?” Olive asked.
“So we can get out of here, Olive,” Finder said.
“I’ll make my deals with a dagger,” the halfling said.
“My, but haven’t you gotten proud and brave in the past year?” Finder said sarcastically.
“I had a good teacher,” Olive sputtered. “At least, I thought I did.”
The side of Finder’s face twitched as if he’d been slapped. He grabbed the halfling by her shoulders and pulled her close so their faces were only inches apart. Olive flinched from the pain in her wounded shoulder, but didn’t say a word.
“Listen to me, Olive Ruskettle,” Finder demanded. “There is no dishonor in surviving. You may manage to kill a few orcs, but they’ll get you in the end. They won’t kill you right away, though. Oh, no. You’re an attractive female, and the fact that you’re small won’t protect you one bit. They’ll find that all the more amusing. You know what sort of monsters they are.”
Olive shuddered and the blood drained from her face, but she wouldn’t concede. “I won’t let you betray Akabar,” she said, holding back a sob. “Xaran must have some way to make sure you don’t cheat on any deal you make. Suppose he charms you with one of his magic eyes? Then you won’t have much of a choice.”
“I doubt Xaran’s enchantments would have any power over me,” Finder said.
“Xaran could put a magic choking collar around you in case you didn’t come back, or send a party of orcs to escort us, or use me for a hostage.”
“I won’t leave here without you, and whatever guarantees Xaran decides to use, we’ll find a way around them,” Finder assured her. “Besides, Xaran only said he wanted something Akabar had, not that he wanted to kill him. Suppose Akabar wants to sell this thing, whatever it is, to Xaran. Hmm?”
“Akabar is a cloth merchant. What’s a beholder going to do with cloth? Hang curtains in the orcs’ warren?” Olive asked with sarcasm.
Finder released Olive’s shoulders and tugged playfully at the diamond earring. “You are such a stubborn woman,” he said. “Trust me. I’m going to get us out of here alive, and I won’t let anything happen to Akabar, but I need your help.”
Olive looked up into the bard’s blue eyes. She felt like a moth drawn to a candle. She was probably always going to end up being drawn into Finder’s schemes—at least, until she got burned in one of them, like a moth in a candle flame.
“Here,” she said, handing him his dagger. “I found it in the tunnels. You may need it.”
Finder’s face lit up at the sight of the heirloom weapon. “You really are my little Lady Luck, aren’t you?” he said, taking the weapon.
“Maybe that’s why you have so little luck,” Olive bantered.