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“When you have talent like mine,” the bard boasted, “a little luck is all you need.”

Olive shook her head disapprovingly. “Let’s just get this little tea party over with,” she muttered.

Finder removed a light stone from the wall and gave it to the halfling to hold. He held his dagger out in his right hand and took up Olive’s free hand in his left. “Stay close,” he ordered, leading her to the door.

You’re so bright, what moth could resist? Olive thought ruefully.

Finder traced the treble clef symbol with his finger. The door opened inward a foot. The orcs in the corridor immediately begain to shriek and holler. Finder jerked Olive through the door and whistled three notes. The door slammed shut behind them.

Six especially large orcs with loaded crossbows blocked their way. There must have been at least another twenty sitting in the corridor beyond. The monsters squinted in the light of the stone Olive held up, but they could obviously see well enough to shoot at the human and the halfling.

Undaunted by the numbers of the enemy, Finder took charge immediately. In a fighting stance, with his dagger flashing in the light, he snarled at the assembled orcs.

“Take us to Xaran!” he ordered.

The orcs growled. The largest one snarled at Finder in common, “Throw down your weapons—and that light, too.”

Finder stepped close to the orc who had spoken. Ignoring the crossbow bolt pointed at his belly, he snarled back, “You will take us to Xaran as we are, or I will see that Xaran punishes you for your insolence.”

The monster cursed in orcish. Olive, wearing the magic earring, understood the words clearly, though she wished she hadn’t. The large orc turned his back on Finder and walked down the corridor. Finder followed behind, close enough to smell the stench of the creature’s clothing as he pulled Olive behind him.

Some of the orcs ran ahead and disappeared through the gap in the corridor wall, dashing down the tunnel beyond to alert the rest of their tribe. Most of the orcs waited for their leader and the prisoner to pass, then they stood up and followed. Olive could see them pointing at her and hear them whispering foul words and feel their eyes on her.

Just before they stepped through the gap in the wall, another especially large orc blocked the leader’s path and said in orcish. “Xaran is only interested in the bard. We were promised any treasure he brought out of the magic room. By rights, the little one is ours.” The other orcs rumbled approvingly.

The leader of the orcs turned to Finder. “My brother is right. Xaran is interested in only you. Leave the halfling behind,” he ordered.

Olive suddenly remembered what it was like to be her old, terrified self again. She clung to Finder’s hand but did her best not to whimper.

Finder looked over both the leader orc and his brother with obvious disdain. “She’s mine,” he said.

“Xaran does not care about the halfling,” the leader said. “He will not punish us if we do not bring her.”

“But I will,” Finder barked in orcish. “Slowly,” he added threateningly.

The leader orc snarled, but he turned and led them on. His brother eyed Finder with hostility. Finder returned the look with an even fiercer one, an undisguised hatred that startled the orc into stepping backward.

Finder squeezed through the gap in the wall, pulling Olive after him, and they made their way down the tunnel beyond to the orcs’ warren.

Dragonbait started awake at Breck’s touch on his shoulder. The ranger looked deeply disturbed. The saurial chirped quizzically.

“It’s Alias,” the ranger said. “She’s walking in her sleep. What should we do?”

Dragonbait felt genuine panic. Alias hadn’t walked in her sleep since right after she was “born,” when they’d been on the ship en route from Westgate to Suzail after escaping from Cassana’s dungeon. Though fully grown, the swordswoman had been like a child then, with all the fears of a child. The horrors of the ceremonies and magic behind her creation had surfaced in her nightmares, only to be blessedly forgotten after her days-long sleep in Suzail, from which she’d awakened as an adult.

Now Alias stood beside the fire, wearing nothing but her tunic. She was very pale, her eyes were closed, and her mouth hung open. She was whimpering slightly.

Dragonbait rose and approached her. He ran a clawed finger up under her right sleeve, along her magical blue brands. The swordswoman quieted instantly and her breathing slowed.

Suddenly the air about the fireside was full of high-pitched clicking and whistling sounds. Dragonbait whirled around, emitting a joyful lemony scent, expecting to see Grypht. There was no one in the clearing but himself, Breck, Alias, and the sleeping Zhara. Dragonbait turned back to Alias, his eyes wide in astonishment.

“What is it?” Breck asked. “What’s wrong?”

Dragonbait motioned for Breck to remain silent. The ranger couldn’t hear the whistles and clicks coming from Alias’s mouth. His ears were as deaf to the sounds as any human ear not augmented by magic. Although Alias made the noises with her extraordinarily gifted voice, even she herself couldn’t possibly hear them. Dragonbait heard them, though, for they were not only the sounds a saurial would make, but they were also actual words in saurial.

Although Alias spoke in saurial, what she said seemed to be nothing but babble. “We are ready for the seed. Where is the seed? Find the seed. Bring the seed,” she repeated over and over again.

Without the scent glands that saurials would ordinarily employ to convey emotion and emphasis, her speech was as flat as the sign language Dragonbait was forced to use with her. As the paladin listened to the hypnotic rhythm of the words, he realized that, if the swordswoman could only release scents, she would be singing and not merely chanting. Then Alias began a new verse.

“Nameless is found,” Alias said in saurial. “Nameless must join us. Nameless will find the seed. Nameless will bring the seed.”

Suddenly Alias stopped her saurial chant. She held out her hand, with one forefinger pointed downward, and traced a circle parallel to the ground.

The paladin shuddered.

Alias began to shout in Realms common, “No! No! No!”

She reached out and grabbed Dragonbait’s shoulders. Her eyes opened and she blinked in the firelight. Then she started to cry softly.

Dragonbait stroked the brand on her arm again and wrapped his cloak around her. He pushed down on her shoulders until he got her to lie on his blanket beside the fire. He wrapped the blanket around her, too, and Alias closed her eyes again. The saurial stroked her hair until she ceased weeping and lay still and, Dragonbait hoped fervently, slept peacefully.

“Maybe you’d better take second watch instead of her,” Breck suggested.

Dragonbait nodded.

“Does she do this often?” the ranger asked.

Dragonbait shook his head in an emphatic negative.

“Never, huh?” Breck asked. “Like she never gets mad at you?”

Dragonbait squinted his eyes angrily at the ranger.

“I’ll bet I know why she’s sleepwalking,” Breck said. “She’s upset with you because of Zhara.”

Dragonbait looked into the fire.

“You’ve got to tell her you’re sorry for whatever she’s angry at you for,” Breck said. “We can’t be hunting for Kyre’s murderer and dealing with weird stuff like sleepwalking at the same time.”

The ranger turned and strode away to his own saddlebags, sniffing the air. Curious, he thought, it’s too late in the year for violets to be in bloom.

The ranger wasn’t familiar enough with Dragonbait to know that was the smell of the saurial’s fear.

Dragonbait watched over the campsite with his yellow reptilian eyes, but all he could see was the vision of Alias forming a circle in the air with her forefinger. The motion was not one from the thieves’ sign language she had taught him. It was a saurial symbol—the symbol for death.