Although Dragonbait had once explained to Alias that he prayed when he healed, she had never actually heard the words of his prayer before. A sense of embarrassment came over her as she listened to the paladin’s pious request to his gods for the power to relieve her pain. Dragonbait, she realized, was as devout as all the clergy members she had joked about for as long as she had known him.
When the wound on Alias’s chest had ceased bleeding and the skin had knit together, Dragonbait ran a teasing finger down the brand on her arm so that it tingled pleasantly, as if to remind her that he still cared for her even if she was an impious barbarian.
“The beholder injured Nameless’s hand, too,” Alias reminded him.
Dragonbait turned wordlessly and, taking the bard’s hand in his own, repeated his prayer. The gash in Finder’s hand stopped bleeding and closed, though the bard was left with a long scar.
As Olive watched Dragonbait heal Alias and Finder, she caught sight of a familiar yellow gem tucked in the paladin’s belt. “Finder! Dragonbait’s found your stone!” the halfling cried.
Dragonbait pulled out the gleaming magical stone. “I found it in the passage through the rubble,” he said in saurial, handing the stone to the swordswoman.
“I dropped it when the orcs grabbed me,” Alias recalled, taking the stone. She glanced at Olive, then looked at the bard with surprise. “What did Olive just call you?” she asked.
“Finder,” the bard replied. “That’s my name, Alias. Finder Wyvernspur. The Harpers didn’t quite succeed in wiping it out completely. Olive discovered what it was.”
“Leave it to Olive to uncover the Harpers’ best-kept secrets,” Alias muttered. Suddenly she laughed. “Finder, as in the finder’s stone? All this time we’ve been using your name and never knew it.” She held the magic stone out to the bard and said, “I believe this is yours. We used it to find you.”
Finder smiled with delight. “That’s the second time in as many days that a pretty woman has returned my property to me,” he said, taking the stone.
The bard’s compliment wasn’t lost on either Olive or Alias. Olive shook her head at Finder’s unrelenting flattery as she bent over to retrieve the bard’s magical horn. Alias, though, hadn’t seen the bard for over a year, and she was overcome with emotion. Her joy at finding him safe and all her yearning to be with him and please him came rushing to the surface. She threw her arms around Finder’s neck and hugged him.
“I’ve missed you so,” the swordswoman whispered. “I tried to see you back in Shadowdale, but the Harpers wouldn’t let me visit you. I was so worried when you disappeared.”
For a moment, Finder felt uncomfortable in Alias’s embrace; she had never been quite so demonstrative toward him before. Then he noticed Dragonbait watching him curiously. The paladin was looking, Finder suspected, for some proof that the bard loved Alias as a daughter, not merely as his singing simulacrum.
Almost defiantly, Finder embraced Alias in return and discovered to his surprise that, beyond the fierce pride he felt as her creator, he did indeed harbor some tender feelings for her. “I missed you, too,” he admitted softly.
Akabar watched the bard and swordswoman’s reunion with satisfaction. He liked Dragonbait, but the mage felt Alias needed more contact with humans. He felt even greater pleasure noting how thoughtfully Breck watched Finder and Alias. I hope the Harper will show some mercy and take the father’s and daughter’s affection for one another into account in his final judgment upon the bard, Akabar thought.
Olive, who was trying to remain casual about the fuss Finder was making over Alias, kept her eyes on the Turmish woman who was healing the Harper ranger. Despite the dark shade of the woman’s skin and the different texture of her hair, the halfling quickly recognized that the priestess was another one of Alias’s “sisters.” Finder, the halfling noted, hadn’t even noticed the woman yet. He only had eyes for his eldest “daughter,” the one who sang.
When the priestess finished healing the ranger, she began speaking softly to Akabar in Turmish. With the magic earring Finder had given her, Olive eavesdropped on the couple’s conversation.
Zhara tugged on her husband’s sleeve. “Our reunion has not yet been so sweet as theirs,” she whispered in Turmish. “Are you still angry with me for fighting with Alias?”
Akabar looked down at his wife and sighed. She, too, he realized, needed human contact. She’d had her share of terror since yesterday, and although she was very much like Alias, she wasn’t used to the horrors and rigors of adventuring. The mage slipped his arms around his wife’s shoulders and kissed her tenderly on the lips. “There is nothing left of my anger but smoke,” he whispered back.
Zhara squeezed him around the waist, laid her head on his chest, and sighed deeply.
Akabar stroked Zhara’s thick auburn hair. Unbidden, a vision of Kyre came to his mind. He couldn’t keep from picturing the half-elf’s long, silky black hair.
Zhara sensed his unease. “What’s wrong?” she asked, gazing up at him, concerned.
“Nothing,” Akabar replied, shaking his head. There was no sense worrying Zhara about his feelings for a dead woman. He held Zhara even tighter, but the vision of the half-elf remained.
Olive grew uncomfortable watching Akabar embrace his wife, so she turned her attention to the remains of Xaran’s body. Someone had once told her that alchemists would buy beholder eyes for potions, but she doubted she could get much for Xaran’s eyes. Even before they’d been crushed by the cave-in, stabbed at by herself, and frozen and then burnt by Grypht, they hadn’t exactly been fresh-looking.
There was something worth retrieving from the beholder, though. Finder’s dagger was still lodged in Xaran’s central eye. Olive began to roll the beholder over so she could reach the dagger.
Grypht caught Dragonbait’s eye and cocked his head. The paladin moved away from the others to join his fellow saurial.
“Well, Champion, what does your shen sight tell you about the bard?” Grypht asked quietly.
“The Darkbringer does not possess him,” Dragonbait replied, but there was not much relief or pleasure in his voice.
“So he does not burn with the fires of evil,” Grypht said with a shrug. “But you have not told me what your shen sight does reveal about him,” the wizard said.
“He is much the same as before, High One,” Dragonbait said. “A mountain of pride, wrapped in gray fog.”
“Neutral … neither good nor evil,” Grypht noted. “A man who walks the wall. He does not lack the strength to abide by convictions. Why doesn’t he have any?” the wizard growled.
“Perhaps,” Dragonbait suggested, “convictions are not as interesting to him as he is to himself.”
“Do you want your dagger, Finder?” Olive called out.
The bard looked in Olive’s direction. “Of course I do, little Lady Luck,” he said, winking at the thief.
Olive sniffed in mock disdain at the flattering nickname and turned away so no one could see her blushing. Leaning over Xaran’s corpse, she pulled Finder’s dagger from the beholder’s central eye.
As Olive’s leg brushed against the remains of her cloak, Grypht could see that the burr that Xaran had spit at the halfling still lay in the folds of the charred fabric. Alarmed, the wizard noticed that the magic seed pod had begun to swell. He rushed to Olive’s side and lifted her from the ground by her arm, snatching her away from the seed.
“Hey!” she shouted. “Put me down!” she demanded. “You’re hurting my arm!”
An explosive crack came from Olive’s cloak as the burr split open, releasing a cloud of blue-black dust.