Dragonbait shrugged and looked down at his teacup. Akabar, he realized, thought Alias loved him and would become enraged with jealousy if she knew all that Zhara was. The paladin knew Alias far better than the merchant-mage, and he knew that Alias did indeed love Akabar, but not the way Akabar thought she did.
Despite Alias’s adult body and brilliant mind, Dragonbait had come to understand that her emotions were no more mature than a child’s. The paladin suspected that the Nameless Bard, who denied his own emotions as a matter of pride, had been unable to give Alias skill controlling her feelings when something upset her. Like a child, Alias grew jealous easily, and it wasn’t easy for her to accept that she couldn’t always be the center of attention. Akabar was right to worry about her reaction when she learned of Zhara’s true nature. What the merchant-mage did not realize, however, was that Alias wouldn’t react as a woman but as a child.
Still, it would be bad to put off explaining about Zhara, the paladin thought. He would give Akabar a day to work up to it, but no more.
From the unpleasant, but fortunately weak, stench of brimstone that wafted from Dragonbait, Alias could tell there was something about Akabar’s wife that interested the saurial. Nevertheless, Alias ignored Zhara and focused all her attention on Akabar. “So what brings you this far north so late in the year?” she asked the Turmishman.
Instead of answering Alias’s question, Akabar asked one of his own. “Have you been well since I saw you in Westgate last year?”
Alias’s brow knit in puzzlement. “Of course. Why shouldn’t I be? Akabar, what’s wrong? Why are you here?”
Akabar drew a deep breath. “I came to Shadowdale to seek Elminster’s advice. I also hoped to find you here, in order to warn you.”
“Warn me?” Alias asked, more confused than alarmed. “What about?”
“The return of the Darkbringer,” Akabar said.
“The Darkbringer! You mean Moander?” Alias asked.
Akabar nodded.
“Akabar,” Alias reminded the mage, “after you destroyed Moander’s body, most of its worshipers killed themselves. Cassana had the Fire Knives assassinate those who didn’t, so she wouldn’t have to share me with them. Dragonbait and I spent the past two summers checking out all the Darkbringer’s temples. They’ve all been abandoned. Without worshipers in the Realms, it could be centuries before Moander can regain enough energy to make a new body and return here from the Abyss.”
“I have been troubled by nightmares of late,” Akabar explained. “Zhara tells me they are warnings from the gods of light.”
Alias sighed in exasperation. “Akabar, after all Moander put you through, of course you’re going to have nightmares about it for a while. It’s only natural. The gods don’t have anything to do with it.”
“The dreams did not begin until this past spring, nearly a year after Moander’s death,” Akabar countered.
Alias shrugged. “Spring is when you destroyed Moander. Maybe the weather just reminded you of him,” she suggested.
“Spring weather in Turmish is nothing like spring weather in the north or even in Westgate, where Moander died,” Akabar persisted.
Dragonbait rapped on the table for attention. Alias watched the saurial’s paws flutter about the tabletop, then move to his lips. Finally he pointed at her and Akabar.
Alias shook her head. “They’re not related at all,” she told the paladin.
“What’s he trying to say?” Akabar asked curiously.
“Nothing important,” Alias said.
Dragonbait shoved his elbow into Alias’s side. The sell-sword glared at her lizard companion, and Dragonbait glared right back at her. The contest of wills lasted only a few moments, but it astonished Akabar. He’d never seen Dragonbait challenge Alias before. When the mage had traveled with the pair, Dragonbait had been as submissive to Alias as a Turmishwoman was to her husband in public. Obviously the relationship between the saurial and Alias had changed in the past year. Alias looked away from Dragonbait, muttering, “All right. Think what you want, but you’re wrong.”
“What is it?” Akabar demanded.
“Dragonbait thinks I should tell you that it was last spring when I started singing strangely.”
“Singing strangely? I don’t understand,” Akabar said, his eyebrows arching.
“Somehow the melody and the lyrics of songs I was singing came out twisted. And I didn’t even realize I was doing it,” Alias explained, obviously disturbed.
“Do you have dreams about Moander?” Akabar asked.
“I wouldn’t know,” Alias replied. “I never remember my dreams when I wake up. Dreams are for sleeping.”
“You remembered the dream you had about Nameless in Shadow Gap,” Akabar reminded her.
“That was different. That was a magical dream caused by the witch Cassana, sent in order to distract me from the ambush she was laying.”
Akabar stroked his beard thoughtfully, then suggested, “Since you do not remember your dreams, it could be that the gods are trying to warn you through your songs.”
“Akabar, why should the gods go to all the trouble to send you dreams and ruin my songs when they could just send a letter?” Alias asked skeptically.
“If you do not believe Zhara and you do not believe me,” Akabar said, “you certainly would not believe a letter, Alias. The gods know the way to your heart is through your music.”
Alias sighed. She’d known, of course, that Akabar was a scholar of religion, but this sudden devout belief that the gods were speaking to him and her made her uneasy. It was this new wife’s influence, she was sure. “Well, if the gods are causing me to sing this way,” Alias said, “they certainly have lousy taste in music. And they could work on making their lyrics a little less obscure, too.”
Zhara, who had been silent for a long time, spoke out suddenly, with anger and passion. “You cannot expect the songs of the gods to be of the same simple sort you northern barbarians delight in,” she said.
Alias glared at the priestess. “My songs are the best in the Realms,” she growled.
“They are nothing compared to the words spoken by the gods,” Zhara replied heatedly. “Our prayers to them are the most suitable music we can make.”
Realizing that it was futile to argue with a religious zealot, Alias turned her attention back to Akabar. “I don’t suppose the gods have given you any details about what you’re supposed to do about this return of Moander,” she said.
“Yes, they have, as a matter of fact,” Akabar replied, and his face looked suddenly haggard. “I must find Moander’s body in the Realms and destroy it again. Then I must find its body in the Abyss and destroy it there. Only then will Moander be destroyed forever,” he explained.
Alias looked at her friend with astonishment and fear. He was absolutely serious. He meant to fight the god again. If Dragonbait hadn’t recruited the help of an ancient red dragon, who had died battling Moander, she and Akabar would still be under the god’s domination now, unable to fight the abomination’s awful power to control their minds. Now Akabar not only wanted to fight Moander in the Realms, but also in the Abyss, where it would be surrounded by numbers of powerful minions. The swordswoman was sure the mage couldn’t have come up with such a dangerous idea on his own. She glared across the table at Akabar’s new wife, and as she so often did, she channeled her fear into anger.
“This is all your doing, isn’t it?” Alias snarled at Zhara. “You lousy priests are always trying to convince some nice, noble soul to go out and get killed trying to destroy some great evil that no one in their right mind would want to run into. Not even the mighty elven kingdom of Myth Drannor, in the height of its powers, could destroy Moander. You softened Akabar up with sweet talk and then start blowing his nightmares out of proportion. I’ll bet you even used your priestly magic to set him on this stupid quest, didn’t you?”