"How can I grieve when that murderess is walking around free?" Jas snarled angrily. "It's just like when my parents died. I couldn't do anything to avenge their deaths. My friends' deaths were even worse. Every time I tried to kill their murderer, I failed. I'm useless… worse than useless, in fact. I'm helping that bitch just so Tymora doesn't die."
A sudden realization came over the kender. "You mean it was Walinda who murdered your friends?" Emilo asked.
"Walinda tortured them to death," Jas keened. "She made me watch." The winged woman began sobbing once more.
Emilo stroked her hair some more. After several minutes, Jas grew calm again.
"I thought the only way I was going to fight the dark stalker was to give up hating Walinda," Jas said. "I can't do that. And not just because we're so close to the Bastion of Hate."
"I can understand that," Emilo said. "You don't have to. You just have to accept that Walinda isn't dead yet."
"You tell me how to do that," Jas demanded angrily.
The kender squeezed Jas's shoulders and said fiercely, "Just focus on that word yet."
ACT THREE SCENE 6
Joel turned about slowly, his eyes trying to adjust to the darkness. Fortunately the room wasn't truly pitch-black. Somewhere ahead was a smoldering brazier. There was a horrendous stench to the room, like an abattoir.
"Who's there?" the bard called out.
"Oooh, a curious one," the whispering voice replied. The echoes in the hall still made it seem to come from everywhere. There was a slight squeak to the whisper, as though it came from a woman or a child… or perhaps a halfling or kender.
"I'm Marin the Red," Joel announced, "the captain of the guard of Lord Xvim's throne room, and I demand to know who you are."
Raucous, high-pitched laughter rang through the hall. Leaving his backpacks on the floor, Joel drew his sword and moved forward cautiously.
"Watch out!" the high-pitched voice cried out.
The warning came too late as Joel tripped on something soft. He sprawled across the floor once more.
As he pulled himself to his aching knees, the bard's hands came in contact with what had tripped him-the legs of a human body. Joel ran his hands up the body. It was encased in plate mail. The bard felt around the body's throat. The flesh was cold. There was no pulse.
'That was the last captain of the guard," the voice announced matter-of-factly.
Hastily Joel muttered a spell to cast light upon his sword, but no light appeared. Without the finder's stone his power as a priest wasn't even great enough to cast a simple spell.
"Ouch," the voice said. "I'll bet that's embarrassing. Can't even spit out a light spell. You must be a looong way from your god."
Joel crawled back toward the door until he came upon his backpacks. He rummaged around until he found a few torches and tucked them under his belt. Then he crawled toward the dimly glowing brazier. Nothing else blocked his way. From the coals in the brazier, he lit one of the torches. In the flickering light, he could see that the room was littered with bodies, the corpses of priests of Xvim and human guards. Joel estimated there were at least a hundred.
"Quite a mess, eh?" the voice commented.
The voice no longer seemed to come from everywhere. Joel got a fix on the speaker's direction. It was definitely somewhere up ahead, in the darkness at the far end of the chamber. Holding the torch in his left hand and his sword in his right, the bard continued forward cautiously. The throne room was a vast chamber. The floor was of marble, and the walls were covered with tapestries depicting detailed, vile scenes of murder. There were several braziers scattered throughout the room, but all but the one near the door were cold and dark. There were no other furnishings. At the far end of the room, a broad set of steps led up to a raised dais. Joel continued to inch his way forward.
The voice laughed again and quipped, "Kid, if you're a tiefling, I'm a faerie dragon."
Joel held the torch up higher and peered ahead. There, atop the dais, slumped in a giant-sized throne, was a giant-sized woman. Save for her size, which Joel estimated to be over ten feet tall, the woman appeared to be a lovely human maiden, slender and shapely. Her head lay slumped upon one arm, and her long, white hair cascaded to the floor. She wore a black velvet gown, which contrasted sharply with her milky white skin. Brilliant gem-encrusted gold jewelry glittered on her arms, about her throat, and in her hair. The beauty of her features outshone the jewelry. Joel could see a faint resemblance to Tymora. There could be no doubt this was Lady Luck's "sister."
Joel climbed halfway up the steps and whispered, "Beshaba?" "Oooo, aren't you well informed," the high-pitched voice commented with a hint of surprise in its tone.
Joel turned toward the sound and finally discovered the speaker. At the foot of the throne, beside Beshaba's legs, was a large gilded birdcage. Inside the cage was a winged male humanoid creature about a foot and a half high, with bright red skin and a long, scorpionlike tail. It had sharp teeth, an oversize nose, long, pointed ears, and two sharp-tipped, curved horns protruding from its brow, just above its eyes. Although it was completely naked, the creature showed not the least bit of shame as it stood casually leaning against the bars of its cage. Despite Jas's teasing that he only recognized female fiends, Joel knew this creature was an imp. Back home, they served as the familiars of evil wizards and priests. Joel also knew that the stings from their tails were deadly. He moved back a step, just to be sure the tail couldn't reach him through the bars.
"You wound me with your distrust," the imp said. "You have nothing to fear from me. I'm so bored and lonely that I'm grateful for your company. Allow me to introduce myself, Marin the Red. I am Ratagar Perivalious, former associate of the late Tyrannar Noxxe."
"Pleased to meet you, Ratagar," Joel said, letting a hint of sarcasm drip into his tone. He sat down on the step and set the torch down with its flaming end hanging over the edge of the dais. "What happened here?" he asked the imp.
"Ah, thereby hangs a tale," the imp replied. He pointed to Beshaba's unconscious form. "Her Highness showed up two nights ago in a foul mood. When she discovered Xvim wasn't here to meet her, she settled down to wait for him. While she waited, she took out her annoyance on Xvim's priests and followers. See that body just beside that brazier on the left? The one in the fancy green and black brocade?" The imp pointed in the direction of the body in question. "That's the late Tyrannar Noxxe. I tried to warn him not to get involved in these little spats between gods, but you know how young people are these days. You can't tell them anything."
"He didn't try to attack her, did he?" Joel asked in surprise.
"Nothing so courageous," Ratagar replied. "He tried to suggest she go home until Lord Xvim returned. Beshaba decided his beard was hideous-something else I've been trying to tell him for years. Anyway, Her Highness used a little magic to suggest Noxxe shave right there and then. Noxxe's hand slipped. Most unfortunate, wouldn't you say?"
"Definitely bad luck," Joel agreed. "Most of the others met with similar fates. Those back there were the original guards." Ratagar pointed to a heap of about twenty bodies in a back corner. They had been burned and were still smoldering. "When Her Highness first appeared, they didn't realize how outmatched they were. They sent a lightning bolt in her direction, and the bolt ricocheted back on them. Then the ground started to shake. The floor and the ground beneath it collapsed. Poisonous gas rose up from the sinkhole. That's what killed most of the priests. The gas dissipated quickly when the next wave of priests came rushing in to check out the noise. Of course, they were more cautious, like Noxxe, but none of them groveled and sniveled sufficiently to please Her Highness."