“They wish,” the old man snickered. “No. The best the elves could do was use powerful enchantments to lock Moander up deep beneath the ruins of his temple in Yulash. They wiped out his priests and priestesses, hoping the god’s power in this world would shrink to nothing if he was starved of worship.”
“Did he?”
The old man shrugged. “Probably not. A lot of Moander’s worshipers survived and fled south, where they resurrected the priesthood. Every now and then Zhentil Keep or Hillsfar forces—whichever one happens to be squatting in the ruins of Yulash at the time—come across a party of Moander worshipers trying to release their god. They’re usually executed as looters, but they keep trying. There was this prophesy, see, about a non-born child freeing the Darkbringer—that’s what they call Moander. The priests of Moander have tried to force the event, no need to go into the gory details about how they try and get non-born children, but so far they’ve all failed. Non-born child—mean anything to ye?”
Alias shook her head. “No. I remember being born.”
The old man laughed as though she had said something funny.
Alias asked, “You know anything about this last one?” She pointed to the blue-on-blue-on-blue bull’s eye between Moander’s symbol and the blank space at her wrist.
“Its a new one on me.”
“That’s just great,” Alias muttered. She shoved the shavings of the twig into the fire, wiped her dagger clean, and sheathed it. “I knew the other ones already. This is the one I have to find out about.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know anything about it,” Alias said, exasperated.
“Ye think it will make a big difference in thy life?”
“It might,” she insisted.
“If I were ye, I’d work on the assumption that it is big and evil.”
“Kind of broad assumptions.”
“No broader than the one ye’ve obviously made about the sixth space by your wrist,” the old man said.
“It’s empty,” Alias objected.
“There’s nothing worse than nothing.”
Reminded of her missing memories, Alias could not disagree. “You’ve been some help. Can I pay you something?” she asked, uncertain whether she would offend his pride.
“All ye have to show for thy adventuring life are thy memories,” he reminded her. “Were ye planning to pay me in those?”
Alias smiled. “I have some gold.”
“I don’t need gold. Suppose I asked ye to never sing again. Ever. Would ye do that?”
“That bad, am I?” she joked.
“I’m serious.”
Alias looked into the old man’s eyes. He held her gaze without blinking.
“This is about those songs, isn’t it? You didn’t tell me—Who did you hear them from?”
“Probably from the same person ye did.”
“A Harper?” Alias asked.
The old man nodded.
“What was his name?”
The old man did not answer.
“Tell me his name.” Alias lunged forward and shook the man by the shoulders. “Say his name.”
A slow grin crept over the old man’s mouth. “Why don’t ye say it?” he asked.
“Because I don’t remember it!” she shouted, shaking him with every word.
The old man put his hand up to her cheek and stroked it gently. “I’m sorry” he said.
Alias took a deep breath and released the old man. She slid out of his reach. “It’s not your fault,” she answered. “I just forget things sometimes. I’m sorry I shook you. I don’t know what came over me.”
“Not remembering makes ye angry?”
Alias hesitated. It didn’t make her angry. She looked into the old man’s eyes. “It makes me frightened, and that makes me angry.”
“A terrible curse, not remembering,” he whispered.
Alias shrugged. “Could be worse. Could have forgotten my own name.”
“What’s that?” the old man asked.
“Alias.”
“Unusual name.”
“It’s pretty common in Westgate,” Alias said.
“Is it, now?” The old man chuckled.
“Why won’t you tell me the Harper’s name?” Alias asked.
“I’m an old man.…” His voice trailed off.
“Are you saying you forgot it, too?”
Her companion did not reply.
“You won’t lie about it, will you. You haven’t forgotten. Why won’t you tell me?”
“Harpers are a secret organization.”
“You’ve taken some sort of oath?”
“I can’t tell ye,” the old man said. “I’m sorry.”
Alias sighed.
“If I told ye about the sigil ye don’t know, would ye agree not to sing?”
“You do know it!” Alias growled.
The old man shook his head. “No. But I might be able to find out. Would ye pay me what I ask?”
Alias tilted her head in puzzlement. It was a stupid request, but she had to consider if the information were worth the price. It might help her keep a step ahead of Cassana, Fire Knives, and company if she could discover the last secret partner. And, after all, she was a swordswoman, not a damned bard. Olive might be a little disappointed if she stopped teaching her songs, but no one else would care.
Except me, she thought. Singing has consoled me when I grieved and brought me joy and pleasure when times were better. Everyone sang. Even people with no talent for it. Nine circles of Hell! Even orcs sang. How could anyone ask anyone else to give that up? Why? It isn’t my singing the old man objects to, she realized, but the songs themselves. But they’re good songs. Everyone likes them. A Harper taught them to me.
Suddenly, the old man made Alias nervous. She slid farther away from him and rose to her feet. “I won’t!” she answered. “They’re good songs! They deserve to be sung! How can you ask such a thing? It’s cruel, wicked, evil!” She backed away from the fire, turned, and fled down the path.
The path lay in the hill’s moonshadow. Alias had a difficult time picking out the trail. She sunk her right foot into a chuckhole filled with water. She lost her balance and came down hard on her left knee, her body sprawled across the wet, muddy ground.
She heard a chuckle on the path behind her. She could see her own shadow in the soft, glowing light coming up behind her. Then a hand reached down under her arm and lifted her to her feet. It was the old man’s left hand. In his right he held a yellow crystal that illuminated the area around them evenly, without the annoying flicker of a lamp.
“Are ye all right?” he asked.
Alias yanked away from her rescuer without replying. Her right ankle ached some, but she did not think it was a serious sprain.
“Ye’d better take this,” the old man suggested. “It’s a finder’s stone. Help’s the lost find their way.” He held the glowing crystal out toward her. His features, lit from below, looked sinister.
I ought to give him a shove and run off again, she thought, but she couldn’t resist the temptation to ask, “How much is it gonna cost me?”
“Mourngrym thought we should help out supplyin’ ye, in thanks for takin’ care of the monster in the gap. Just doin’ my bit.”
At the mention of Mourngrym’s name, Alias felt a little calmer. The lord of Shadowdale had been gracious, and, well, normal, even if some of his citizens were a little strange. She reached out with her sword arm. The blue sigils reflected back the light, but remained still. She took that as an indication the stone wasn’t some harmful magic, like the crystal elemental or the kalmari. She took the stone from the old man’s hand.
She looked up at the old man and held his eyes for a dozen heartbeats. “Why?” she whispered.
“Try to remember this, Alias,” he said, “good and evil aren’t always.” He turned about and began climbing back up the hill.