Alias felt her stomach heave and twist, but it was overridden by a chill, clammy terror. Her body trembled and she began to hyperventilate.
“There, there,” Moander said, using Akabar’s hand to smooth her hair. “I just brought them as an example of what I could have done to your friend. I’ll send them away now.”
Moander gave no verbal command and made no physical gesture, but the shambling corpses retreated around the side of the hill of garbage. Alias stared at the passing plains. After a few moments, she grew calmer. “Who are you really?” she asked.
“As I said before, I am Moander. Though that is a lot like calling a newborn prince the king.”
Alias swung her head and stared at the stranger in Akabar’s body. He imitated the mage almost perfectly, his pose, his gestures, the tone and cadence of his voice. But the smile was wrong. It was an exaggerated, forced smile—as if someone had pinned the corners of his mouth.
“Are you … I mean, is he …”
“Dead? Not really. He’s gone, for all intents and purposes, but his soul and mind are still around, locked away in some corner. Rather like a man poisoned by a Jit snake, who lies in fever dreams, not waking, for weeks. You still have Jit snakes around here?” He paused, tilting his head as if listening to an unheard speaker. “No, I guess you don’t anymore.”
He rested his milky gray eyes on Alias and sat quietly, as if waiting for her to ask him another question.
Alias only stared at the passing scenery, so Moander continued. “In this case, if I were to let the mage go, he would awaken. But he cannot break my control, and I will control him until he is no longer useful. And this one is so incredibly useful. I needed his mouth and mind to talk to you. Of course, I could have linked up with you, but you are far too valuable to risk that. Besides, he is so very amusing.”
Moander giggled. “I can’t begin to tell you all I’m finding in his mind. It’s like being in a great mansion, with new surprises behind every door. Here are memories of his wives, and here is you calling him a greengrocer, and here is a good piece of history of the South. Gods below, so much has happened. I’ve been out of touch for too long!”
“Out of touch?” Alias taunted. “I thought gods were omniscient.”
“Well, normally that would be true. Gods stretch through a number of different planes, with different levels of power in each. This part of me—” Akabar’s hand motioned to the pile of garbage which towered over them—“you might call the Minion or Abomination of Moander. More than a thousand years ago, back when Myth Drannor was a major power, the cursed elves banned my spirit from this world by imprisoning this part of me in my own temple.”
A weakness crept over Alias’s spirit. This vast garbage heap was her enemy, and not only did it hold her prisoner, but it waved her friend before her eyes like a puppet.
“Soon, when this part of me arrives at the new temple my worshipers have prepared, and I gather even more worshipers to my fold, I will grow strong enough in this world to command the powers that gods are endowed with. Had I been in full control of my powers when my spirit was finally able to return to the Abomination, I would have left a pit where Yulash stood and ascended into the heavens to mete out punishment to those who banished me.”
“But in the meantime, you’re pretty weak. Relatively, I mean.”
Moander cocked Akabar’s head like a hanged man. “Relatively. But I have plenty of stored life-fluid in this form. More than enough to reach my worshipers, pop the heads off a few sacrifices, and make demands on the populace. I’m conserving my strength by traveling this slowly so that I can have enough energy to indulge a whim.”
Alias stared at the approaching forest, wondering if the sludge mountain that was Moander would break up when it hit the trees or flow around them.
Moander gestured with Akabar’s hands toward the trees which held Alias’s attention. “My first stop is Myth Drannor. According to your friend’s mind, all the elves have deserted their capital. I’ve got to make sure. If it’s true, at least I can dance on the rubble. From there we’ll continue south until we reach Sembia. I love the way your friend thinks in terms of maps and trade routes. He is so useful.”
“And once we’ve reached Sembia?”
“Ah, curiosity, my servant. A good sign. We’ll cut southwest through Sembia toward The Neck, between the Sea of Fallen Stars and the Lake of Dragons, and just hop in the water. Scum, like cream, floats. We shall sail triumphantly to our new home.
“Which is?” Alias asked. She already had a strong suspicion, but she had to know for sure.
“Westgate, of course. Where we built you.”
The trio of non-humans climbed higher into the sky, keeping well above the range of the catapults of any surviving Keepers or Red Plumes.
“Why so high?” Olive bellowed in Mist’s ear.
The dragon let out a puffing grumble, “What?”
“I said, what are we flying so high for?” The halfling grasped the ropes which Dragonbait had fashioned into an impromptu saddle.
The dragon rumbled between deep puffs of air. “Can either” (long breath) “fly or talk.” (Long breath.) “Try singing” (long breath) “while you’re running hard.” (Long breath.) “Hang on.”
The dragon ceased flapping, locked her wings in a gliding position, and began to circle the city, her wings catching the thermals rising from the mound. Olive looked back at the dragon’s great batlike membranes. One wing still showed a pink line from the recently healed tear.
Dragonbait, who sat where the dragon’s wings joined her body, had done the healing. According to Mist, the warrior lizard communicated with his scent glands, so he could not “speak” as they soared through the air. The wind would carry away the perfume of his words. But he made his desires known quite effectively by prodding the great wyrm with his sword.
“You were saying,” Mist prompted the bard, now that she was able to breathe normally, her labors eased by the helpful warm air.
“Can’t you fly any lower?” Olive asked.
“Do you want to catch a ballista-bolt in the crotch?”
When Olive did not answer immediately, Mist said, “Thought not. Trust me. I know what I’m doing. Besides the danger below, this is the best place to gain altitude. And I need altitude to soar after your lizard’s Abomination. Flying, especially with passengers, isn’t easy.”
“Looks like they’ve made a ruin of it,” the halfling commented on the city below.
“Human wars tend to do that,” Mist replied curtly. “When I lived in this area, I heard of Yulash’s destruction five, no, six times. Some group or another is always on a crusade or war of liberation. Merciless killing, cloaked by the niceties of civil tongues. They are a race of lawyers, these humans. I wonder how they survive.”
“My people wonder the same thing.”
An idea rose to the surface of the halfling’s brain. “Say, O mighty Mist. I was wondering …” Olive trailed off, leaving the question hang for a moment. Based on what she knew about human and draconian nature, the halfling calculated some odds before continuing.
The dragon banked and, catching another updraft, began to rise again. “Yesssss?” she prompted.
“Once you’ve fulfilled your bargain with Dragonbait and freed Alias, you’re going to attack her”
“Is that a question or a statement?” Mist’s voice was low and guttural.
Olive glanced over her shoulder at Dragonbait, but the lizard was twenty feet away and couldn’t possibly hear their conversation. His attention was focused on the ground below. “Well,” Olive noted, “you haven’t been very, uh, successful the last two times out of the paddock.”
“If memory serves, you aided in my defeat both those times.”