The man’s body shielded her vision from the brilliant explosion that threw the landscape into highlights of white contrasted against shadows of the deepest black. Alias stood up, but was immediately knocked to the ground by a powerful, booming wind. All her captors fell as well, thrown like rag dolls by the wind that ripped over the top of the hill.
A sudden pain shot up Alias’s sword arm, as though the cold iron that bound it had suddenly turned red hot. She ignored the ache and the burning star in the sky. Taking advantage of her guard’s fall, she pulled the iron chain from his numb fingers. The man lay staring sightlessly at her, blinded by the death of his deity. Rising to her feet, she gave him a kick, knocking him out. Then she stole the sharded cudgel from his other hand.
Moander’s minions went to pieces. Some stared blindly at the sky like statues, while many flung themselves on the ground and wept. Alias shot a glance skyward in time to see the last bits of Moander drift down over the city. A fell grin crept over her face. She spat good riddance to the god.
She slipped toward the far side of the hillock, but the priest in the white mask rushed forward to intercept her. He caught a cudgel in the face. Blood spattered from beneath the mask. The priest dropped to the ground.
Alias slid down the hill on the wet, slippery grass. At the bottom, she circled the mound and began to make for the road that led to the city gates.
No pursuit seemed imminent from Moander’s worshipers, but Alias was sure that her respite was only temporary. If they did not hold her responsible for the destruction of their masters earthly form, they would still consider her part of their property. And without the power of their god behind them, they would fight for any scrap left to them.
Tired of carrying the weight of the chain, Alias held her arm forward to inspect the lock on the band. Perhaps she could smash or pick it open somehow. She smiled with glee as she spotted the cause of the earlier pain on her arm.
Moander’s sigil was gone.
Just as Moander claimed, death destroyed the bond each master had on her. For Moander, that meant his material body in the Realms.
Death had cut the connection. But could she defeat the other four? Should she? She remembered Moander’s threat that without the purpose of her masters she would not live. If she eliminated the rest, could she function without someone pulling her strings? She didn’t feel lessened any by Moander’s death. Her heart felt lighter, but she most certainly was not lost without his godly guidance.
A man’s voice interrupted her thoughts. The sound came from the plain stretched out before her.
“Now, Daisyeye,” the man’s voice said, “you’ve been a very naughty girl, though I was afraid, too, the first time I met a dragon.”
A wizard addressing his familiar, perhaps, Alias guessed. Cautiously, he crept closer.
“But, you have nothing to worry about, even if that dragon was Mist. The nasty old beast is dead.”
With a start, Alias recognized the gold, green, and black markings stitched onto the back of the man’s cloak. The coat-of-arms of the Wyvernspurs. And the voice was familiar, though its tone was somewhat braver than it had been the last time she’d heard it. This was too great a coincidence. Yet, she could not be mistaken. It was the same voice that had desperately tried to excuse its faux pas of imitating Azoun IV. His name came easily to her memory, as though it were engraved there by the voice of that nagging woman who’d begged him to do the impersonation.
“Giogi?” Alias remembered, whispering the name aloud.
Giogi Wyvernspur leaped three feet, spinning around as he did so. A silver flask flew from his hand, and amber liquid arched through the air.
“You!” he gasped. “The madwoman! I mean, the bard’s friend!” He dived behind his horse. “What are you doing here?”
“Just dropped in to borrow your horse,” Alias replied with a grin. She advanced carefully, looking to each side to make sure the young noble was alone.
“My …” the young man’s throat went dry, “horse?”
Alias nodded and swung the chain manacled to her arm. “Do you have a problem with that?”
“No! I mean, no problem. You probably have a good reason that I don’t need to know. Honest!”
“Don’t fret,” said Alias. “I’m not dangerous, just in a hurry to get into the city.” She patted the skittish Daisyeye’s front haunch and slipped her foot into the stirrup. “Just out of curiosity, what brings you to Westgate?”
“Diplomatic mission,” the Cormyrian noble lied. “Nothing important. Just trade agreements. That sort of thing.”
The warrior woman swung herself into the saddle. “You want your gear?” she asked.
“No!” Giogi answered. “I mean, no thanks. If you’re heading to Westgate, maybe you could … uh … drop off my things. At The Jolly Warrior. Just let me get …” He summoned all his courage to approach, then fumbled in a saddlebag. Pulling out a large, official-looking document bearing the purple dragon of Cormyr, he stepped back. “There,” he said. “All yours.”
Alias looked down at him. He wasn’t really dressed for hiking. “You know,” she said with a smile, trying to show no ill will, “two can ride as well on a horse as one.”
Giogi gulped. “No. I mean … that is, you said you were in a hurry, and I need the exercise, anyway.”
“As you wish.” She couldn’t blame him. “I’ll drop your gear at The Jolly Warrior. I’ll even make sure I don’t stay there. Oh, and Giogi, thanks. I’ll make it up to you when I get the chance.” With that, she wheeled the horse around and set it trotting toward the road.
Giogi frowned after her. He’d come here at Azoun’s request for the express purpose of finding her, but he’d panicked when actually confronted with her presence. Now I’ll probably never see her again, he thought. Or poor Daisyeye.
He sighed and cursed his bad luck. Giogi began walking, head down, kicking stones, and talking to himself.
“Yes, I’ll let you ride with me, provided you behave. If you don’t, I shall be very cross. That’s what I should have said.”
He kicked a particularly large rock, which glittered as it danced away. Curious, he chased after it. When it had stopped rolling, he lifted the great yellow gem out of the high grass and marveled at it. Maybe his luck was changing, he thought.
26
Reunion at The Rising Raven
Alias reached Westgate well ahead of her friends and, of course, Giogi, only to find the city sealed. Persons without residence or official business within were turned away from the gates by squads of guards, backed by crossbowmen on the walls. She did manage to convince a guard to take Daiseyeye to The Jolly Warrior and board her for, as she explained it, “a warrior who will arrive from Cormyr on official business.” She trusted the purple-sealed document would get the young Wyvernspur past the guards.
As she stood by the gate, Alias could see smoke rising from the northwestern section of the city. Other travelers told her that a dragon had crashed within the city, smashing into a portion of the city wall, damaging some buildings in the slums just outside the city and several of the Dhostar warehouses within. The Dhostars, one of the powerful merchant families that ruled the city, convinced the others to slam a seal down on the city’s gates until the matter was cleaned up.
Alias considered circling around to survey the damage from the outside, but she was feeling worn from fighting and riding and dragging around the chain attached to her arm. Besides, the inns outside the city wall would soon be filling up with other travelers banned from the city. She decided she’d better get a place to stay.
She remembered an old inn near the south gate: The Rising Raven. Perhaps she could hock her eagle barrette as an artifact in order to pay for a room and a bath. Used in battle against a god, she thought, holding the slightly melted piece of silver up to the sun.