Alias felt her brand tingle at the paladin's touch, and her irritation subsided somewhat. His touch there always filled her with the paladin's own inner calm. Alias laid her fingertips on the front of Dragonbait's tunic, where a similar brand scarred his chest scales beneath it. Alias knew that, despite the layer of fabric, he would experience the same tingling sensation she felt. Considering the misery she still felt, though, she couldn't help but worry that her touch would only disquiet him.

"What's wrong with me, Dragonbait?" she whispered, struggling to keep from crying. "Why can't I sing a simple song without ruining it?"

The saurial paladin shook his head. He didn't know.

Alias sniffed and caught a whiff of the odors the saurial emitted in response. The sell-sword smiled ruefully. She knew the acent of honeysuckle was Dragonbait's expression of tender concern. The honeysuckle scent, however, was intermingled with the tang of baked ham, an odor that indicated the saurial was worried. Like a human's body language, the saurial's odors often gave away more of his true feelings than he would have chosen to reveal.

Someone nearby coughed politely, and the sell-sword and her companion looked up. Lord Mourngrym stood before their table with his son squirming under one arm. His lordship looked down at Alias quizzically and asked, "Is something Wrong, Alias?"

"Nothing important, your lordship," Alias said hastily. "I'm sorry I spoiled the song. I've just got a lot on my mind, I guess."

Mourngrym would not be put off so easily, however. Alias looked pale and frightened. With Nameless in jail and no one to care for her but the peculiar lizard-man, his lordship felt protective of the sell-sword. He sat down beside her, balancing Scotty on the table before him. "I'm the one who insisted you sing," Mourngrym reminded her. "I'm the one who should apologize. Now, show that you forgive me and tell me what's wrong," he said, patting her hand.

"I don't know," Alias said, trying to hide her fear with a shrug of her shoulders. "Sometime this spring I just started to sing strangely. I can sing a few songs just fine, and then one song suddenly turns into something about death and decay and darkness. I don't even know I'm doing it until. . . until people start to stare at me as if I'm a monster. I thought I might be cursed or possessed, but three different priests told me there was nothing wrong with mea"except that I was arrogant, headstrong, and disrespectful."

Mourngrym smiled. "Well, they got that part right," he teased.

Scotty reached out and grabbed a lock of Alias's shiny red hair. The swordswoman picked the child up off the table and helped him stand on her thighs. Scotty bounced up and down, chortling with delight.

"I don't know what I'm going to do," Alias said quietly. "What will Nameless think?"

"Alias, it wasn't a bad song," Mourngrym argued. "Just, um . . . different."

Alias lowered her eyes guiltily. "I was upset that the Harpers wouldn't let me see Nameless, but to tell the truth, I was a little relieved, too. I'm afraid the next time he asks me to sing for him, I'll change the song, and he'll be upset. He doesn't like the least little change in his songs."

"Alias," Mourngrym replied, "you can't spend the rest of your life doing everything exactly the way Nameless wants you to. You have to live your own life."

"I know that," Alias said unhappily, "but I don't want to disappoint him by ruining his songs. If I was improving them, I could argue with him about it, but I'm only making the songs ugly and grotesque."

Despite her claim to the contrary, his lordship didn't believe Alias understood his advice. The bard's enchantment of her went deeper than any magic. She loved Nameless, and she sang to please him. Trying to rea.s.sure her, Mourngrym said, "Sometimes we need frightening songs, whether we like them or not. They remind us what we stand for or against and give us the incentive to take action."

"But I don't know even know what these new songs are about, even though they're coming out of my own head," Alias objected. "How am I supposed to take action? Against what?"

Mourngrym had no answer. These were questions for sharper minds than his own. "Have you discussed any of this with Elminster?" he asked.

Alias shook her head. "I don't want to bother him until he's finished helping Nameless."

Mourngrym shook his head. Alias was losing control of her voice, something that obviously frightened her, but she was more concerned about Nameless's plight. His lordship wanted to tell Alias to forget Nameless for once, but he knew the sell-sword would not heed his words.

Dragonbait chirped and pointed toward the doorway. Alias turned to see a group of travelers entering the inn. There were a dozen or more of them, pulling off their rain-drenched cloaks and shouting requests for drinks and food and rooms to the inn's staff. From their clothing, Alias guessed they were merchants and caravan guards from Cormyr. One man, however, had to be from much farther south. His skin was the dusky hue of a southerner. He wore silken red-and-white-striped robes, and a golden cord banded his curly brown hair. He stood taller than the other merchants and many of the guards.

"It can't be," Alias muttered. She craned her neck impatiently until the man turned around. In the manner of a Turmishman, he sported a square beard, and to indicate he was married, he wore a blue sapphire in his earlobe. The three blue dots on his forehead indicated he was a scholar of reading, magic, and religion. But these things hardly registered on Alias now. It was the familiarity of the man's face that excited her. "It's him!" she gasped. "Dragonbait, it's Akabar! He's come back to us!"

Alias rose to her feet, thrusting Scotty back at his surprised father, and ran to the door of the inn, crying out the Turmishman's name.

A few heads swiveled to see who the swordswoman was calling to, but most of the inn's occupants kept their attention on Han's songhorn music and the dancers on the floor.

Akabar Bel Akash held his arms out to greet the sell-sword in a traditional handclasp, but Alias threw herself into his arms and embraced him like a long-lost brother. From where he sat, Mourngrym could tell from the look of surprise on the Turmishman's face that Akabar hadn't expected quite so warm a reception Mourngrym exchanged glances with Dragonbait The saurial shrugged and turned back to watch the newcomers. His scaly brow knit with concern when he spied a woman standing behind Akabar Tugging on the southerner's arm, Alias led Akabar back to her table. She didn't seem to notice the heavily veiled woman who followed several paces behind them. Mourngrym did however, and he rose to his feet with Scotty seated in the crook of his arm "Mourngrym, you remember Akabar bel Akash?" Alias asked. "He was a member of my party when I first visited Shadowdale."

"The 'mage of no small water,' " Mourngrym said, recalling the phrase Akabar had often used.

Akabar bowed low "I'm honored you remember me, your lordship," the Turmishman said.

Mourngrym grinned. In his experience, it was seldom that a mage lived long enough to prove his boasts. Alias had told his lordship the story of how the Turmishman had defeated the evil G.o.d Moander. Akabar was indeed a 'mage of the first water,' as his people would say. "And who is the lady?" Mourngrym asked, finally drawing Alias's attention to the woman standing behind Akabar.

Akabar stepped to one side. "Your lordship, Alias, Dragon-bait," Akabar said, "may I present, Zhara, Priestess of Tymora."

Zhara took a step forward. She was as tall as Alias, but her green eyes and slender brown hands were the only parts of her body not covered by the blue robes of her calling or the long blue and white veil draped across her face. "I am honored to meet you," Zhara said softly. She curtsied low, but she did not remove her veil.

Mourngrym bowed and Dragonbait nodded, but Alias eyed the priestess with annoyance. She didn't like clerics or priests. Dragonbait was always trying to convince her that she felt this way because Ca.s.sana and the swordswoman's other evil makers had enchanted her, but Alias rejected that idea. She didn't like members of the clergy because, as far as she was concerned, they were a nearly useless bunch of foolsa"even those who served Tymora, Lady Luck, the G.o.ddess of adventurers. Why in the world is Akabar traveling with a priestess? she wondered As if he read her mind, Akabar explained, "Zhara is my third wife."

Anger and disappointment stabbed at the pleasure Alias had felt at seeing Akabar again A moment ago, she had imagined their reunion would be just like old times, but the presence of one of his wives put a damper on that hope. With the exception of Dragonbait, Akabar was the swordswoman's oldest friend in the world. He had helped Alias on her quest to discover her origins, but if Alias had had her way, she'd have never met this woman.

To avoid just such a meeting, Alias had once claimed that she was unable to stand the heat of the south and declined an invitation to accompany Akabar to his home in Turmish. The swordswoman hadn't wanted to face the scrutiny of his wives. Though she'd never been south, Alias had heard how insufferably proud southern women were of the way they lived: their modest dress, their subservient soft speech, their efficient households and businesses, their innumerable children. They were all greengrocers. Alias's term for boring nonadventurers, and Alias couldn't imagine them welcoming a wandering sell-sword with no real family. Even more unbearable than the thought of their disapproval had been the thought of sharing Akabar's company and attention with women he was closer to than he was to her.

"I was under the impression that southern women didn't travel away from home," the sell-sword said coolly as she sat down at the table and motioned for Akabar to take the seat beside her.

"My sister-wives, Akash and Kasim, have charged me to protect our husband from the barbarians of the north," Zhara replied matter-of-factly, slipping herself into the chair that Alias had intended for Akabar. Akabar seated himself between Zhara and Dragonbait.

Uneasy because of the tension he sensed. Lord Mourngrym turned toward the door of the inn. "If you'll excuse me," his lordship said, "I think I'd better head back home before the rain starts falling harder. I'll leave you to rehash old times." He bowed once again to Akabar's wife, then strode off, with Scotty balanced on his shoulder.

Akabar sighed inwardly as he glanced from Alias to Zhara. He hadn't expected Alias to get along with Zhara. Although the sell-sword was too proud to admit it, he believed she was jealous of tug wives. He hadn't expected Zhara to show jealousy, though, but then Alias was special to him, and Zhara knew that. At least the women's coolness toward one another would give him time to explain about Zhara to Alias.

Akabar glanced at Dragonbait, who was watching Zhara curiously The saurial paladin gave Akabar an inquiring look. He can smell what Zhara is, the Turmishman thought. Will he have the wisdom to keep it to himself? he wondered, 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. Ca.s.sana had the Fire Knives a.s.sa.s.sinate 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 G.o.ds 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 G.o.ds don't have anything to do with it."

"The dreams did not begin until this past spring, nearly a year after Meander'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 Ca.s.sana, 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 G.o.ds are trying to warn you through your songs."

"Akabar, why should the G.o.ds 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 G.o.ds 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 G.o.ds were speaking to him and her made her uneasy. It was this new wife's influence, she was sure. "Well, if the G.o.ds 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 pa.s.sion. "You cannot expect the songs of the G.o.ds 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 G.o.ds," 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 G.o.ds 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d'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, n.o.ble 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?"

Alias looked back at the Turmishman. "Don't be a fool, Akabar," she pleaded. "You've done more than your share. You should never have married this priestess. She doesn't care about you. She's only interested in what you can do for the glory of her G.o.ddess."

Akabar's jaw trembled and his face went livid. Instinctively Alias backed her chair away from him. Zhara laid one of her slender hands on her husband's arm and said something in Turmish that Alias didn't understand. Akabar closed his eyes and calmed his temper with several long, slow breaths.

Beneath the table, Dragonbait's tail slapped warningly at Alias's knee. The swordswoman shot an angry glance at the paladin. Dragonbait was rubbing his chin. He was asking her to apologize to Zhara, but Alias remained adamant. She didn't care how Akabar felt about Zhara. Zhara was obviously using him.

A youth dressed in a page's uniform, his hair dripping wet from the rain falling outside the inn, interrupted the uneasy silence that had settled over the table. "Excuse me, lady," the boy said timidly.

Alias looked up. She knew the boy. His name was Heth, and he was one of Lord Mourngrym's pages. She smiled to put the boy at ease. "Yes? What is it, Heth?"

"Alias of Westgate, the tribunal of Harpers requests that you come come before them," Heth said formally.

Alias started. For a short while, she'd forgotten her anxiety about Nameless. Now it returned with double force. Her face went pale and her lips trembled. Nameless's fate was in her hands. If she said or did the wrong thing, they would exile him again, send him away from the Realms, away from her.

"What tribunal?"'Akabar asked.

"The Harper tribunal that is rehearing Nameless's case," Alias said, rising to her feet. "I asked to speak to them on his behalf."

Despite his offended pride and the insult she had just delivered to his wife, Akabar couldn't help but feel sympathy for the warrior woman. Alias had always had difficulty trusting other people and growing intimate with them, but she had accepted Nameless as her father. Akabar didn't like to think of the grief she would suffer should the Harpers be so merciless as to recondemn the bard.

"I would have thought the Harpers had taken care of that last year," Akabar said. "What's taken them so long?"

"It took Elminster all last year to convince them that they should rehear the case," Alias explained. "Now I have to go."

Akabar stood up in front of the sell-sword. "I'll go with you," he said. "I, too, will speak on his behalf, for he saved my life."

The page looked confused for a moment, uncertain how to respond to this stranger.

"Heth," Alias explained to the page, "this is my friend, Akabar bel Akash. He knows all about Nameless. May he come with me?"

"He is welcome to accompany you, lady," Heth replied, "but I do not know if the tribunal will hear him."

"Then I shall speak very loudly," Akabar said.

Alias looked up at Akabar with a grateful smile. At least Zhara's influence was not so complete that the Turmishman could not spare time from his insane quest to help a friend.

Dragonbait chirped, and Alias turned her head to watch him sign. "Dragonbait says he'll look after Zhara for you," she explained to Akabar. Though I'm sure the shrew can handle herself, she thought, but she managed to resist saying so aloud. She wished the paladin would come along with her instead of remaining with Zhara, but she didn't want to argue with him in front of Akabar.

Akabar motioned for the page to go ahead. Alias went to speak to Jhaele for a moment, then grabbed her cloak from a hook and joined Akabar and Heth at the door. The swords-woman and the Turmishman followed the boy from the inn out into the drizzling rain. They walked in silence down the main road that led west toward the Tower of Ashaba. Over the tops of the trees, they could make out the tower's peculiar off-center spire, which gave it the nickname "the Twisted Tower."

Despite its notoriety, Shadowdale was a small town, but the Tower of Ashaba was a ma.s.sive and impressive structure nonetheless. It served as a home to not only the Lord of Shadowdale and his family, but also to most of his court and household staff, not to mention numerous adventurers friendly to his lordship. Mourngrym had invited Alias to winter there, but Alias could only think of the tower as Nameless's prison, and she had declined. She wouldn't have accepted at any rate. As much as she liked Mourngrym, becoming his guest would have meant giving up some of her independence. She felt more comfortable paying Jhaele for a room at the inn.

As they pa.s.sed Elminster's tower, Akabar glanced sidelong at Alias. She looked nervous. Having already swallowed his anger at her earlier behavior, the mage was determined to reestablish their friendship. He began with what northerners called "small talk."