Song of the Saurials - Kate Novak [124]
"Is there anything else I need to know to pass for one of the possessed?" the paladin asked.
"Hide your weapon in here," Coral said, holding out her sack.
Dragonbait unfastened his sword and scabbard from his belt and slid them inside, amongst the apples.
Coral embraced him again. "I'm so glad you have come back to us," she said.
Dragonbait ran his palm along the ridge of her head fin. "So am I," he replied.
"We have to hurry, though. The High One and my other friends will become worried if I'm away too long."
Coral nodded. She released the paladin and motioned for him to follow her. She led him to a path that twisted down into the vale.
As Dragonbait followed Coral into the clearing at the bottom of the vale, he was reminded of the last verse of the song Alias had sung back at the inn in Shadowdale:
We hack the vines, we cut the trees,
We trample the roots and burn the seeds.
When the rain comes down, the soil floods away, Leaving barren rock and heavy clay.
We wear chains of green, till our bodies rot, The corpses keep moving, their minds without thought.
Soon the darkness will devour the Realms, Death is the power that overwhelms.
The lyrics described exactly the conditions Dragonbait witnessed. A few members of the tribe, mages and clerics like Coral, wore only a token vine or flower about their heads. Most of the tribe members, though, those who were incapable of casting spells, wore vast tangles of slimy green vines about their legs or waists or throats. The vines grew out of holes in their backs. Dragonbait struggled to keep his face an impassive mask.
He sneaked a quick glance at the huge pile of rotting vegetation that the possessed intended to turn into Moander's new body. Mages and clerics stood around the mountain of greenery chanting spells at it, while others moved back and forth between it and the forest, building it larger and higher with trees and brush. Set in rings around the pile were several tiny huts made of pine boughs.
"Here," Coral whispered, stopping at the entrance to one of the huts in the innermost ring. "The egg is buried under my blanket. I'll keep watch at the door."
Dragonbait slipped past the door curtain. The structure was so small he had to duck his head to keep from brushing the roof, and the blanket spread out against the opposite wall was only a pace away. There were no windows in the hut, so the only light was heavily filtered through the needles of pine in the roof and walls. Dragonbait pulled aside the blanket. He tried to use his warmth vision to detect exactly where the egg was buried, but he could see nothing warm in the ground. He began clawing quickly at the dirt, afraid that the egg might have gotten too cold buried in so dark a place.
Outside the hut, he heard Coral chanting a prayer. The woodsmoke scent of devotion drifted though the pine boughs. No doubt she was casting something to protect herself, perhaps even to make her less noticeable to the enemy all around them. Coral was a priestess of the goddess of luck. She would be a powerful addition to the attack the High One planned. He had to get her back to the Singing Cave. He began to dig with oven more energy.
After several minutes, when he'd dug up nearly half the floor of the hut and still found nothing, Dragonbait finally realized there was no egg. Moander's higher minions, the overlords, must have found it while Coral was out picking apples. The paladin swallowed hard, knowing the pain the priestess would suffer when he told her.
He began to slip past the curtain over the door, but as he did, a powerful electrical tingling ran down his shoulder, and he leaped back into the hut.
Someone outside yanked the curtain aside. Dragonbait peered out. Several saurial mages and clerics stood outside the door, staring at him. The paladin looked around anxiously for Coral. Have they discovered her, or has she escaped? he wondered.
Then Coral stepped in front of the doorway, and his heart sank. The priestess wore a clean white robe. Painted in red in the center of the robe was