Song of the Saurials - Kate Novak [40]
"Champion despised me when I worshiped the goddess of hick," Moander made Coral say aloud.
"No," Coral insisted, trying desperately to keep from growing angry with the paladin. "He merely disapproved. He never despised me."
"Now that I am Moander's priestess, he will be horrified and repulsed by me. I will kill him gladly to wipe that look from his face," Moander said through Coral's mouth.
The two priests nodded with approval.
Coral thrust her hand over her mouth to stop the god's hateful words. Inside her head, she heard the god think, And after you slay him, I'll release your mind to relish your guilt and grief.
Coral clawed at the fin on top of her head in a futile attempt to sweep Moander from her brain.
You only live to serve and amuse me, priestess, he reminded her in her thoughts.
Coral shrieked like a madwoman and crumbled to the ground, sobbing hysterically.
The two priests stood beside Coral, annoyed at her peculiar behavior, unable to understand why someone who was insane had been granted the honor of serving as the Mouth of Moander. Why hadn't one of them been chosen? they both wondered resentfully.
Moander gathered up all the tendrils of possession inside Coral's mind, like a rider taking up a horse's reins, and drove her back to her duties as the Mouth of Moander.
6
The Old Priestess
Morala the Harper, priestess of Milil, leaned over the table in the Harpers courtroom and stared into the silver basin she had filled with holy water. When she was satisfied that the water was completely still, Morala began singing a wordless melody. The silver basin and the surface of the water began vibrating with the power of the priestess's voice and the magic she summoned with her spell.
After several minutes, the water began to sparkle and shine from a source of magic beneath its surface. Morala ceased singing and concentrated on the colors swirling in the water. Gradually the colors coalesced into solid shapes.
"I see him," the priestess whispered.
"Is he alive?" Breck Orcsbane asked eagerly, moving toward the priestess.
Lord Mourngrym held the ranger back with a hand on his shoulder. Before Morala had begun her scrying spell, she had cautioned them not to distract her or touch the table on which the silver bowl rested. Breck was a veteran fighter, but too inexperienced with magic to realize the danger of disregarding the priestess's warning.
Morala squinted at the images that had formed on the surface of the water. The gangly figure with the flowing gray hair and beard was unmistakably Elminster, but Morala had never seen anything quite like the scenery in the field of vision afforded by her scrying spell. Blue-green ferns, lavender horsetails, and green-and-yellow-striped mushrooms towered over the sage. Great trees, their trunks bare but for a small crown of red and green fronds,waved behind the sage like grasses in the wind.
Elminster stood in the strange forest, apparently alone and uninjured. His lips moved, but Morala's spell did not allow her to hear what he said, or any other sound about him. The sage's head was tilted back, and he gazed alertly at something high overhead. Morala brought her hands together over the surface of the water and then pulled them away. The view in the water widened to include more of Elminster's surroundings. The sage appeared as a blot of gray on the water's surface, but now the priestess could see what held his attention.
Five winged creatures, as exotic to Morala as the plants, flew in a V formation over Elminster's head. Each was as large as an ancient dragon and had a vaguely dragonlike silhouette. They were covered with frayed, almost featherlike scales, and they were as brightly colored as any bird. Their heads were bright scarlet, their throats orange, their long serpentine necks yel