Song of the Saurials - Kate Novak [89]
"I've seen worse," Finder replied coolly, but he gave the horn on his belt a pat as if to reassure himself of its presence.
Sure you have, Olive thought silently.
At the center of the cave, the floor rose a few feet. Atop the rise was a pile of moldy, water-stained pillows, mementos from some long-forgotten caravan raid.
Xaran was propped on the pillows in the manner of a merchant raj.
The leader of the orcs paused just inside the entrance to the cave. Finder strode past him, with Olive in tow, leaving the leader and the guards to straggle through the phalanx of orcs who parted to make way for the human bard and his tiny companion.
The bard stopped just before the pile of pillows and released the halfling's hand. He bowed low, with his right hand covering his heart and his left hand sweeping outward, as though he were doffing an invisible hat. "Greetings, Xaran.
I have come to resume our discussion," the bard said. "Please don't bother to rise."
Disregarding Finder's suggestion, the beholder levitated from its repose and hovered over the cushions, at eye level with the bard. The beholder wobbled as it levitated and its movements were jerky, unlike any beholder Olive had every encountered, as if Xaran was an elderly invalid trying to get out of a sickbed.
Now that she had an opportunity to study Xaran more carefully, she noted that its great central eye and all its smaller eyes were coated with a milky film.
The stalks supporting the smaller eyes drooped like thirsty plants. A thin garland of silver moss hung about the stalks, reminding Olive of gray hair and reinforcing the image of Xaran as a sick old man.
"It was wise of you to rejoin us," Xaran commented. The beholder's high-pitched voice grated in Olive's ears and sent a shiver down her spine.
"I hope you found everything in order in your workshop," the beholder added.
"Naturally," Finder said, smiling broadly, eager that Xaran should believe he was here of his own free will, not because he had no other choice. "Of course, there's nothing of interest in there to anyone but myself-just old musical instruments and such."
"Of course," repeated the beholder. Its toothy maw turned up at the corners into a hideous smile.
"Let's get down to business, shall we?" the bard said. "You were offering me immortality. A rare commodity, and certainly worth whatever the market will bear. I presume it did not hinge on remaining in this place." Finder's eyes wandered disdainfully over the orc warren's common room.
"No. If we come to terms that are satisfactory to me," Xaran said, "you will be free to leave. As you pointed out, though, immortality is worth a great deal on the market."
"Suppose I were to forego your offer of immortality for the moment and ask only for safe passage out of here for myself and my companion?" Finder asked.
"It's a package deal," Xaran said sharply. "All or nothing. If you wish to leave here under my protection, you must accept my offer for immortality and pay my price. Of course, if you choose not to accept my offer, you are free to make a deal with my associates."
Finder glanced sideways once at the orc leader and his brother. Both glared at him with undisguised hatred. Even if the bard's workshop had been brimming with gold to ransom his and Olive's lives, the creatures weren't likely to let them go. The adventurers had wounded or killed three members of the tribe, and Finder had challenged the leader's authority.
"I see," Finder said, turning his attention back to Xaran. "And what is the going rate these days for immortality?"
"You'll be pleased to hear that the price has not risen in the past hour. As a matter of fact, because I think a man of your talents was made for immortal life, I'm prepared to make you a special offer."
"Such as?" Finder asked, suddenly more cautious.
"I'm willing to forego the interest my faithful orc followers have in your workshop. As I said before, it is your services that interest me. I wish for you to reveal to me all the secret knowledge of simulacra