“Talking to the air is tedious. Show yourself.”
A faint figure appeared, translucent and without much color, but recognizable as a woman of middle age. Stripping off his trousers, the magician reached for a blanket and wrapped it around himself. “I tire of cold and damp places . . . what are you calling yourself these days?”
“Hilda, most recently.”
“Yes, Hilda. I am tired of this place. Servants I can get with gold. That I have in abundance. Allies are almost as easy, once I discover what they desire.” He looked at the pale image. “You know, I sensed you’ve been close by for some years now, but didn’t think I needed to ferret you out.”
“You can’t get rid of me, and we both know it.”
The man sighed. “You have no worshipers, no clerics, not one person in ten million on this world who even knows your name, yet you persist in lingering. That’s very bad form for a goddess.”
The shade who had once been the old woman in the hut said, “It is my nature. As long as you seek to serve your master, I must oppose him.”
“My master lives!” said Sidi, pointing his finger at the image. “You don’t even have the good grace to admit you’re dead and go away!”
The figure vanished.
Instantly Sidi felt regret. As much as he disliked the woman and all her incarnations, she had been a part of his life for several centuries. He had been the first to discover the amulet in over a thousand years. He had succumbed to its power. For years he had felt impulses he couldn’t explain and heard voices no one else had. He had grown in his power, and for a long time, in his madness. Then his mind had gained clarity beyond madness. He had learned whom he served: the Nameless One.
He had used the amulet before, to trap others in his master’s service, such as the liche Savan and his brother. That had been a mistake. He sighed. Serving darkness required you to use whatever came your way.
The old woman had appeared soon after he had gained his powers. She was the opponent of the Nameless One, and she had refused to give Sidi any rest. He was forced to admit she was the only person — if one could call the ghost of a dead goddess a person — he had known for longer than a few years. Most of the others had got themselves killed in one grisly fashion or another. In a strange way, he was somewhat fond of the old goddess.
He sighed. The battle had been lost, but the war would continue, and he would seek to do his master’s bidding. Eventually his master would return to this world. It might take centuries, but Sidi had time. His master demanded a high price for his service, but he rewarded as well. Sidi might look to be a man of fifty, yet he had lived nearly five times that number of years.
He lay down on the bed. “I must find a better place to live, soon,” he sighed.
Krondor Tear of the Gods Page 33
