Rhys told her to help him sweep up. She gave the kitchen floor a couple of swipes with the broom, then she tossed it aside and sat down to pester Rhys about when they were going to start for Godshome.
Nightshade returned late in the night, bringing with him a set of cast-off clothes and new boots for himself and for Rhys, whose old boots were cracked and worn through. As it turned out, the kender’s client was a cobbler and he’d taken the boots in payment. Nightshade also brought a meaty bone for Atta, who accepted it with relish and proved her gratitude by lying on his feet as he related his adventures.
“It all started when I was visiting the graveyard last night and chatting with some of the spirits when I noticed a little boy—”
“A real little boy or a spook?” Mina interrupted.
“The proper term is spirit or ghost,” Nightshade corrected her. “They don’t like to be called ‘spooks’. It’s quite insulting. You believe in ghosts, don’t you?”
“I believe in ghosts,” said Mina. “I just don’t believe you can talk to them.”
“Well, I can,” said Nightshade.
“Prove it to me,” Mina said slyly. “Take me with you tomorrow night.”
“That wouldn’t be right,” Nightshade returned. “Being a professional, I keep my client’s communications confidential.” He was pleased at having uttered several large words in a row.
“You’re telling us about them now,” Mina pointed out.
“That’s different,” said Nightshade, though for a moment he was flummoxed as to how. “I’m not using their names!”
Mina giggled and Nightshade went red in the face. Rhys stepped in, told Mina to quit teasing Nightshade, and told Nightshade to go on with his story.
“The little boy ghost,” said Nightshade with emphasis, “was really unhappy. He was just sitting there on this tombstone, kicking it with his heels. I asked him how long he’d been dead and he said five years. He was six when he died, and he was eleven now. That struck me as odd, because the dead usually don’t keep track of time. He said he knew how old he was because his father came to visit every year on the little boy’s birthday. That seemed to make him sad, so to cheer him up, I offered to play a game with him, but he didn’t want to play. Then I asked him why he was still here among the living when he should be on his soul’s journey.”
“I don’t like this story,” Mina said, frowning.
Nightshade was about to make a stinging remark when he caught Rhys’s eye and thought better of it. He went on with his tale.
“The little boy said he wanted to leave. He could see a wonderful, beautiful place and he wanted to go there, but he couldn’t because he didn’t want to leave his father. I said his father would want him to go on with his journey and I told him that they’d meet up again. The little boy said that was the problem. If he did meet his father again, how would his father recognize him after so much time had passed?”
Mina had been fidgeting, but she was quiet now, sitting cross-legged on the floor, her elbows on her knees, her chin in her hands, listening intently, her amber gaze fixed on the kender.
“I told him his father would know. The little boy didn’t believe me and I said I would prove it.
“I went to the cobbler and I told him I was a Nightstalker and I’d talked to his son and that there was a problem. At first the cobbler was kind of rude, and there might have been a small scuffle when he tried to throw me out of his shop. But then I described his little boy to him, and the cobbler calmed down and listened.
“I took the cobbler to the graveyard, and his son was there waiting for him. The cobbler told me that he thought about his son every day, and he imagined what he would be like as he was growing up, and he said that was why he came to visit on his birthday. That he could see his little boy growing up in his mind. When the little boy heard this, he knew that no matter how much he changed, his father would know him. The boy quit kicking the tombstone and gave his father a hug and then he left on his journey.
“The father couldn’t see his little boy or hear him, of course, but I think he did feel the hug, because the father said I’d lifted a weight from his heart. He felt at peace for the first time in five years. So he took me back to his shop and he gave me the boots and he said I was a—”
Sitting up straight, Mina said abruptly, “What if the little boy hadn’t died? What if he’d lived and grown to be a man and he’d done things that were wicked? Very, very wicked. What would happen then?”
“How should I know?” Nightshade said crossly. “That has nothing to do with my story. Where was I? Oh, yes. The cobbler gave me the boots and he said I was a—”
“I’ll tell you,” said Mina solemnly. “The little boy must never grow up. That way, the father will still love him.”
Nightshade stared at Mina in astonishment. Then, leaning close, he said in a loud whisper, “Is that why she’s a—”
“Go on with your story,” Rhys said quietly. He reached out his hand and gently smoothed Mina’s auburn hair.
Mina gave a fleeting smile, but she did not look up. She sat gazing into the fire.
“Uh, anyway, the cobbler gave me the boots,” Nightshade said, subdued. He sat looking uncomfortable and then remembered. “Oh, I have something else!” He went to retrieve a large cloth bag and plunked it down triumphantly.
Rhys had noticed the bag, but had been careful not to ask questions, not being truly certain he wanted to know the answers.
“It’s a map!” Nightshade stated, pulling out a large, rolled-up sheet of oiled paper. “A map of Ansalon.”
He spread out the map on the floor and prepared to show it off. Unfortunately, the map kept wanting to roll back up again, and he had to anchor it down with two ale mugs, a soup bowl and the leg of the stool.
“Nightshade,” said Rhys, “a map like this costs a lot of money—”
“Does it?” Nightshade frowned. “I don’t know why. It looks kind of beat-up to me.”
“Nightshade—”
“Oh, all right. If you insist, I’ll take it back in the morning.”
“Tonight,” said Rhys.
“The minotaur captain won’t miss it until morning,” Nightshade assured him. “And I didn’t take it. I asked the captain if I could borrow it. That was right before he passed out. My minotaur is a little rusty, but I’m pretty certain “Ash kanazi rasckana cloppf1,” means ‘Yes, of course you can, my friend’.”
“We’ll both return the map tonight,” said Rhys.
“Well, if you insist. But first, don’t you want to look at it? This shows the way to—”
“—to Godshome?” cried Mina, jumping up eagerly.
“Well, no, Godshome’s not on here. But it does show Neraka, which is somewhere near where Godshome might be.”
“Which is where?” Mina asked, squatting down beside the map.
Nightshade hunted a bit, then placed his finger on a mountain range on the western side of the continent.
“And where are we?” Mina asked.
Nightshade placed his finger on a dot on the eastern side of the continent.
“That’s not far,” said Mina happily.
“Not far!” Nightshade hooted. “It’s hundreds and hundreds of miles.”
“Pooh. Watch this!” Mina stepped on the map, almost squashing Nightshade’s fingers. Placing her feet close to each other, she walked heel, toe, heel, toe from one side of the map to other side. “There. You see? That was about three steps. Not far at all.”
Nightshade gaped at her. “But that’s—”
“This is boring. I’m going to bed.” Mina walked over to where she had her blanket stashed. Spreading it out, she lay down and immediately sat back up. “We’re starting for Godshome tomorrow,” she told them, and then laid back down, curled up, and went to sleep.
“Three steps,” Nightshade repeated. “She’s going to expect to get there by tomorrow night.”
“I know,” said Rhys. “I’ll talk to her.” He gazed somberly a
t the map and sighed. “It is a long way. I hadn’t realized just far we had traveled. And how far we have to go.”
“We could book passage on a ship,” Nightshade suggested. “We might find one that would allow kender—”
Rhys smiled at his friend. “We might. But would you put yourself into the hands of the Sea Goddess again?”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Nightshade said with a grimace. “I guess we walk.”
He plopped down on his stomach and continued to study the map. “It’s not a straight line from here to there. How will we remember the route?”
He rolled over comfortably on his back, propped his head on his arms. “The minotaur won’t miss his map until morning. If we had something to write on, I could copy it. I know! We could cut up my old shirt!”
He brought the shirt back along with a pair of shears he borrowed (legitimately) from the innkeeper and a quill pen and some ink. Nightshade then settled down happily to make a copy of the map and plot out their route.
“Do you know anything about all these different countries?” he asked Rhys.
“I do know something of them,” Rhys said. “The monks of my order often leave the monastery to travel the world. When they return, they tell tales of where they have been, what they have seen. I have heard many stories and descriptions of the lands of Ansalon.”
A sad note in Rhys’s voice caused Nightshade to look up from his work. “What’s the matter?”
“All those of my order are urged to make such a journey, but it is not required,” Rhys replied. “I had no intention of leaving my monastery. I did not think I needed to know any more of the world than what I could see from the green pastures where I tended the sheep. I would have remained in the monastery all my life, but for Mina.”
He looked over at the child, who was asleep on the floor. Mina’s sleep was often restless. She cried out, whimpered and cringed, and now she had tangled herself up in her blanket. Rhys rearranged the blanket, tucked it around her, and soothed her until she grew more peaceful. When she was breathing more evenly, he left her and returned to where Nightshade was still studying the map.
“It occurs to me that the head of my order may know something about Godshome. Although it is out of our way, I believe it would be worth our while to first seek guidance at the Temple of Majere in Solace—”
“Solace!” Nightshade repeated excitedly. “My favorite place in the whole world! Gerard’s there, and he’s the best sheriff in the whole world. Not to mention chicken and dumpling day at the Inn of the Last Home. Is that Tuesday? I think it was Tuesday. Or is Tuesday pork chop and green beans day?”
The kender returned to his work with renewed vigor. Drawing on his own information (gleaned from fellow kender and therefore not entirely to be relied upon) and Rhys’s knowledge of the lands through which they would have to travel, he eventually determined the route.
“We walk overland along the northern coast of the Kyrman Sea,” Nightshade explained, when it was all finished. “We go past the ruins of Micah, which, according to the map is about thirty miles, then we travel another seventy miles through the desert, and on to the city of Delphon. What do you know about the humans of Khur? I’ve heard they’re very fierce.”
“They are a proud people, renowned warriors, with strong loyalties to their tribes that often lead to blood feuds. But they are noted for their hospitality to strangers.”
“That never seems to include kender. Still, with all those blood feuds, they must have a lot of dead people hanging about. Perhaps they’ll need my services.”
Taking this hopeful view, Nightshade went back to his map. “There’s a road from Delphon that leads west through the hills to the capital city of Khuri-Khan. Then there’s another big stretch of desert and another hundred miles or so after that, and we come to Blöde, home of the ogres.”
Nightshade heaved a sigh. “Ogres like kender—for supper. And ogres kill humans or make them their slaves. But that’s the only way.”
“Then we must make the best of it,” said Rhys.
Nightshade shook his head. “If we get through Blöde alive—which is a big ‘if’—we come to the Great Swamp. A Dragon Overlord named Sable used to live there, but she’s dead and the curse she cast on that land died with her. Still, the swamp is a nasty place, with lizards and man-eating plants and poisonous snakes. After that, we have to find a way across the Westguard River, then we go west a bit, go south a bit, skirt the coastline of New Sea, travel through Linh and Salmonfall and we finally reach Abanasinia.
“Once there, we cross the Plains of Dergoth, then travel through Pax Tharkas and into what used to be Qualinesti past the Lake of Death. I have to admit I’m kind of looking forward to that part. I’ve heard there are lots of wandering spirits in the lake. Elf ghosts. I like elf ghosts. They’re always very polite. After that, we cross the White Rage River and then venture into Darkenwood, which isn’t all that darken anymore, from what I’ve heard. Then we head out over the Plains of Abanasinia, pass through Gateway and finally trek north to Solace. Whew!”
Nightshade wiped his brow and went off to fetch a mug of restorative ale. Rhys sat in his chair by the fire, contemplating the map, envisioning the journey.
A monk, a kender, a dog, and a six-year-old god.
Walking deserts, mountains, swamps, plains, forests. Encountering civil wars, border skirmishes, tribal battles, blood feuds. As well as the usual hazards of the road: washed-out bridges, forest fires, torrential rainstorms, bitter cold, sweltering heat. And the usual dangers: thieves, trolls, ogres, lizard-men, wolves, snakes, the odd wandering giant.
“How long do you think the trip will take us?” Nightshade asked, wiping foam from his lips.
A lifetime, Rhys thought.
1 Translation: “Shove off before I gut you, you little turd!”
hey left Flotsam the next morning, and for the first several miles the trip went well. Mina was entertained and diverted by the new and interesting sights. Farmers from outlying districts bringing goods to market exchanged friendly greetings. A caravan of wealthy merchants with men-at-arms guarding them took up the entire road. The men-at-arms were stern and business-like, but the merchants waved at Mina and, seeing the monk, asked for his blessing on their travels and tossed him a few coins. After that, a noble lord and lady and their retinue rode by; the lady stopped to admire Mina and give her some sweetmeats, which Mina shared with Nightshade and Atta.
They met several parties of kender, who were either leaving Flotsam (forcibly) or heading in that direction. The kender stopped to chat with Nightshade, exchanging the latest news and gossip. He questioned them about the road ahead, and received an enormous amount of information, some of it accurate.
Their most interesting encounter was with a group of gnomes whose steam-powered perambulating combination threshing machine, dough-kneader, and bread-baker had run amuck and was lying in pieces on the side of the road. This meeting caused considerable delay as Rhys stopped to tend to the victims.
All this excitement occupied the better part of the day. Mina was happy and well-behaved and eager to meet more gnomes. They made an early stop for the night. The weather being fine, they camped outdoors, and Mina thought that was great fun at first, though she didn’t think much of it around midnight when she discovered she’d made her bed on an ant hill.
Consequently, she was cross and grumpy the next morning, and her mood did not improve. The farther they traveled from Flotsam, the fewer people they met along the road until eventually there was no one but themselves. The scenery consisted of empty stretches of vacant land enlivened by a few scraggly trees. Mina grew bored and began to complain. She was tired. She wanted to stop. Her boots pinched her toes. She had a blister on her heel. Her legs ached. Her back ached. She was hungry. She was thirsty.
“So when are we going to get there?” she asked Rhys, lagging along beside him, scuffing her feet in the dust.
“I’d like to cover a few more miles before it grows dark,
” Rhys said. “Then we’ll make camp.”
“No, not camp!” Mina said. “I mean Godshome. I’m really tired of walking. Will we be there tomorrow?”
Rhys was trying to think how to explain that it might well be a year of tomorrows before they reached Godshome when Atta gave a sharp bark. Her ears pricked, she stared intently down the road.
“Someone’s coming,” said Nightshade.
A horse and rider were heading in their direction, traveling at a fast pace to judge by the pounding hoofbeats. Rhys took hold of Mina’s hand and hurriedly drew her to the side of the road, to get out of the way of the horse’s hooves. He could not yet see the rider, due to a slight dip in the road. Atta remained obediently at Rhys’s side, but she continued to growl. Her body quivered. Her lip curled.
“Whoever’s coming, Atta doesn’t like them,” Nightshade observed. “That’s not like her.”
Accustomed to traveling, Atta tended to be friendly with strangers, though she kept herself aloof and would submit to being petted only if there was no way to avoid it. She was warning them against this stranger, however, even before she saw him.
The horse and rider topped the ridge and, sighting them, increased speed, galloping down the road toward them. The rider was cloaked in black. His long hair streamed behind him in the wind.
Nightshade gasped. “Rhys! That’s Chemosh! What do we do?”
“Nothing we can do,” Rhys replied.
The Lord of Death reined in his horse as he drew near. Nightshade looked about wildly for someplace to hide. They were caught out in the open, however. Not a tree or a gully in sight.
Rhys ordered Atta to be quiet and she obeyed for the most part, though the occasional growl got the better of her. He drew Mina close to him, holding his staff in front of her with one hand, keeping his other hand protectively on her shoulder. Nightshade stood stolidly by his friend’s side. Reminding himself he was a kender with horns, he assumed a very fierce look.
“Who is that man?” Mina asked, gazing at the black-cloaked rider curiously. She twisted her head around to look up Rhys. “Do you know him?”
Amber and Blood Page 12
