Amber and Blood

by Margaret Weis

  Mina was on the floor beside him, shaking him and begging him wake up. Rhys’s eyes were closed. He lay quite still.

  Krell stood over Mina. He had tossed the bone spear onto the floor, and he flourished another iron ball in his hand. “Are you ready to come with me now?”

  “No,” Mina cried, raising her hand to ward him off. “Go away! Please go away!”

  “I don’t want to go away,” said Krell. He was enjoying this. “I want to play catch. Catch the ball, little girl!”

  He threw the iron ball at Mina. The ball struck her on the chest. Golden coils whipped out, fast as slithering snakes, and wrapped around her arms and legs. Mina lay helpless on the floor, staring up at Krell with terror-filled eyes.

  “Mina, you’re a god!” Nightshade cried. “The magic won’t work on you! Get up!”

  Krell whipped around to glare at the kender, who shrank down as small as he could manage, using the bench as cover.

  Mina either didn’t hear him or, more likely, she didn’t believe him. She lay on the floor, sobbing.

  “A god! Hah!” Krell leered at her, as she screamed in terror and tried pathetically to wriggle away from him. “You’re nothing but a sniveling brat.”

  Nightshade heaved a resigned sigh. “I guess it’s up to me. I’ll bet this is the first time in the history of the world a kender had to rescue a god.”

  “We’ll leave in a moment,” Krell said to Mina. “First I have a monk to kill.”

  Krell broke off another bone spear and stood over Rhys. “Wake up,” he ordered, jabbing Rhys in the ribs with the spear. “It’s no fun killing someone who’s unconscious. I want you to see this coming. Wake up!” He jabbed Rhys again. Blood stained the orange robes.

  Nightshade wiped away a trickle of sweat that was rolling down his neck and then, stretching forth his sweat-damp fingers in Krell’s direction, the kender began to softly sing.

  “You’re growing tired. You cannot smile.

  You feel as though you’ve walked a mile.

  Your muscles ache.

  You start to shake.

  And very soon you’ll start to quake.

  And as you ease down to your knees

  now’s the time

  I end my rhyme,

  you great big sleaze.”

  The “sleaze” term wasn’t really part of the mystical spell, but Nightshade added the word because it rhymed and was expressive of his feelings. His chant had been interrupted a couple of times when smoke went down his windpipe and he had to cough, and he worried this might ruin the spell. He waited a tense moment as nothing happened, and then he felt the magic. The magic came from the water and seeped through his shoes. The magic came from the smoke and he breathed it in. The magic came from the stone, and it was cold and made him shiver. The magic came from the fire, and it was warm and exciting.

  When all the parts of the magic had mixed together, Nightshade cast his spell.

  A ray of dark light shot from his fingers.

  This was Nightshade’s favorite part—the ray of dark light. He liked it because there could be no such thing as “dark” light. But that was how the spell was named, or so his mother had told him when she taught it to him. And, in point of fact, the light wasn’t really dark. It was a purplish light with a white heart. Still Nightshade could see how one might describe it as being a “dark” light. If he hadn’t been so worried about Rhys and Atta, he would have really enjoyed himself.

  The dark light struck Krell in the back, enveloping him in purplish white, and then the light evaporated.

  Krell gave a spasmodic jerk and nearly dropped the spear. He shook his helmed head, as though wondering what had come over him, then glared suspiciously at Mina.

  She lay where he’d left her, bound in the magical coils. She had quit crying and was staring in wide-eyed amazement at Nightshade.

  “Don’t say anything!” Nightshade mouthed. “Please for once, keep your mouth shut!” He crawled back even farther under the bench.

  Krell apparently decided he’d been imagining things. He hefted his spear, getting a better grip, preparing to drive it into Rhys’s chest. Nightshade knew then that his spell had failed, and he gnashed his teeth in frustration. He was about to hurl his own small body at Krell in what would probably be a fatal attempt to knock him down, when Krell suddenly swayed on his feet. He took a few staggering steps. The bone spear slipped from his hand.

  “That’s it!” Nightshade cried gleefully. “You’re feeling tired. Really, really tired. And that armor is really, really heavy …”

  Krell sagged to his knees. He tried to stand up again, but the bone armor weighed him down, and he toppled to the floor. Encased in the bone armor, he lay helpless on his back, feebly flapping his arms and legs like an overturned turtle.

  Nightshade crawled out from his hiding place. He didn’t have much time. The spell would not last long.

  “Help!” he shouted, coughing in the smoke. “Help me! I need help! Rhys is hurt! Abbot! Someone! Anyone!”

  No one came. The priests and the Abbot were out in the street, fighting a battle that was, by the sounds of it, still raging and growing worse. The fire, too, appeared to be spreading, for the chamber was now obscured in smoke, and he could see flames shooting up over the tops of the trees.

  Nightshade grabbed hold of the bone spear. Krell was glaring at him from out of the eye sockets of his helm and cursing him roundly. Nightshade searched for a fleshy place he could skewer with the spear, but the bone armor covered every bit of the man’s body. In desperation, Nightshade struck Krell on his helmed head. Krell blinked at the blow and snarled a nasty word and flailed about, trying to grab the kender. Krell was still under the effects of the mystic spell, however, and he was too exhausted to move. He sank back weakly.

  Nightshade bashed Krell in the head again, and Krell groaned. The kender hit Krell until he quit groaning and quit moving. Nightshade would have continued hitting Krell except the spear broke. Nightshade eyed him. The kender didn’t think his foe was dead, just knocked senseless, which meant that Krell would come around eventually and when he did, he’d be in an extremely bad mood. Nightshade knelt beside Rhys.

  Mina was wriggling about on the floor, trying to claim his attention, but he’d get to her in a minute.

  “How did you do that?” Mina demanded. “How did you make that purple light?”

  “Not now,” Nightshade snapped. “Rhys, wake up!”

  Nightshade shook his friend by the shoulder, but Rhys lay unmoving. His skin was ashen. Nightshade took hold of Rhys’s scrip, intending to use it as a pillow. But when he lifted Rhys’s head, Nightshade saw a pool of blood on the floor. He drew back his hand. It was covered in blood. Nightshade knew another mystical spell with healing properties and he tried calling it to mind, but he was flustered and upset and couldn’t remember the words. The Dark Light chant kept running through his head, like an annoying song that once you’ve heard it, you keep on hearing it no matter how hard you try not to.

  Hoping the words might pop unexpectedly into his head if he thought about something else, Nightshade turned to Atta, who lay on her side, her eyes closed. He rested his hand on Atta’s chest and felt her heart beating strongly. She lifted her head and rolled over. Her tail thumped the floor. He gave her a hug and then sat back on his heels and looked sorrowfully at Rhys and tried desperately to remember his healing spell.

  “Nightshade—” Mina began.

  “Shut up!” Nightshade told her, sounding quite savage. “Rhys is hurt really bad and I can’t remember my spell and … and it’s all your fault!”

  Mina began to cry. “These bands are pinching me! You have to get them off.”

  “Get them off yourself,” Nightshade returned shortly.

  “I can’t!” Mina wailed.

  Yes you can, you’re a god! Nightshade wanted to shout back at her, but he didn’t because he’d already tried that and it hadn’t worked. But there might be another way …

  “Of course y
ou can’t!” Nightshade said disdainfully. “You’re a human, and humans are too fat and too stupid for words. Any kender could do it. I could wriggle out of those bonds like that!” He snapped his fingers. “But since you’re a human and a girl, I guess you’re stuck.”

  Mina quit crying. Nightshade had no idea what she was doing, and he didn’t care. He was too worried about Rhys. Then Nightshade thought he heard Krell move or snort, and he cast a fearful glance at him, afraid he was waking up. Krell continued to just lay there like a big bone-covered lump, but it was only a matter of time. He shook his friend on the shoulder and called out his name.

  “Rhys,” he said anxiously, “can you hear me? Please, please wake up!”

  Rhys moaned. His eyelids fluttered, and Nightshade felt encouraged. Rhys opened his eyes. He winced and gasped in pain, and his eyes rolled back in his head.

  “Oh, no!” Nightshade cried, and he grabbed hold of Rhys’s robes. “Don’t go passing out on me again! Stay with me.”

  Rhys gave a wan smile and his eyes remained open, though they looked odd; one pupil was bigger than the other. He seemed to have trouble focusing.

  “How do you feel?” Nightshade asked.

  “Not too well, I’m afraid,” Rhys answered weakly. “Where’s Mina? Is she all right?”

  “I’m here, Rhys,” Mina answered in a small voice.

  Nightshade jumped at the sound, which had come from over his shoulder. His ploy had worked. The golden bands were still in place, still coiled on the floor, but Mina was no longer inside them.

  She stood gazing down sorrowfully at Rhys. Her face was puffy from crying, her cheeks grubby with tears and soot.

  “You’re right, Nightshade,” she said. “This is my fault.”

  She looked so frightened and unhappy that Nightshade felt lower than a worm’s belly.

  “Mina, I didn’t mean to yell at you—” he began.

  Mina wasn’t listening. She knelt down and kissed Rhys on his cheek. “You’ll feel better now,” she said softly. “I’m sorry. So sorry. But you won’t have to take care of me anymore.”

  And, before Nightshade could do or say anything, she grabbed up the scrip with the blessed artifacts and ran off.

  “Mina!” Nightshade cried after her. “Don’t be stupid!”

  Mina kept running, and he lost sight of her in the smoke.

  “Mina!” Rhys called. “Come back!”

  His voice was strong. His eyes were alert and clear, and he was gaining some color back into his face.

  “Rhys! You’re better!” Nightshade cried gleefully.

  Rhys tried to stand up, but he was still bound by the magical golden bands and he fell back, frustrated.

  “Nightshade, you have to go after Mina!”

  Nightshade just stood there.

  Rhys sighed. “My friend, I know—”

  “She’s right, Rhys!” Nightshade stated. “The fire, the fiends from the grave, Krell hurting you—it’s all her fault. The fighting, the dying—that’s her fault, too! And I’m not leaving you to go after her. Krell will wake up any minute and even though your head’s healed, you’re still stuck in these magical bands. And Krell said he was going to kill you!”

  Rhys looked up at him. “You’re the only one I can count on, my friend. The only one I can trust. You must find Mina and bring her back here to the temple. If I’m … not around … the Abbot will know what to do.”

  Nightshade’s lower lip started to tremble. “Rhys, don’t make me—”

  Rhys smiled. “Nightshade, I’m not making you do anything. I’m asking you—as a friend.”

  Nightshade glared at him.

  “That’s not fair!” he said crossly. “All right, I’m going.” He shook his finger at Rhys. “But before I go chasing after that brat, I’m going to find someone to help you! Then I’ll look for Mina. Maybe,” he added under his breath.

  He cast a quick glance at Krell, who was still unconscious, but probably wouldn’t be for much longer. Once the spell wore off, Krell would feel strong as ever and twice as mad, and three times more determined to kill Rhys.

  “Atta, you stay with him,” Nightshade said, petting the dog.

  “Atta, go with Nightshade,” Rhys ordered

  The dog sprang to her feet and shook herself all over. Nightshade cast Rhys one last glance, begging him to reconsider.

  “Don’t worry about me, my friend,” Rhys said, reassuring. “I am in Majere’s care. Go find Mina.”

  Nightshade shook his head and then ran off. He followed the direction Mina had taken, which was, of course, the very worst direction possible. She’d run out the front of the temple, heading right for the street and the battle.

  Nightshade raced heedlessly through the garden, with Atta running behind, both of them trampling the flowers and vegetables that were all covered with soot anyway. He could barely see anything in the smoke, and it made him cough. He kept running, coughing and waving his hand at the smoke. Atta was snorting and sneezing.

  When he reached the street, he was thankful to find the air was clearer. The wind was blowing the smoke in a different direction. Nightshade searched for Mina and, more important, someone to save Rhys.

  That was going to prove difficult. Nightshade came to a dead stop and stared in dismay. Temple Row was clogged with people fighting, and things were in such confusion he couldn’t make out which side was which. Men wearing the livery of the town guard were trying to bring down a raging minotaur. Not far from them, paladins of Kiri-Jolith in their shining armor battled spell-chanting clerics wearing black robes and hoods. All around him, people lay on the ground, some of them shrieking in pain, others not moving.

  The fires still burned. As Nightshade watched, the temple of Sargonnas collapsed in a heap of burning rubble and flames flared from the roof of the temple of Mishakal.

  Nightshade looked for Mina, but what with the crowd and the melee and the confusion and the lamentable fact that he was about eye-level with people’s bellies, he couldn’t see her anywhere.

  “If she had any sense, she wouldn’t run out there in the midst of a raging battle. But then,” he reminded himself glumly, “this is Mina we’re talking about.”

  And Rhys was lying, bound and helpless, in the temple, and Krell might be awake by now.

  A minotaur soldier fighting a black-robed cleric hurtled toward him, making Nightshade scramble backward to avoid being clubbed, and he fell into the gutter. Lying here, he concluded that lying on the ground was safer than standing, and he rolled behind a hedge. Atta hunkered down with him. He was angry with himself. He was supposed to be finding Mina and saving Rhys and instead he was languishing in a gutter. Gerard must be out here somewhere. Or the Abbot. There had to be a way to find help. If only he could get a better view of the street! He might climb a tree. He was starting to think about getting up out of the gutter when he felt something crawling down the back of his neck. He reached around and grabbed hold of it and there was a grasshopper.

  And that gave Nightshade an idea. He looked down at the grasshopper pin on his chest.

  “Mina said something about jumping. I guess it can’t hurt to try. I wonder if I’m supposed to pray? I hope not, because I’m not very good at it.”

  Nightshade unpinned the little golden grasshopper and clasped his hand tightly around it. He bent his knees and jumped.

  Looking around, he found himself high above the roof of the temple. He was so astonished and excited that he forgot what he was supposed to be doing, and he was heading downward before he remembered. He was afraid that the landing was going to be rough, but it wasn’t. He landed lightly as a grasshopper.

  Nightshade jumped again, finding it immensely exhilarating. He went higher this time, way above the temple roof, and as he looked down on the bloody turmoil in the streets with what he imagined was a god’s-eye view, he thought, “Wow, don’t we look stupid.” He waved at Atta, who was running back and forth below him, barking frantically at him, as he looked for Mina or Gerard or
the Abbot.

  He didn’t see them, but he did see a person wearing red robes standing calmly beneath a tree, watching the battle with interest.

  Nightshade couldn’t see the person clearly, due to the smoke, but he hoped it might be one of the priests. Once back on the ground, Nightshade gave the grasshopper a “thank-you” pat and thrust it into a pocket. Then he dashed toward the person in red, shouting “help” as he ran, and waving his arms.

  The person saw him coming and immediately raised both hands. Blue lightning crackled from the fingers, and Nightshade skidded to a halt. This was not a priest of Majere. This was a Red Robe wizard.

  “Don’t come any closer, kender,” the wizard warned in dire tones.

  The wizard’s voice was a woman’s, deep and melodious. Nightshade couldn’t see her face, which was shadowed by her cowl, but he recognized the sparkling rings on her fingers and the sumptuous red velvet of her robes.

  “Mistress Jenna!” he cried, limp with relief. “I’m so glad it’s you!”

  “You’re Nightshade, aren’t you?” she asked, astonished. “The kender Nightstalker. And Lady Atta.” She greeted the dog, who growled and wouldn’t come near her.

  The lightning shooting from her fingers had ceased to crackle, and she held out her hand to him to shake. But Nightshade regarded her doubtfully and put his hands behind his back, just in case any flesh-sizzling magic was left over.

  “Mistress Jenna, I need your help—” he began, when she interrupted him.

  “What in the name of Lunitari is going on here?” she demanded. “Have the people of Solace gone stark, raving mad? I was looking for Gerard, and I was told I might find him here. I heard there was trouble, but I had no idea I was walking onto a battlefield …”

  She shook her head. “This is quite remarkable! Who is fighting whom over what? Can you tell me?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Nightshade. “No, ma’am. That is, I could, but I can’t. I don’t have time. You have to go save Rhys, Mistress! He’s in the temple and he’s tied up with magical gold bands and there’s a death knight who has sworn to kill him. I would help him myself, but Rhys told me I had to find Mina. She’s a god, you know, and we can’t have her running about loose. Thanks so much! Sorry I can’t talk. I have to run now. Bye!”