Amber and Blood

by Margaret Weis

  Jenna paused, then said, “I have heard some strange tales regarding her, Brother. That is why I came to Solace to seek out Gerard, who once met her, or so I was told. I will not waste your time asking for details. You must go find her, of course. But is there some way I can be of help?”

  “You have done more than enough for me, Mistress. I would be dead by now if it were not for you.”

  She laughed. “Brother, I would not have missed this for the world. To think—I fought a Bone Warrior of Chemosh! Dalamar will be quite green with envy.”

  Jenna gave his hand a mock slap. “Go find your little god, Brother. I will be fine. I can take care of myself.”

  Rhys stood up, but still he hesitated.

  Jenna raised her eyebrows. “If you do not leave, Brother, I will begin to think that you consider me a helpless and infirm old lady, and I will be extremely insulted.”

  Rhys bowed to her in profound respect. “I think you are a very great lady, Mistress Jenna.”

  She smiled in pleasure and waved him away.

  “And, Brother,” Jenna called after him, as he was leaving, “I still want that kender-herding dog you promised me!”

  As Rhys hastened off, he made a promise to himself that Mistress Jenna should have the finest puppy in Atta’s next litter.

  y the time Rhys made his way through the gardens and across the front lawn to the street, the town guard had managed to regain some semblance of control. Rhys halted, shocked at the sight of the carnage. The street was littered with bodies, many of them stirring and groaning, but some lying dead. The cobblestones were slippery with blood. The fires had been doused, but the stench of burning stung his nostrils. The guards had blocked off the street and now that the battle had ended, they had their hands full holding back frantic friends and relatives seeking their loved ones.

  Rhys did not know where to begin to search for Nightshade and Mina and Atta. He roamed up and down the street, calling Nightshade’s name, calling Mina, calling Atta. There was no answer. Everyone he saw was covered in soot and dirt and blood. He could not tell the identity of a victim simply by looking at the clothes and whenever he saw the body of a kender-sized person lying the street, his heart clogged his throat.

  Even as Rhys searched, he did what he could to aid the wounded, though—not being a priest—there was little he could do except offer comfort and ease their fear by assuring them help was on the way.

  Ordinarily the wounded would have been taken to the temple of Mishakal, for her priests were skilled in healing. Her temple had been damaged by the fire, however, and the Temple of Majere was opened to the victims, as were the Temples of Habbukuk and Chislev. The priests of many gods worked among the injured, ministering to friend and foe alike, making no distinction.

  In this the priests were aided by mystics, who had hastened to the site to offer their help, and with them came the herbalists and physicians of Solace. The bodies of the dead were taken to the Temple of Reorx, where they were laid in quiet repose until family and friends came to undergo the sorrowful task of identifying and claiming them for burial.

  Rhys came across the Abbot organizing litter-bearers. Many of the wounded were in dire condition, and the Abbot was exceedingly busy, for lives hung in the balance. Rhys hated to interrupt his work, but he was growing desperate. He had still not found his friends. Rhys was about to take a brief moment to ask the Abbot if he had seen Mina, when he caught sight of Gerard.

  The sheriff was splattered with blood and limping from a wound to his leg. A guardsman walked alongside him, pleading with him to seek treatment for his wound. Gerard angrily ordered the man off, telling him to help those who were really hurt. The guardsmen hesitated, then—seeing the sheriff’s baleful expression—returned to his duties. Once the man was gone and Gerard thought no one was watching, he sagged against a tree, drew in a deep and shivering breath and closed his eyes and grimaced.

  Rhys hurried to his side. Hearing footfalls coming toward him, Gerard abruptly straightened and tried to walk off as though nothing was the matter. His injured leg buckled beneath him and he would have fallen, but Rhys was there to catch him and ease him to the ground.

  “Thank you, Brother,” said Gerard grudgingly.

  Ignoring Gerard’s insistence that the wound was merely a scratch, Rhys examined the gash in Gerard’s thigh. The cut was deep and oozing blood. The blade had sliced through the flesh and muscle and perhaps cracked the bone. Gerard winced as Rhys’s fingers probed, and he swore softly beneath his breath. His intense blue eyes glinted more with anger than with pain.

  Rhys opened his mouth to start to shout for a priest. Gerard didn’t wait to hear him, however.

  “If you say one prayer, Brother,” Gerard told him, “if you utter one single holy word, I’ll shove it down your throat!”

  He gasped in agony and leaned back against the tree, groaning softly.

  “I am a monk of Majere,” Rhys said. “You need not worry. I do not have the gift of healing.”

  Gerard flushed, ashamed of his outburst. “I’m sorry I shouted at you, Brother. It’s just that I’m fed up to here with your gods! Look at what your gods have done to my city!”

  He gestured to the bodies lying in the street, to the clerics moving among the wounded. “Most of the evil done in this world is done in the name of one god or the other. We were better off without them.”

  Rhys could have responded that much good was done in the name of the gods, as well, but this was not the time to enter into a theological argument. Besides, he understood Gerard. There was a time Rhys had felt the same.

  Gerard eyed his friend, then heaved a sigh. “Don’t pay any attention to me, Brother. I didn’t mean what I said. Well, not much. My leg hurts like hell. And I lost some good men today,” he added grimly.

  “I am sorry,” Rhys said. “Truly sorry. Sheriff, I hate to trouble you now, but I must ask. Did you”—Rhys felt his throat go dry as he asked the question—“did you see Nightshade anywhere—”

  “Your kender friend?” Gerard shook his head. “No, I didn’t see him, but that doesn’t mean much. It was sheer bloody chaos out there, what with the smoke and fire and those horrible undead fiends slaughtering every person they came across.”

  Rhys sighed deeply.

  “Nightshade’s got more sense than usual for a kender,” Gerard said. “Is Atta with him? That dog’s smarter than most people I know. He’s probably back at the Inn. It’s chicken and biscuit night you know—”

  He tried to grin, but he drew in a sharp breath and rocked back and forth, swearing under his breath. “That hurts!”

  The best place for Gerard would in be one of the Temples, but Rhys knew how that suggestion would be received.

  “At least let me help you back to the Inn, my friend,” Rhys suggested, knowing Gerard would be in safe hands with Laura to care for him. Gerard agreed to this, and he reluctantly allowed Rhys to help him to his feet.

  “I have a recipe for a poultice that will ease the pain and allow the wound to heal cleanly,” Rhys told him, putting his arm around him.

  “You won’t whip a prayer into it, will you, Brother?” Gerard asked gruffly, leaning on his friend.

  “I might say a word or two to Majere on your behalf,” Rhys replied, smiling. “But I’ll make sure you don’t hear me.”

  Gerard grunted. “Once we reach the Inn, I’ll put out the word about the kender.”

  They had gone only a short distance when it became clear that Gerard could not continue without more help than Rhys could give him. Gerard was by this time too weak from loss of blood weak to put up a fight, and Rhys summoned assistance. Three stout young men came immediately to his aid. Hoisting Gerard onto a cart, they drove him to the Inn and carried him up the stairs to a room. Laura bustled about, fussing over him, helping Rhys make the poultice, cleaning and bandaging his wound.

  Laura was deeply concerned to hear that Nightshade had gone missing. In answer to Rhys’s question, she replied that the kender had
not returned to the Inn. She hadn’t seen him all morning. She was so concerned over the kender that Rhys didn’t have the heart to tell her he’d lost Mina, as well. He said in response to Laura’s worried questions, that Mina was with a friend. This wasn’t quite a lie. He hoped she was with Nightshade.

  Gerard complained bitterly about the smell of the poultice, which he swore would kill him if the wound didn’t. Rhys took Gerard’s complaints for a sign the sheriff was feeling better.

  “I will let you get some rest,” Rhys said, preparing to take his leave.

  “Don’t go, Brother,” Gerard said fretfully. “Between the stink of that glop you put on me, and the pain, I won’t be able to sleep. Sit down and talk to me. Keep me company. Take my mind off things. And stop pacing about the room. We’ll hear word of your kender soon enough. What’s in that goo you put on me anyway?” he asked suspiciously.

  “Plantain, bayberry, bark, ginger, cayenne pepper and cloves,” Rhys replied.

  He hadn’t realized he’d been pacing, and he forced himself to stop. He felt as though he should be out there, actively searching, though he was the first to admit he had no idea where to begin to look. Gerard had told his guardsmen to be on the lookout for the kender and the dog and to spread the word among the populace. The first news they had of the missing, they would communicate that news to Gerard.

  “Once I find the kender, I don’t want to have to go chasing you down,” Gerard told Rhys, who conceded that this was logical.

  Rhys drew a chair near Gerard’s bedside and sat down.

  “Tell me what happened on Temple Row,” Rhys said.

  “The priests and followers of Chemosh started it,” Gerard replied. “They set fire to the Temple of Sargonnas and then tried to burn down Mishakal’s temple by throwing flaming brands inside, while others started killing. They summoned two fiends that were like some horror out of a fever-dream. They wore armor made of bones with their insides falling out, killing anything that moved. A priestess of Chemosh led them. It took the paladins of Kiri-Jolith to finally destroy them, but only after the undead monsters had turned on the priestess and hacked her to pieces.”

  Gerard shook his head. “What I find damn odd is why Chemosh’s followers did all this in broad daylight. Those ghouls generally work their evil under the cover of darkness. Almost seems as if it was meant as some sort of diversion …”

  Gerard paused, regarding Rhys intently.

  “It was a diversion, wasn’t it?” Gerard slammed his hand down on the coverlet. “I knew this must have something to do with you. You owe me an explanation, Brother. Tell me what in the name of Heaven is going on.”

  “That’s a good way to put it. I will explain”—Rhys gave a rueful sigh—“though you will find my story difficult to believe. The tale does not start with me. It starts with the woman you know as Mina …”

  He related the story, as much as he knew. Gerard listened in amazed silence. He remained quiet until Rhys had reached the end of his tale, telling how he had killed Krell, and then Gerard shook his head.

  “You’re right, Brother. I’m not sure I do believe it. Not that I doubt your word,” he added hastily. “It’s just … so implausible. A new god? That’s all we need! And a god who’s gone crazy at that! So what—”

  They were interrupted by a knock on the door.

  Rhys opened it to find one of the town guard in company with an older woman dressed in traveling clothes.

  The guardsman touched his forehead respectfully to Rhys, then spoke to Gerard, “I have some information on that kender you were looking for, Sheriff. This lady saw him.”

  “I did, Sheriff,” said the woman briskly. “I’m a recent widow. My husband and I had a farm north of here. I sold it—too much for me to handle, and I am moving to Solace to live with my daughter and her husband. We were on the road this morning, and I saw a kender like the one described. He was traveling with a black-and-white dog and a little girl.”

  “Are you sure it was them, Madam?” the sheriff asked.

  “I am, Sheriff,” said the woman, complacently folding her hands beneath her cloak. “I remember because I thought it was odd to see such a strange trio, and the kender and the girl were standing in the middle of the road arguing about something. I was going to stop to see if I could help, but Enoch—he’s my son-in-law—he said I shouldn’t speak to kender, not unless I wanted to be robbed blind. Whatever the kender was up to, it was probably no good and none of our affair.

  “I wasn’t sure about that. I’m a mother, and it looked to me like the little girl was running away from home. My daughter did the same when she was that age. She packed up her little things in a gunny sack and set out. She didn’t go far before she got hungry and came back, but I was half dead with fright. I remember how I felt, and the first thing I did when we reached Solace was to tell the guard what I’d seen. He said you were searching for this kender, and so I figured I’d come tell you what I saw and where I saw it.”

  “Thank you, Madame,” said Gerard. “Did you happen to see if they continued on the road north?”

  “When I looked back the little girl was walking along the highway, heading north. The kender and the dog were trailing behind.”

  “Thank you again, Madame. May Majere’s blessing be on you,” Rhys said, and he picked up his staff.

  “Good luck, Brother Rhys,” said Gerard. “I won’t say it’s been a pleasure knowing you, because you’ve brought me nothing but trouble. I will say it’s been an honor.”

  He reached out his hand. Rhys took it, pressing it warmly.

  “Thank you for all your help, Sheriff,” he said. “I know you don’t believe in the gods, but—as someone once told a friend of mine—they believe in you.”

  Rhys stopped on his way out to tell Laura that Nightshade had been located and that he, the kender, and Mina were going to resume their travels.

  “She’s a dear, sweet child. Try to see to it that she has a bath every now and then, Brother,” Laura told him, and she sent him on his way with a hug and tears and as much food as he could carry and would consent to take.

  Gazing out his window, Gerard watched the monk in his shabby orange robes make his unobtrusive way among the crowds, taking the highway that led north.

  “I wonder if I’ll ever know how this strange tale ends?” Gerard asked himself. He sighed deeply and lay back among the pillows. “I don’t see any good coming of it, that’s for sure.”

  He was just about to try to get some sleep when a guardsmen came to inform the sheriff that an angry mob was taking out their fury on the Temple of Chemosh.

  ightshade traipsed along down the road after Mina, muttering to himself and scuffing his boots in the dust. Mina walked several paces ahead of him, her head held high, her back stiff. She was taking no notice of him, pretending she didn’t know him. Atta trotted along at the kender’s side, though she would stop every so often and look back wistfully down the road, searching for Rhys.

  “I hope he’s all right,” Nightshade said for the thousandth time. He glared at Mina and kicked irritably at a rock and said loudly, “If it wasn’t for some people, I could be back there seeing for myself and maybe helping to save him after some people ran away and left him!”

  Mina flashed him an angry glance over her shoulder, and stubbornly kept on walking.

  At least they had managed to escape the battle in Temple Row.

  The brutality of the fighting, the sight of so many dead and wounded had completely overwhelmed Mina. She was confused by the noise, horrified by the carnage. Nightshade and Atta finally located her crouched under a bush, her eyes squinched shut, her hands over her ears to drown out the screams.

  Nightshade persuaded her with some difficulty to come with him, only to nearly lose her to a black-robed, hooded priest of Chemosh, who stumbled across them by accident. Nightshade recited his rhyme for his exhaustion spell and the last he’d seen of the priest, he was lying on his back in the middle of the street taking an unexpected s
nooze.

  Running around the back of the temple of Zeboim and cutting through an alley, they found themselves in the relative quiet of a residential area. The citizens, hearing the sounds of battle and fearing it might spill over into their neighborhood, had all barred their doors and were staying inside.

  Nightshade stopped to catch his breath and get rid of a painful stitch in his side and try to figure out what to do. He decided to take Mina to the Inn and leave her in the care of Laura, then go back to find Rhys. Nightshade and Atta started off in the Inn’s direction, only to find Mina going the opposite way.

  “Where are you going?” Nightshade demanded, halting.

  Mina stood in the middle of the road, holding fast to the scrip with the artifacts in it. The scrip was dirty and stained, for when it grew heavy, she let it drag on the ground. Her face was covered in grime and soot, her hair was wet with sweat, her red braids starting to come undone. Her dress was splattered with blood stains.

  “Godshome,” Mina replied.

  “No, you’re not,” Nightshade scolded her. “You’re going back to the Inn. We have to wait for Rhys!”

  “I won’t.” Mina returned. “I have to go to Godshome or the fighting will only get worse.”

  Nightshade didn’t see how matters could get much worse than they already were, but he didn’t say that. Instead, he said crossly, “Then you’re going the wrong direction. Godshome is north, and you’re going west. We’re on the road to Haven.” He pointed. “That’s the road north.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Mina told him. “You’re lying, trying to trick me.”

  “I am not,” Nightshade returned angrily.

  “Are so.”

  “Am not!”

  “Are so—”

  “You’ve got the map,” Nightshade shouted at last. “Look for yourself.”

  Mina blinked at him. “I don’t have the map.”

  “You do too,” Nightshade said. “Remember? I spread it out on the rock back there near Flotsam and then you decided we were going to go for a fast walk and—”