“I am honored to meet you both.”
Rhys bowed again to the lady wizardess and then bowed to the holy warrior. Straightening, he stood, staff in hand, looking at them. Atta, well trained, sat quietly at his side. Rhys could see himself in their eyes: a tall, too-thin monk dressed in shabby robes of an unfortunate green color. His only possessions of value: a black and white dog and a plain wooden staff. His only companion: a kender who was sucking dolefully on burned fingers. Nightshade had made the mistake of trying to examine Dominique’s holy sword.
Rhys could not blame these two important people for having doubts about him, though they were too polite to show it.
Mistress Jenna broke the silence that was starting to grow uncomfortable.
“This is quite a pretty mystery you have set before us, Brother Rhys Mason. The lord sheriff has told us something about these so-called ‘Beloved of Chemosh.’ I find his report fascinating, especially the notion they can’t be destroyed.” She gave a condescending smile. “At least by a monk and a kender mystic.”
“I have nothing against mystics,” Dominique added in a stern and serious tone, “or against kender. It is just that your powers to deal with the undead are understandably limited.”
“He’s just mad because I touched his stupid sword,” growled Nightshade. He gave the paladin a baleful look. “It’s all Atta’s fault. She wasn’t keeping an eye on me. She was watching them. I don’t think she likes either of them, especially the wizardess.”
Rhys had noticed that Atta was steering clear of Mistress Jenna. The dog did not growl, as she would have with one of the Beloved, but she pressed close against Rhys’s side and kept a suspicious eye on the wizardess.
Mistress Jenna hadn’t been meant to overhear, but she proved she had by saying with a shrug, “He’s right. She doesn’t like me. Dogs take against me, I’m afraid.”
“I am sorry, Mistress—” Rhys began.
“Oh, don’t apologize!” Jenna smiled. “Most dogs find it difficult to be around wizards. I think it has to do with the spell components we carry: bat guano, newts’ eyeballs, dried lizard tails. Dogs don’t like the smell. Cats, on the other hand, don’t seem to mind. One reason mages tend to use felines as familiars, I suppose.”
Gerard cleared his throat. “This is all very interesting, but the two of you have traveled a long distance and there are things we need to discuss—”
“Quite right, Sheriff,” said Mistress Jenna briskly. “Let us return to business. We can discuss dogs later. I have a room in the inn. We can talk in far more comfort and privacy there. Brother Mason, if you would lend me your arm to support my feeble steps, I would be grateful.”
Mistress Jenna slid her bejeweled hand into the crook of Rhys’s elbow. Her steps were no more faltering than Atta’s. She was obviously a woman accustomed to being obeyed, however, and Rhys did as she requested.
Mistress Jenna drew Rhys near her and then glanced over her shoulder to see Atta trotting alongside Nightshade.
“Gerard has been touting the praises of this marvelous dog of yours, Brother. She is trained to herd both sheep and kender, or so I understand.”
“Primarily sheep, Mistress,” said Rhys with a smile.
“Was she trained to this skill from a puppy?”
“She was born to it, you could say,” Rhys replied. “Both her parents were experienced herd dogs.”
“The reason I am asking about the dog is not just from idle curiosity. I own a mageware shop in Palanthas and I have such a problem with kender! You can’t imagine! I employ a guard, but the expense is considerable and the clever little beasts always seem to outwit him anyway. I was thinking a dog might be far more reliable, and certainly a dog would eat less than this brute I’ve hired. Would such a thing be possible?”
Jenna seemed serious about her need and truly interested in what Rhys had to say. He guessed this was a woman who could charm the birds out the vallenwoods if she had a mind to do so and not just through the use of her magic. She was also extremely dangerous. As Head of the Conclave of Wizards, Jenna presided over godly magic in Ansalon—magic that had been gone for years with the absence of the gods and had only recently returned. She was a powerful force in this world and he could see that power in her eyes—a flicker of fire smoldering deep beneath a smooth and placid surface, a fire that spoke of deadly battles fought and victories obtained but only at great cost.
Rhys said politely he had no doubt a dog could be trained to handle the job, though—unlike with Gerard—he did not offer to do the training himself. After this subject had been exhausted, while they were ascending the stairs leading to the inn’s upper floors, Jenna made her apology.
“I truly did not mean to insult you when I spoke about you and the kender lacking the power to deal with these Beloved, Brother. I fear I offended you.”
“Perhaps just a little,” he replied.
“I could see that.” Jenna patted his arm. “I have a regrettable lack of tact, as I’ve often been told. Or maybe, like your dog, you don’t like the stench of magic.”
She cocked an eye at him.
Rhys didn’t know what to say. He was confused by the way she seemed to bore into the core of his soul to see what was inside him.
“At any rate,” she continued, before he could dredge up some excuse, “I hope you will forgive me. Here is my room. Watch it, Brother!” Jenna said sharply, raising a warding hand. “Don’t touch the door handle. You might want to stand back.”
Rhys stepped back, narrowly avoiding bumping into Gerard and the paladin, who were coming up the stairs behind him, both so deeply engrossed in their discussion of the notorious outlaw Baron Samuval, who had taken over half of Abanasinia, that neither was paying particular attention to where they were going. Nightshade clumped up after, grumbling about missing his dinner.
They all waited as Jenna spoke some words in the eerie language of magic that Rhys, shut up in his monastery for most of his life, had never before heard. He was reminded of spider’s legs, wispy cobwebs and silvery bells. Nightshade stood humming a little tune and looking around in bored fashion. The door glowed briefly a faint blue color then swung open.
“I suppose she thinks that’s supposed to impress us,” Nightshade said in an aside to Atta. “I could do that—if I wanted to.”
The dog, by her look, appeared to share the kender’s feelings.
“I always use magic to lock my door,” Jenna explained as she ushered them into the room that was the finest the inn had to offer. “Not because I have all that much of value to protect. It’s just I’m hopeless about misplacing keys. I am perfectly serious about wanting one of your dogs,” she added as Rhys walked past her. “I wasn’t just making myself agreeable.”
Jenna won Nightshade over by passing around a tray of sweetmeats and offering them their choice of ale or a pale, chilled wine. Once they were settled, with Nightshade penned up in a corner by Atta, everyone turned to Rhys.
“Gerard has told us some of the story, Brother,” said the paladin. “But we would like to hear it in your own words.”
Rhys told his tale reluctantly. He guessed that neither was going to believe him. He didn’t blame them. In their place, he would find his story difficult to swallow. Rhys decided he would not waste time in arguing with them or trying to convince them what he said was the truth. If they scoffed, he’d be on his way. He had to find Lleu. He’d wasted time enough as it was.
Neither Jenna nor Dominique spoke as long as Rhys was talking. Neither interrupted him. Both regarded him with grave attentiveness. At the point when Rhys briefly described the murder of the monks, Dominique murmured a few words, and Rhys realized the paladin was saying a prayer for the souls of Majere’s faithful. Dominique frowned when he heard Rhys tell how he had forsaken Majere and shifted his allegiance to Zeboim, but the paladin said no word of reproach.
Rhys deliberately invited Nightshade to offer his own version of events. Rhys had come to value the kender’s courage and resolve
, and he wanted to make it clear they were friends and partners. Nightshade’s tale was lengthy and rambling. He leapfrogged from one thought to another, so that he was occasionally incoherent. Both Jenna and Dominique listened in patience, though sometimes Mistress Jenna was forced to put her hand to her twitching lips to keep from laughing.
When Rhys and Nightshade had no more to tell, the wizardess and the paladin remained silent for a moment. Both looked extremely grave. Gerard said nothing either. He waited for them to speak.
Nightshade fidgeted in his chair, trying to catch Rhys’s eye. He jerked his head meaningfully toward the door and mouthed the words, “Let’s get out of here!”
Rhys shook his head, and Nightshade heaved a loud sigh and kicked at the rungs of his chair with his heels.
“Well, Brother,” said Jenna after a moment, “that is quite a story.”
Rhys inclined his head but did not comment.
Nightshade cleared his throat and said loudly, “Say, I smell pork chops. Does anyone else smell pork chops?”
Gerard sat forward. “We believe we have located one of these Beloved. What I propose is that we arrange to set a trap for him—”
“For ‘it’,” Dominique corrected. “These Beloved are shells of flesh, nothing more. The soul has managed to escape, or so I devoutly hope and pray.”
“It, then,” Gerard said grimly, remembering that “it” had been a friend. “We will set a trap for it. We must try to take Cam unawares, question him—it.”
Jenna was skeptical. “We can try to interrogate the Beloved, but I don’t think we’ll find out anything worthwhile. As the paladin says, the soul has departed. This is nothing more than a mindless slave of Chemosh. If left alive, it will commit more heinous crimes in the name of the Lord of Undeath. I think we should destroy it.”
“I agree,” said Dominique firmly. “Though from what Brother Rhys has told us, destroying it may not be easy.”
Rhys looked from one to the other in astonishment that warmed to a feeling of overwhelming relief. They believed him. He had been fighting this terrible battle with only two friends—a dog and a kender—to aid him. Now he had allies, formidable allies. Now he could share at least part of this unbearably heavy burden.
When Gerard asked for Rhys’s opinion, Rhys could not immediately answer. At last he said, his voice husky, “I am afraid I agree with them, Sheriff. I know that this Cam is known to you, but the paladin of Kiri-Jolith is right. This being is not the young man you knew. It is a mindless, soulless monster that will kill again if not stopped.”
“That’s all very easy for you three to say, but I can’t be going about murdering the citizens of Solace!” Gerard exclaimed wrathfully. “The townsfolk would be up in arms if I let a wizard roast poor Cam to cinders or a paladin stick a holy sword through him! People won’t see him as a monster. They’ll see Cam—the kid who won the sack race at the fair last year! Damn it, I need to be able to talk to him. I need proof he is one of the Beloved. I would think you two would want proof, as well. I mean, we all trust Brother Rhys, but—”
Mistress Jenna raised her hand.
“I understand, Sheriff,” she said mildly. “If you need us to capture this thing alive, we will do our best to capture it.”
She exchanged glances with Dominique, as much to say they must humor the poor man, then she continued smoothly, “What is your plan for this trap, Sheriff?”
“I was thinking of detaining him on his way home from work, then take him to my office where we could all have a talk.”
“That is far too dangerous, Sheriff,” protested Dominique. “Not only for yourself, but for innocent bystanders. We have no idea what havoc this thing could wreak if it felt cornered.”
Gerard sighed and ran his hand through his yellow hair, causing it to resemble a stand of corn after a high wind. “Well, what do you suggest, sir?” he asked glumly.
“I have an idea,” said Rhys. “The Beloved arranged to meet this girl at a place known locally as ‘Flint’s Lookout.’ This is located outside of Solace, just off the main road leading into town. It’s the highest point for miles around with a good view of the city. We could wait for the Beloved there. Few people travel the road after nightfall. It’s isolated and a safe distance from town.”
Mistress Jenna was nodding her head.
“A good plan,” said Dominique.
Gerard glanced around at them. “I want to make one thing clear. You give me a chance to talk to Cam first, alone. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” said Mistress Jenna, rather too readily, or so Rhys thought. “I, for one, would be interested to hear what one of these creatures has to say.”
Gerard grunted. Though bringing these two to Solace had been his idea, he was clearly not happy with any of this. They arranged a meeting time, then Mistress Jenna, rising, politely indicated it was time to leave.
“I have spells to study,” she said, adding, with an apologetic glance at Gerard, “Just in case.”
“And I have evening prayers at the temple,” said Dominique.
“And I have pork chops in the kitchen!” cried Nightshade happily.
The kender was the first out the door and down the stairs. Atta, after a glance at Rhys, received permission to accompany him. The paladin followed, and Mistress Jenna closed and locked her door, leaving Gerard and Rhys alone together.
“I really hate this!” Gerard muttered. “I know—I brought these two here to help stop these Beloved, but I didn’t know it would be Cam! I’ve watched that kid grow up. When I was posted here before the War of Souls, Cam was always hanging around the barracks. All he could talk about was wanting to be a knight. I taught him how to use a sword. They can say all they want about this monster not being him, but it has his smile, his laugh—”
Gerard stopped his ranting. He looked at Rhys, gave a rueful sigh, and ran his hand through his hair again.
“You are in a difficult position, Sheriff,” Rhys said quietly. “I will do what I can to help you.”
“Thanks, Brother,” Gerard said gratefully. “You know, sometimes I wish I’d been born a kender. No worries. No cares. No responsibilities. Nothing but pork chops. See you tonight, Brother. I’d ask you to say a prayer, but we’re up to our eyeballs in gods as it is.”
He ran down the stairs, hastening off on his own business. Rhys followed more slowly. He thought regretfully of that feeling of relief he’d experienced.
It hadn’t lasted long.
lint’s Lookout was located atop a hill overlooking Solace. Gerard and his team assembled near the boulder where, according to local legend, the famed Hero of the Lance, Flint Fireforge, had stopped to rest on the momentous night when a Plainswoman and a blue crystal staff had brought word of the return of the true gods, and the War of the Lance had begun.
The view was spectacular. Smoke from cook fires drifted lazily into the air. The sun’s dying rays glinted orange off Crystalmir Lake and sparkled in the diamond-paned windows of the Inn of the Last Home, one of the few buildings visible through the thick foliage of the vallenwood trees.
“It is lovely,” said Mistress Jenna, looking about. “So peaceful and quiet. The past seems very close here. One could almost expect the old dwarf to come walking over the hillside, along with his friend the kender. They would have more right to be here than we do.”
“We have problems enough with undead without you conjuring up more ghosts, Mistress,” said Gerard. He meant it as a jest, but in the tense atmosphere, it fell flat. No one laughed. “We better take our places before night falls.”
They left the road and the old dwarf’s boulder and entered the outskirts of the forest that blanketed the hillside. They walked among firs and oaks, maples and walnuts, coming to a halt when Gerard deemed they couldn’t be seen from the road, yet the road was still in sight.
“We have some time before Cam is due to come,” Gerard said.
He had made the walk in grim and somber silence, punctuated occasionally by soft, inward sighs. Rh
ys’s heart ached for his friend, but he knew only too well there was nothing he could say that would bring any comfort.
“I brought a blanket to keep off the damp.” Gerard unrolled a blanket and spread it on a bed of dead pine needles. “We might as well be comfortable while we wait.”
He gestured to the blanket with bluff gallantry. “Mistress Jenna, please be seated.”
“Thank you, Sheriff,” Jenna replied with a smile. “But I am not as limber as I was in my twenties. If I sat down on that blanket, it would take three gully dwarves and a gnomish infernal device to hoist me onto my feet again. If no one has any objections, I will commandeer this tree trunk.”
Seating herself on the stump of an oak tree, Jenna smoothed out the skirts of her robe and carefully placed a lantern she had brought with her on the ground at her feet. The lantern was small and delicate, made of hand-blown glass set in silver wrought in intricate filigree. Inside, a red candle burned with a blue-white flame.
“I see you admire my lantern, Brother,” said Jenna, noting Rhys regarding the lantern with frank curiosity. “You have an eye for beauty. And for value. The lantern is very old. It dates back to the time of the Kingpriests.”
“It is lovely,” Rhys agreed. “More lovely than useful, it would seem. It gives only a feeble light.”
“It is not meant to illuminate the darkness, Brother.” Jenna chuckled. “It shields the flame that I use for my magic. The lantern itself is magical, you see. Even this small bit of candle, once placed inside the lantern, will burn for hours on end. The flame cannot be blown out or doused, not even if I was caught in a cyclone or had fallen into the sea. You can take a closer look, Brother. Pick it up, if you want. It won’t bite.”
Amber and Iron Page 9
