Rhys squatted down. Despite what she said, he did not presume to try to touch it. “A relic dating back to the Third Age must be of immense value.”
“If I sold it, I could probably buy half of Solace with the proceeds,” stated Jenna.
Rhys looked up at her. “Yet you risk such a valuable artifact here this night.”
Jenna regarded him intently. He noted how the fine lines around her eyes had a way of intensifying her gaze, concentrating it, like sunlight shining through a prism.
“Either you do not understand the serious nature of this threat, Brother, or you imagine that I do not,” she said briskly. “I am not here as Jenna, a long-time friend of Palin Majere. I am here in my capacity as Head of the Conclave of Wizards. I will be making a full report to the Conclave immediately upon my return, for we must determine the best way to deal with this crisis. The same is true of our holy paladin. He will be making reports to the priests and clerics of all the gods of Light, as well as the assembled Council of the Knights of Solamnia. This is not a kender outing for us, Brother. Dominique and I have come armed for battle. We carry with us the best weapons we have at our disposal.”
“I am sorry, Mistress,” Rhys said quietly. “I meant no disrespect.”
He should be grateful. This was what he’d wanted, yet now he was filled with unease. On one hand, he was thankful that at last the world would know of this threat. On the other, fear could lead to inquisitions, torture, persecutions of the innocent. The cure might be far worse than the disease.
“For good or ill, the matter is out of your hands now, Brother,” said Mistress Jenna, guessing his thoughts. “Oh, no you don’t, sir!”
She plucked away a small hand, belonging to Nightshade, as it was reaching for the lantern. “Look over yonder. I believe I see a poltergeist wandering about the base of that oak tree.”
“A poltergeist?” Nightshade said eagerly. “Where?”
“Over there.” Jenna pointed. “No, more to the left.”
Nightshade hastened off in pursuit, Atta following along dubiously at his heels.
Jenna turned back to Rhys. “You must promise to keep that kender as far from me as humanly possible. By the way, can he really talk to dead people?”
“Yes, Mistress. I have seen him myself.”
“Remarkable. You must bring him to Palanthas some time for a visit. There are several dead people I would like to contact. One of them had in his possession a spellbook reputed to have been written by my father, Justarius. I tried to buy it from him, but the old fool said he’d take it to his grave before he sold it to me. Apparently he did, because I searched his house after his death and could not find it.”
Jenna glanced into the sky. “Lunitari will be full this night. Excellent for spellcasting.” She fixed her prism-eyes upon Rhys. Her expression was serious, her tone grave. “The paladin and I will handle the Beloved, Brother. You watch over our friend the Sheriff.”
She glanced at Gerard as she spoke. “He must not be allowed to interfere with our work. If he does, I won’t be responsible for the consequences. Now leave me, Brother. I want to go over my spells one final time.”
She closed her eyes and clasped her hands in her lap.
“No sign of a poltergeist,” said Nightshade, returning, disappointed.
Rhys steered the kender away from both Mistress Jenna and Dominique, not that the paladin would have noticed a hundred kender. Dominique was with them in body, not in spirit. Accoutered in full plate armor, and steel helm, he wore the tabard marked by the symbol of Kiri-Jolith. He knelt on the ground, his sword before him. His eyes shone with holy fervor as he murmured the words of a prayer, asking his god for strength in the hour of trial about to come.
The chill evening wind blew down from the mountains, picking up dry leaves and sending them rustling and skittering along the deserted road. That same chill wind blew through the emptiness of Rhys’s soul as he watched the knight pray.
“There was a time when I knew faith like that,” he said to himself softly.
A follower of Zeboim, he should be calling upon his goddess for help in his own hour of trial. He did not think the lady would much approve of his companions, however, so he did not bother her. His task, as he saw it, was to make certain everyone came out of this relatively unscathed, including—for Gerard’s sake—the wretched thing that had once been a fun-loving, good-hearted young man.
Gerard prowled restlessly beneath the trees, keeping watch down the road. He remained some distance from the rest of the group, making it clear he did not want company. Rhys looked back to see Nightshade creeping up again to stare at the lantern, and he hurriedly suggested that he and Atta and the kender play a game of “Rock, Cloth, Knife.”
Nightshade had recently taught Atta how to play this game that required each player to choose in three turns whether he was “rock” (closed fist), “cloth” (open fist) or “knife” (two fingers). The winner was determined by the following: Rock crushed knife. Cloth covered rock. Knife cut cloth.
Atta would place her paw on the kender’s knee and Nightshade would interpret this action to be whatever he thought she meant, so that by turns Atta might be “cloth” which covered the rock or “knife” which cut cloth.
“Everyone’s so serious,” Nightshade remarked. “Atta has knife, Rhys. You have cloth, so you lose. I have rock, Atta. You lose, too. I’m sorry. Maybe you’ll win next time.” He gave the dog a pat to soothe her wounded feelings. “I’ve seen livelier gatherings in graveyards. Do you really believe they’re going to be able to kill it?”
“Hush, keep your voice down,” Rhys cautioned, with a glance at Gerard. “We’ve both fought the Beloved before. What do you think of their chances?”
Nightshade pondered. “I know the wizardess doesn’t put much store in my spellcasting, and that holy warrior looked sideways at your staff. If you want my opinion, I don’t think they’re going to do much better. Atta! You won! Dishcloth beats both of us!”
The sun had set. The sky was lit with pale yellow that melted into shimmering blue, deepening to starlit black over the mountains. The red moon glimmered orange in the afterglow. The small flame from Jenna’s lantern seemed far brighter now that darkness surrounded them.
Jenna sat quite still, her eyes closed, her hands making elaborate motions as she rehearsed her spellcasting. Dominique had finished his prayer. He rose stiffly from his kneeling position and reverently sheathed his sword.
The night’s stillness was broken by Gerard.
“Cam’s on his way up here! Nightshade! I need you! Come with me. No, the dog stays here.”
Nightshade jumped to his feet and went off with Gerard. Rhys stood up. A word and touch upon her head kept Atta at his side.
Her expression calm, concentrated, Mistress Jenna moved from beneath the tree branches into a patch of red moonlight. She lifted her face to the moon and smiled, as though basking in its blessed rays. Dominique walked over near her and whispered something. Jenna nodded silently in agreement. Reaching into one of her pouches, she drew out an object and clasped it in her hand. Dominique walked off to take up a position some distance from her, yet keeping her within sight.
The two had secretly formed their own strategy, Rhys realized, one they had probably not bothered to discuss with Gerard.
Rhys clasped his emmide tightly.
Gerard and Nightshade stood together by the boulder.
“There he is,” said Gerard, and he put his hand on Nightshade’s shoulder.
A young man was walking energetically up the hill. There was no mistaking him, for he carried a torch to light his way and the firelight shone brightly on his red hair.
“Take a good look at him, Nightshade,” said Gerard. “A good look inside him.”
“I’m sorry, Sheriff,” said Nightshade. “I know what you want me to see, but I don’t. There’s nothing inside him. Not anymore.”
Gerard’s shoulders slumped. “All right. Go back and stay with Rhys.”
“I can help you talk to him,” Nightshade offered, feeling sorry for his friend. “I’m good at talking to dead people.”
“Just … go back,” Gerard ordered. A nerve in his jaw twitched.
Nightshade ran off.
“Cam is on his way,” he reported, adding sadly, “They don’t come much deader.”
Jenna and Dominique exchanged glances.
“Nightshade,” Rhys said, leaning down to whisper into the kender’s ear, “I’m going to join Gerard.”
“I’ll come with you—”
“No,” said Rhys. His gaze went to Jenna and the paladin. “I think you should stay here.”
Dominique placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, partially drawing it from its scabbard. The weapon began to shine with an eerie white light.
“You’re right. I still have blisters on my fingers.” Nightshade peered into the tree branches. “I’ll have a great view of the action from up there, and I can still cast my spells, if you need me. Give me a boost, will you?”
Rhys hoisted the kender into the lower branches of the walnut tree. Nightshade scrambled from limb to limb and was soon lost to sight.
Rhys walked softly, moving without sound through the shadows. Atta padded along beside him, her white patches of fur taking on a pinkish color in the red moonlight. Neither Jenna nor Dominique paid any attention to him.
“Here, Brother, take the torch,” said Gerard, handing Rhys the flaring light. “Now, back off.”
“I think I should stay with you,” said Rhys.
“I said back off, Monk!” Gerard flared. “He’s my friend. I’ll handle this.”
Rhys had serious misgivings, but he did as he was ordered, walking back to stand in the shadows.
“Who’s there?” Cam called, holding up his torch. “Sheriff? Is that you?”
“It’s me, Cam,” said Gerard.
“What in the Abyss are you doing here?” Cam demanded.
“Waiting for you.”
“Why? I’m off-duty now. I’m free to do what I please,” Cam returned, irritated. “If you must know, I’m meeting someone here, a young lady. So I’ll just bid you a good-night, Sheriff—”
“Jenny’s not coming, Cam,” said Gerard quietly. “I told her father and mother about you.”
“Told them what?” Cam challenged.
“That you took an oath to Chemosh, the Lord of Death.”
“What if I did?” Cam demanded. “Solace is a free city, or so that old fart of a Mayor keeps saying. I can worship any god I choose—”
“Unbutton your shirt for me, son,” said Gerard.
“My shirt?” Cam laughed. “What’s my shirt go to do with anything?”
“Humor me,” said Gerard.
“Humor yourself,” said Cam rudely. Turning, the young man started to walk away.
Gerard reached out, seized hold of Cam’s shirt and gave it a sharp yank.
Cam whipped around, his freckled face contorted in fury, his fists clenched. His shirt placket gaped open.
“What’s that?” Gerard asked, pointing.
Cam glanced down at a burn mark on his left breast. He smiled, then touched it reverently with his fingers. He looked back at Gerard.
“Mina’s kiss,” Cam said softly.
Gerard started. “Mina! How do you know Mina?”
‘I don’t, but I see her face all the time. That’s what we call the mark of her love for us. Mina’s Kiss.”
“Cam,” said Gerard, his expression grave. “Son, you’re in a lot of trouble, more trouble than you can ever imagine. I want to help—”
“No, you don’t.” Cam snarled. “You want to stop me.”
Rhys had heard those words before, or something very like them.
He was going to try to stop me.… Lleu’s words, spoken as his brother stood over the corpse of the Master. Then there was poor Lucy’s husband, hacked to bits. Maybe he had wanted to stop her.
“Now listen to me, Cam—”
“Gerard!” Rhys cried. “Look out!”
His warning came to late. Cam lunged, hands reaching for Gerard’s throat.
The attack caught Gerard completely off-guard. He fumbled for his sword, but he did not have time to draw it before the hands of the young man closed with bone-crushing strength around his neck.
Calling upon Kiri-Jolith, Dominique ran to the sheriff’s rescue. His sword flared with holy zeal. Rhys was running, too, but the Beloved possessed a grip that was as strong as death and as unrelenting. Gerard would be dead, his windpipe crushed, before either Dominique or Rhys could reach him.
A small black and white furry body dashed past Rhys. Atta launched herself into the air and flung herself at the grappling men. She crashed into them bodily, knocking both Cam and Gerard to the ground, jarring loose Cam’s hold on his victim.
Gerard rolled over on his back, gasping for air.
Cam fought with the dog, who was attacking him viciously, her snapping teeth going for his jugular.
“Monk, call off your dog!” Dominique cried.
“Atta!” Rhys yelled. “To me!”
The dog was in a red rage, intent on the kill. The blood of the wolf that had been her distant ancestor pounded in her ears, drowning out her master’s command.
Cam seized hold of Atta by the scruff of her neck, wrenched her off him. He twisted her neck, then flung her limp body away.
Rhys couldn’t leave Gerard, who was gasping for breath. Rhys looked back in agony at Atta. He could not see her very well, for she lay outside the light of his torch. She didn’t appear to be moving.
There was a rustle of leaves and a crashing sound, and Nightshade tumbled down from his perch amidst the branches.
“She’s hurt pretty bad, but I’ll take care of her, Rhys!” the kender called with a catch in his voice.
He took Atta into his arms, and with tears running down his cheeks, began to croon to her softly, rocking her back and forth.
Rhys wrenched his gaze from his dog to the confrontation between Dominique and the Beloved. Cam had managed to regain his feet with amazing speed. His throat was slashed half-open, but only a small amount of blood oozed from the wounds.
He grinned at the paladin.
“What are you supposed to be? Huma’s ghost?”
Dominique brought forth a holy medallion he wore around his neck. He held it up in front of Cam.
“In the name of Kiri-Jolith, I call upon you to return to the Abyss from whence you came!”
“I don’t come from the Abyss,” said Cam. “I come from Solace, and get that thing out of my face!”
He knocked aside Dominique’s hand, sending the holy medallion flying out of the paladin’s grasp.
Coolly and calmly, Dominique plunged his sword in Cam’s breastbone.
Cam gave a strangled cry. He stared in disbelief at the sword that was buried in his chest up to the hilt.
Dominique yanked out the blood-smeared blade. Cam’s legs buckled. He fell to his knees, then toppled forward and lay unmoving.
“Blessed be Kiri-Jolith,” Dominique said reverently, and started to sheathe his sword.
Cam lifted his head.
“Hey, there, Huma. You missed!”
Dominique staggered backward, nearly dropping his blade in astonishment. Recovering himself, he leaped at the Beloved and brought down his sword in a slashing arc of white fire. The blow severed Cam’s head from his neck.
The body lay twitching on the ground. The head rolled a short distance away, ended up facing Gerard.
The Sheriff had managed to regain his breath.
“Cam, I’m sorry—” Gerard began then gasped in horror.
One of the eyes in the severed head winked at him.
The mouth opened and laughed. The headless body rose up on its hands and knees and began to crawl toward the severed head.
Gerard made a gargling sound. “Oh, gods!” he gasped, his throat raw. “Kill it! Kill it!”
Dominique stared at the grotesque corps
e wriggling on the ground. He lifted his sword to strike it again.
“Get out of my way!” Jenna cried. “All of you!”
Rhys took hold of Gerard. Dominique joined him, and between them, they half-carried, half-dragged the sheriff deeper into the forest.
Jenna held a glittering orange gemstone in one hand and the burning red candle in the other. She began to chant the words of magic.
As Rhys watched, mesmerized, the candle flame grew larger and larger and brighter and brighter, until it blazed with such fierce intensity that the light made his eyes water.
By the brilliant light, he saw a grotesque sight. The arms of the corpse lifted up the severed head and affixed it back on the neck. Head and body melded together into one. Cam, looking much the same as always, except for a blood-spattered shirt, started walking toward them.
Jenna gave a cry and pointed at the Beloved.
A globe of light leaped from the candle, blazed through the darkness, and smote the Beloved.
Cam cried out and shut his eyes against the glare. He fell once again to his knees and remained crouched there, one hand covering his eyes, the other stretched out as though trying to fend off the spell.
He remained in that attitude, unmoving, his eyes shut against the glare until Jenna gave a gasp and sank, exhausted, to her knees. The bright light vanished, as though an immense breath had blown it out, leaving them in darkness so deep that Rhys was effectively blinded.
From out of the darkness came Cam’s voice.
“I guess I’ll be going now, Sheriff, unless you’ve brought along someone else who wants to try to kill me.…”
erard shook off Rhys’s attempts to restrain him and staggered to his feet.
“I may not be able to destroy you—or what’s left of you,” Gerard gasped, barely able to talk. “But I’ll set a watch on you day and night. You won’t hurt anyone else, at least not in Solace.”
Cam shrugged. “Like I said, I’m leaving anyway. Nothing for me around here anymore.”
Amber and Iron Page 10
