Amber and Blood dd-3

by Margaret Weis

  In the end, Galdar’s faith in Sargas (and his fear of him) and his longing to see Mina won out. He reluctantly agreed to accept the assignment. (It should be noted that Sargas did not tell Galdar the truth-that Mina was a god herself. The Horned God must have considered that too great a test for his faithful follower.)

  Galdar and the small minotaur patrol under his command spent considerable time scouting the enemy, determining their numbers, appraising their skill. A cautious and intelligent leader, Galdar did not immediately assume, as did some of his race, that just because they were dealing with elves his soldiers would have an easy time of it. Galdar had fought elves during and after the War of Souls, and he had come to respect them as a warriors even if he didn’t think much of them in any other regard. He impressed upon his troops that elves were skilled and tenacious fighters, who would fight all the more fiercely because of their loyalty and dedication to their Walking God.

  Galdar laid his ambush in the wilds of the Khalkist mountains. He chose this region because he calculated that once the Walking God was far from civilization the numbers of his followers would dwindle. When Valthonis traveled the major highways of Solamnia, he might have as many as twenty or thirty people accompanying him. Here, far from any major city, close to Neraka, a region of Ansalon most people still considered cursed, only the most dedicated remained at his side. Galdar counted six elven warriors armed with bow and arrow and sword, a Wilder elf who bore no weapons, and a druid of Chislev clad in moss green robes who would probably attack them with holy spells.

  He set the time for the ambush at twilight, when the shadows of night stealing among the trees vied with the last rays of the sun. At this time, tricks of the waning light could fool the eye, make finding a target difficult even for elven archers.

  Galdar and his troops hid themselves among the trees, waiting until they heard the party moving along the trail, which was little more than a goatherd’s path. The small band was still some distance away, time for Galdar to give his minotaur band some last-minute whispered orders.

  “We are to take the Walking God alive,” he said, laying heavy emphasis on the word. “This command comes from Sargas himself. Remember this-Sargas is the god of vengeance. Disobey him at your peril. I for one am not prepared to risk his wrath.”

  The other minotaurs agreed wholeheartedly and some glanced uneasily at the heavens. Sargas’ retribution against those who thwarted his will was known to be as swift as it was brutal.

  “What if this so-called Walking God chooses to do battle, sir?” asked one. “Will the Gods of Wimps fight for their own? Should we expect lightning bolts to strike us down?”

  “Gods of Wimps, is it, Malek?” Galdar growled. “You lost the tip of your horn to a Solamnic knight. Was she a wimp, or did she kick your sorry ass?”

  The minotaur looked chagrined. His fellows grinned at him, and one nudged him with an elbow.

  “So long as we threaten no harm to the Walking God, the Gods of Light will not intervene. So the priest of Sargas assured me.”

  “And what do we do with this Walking God once we have him, sir?” asked another. “You haven’t told us that yet.”

  “Because I don’t want to burden your brain with more than one thought at a time,” Galdar told him. “All you need worry about now is capturing the Walking God. Alive!”

  Galdar cocked an ear. The voices and the footfalls were drawing nearer.

  “Take up your positions,” he ordered and dispersed his men, sending them running to the ditches on either side of the road. “Don’t move a muscle and keep upwind of them! These blasted elves have a nose for minotaur.”

  Galdar crouched behind a large oak tree. His sword remained sheathed. He hoped he would not have to use it, and rubbed the stump of his missing arm. The wound was an old one. The arm was fully healed, but sometimes, strangely, he felt pain in the limb that was not there. This evening the arm burned and throbbed worse than usual. He blamed it on the damp, but he had to wonder if it hurt because he was thinking of Mina, recalling their first meeting. She had reached out her hand to him and her touch had healed him, given him back his severed limb.

  The limb he’d lost again, trying to save her.

  He wondered if she remembered, if she ever thought of their time together, the happiest and proudest time of his life.

  Probably not, now that she was a high muckety-muck priestess.

  Galdar rubbed his arm and cursed the damp and listened to the voices of elves coming closer.

  Hunkering down among the dead leaves and shadows, the minotaur soldiers gripped their weapons and waited.

  ***

  Two elven warriors walked in front, four came behind. Valthonis and the druid of Chislev walked in the center of the group, absorbed in their conversation. Elspeth kept very close to him, almost at his heels. Usually she would have been far in the rear, several paces behind the rear guard. This sudden change added to the uneasiness the others felt at being so near the accursed valley of Neraka where the Dark Queen had once reigned. They had questioned Valthonis about why he had chosen to come here, to this dread place, but he would only smile and tell them what he always told them in answer to their questions.

  “I do not go where I want to go,” he would say. “I go where I need to be.”

  Since they could elicit no information from the Walking God, one of the Faithful took it upon himself to question Elspeth, asking her in a low voice what was wrong, what she feared. Elspeth might have been deaf, as well as mute, for she did even glance his way. She kept her gaze fixed upon Valthonis and, as the elf later reported to his fellows, her face was drawn and tense.

  Already uneasy and nervous about their surroundings, the elven warriors were not quite caught off guard by the sudden attack. Something struck them as wrong as they passed beneath the leaves of the overhanging tree limbs. Perhaps it was a smell; minotaur have a bovine stench that is not easy to conceal. Perhaps it was the breaking of a stick beneath a heavy boot, or the shifting of a large body in the underbrush. Whatever it was, the elves sensed danger, and they slowed their pace.

  The two in front drew their swords and fell back to take up positions on either side of Valthonis. The elves following nocked their arrows and raised their bows and turned to stare intently into the shifting shadows in the trees.

  “Show yourselves!” one of the elves shouted harshly in Common.

  The minotaur soldiers obeyed his command, clambering up out of the ditches and surging onto the road. Steel clanged against steel. Bowstrings twanged and the druid began to chant a prayer to Chislev, calling on her for blessed aid.

  Valthonis’ voice cut through the chaos, ringing out loudly and forcefully. “Stop this! Now.”

  He spoke with such authority that all the combatants obeyed him, including the minotaurs, who reacted to the commanding tone out of instinct. A heartbeat later they realized that it was their intended victim who had ordered them to cease and, feeling foolish, sprang again to the attack.

  This time Galdar roared, “Stop in the name of Sargas!” The minotaur soldiers, seeing their leader striding forward, reluctantly lowered their swords and fell back.

  The elves and the minotaurs eyed each other balefully. No one attacked, but no one sheathed his blade. The druid was still praying. Valthonis placed a hand upon the man’s shoulder and spoke a soft word. The druid cast him a pleading glance, but Valthonis shook his head, and the prayer to Chislev ended in a sigh.

  Galdar raised his only hand to show he bore no weapon and walked toward Valthonis. The Faithful moved to interpose their own bodies between the Walking God and the minotaur.

  “Walking God,” said Galdar, speaking over the heads of those who blocked him, “I would speak to you-in private.”

  “Stand aside, my friends,” said Valthonis. “I will hear what he has to say.”

  One of the elves tried to argue, but Valthonis would not listen. He asked the Faithful again to stand aside and this they did, though reluctantly and unhappily.
Galdar ordered his soldiers to keep their distance and they obeyed, though with lowering looks at the elves.

  Galdar and Valthonis walked into the trees, out of earshot of their followers.

  “You are Valthonis, once the god Paladine,” stated Galdar.

  “I am Valthonis,” said the elf mildly.

  “I am Galdar, emissary of the great god known to minotaur as Sargas, known to those like yourselves as Sargonnas. My god bids me speak these words: ‘You have unfinished business in the world, Valthonis, and because you have chosen to ‘walk’ away from this challenge there is new strife in heaven and among men. The great Sargas wants to bring this strife to an end. This matter must be brought to a swift and final resolution. To facilitate this, he will bring about a meeting between you and your challenger.’”

  “I hope you do think I am being argumentative, Emissary, but I am afraid I know nothing about this strife or the challenge of which you speak,” Valthonis replied.

  Galdar rubbed his muzzle with the side of his hand. He was uncomfortable, for he believed in honor and in honesty, and in this he was being less than honest, less than honorable.

  “Perhaps not a challenge from Mina,” Galdar clarified, hoping his god would understand. “More of a threat. Still,” he went on before Valthonis could reply, “it hangs between the two of you like noxious smoke, poisoning the air.”

  “Ah, I understand now,” Valthonis said. “You speak of Mina’s vow to kill me.”

  Galdar glanced about uneasily at his minotaur escort. “Keep your voice down when you mention her name. My people consider her a witch.”

  He cleared his throat and added stiffly, “I was told by Sargas to say that the Horned God wants to bring the two of you together, that you may resolve your differences.”

  Valthonis smiled wryly at this, and Galdar, embarrassed, kept on rubbing his muzzle. Sargas had no intention the two should resolve their differences. Galdar had no love for any elf, but he scorned to lie to this one. He had his orders, however, and so he said what he’d been told to say, though he was making it clear he wasn’t the one to say it.

  The two were interrupted by one of the Faithful, who called out, “You have no need to parlay with this brute, sir. We can and will fight to defend you-”

  “No blood will be shed because of me,” said Valthonis sharply. He cast a stern glance at the Faithful. “Have you walked the road with me all this time and listened to me speak of peace and brotherhood and yet heard nothing I have said to you?”

  His voice rasped, and his followers were abashed. They did not know where to look to avoid his angry gaze, and so averted their faces or stared at the ground. Only Elspeth did not look away. Only she met his gaze. He smiled at her in reassurance and then turned back to Galdar.

  “I will accompany you on the condition that my companions be allowed to leave unharmed.”

  “Those are my orders,” said Galdar. He raised his voice so that all could hear. “Sargas wants peace. He does not want to see blood spilled.”

  One of the elves sneered at this, and one of the minotaurs growled, and the two leaped at each other. Galdar flung himself at the minotaur and socked him in the jaw. Elspeth grasped the sword arm of the elven warrior and pulled him back. Startled, the warrior immediately lowered his weapon.

  “If you will walk with us, sir,” Galdar said, shaking out his bruised knuckles, “we will act as your escort. Give me your vow that you will not try to escape, and I will not chain you.”

  “You have my word,” said Valthonis. “I will not escape. I go with you of my own free will.”

  He bade goodbye to the Faithful, giving his hand to each and asking the gods to bless them.

  “Do not fear, sir,” said one softly, speaking Silvanesti elven, “we will rescue you.”

  “I have given my word,” said Valthonis. “I will not break it.”

  “But, sir-”

  The Walking God shook his head and turned away, only to find Elspeth blocking him. It seemed she longed to speak, for her jaw trembled and low, animal sounds came from her throat.

  Valthonis touched her cheek with his hand. “You need say nothing, child. I understand.”

  Elspeth grasped hold of his hand and pressed it to her cheek.

  “Take care of her,” Valthonis ordered the Faithful.

  He gently freed his hand from her grasp and walked to where Galdar and the minotaur guard stood waiting for him.

  “You have my word. And I have yours,” said Valthonis. “My friends depart unharmed.”

  “May Sargas take my other arm if I break my oath,” said Galdar. He entered the forest, and Valthonis followed. The minotaur guard closed in around them both.

  The Faithful stood on the path amidst the gathering gloom, watching their leader depart. Their elven sight allowed them to keep track of Valthonis for a long while and, then, when they could not see him, they could hear the minotaur crashing and hacking their way through the brush. The Faithful looked at one another. The minotaur had left a trail a blind gully dwarf could follow. They would be easy to track.

  One started after them. The silent Elspeth stopped him.

  “He gave his word,” she said, using signs, touching her hand to her mouth, then to her heart. “He made his choice.”

  Grieving, the Faithful began to trace their steps, returning the way they had come. It was some time before any of them realized that Elspeth was not with them. Mindful of their promise, they began to search for her and at last they found her trail. She walked the same path the Walking God had been traveling-the road to Neraka. She refused to turn aside, and mindful of their promise to care for her, the Faithful accompanied her.

  4

  Rhys was dreaming that he was being watched and he woke with an alarmed start to find his dream was true. A face hovered over him. Fortunately, the face was one Rhys knew, and he closed his eyes in relief and calmed his racing heart.

  Nightshade, chin in hand, was sitting cross-legged beside Rhys, peering down at him. The kender’s expression was gloomy.

  “About bloody time you woke up!” Nightshade muttered.

  Rhys sighed and kept his eyes closed a moment longer. Until his dream, his slumber had been deep and sweet and easeful, and he let go of sleep with regret. All the more so since it appeared by the glimpse he’d had of Nightshade’s grim expression that waking would not be nearly so pleasant.

  “Rhys.” Nightshade poked at him with his finger. “Don’t you dare go back to sleep. Here, Atta, slobber on him.”

  “I’m awake,” said Rhys, sitting up and ruffling Atta’s fur, for the dog was unhappy and she pressed her head into his neck for comfort. Still soothing Atta, Rhys sat up and looked about.

  “Where are we?” he asked, amazed.

  “I can tell you where we’re not,” stated Nightshade glumly. “We’re not in the house of the pretty lady who makes the best gingerbread in the world. Which is where we both were yesterday, and the day before that and we were there when I went to sleep last night, and that’s where we should be this morning, only we’re not. We’re here. Wherever ‘here’ is. And I don’t mind telling you,” the kender added in a tense tone, “that I’d rather be somewhere else. Here is not a nice place.”

  Rhys gently put Atta aside and rose swiftly to his feet. The forest was gone, as was the small house, where, as Nightshade had said, he and the kender, Atta and Mina had spent two days and two nights-days and nights of blessed tranquility and peace. They had intended to set out upon the final stage of their journey this morning, but it seemed Mishakal had forestalled him.

  They looked out upon a desolate, barren valley slung between the charred ridges of several active volcanoes. Tendrils of steam drifted up from the blackened peaks, trailing into a sky that was a stark and empty blue. The air was chill, the sun small and shrunken and impotent, radiating no warmth. Their shadows straggled across the trackless gray stone floor of the valley and dwindled to nothing. The air was thin and sulpherous, difficult to breathe. Rhys co
uld not seem to take in enough to fill his lungs. Most awful was the silence which had a living quality to it, like an inhaled breath. Watchful, waiting.

  Strange rock formations littered this valley. Enormous black crystals, jagged-edged and faceted, thrust up out of the stone. Some standing twenty feet high or more, the monoliths were scattered about the valley at random. They were not a natural formation, did not appear to have sprung up out of the ground. Rather, it seemed they had been cast down from heaven by some immense force whose fury had driven them deep into the valley floor.

  “The least you could have done is bring the gingerbread with you,”

  Nightshade said. “Now we don’t have any breakfast. I know I agreed to come with you to find the Walking God, but I didn’t know the trip was going to be quite so sudden.”

  “I didn’t either,” Rhys said, then added sharply, “Where’s Mina?”

  Nightshade jerked a thumb over his shoulder. Mina had waited with him beside the slumbering Rhys until she’d grown bored and wandered off to investigate. She stood some distance away, gazing at her reflection in one of the crystalline monoliths.

  “Why are you looking all tense like this?” Nightshade demanded. “What’s wrong?”

  “I know where we are,” said Rhys, hurrying over to fetch Mina. “I know this place. And we must leave at once. Atta, come!”

  “I’m all for leaving. Though leaving doesn’t look to be as easy as coming,” Nightshade stated, breaking into a run to keep up with Rhys’ long strides. “Especially since we have no idea how the ‘coming’ happened. I don’t think it was Mina. She was asleep on the ground when I woke up and when she woke up, she was as startled and confused as I was.”

  Rhys was certain the White Lady had sent them to this terrible place, though he could not imagine why, other than that it was said to be close to Godshome.

  “So, Rhys,” said Nightshade, his boots thunking on the stone and causing dust to swirl in small, slithering eddies over the floor like side-winding snakes, “where are we? What is this place?”