Amber and Ashes - Margaret Weis [104]
Zeboim searched the heavens for help. She cried to her father, Sargonnas, but he had ears only for his minotaur. She sought her twin brother, Nuitari, god of the dark moon, but he was nowhere to be found.
They could do nothing, anyway, she realized. She could do nothing.
The goddess gave a deep, shuddering moan. Small droplets of rain fell from the skies. The clouds disintegrated into ragged wisps. The wind died to nothing, not so much as a whisper. The ocean waters went flat.
On Storm’s Keep, the waves licked meekly at the rocks. The thunder clouds rolled away and the sun shone brightly, so brightly that Krell, who wasn’t used to it, found the light annoying and he was forced to leave his khas game to close the shutters.
he ships of the minotaur expeditionary force crawled like bugs over a sea that was flat as a mill pond. The rowers of the enormous triremes labored ceaselessly, day and night, until many collapsed of exhaustion. Food and water had to be rationed. Crew and passengers began to sicken and to die. All over the world, ships languished on lifeless oceans. Sailors everywhere prayed to Zeboim for relief. None came. In desperation, some turned to other gods to intercede with Zeboim on their behalf.
Sargonnas, especially, would have been glad to do so. His armies were due to make landfall in Silvanesti in mid-summer, to take advantage of the fine weather to fortify defenses, conquer new lands, build new homes for the immigrants. As slowly as his ships were moving, they might arrive in time to celebrate Yule.
Those that arrived at all …
In a rage, the horned god stomped through the heavens in search of his daughter. He had no idea what perverse whim had seized Zeboim, but her latest tantrum-throwing snit had to end. His plans for the conquest of both the mortal world and the plane of heaven were being thrown into jeopardy.
Sargonnas searched the seas and the rivers, the streams and creeks. He searched among the clouds that no longer boiled and churned but gathered in a gray mass that lay thick and weeping upon the quiet seas. He shredded the mists and tore apart the fog and thundered her name.
Zeboim did not answer. She had vanished and none of the other gods, even the far-seeing Zivilyn, knew where she had gone.
Rhys was also searching for Zeboim. Though much humbler than the gods, he searched for her with equal zeal and so far with equal luck.
Rhys and Nightshade remained in Solace for several days, pursuing their investigations of the robust, life-loving dead. Rhys kept close watch upon his brother, while Nightshade roamed the town, searching for other living corpses. Their numbers were growing. The kender noticed more every day. All of them laughing, talking, drinking, carousing. All of them dark, empty, lifeless shells of flesh.
“Yesterday morning I saw one of them flirting with a young man,” Nightshade told Rhys. “This morning I saw him again.”
Rhys cast the kender a questioning glance.
“There was nothing I could do, Rhys,” Nightshade protested, helpless. “I tried to warn him about hanging about that sort of woman. He told me to mind my own business and if he caught me snooping about again he’d beat me to a pulp and stuff me into one of my own pouches.”
“We have to do something to stop these ‘Beloved of Chemosh,’ ” Rhys said. “I’ve managed to prevent my brother from killing several times—more by scaring away the victim than by doing anything to him. He refuses to talk to me, when he remembers me at all, which is rare. He apparently has no memory of me trying to kill him or, if he does, he isn’t holding a grudge, for when I confront him, he merely laughs and walks off. And I can’t be