Amber and Ashes - Margaret Weis [110]
“You are asking me to go on a hopeless venture, Majesty. Any information you can give me, however insignificant it seems to you, might help.”
Zeboim heaved an exasperated sigh. “Very well. Let me try to think back. The White Queen and King are elves. The Black Queen is … is me. The Black King is Chemosh.” She ground the name with her teeth.
“The two White clerics are monks of Majere.” Zeboim arched a brow at him. “Fancy that! The two Black Robe clerics are dwarves. The two White knights are elves riding silver dragons. The pawns on the side of darkness are goblins. The pawns on the side of light are kender. As I said, Chemosh created this to humiliate me. My gallant son, doing battle against the likes of monks and kender …”
There came a thunderous knock on the door. Gerard’s voice boomed, “Time’s up, Brother.”
“Just one moment,” Rhys called. Rising to his feet, he turned to Zeboim. “Let us understand each other, Majesty. Either I go to Storm’s Keep and rescue your son or you will slay me—”
“I will do it, monk,” said Zeboim, calm as the eye of the storm. “Never think I won’t.”
Wrapping herself in her dark and tattered robes, she sat down on the bed and stared at the wall across from her.
Rhys bent near her, said to her softly, “You know, Majesty, my death would be quicker, easier if I told you just to kill me now.”
Zeboim looked up at him with her sea-green eyes. “It might be, or it might not. Whether it would or it wouldn’t, you’re not taking into account your friend the kender, nor all those doomed young people, like your brother, murdered in the name of Chemosh. Nor all those thousands of sailors on board ships stranded in the middle of flat and listless seas. Sailors who will surely die—”
Gerard banged on the door again. A key rattled in the lock.
Rhys straightened. “I understand, Majesty,” he said with the calm of one who can either be calm or break down and weep.
“I thought you might,” Zeboim said in languid tones. “Let me know your decision.”
“Where will you be, Majesty?”
Lying on the bed, the goddess gathered her robes around her, drew her cowl over her head, and turned her face to the wall. “Here. Where no one can find me.”
“Time’s up,” said Gerard, entering the cell. “How’d everything go?” he asked in a low voice.
“Well enough,” said Rhys.
Gerard cast a look at the bundle of clothes on the bed, then ushered Rhys out the door. He locked it behind him and the two walked down the corridor. When they were out of ear-shot of the prisoner, Gerard halted.
“What do I about the crazy woman?” he asked in a low tone. “Should I let her go?”
Rhys did not answer. In truth, he hadn’t heard the question. He was thinking about what he had to do and trying to figure out some way to do it and survive.
Gerard ran his hand through his hair. “As if I didn’t have enough trouble, now some evil curse has been cast on Crystalmir Lake—”
“What’s that?” Rhys asked, startled. “What about the lake?”
“Can’t you smell it?” Gerard wrinkled his nose. “It stinks to high heaven. Fish dying by the hundreds. Washed up on the shores over night. Rotting in the sun. Our people depend on the water from that lake and now everyone’s afraid to go near it. They say it’s cursed. What with that and a crazy woman on my hands—”
“Sheriff,” Rhys interrupted. “I have a favor to ask you. I am planning to go away for a little while and I need someone to take care of Atta. Would you look after her?”
“Will she herd kender for me?” Gerard asked, his eyes brightening.
Rhys smiled. “I will teach you the commands. And I will find a way to pay for her board and keep.”
“If she herds kender as good for me as she does for you, she’ll more than pay for herself,” Gerard held out his hand. “You got yourself a deal, Brother. Where is it you’re going?”
Rhys did not answer. “And you will continue to care for her if I don’t come back?”
Gerard eyed him intently. “Why wouldn’t you be coming back?”
“The gods alone know our fate, Sheriff,” said Rhys.
“You can trust me, Brother. Whatever trouble you’re in—”
“I know that, Sheriff,