Amber and Ashes - Margaret Weis [12]
Mina raised up her hands, her amber eyes lifted to the dragon. “Your Majesty, I have always adored you, worshipped you. I pledged my life to your service and I stand ready to honor that pledge. Through my fault, you lost the body you would have inhabited. I offer my own. Take my life. Use me as your vessel. Thus, I prove my faith!”
Queen Takhisis was beautiful, but her beauty was fell and terrible to look upon. Her face was cold as the vast frozen wastelands to the south, where a man perishes in instants, his breath turning to ice in his lungs. Her eyes were the flames of the funeral pyre. Her nails were talons, her hair the long and ragged hair of the corpse. Her armor was black fire. At her side she wore a sword perpetually stained with blood, a sword used to sever the souls from their bodies.
Mina cried, a wail of grief and anger. She struggled in Death’s grasp.
Takhisis reached for Mina’s heart, intending to make that heart her own. Takhisis reached for Mina’s soul, intending to snatch it from her body and cast it into oblivion. Takhisis reached out to fill Mina’s body with her own immortal essence.
“Admit it, Mina.” Chemosh held her fast, forced her to look into his eyes. “You were hoping someone would finish her for you.”
The elf king held in his hand the broken fragment of the dragonlance. He threw the lance, threw it with the strength of his anguish and his guilt, threw it with strength of his fear and his love.
The lance struck Takhisis, lodged in her breast.
She stared down in shock to see the lance protruding from her flesh. Her fingers moved to touch the bright, dark blood welling from the terrible wound. She staggered, started to fall …
“I killed the elf with my own hands,” Mina cried. “My queen died in my arms. I would have given—”
Mina stopped the words that had been pouring forth. She lowered her eyes from Chemosh’s intense gaze, averted her head.
“You would have given your life for Takhisis? You gave her your life, Mina, the time you fought Malys. Takhisis brought you back for her own selfish reasons. She needed you. If she had not, she would have let you fall through her fingers as so much dust and ash. And at the end, she had the temerity to blame you for her downfall.”
Mina went limp in his grasp.
“She was right, my lord.” Tears of shame seeped from beneath her eyelids. “Her death was my fault.”
Chemosh brushed aside the tangle of red hair to see her face. “And when she died, some part of you was glad.”
Mina moaned and turned her face away from him. He smoothed back her tear-wet hair, wiped away her tears.
“Loyalty to your queen is not what has kept you in this valley. You stay because of your guilt. Guilt made you prisoner. Guilt is your jailor. Guilt was almost your slayer.”
He put both hands on her face, looked deep into the amber eyes.
“You have no reason to feel guilty, Mina. Takhisis bought and paid for her own fate.”
His voice softened, soothed. “She is gone and so is Paladine.”
“Paladine …” Mina murmured. “My oath, to avenge my queen’s death … on him, on the elves …”
“So you shall,” Chemosh promised. “But not yet. Not now. The way must be prepared. Hear me, Mina, and understand. Both the great gods are gone now. Only one remains—their brother, Gilean, god of the book, god of doubt and indecision. He stands with the scales of balance, light in one hand, darkness in another. Every waking second, he weighs them to make certain that they do not shift.”
Mina looked up at him, entranced. He had ceased to talk to her. He was talking to himself.
“A futile task,” Chemosh was saying with a shrug. “The scales will tip. They must since the pantheon is now uneven. Gilean knows that he cannot maintain the balance forever. He sees his own downfall, and he is afraid. For I know what he does not. I know what will tip the balance.
“Mortals,” said Chemosh, savoring the word. “Mortals are the ones who will topple the scale. Mortals like you, Mina. Mortals