Amber and Ashes - Margaret Weis [129]
Krell gave a startled grunt and Rhys realized that he wasn’t seeing things. Nightshade had taken the game into his own hands. The pawn was making his own move.
Dodging in and out among the khas pieces, Nightshade barreled across the board and launched himself straight at the dark knight khas piece. The kender wrapped both arms around the legs of the blue dragon and kept going.
Pawn and knight tumbled off the board.
“Here now,” Krell said sternly. “That’s against the rules.”
Rhys could not see the khas pieces, but he could hear them land on the floor, one with a clatter and the other with a yelp.
Krell gave a low rumble of anger. His red eyes turned on Rhys.
Snatching up his staff, holding it in both hands, Rhys rose from his chair and drove the staff with all his might into the center of the death knight’s helm, hitting Krell between the fiery eyes.
Rhys hoped that the jab in the heavy steel helm would distract the death knight, slow him long enough for Rhys to find Nightshade and Lord Ariakan. Rhys did not anticipate doing any damage to Krell.
But the staff was holy, blessed by Majere, the last gift of the god to his lost sheep.
Acting on its own accord, the staff flew out of Rhys’s hands. As he stared, amazed, the staff altered form, changing into an enormous mantis, the insect sacred to the god Majere.
The mantis was ten feet tall, with bulbous eyes and a green shell body, and six huge green legs. The huge praying mantis grasped the death knight’s head with its spiny forelegs. The mantis clamped its mandibles over Krell’s cringing spirit and began to feed off him, the jaws of the god tearing through the armor to reach the accursed soul beneath.
Caught in the grip of the gigantic insect, Krell screamed in horror, his coward’s heart shriveling.
Rhys whispered a quick prayer of thanksgiving to the god and knelt down swiftly to recover the khas piece and the kender. He found them easily enough, for Nightshade was jumping up and down and waving his arms and shrieking. Rhys picked up Nightshade.
“He doesn’t want to be rescued!” the kender yelled.
Rhys thrust Nightshade into the leather scrip, then picked up the dark knight khas piece. The pewter was hot to the touch, as though it had just come molten from the fire.
Rhys glanced at Krell, grappling with the god, and guessed that Ariakan’s vengeance-thirsting soul would continue to remain bound to this world for a long time to come.
Her son’s spirit was Zeboim’s concern. Rhys deposited the khas piece into the pouch, wincing at the kender’s yelp as Nightshade came into contact with the blazing metal. Rhys had no time to help. Krell was starting to recover from the first horrific shock of the mantis’s attack and was now fighting back, slugging the insect’s green body with his fists, kicking it savagely, trying to fling it off him. Rhys had to make good their escape while Krell and the mantis were still battling. Rhys hoped that the mantis would destroy Krell, but he dared not stay around to see the final outcome.
He turned to run. He’d only taken a few steps when he realized he wouldn’t be able to run far. He was too weak.
Gasping for breath, sick and dizzy, he staggered into the night. His legs trembled, his feet stumbled on the uneven cobblestones and he tripped over a broken stone. He was so weak he could not recover his balance. He fell forward onto his hands and knees. He tried to keep going. All he could do was pant. He was sick. He was exhausted. He was finished. He lacked the strength to run anymore, and behind him, he heard fell heavy footfalls and Krell roaring in fury.
Rhys looked up at the starlit heavens.
“Zeboim,” he cried, his breath torn and ragged. “Your son is safe in my possession. It is up to you now.”
The sea rose. Gray clouds, massed on the horizon, waited for the command to attack. Rhys also waited, confident that at any moment the goddess would carry them off this island.
A single stroke of lightning zinged from sky to ground. Striking the top of the tower, the bolt blasted off a great chunk of rock. Thunder rumbled, distant