Amber and Ashes - Margaret Weis [131]
Krell pounded after him. The death knight’s footfalls shook the ground.
Rhys slipped and stumbled, his strength flagging. He did not have far to go, however. The parade ground ended in a jumble of rocks, and beyond that, the sea.
Krell saw the danger and his pace increased.
“Stop him, Zeboim,” Krell shouted angrily. “If you don’t, you’ll be sorry!”
Rhys thrust the scrip containing the kender and the khas piece into the bosom of his robe and climbed out onto the jagged rocks that were wet and slick from the rain. He slipped, had to use both hands to steady himself, and he sobbed in agony from the pain of his broken fingers.
He could hear Krell’s hissing breath behind him and feel his rage. Rhys pressed on.
His strength was gone by the time he reached the island’s edge. He didn’t need it by then, anyway. He had only one more step to take and that would not require much energy.
Rhys looked down. He stood at the top of a sheer cliff. Below him—far below him—the sea heaved and swelled and crashed up against the rock face. The goddess’s anger and fear lit the night until it was as bright as day. Rhys noted small details—the swirling foam, the green sweep of algae trialing off a glistening rock, floating on the surface like the hair of a drowned man.
Rhys looked out over the ocean to the horizon, shrouded in mist and driving rain.
Krell had reached the rocks and was blundering his way through them, cursing and swearing and waving his sword.
Moving carefully, so as not to slip, Rhys climbed up onto a promontory extending out over the sea. He stood poised, his soul calm.
“Hold on, Nightshade,” Rhys said. “This is going to get a little rough.”
“Rhys!” the kender wailed, terrified. “What are you doing? I can’t see!”
“Just as well.”
Rhys lifted his face to heaven.
“Zeboim, we are in your hands.”
He stood as though on the green hill, the sheep flowing over it in a mass of white, Atta poised at his side, looking into his face, her tail wagging, waiting eagerly for the command.
“Atta, come bye,” Rhys said and jumped.
ight seeped from the Blood Sea’s depths, spreading ink-like through the water, drifting gently toward the surface. Mina gazed upward, watching the last vestige of flickering sunlight shimmer on the water’s surface. Then it vanished, and she was in utter darkness.
During the hours they had spent waiting and watching the tower in the Blood Sea, she and Chemosh had seen no one enter it, no one leave. The sea creatures swam past the crystal walls as carelessly as they swam past the coral reef or the hulk of a wrecked ship lying on the ocean floors. Fish brushed up against the walls, traveling up and down the smooth surface, either finding food or entranced by their own reflections. None appeared afraid of the Tower, though Mina did notice that the sea creatures avoided the strange circlet of red-yellow gold and silver at the top. None would come near the dark hole in the center.
With the coming of night beneath the waves, Chemosh watched to see if any lights appeared in the Tower.
“There were windows in the Tower of Istar,” he recalled, “though you could not see them by day. All you could see was the smooth, sheer, crystal walls. When night fell, however, the wizards in their chambers would light their lamps. The Tower would gleam with pinpoints of fire. The people of Istar used to say that the wizards had captured the stars and brought them to the city for her own regal glory.”
“The Tower must be deserted, my lord,” said Mina. She fumbled for his hand in the darkness, glad to feel his touch, hear the sound of his voice. The darkness was so absolute she was beginning to doubt her own reality. She needed to know he was with her. “There seems nothing sinister about it. The fish go right up to it.”
“Fish are not noted for their intelligence, no matter what Habakkuk says to the contrary. Still, as you say, we’ve seen no one come near the place.