Amber and Ashes - Margaret Weis [42]
“—to do what?” called out a woman, her voice quivering with indignation “Forbid the priest of Chemosh from entering our city? I suppose this means you will be burning my shrine and turning me out next!”
Lleu sighed deeply. The woman wore the green and blue robes of a priestess of Zeboim. The city of Staughton was built on the banks of a river. Zeboim was one of the city’s more popular goddesses, especially during the rainy season. If the sheriff denied access to a representative of one of the gods of darkness, rumors would fly about that Zeboim would be the next to go.
“Permit them to enter,” Lleu said, adding loudly for the crowd to hear, “The gods of light promote free will. We do not tell people what they can and cannot believe.”
“Are you sure?” asked the sheriff, frowning. “I don’t want any trouble.”
“That is my advice, sir,” said Lleu. “The final decision is, of course, up to you.”
The sheriff looked from Lleu to the priestess of Zeboim to the palanquin. None of them gave him much help. Zeboim’s priestess watched with narrowed eyes. Lleu had said all he had to say. The palanquin stood at the gate, the bearers patiently waiting.
The sheriff stepped forward to address the unseen occupant.
“State your name and the nature of your business in our fair city,” he said briskly.
The crowd held its collective breath.
For a moment, there was no response. Then a hand—a female hand—put aside the curtains. The hand was shapely. Jewels, red as blood, flashed on slender fingers. Lleu caught a glimpse of the woman inside the black palanquin. His mouth gaped, and his eyes widened.
He had never before seen such a woman. She was young, not yet twenty. Her hair was auburn, the color of leaves in the autumn, and it was elaborately arranged beneath a black and golden headdress. Her eyes were amber, luminous, radiant, warm, as if all the world was cold and her eyes the only warmth left to a man. She wore a black dress of some sheer fabric that hinted at everything beneath it and gave away nothing. She moved with studied grace and there was a look of knowing in those eyes, a knowledge of secrets no other mortal possessed.
She was disturbing. Dangerous. Lleu wanted to turn on his heel and walk disdainfully away, yet he stared, entranced, unable to move.
“My name is Mina,” she said. “I have come to your city for the same purpose as have all these good people.” She gestured, to indicate the crowd. “To share in the celebration of springtime.”
“Mina!” Lleu gasped. “I know that name.”
Kiri-Jolith is a militant god, a god of honor and war, patron god of the Knights of Solamnia. Lleu was not a knight, nor was he a Solamnic, but he had traveled to Solamnia to study with the knights when he had decided to dedicate himself to Kiri-Jolith. He had heard from them the stories of the War of Souls, heard their tales of a young woman named Mina, who had led her armies of darkness to one amazing victory after another, including the destruction of the great Dragon Overlord, Malys.
“I have heard of you. You are a follower of Takhisis,” Lleu said harshly.
“The goddess who saved the world from the terror of the Dragon Overlords. The goddess who was most foully betrayed and destroyed,” Mina said. A shadow darkened the amber eyes. “I honor her memory, but I now follow a different god.”
“Chemosh,” said Lleu in accusing tones.
“Chemosh,” said Mina, and she lowered her eyes in reverence.
“Lord of Death!” Lleu added, challenging.
“Lord of Endless Life,” Mina returned.
“So that is what he is calling himself these days,” Lleu said scornfully.
“Come visit me to find out,” Mina offered.
Her voice was warm as her eyes, and Lleu was suddenly conscious of the crowd gathered around him, their ears stretched to hear every word. They all looked at him now, wondering if he would accept her invitation and he realized, to his chagrin, that he’d been led into a trap. If he refused, they would think he was afraid to take on Chemosh and they would immediately jump to the conclusion that this must be a powerful god, yet Lleu