Amber and Ashes - Margaret Weis [69]
“So Mina is a disciple of Takhisis,” Rhys said.
“Was.” Zeboim corrected his verb tense. “When Mommy met her just reward for her treachery, Mina mourned her goddess and carried off the body. She was, by all accounts, prepared to end her miserable life, but Chemosh decided he could make use of her. He seduced her and she has now transferred her allegiance to him. Mina is the one who made your poor sap of a brother into a murderer. She’s the one you must find. She is mortal and therefore the weak link in Chemosh’s chain of command. Stop her and you stop him. I admit, it won’t be easy,” Zeboim conceded, adding grudgingly. “The chit has a certain charming way about her.”
“And where do I find this Mina?” Rhys asked.
“If I knew that,” Zeboim flared, “do you think I would bother with you? I would deal with her myself. Chemosh cloaks her in a darkness that not even my eyes can penetrate.”
“What about other eyes? The other gods? Your father, Sargonnas—”
“That numb-skulled cow! He is too absorbed in his own concerns, as are all the others. None of the gods has the wit to see that Chemosh has developed a dangerous ambition. He means to seize my mother’s crown. He plans to upset the balance and plunge Krynn into war again. I’m the only one who realizes this,” Zeboim said loftily. “The only one with the courage to challenge him.”
Rhys quirked an eyebrow. The idea of the cruel and calculating Zeboim as the champion of the innocent was a remarkable one. Rhys guessed uneasily there was more to it than that. This smacked of a personal vendetta between Zeboim and Chemosh. He was going to get caught in the middle, between the anvil of one and the hammer of the other. And he found it difficult to accept the fact that the gods of light were blind to this evil. He would know more, however, once he was out in the world. He remained silent, thoughtful.
“Well, Brother Rhys,” Zeboim demanded, “what are you waiting for? I’ve told you all you need to know. Be off with you!”
“I do not now where Mina is—” Rhys began.
“You will search for her,” the goddess snapped.
“—but I do know where my brother is,” Rhys continued. “Or at least where he is likely to be.”
“I told you to forget your brother—”
“When I find my brother,” Rhys continued patiently, “I will question him about Mina. Hopefully, he will lead me to her or at least tell me where I can find her.”
Zeboim opened her mouth, shut it again. “That does have a certain logic to it,” she conceded grudgingly. “You may carry on with your search for your brother.”
Rhys bowed his thanks.
“But you are not to waste time searching for your mutt,” she added. “And I want you to make a slight detour. Since you are dealing with Chemosh, you will need someone with you who is an expert on the undead. You yourself have no such knowledge, I believe?”
Rhys had to admit he did not. The monks of Majere were concerned with life, not death.
“There is a town about twenty miles east of here. In that town is a burial ground. You will find the person you seek there. He comes every night around midnight. He is my gift to you,” said Zeboim, highly pleased with herself and her magnanimity. “He will be your companion. You will need his help in dealing with your brother, as well as any other of Chemosh’s followers you might encounter.”
Rhys did not like the idea of a companion who was not only a crony of Zeboim but who also apparently spent his nights hanging about graveyards. Nevertheless, he did not want to argue the point. He would at least take a look at this person and perhaps ask him a few questions. Anyone with knowledge of the undead would also likely have knowledge of Chemosh.
“I thank you, Majesty.”
“You are welcome. Perhaps you will think more kindly of me from now on.”
As the goddess started to disappear, dissolving into the morning mists, she called to him, “I see your mutt heading back along the road. It seems you left something