Amber and Ashes - Margaret Weis [83]
Gerard eyed the kender. “I knew a kender once,” he said quietly, speaking more to himself than to Rhys. “He wasn’t your typical kender either. I’ll give this one a chance, Brother, especially if you’ll vouch for him.”
A moment later, Nightshade came hurrying over. “The widow and I are going to the burial ground to talk to her husband. She misses him most dreadfully and she wants to make sure he’s doing all right without her. I’ll probably be gone most of the afternoon. Where shall I meet you?”
“You can meet your friend here,” said Gerard, interrupting Rhys. “You have a place in the common room to sleep tonight.”
“No more sleeping in stables! That’s wonderful. I’m getting really tired of the smell of horses,” said Nightshade, and before Rhys could contradict the sheriff, the kender had dashed off.
Gerard eyed Rhys. “I’m holding you responsible for emptying his pockets when he comes back.”
“You needn’t worry about that, my lord. Nightshade’s not very good at ‘borrowing.’ If he tries, he’s so inept that he’s almost always caught in the act. He is much more interested in speaking to the dead.”
Gerard snorted and shook his head. Sitting across the table from Rhys, the sheriff regarded the monk curiously, more interested in him than in the kender, which, the gods knew, Solace had in abundance.
The barmaid brought over bowls of savory stew, so thick with meat and vegetables that Rhys could barely dig his spoon into it. She put down a bowl of water and a meaty bone for Atta, who accepted the treat after a glance at Rhys and suffered the barmaid to pat her head. Atta dragged her bone under the table, plopped down on top of Rhys’s feet, and began to gnaw at it contentedly.
“You said you were searching for someone?” Gerard asked, leaning back in his chair, looking at Rhys with a pair of eyes that were a startling shade of blue. “I don’t begin to try to keep track of everyone who comes into Solace, but I do get around. Who is it you’re looking for?”
Rhys explained that he was searching for his brother. He described Lleu as wearing the robes of a cleric of Kiri-Jolith and spending his time in taverns and ale houses.
“Where are you from?”
“Staughton,” Rhys answered.
The sheriff raised his eyebrows. “You’ve traveled a long way in search of this young man, Brother; gone to a lot of trouble. Seems to me there must more to it than a family worried about a young vagabond.”
Rhys had decided to keep the truth about Lleu to himself, knowing that if he told anyone that his brother was guilty of murder, Lleu would be hunted down and slaughtered like a wild beast. Rhys found himself liking this man, Gerard, whose calm demeanor accorded well with Rhys’s own. If Rhys did find Lleu, he would be obliged to hand him over to the local authorities until he could be brought to justice by the Prophet of Majere. The Prophet would be the one to determine Lleu’s fate, since his crime had taken place in one of the monasteries. Rhys decided to tell the sheriff at least part of his story.
“I am sorry to say that my brother has lately become a follower of Chemosh, God of the Dead,” he told Gerard. “I fear that he is the victim of some evil spell cast on him by a disciple of Chemosh. I need to find Lleu in order to have the enchantment broken, if that is possible.”
“First Takhisis, now Chemosh,” Gerard growled, running his hand through his hair and making it stand straight up. “Sometimes I wonder if the return of the gods was such a good thing. We were doing all right on our own—not counting the Dragon Overlords, of course. We’ve got trouble enough now, what with displaced elves, rumors of a goblin army build-up in southern Qualinesti, and our local robber baron, Captain Samuval. We don’t need gods like Chemosh coming around to complicate matters. But then, I guess you must’ve figured