Amber and Ashes - Margaret Weis [85]
Gods’ Row was located near the Tomb of the Last Heroes. Rhys paused for a look at this monument, which—he was thankful to see—remained faithful to childhood’s memory. Solamnic knights posted honorary guard in front of the Tomb. Kender picnicked on the lawn and celebrated their hero, the famous Tasslehoff Burrfoot. The tomb was graced with a reverence and a solemnity that Rhys found restful. After paying a moment of silent respect for the dead who slumbered within, he continued on past it to the street where the gods lived.
Gods’ Row was bustling with activity, with several new temples under construction. The temple to Mishakal was the largest and most magnificent, for it was in Solace that her disciple, Goldmoon of the Que-Shu, had come bearing the miraculous blue crystal staff. Because of this, the people of Solace always claimed that the goddess took a personal interest in them. The temple to Kiri-Jolith was almost as large and stood side-by-side with Mishakal. Rhys saw several men wearing tabards that marked them as Solamnic knights emerging from this temple.
Next to these two, Rhys was nonplussed to see a temple dedicated to Majere. He had not expected to find such a temple, though, on second thought, he supposed he should have been prepared for it. Solace was a major cross-roads in the region. Locating a temple here provided the clerics of Majere with easy access to a major portion of western Ansalon.
Rhys crossed the street to walk on the opposite side of the temple, keeping to the shadows. If ordinary laymen mistook him for a monk of Majere, Majere’s clerics would do the same and they would find out the truth immediately, for Rhys would not think of trying to lie to them. He might well be waylaid and questioned and brought before the temple’s High Abbot for a “talk.” They might have even heard about the murders from the Prophet of Majere and want to discuss that. The clerics would be well-meaning, of course, but Rhys did not want to waste time answering their questions, nor did he think he was up to the task.
Several clerics in their orange and copper robes were working in the temple garden. They paused in what they were doing to regard him curiously. He continued on his way, his gaze straight ahead.
A blast of wind, the scent of the sea, and the feel of an arm entwined through his arm announced the presence of his goddess.
“Keep close to me, monk,” Zeboim ordered peremptorily. “Majere’s busy-bodies will not notice you this way.”
“I do not need your protection, Majesty,” Rhys said, trying unsuccessfully to withdraw from her embrace. “Nor did I ask you for it.”
“You never ask me for anything,” Zeboim returned, “and I would be so happy to accommodate you.”
She pressed up against him, so that he could feel the softness and the warmth of her.
“What a hard, firm body you have,” Zeboim continued in admiring tones. “All the walking you do, I suppose. Make a scene,” she added, her voice soft as a summer breeze with just a hint of thunder, “and you will spend the rest of the night discussing the good of your soul, when you might be talking to your brother.”
Rhys cast her a sharp glance. “You know where Lleu is?”
“I do, and so do you,” she returned with a meaningful look.
“The Trough?”
“He is there now, tossing down tumbler after tumbler of dwarf spirits. He is drinking so much, one would imagine the makers are about to go extinct. They would, if I had anything to say about it. Hairy little bastards—dwarves.”
“Thank you for the information, Majesty,” said Rhys, once more trying to disentangle himself. “I must go to Lleu—”
“Certainly, you must. You will. But not before you pay a visit to my shrine,” said Zeboim. “It’s just down the road. That is where you were bound, I presume?”
“In truth, Majesty—”
“Never tell a woman the