Amber and Ashes - Margaret Weis [90]
Rhys might have assumed that the Master was speaking in metaphors. He might dismiss the kender as talking nonsense. But Rhys trusted the dog. Atta had realized from the moment she saw and smelled Lleu that there was something wrong about him.
“You are right,” said Rhys softly. “His eyes are those of a corpse.”
Lleu shoved back his chair, stood up. “I’ve got to go. I’m meeting someone. A young lady.” He winked and leered.
“That wouldn’t be Mina, would it?” Rhys asked.
Lleu’s reaction was startling. Reaching over the table, he grabbed hold of the collar of Rhys’s robes and nearly dragged him from the chair.
“Where is she?” Lleu demanded, and he was panting with an ugly eagerness. “Is she around here somewhere? Tell me how to find her! Tell me!”
Rhys looked down at his brother’s hands, gripping the home-spun fabric. The knuckles were white with intensity. The fingers quivered.
“I have no idea where she is,” Rhys said. “I was hoping you could tell me.”
Lleu glared at him suspiciously. Then he let go.
“Sorry,” Lleu mumbled. “I need to find her, that’s all. It’s all right. I’ll keep looking.”
Lleu flung open the door and walked out, slamming the door shut behind him. The barkeep roared out that he wanted his money, but by then, Lleu was long gone.
Rhys was on his feet. Nightshade jumped up in response.
“Where are we going?”
“After him.”
“Why?”
“To see what he does, where he goes.”
“Hey!” shouted the barkeep. “Are you going to pay for your friend?”
“I have no money—” Rhys began and was interrupted by the sound of steel coins ringing on the bar.
“Thanks,” said the barkeep, scooping up the coins.
Rhys looked accusingly at Nightshade.
“I didn’t do it,” said the kender promptly.
“That’s two you owe me, monk,” said Zeboim’s sultry voice from the smoky shadows. “Now go after him!”
Rhys and Nightshade left the tavern, silently hurrying along behind Lleu, who was heading back into Solace.
They took precautions to keep him from seeing that he was being followed, although that proved unnecessary, for he never once looked behind. He strolled jauntily down the road, his head thrown back, singing the refrain of the bawdy song.
“Nightshade,” said Rhys, “I have heard that there are undead known as zombies.” He felt strange, asking such a question, unreal, as if in a horrible dream. “Is it possible—”
“—that he’s a zombie?” Nightshade shook his head emphatically. “You’ve never seen a zombie, have you? Zombies are corpses that are raised up after death. Their stench alone is enough to curl your socks. They have rotting flesh, eyeballs hanging out of the eye sockets. They shuffle when they walk because they don’t know how to move their legs or feet. They’re more like horrible puppets than anything else. They don’t sing, I can tell you that, and they’re not young and handsome.
“I’ll say one thing for your brother, Rhys,” Nightshade concluded solemnly. “He’s the best looking dead man I ever saw in my life.”
hys and Nightshade followed Lleu to one of the newer parts of Solace. In order to accommodate the numbers of people moving into the city, houses were being hastily constructed below the vallenwood trees, not up among the branches. Those who lived in these new houses were generally refugees who had fled the destruction caused by Beryl. They had lived in tents when they first arrived in Solace, but by now some of them had done well for themselves and wanted permanent dwellings.
A great many houses could be built around the bole of one of the giant trees. To save money and wood, the designer followed the elven plan of using the tree itself as one wall of the house, so that the homes resembled mushrooms sprouting out of the mud at the base of the tree. The hour was late. Most of the houses were dark, their occupants having gone to bed, but here and there a light