Amber and Ashes - Margaret Weis [93]
“Kill her!” said Nightshade suddenly.
Rhys fell back a pace. He could not take his eyes from her, the woman who had died in his arms, and who was now fondling him with a flirtatious smile.
“Kill her and kill him, too,” said Nightshade urgently.
“According to Lleu, they can’t be killed,” Rhys said. “Besides, there’s been too much death already.”
Lucy took hold of the collar of Rhys’s robes, slid her hands beneath it.
“You have never lain with a woman, have you, monk? Wouldn’t you like to find out what you’ve been missing all these years?”
Rhys thrust aside her clutching hands, shoved her away.
“You have to try to kill them,” said Nightshade, relentless, “or they’ll do murder again.”
“A monk of Majere does not kill …” Rhys said softly.
“You’re not a monk,” Nightshade returned brutally, “and if you were, it doesn’t matter. They’re already dead!”
“I can’t be sure of that.” Rhys shook his head.
“Yes, you can! Look in her eyes, Rhys! Look in her eyes!”
Rhys looked into the girl’s eyes. He saw not emptiness, as he had seen in his brother’s eyes, but something more terrible. He had seen such a look once before and he tried to recall where. Then it came to him—the eyes of a starving wolf. Driven by hunger, desperate to feed, the animal’s need overrode every other instinct, including fear. Rhys had been armed with two flaming torches. Atta tore at the wolf’s flank with her teeth. The wolf had gone straight for Rhys’s throat …
He saw the truth of the kender’s words in Lucy’s eyes. She would kill again to satisfy that desperate need. Again and again …
Rhys lifted the emmide and jabbed it straight into the girl’s forehead. Her head snapped back and he heard, quite clearly, the neck bone crack. She slumped to the ground, her head twisted at an odd angle. Rhys whipped around to face his brother.
Lleu lounged against a tree, his arms folded across his chest, watching the proceedings with a smile.
Rhys gripped the staff and started to advance on his brother.
“Look out! Behind you!” Nightshade’s voice rose shrilly.
Rhys turned, stared, horrified.
Lucy walked toward him, hips swaying, lips parted, hands outstretched.
“Chemosh will have your soul,” she said to him, laughing, lilting. Her head was at an odd angle from where he’d broken her neck. With a twist and a jerk, she righted it and kept coming. “Whether you will it or not.”
He could hear, behind him, the scraping of Lleu’s sword sliding from its scabbard. Rhys faced Lucy, holding her at bay with the emmide, his eyes watching her while his ears kept track of Lleu’s movements. Nightshade was yammering something and waving his hands, as though he was casting some sort of magic spell. Rhys wished the kender would be quiet. He heard a rustle in the grass, a crackle of brown pine needles, and Lleu’s sudden, indrawn breath.
Rhys sprang sideways, twisting his body. The sword sliced the air where he had been standing.
Lleu’s wild lunge carried him halfway across the clearing. Rhys smacked Lucy in the face with the emmide. The blow smashed her nose, spread it all over her face. A thin trail of blood trickled from the wound, but not the gushing torrent that should have flowed from such an injury. She cried out, more in anger than in pain, and staggered backward.
Rhys shifted about to face Lleu in time to see his brother run at him again, sword in one hand, knife in the other.
Rhys struck the sword with his staff, broke it in two. Twirling the staff rapidly so that it looked like a windmill in a high gale, he brought it down hard on Lleu’s wrist, heard the snap of bone. Lleu dropped the knife. Rhys remembered clearly the last time he’d struck Lleu, he’d also cried out in pain. Lleu did not cry out now, did not even appear to notice the fact that his hand no longer functioned.
Weaponless, Lleu flung himself at his brother, grappling for his throat with one good hand, flailing at him with his broken hand, using it as a club.
His soul sick with horror, Rhys side-stepped. Lleu lurched past him, and as he went, Rhys kicked his feet out from underneath him. Lleu fell