Amber and Ashes - Margaret Weis [95]
“Yes, I know. But if they were coming after us, it would mean that they fear us. As it is—” He shrugged. “They don’t care what happens to us. That’s disturbing.”
“I see,” said Nightshade solemnly. “They know there’s nothing we can do to stop them. And they’re right. My magic had no effect on them. And that’s never happened to me before. Well, not since I was a little kender and just starting out. Maybe if we had a holy weapon—”
“The emmide is a holy weapon blessed by the god. Majere gave it to me, a parting gift.” Rhys tightened his grip on the staff. He could see Atta prancing with it in her mouth and he felt a momentary warmth in the midst of the chill darkness. “Even though the wielder of the staff may not be blessed by Majere, the weapon is. And you as you saw, it could not slay my brother or even slow him down much. As Lleu said, he’s not afraid that we might tell someone that he is a murderer. Who would believe us?”
“I guess you’re right,” said Nightshade. “I never thought about it that way. So what do we do?”
“I don’t know. I can’t think rationally any more.” Rhys looked around. “I have no idea where we are or how to get back to the Inn. Do you?”
“Not much,” said Nightshade cheerfully. “But I see lights over in that direction. Don’t you?”
“No, but then I do not have a kender’s eyes.” Rhys put his hand on Nightshade’s shoulder. “You lead the way. Thank you for your help, my friend.”
“You’re welcome,” said Nightshade. He sounded dispirited, though, not his usual cheerful self. He started walking, but he wasn’t watching where he was going and he almost immediately stepped into a hole.
“Ouch,” he said and rubbed his ankle.
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“What’s the matter?”
“There’s something I need to tell you, Rhys.”
“Yes, what is it?”
“You’re not going to like it,” Nightshade warned.
Rhys sighed. “Can it wait until morning?
“I suppose it could. Except … well, it might be important.”
“Go ahead then.”
“I saw more people like your brother and Lucy. I mean, like those things that used to be your brother and Lucy. I saw them today, in Solace.”
The kender’s face was a white glimmer in Solinari’s light.
“How many?” Rhys asked, despairing.
“Two. Both of them young women. Pretty, too. But dead. Dead as dead can be.” Nightshade shook his head sadly. “I would have told you before, except I didn’t know what I was seeing. Not until I saw your brother in the tavern. Then I knew. Those women were just like him—no spirit light shining from them, yet they were walking about as happy as you please, talking, laughing …”
Rhys thought back to the miller’s daughter, who had taken up with Lleu, then run away from her home. How many more young women had Lleu seduced, murdered, and given their souls to Chemosh? Rhys saw again the terrible hunger in Lucy’s eyes. How many young men would these women seduce in their turn? Seduce and murder. The Beloved of Chemosh.
“No one knows what they are about, because no one knows they are dead,” he said to himself, as the awful perfection of the god’s scheme struck him.
Rhys knew the truth of the matter, but as he had told the kender, who would believe him? How could he convince anyone? Nightshade could always tell what he saw, but kender were not known for their veracity. Rhys might seize hold of Lucy, truss her up and drag her before the magistrates, demand that they look into her eyes. Rhys could envision their reaction. He would be the one arrested, locked up as a raving lunatic.
Death had a new face and that face was young and beautiful; Death’s body whole and strong.
Rhys could shout this to the world.
And no one would believe him.
ina ran her fingers through the man’s fair hair. He had soft, fine hair, like that of a child. The bangs were cut short and fell over his forehead, and she brushed it out of the way to see his eyes. She could not recall his name. She never remembered their names. She remembered the eyes, however, remembered the seeking, the yearning, and wondering. Pain, sometimes, unhappiness, anger,