Amber and Blood - Margaret Weis [21]
“Atta,” Rhys said calmly, “go to Nightshade.”
The kender grabbed hold of the growling dog and clamped his hand over her muzzle.
“Let Rhys handle this,” he whispered.
“I just have to say a word to Chemosh, Monk,” said Krell. “And he’ll flay the flesh from your bones, for starters—”
Rhys gripped his staff firmly, holding it upright before him, his hands clasped over it. He had no idea if this staff was blessed as had been his other staff. Perhaps it was. Perhaps not. He knew Majere stood with him. He could feel the god as a core of peace and calm and tranquility.
The gleam in Krell’s eyes turned ugly.
“You’ll tell me.”
He walked over to the girl, who had slept through the commotion, and reaching down, grabbed hold of the child by the hair and yanked her from her slumber.
Mina gasped and cried out. Wriggling in Krell’s grasp, she tried to free herself.
Krell gripped her tightly and put his huge hand to her throat.
Mina gave a little whimper and went rigid and stiff in the man’s grasp.
“I always did like ’em young,” Krell chortled. “Here’s a hint of what will happen to the girl if you don’t talk, Monk.”
Krell dug long, yellow, skeleton-like nails into Mina’s throat. Thin trails of blood trickled from the cuts in her flesh. Mina flinched in pain, but she didn’t make a sound. Her amber eyes hardened into fixed resolve.
“Uh-oh,” said Nightshade, and he dragged Atta back against the wall.
“I’ll cut deeper next time. Where is Mina?” Krell demanded, glaring at Rhys.
But it was Mina who answered.
“Right here,” she said.
She seized hold of the bone bracers on his arm and dug her fingers into them. The bracers split and cracked and fell off. She kept digging deeper and blood started to well up from beneath her fingers.
Krell grunted in pain and tried to wrench his arm free.
Mina gave his arm a twist. Bones snapped, and Krell screamed in agony and, moaning, sagged to his knees. The jagged edges of blood-covered bone could be seen jutting out from blue-tinged, bloody flesh.
Mina glared at him.
“You hurt me. You’re a bad man.” She wrinkled her nose. “And you smell. I don’t like you. My name is Mina. What do you want with me?”
“This is some sort of trick—” he snarled.
“Answer me!” Mina kicked him on his armor-covered thigh. The bone armor split in two.
Krell groaned. “Chemosh sent me …”
“Chemosh. I don’t know any Chemosh,” said Mina. “And if he’s a friend of yours, I don’t want to know him. Go away and don’t come back.”
“I don’t know what’s going on,” Krell said savagely. “But that doesn’t matter. I’ll let the master figure it out.”
With his good arm, he seized hold of Mina’s hand and roared, “Chemosh! I have her—”
Rhys leaped, swinging his staff at Krell’s head. The emmide whistled through empty air. Rhys lowered the staff, staring about in amazement. Krell had vanished.
“Rhys,” cried Nightshade in strangled tones. “Look up.”
The kender pointed.
Krell hung upside down, suspended from the ceiling of the grotto from a length of rope tied around his boot. His ram’s skull helm had fallen off and now lay on the floor at Mina’s feet.
Krell’s eyes bulged. His mouth gaped open and shut. His broken arm dangled helplessly. He struggled, kicking his foot, but only succeeded in twisting round and round in midair.
Mina looked up at Rhys.
“I’m not sleepy anymore. It’s time to go.”
Rhys gazed up at Krell, twisting and turning on his god-spun thread, demanding, begging Chemosh to come save him. Rhys looked at Nightshade, who was staring at Mina with awestruck eyes—and it is not easy to strike awe into a kender.
Mina reached out and took hold of Rhys’s hand.
“You’re going to take me home, Mister Monk,” she reminded him. “You promised.”
Rhys could not answer. A smothering sensation in his chest made it hard to breathe. He was starting to realize the enormity of the task that he had undertaken.
“C’mon,