Amber and Blood - Margaret Weis [3]
Nightshade sighed. “It was quite a night for people wanting to kill me. Anyway Atta and I ran for it, but we both have short legs, and the Beloved had long legs and even though Atta has two more legs than I do we were falling behind when I bumped into Majere. Blam. Ran right smack into him. He saw that we were in trouble and he sent grasshoppers after the Beloved and drove them off. I reminded him about you sacrificing your life for him, and he said he couldn’t help because there was this strange amber glow in the sky and he had to go do god stuff somewhere else—”
“I don’t think Majere said that.” Rhys was glad the darkness hid his smile.
“Well, maybe not,” Nightshade conceded. “Only that’s what he meant. Then he gave me his blessing. Me. A kender. Who had spoken quite harshly to him. So Atta and I ran back to the cave where you were still chained up, only to find Chemosh was there. He wanted you to tell him who Mina was, and he said he was going to kill you, and he probably would have, only Atta bit him on the anklebone. And then the world shook and knocked us all down—even the god.”
Nightshade cocked an eye at Rhys. “Is that right? ’Cause it’s here that things start getting strange. Or rather—stranger. Chemosh was extremely angry. He started yelling at the other gods, wanting to know what was going on. Turns out the shaking was caused by that tower being yanked up out of the Blood Sea which caused huge waves to start rolling onto the shore, and these waves flooded the cave, and you were unconscious and chained to the wall and the water was rising up around you, and it was up to me and Atta to save you.”
Nightshade paused for breath.
“Which you did,” said Rhys, and he embraced the kender.
“I picked the lock on the manacles,” Nightshade said. “The first and only lock I ever picked in my life! My father would have been so proud. Majere helped me pick the lock, you know.”
A sudden thought struck Nightshade. “Say, do you think Majere would help me again if I wanted to pick another lock? ’Cause there’s a baker in Solace who makes these wonderful meat pies, only he closes up shop right after supper, and sometimes I’m hungry in the night and I wouldn’t want to wake him and—”
“No,” said Rhys.
“No what?” asked Nightshade.
“No, I do not think Majere would help you pick the lock on the baker’s back door.”
“Not even to keep from waking the baker up in the middle of the night?”
“No,” Rhys said firmly.
“Ah, well.” Nightshade sighed again, this time quite deeply. “I suppose you’re right. Though I’ll bet if Majere ever tasted those meat pies he might reconsider. Where was I?”
“You had just picked the lock on my manacles,” said Rhys.
“Oh, yes! The water was getting deeper and I was afraid you were going to drown. I tried to drag you out of the cave, but you were too heavy—no offense.”
“None taken,” Rhys said.
“And then six monks of Majere came running into the cave and they picked you up and carried you out. And I guess they healed the bump on your head because here you are and here I am and here’s Atta and we’re all fine. So,” Nightshade said in conclusion, “your brother the Beloved is at peace now. The story’s over and we can go home to your monastery, and Atta can guard sheep, and I’ll visit my friends in the graveyard, and we’ll live happily ever after.”
Rhys realized that this was true. The tale was told, the last chapter written.
The night was