Amber and Blood - Margaret Weis [42]
But the High God, who never spoke, had spoken. Perhaps it was just as well. The artifacts and the Hall itself belonged to a time and a place that were now long gone. The world had moved on. Better to leave them in the dust of the past. Still, Nuitari could not help but wonder sulkily why Mina had been permitted by the High God to enter the Hall while he and the others had been barred.
The God of Dark Magic withdrew from the place where the Hall had stood, but he did not leave. He conceded the Solio Febalas to the High God.
In return, Nuitari wanted his tower back.
ina led the way, for Rhys and Nightshade had lost all sense of direction. She was happy and laughing, skipping along ahead of them, turning around to scold them for being slow. The distance from the Hall to the tower was not far and a short walk brought them back to the stairs.
Mina would have dashed up immediately, but Rhys laid a restraining hand on her shoulder, holding her back.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, gazing up at him. She pointed up the stairs. “This is the way out.”
“It is best to be cautious,” he said. “Let me go first. You follow with Nightshade.”
“But you’re too slow,” Mina complained, as they began to climb the winding staircase. “I have my gifts. I have to get to Godshome right now.”
“Godshome is a long way off,” Nightshade grumbled. The stairs had not been built for short kender legs, and he was having to work to climb each step, with the result that various parts of him were starting to ache. “A long, long way off.”
“How long?” Mina asked.
“Miles,” said Nightshade. “Miles and miles and miles.”
“How long will that take?”
“Months,” said Nightshade grumpily. “Months and months.”
Mina stared at him, dismayed, then she laughed. “Don’t be silly!” she said, adding impatiently, “You both are too slow. I’m going on ahead.”
“Mina, wait! The Beloved—” Rhys cried and made a grab for her, but she wriggled out of his grasp and dashed up the stairs.
“I’ll wait for you at the top!” she promised.
“Atta, go with her!” Rhys ordered and, as the dog ran off, he turned back to assist Nightshade, who was groaning with every step and rubbing his aching thighs.
“Assuming we get past the Beloved alive—which is an awfully big assume—where do we go now?” the kender asked.
“We have to find Godshome,” Rhys replied.
Nightshade scrunched up his face and eyed Rhys intently. “You were having a long conversation with Majere back there in the Solo Flabbiness. Didn’t he tell you where to find Godshome?”
Rhys shook his head and cast a worried glance up the stairs.
“Majere should have given you a map. Or pointed out landmarks,” Nightshade persisted. “You know: ‘Take the left fork at the crossroads and walk twenty paces and turn right at the lightning-struck tree.’ That sort of thing.”
“He didn’t,” said Rhys. “Godshome is not a place one can find on a map.”
“Oh, I get it,” Nightshade said gloomily. “This is one of those whatchamacallit journeys. You know—the kind that’s supposed to teach you something.”
“Spiritual journey,” said Rhys.
“Right. Gods are very big on spiritual journeys. Yet another reason I became a mystic. When I go on a journey, I like it to have a beginning, a middle, and an end. And I like for there to be an inn at the end and something good to eat. Spiritual journeys are noted for their lack of good things to eat.”
Rhys gripped his friend’s arm and hoisted him up another stair. “You are wise, as always, Nightshade. And you are right. The journey is going to be long and it could be dangerous. You and I have had this talk before, but now