Amber and Blood - Margaret Weis [59]
“Atta is with him, and I told Nightshade to meet me at the Temple.” Rhys glanced uncertainly at the guards patrolling the temple district. “Will your men let him pass?”
“The guards are here to keep an eye on things, not to prohibit anyone from going to the temples. Though if this violence breaks out again …” Gerard shook his head. “Let’s meet at my home tonight, then, Brother. I’ll fix my famous stewed chicken, and you can tell me what your Abbot says.”
“I would like that,” said Rhys. “Thank you. One other thing,” he added, as Gerard was about to depart. “What do you know of the name ‘Beckard’s Cut’?”
Gerard’s face darkened. “Don’t you recall your history lessons, Brother?”
“Not very well, I am afraid,” Rhys replied.
“Beckard’s Cut was a dark day in the annals of Krynn,” Gerard said. “The forces of the Dark Knights of Neraka were about to lose the siege of Sanction. They were in full retreat, heading into a narrow mountain pass called Beckard’s Cut. The leader of the Dark Knights gave orders for the archers to fire on their own men. They obeyed the command, firing hundreds of arrows at point blank range into their own comrades. The bodies of the fallen stacked up like cordwood, so they say, blocking the pass. The Solamnics were forced to retreat and that was the beginning of the end for us.”
“Who was the leader of the Dark Knights?” Rhys asked, though he knew the answer.
“That female fiend, Mina,” Gerard replied grimly. “I’ll see you tonight, Brother.”
Gerard went on his way, heading back down the street toward the Inn of the Last Home.
Rhys watched him go. He wondered if the sheriff would run into Mina and, if so, would he recognize her and what would happen if he did?
I was a fool to bring up Beckard’s Cut, Rhys chided himself. Now he will be thinking about Mina. Perhaps I should go back …
Rhys looked at the green, tree-shaded grounds of Majere’s temple and he felt strongly impelled to go there, as if Majere’s hand had hold of his sleeve and was pulling him in that direction. Still Rhys stood undecided. He feared his own heart was leading him, not the hand of the god.
Rhys longed for the peaceful solitude, the tranquil serenity. At last he gave in, either to the command of the god or the wishes of his soul. He was in need of the Abbot’s advice. If Gerard did recognize Mina and came to Rhys, demanding to know what in the name of heaven was going on, Rhys trusted the Abbot would be able to explain.
The Temple of Majere was a simple structure made of blocks of polished red-orange granite. Unlike the grand temple of Kiri-Jolith, there were no marble columns or ornate ornamentation. The door of Majere’s temple was made of oak and had no lock upon it, as did the door to the temple of Hiddukel, who, being a patron of thieves, was constantly fearful that someone would steal from him. There were no stained glass windows, as in the beautiful temple of Mishakal. The windows of Majere’s temple had no glass at all. The temple was open to the air, open to the sun and the sound of birdsong, open to the wind and rain and cold.
When Rhys set foot upon the well-worn path that led through the temple gardens, where the priests grew their own food, to the plain wooden door, the strength that had kept him going for so long suddenly drained out of him. Tears flowed from his eyes, as love and gratitude flowed from his heart for the god who had never lost faith in him, though he had lost faith in his god.
As Rhys entered the Temple, the cool shadows washed over him, soothing and blessing him. He asked a priest if he could beg an audience with the Abbot. The priest carried his request to the Abbot, who immediately left his meditation and came to invite Rhys to his office.
“Welcome, Brother,” said the Abbot, clasping his hand. “I understand you want to speak to me. How may I help?”
Rhys stared, struck dumb with amazement. The Abbot was an older man, as Abbots tended to be, for with age comes wisdom. He was well-muscled