Amber and Blood - Margaret Weis [6]
A cold qualm shook Rhys, and he gasped softly.
“Told you so,” Nightshade said. “Didn’t we, Atta?”
The dog growled again.
“If want my advice, you’ll dump her back into the ocean,” Nightshade said. “Only last night she was going to torture you because you wouldn’t tell her who she was when you told her you didn’t know the answer and she was going to make me and Atta die in torment. Remember?”
Rhys recovered from his initial shock. “I’m not going to dump her in the ocean. A lot of people have red hair.”
He continued toward the grotto.
Nightshade sighed. “I didn’t think he’d listen. I’ll go find firewood. C’mon, Atta.”
The kender set off, not very enthusiastically. Atta cast a worried glance at Rhys, then trotted along after the kender.
Rhys carried the child inside the grotto, which wasn’t very comfortable and certainly not very dry; the rock-strewn floor was still wet, and there were puddles here and there. But at least they were out of the wind. A blazing fire would soon warm the chill cavern.
The girl stirred and moaned again. Rhys chaffed her cold hands and smoothed back her wet, auburn hair.
“Child,” he said gently. “Don’t be frightened. You are safe.”
The girl opened her eyes, amber eyes, clear amber, like honey, golden and pure. The same eyes as Mina’s, except no trapped souls, as he had seen in Mina’s eyes.
“I’m cold,” the girl complained, shivering.
“My friend has gone to get wood for a fire. You’ll soon be warm.”
The girl stared at him, at his orange robes. “You’re a monk.” She frowned, as though trying to remember something. “Monks go around helping people, don’t they? Will you help me?”
“Gladly, child,” Rhys said. “What do you want of me?”
The girl’s face grew pinched. She was now fully awake and shivering so that her teeth chattered. Her grip on his hand tightened.
“I’m lost,” she said. Her lower lip quivered. Her eyes filled with tears. “I ran away from home and now I can’t find my way back.”
Rhys was relieved. Nightshade was wrong. The girl was likely some fisherman’s child who’d been caught out in the storm, been swept out to sea. She could not have walked far. Her village must close by. He pitied her parents. They must be frantic with worry.
“Once you are warm, I will take you, child,” Rhys promised. “Where do you live?”
The girl curled up in a shivering ball. Her eyes closed and she yawned. “You’ve probably never heard of it,” she said sleepily. “It’s a place called …”
Rhys had to lean close to her hear her drowsy whisper.
“Godshome.”
he gods had watched in astonishment and alarm as a mortal, Mina, reached down to the bottom of the Blood Sea, seized hold of the newly restored Tower of High Sorcery, and dragged it up from beneath the waves to present as a gift to her lover, Chemosh.
Obviously, Mina was not mortal. The most powerful wizards who had ever lived could not have accomplished such a feat, nor could the most powerful clerics. Only a god could have done that, and now all the gods were thrown into turmoil and consternation, trying to determine what was going on.
“Who is this new god?” the other gods clamored. “Where does she come from?”
Their fear was, of course, that she was some alien god, some interloper who, striding across the heavens, had come upon their world.
Their fears were allayed. She was one of theirs.
Majere held the answers.
“How long have you known?” Gilean demanded of the Monk God.
Gilean was the leader of the Gods of Gray, the neutral gods, who moderated between light and darkness. The neutral gods were strongest now, their numbers increased due to the self-imposed exile of Paladine, leader of the Gods of Light, and the banishment of Queen Takhisis, leader of the Gods of Darkness. Gilean wore the aspect of a scholarly sage, a middle-aged man of keen intellect and cool, discompassionate eyes.
“Many, many eons, God of the Book,” Majere replied.
The God of Wisdom, Majere wore orange robes and carried no weapon. His aspect was generally mild and serene, though now it was fraught