Amber and Blood - Margaret Weis [60]
Rhys had a sudden vivid memory of a city street, of priests of Majere accosting him, of Atta attacking them with slashing teeth and a priest drawing back a bleeding hand …
The Abbot stood quietly, patiently, waiting for Rhys to speak.
“Forgive me, Holiness!” Rhys said, guilt-stricken.
“I do forgive you, of course, Brother,” said the Abbot, then he added with a smile, “but it would be good to know what for.”
“I attacked you,” said Rhys, wondering how the Abbot could have forgotten. “It was in the city of New Port. I had become a follower of the Goddess Zeboim. You and the six brothers who were with you sought to reason with me, to bring me back to the Temple and my worship of Majere. I … could not. A young woman was in terrible danger and I had pledged to safeguard her and …”
Rhys’s voice faltered.
The Abbot was gently shaking his head. “Brother, I have traveled over much of Ansalon, but I have never been in New Port.”
“But you were, Holiness,” Rhys insisted, and he pointed. “That scar on your hand. My dog bit you.”
The Abbot looked down at his hand. He seemed mystified for a moment, then his expression cleared. He gazed at Rhys intently. “You are Rhys Mason.”
“Yes, Holiness,” said Rhys, relieved. “You do remember …”
“Quite the contrary,” said the Abbot mildly, “I have long wondered how I came by this scar. I woke one morning to find it on my hand. I was puzzled, for I had no memory of having injured myself.”
“But you know me, Holiness,” said Rhys, bewildered. “You know my name.”
“I do, Brother,” said the Abbot, and he extended his scarred hand to clasp Rhys by the shoulder. “And this time, Brother Rhys, if I urge you to pray to Majere and seek his counsel and forgiveness, you won’t set your dog on me, will you?”
In answer, Rhys sank to his knees and opened his heart to his god.
he riot in Temple Row that morning had been staged. The fight had been carefully planned by the clerics of Chemosh on orders from the Bone Accolyte, Ausric Krell, in order to test the reaction of the sheriff and the town guard. How many men would be sent in, how would they be armed, where would they be deployed? Krell learned a great deal, and he now made ready to put his knowledge to good use in the service of his master.
Chemosh had been considerably disconcerted to discover that Mina had transformed her aspect into that of a little girl. True, Krell had told him that she was now a child, but then, Krell was an idiot. Chemosh still believed Mina was acting a part, behaving like some spurned bar wench lashing out at a faithless lover. If he could just take her away some place private, some place where she wasn’t being hounded by monks or other gods, he was certain he could convince her to come back to him. He would admit to her that he’d been wrong—isn’t that what mortal men did? There would be flowers and candlelight, jewelry and soft music, and she would melt in his arms. Mina would be his consort, and he would be the head of the Dark Pantheon.
As for this nonsense about her wanting to go to Godshome, Chemosh didn’t believe a word of it. That was some ploy of Majere’s. The blasted monk must have put the idea into her head. The monk must therefore be removed.
Chemosh was under no illusions. Gilean would take strong exception to the Lord of Death abducting Mina. The God of the Book had threatened retaliation on any god who interfered with her, but Chemosh was not overly concerned. Gilean could lecture and threaten all he wanted; he would not be able to punish Chemosh. Gilean lacked the support of the other gods, most of whom were busy with their own plans and schemes to lure Mina to their side.