Amber and Blood - Margaret Weis [63]
Krell pointed to the three Bone Warriors. “Your task will be to keep the sheriff’s men busy, and any others who seek to intervene, such as the foul paladins of Kiri-Jolith. I will snatch Mina and kill the monk.”
The Bone Warriors shrugged their bone-armored shoulders. They had no care who or what they fought. All they sought was a chance to take out their undying rage on the living.
Having said all that was necessary, Krell was about to rise when the priestess spoke.
“You are making a mistake allowing Mina to enter the Temple of Majere. You should capture her before she sets foot on the grounds. Otherwise, Majere’s priests will defend her.”
Krell bristled. “And since when should I fear a bunch of monks? What are they going to do to me? Kick me with their bare feet? Maybe hit me with a stick?” He chortled and thumped the heavy bone armor that covered his body.
“Do not underestimate Majere, Krell,” the priestess cautioned. “His priests are more powerful than you think.”
Krell snorted.
“At least take me with you,” the priestess urged. “I can deal with the monk while you kidnap the child—”
“I go alone!” Krell stated angrily. “Those are my orders. Besides, my fight with the monk is personal.”
Rhys Mason had given Krell no end of trouble, starting from the day Zeboim had dropped the monk down on Storm’s Keep. The monk had made Krell look bad in the eyes of his master, and Krell had long dreamed of the time he would have him at his mercy. Still, Krell would have been just as happy to slay Rhys in the middle of a crowded marketplace as in a temple, but there was another consideration.
Chemosh had given Krell specific instructions to search the monk’s body and bring to him any objects the monk might be carrying. Krell had asked point blank what Chemosh was looking for. The god had been evasive. Krell guessed the monk was carrying something valuable.
Krell tried to imagine what such an object might be—treasure valuable to a god—and at last he decided it must jewels. Chemosh probably wanted to give them to Mina.
“And why should she have them and not me?” Krell asked himself. “I do all my master’s dirty work, and small thanks I get for it. Nothing but insults. He won’t even make me a death knight again. If I have to be a living man, I’ll be a rich living man. I’ll keep the jewels for myself.”
This being Krell’s decision, he couldn’t allow anyone—such as this high and mighty priestess—to witness the monk’s death. A nice, quiet place like a temple was the perfect location for the murder. Krell had already planned what he would do with his money. He would return to Storm’s Keep. Although Krell had never thought he would say this, he had come to miss the place where he had spent so many happy undead years. He would restore Storm’s Keep to its former glory, hire some thugs to guard it, and spend his days terrorizing the northern coast of Ansalon.
“Krell? Are you listening to me?” the priestess demanded.
“No,” said Krell sullenly.
“What I was saying is important. If this Mina is a god as Chemosh claims, how do you plan to carry her off? It seems to me,” the priestess added acerbically, “that she would be more likely to carry you off—or perhaps merely suspend you from the ceiling.”
The priestess was in her forties, tall for a woman and excessively thin. She had a gaunt face, protuberant eyes, and almost no lips, and she was not the least impressed with Ausric Krell.
“If His Lordship wanted you to know his plans, he would have told you, Madame,” Krell answered with a sneer.
“His Lordship did tell me,” replied the priestess coolly. “His Lordship told me to ask you. Perhaps I should remind you that you are counting upon my priests and followers risking their lives to assist you in this endeavor. I need to be apprised of what you have planned.”
If Krell had been a death knight, he would have snapped her scrawny dried-up neck like a scrawny dried-up twig. He wasn’t a death knight anymore, however, and she had been one of Chemosh’s first converts. Her unholy powers were formidable.
“If