Amber and Blood - Margaret Weis [68]
Whatever was happening in the street outside the temple, the safest place to be was in Majere’s hands.
Rhys could hear more screams now and a deep voice overriding them, shouting commands.
“That’s Gerard,” said Nightshade. Rubbing his elbow, he peered out between the columns. “Can you see? What’s going on?”
A line of trees and a tall hedgerow growing in front of the temple blocked Rhys’s view of the street, but he could see bright orange flames through the screen of leaves. Nightshade climbed on his bench.
“A building’s on fire,” he reported. “I can’t tell which one. I hope it’s not the Inn,” he added worriedly. “It’s chicken and biscuit night.”
“The fire is too close to be the Inn,” said Rhys. “It must be one of the temples.”
Mina crowded close to Rhys, keeping hold of his hand. The sound of raised voices and clashing steel was growing louder. The smoke was thicker and caught at the throat. The two priests returned to make their report. Their expressions were grave, and they spoke rapidly. The Abbot listened for a moment, then issued orders. The priests dispersed to their cells. When they returned, they carried staves and chanted prayers to Majere. Moving together, they walked at a slow and measured pace out of the temple, heading toward what now sounded like a pitched battle taking place in the street.
The Abbot came to speak to Rhys. “You and your friends should remain here within our walls, Brother. As I am sure you can hear, there is trouble in Temple Row. It is not safe to venture out.”
An unusually loud cry caused Mina to flinch. Her face went pale, and she gave a little whimper. The Abbot looked at her and his grave expression deepened.
“What’s happening, Your Monkship, sir?” Nightshade asked. “Are we at war? The Inn’s not on fire, is it? It’s chicken and biscuit night.”
“The Temple of Sargonnas is burning,” replied the Abbot. “The priests of Chemosh set it ablaze and now they are attacking the temples of Mishakal and Kiri-Jolith. Rumors have it that the priests have summoned fiends from the grave to fight for them.”
“Fiends from the grave!” Nightshade repeated excitedly. He jumped down from the bench. “You’ll have to excuse me. I almost never get the chance to talk to fiends from the grave. You have no idea how interesting they can be.”
“Nightshade, no—” Rhys began.
“I won’t be gone long. I just want to have a quick word with these fiends. You never know, I might be able to talk them into redemption. I’ll be right back, I promise—”
“Atta! Guard!” Rhys ordered, and pointed at the kender.
The dog took a stance in front of Nightshade and fixed him with her intense stare. When he moved, she moved. She never took her eyes from him.
“Rhys! It’s fiends!” Nightshade wailed. “Fiends from the grave! You wouldn’t want me to miss that, would you?”
The smoke was thicker and they could hear the crackle of flames. Mina began to cough.
“I think perhaps you should take your charges to my chambers, Brother,” said the Abbot. “The air is clearer there.”
A priest came up to the Abbot and spoke to him in urgent tones. The Abbot gave Rhys a reassuring smile, then left with the priest. Mina continued to cough. Rhys’s eyes were beginning to sting. Cinders and ash and soot rained down onto the garden outside the loggia, touching off small grass fires.
Rhys picked up his emmide. “Come with me, both of you—”
“Rhys, I honestly think I could help against the fiends,” Nightshade argued. “Depending on what sort of fiend it is, of course. There’s your Abyssal fiend and your—”
“Mina!” called a harsh voice.
She turned toward the sound of her name to see a fearsome figure clad in bone armor emerge from the coils of smoke.
“I’ve come for you,” Krell intoned. “Chemosh sent me.”
Rhys understood immediately what was going on. The battle in the street, the fire started by priests of Chemosh—all a diversion. Mina was the prize. Rhys lifted his emmide and placed himself between Krell and Mina.
“Nightshade, take Mina and run!”
The kender leaped off