Amber and Iron - Margaret Weis [10]
He waited until Rhys had helped himself to food and then said quietly, “Very well, Brother. Let’s hear your story.”
Nightshade was holding a hunk of bread in one hand and a chicken leg in the other, alternating bites of each and eating very fast, so fast that at one point he nearly choked himself.
“Slow down, kender,” Gerard said. “What’s the rush?”
“I’m afraid we may not be here very long,” Nightshade mumbled as broth dribbled down his chin.
“Why’s that?”
“Because you’re not going to believe us. I give you about three minutes to toss us out the door.”
Gerard frowned and turned back to Rhys. “Well, Brother? Am I going to toss you out?”
Rhys was silent a moment, wondering where to start.
“Do you remember a few days ago I posed a hypothetical question to you. ‘What would you say if I told you my brother was a murderer?’ You remember that?”
“Do I!” Gerard exclaimed. “I almost locked you up for failure to report a murder. Something about your brother, Lleu, killing a girl—Lucy Wheelwright, wasn’t it? You sounded like you meant that, Brother. I would have believed you if I hadn’t seen Lucy for myself that very morning, alive as you are and a whole lot prettier.”
Rhys regarded Gerard intently. “Have you seen Lucy Wheelwright since?”
“No, I haven’t. I saw her husband, though.” Gerard was grim. “What was left of him. Hacked to pieces with an axe and the remnants tied up in a sack and dumped in the woods.”
“Gods save us!” Rhys exclaimed, horrified.
“Maybe he said he didn’t want to worship Chemosh,” Nightshade said somberly. “Like your monks.”
“What monks?” Gerard demanded.
Rhys didn’t answer immediately. “You said Lucy has disappeared?”
“Yeah. She told people she and her husband were leaving town to visit a neighboring village, but I checked. Lucy never came back and, of course, we know now what happened to her husband.”
“You checked on them?” Rhys asked, startled. “I thought you didn’t take me seriously.”
“I didn’t, at first,” Gerard admitted, settling back comfortably in his chair. “But then after we found the body of her husband, I got to thinking. Like I said to you during that same conversation, you’re not much of a talker, Brother. There had to be some reason for you to say what you said, and so, the more I thought about it, the less I liked it. I fought in the War of Souls. I battled an army of ghosts. I wouldn’t have believed that if someone had told me about it. I sent one of my men to the village to see if he could find Lucy.”
“I take it he couldn’t.”
“No one in that village had ever heard of her. As it turned out, she never went near the place, and she’s not the only one to disappear. We’ve had a rash of young people up and vanishing. Leaving their homes, their families, quitting good paying jobs without a word. One young couple, Timothy and Gerta Tanner, abandoned their three-month-old baby—a son they both loved dearly.” He cocked an eye at Nightshade. “So you don’t have to gobble your food, kender. I’m not going to throw you out.”
“That’s a relief,” said Nightshade, brushing crumbs off his borrowed shirt. He helped himself to an apple.
“Not to mention your own mysterious disappearance from the jail cell,” Gerard added. “But let’s start with Lucy and your brother, Lleu. You claim he murdered her—”
“He did,” said Rhys calmly. He felt suddenly relieved, as though a heavy burden had been lifted from his heart. “He murdered her in the name of Chemosh, Lord of Death.”
Gerard sat forward, looking Rhys in the eyes. “She was alive when I saw her, Brother.”
“No, she wasn’t,” Rhys returned, “and neither was my brother. Both of them were … are … dead.”
“Dead as a dormouse,” said Nightshade complacently, biting into the apple. He wiped away the juice with the back of his hand. “It’s in the eyes.”
Gerard shook his head. “You best start from the start, Brother.”
“I wish I could,” said Rhys softly.
ou see, Sheriff, I don’t know where the story starts,” Rhys explained. “The story seems to have found me somewhere in the middle. It began when my brother, Lleu, came to visit me in the