Amber and Iron - Margaret Weis [100]
Mina sat back on her heels. Her lip curled. “Liar! You abandoned Majere. Zeboim told me as much.”
“Thanks to a kender’s wisdom and my god’s refusal to abandon me, I have learned my lesson,” Rhys said. “I asked Majere’s forgiveness and he granted me his blessing.”
Mina laughed again and gestured to Rhys. “Here you are, chained to a wall in a grotto far from anywhere. You are completely at my mercy. This is a strange way for a god to show his love.”
“As you say, Mistress, I am chained to a wall. I have no doubt but that you mean to kill me, and, yes, my god loves me. For at last I have the answer to my riddle. I know who I am.”
Rhys looked up at her. “I am sorry, Mistress, but I do not know you.”
Mina stared at him seething silence. The amber eyes burned.
“You are wrong, monk,” she said at last, when she could speak. “I will not kill you. I will kill them.” She pointed at Nightshade and Atta. “You have all day to reflect on my riddle, monk—a day in which you can imagine their agony. They will die in excruciating pain. The dog first, and then the kender. I will return with the setting sun.”
She left them, stalking angrily out of the grotto.
Lurking about outside the rock walls, Krell heard Mina announce her departure, and he had just time enough to remove himself from sight before she emerged. Her face was pale, her amber eyes glinted, her lips compressed. Her expression was not the expression of a woman in love. She looked angry clear through, angry and thwarted. Krell was not worried by such details, however. He knew what his master wanted to hear, and he was prepared to tell him.
Now all Krell needed was a name.
He had tried his best to eavesdrop on the conversation, but it had been muffled and indistinct. He understood very little of what was said, but it occurred to him, after several moments, that the man’s voice sounded familiar to him.
Krell was positive he’d heard that voice somewhere before. He could not recall where. He’d heard so many voices lately that all of them rattled around in confusion inside his empty helm. What he did know was that the sound of the man’s calm voice dredged up some very violent feelings. Krell had a grudge against that voice. If only he could remember what.
The death knight followed Mina until he saw she was headed back to the castle, and then he turned back to the grotto. He was intending to enter, to see this man for himself, and discover just where and when they’d met …
A blast of wind and rain, sea foam and fury spewed out of the cave.
“What do you mean you are sworn to Majere?” The goddess shrieked and howled. “You are mine! You gave yourself to me!”
Krell knew that voice if he knew no other. Zeboim. And she was in a tempest.
Krell had no idea why his nemesis was in there; nor did he care, for it had just occurred to him that Chemosh would be impatient for his report.
“I must not keep my master waiting,” Krell said to himself and turned and fled.
hat do you mean you are sworn to Majere?” Zeboim cried tempestuously. “You are mine, monk! You gave yourself to me!”
The goddess had materialized in the grotto in a gust of wind and drenching rain. Her green dress foamed around her. Her long hair, whipped by the wind, lashed Rhys’s face, drawing blood. Her gray-green eyes scorched him. Gnashing her teeth, she struck at Rhys, nails curled to claws.
“You ungrateful wretch! After everything I’ve done for you! I could scratch your eyes out! Eyes be damned, I could rip out your liver!”
Nightshade cowered against the wall. Atta whined. Rhys said a silent prayer to Majere and waited.
Zeboim straightened, her hands twitching. She drew in a breath, then drew in another. Slowly she mastered her fury. She even managed a tight-lipped smile.
Zeboim knelt beside Rhys, slid her hand seductively up his arm, and said softly, “I will give you another chance to come back to me, monk. I will save you from Mina. I will save you from Chemosh. I ask only one little favor in return.”
“Majesty, I—”
Zeboim put her fingers over his mouth. “No, no. Wait until you have