Amber and Iron - Margaret Weis [105]
“I don’t believe Mina is either color-blind or crazy. I believe she saw what she saw. I believe she saw Rhys Mason at a time in his life when he is wearing orange robes and when he does know who she is. Not now, because he doesn’t. Not in the past, because he didn’t. Which leaves—a time when he will.”
Zeboim paused for effect, then said, “Mina saw your monk in the future, a future in which he has returned to you, a future in which he knows something about Mina. He knows something, because you’ve told him.”
Zeboim shrugged. “The problem you have, Majere, is that now this future will never come to pass, because Mina plans to torture your poor monk to death.
“Then there’s the matter of the kender bursting into sloppy, wet blubbers whenever he sees Mina, but I won’t bore you with that. He’s a kender, after all. You can’t expect anything sensible from them.”
Zeboim eyed Majere.
“Go ahead. Do your little dance. Pretend you are above all this. The truth is—you’re in a pickle. I’m not alone in wondering what is going on with this Mina mortal. My brother, Nuitari, may be a pain in the backside, but he’s not stupid. He and the weird cousins are asking questions. Sargonnas does not like the fact these Beloved are congregating in east Ansalon, so near his empire. Nuitari does not like them so near his precious Tower. Mishakal is furious that the hand of a child must be used to destroy them—a marvelous touch of Chemosh’s, I must admit. I am quite amused by the thought of sweet little tykes forced to become bloodthirsty murderers.
“Why am I here, Majere? I can see you asking yourself that question. I came to warn you. I am the first god to visit you, but I won’t be the last. All the signposts point to you. The rest will find their way to your mountain fastness, and some—I’m thinking specifically of my father—will not be as sweet and charming as I have been. You had best do something before you lose control of the situation completely. If you haven’t already, that is.”
“Perhaps you’d like to unburden yourself? Tell me the truth? I would be glad to help Rhys Mason—for a price. I’ll placate my father and brother, keep them from disturbing you. Tell me what you know about Mina. It will be our secret—I swear it!”
Zeboim waited, rubbing her arms and stamping her feet.
Majere kept moving, gliding over the chill stone. His face was devoid of expression. His eyes fathomless, inscrutable.
“Keep your secret then!” Zeboim cried in nasty tones. “You will have no trouble doing so. Your poor monk will die before he reveals it. Ah, I forgot!” She clapped her hands. “He can’t reveal it because he doesn’t know it! He will be tortured for information he doesn’t have and so can never tell. What a marvelous joke on the poor fellow. That will teach him to put his faith in a god such as you!”
Zeboim left in huff, trailing fog and mist behind her. Returning to her ship, she ordered the minotaurs to up anchor and make haste to find warmer climes.
In the courtyard, Majere tried to continue his ritual, but he found he could not. The mind has to be quiet and still for meditation, and his mind was in turmoil.
“Paladine,” he said softly, “Your mortal body cannot hear me, but perhaps your soul can. I have failed you. I ask your forgiveness. I will try to make amends.
“Though I fear it is already too late.”
hemosh stood on the battlements of Castle Beloved (he was seriously considering changing the name) watching Mina running along the beach. The waves lapped at her feet, washing away her footprints. He watched until Mina had returned to the castle and he could no longer see her.
Turning, he almost stepped on Ausric Krell.
Chemosh cursed, falling back.
“What do you mean? Sneaking up on me like that!”
“You were the one who ordered me to be discreet,” Krell returned sullenly.
“Around Mina, you walking soup kettle! When you are around me, you may clank and rattle as much as you like. Well?” he added, after a pause. “What news?”
“You were right, Lord,” said Krell, exultant.