Amber and Iron - Margaret Weis [111]
Nightshade crossed his arms over his chest. “I won’t go! You can’t make me!”
“Nightshade,” said Rhys firmly. “You have to.”
“No, I don’t.”
“It’s the only way to save me,” Rhys said in solemn tones.
Nightshade looked up.
“I’ve been thinking,” Rhys continued. “We’re on the Blood Sea. We must be somewhere close to Flotsam. There is a temple of Majere in Flotsam—”
“There is? That’s wonderful!” Nightshade cried, excited. “I can run to Flotsam and find the temple, round up the monks, bring them back, and they’ll kick butt and we’ll all rescue you!”
“That’s an excellent plan,” said Rhys.
Nightshade scrambled to his feet. “I’ll leave right now!”
“You must take Atta with you,” Rhys said. “For protection. Flotsam is a lawless town, or so I’ve heard.”
“Right! C’mon, Atta!” Nightshade whistled.
Atta rose to her feet but didn’t follow. She looked at Rhys. She sensed something wasn’t right.
“Atta, guard,” he said and pointed at the kender.
He often had her “guard” something, which meant she was to watch over an object, not let anyone near it. He’d left her to guard sick sheep while he went to go seek help. He’d often told her to guard Nightshade.
In this case, however, Rhys wasn’t leaving. He was staying, and the object she was supposed to guard was leaving. He didn’t know if she would understand and obey. She was accustomed to watching over the kender, however, and Rhys hoped she would go along with this now as she had done in the past. He had thought of trying to form a leash for her, but she had never known what it was to be tied up. He guessed that she would fight a leash and he didn’t have time for that. Night was coming very fast.
“Atta, here.”
The dog came to him. He put his hands over her head and looked into her brown eyes.
“Go with Nightshade,” he said. “Watch him. Guard him.”
Rhys drew her near and kissed her gently on the forehead. Then he let her go.
“Call her again.”
“Atta, come,” said Nightshade.
Atta looked at Rhys. He gestured toward the kender.
“Walk away now,” Rhys ordered Nightshade. “Quickly.”
Nightshade obeyed, walking toward the grotto’s entrance. Atta cast one more look at Rhys, then she obediently followed the kender. Rhys breathed a soft sigh.
Nightshade paused. “We’ll be back soon, Rhys. Don’t—don’t go anywhere.”
“Be safe, my friend,” Rhys replied. “You and Atta take care of each other.”
“We will.” Nightshade hesitated, then turned and bolted out of the cave. Atta dashed after the kender, just as she’d done many times before.
Rhys sank back against the rock wall. Tears came to his eyes, but he smiled through them.
“Forgive me the lie, Master,” he said quietly.
In all the long history of the monks of Majere, they had never built a temple in Flotsam.
Chemosh was always in the Hall of the Souls Passing and he went there very little—a contradiction that can be explained by the fact that one of the aspects of the Lord of Death was always present in the Hall, seated on his dark throne, reviewing all those souls who had left their mortal flesh behind and were about to embark on the next stage of the eternal journey.
Chemosh rarely returned to this aspect of himself. This place was too isolated, too far removed from the world of gods and men. The other gods were prohibited from coming to the Hall, lest they exert undue interference on the souls undergoing judgment.
The Lord of Death was permitted his final chance to try to sway souls to his evil cause, to prevent them from traveling on, to seize them and keep them. Souls who had learned life’s lessons were easily able to avoid his snares, as were innocent souls, such as those of infants.
One of the gods of Light or Neutrality could