Amber and Iron - Margaret Weis [124]
The clank of chains.
Nightshade groaned. He’d forgotten all about the fact that Rhys was chained to the wall.
“Maybe the rock slide dislodged the iron rings,” Nightshade said hopefully.
Finding the manacle around Rhys’s wrist, Nightshade groped his way along the length of chain back to where it was attached to the iron ring, which was still attached—quite firmly—to the wall.
Nightshade said a bad word and then he remembered. He was blessed by a god!
“Maybe he’s given me the strength of ten dragons!” Nightshade said excitedly, and gripped the chain and winced at the pain of his cut hands. Feeling that one with dragon-strength shouldn’t be put off by jabbing pain, he dug in his heels and shooed Atta out of the way, then pulled on the chain with all his might.
The chain slid through Nightshade’s hands, and the kender sat down on his bottom.
He repeated the bad word. Standing up, he tried again and this time he kept hold of the chain.
The iron ring didn’t budge.
Nightshade gave up. Following the chain, he made his way back to where Rhys lay on the ground, and kneeling beside his friend, he smoothed back the blood-gummed hair from the still face. Atta lay down beside him and began, again, to assiduously lick Rhys’s cheek.
“We’re not leaving, Rhys,” Nightshade told him. “Are we, Atta? You see—she says no, we’re not. Not this time.” He tried to strike a cheerful note. “Maybe the next time the ground shakes, the wall will split right open and knock those iron rings loose!”
Of course, Nightshade said to himself, if the wall does split open the ceiling will crash down on top of us and bury us alive, but I won’t mention that.
“I’m here, Rhys.” Nightshade took hold of his friend’s limp hand and held it tight. “And so’s Atta.”
The ground began to shake.
eneath the red-tinged water of the Blood Sea, inside the Tower of High Sorcery, Basalt and Caele were hard at work scrubbing and polishing, making ready for an influx of wizards—the twenty or so chosen Black Robes who were going to be leaving their homes on land to join Nuitari.
The Tower of the Blood Sea was now open and ready for business.
Following the meeting between the cousins, Nuitari realized there was no longer any need to keep his Tower secret. He gave the news to Dalamar, Head of the Black Robes, and told the elven archmage to issue an invitation to any Black Robes who wanted to come study in the new Tower.
The invitation included Dalamar, who had respectfully declined, saying it was necessary for the Black Robes to maintain their representation in Wayreth. Privately Dalamar thought that he would just as soon be shut up in a tomb as buried beneath the sea, away from the wind and the trees, blue skies and bright sunlight. He said as much to Jenna.
As Head of the Conclave, she was not at all happy about the decision made by the gods. She was opposed to separating the Robes again. The same had been done in the days before the Kingpriest, each Robe claiming its own Tower, with tragic results. Jenna made her opposition known to Lunitari, but the goddess of the Red Moon was so inordinately pleased with having the magnificent Tower of Wayreth all to herself that she would not listen. As for Solinari, his chosen, Coryn the White, was already putting together an expedition of White Robes to go forth to recover the accursed Tower that had formerly been in Palanthas and was now inside the heart of the dark land of the undead, Nightlund.
As for Dalamar, his reservations had nothing to do with the Tower itself, just its location. He considered that a Tower for the Black Robes was long overdue. Only Jenna had serious reservations, and she could not really take time to pursue them as she might have done. The Conclave was in the throes of a bitter argument over how to handle the situation with the Beloved—now that the horrible means of destroying them had become known. The Black Robes were all for recruiting armies of children and sending them forth to do battle. Rumor had it some had done just that.
As the news and the fear spread, any person who had