Amber and Iron - Margaret Weis [13]
“That won’t happen this time, Brother,” Gerard argued. “I have a plan. We’ll take guards with us. My best men. We’ll ask the Beloved to surrender. If that doesn’t work, we’ll use more drastic measures. No one will get hurt. I’ll see to that.”
Rhys remained unconvinced.
“One other question,” Gerard said. “What does Zeboim have to do with all this?”
“It seems that there is a war among the gods—”
“Just what we need,” Gerard burst out angrily. “We mortals finally achieve peace on Ansalon—relatively speaking—and now the gods start slugging it out again. Some sort of power struggle now that the Queen of Darkness is dead and gone, I’ll bet. And we poor mortals are caught in the middle. Why can’t the gods just leave us alone, Brother? Let us work out our own problems!”
“We’ve done so well so far,” Rhys said dryly.
“All the trouble that has ever plagued this world has been caused by the gods,” Gerard stated heatedly.
“Not by gods,” Rhys countered gently. “By mortals in the name of the gods.”
Gerard snorted. “I don’t say that things were great when the gods were gone, but at least we didn’t have dead people walking around committing murder—” He saw that Rhys was looking uncomfortable and stopped his harangue.
“I’m sorry, Brother. Don’t mind me. I get riled up over this. Go on with your story. I need to know all I can if I’m going to fight these things.”
Rhys hesitated, then said quietly, “When I lost my own faith, I called upon a god—any god—to side with me. Zeboim answered my prayer. One of the few times she has ever answered any of my prayers. The goddess told me that the person behind all of this was someone called Mina—”
“Mina!”
Gerard stood up so fast he upset the bowl of stew, spilling it to the floor, much to Atta’s delight. She was too well trained to beg, but, by the Immortal Law of Dogs, if food falls on the floor, it’s up for grabs.
Nightshade gave a dismayed cry and dove to save lunch, but Atta was too quick for him. The dog gulped down the rest of the chicken, not even bothering to chew it first.
“What do you know of this Mina?” asked Rhys, startled by Gerard’s intense reaction.
“Know of her. Brother, I’ve met her,” said Gerard. He ran his hand through his yellow hair, causing it to stand straight up. “And I tell you, Rhys Mason, it’s not something I ever want to do again. She’s fey, that one. If she’s behind this …” He fell silent, brooding.
“Yes,” Rhys prompted. “If she’s behind this, what?”
“Then I’m thinking I’d better rethink my plan,” said Gerard grimly. He headed for the door. “You and the kender sit tight. I have work to do. I’ll need you to in Solace a few days, Brother.”
Rhys shook his head. “I’m sorry, Sheriff, but I must continue my search for my brother. I’ve lost precious time as it is—”
Gerard halted in the open doorway, turned around.
“And if you find him, Brother, what then? Will you just keep trailing after him, watching him kill people? Or do you want to stop him for good?”
Rhys made no reply. He gazed at Gerard in silence.
“I could use your help, Brother. Yours and Atta’s and, yes, even the kender’s,” Gerard added grudgingly. “Will all three of you stay, just for a few days?”
“A sheriff asking a kender for help!” Nightshade said, awed. “I’ll bet that’s never happened in the whole history of the world. Let’s stay, Rhys.”
Rhys’s eyes were drawn to the emmide, standing in the corner. “Very well, Sheriff. We will stay.”
rell!” The voice echoed through the cavernous corridors of Storm’s Keep and went on booming even after the echoes had faded, bouncing around the inside of the death knight’s empty helm. “Show yourself.”
The death knight recognized the voice, and he burrowed deeper into his hole. Even here, far underground, water from the constant storms that lashed his island found its way through cracks and crevices. The rain ran in rivulets down the stone wall. Water seeped into his empty boots and flowed through his shin guards.
“Krell,” said the voice grimly, “I know you’re down there. Don’t make me come after you.”
“Yes, m’lord,” Krell mumbled. “I’ll come out.”
Sloshing