Amber and Iron - Margaret Weis [17]
“Krell,” Chemosh said tersely. “You reside on the plane of death, as does she. Speak to Mina’s spirit for me. Ask her what it is she so desperately wants to tell me! It is always the same,” he muttered feverishly, plucking the lace on his sleeve. “She comes to me and seems to want to say something to me, and I cannot hear her! Perhaps you will be able to communicate with her.”
Krell had hated Mina in life. She had faced him unafraid the first time they’d met, and for that, he’d never forgiven her. He was glad she was dead, and the last thing he wanted to do was act as a go-between for her and her lover.
“My lord,” Krell ventured to point out, “you rule the plane of Death and Undeath. If you can’t communicate—”
Chemosh turned a baleful eye upon the death knight, who bowed and muttered something about being happy to speak to Mina whenever she should decide to put in an appearance.
“She is here now, Krell. Talk to her! What are you waiting for? Ask her what she wants!”
Krell looked about. He saw nothing, but he didn’t like to disappoint his lord and so he began talking to a crack in the wall.
“Mina,” said Krell in sonorous and mournful tones, “Lord Chemosh would like to know—”
“Not there!” Chemosh said in exasperation. He gestured. “She is here! Next to me!”
Krell stared about the hall, then said as diplomatically as possible, “My lord, the journey from Storm’s Keep was a strenuous one. Perhaps you should lie down—”
Chemosh bounded off the throne and strode angrily toward the death knight. “There’s not much of you left, Krell, but what there is I’ll shred into infinitesimal pieces and scatter to the four corners of the Abyss—”
“I swear to you, my lord!” Krell cried, backing up precipitously, “that I do not know what you’re talking about! You say, ‘Speak to Mina,’ and I would be glad to do your bidding, but there is no Mina for me to speak to!”
Chemosh halted. “You cannot see her?” He pointed to where she was standing. “If I extend my arm, I could touch her.” He suited his action to his words and held out his hand to her.
Krell turned his helmed head in the direction indicated and stared with all his might. “Oh, of course. Now that you point her out—”
“Don’t lie to me, Krell!” Chemosh cried savagely, clenching his fist.
The death knight recoiled. “My lord. I am truly sorry. I want to see her, but I do not—”
Chemosh shifted his gaze from Krell to the apparition. His eyes narrowed. “You don’t see her. Strange. I wonder …”
He raised his voice, shouting, so that it echoed through the shadowy realm of death. “To me! Servants, slaves! To me! Now!”
The hall filled with a ghostly throng, constrained to come at their master’s bidding. Wraiths and specters gathered around Chemosh and waited in their customary silence for him to command them.
“You see these minions of mine, do you not, Krell?” Chemosh made a sweeping wave of his arm.
Left behind by the river of souls as it flowed through eternity, the undead who had fallen prey to the blandishments of the Lord of Death floated in a stagnant swamp of their own evil.
“Yes, my lord,” said Krell. “I see them.” They were low creatures, and he cast them a disdainful glance.
“And you don’t see Mina standing among them?”
Krell stood dithering in an agony of indecision. “My lord, since my death, my eyesight is not what it used to be—”
“Krell!” Chemosh shouted.
The death knight’s shoulders slumped. “No, my lord. I know you don’t want to hear this, but she is not among these—”
The Lord of Death flung his arms around Krell, embraced him tightly, crumpling his armor, and staving in his breastplate.
“Krell,” cried Chemosh, “you have saved my sanity!”
The death knight’s eyes flared in astonishment.
“My lord?”
“What a fool I have been!” Chemosh declared. “But no more. He will pay for this! I swear by the High God who cast me out of heaven and by Chaos who saved me that Nuitari will pay!”
Releasing Krell and dismissing the other undead with an impatient gesture, Chemosh stared at the image of Mina, still floating before him.
“Give me your