Amber and Iron - Margaret Weis [34]
“We can discuss business later. You forget that I await the pleasure of an introduction, Sheriff,” said one of the two strangers.
“Mistress Jenna, Head of the Conclave of Wizards,” said Gerard, “and this gentleman is Dominique Helmsman, Holy Warrior of Kiri-Jolith. Brother Rhys Mason, former monk of Majere.”
“Former monk?” repeated Mistress Jenna with a quirk of her eyebrow.
A woman in her later years, Mistress Jenna was still alluring, still able to fascinate. Her eyes were large and lustrous; the fine lines around the eyes seemed to fade in the light of their splendor. She was dressed in red velvet robes trimmed with gold and silver. Jewels sparkled on her fingers. The pouches she wore at her waist were made of the finest leather, hand-painted with fanciful flowers and beasts. A very fine emerald hung from a golden chain around her neck. Mistress Jenna was not only one of the most powerful wizards on Ansalon, she was also one of the wealthiest.
“I’ve never met a ‘former’ monk of Majere before,” she continued archly, “and you must explain why your robes are a rather unusual shade of green.”
Rhys bowed but remained silent.
“Brother Mason has found favor in the eyes of Zeboim,” said Gerard.
“Not too much favor, I take it,” said Mistress Jenna, eyeing Rhys’s sea-green robes with amusement.
“You are fortunate in having Zeboim’s regard, Brother.” Dominique Helmsman stepped forward to hold out his hand. “Far better to have the Sea Witch for you than against you, as my people know well.”
Dominique had no need to name his people. His surname, Helmsman, as well as his jet-black skin, proclaimed him an Ergothian, a race of ship-builders and sailors who lived on the island of Ergoth in the western part of Ansalon. Because Ergoth was an island and its people dependent on the sea for their living, the Ergothians built numerous temples to Zeboim and were among the most dedicated of her followers. Thus it was that even an Ergothian Holy Warrior of Kiri-Jolith, god of Light, could proclaim his respect for the dark and capricious goddess of the sea and feel no conflict.
Rhys had heard of these paladins of Kiri-Jolith, god of righteous war, though he had never before met one. Dominique looked to be in his mid-thirties. He was tall and muscular; his face was handsome, though he seemed somewhat stern and unapproachable, as though he were constantly reflecting on the serious side of life. He wore a brown and white surcoat emblazoned with the head of a bison, the symbol of Kiri-Jolith, over glistening chain mail. His black hair was plaited in a single braid that hung down his back, as was the custom of his people. He carried the longsword that was the sacred weapon of the god buckled around his waist in a scabbard etched with holy symbols. The knight’s hand was never far from his sword. By this and other signs (a yelp from Nightshade), Rhys judged the sword to be a holy artifact blessed by the god.
“I am honored to meet you both.”
Rhys bowed again to the lady wizardess and then bowed to the holy warrior. Straightening, he stood, staff in hand, looking at them. Atta, well trained, sat quietly at his side. Rhys could see himself in their eyes: a tall, too-thin monk dressed in shabby robes of an unfortunate green color. His only possessions of value: a black and white dog and a plain wooden staff. His only companion: a kender who was sucking dolefully on burned fingers. Nightshade had made the mistake of trying to examine Dominique’s holy sword.
Rhys could not blame these two important people for having doubts about him, though they were too polite to show it.
Mistress Jenna broke the silence that was starting to grow uncomfortable.
“This is quite a pretty mystery you have set before us, Brother Rhys Mason. The lord sheriff has told us something about these so-called ‘Beloved of Chemosh.’ I find his report fascinating, especially the notion they can’t be destroyed.” She gave a condescending smile. “At least