Amber and Iron - Margaret Weis [36]
“At any rate,” she continued, before he could dredge up some excuse, “I hope you will forgive me. Here is my room. Watch it, Brother!” Jenna said sharply, raising a warding hand. “Don’t touch the door handle. You might want to stand back.”
Rhys stepped back, narrowly avoiding bumping into Gerard and the paladin, who were coming up the stairs behind him, both so deeply engrossed in their discussion of the notorious outlaw Baron Samuval, who had taken over half of Abanasinia, that neither was paying particular attention to where they were going. Nightshade clumped up after, grumbling about missing his dinner.
They all waited as Jenna spoke some words in the eerie language of magic that Rhys, shut up in his monastery for most of his life, had never before heard. He was reminded of spider’s legs, wispy cobwebs and silvery bells. Nightshade stood humming a little tune and looking around in bored fashion. The door glowed briefly a faint blue color then swung open.
“I suppose she thinks that’s supposed to impress us,” Nightshade said in an aside to Atta. “I could do that—if I wanted to.”
The dog, by her look, appeared to share the kender’s feelings.
“I always use magic to lock my door,” Jenna explained as she ushered them into the room that was the finest the inn had to offer. “Not because I have all that much of value to protect. It’s just I’m hopeless about misplacing keys. I am perfectly serious about wanting one of your dogs,” she added as Rhys walked past her. “I wasn’t just making myself agreeable.”
Jenna won Nightshade over by passing around a tray of sweetmeats and offering them their choice of ale or a pale, chilled wine. Once they were settled, with Nightshade penned up in a corner by Atta, everyone turned to Rhys.
“Gerard has told us some of the story, Brother,” said the paladin. “But we would like to hear it in your own words.”
Rhys told his tale reluctantly. He guessed that neither was going to believe him. He didn’t blame them. In their place, he would find his story difficult to swallow. Rhys decided he would not waste time in arguing with them or trying to convince them what he said was the truth. If they scoffed, he’d be on his way. He had to find Lleu. He’d wasted time enough as it was.
Neither Jenna nor Dominique spoke as long as Rhys was talking. Neither interrupted him. Both regarded him with grave attentiveness. At the point when Rhys briefly described the murder of the monks, Dominique murmured a few words, and Rhys realized the paladin was saying a prayer for the souls of Majere’s faithful. Dominique frowned when he heard Rhys tell how he had forsaken Majere and shifted his allegiance to Zeboim, but the paladin said no word of reproach.
Rhys deliberately invited Nightshade to offer his own version of events. Rhys had come to value the kender’s courage and resolve, and he wanted to make it clear they were friends and partners. Nightshade’s tale was lengthy and rambling. He leapfrogged from one thought to another, so that he was occasionally incoherent. Both Jenna and Dominique listened in patience, though sometimes Mistress Jenna was forced to put her hand to her twitching lips to keep from laughing.
When Rhys and Nightshade had no more to tell, the wizardess and the paladin remained silent for a moment. Both looked extremely grave. Gerard said nothing either. He waited for them to speak.
Nightshade fidgeted in his chair, trying to catch Rhys’s eye. He jerked his head meaningfully toward the door and mouthed the words, “Let’s get out of here!”
Rhys shook his head, and Nightshade heaved a loud sigh and kicked at the rungs of his chair with his heels.
“Well, Brother,” said Jenna after a moment, “that is quite a story.”
Rhys inclined his head but did not comment.
Nightshade cleared his throat and said loudly, “Say, I smell pork chops. Does anyone else smell pork chops?”
Gerard sat forward. “We believe we have located one of these Beloved. What I propose is that we arrange