Amber and Iron - Margaret Weis [39]
Rhys squatted down. Despite what she said, he did not presume to try to touch it. “A relic dating back to the Third Age must be of immense value.”
“If I sold it, I could probably buy half of Solace with the proceeds,” stated Jenna.
Rhys looked up at her. “Yet you risk such a valuable artifact here this night.”
Jenna regarded him intently. He noted how the fine lines around her eyes had a way of intensifying her gaze, concentrating it, like sunlight shining through a prism.
“Either you do not understand the serious nature of this threat, Brother, or you imagine that I do not,” she said briskly. “I am not here as Jenna, a long-time friend of Palin Majere. I am here in my capacity as Head of the Conclave of Wizards. I will be making a full report to the Conclave immediately upon my return, for we must determine the best way to deal with this crisis. The same is true of our holy paladin. He will be making reports to the priests and clerics of all the gods of Light, as well as the assembled Council of the Knights of Solamnia. This is not a kender outing for us, Brother. Dominique and I have come armed for battle. We carry with us the best weapons we have at our disposal.”
“I am sorry, Mistress,” Rhys said quietly. “I meant no disrespect.”
He should be grateful. This was what he’d wanted, yet now he was filled with unease. On one hand, he was thankful that at last the world would know of this threat. On the other, fear could lead to inquisitions, torture, persecutions of the innocent. The cure might be far worse than the disease.
“For good or ill, the matter is out of your hands now, Brother,” said Mistress Jenna, guessing his thoughts. “Oh, no you don’t, sir!”
She plucked away a small hand, belonging to Nightshade, as it was reaching for the lantern. “Look over yonder. I believe I see a poltergeist wandering about the base of that oak tree.”
“A poltergeist?” Nightshade said eagerly. “Where?”
“Over there.” Jenna pointed. “No, more to the left.”
Nightshade hastened off in pursuit, Atta following along dubiously at his heels.
Jenna turned back to Rhys. “You must promise to keep that kender as far from me as humanly possible. By the way, can he really talk to dead people?”
“Yes, Mistress. I have seen him myself.”
“Remarkable. You must bring him to Palanthas some time for a visit. There are several dead people I would like to contact. One of them had in his possession a spellbook reputed to have been written by my father, Justarius. I tried to buy it from him, but the old fool said he’d take it to his grave before he sold it to me. Apparently he did, because I searched his house after his death and could not find it.”
Jenna glanced into the sky. “Lunitari will be full this night. Excellent for spellcasting.” She fixed her prism-eyes upon Rhys. Her expression was serious, her tone grave. “The paladin and I will handle the Beloved, Brother. You watch over our friend the Sheriff.”
She glanced at Gerard as she spoke. “He must not be allowed to interfere with our work. If he does, I won’t be responsible for the consequences. Now leave me, Brother. I want to go over my spells one final time.”
She closed her eyes and clasped her hands in her lap.
“No sign of a poltergeist,” said Nightshade, returning, disappointed.
Rhys steered the kender away from both Mistress Jenna and Dominique, not that the paladin would have noticed a hundred kender. Dominique was with them in body, not in spirit. Accoutered in full plate armor, and steel helm, he wore the tabard marked by the symbol of Kiri-Jolith. He knelt on the ground, his sword before him. His eyes shone with holy fervor as he murmured the words of a prayer, asking his god for strength