Amber and Iron - Margaret Weis [43]
Jenna gave a cry and pointed at the Beloved.
A globe of light leaped from the candle, blazed through the darkness, and smote the Beloved.
Cam cried out and shut his eyes against the glare. He fell once again to his knees and remained crouched there, one hand covering his eyes, the other stretched out as though trying to fend off the spell.
He remained in that attitude, unmoving, his eyes shut against the glare until Jenna gave a gasp and sank, exhausted, to her knees. The bright light vanished, as though an immense breath had blown it out, leaving them in darkness so deep that Rhys was effectively blinded.
From out of the darkness came Cam’s voice.
“I guess I’ll be going now, Sheriff, unless you’ve brought along someone else who wants to try to kill me.…”
erard shook off Rhys’s attempts to restrain him and staggered to his feet.
“I may not be able to destroy you—or what’s left of you,” Gerard gasped, barely able to talk. “But I’ll set a watch on you day and night. You won’t hurt anyone else, at least not in Solace.”
Cam shrugged. “Like I said, I’m leaving anyway. Nothing for me around here anymore.”
His gaze swept the assembled group. “You have witnessed the power of Chemosh. Take this message back to your wizards and your holy paladins: I can be destroyed, but the cost of my destruction will be so great that none of you will have the stomach to pay it.”
Cam gave a grin and a cheerful wave, then turned and left them. He did not take the road back into town but headed east.
“Do something, Paladin!” Gerard cried angrily. “Say a prayer! Throw holy water on it. Do something!”
“I have done all I can, sir,” Dominique replied. “Hand me the torch.”
He held the torch over the area where trampled and bloody grass marked the fight with the Beloved, and began searching. Finding what he sought, he picked up the holy medallion the Beloved had knocked from his grasp.
Dominique regarded it thoughtfully, then shook his head. “I can feel my god’s rage. I can also feel his impotence.”
Rhys knelt beside Jenna, who was crouched on her knees, staring in disbelief at the place where the Beloved had been standing.
“Are you all right, Mistress?” Rhys asked in concern.
“That spell should have reduced it to ashes,” said Jenna, sounding dazed. “Instead …”
She held out her hand. A fine sifting of ash, which had once been the orange gemstone, drifted through her fingers and fell to the ground next to a puddle of red wax—all that was left of her candle. A thin trail of smoke spiraled up from the blackened remnants of the wick.
“You’ve burned your palm,” said Rhys.
“It is nothing,” Jenna returned, sliding her sleeve hurriedly over her hand. “Give me your aid, Brother. Help me up. Thank you. I am fine. Go see to your poor dog.”
Rhys needed no urging. He hastened over to where Nightshade sat beneath the tree, holding fast to Atta. The dog was very still. Her eyes were closed.
Tears trickled down Nightshade’s cheeks.
His heart constricting in pain, Rhys knelt down. He reached out his hand to stroke her.
Atta stirred in the kender’s arms, lifted her head and opened her eyes. Her tail wagged feebly.
“I brought her back, Rhys!” said Nightshade in a tear-choked voice. “She wasn’t breathing, and she’d been so brave, and she tried her best to kill that thing, and I couldn’t bear to think of losing her!”
He had to stop a moment to swallow some tears. Rhys’s own tears were sliding down his face.
“I thought of all this, and how she and I shared a pork chop tonight, except that I didn’t really mean to share. I dropped it and she’s quick, when it comes to pork chops. Anyway, all this was in my heart and I said that little spell my parents taught me—the one I used to make you feel better that time we fought your brother. Everything that was in my heart just sort of overflowed and spilled out onto Atta. She gave a snuffle and then a snort. Then she opened her mouth and yawned, and then she licked my face. I think I must