Amber and Iron - Margaret Weis [44]
Rhys’s own heart was so full that he could not speak. He tried, but no words would come.
“I’m so glad she’s not dead,” continued Nightshade, hugging Atta, who was scrubbing his face. “Who would keep me out of trouble?”
Atta wriggled out of Nightshade’s arms. Shaking herself all over, she sat down on Rhys’s foot, looking up at him and wagging her tail wildly. The kender stood and brushed himself off, then wiped away tears and dog slobber. He looked up to find Mistress Jenna standing in front of him, regarding him with wonder.
She held out her hand—first removing all her rings.
“I apologize, Nightshade, for casting aspersions on you earlier,” Jenna said gravely. “I want to shake your hand. You are the only one whose spell worked this night.”
“Thank you, Mistress Jenna, and don’t worry about those aspersions you cast,” Nightshade assured her. “None of them hit me. I was up in the tree. As for your spell, it was a doozy! I still see blue spots dancing around in my eyes.”
“Blue spots. That was all it was good for,” Jenna said ruefully. “I’ve used that spell against undead more times than I can count. It has never before failed me.”
“At least the Beloved admits that it can be destroyed,” Rhys said in thoughtful tones.
“Yeah,” Gerard muttered. “At a cost so great none of us will be able to stomach it.”
“Of course there is a way to destroy it. Chemosh may promise unending life, but not even he can grant immortality,” Dominique stated.
“Why tell us then?” Jenna asked, frustrated. “Why not keep us in the dark?”
“The god hopes to frighten us from pursuing the matter,” Dominique surmised.
“He’s taunting us,” said Gerard, wincing as he massaged his sore neck. “Like a murderer who deliberately leaves a clue near the body.”
Mistress Jenna did not appear satisfied with these answers. “What do you think, Brother?”
“The god knows that his secret has been revealed. From now on, every wizard and cleric in Ansalon will be looking for these Beloved. Word will spread. Panic will set in. Neighbor will accuse neighbor. Parents will turn on their children. The only way to prove a person is innocent will be to kill him. If he stays dead, he is not one of the Beloved. The cost of destroying these creatures will be high indeed.”
“And Chemosh gains more souls,” Nightshade added. “That’s pretty smart.”
“I think you underestimate us, Brother,” said Dominique, frowning. “We will see to it that no innocents suffer.”
“Like your god’s clerics did in the days of the Kingpriest?” said Mistress Jenna sharply. “I daresay we wizards will be among the first to be accused! We always are.”
“Mistress Jenna,” said Dominique stiffly, “I assure you that we will be working in close contact with our brethren in the Towers.”
Jenna eyed him, then sighed. “Never mind me. I’m just tired, and I have a long night ahead of me.” She began sliding her rings back on her fingers. “I must return to the Conclave to make my report. It was good meeting you, Rhys Mason, former monk of Majere.”
She laid emphasis on that word. Her eyes, shining in Lunatari’s red light, seemed to challenge him.
Rhys did not take up her challenge. He did not ask her what she meant. He feared her mocking reply. At least, that’s what he told himself.
“You, too, Nightshade. May your pouches always be full and jail cells always be empty. Dominique, my friend, I am sorry I spoke with such ill will. We will be in contact. Sheriff Gerard, thank you for bringing this terrible matter to my attention. Finally, farewell to you, Lady Atta.” Jenna reached down to pat the dog, who cringed under her touch but allowed herself to be petted.
“Take good care of your lost master and see to it that he finds his way home. And now, friends and acquaintances, I bid you goodnight!”
Jenna placed her right hand over a ring on her left thumb, spoke a single word, and vanished from their sight.
“Whew!” Nightshade breathed. “I remember when we did that. Do you, Rhys? That time Zeboim magicked us off to the death knight’s castle—”
Rhys rested his hand on the kender