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By Root 381 0

watching the thing that had once been his brother and making an occasional show of drinking the liquor he’d been forced to purchase in order to placate the barkeep. Nightshade had been bored, at first, then he fell to trying to hit the rats with dried beans he’d found in some old sacking stuffed inside the crate on which he was seated. The kender had come by (Rhys did not like to ask how) a slingshot, and though he was clumsy in its use at first, he had since acquired a certain amount of skill. He could hit a rat with a bean at twenty paces and send it somersaulting head over tail across the dirt floor. He was growing tired of the sport, however. The intelligent rats now kept to their holes and, besides, he’d run out of beans.

“Rhys,” said Nightshade, wrapping up the slingshot and shoving it in his belt. “It’s time for supper.”

“I thought you’d lost your appetite,” said Rhys, smiling.

“My nose lost it. My stomach didn’t,” Nightshade returned. “Atta thinks it’s suppertime, too, don’t you, girl?” He patted the dog on the head.

Atta looked up and wagged her tail, hoping they were going to leave.

“We can’t go yet,” Rhys began, then, seeing Nightshade’s face fall and Atta’s ears droop, he added, “but you could both go for a walk. I have this leftover from lunch.”

He and Nightshade had helped a farmer put a wheel back on a wagon that morning on their way into town and, although Rhys had refused to accept payment, the man had shared his food with them. Rhys handed over a packet of dried meat to the kender.

“I’ll take it outside to eat it,” Nightshade said. “That way my nose can feel hungry along with my stomach.”

He stood up and stretched out the kinks. Atta shook herself all over, starting with her nose and ending with her tail, and looked eagerly at the door.

“What about you?” Nightshade asked, seeing that Rhys remained seated. “Aren’t you hungry?”

Rhys shook his head. “I will stay here and keep watch on Lleu. He said something about meeting a young woman later this evening.”

Nightshade took the food, but he didn’t immediately go off with it. He stood looking at Rhys and seemed to be trying to make up his mind whether to say something or not.

“Yes, my friend,” said Rhys mildly. “What is it?”

“He’s leaving on a ship in two days,” Nightshade said.

Rhys nodded.

“What are we going to do then? Swim across New Sea after him?”

“I’m talking to the captain. I have offered to work on board the ship in return for passage.”

“Then what?”

Leaning near, Nightshade looked his friend straight in the eye. “Rhys, face it! We could still be chasing your brother when you’re ninety and using that stick of yours as a cane! Lleu will be as young as ever, going from tavern to tavern, slinging down dwarf spirits like there’s no tomorrow. Because, you know what, Rhys, for him there is no tomorrow!”

Nightshade sighed and shook his head. “It’s not much of a life you have. That’s all I’m saying.”

Rhys didn’t defend himself because he couldn’t. The kender was right. It wasn’t much of a life, but what else could he do? Until someone wise found a way to stop the Beloved, he could at least try to prevent Lleu from claiming any more victims, and the only way he could do that was to track his brother like a hunter tracks the marauding wolf.

Nightshade saw his friend’s face darken, and he felt immediately remorseful.

“Rhys, I’m sorry.” Nightshade patted his hand. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. It’s just that you’re a good man, and it seems to me you should be going around doing good things instead of spending your time stopping your brother from doing bad ones.”

“I am not hurt,” said Rhys, touching Nightshade gently on the shoulder. “Has anyone told you that you are wise, my friend?”

“Not recently,” said Nightshade with a grin.

“Well, you are. I will consider what you have said. Go along and eat your supper.”

Nightshade nodded and squeezed Rhys’s hand. He and Atta turned and were heading outside, when suddenly the door burst open with a slamming bang that jolted the drunks out of their stupor and caused several to drop their mugs.