Amber and Iron - Margaret Weis [67]
Lleu clasped his hands together. “Take the ‘blessing’ away, Mina. Let me go.”
She drew back, haughty and aloof. The amber hardened, the cracks sealed. “You gave yourself to my lord. You are his. I can do nothing.”
Lleu lurched forward, still on his knees. “I beg you!”
Zeboim cast the Beloved a look of disgust and drew Mina away.
“Come, Child. Speaking of Chemosh, he will be growing impatient. As for you, Monk”—Zeboim glanced back at Rhys over her shoulder and her look was not friendly—“I will talk to you later.”
Storm winds blew into the tavern, caught up Rhys, and flung him back against the wall. Sand stung his face. He could not see for the sand and the lashing rain, but he could hear people cursing, crates being tossed about the room. The storm raged for an instant and then subsided. Rhys found Atta cowering under a crate. Lleu was still on his knees. Hoping against hope his brother’s memory had returned, Rhys hastened over to him.
“Lleu, it’s me, Rhys.…”
Lleu shoved him aside. “I don’t give a damn who you are. Get out of my way. Barkeep, more spirits!”
The barkeep appeared, rising up from behind the bar. He stared around at the overturned crates and upended drunks, and then he scowled at Lleu.
“Fine friends you have. Look at this mess! Who’s going to pay for it? Not you, I suppose. Get out,” he shouted, shaking a clenched fist. “And don’t come back!”
Muttering that he had better things to do and better places to go, Lleu stalked out of the tavern, slamming the door behind him.
“I will pay for the damage,” said Rhys, handing over his last coin. Whistling to Atta, he started after Lleu, saying to Nightshade in passing, “Hurry! We have to follow him!”
A whimper from Atta caused Rhys to stop and look back.
Nightshade was staring at the place where Mina had been standing. His eyes were round and wide, and Rhys saw in astonishment, tears were rolling down the kender’s cheeks.
“Oh, Rhys,” Nightshade gulped. “It’s so sad. So very sad!”
He buried his face in his hands and wept as though his heart would break.
hys hastened back to his friend.
“Nightshade,” he said in concern. “I’m sorry for being so thoughtless. That was a bad fall you took. Where does it hurt?”
But all Nightshade could say was, “It’s so sad! I can’t bear it!”
Rhys put his arm around the kender and led him from the tavern. Atta trotted after them, looking anxiously at her friend, and every now and then giving his hand a sympathetic lick.
Torn between his worry for his friend and his concern that he might lose track of his brother, Rhys did his best to soothe Nightshade, all the while keeping Lleu in sight.
His brother strolled along the docks, hands in his pockets, whistling an off-key tune, not a care in the world. He greeted strangers as though they were old friends and was soon in conversation with a group of sailors. Rhys thought back to only moments before, when his wretched brother had been begging for death, and he assumed he knew why the kender was sobbing.
Rhys patted Nightshade consolingly on the shoulder, thinking he’d soon regain his composure, but the kender was completely undone. Nightshade could only repeat, gulping and blubbering, that it was all so sad, and he cried even harder. Rhys was worried that he was going to have to leave his friend in this state, but then he saw his brother enter a bar in company with the sailors.
Certain Lleu would be there for some time, especially if the sailors were buying, Rhys steered Nightshade into a quiet alley. The kender plunked down on the ground and sobbed dismally.
“Nightshade,” said Rhys, “I know you’re sorry for Lleu, but this won’t help—”
Nightshade looked up. “Lleu? I’m not sorry for him! It’s her!”
“Her? Do you mean Mina?” Rhys asked, astonished. “She’s the one you’re crying over?”
Nightshade nodded, prompting more tears.
“What about her?” Rhys had a sudden thought. “Is she one of the Beloved? Is she dead?”
“Oh, no!” Nightshade gulped. Then he hesitated. Then repeated, “No …” only this time more slowly.
“Are you crying for the terrible evil she has done?” Rhys’s