Amber and Iron - Margaret Weis [7]
“What kender?”
“This kender. Nightshade, Your Majesty,” Rhys said, holding up the khas piece that was frantically waving its tiny arms. “The kender nightstalker.”
“Oh, very well!” Zeboim flicked sand over the khas piece and Nightshade, all four-and-one half-feet of him, blossomed at Rhys’s side.
“Get me back to normal!” the kender was bellowing.
He looked around and blinked. “Oh, you did. Whew! Thanks!”
Nightshade patted himself all over. He lifted his hand to his head to make certain his topknot was there and it was. He looked at his shirt to make certain he still had one and he did. He had his britches, too—his favorite color, purple, or at least, they’d once been purple. They were now a peculiar color of mauve. He wrung the water out of his shirt, pants, and topknot, and felt better.
“I’ll never complain about being short again,” he confided to Rhys in heartfelt tones.
“If that is all I can do for the two of you,” Zeboim said bitingly, “I have urgent business …”
“One more thing, Your Majesty,” Rhys said. “Where are we?”
Zeboim cast a vague glance around. “You are on a beach by the sea. How should I know where? It is all the same to me. I pay no attention to these things.”
“We need to be back in Solace, Your Majesty,” said Rhys, “in order to search for Mina. I know you are in a hurry, but if you could just take us there—”
“And would you like me to fill your pockets with emeralds?” Zeboim asked with a sarcastic curl of her lip. “And give you a castle overlooking the shores of the Sirrion Ocean?”
“Yes!” cried Nightshade eagerly.
“No, Majesty,” said Rhys. “Just send us back to—”
He quit speaking because there was no longer any goddess to hear him. There was only Nightshade, several extremely startled looking people, and a mighty vallenwood tree holding a gabled building in its stalwart branches.
A joyful bark split the air. A black and white dog bounded off the landing where she’d been dozing in the sun. The dog came tumbling down the stairs, dodging in and out of people’s legs, nearly upending several.
Speeding across the lawn, Atta launched herself at Rhys and jumped into his arms.
He clasped the wriggling, furry body and hugged her close, his head buried in her fur, his eyes wet with softer water than that of the sea.
Brightly colored stained glass windows caught the last rays of the afternoon sun. People wended their way up and down the long staircase that led from the ground to the Inn of the Last Home in the treetop.
“Solace,” Nightshade said in satisfaction.
ell, I’ll be the son of a blue-eyed, elf-loving ogre!” Gerard clapped Rhys on the back, and then shook his hand and then clapped him on the back again, and then stood grinning at him. “I never expected to see you again this side of the Abyss.”
Gerard paused, then said half-joking and half-not, “I guess you’ll want your kender-herding dog back …”
Atta dashed over to give Nightshade a wriggle and a quick lick, then ran back to Rhys. She sat at his feet, gazing up at him, her mouth wide and her tongue hanging out.
“Yes,” said Rhys, reaching down to fondle her ears. “I want my dog back.”
“I was afraid of that. Solace now has the most well-behaved kender in all of Ansalon. No offense, friend,” he added with a glance at Nightshade.
“None taken,” said Nightshade cheerfully. He sniffed the air. “What’s the special on the Inn’s menu tonight?”
“All right, you people, go about your business,” Gerard said, waving his hands at the crowd that had gathered. “The show’s over.” He glanced sidelong at Rhys and said in an undertone, “I take it the show is over, Brother? You’re not going to spontaneously combust or anything like that?”
“I trust not,” answered Rhys cautiously. When Zeboim was involved, he knew better than to promise.
A few still lingered, hoping for more excitement, but when the minutes passed and they saw nothing more interesting than a dripping wet monk and a soaked kender, even the idlers wandered off.
Gerard turned back to stare at Rhys. “What have