Amber and Iron - Margaret Weis [80]
Patrick took hold of the child, prized open his mouth, and stuffed a wadded handkerchief inside to keep him from biting his tongue. Gathering the twitching little body in his arms, he spoke soft words, praying to Mishakal.
Seeing the child in good hands, Rhys went to the aid of the unconscious mother while Galena ran to pick up the baby.
“We must get them out of this accursed place!” Patrick said urgently, and Rhys whole-heartedly agreed.
Handing his staff to Nightshade, Rhys lifted up the young woman in his arms and carried her out the door. Patrick followed with the little boy, and Galena came after them with the baby. Rhys gave the young mother into the care of the clerics and then forced himself to go back into the shack.
The Sheriff of New Port, a grizzled veteran of the last war, accompanied him. They both stood in the center of the room looking about the place with its gruesome coating of black, greasy ash.
“I’ve never seen the like,” the sheriff said in awe. “What did you use to destroy that monster, Brother? Is that staff of yours magical, or have you got a holy touch … or what?”
“It wasn’t me,” said Rhys.
He was just now coming to grips with what he’d seen, with what he’d found out, and the knowledge sickened him. He remembered Cam’s words, about how the price they would have to pay to destroy one of the Beloved would be more than they could stomach.
He glanced back over his shoulder at the little boy who lay on the street, twitching spasmodically, while Patrick prayed over him.
“It was the child.”
“What do you mean—it was the kid? You’re saying a kid did this?” The sheriff pointed to a few charred bones mingled with ash. “A kid caused that thing to burst into flames?
“The touch of innocence. The Beloved can be destroyed … but only by the hand of a child.”
“Gods save us!” muttered the sheriff. “If what you say is true … Gods save us.” He squatted down on his haunches to stare at the blackened mess on the floor.
Rhys walked back outside, into the fresh air. The young mother woke with a scream and stared about wildly, fighting Galena when she sought to comfort her. When she realized she was safe and her children were still alive, she clutched her baby to her chest and began to sob uncontrollably.
“How is he?” Rhys asked, squatting down beside Patrick and the little boy.
“His body is healed,” the cleric said softly, stroking the ash-filled hair. “Mishakal did that, but his mind … He has witnessed such horrors that he may never recover.”
Galena looked at Rhys, her eyes pleading. “I heard what you said to the sheriff, Brother. I can’t believe it. Surely you are mistaken. You think that only children can kill these Beloved. That’s too awful.”
“I know what I saw,” said Rhys. “The moment the child struck him, the Beloved ‘died’.”
“I saw it, too,” said Nightshade.
The kender looked very pale under the black streaks of ash. He stood with one arm around Atta’s neck, his other hand scrubbing at his cheeks.
“The little boy hit Lleu on the leg and—whoosh! Lleu rotted away on the spot and then went up in flames. It was pretty awful.” Nightshade’s voice quivered. “I wish I hadn’t seen it, and I hang around dead people all the time.”
“Innocence destroys, and in turn, innocence is destroyed,” Rhys said.
The sheriff left the shack, wiping his hands on his trousers. “The only way to test this theory is to try it again.”
Galena rounded on him angrily. “How could you even suggest that, sir? Would you put your own child through what this one has gone through tonight?”
“Begging your pardon, Ma’am,” said the sheriff, “but that thing meant to murder this young woman and maybe her children into the bargain. The gods know how many people the Beloved in there has murdered up to this point. Now we’ve found a way to stop it.”
Rhys thought back to Mistress Jenna. She might feel sorrow over forcing a child to slay one of the Beloved, but she would probably not hesitate to do so.
“We can’t keep such vital information to ourselves,” the sheriff was saying. “Patrick here tells me the kender saw