Amber and Iron - Margaret Weis [85]
“Take them to the ship,” the captain ordered.
“Aye, sir. What about Tosh?” the minotaur asked, as they were about to dash off.
Tosh was rolling about helplessly on the pavement, looking up at them with pleading eyes.
“Leave him for the city guard,” the captain growled. “Serves the lubber right. Maybe I’ll make the kender First Mate in his place.”
“No, Capt’n, please!” Tosh groaned and struggled and succeeded only in making himself look even more pathetic.
“The rest of you get back to the ship afore the guard finds us. Leave me one of those torches.”
The other minotaur ran off, carrying Nightshade and Atta with them. The captain turned to Rhys.
“What about you, human?” the minotaur asked, amusement glinting in his black eyes. “Are you going to kick me again?”
“I will come with you,” Rhys said, “if you promise not to hurt my friend or the dog.”
“Oh, you’ll come with me, all right.”
The captain laid a hand on Rhys’s shoulder. Huge fingers bit deeply and painfully into Rhys’s shoulder muscles, nearly paralyzing his arm. The captain propelled Rhys along, giving him a shove and another pinch when it seemed Rhys might be slowing down.
The captain glanced up ahead, to make certain his men were out of earshot, then said softly, “Could you teach me to fight like that? With my feet?” He massaged his belly and grimaced. “It is not honorable, but it would certainly take an opponent by surprise. I can still feel that blow, human.”
Rhys tried to envision himself teaching the art of merciful discipline to a minotaur and gave up. The captain kept his grip tight on Rhys’s arm and steered him along.
A short distance down the street, they came to the place where Rhys had flung away his staff and divested himself of his robes.
The captain saw Rhys’s gaze go the staff and halted.
“I saw you toss that away. Why would you do that?” The practical minotaur shook his head. “The staff looks good and solid. The robe is serviceable and it is the color of our sea goddess’s eyes.”
He picked up the robes and smoothed them reverently, then tossed them at Rhys. “Nights at sea grow cold. You’ll need clothes for warmth. Do you want your staff?”
From what Rhys had heard, slaves on board a minotaur ship measured their lifespan by days. If he had been carrying the blessed staff, he, Nightshade, and Atta might not now be in such dire peril. He looked at the staff, remorse filling his heart. To take it now would be wrong, like a small child who kicks his father in the shins, then runs sniveling back to his parent the moment he is in trouble.
Rhys shook his head.
“I’ll take it then,” said the captain. “I need something to pick my teeth.”
Chuckling at his own jest, the captain reached down to pick up the staff. Rhys thrust his arms into the sleeves and was pulling the robes over his head when he heard a roar. He looked up to see the captain sucking his fingers and glaring at the staff.
Roses sprouted from the wood. Thorns as long as a man’s thumb glistened in the torchlight.
“You pick it up,” the captain ordered. He clamped his teeth over a thorn stuck in his palm, yanked it out, and spat it onto the street.
Rhys could barely see the staff for the tears in his eyes. He clasped his hand around it, expecting the thorns to prick his flesh, too, for he deserved the punishment far more than the minotaur. The wood was smooth to the touch. The staff did not harm him
The captain gave the staff a wary glance. “I see now why you threw it away. The thing is god-cursed. Put it down. Leave it for some other fool to find.”
“The curse is mine,” said Rhys quietly. “I must bear it.”
“Not aboard my ship,” the captain snarled. He spat out another thorn. His eyes began to gleam. “Or maybe we should see how you handle that staff in a fight. We’re alone now. Just the two of us. If you beat me, I’ll give you your freedom.” The minotaur reached for