Amber and Iron - Margaret Weis [97]
Traumatized by the events aboard ship, Atta was too shaken to stand. She rolled over onto her side and lay panting on the cavern floor. Rhys, exhausted, took the terrified dog in his arms and did his best to try to soothe her. Nightshade’s clothes were soaked, and the grotto was cold. He sat huddled in a miserable heap, trying to warm himself by slapping himself on the arms.
“Those minotaurs weren’t ghosts, Rhys,” Nightshade said. “I thought at first they might be, but they weren’t. They were extremely real. Too real, if you ask me.” He rubbed his shoulder where one of the minotaurs had pinched him. “I’ll be black and blue for a month.”
There was no answer, and Nightshade saw that Rhys had fallen asleep sitting up, with his back against the rock wall.
“I guess there’s nothing else to do except sleep,” Nightshade said to himself. He closed his eyes and hoped that when he woke up, this would prove a dream, and he would find himself in the Inn of the Last Home on chicken dumpling day.…
Rhys woke suddenly, jolted out of sleep by a bright shaft of sunlight falling on his face. The light illuminated the grotto, and he could see, at the far end, a few feet from him, an altar carved out of stone. The altar was covered with dust and had seemingly been long abandoned. Frescoes adorned the cavern walls. They were so faded he could not make out what they had been. A large conch shell adorned the altar.
Nightshade lay on the floor beside him. Atta was curled around his legs. And there was his staff propped up against a wall some distance away. On orders of their captain, the minotaurs had brought the staff wrapped up in a large piece of leather. They had left it for him, though out of his reach.
The grotto in which they were imprisoned was circular in shape, about twenty paces across in any direction. The ceiling was high enough that the minotaurs had been able to stand without stooping, though Rhys remembered the large beasts had experienced considerable difficulty making their way inside and down the narrow corridor that opened into this chamber.
Fresh air flowed into the grotto from the shaft. Rhys did not remember seeing any other passages, but he was the first to admit he’d been too drained and exhausted to pay much attention.
Atta woke refreshed from her nap. Jumping to her feet, she regarded Rhys expectantly, tail wagging, ready for him to say they were going to leave this place and head out for the road. Rhys rose stiffly to his feet, chains clanking. The sound frightened Atta. She jumped back away from him, as the chains dragged across the stone floor. Then, warily, she crept forward to give the chains a sniff and watched in puzzled wonderment as Rhys, grimacing from the stiffness in his back and neck, hobbled across the floor to the water bucket.
The minotaurs had left a tin cup for dipping and drinking. Rhys gave Atta water and then drank himself. The water was brackish but slaked his thirst. He glanced at the food sack, but the smell was rank and he decided he wasn’t that hungry. He hobbled back to his place against the wall and sat down.
Atta stood over him, staring at him. She nudged him with her nose.
“Sorry, girl,” Rhys said, reaching out to fondle her ears. He showed her his manacled wrists, though he knew she couldn’t understand. “I’m afraid—”
Nightshade woke with a terrified yelp. He sat bolt upright, staring around wildly. “We’re sinking!” he cried. “We’re all going to drown!”
“Nightshade,” said Rhys firmly. “You’re safe. We’re not on the ship anymore.”
It took Nightshade a while for this to penetrate. He peered about the grotto in perplexity, then looked down at his hands. He felt the weight of the manacles and heard the clank of the chains, and he let out a glad sigh.
“Whew! Prison! That’s a relief!”
Rhys could not help but smile. “Why is prison a relief?”
“It’s secure and it’s on solid ground,” said Nightshade, and he gave the stone floor a grateful pat. “Where are we?”
Rhys paused a moment, wondering how to put