Amber and Iron - Margaret Weis [98]
Nightshade gaped at him. “The Blood Sea.”
“I think so,” said Rhys. “I can’t be sure, of course.”
“The Blood Sea,” repeated the kender. “The one on the other side of the continent?” He laid emphasis on this.
“Are there two Blood Seas?” Rhys asked.
“There might be,” said Nightshade. “You never know. Red water, the color of blood, and—”
“—the sun rising up out of it,” Rhys concluded. “All of which leads me to believe we are on the eastern coastline of Ansalon.”
“Well, I’ll be a dirty yellow dog,” breathed Nightshade. “No offense,” he added, patting Atta. He spent a few moments letting this sink in, then, sniffing the air, he saw the sack and brightened. “At least, they’re not going to starve us. Let’s see what’s for breakfast.”
He stood up, and very quickly and inadvertently sat back down. “Heavy!” he grumbled, meaning the manacles.
He tried again, standing up carefully and then sliding his feet forward, jerking at his arms to drag the iron chains along with him. He managed to reach the sack, but the effort cost him, and he had to stop to rest once he got there. Opening the sack, he peered inside.
“Salt pork.” He grimaced, adding sadly, “I hope that’s not my neighbor—the pig in the next crate. She and Atta and I got kind of friendly.” He started to reach in his hand. “Still, bacon is a pig’s destiny, I guess. Are you hungry, Rhys?”
Before he could respond, Atta began to bark.
“Someone’s out there,” warned Rhys. “Perhaps you should sit back down.”
“But they left us food to eat,” Nightshade argued. “They might be hurt if we didn’t.”
“Nightshade, please …”
“Oh, all right.” The kender shuffled his way back to his place by the wall and squatted down.
“Atta, quiet!” Rhys ordered. “To me!”
The dog swallowed her barks and came back to lie down beside him. She remained alert, her ears pricked, her body tensed to spring.
Mina entered the cave.
Rhys didn’t know what he had expected—Zeboim, the minotaur captain, one of the Beloved. Anything but this. He stared at her in astonishment.
She, in turn, stared at him. The light inside the small chamber had grown increasingly brighter with the rising of the sun, but still it took a while for her eyes to adjust to the grotto’s shadowy interior.
After a few moments, Mina walked over and stood gazing down at Rhys. Amber eyes regarded him intently, and she frowned.
“You are different,” she said accusingly.
Rhys shook his head. His brain was numb with exhaustion, his thought process as stumbling as the chained-up kender.
“I am afraid I do not know what you mean, Mistress—”
“Yes, you do!” Mina was angry. “Your robes are different! You were wearing orange robes decorated with roses when I saw you at that tavern, and now your robes are a dirty green. And your eyes are different.”
“My eyes are my eyes, Mistress,” said Rhys, baffled. He wondered where she’d dredged up that image of him as he had been, not as he was. “I cannot very well change them. And my robes are the robes I was wearing when we met—”
“Don’t lie to me!” Mina slapped him across the face.
“Atta, no!” Rhys seized hold of the furious dog by the ruff and dragged her bodily back from the attack.
“Do something with that mutt,” said Mina coldly, “or I’ll break its neck.”
Rhys’s cheek stung. His cheekbone ached. He held fast to the outraged dog. “Atta, go to Nightshade.”
Atta looked at him to make certain he meant it, then, her head down and her tail drooping, she slunk off to lie down beside the kender.
“I am telling you the truth, Mistress,” Rhys said quietly. “I do not lie.”
“Of course you lie,” Mina said scornfully. “Everyone lies. Gods lie. Men lie. We lie to ourselves, if there is no one else to lie to. The last time I saw you, you were wearing orange robes and you recognized me. You looked at me and I could see in your eyes that you knew all about me.”
“Mistress,” said Rhys helplessly, “that was the first time I ever saw you in my life.”
“That look isn’t in your eyes now, but it was there when we met before.