Amber and Blood

by Margaret Weis

  “I know him,” Rhys replied. “Do you know him, Mina?”

  “Me?” Mina was amazed. She shook her head. “I never saw him before.”

  Chemosh dismounted his horse and began walking toward them. The horse remained unmoving where he left it, as though it had been changed to stone. Nightshade edged closer to Rhys.

  “Kender with horns,” Nightshade said to give himself courage. “Kender with horns.”

  Atta growled, and Rhys silenced her.

  Chemosh ignored the dog and the kender. He flicked an uninterested glance at Rhys. The lord’s attention was focused on Mina. His face was tight, livid with anger. His dark eyes were cold.

  Mina stared at Chemosh from behind the barricade formed by the monk’s staff and Rhys felt her tremble. He tightened his hold on her reassuringly.

  “I don’t like this man,” Mina said in a shaky voice. “Tell him to go away.”

  Chemosh came to a halt and glared down at the little red-haired girl sheltering in Rhys’s arms.

  “You can end this game of yours now, Mina,” he said. “You have made me look the fool. You’ve had your laugh. Now come back home with me.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you,” Mina retorted. “I don’t even know you. And Goldmoon told me never to talk to strangers.”

  “Mina, stop this nonsense—” Chemosh began angrily, and he reached out his hand to seize her.

  Mina kicked the Lord of Death in the shin.

  Nightshade sucked in a breath and closed his eyes and waited for the world to end. When the world kept going, Nightshade opened his eyes a slit to see that Rhys had pulled Mina behind him, shielding her with his body. Chemosh was looking exceedingly grim.

  “You are putting on a very fine show, Mina, but I have no time for play-acting,” he stated impatiently. “You will come with me, and you will bring with you the artifacts you basely stole from the Hall of Sacrilege. Or I will shortly be seeing your friends in the Abyss—”

  Lashing rain drowned out the rest of Chemosh’s threat. The sky grew black as his cloak. Storm clouds boiled and bubbled. Zeboim arrived in a gust of wind and pelting hail.

  The goddess leaned down and presented her cheek to Mina.

  “Give your Auntie Zee a kiss, dear,” she said sweetly.

  Mina buried her face in Rhys’s robes.

  Zeboim shrugged and shifted her gaze to Chemosh, who was regarding her with an expression as dark and thunderous as the storm.

  “What do you want, Sea Bitch?” he demanded.

  “I was worried about Mina,” Zeboim replied, bestowing an affectionate glance on the girl. “What are you doing here, Lord of Rot?”

  “I was also concerned—” Chemosh began.

  Zeboim laughed. “Concerned with how royally you screwed things up? You had Mina, you had the tower, you had the Solio Febalas, you had the Beloved. And you’ve lost it all. Your Beloved are a gruesome pile of greasy ash lying at the bottom of the Blood Sea. My brother has the tower. The High God has claimed the Solio Febalas. As for Mina, she’s made it painfully clear she wants nothing more to do with you.”

  Chemosh did not need to hear the litany of his misfortune recited back to him. He turned his back on the goddess and knelt down beside Mina, who regarded him in wary amazement.

  “Mina, my dear, please listen to me. I’m sorry if I frightened you. I’m sorry I hurt you. I was jealous …” Chemosh paused, then said, “Come back to my castle with me, Mina. I miss you. I love you …”

  “Mina, my pet, don’t go anywhere with this horrid man,” said Zeboim, shoving the Lord of Death out of the way. “He’s lying. He doesn’t love you. He never did. He’s using you. Come live with your Auntie Zee …”

  “I’m going to Godshome,” said Mina, and she took hold of Rhys’s hand. “And it’s a long way from here, so we have to get started. Come on, Mister Monk.”

  “Godshome,” said Chemosh after a moment’s astonished silence. “That is a long way from here.” He turned on his heel and walked back to his horse. Mounting, he gazed down at Rhys from beneath dark and lowering brows. “A very long way. And the road is fraught with peril. I’ve no doubt I’ll be seeing you again shortly, Monk.”

  He dug his heels into the horse’s flanks and rode off in ire. Zeboim watched him leave, then she turned back to Rhys.

  “It is a long way, Rhys,” said Zeboim with a playful smile. “You will be on the road for months, perhaps years. If you live that long. Though now that I think of it …”

  Zeboim bent swiftly down to whisper something in Mina’s ear.

  Mina listened, frowning, at first, and then her eyes widened. “I can do that?”

  “Of course you can, child.” Zeboim patted her on the head. “You can do anything. Have a safe journey, friends.”

  Zeboim laughed and, spreading her arms, she became a whipping wind, which then dwindled to a teasing breeze and, still laughing, wafted away.

  The road was empty. Rhys sighed in relief and lowered his staff.

  “Why did that silly-looking man want me to come with him?” Mina asked.

  “He made a mistake,” said Rhys. “He thought you were someone else. Someone he used to know.”

  The time was only midafternoon, but Rhys, worn out from the strain of the encounter with the gods and a day of putting up with Mina, decided to make camp early. They spread out their blankets near a stream that wound like a snake through the tall grass. A small grove of trees provided shelter.

  Nightshade soon recovered his spirits and began to badger Mina into telling him what the goddess had said to her. Mina shook her head. She was pondering deeply over something. Her brow was creased, her lips pursed. Eventually she shook off whatever was bothering her and, taking off her shoes and stockings, went to play in the creek. They ate a frugal meal of dried peas and smoked meat, then sat around the fire.

  “I want to see the map you drew,” Mina said suddenly.

  “Why?” Nightshade asked suspiciously, and he clapped his hand protectively over his pouch.

  “I just want to look at it,” Mina returned. “Everyone keeps telling me Godshome is such a long way away. I want to see for myself.”

  “I showed you once,” Nightshade said.

  “Yes, but I want to see it again.”

  “Oh, all right. But go wash your hands,” Nightshade ordered as he removed the map from its pouch and spread it out on top of his blanket. “I don’t want greasy finger marks on it.”

  Mina ran down to the stream to wash her hands and face.

  Rhys had stretched out full-length on the ground, resting after the meal. Atta lay beside him, her chin on his chest. He stroked her fur and gazed into the heavens. The sun stood balanced precariously on the rim of the world. The sky was a blend of soft twilight hues, pinks and golds, purples and oranges. Beyond the sunset, he could feel immortal eyes watching.

  Mina came running back, to exhibit moderately clean hands. Nightshade anchored the map with rocks and then showed Mina the route they were going to be taking.

  “This is where we are now,” he said.

  “And where is Flotsam where we started?” Mina asked.

  Nightshade pointed about a whisker’s width away.

  “All this walking and we’ve only come that far!” Mina cried, shocked and dismayed.

  She squatted beside the map and studied it, her lower lip thrust out. “Why do we have to go all over the place—up and down and round about? Why can’t we just go straight from here to here.”

  Nightshade explained that climbing extremely tall mountains was quite difficult and dangerous, and it was much better to go around them.

  “Too bad there are so many mountains,” he added. “Otherwise we could go straight as the dragon flies and it wouldn’t take long at all.”

  Mina gazed thoughtfully at the dot that was Flotsam and the dot that Nightshade said was Solace, where they would find his great friend, Gerard, and the monks of Majere who would tell them where to look for Godshome.

&nbs
p; Rhys was drifting off in a pleasant haze of twilight forgetfulness when he was jolted wide away. Nightshade let out a screech.

  Rhys jumped up so fast he startled Atta, who yelped in aggravation.

  “What is it?”

  Nightshade pointed a quivering finger.

  The map was no longer lines and squiggles drawn on the back of the kender’s old shirt. The map was a world in miniature, with real mountains and real bodies of water that shimmered in the dying light, and real windswept deserts and boggy swamps.

  Thus the gods might see the world, Rhys thought to himself.

  Nightshade screeched again and suddenly the kender was floating up into the air, light as thistledown. Rhys felt himself grow buoyant, his body losing weight and mass, his bones hollow as a bird’s, his flesh like a soap bubble. His feet left the ground, and he sailed upward. Atta floated toward him, legs dangling helplessly beneath her.

  “Straight as the dragon flies,” Mina said.

  Rhys recalled the near-drowning incident in the tower. He recalled the meat pies and the fiery conflagration that had consumed the Beloved, and he knew he had to put a stop to this. He had to take control.

  “Stop it, Mina!” Rhys said sternly. “Stop it at once! Put me down this instant!”

  Mina stared at him, her eyes round and starting to glisten with tears.

  “Now!” he said through gritted teeth.

  He felt himself grow heavy, and he fell back down to the ground. Nightshade dropped like rock, landing with a thud. Atta, once she was down, slunk off hurriedly to curl up beneath a tree, as far from Mina as possible.

  Mina drifted very slowly out of the air to land in front of Rhys.

  “We are walking to Solace,” he said, his voice shaking with anger. “Do you understand me, Mina? We are not swimming or flying. We are walking!”

  Mina’s tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks. She flung herself on the ground and began to sob.

  Rhys was trembling. He had always prided himself on his discipline and here he was, yelling at a child. He was suddenly, deeply ashamed.

  “I didn’t mean to shout at you, Mina—” he began wearily.

  “I just wanted to get there faster!” she cried, raising a tearstained and dirt-streaked face. “I don’t like walking. It’s boring and my feet hurt! And it’s going to take too long, forever and ever. Besides, Aunt Zeboim told me I could fly,” she added with a quiver and a hiccup.

  Nightshade nudged Rhys in the ribs. “It is a long way and flying might be kind of interesting at that—”

  Rhys looked at him. Nightshade gulped.

  “But you’re right, of course. We should walk. That’s why the gods gave us feet and not wings. I’ll just go to bed now.…”

  Rhys knelt down and took Mina in his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck and sobbed on his shoulder. Gradually her sobs lessened, she grew quiet. Rhys, looking down at her, saw that she had cried herself to sleep. He carried her to her blanket that he’d spread on a soft bed of grass beneath a tree and laid her down. He was tucking another blanket around her when she woke up.

  “Good night, Mina,” he said, and he reached out his hand to gently smooth back the hair from her forehead.

  Mina grabbed hold of his hand and gave it a remorseful kiss.

  “I’m sorry, Rhys,” she said. It was the first time she’d ever called him by his name and not ‘Mister Monk’. “We can walk. But could we walk fast?” she added plaintively. “I think I need to reach Godshome quickly.”

  Rhys was bone-tired, or he might have thought twice before he agreed that, yes, they could “walk fast”.

  he next day, they were in Solace.

  “After all,” pointed out Nightshade, when he had recovered from the trip, “you did tell her we could walk fast.”

  The morning had started well. Mina was in a chastened mood, quiet and docile. Wisps of fog rose lazily from the stream bed. They set out early with Rhys walking as fast as he thought Mina could manage. When he first saw the trees and grasslands start to slip past him, the increase in speed was so gradual that he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him.

  But then the landscape began to slide past him at an incredible velocity. He and Nightshade, Mina and Atta continued to walk at what seemed a normal pace. Fellow travelers flashed past. Clouds raced across the sky. One moment the weather was sunny and the next rain storms soaked them, and the next moment it was sunny again. They sped through the desert. The city of Delphon was a blur of color, the city of Khuri-Khan a blast of noise and heat.

  The ogres of Blöde were there, and then they weren’t. The Great Swamp was muggy and stifling and foul-smelling, but not for long. They skimmed across the Westguard River and saw the sun sparkle on the waves of New Sea and then it was gone and the Plains of Dergoth were so much emptiness. The Lake of Death lay in eerie shadow, the White Rage River thundered past. They were in and out of Darkenwood, racing over the Plains of Abanasinia, speeding through Gateway, and here was Solace, and then everything slowed down and stopped.

  Rhys was dizzy with the rapid motion and grabbed hold of a post to keep from falling. Nightshade staggered about on wobbly legs for a few moments, then gave a plaintive “Oof!” and collapsed. Atta flopped down on her side and lay there panting.

  “We walked all the way!” Mina said proudly. “I did what you told me!”

  Her amber eyes were clear and shining. Her smile was eager and happy. She truly believed she had done something worthy of praise, and Rhys did not have the heart to scold her. After all, they had been spared a long, difficult, and dangerous journey, and arrived safely at their destination. He could not help but be relieved. As Rhys came to realize, Mina didn’t think she’d done anything extraordinary. For her, strolling across a continent in a day was something everyone could do if he just put his mind to it.

  Rhys helped Nightshade to his feet and assured Atta that all was well. Mina was looking eagerly about. She was delighted with Solace.

  “The houses are built in trees!” she cried, clapping her hands. “There’s a whole city up in the trees! I want to go up there. What is that place?”

  She pointed to a large building nestled in the branches of a giant vallenwood.

  “That’s the Inn of the Last Home,” Nightshade stated, eagerly sniffing the air. He was feeling almost back to normal. “Boiled cabbage. Which means today must be corned beef and cabbage day. Wait until you meet Laura. She owns the Inn and she does the cooking and she’s the best cook in all of Ansalon. Then there’s our friend, Gerard, the sheriff. He’s—”

  “Mina,” Rhys said, interrupting, “would you run over to that well and fetch some water for Atta?”

  Mina did as she was bid, running excitedly off to the public well, taking the panting dog with her.

  “I don’t think we should tell Gerard the truth about Mina,” Rhys said to Nightshade when Mina was gone. “We don’t want to strain his credulity.”

  “Is that like noodles?” Nightshade asked, puzzled. “ ’Cause I know you have to strain them.”

  “I am afraid he would not believe us,” Rhys clarified.

  “That she’s a god whose gone crazy? I’m not sure I believe us,” Nightshade said solemnly. He put his hand to his forehead. “I’m still kind of dizzy from all that walking. But I see what you mean. Gerard knew Mina, didn’t he? The old Mina, I mean. When she was a soldier during the War of Souls. He told us about meeting her that one night when he started talking about what happened to him during the war. But she’s a little girl now. I don’t think he’d be likely to connect the two. Do you?”

  “I don’t know,” Rhys said. “He might recognize her if he hears her name and sees her. Her looks are extraordinary.”

  Nightshade watched Mina hurry back toward them. She was carrying water in a pail and sloshing most of it onto her shoes.

  “Rhys,” said the kender in a whisper, “what if Mina recognizes him? Gerard was her enemy. She might kill him!”

  “I don’t think she w
ill,” said Rhys. “She seems to have blotted out that part of her life.”

  “She blotted out the Beloved too, and it all came back to her,” Nightshade reminded him.

  Rhys smiled faintly. “We must hope for the best and trust that the gods are with us.”

  “Oh, they’re with us, all right,” Nightshade grumbled. “If there’s one thing we’re not short on, it’s gods.”

  After Atta gulped her water, Rhys and his companions joined the people standing in line, waiting for a table in the popular inn. The line wound up the long, curving stairway that led to the front door. The last rays of the setting sun turned the sky golden red, gleamed off the leaves of the vallenwood and shimmered in the stained glass windows. People in line were in a good mood. Happy to be finished with the day’s work, they were looking forward to a hearty meal and an evening spent in the company of friends.

  “Goldmoon told me stories about the Inn of the Last Home,” Mina was saying excitedly. “She told me how she and Riverwind were brought here miraculously by the blue crystal staff, and how they met the Heroes of the Lance, and how the Theocrat fell into the fire and burned his hand and the staff healed him. And then the soldiers came and—”

  “I’m starving,” Nightshade complained. “And this line hasn’t moved one little bit. Mina, if you could just whisk us to the front—”

  “No!” Rhys said severely.

  “But, Rhys—”

  “Race you!” Mina cried.

  Before Rhys could stop her, she had dashed off.

  “I’ll go get her!” Nightshade offered, and he bolted before Rhys could grab him.

  Reaching the stairs, Mina pushed past indignant patrons. Nightshade caused further disruption trying to catch her. Rhys hastened after both of them, apologizing profusely as he went. He collared Nightshade at the door, but Mina was too fast and had already darted inside the Inn.

  Several good-natured customers told him he could go ahead of them. Rhys knew he was condoning bad behavior, and also knew he should have scolded both girl and kender and marched them to the back of the line. But, frankly, he was too tired to lecture, too tired to put up with the arguing and the wailing. It seemed easier just to let it go.