Amber and Blood

by Margaret Weis

  “Valthonis is known as the Walking God because he is never stays in one place for long. Who knows where he is to be found?”

  “As a matter of fact,” said the Abbot, “I do. Several of our priests have chosen to travel with Valthonis, as do many others. When our brothers chance to meet any of our Order, they send reports back to me. I heard from one only last week, saying Valthonis and his followers were on their way to Neraka.”

  Rhys stood up, energized, renewed. “Thank you, Holiness. I am not sure I should be encouraging Mina to use her miraculous powers, but in this instance I believe I could make an exception. We could be in Neraka by nightfall—”

  “You are still a very impetuous man, Brother Rhys,” the Abbot remarked with gentle reproof. “Have you forgotten your history lesson of the War of Souls, Brother?”

  This was the second time Rhys had been asked about history lessons. He couldn’t think what the Abbot meant.

  “I am afraid I do not understand, Holiness …”

  “At the end of the War, when the gods had recovered the world and discovered Takhisis’ great crime, they judged that she should be made mortal. To maintain the balance, in order that the Gods of Light would equal the number of Gods of Darkness, Paladine sacrificed himself, became mortal as well. As he looked on, the elf Silvanoshei killed Takhisis. She died in Mina’s arms, and Mina blamed Paladine for the downfall of her Queen. Holding the body of her queen, Mina vowed to kill Valthonis.”

  Rhys sank back down into the chair, his hopes dashed. “You are right, Holiness. I had forgotten.”

  “The Walking God has elven warriors to protect him,” the Abbot suggested.

  “Mina could kill an army with a stamp of her foot,” said Rhys. “This is bitter irony! The one person who can give Mina what she most wants in this world is the one person in this world she has sworn to kill.”

  “You say that in the form of a child she does not seem to remember her past. She did not recognize the Lord of Death. Perhaps she would not recognize Valthonis.”

  “Perhaps,” said Rhys. He was thinking of the tower, of the Beloved, and how Mina, forced to confront them, had been forced to confront herself. “The question is: do we risk the life of Valthonis on the chance that she might not remember him?

  “From all I have heard, Valthonis is honored and loved wherever he goes. He has done much good in the world. He has negotiated peace between nations who were at war. He has given hope to those in despair. Though his countenance is no longer the radiant brilliance of the god’s, he yet brings light to mankind’s darkness. Do we risk destroying a person of such value?”

  “Mina is the child of the Gods of Light,” said the Abbot, “born in joy at the moment of creation. Now she is lost and frightened. Would not any parent be glad to find his lost child and bring her home, even though her recovery came at the cost of his own life? There is a risk, Brother, but I believe it is one that Valthonis would be willing to take.”

  Rhys shook his head. He was not certain. There was a chance he could find Godshome on his own. Others had done so. True, Tanis Half-elven had been traveling in the company of a god, but, then, so was Rhys.

  He was trying to think how he could explain his doubts when he saw the Abbot’s gaze shift to the door, where one of the priests of Majere stood silently in the entrance, waiting patiently to catch the Abbot’s attention.

  “Holiness,” said the priest, bowing, “forgive me for disturbing you, but two guests are here asking for Brother Rhys. One is a kender, and he seems most eager to speak to our brother.”

  “Our business is finished, isn’t it, Brother?” said the Abbot, rising. “Or is there anything more I can do for you?”

  “You have given me all that I required and far more, Holiness,” said Rhys earnestly. “I ask now only your blessing for the difficult road that lies ahead.”

  “With all my heart, Brother,” said the Abbot. “You have Majere’s blessing and my own. Will you seek out Valthonis?” he asked, as Rhys was about to depart.

  “I do not know, Holiness,” said Rhys. “I have two lives to consider—that of Valthonis and that of Mina. I fear the consequences of such a meeting would be terrible for both.”

  “The choice is yours, Brother,” said the Abbot gravely, “but I remind you of the old saying, ‘If fear is your guide, you will never leave your house’.”

  ightshade and Mina and Atta were welcomed into the Temple of Majere by one of the priests, who greeted them with grave courtesy. Every visitor to Majere’s temple was met with courtesy, no one was ever turned away. All the priests asked was that the guests speak in quiet tones, so as not to disturb the meditations of the faithful. The priests themselves spoke in soft, hushed voices. Any visitors who were loud or disruptive were asked politely to leave. There were rarely any problems, for such was the wondrous serenity of the temple that all who entered felt a sense of tranquility.

  Even kender were welcome, which pleased Nightshade.

  “Kender are welcome in so few places,” he told the priest.

  “Do you require anything?” the priest asked.

  “Just our friend, Rhys,” Nightshade answered. “We’re supposed to meet him here.” He cast a sidelong glance at Mina and said in meaningful tones, “If you could ask him to hurry, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Brother Rhys is meeting with the his Holiness,” said the priest. “I will tell him you are here. In the meantime, can I offer you food or drink?”

  “No, thank you, Brother, I just had breakfast. Well, maybe I could eat a little something,” Nightshade replied.

  Mina mutely shook her head. She seemed suddenly shy, for she stood with her head ducked, stealing glimpses of her surroundings from beneath lowered eyelids. She was clean, brushed, and neatly dressed in a pretty gown with mother-of-pearl buttons up the back and long, tight-fitting sleeves. She looked the very image of the demure merchant’s daughter, though she did not act the part. Her antics at the Inn and then on the way to the temple had nearly driven poor Nightshade to distraction.

  Mina had grown bored making bread and Laura had sent her out to play. Once out of the Inn, she dodged around the guards and dashed up the stairs to the tree level, forcing Nightshade and a couple of guards to chase her down. When they were back on the ground and on their way again, Mina started stepping on the kender’s heels trying to trip him, and stuck out her tongue at him when he scolded her.

  Soon growing tried of teasing Nightshade, she had teased Atta, pulling on her tail and tugging at her ears, until the dog had lost her patience and snapped at her. The dog’s teeth did not so much as break the skin, but Mina had shrieked as though she were being mauled by wolves, causing everyone in the street to stop and stare. She swiped an apple from a cart, then blamed it on Nightshade, bringing retribution from an old lady who was surprisingly spry for her age and had amazingly sharp knuckles. Nightshade was still rubbing his aching head from that encounter. By the time they reached the temple, he was worn out and could hardly wait to hand Mina over to Rhys.

  The monk took them to a part of the temple known as a loggia—a kind of indoor outdoor garden, as Nightshade termed it. The loggia was long and narrow in shape, lined with stone columns allowing fresh air and sunlight to flow into the room. In the center of the loggia was a fountain made of polished stone, from which trickled clear water that had a most soothing sound. Stone benches were placed around the fountain.

  The priest brought Nightshade fresh-baked bread and fruit and told them that Rhys would be with them shortly. Nightshade ordered Mina to sit down and behave herself and, to his surprise, she did. She perched on a bench and looked all around—at the water sliding over the stones, at the gently swinging chimes outside, at the sun-dappled floor, and a crane walking with stately tread amid the wildflowers. She started to kick the bench with her feet, but stopped of her own accord before Nightshade could reprimand her.

  Nightshade relaxed. The only sounds he could hear were bird calls, the musical murmurings of the water, an
d the wind whispering around the columns, occasionally stopping to ring silver chimes hanging from tree branches outside. Finding the atmosphere of the Temple quite soothing, but also a little boring, he thought he might just as well have a small nap in order to recover from the rigors of the morning. After eating the bread and most of the fruit, he stretched himself out on a bench and, telling Atta to watch Mina, he closed his eyes and drifted off.

  Atta settled down at Mina’s feet. She patted the dog on the head.

  “I’m sorry I teased you,” she said remorsefully.

  Atta responded with a swipe of her tongue, to show that all was forgiven, then lay with her head on her paws to watch the crane and perhaps think wistfully of how much fun it would be to rush at the long-legged bird, barking madly.

  Rhys found a peaceful scene when he entered the loggia: Nightshade asleep; Atta lying on the floor, blinking drowsily; Mina seated quietly on the bench.

  Rhys placed his emmide alongside the bench and sat down beside Mina. She did not look at him, but watched the sunlight glistening on the water.

  “Did your Abbot tell you how to find Godshome?” she asked.

  “He did not know,” said Rhys, “but he knew of one who might.”

  He thought she would ask the name of the person, and he was of two minds whether he should tell her or not. She did not ask him, however, and for that he was grateful, for he had not yet decided to seek out the Walking God.

  Mina continued to sit quietly. Nightshade sighed in his sleep and flung his arm over his head and nearly rolled off his bench. Rhys carefully repositioned him. Atta stretched out on her side and closed her eyes.

  Rhys allowed the soothing quiet to seep into his soul. He gave his burdens, his cares, his worries and his fears to the god. He was with Majere, seeking to attain the unattainable—the god’s perfection—when a scream shattered the peacefulness of the morning. Atta leapt to her feet with a bark. Nightshade rolled over and tumbled off the bench.

  The scream was followed by shouts, all coming from Temple Row. Voices cried out in anger or fear or astonishment. Rhys heard someone yell, “Fire!” and he smelled smoke. Then came the sound of many voices chanting—a cold and unearthly sound—and more screams and wails of fear and dread, clashing steel, and the angry bellowings of minotaurs calling upon Sargonnas, and human voices shouting battle cries to Kiri-Jolith.

  The smell of smoke grew stronger, and now he could see ugly black billows rolling through the temple gardens in the back, starting to drift between the columns. Atta sniffed the air and sneezed. Shouts of alarm were growing louder, coming closer.

  The priests of Majere, roused from their meditations, came from various parts of the temple or the gardens where they had been working. Even in this emergency, the priests maintained their calm demeanor, moving at a walk with no sense of haste or panic. Several smiled and nodded to Rhys, and their calm was reassuring. The priests gathered around the Abbot, who had emerged from his office. He sent two out to see what was going on, kept the rest with him.

  Whatever was happening in the street outside the temple, the safest place to be was in Majere’s hands.

  Rhys could hear more screams now and a deep voice overriding them, shouting commands.

  “That’s Gerard,” said Nightshade. Rubbing his elbow, he peered out between the columns. “Can you see? What’s going on?”

  A line of trees and a tall hedgerow growing in front of the temple blocked Rhys’s view of the street, but he could see bright orange flames through the screen of leaves. Nightshade climbed on his bench.

  “A building’s on fire,” he reported. “I can’t tell which one. I hope it’s not the Inn,” he added worriedly. “It’s chicken and biscuit night.”

  “The fire is too close to be the Inn,” said Rhys. “It must be one of the temples.”

  Mina crowded close to Rhys, keeping hold of his hand. The sound of raised voices and clashing steel was growing louder. The smoke was thicker and caught at the throat. The two priests returned to make their report. Their expressions were grave, and they spoke rapidly. The Abbot listened for a moment, then issued orders. The priests dispersed to their cells. When they returned, they carried staves and chanted prayers to Majere. Moving together, they walked at a slow and measured pace out of the temple, heading toward what now sounded like a pitched battle taking place in the street.

  The Abbot came to speak to Rhys. “You and your friends should remain here within our walls, Brother. As I am sure you can hear, there is trouble in Temple Row. It is not safe to venture out.”

  An unusually loud cry caused Mina to flinch. Her face went pale, and she gave a little whimper. The Abbot looked at her and his grave expression deepened.

  “What’s happening, Your Monkship, sir?” Nightshade asked. “Are we at war? The Inn’s not on fire, is it? It’s chicken and biscuit night.”

  “The Temple of Sargonnas is burning,” replied the Abbot. “The priests of Chemosh set it ablaze and now they are attacking the temples of Mishakal and Kiri-Jolith. Rumors have it that the priests have summoned fiends from the grave to fight for them.”

  “Fiends from the grave!” Nightshade repeated excitedly. He jumped down from the bench. “You’ll have to excuse me. I almost never get the chance to talk to fiends from the grave. You have no idea how interesting they can be.”

  “Nightshade, no—” Rhys began.

  “I won’t be gone long. I just want to have a quick word with these fiends. You never know, I might be able to talk them into redemption. I’ll be right back, I promise—”

  “Atta! Guard!” Rhys ordered, and pointed at the kender.

  The dog took a stance in front of Nightshade and fixed him with her intense stare. When he moved, she moved. She never took her eyes from him.

  “Rhys! It’s fiends!” Nightshade wailed. “Fiends from the grave! You wouldn’t want me to miss that, would you?”

  The smoke was thicker and they could hear the crackle of flames. Mina began to cough.

  “I think perhaps you should take your charges to my chambers, Brother,” said the Abbot. “The air is clearer there.”

  A priest came up to the Abbot and spoke to him in urgent tones. The Abbot gave Rhys a reassuring smile, then left with the priest. Mina continued to cough. Rhys’s eyes were beginning to sting. Cinders and ash and soot rained down onto the garden outside the loggia, touching off small grass fires.

  Rhys picked up his emmide. “Come with me, both of you—”

  “Rhys, I honestly think I could help against the fiends,” Nightshade argued. “Depending on what sort of fiend it is, of course. There’s your Abyssal fiend and your—”

  “Mina!” called a harsh voice.

  She turned toward the sound of her name to see a fearsome figure clad in bone armor emerge from the coils of smoke.

  “I’ve come for you,” Krell intoned. “Chemosh sent me.”

  Rhys understood immediately what was going on. The battle in the street, the fire started by priests of Chemosh—all a diversion. Mina was the prize. Rhys lifted his emmide and placed himself between Krell and Mina.

  “Nightshade, take Mina and run!”

  The kender leaped off the bench and grabbed hold of Mina’s hand. The shouts and screams, the smoke and the fire confused and frightened her. She clung to Rhys.

  Clinging to his robes, she shouted at Krell, “I won’t go!”

  “Mina, we have to run,” Nightshade urged, trying to pry her loose.

  She shook her head and only held more tightly to Rhys.

  Krell displayed an iron ball decorated with golden bands.

  “See this, Mina? This little toy is magic. When the ball strikes you, the magic will bind you tight. You won’t be able to move, and you’ll have to come with me. I’ll show you how it works. Watch this.”

  Krell flung the iron ball. Nightshade made a desperate attempt to deflect it by jumping in front of Mina. The sphere had not been aimed at Mina, however.

  The ball struck Rhys on the
chest.

  “Bind!” Krell shouted.

  Golden bands uncoiled, springing out from the sphere, and encircling Rhys, clamping over his arms and legs. He struggled against the binding bands, trying to free himself, but the more he struggled, the tighter the bands clamped down on him.

  Krell, smirking beneath his skull-face helm, strode toward Mina. Atta barked at him savagely and made a lunge for him. Krell grabbed hold of one of the sharp bony protuberances from his shoulder, broke it off, and made a swipe at the dog with the sharp bone. Nightshade grabbed hold of her by the scruff of her neck and dragged the snarling dog underneath a bench.

  The golden bands constricted, digging painfully into Rhys’s arms, pinning his arms against his body and cutting off the circulation to his legs. Mina tried pulling and tugging on the bands with all her might, but her might was that of a child, not a god. Atta quivered in fury and continued to lunge at Krell.

  Krell leered at Nightshade and jabbed at him with the spear. Laughing to see the kender cringe and the dog try to bite him, Krell stood over Mina, who was still tugging on Rhys’s bands. Krell watched her with amusement.

  “Never a god around when you need one, eh, Monk?” Krell jeered. He reached out with his index finger and, roaring with laughter, poked Rhys in the chest.

  Rhys tottered. With his legs and arms bound, he could not keep his balance. Krell poked him again, harder this time, and Rhys went over backward. He had no way to break his fall and he landed hard, striking his head on the stone floor. Pain flared. Bright light burst behind his eyes.

  He felt himself spiraling downward into unconsciousness and he fought against it, but when he hit bottom, darkness closed over him.

  ightshade lost his grip on Atta. The enraged dog charged lost his grip on Atta. The enraged dog charged out from beneath the bench and went for Krell’s throat. Using the bone bracer on his forearm, Krell backhanded her across the muzzle. She slumped down beside Rhys and lay there, shaking her head, dazed. At least she was still breathing. Nightshade could see her ribs move. He couldn’t say as much for Rhys.