Amber and Iron

by Margaret Weis

  “It all has to do with this business of free will.” The goddess rubbed her arms, trying to keep warm. “You gods of Light are always promoting free will, and here we have a prime example of why such a notion is so utterly ridiculous. Here you are, in desperate need of your disciple, and what does he do? He exerts his free will. He abandons you and turns to me for help.

  “You refuse to abandon him, however. Very forgiving and understanding of you, I have to admit,” Zeboim added with a shrug. “Had one of my disciples done that, I would have drowned him in his own blood. But not you. Patiently you walk alongside him. Patiently you try to guide him, but somewhere, again, something goes wrong. I’m not sure what, but something.”

  Majere continued his exercise. He did not speak. He did not look at her. He was listening to her, though. She was certain of that.

  “I sprang Mina on you, or rather, on Rhys. I didn’t really mean to. We were in a hurry. I had to return her to Chemosh as part of a bargain we made. I thought I should introduce the two, however, since I was the one insisting that Rhys find her. I wanted him to know what she looked like. Well, sir! Imagine my shock when Mina claims he knows her! He claims he doesn’t, and it’s perfectly obvious to me he is telling the truth. The poor sod doesn’t know how to lie. I believe him, but Mina doesn’t.

  “I do. I decide to bring these two together again. As an added bonus, by doing so, I make Chemosh’s life miserable, but that’s neither here nor there. Mina meets Rhys, and now he doesn’t know her and she knows he doesn’t know her. She’s confused, poor darling. I can’t say that I blame her. She says something very interesting to him, however. She says that the first time she saw him he was wearing orange robes. Rhys was wearing no such thing. He was wearing quite charming green robes, which I had given to him, so either Mina is color-blind, or she is daft.”

  Zeboim paused for breath. Simply watching Majere seemed to wear her out. She no longer expected him to speak.

  “I don’t believe Mina is either color-blind or crazy. I believe she saw what she saw. I believe she saw Rhys Mason at a time in his life when he is wearing orange robes and when he does know who she is. Not now, because he doesn’t. Not in the past, because he didn’t. Which leaves—a time when he will.”

  Zeboim paused for effect, then said, “Mina saw your monk in the future, a future in which he has returned to you, a future in which he knows something about Mina. He knows something, because you’ve told him.”

  Zeboim shrugged. “The problem you have, Majere, is that now this future will never come to pass, because Mina plans to torture your poor monk to death.

  “Then there’s the matter of the kender bursting into sloppy, wet blubbers whenever he sees Mina, but I won’t bore you with that. He’s a kender, after all. You can’t expect anything sensible from them.”

  Zeboim eyed Majere.

  “Go ahead. Do your little dance. Pretend you are above all this. The truth is—you’re in a pickle. I’m not alone in wondering what is going on with this Mina mortal. My brother, Nuitari, may be a pain in the backside, but he’s not stupid. He and the weird cousins are asking questions. Sargonnas does not like the fact these Beloved are congregating in east Ansalon, so near his empire. Nuitari does not like them so near his precious Tower. Mishakal is furious that the hand of a child must be used to destroy them—a marvelous touch of Chemosh’s, I must admit. I am quite amused by the thought of sweet little tykes forced to become bloodthirsty murderers.

  “Why am I here, Majere? I can see you asking yourself that question. I came to warn you. I am the first god to visit you, but I won’t be the last. All the signposts point to you. The rest will find their way to your mountain fastness, and some—I’m thinking specifically of my father—will not be as sweet and charming as I have been. You had best do something before you lose control of the situation completely. If you haven’t already, that is.”

  “Perhaps you’d like to unburden yourself? Tell me the truth? I would be glad to help Rhys Mason—for a price. I’ll placate my father and brother, keep them from disturbing you. Tell me what you know about Mina. It will be our secret—I swear it!”

  Zeboim waited, rubbing her arms and stamping her feet.

  Majere kept moving, gliding over the chill stone. His face was devoid of expression. His eyes fathomless, inscrutable.

  “Keep your secret then!” Zeboim cried in nasty tones. “You will have no trouble doing so. Your poor monk will die before he reveals it. Ah, I forgot!” She clapped her hands. “He can’t reveal it because he doesn’t know it! He will be tortured for information he doesn’t have and so can never tell. What a marvelous joke on the poor fellow. That will teach him to put his faith in a god such as you!”

  Zeboim left in huff, trailing fog and mist behind her. Returning to her ship, she ordered the minotaurs to up anchor and make haste to find warmer climes.

  In the courtyard, Majere tried to continue his ritual, but he found he could not. The mind has to be quiet and still for meditation, and his mind was in turmoil.

  “Paladine,” he said softly, “Your mortal body cannot hear me, but perhaps your soul can. I have failed you. I ask your forgiveness. I will try to make amends.

  “Though I fear it is already too late.”

  hemosh stood on the battlements of Castle Beloved (he was seriously considering changing the name) watching Mina running along the beach. The waves lapped at her feet, washing away her footprints. He watched until Mina had returned to the castle and he could no longer see her.

  Turning, he almost stepped on Ausric Krell.

  Chemosh cursed, falling back.

  “What do you mean? Sneaking up on me like that!”

  “You were the one who ordered me to be discreet,” Krell returned sullenly.

  “Around Mina, you walking soup kettle! When you are around me, you may clank and rattle as much as you like. Well?” he added, after a pause. “What news?”

  “You were right, Lord,” said Krell, exultant. “She went to meet Zeboim!”

  “Not a lover?” Chemosh repeated, astonished.

  Krell saw that he’d made a mistake. “That, too,” he said hastily. “Mina went to meet the Sea Witch and a lover.” He shrugged. “Probably some priest of Zeboim’s.”

  “Probably?” Chemosh repeated, frowning. “You do not know? You did not see him?”

  Krell was flustered. “I … uh … could hardly do that, my lord. Zeboim was there and … and you would not want her to know that we were spying—”

  “What you mean is you did not want her to know that beneath all that steel plating hides a craven coward.” Chemosh began to walk toward the stair tower. “Come along. You will show me where to find this lover. I would like to meet him.”

  Krell was in a quandary. His story was believable—as far as it went. He’d left out the kender and the dog, which, the more he thought about it, didn’t add anything to his tale of lovers and secret assignations. Then there was the liberty he’d taken in the timing of events—Zeboim had arrived, but only after Mina had left, something that was odd for two who were supposed to be in a conspiracy.

  “Wait, my lord!” Krell cried urgently.

  “For what?” Chemosh looked back impatiently.

  “For … nightfall,” said Krell, saved by inspiration. “I heard Mina tell this man she would return to him in the night. You could catch them in the act,” he added, certain this would please his master.

  Chemosh went exceedingly pale. His hands, beneath the ragged lace, clenched and unclenched. His unkempt hair ruffled in the wind.

  “You are right,” said Chemosh in a toneless voice. “That is what I will do.”

  Krell gave a great, though inward, sigh of relief. He saluted his lord, turned on his heel. He would go back to the cave, ensure that when Chemosh arrived he would find what Krell had told him to expect.

  “Krell,” said Chemosh abruptly. “I am bored. Come play khas with me. Take my mind off things.”

  Krell’s shoulders slumped. H
e hated playing khas with Chemosh. For starters, the god always won. Not difficult when you can see at a glance all possible moves, all possible outcomes. For finishers, Krell had urgent business in that cave. He had a kender and a dog to dispatch.

  “I would be only too happy to give you a game, my lord, but I have the Beloved to train. Why don’t you have a romp with Mina? You may as well get your money’s worth—”

  Krell realized as he was speaking that he’d made a mistake. He would have swallowed his words, if he could, and himself as well, but it was too late for that. The dark eyes of Chemosh had a look in them that made the death knight wish he could crawl inside his armor and never come out.

  There was a moment’s horrible silence, then Chemosh said coldly, “From now on, Mina will train the Beloved. You will play khas.”

  “Yes, lord,” mumbled Krell.

  The death knight clumped after Chemosh, following him down the stairs and into the hall. Krell might be in disgrace, but he had one consoling thought: he would not be in Mina’s boots right now for anything heaven or the Abyss had to offer.

  Mina took a swim in the ocean, though it was not precisely intentional. The waves kicked up by Zeboim’s ire flooded the narrow strip of beach that ran from the rock groin to the cliff on which stood the castle. The water was not deep, and the force of the waves was broken by the rocks. Mina was a good swimmer, and she enjoyed the exercise that warmed her muscles and freed her mind, forced her to acknowledge an unpleasant truth.

  She believed the monk. He was not lying. She knew men, and he was the sort who was incapable of lying. He reminded her, in an odd way, of Galdar, her officer and loyal friend. Galdar, too, had been incapable of telling a lie, even when he knew she would have preferred a lie to the truth. Mina wondered, with a pang, where Galdar was. She hoped he was doing well. She wished suddenly she could see him. She wished, for one moment, he was there to put his arm around her—the arm she had miraculously restored—and tell her all would be all right.

  Emerging from the sea, Mina wrung the water from her hair and from her sodden gown and gave up wishing for what could never be. She had to decide what to do with the monk. He didn’t know her now, but he had known her when she had first met him. There had been recognition, knowledge in his eyes. He’d forgotten, or something had happened to cause him to forget.

  One way to restore memory was through pain. Mina had ordered torture used on her prisoners. The dark knights had been experts at it. She had watched men suffer and sometimes die, confident she was doing right, serving a laudable cause—the cause of the One God.

  Now she was unsure, uncertain. She was starting to doubt. This morning she had been angry enough that she could have flayed the skin from the monk’s bones and never felt a qualm. On reflection she wondered: Can I torture a man in cold blood? If I did, can I trust information gained by duress?

  Galdar had always been dubious about torture as a means to elicit information.

  “Men will say anything to stop the pain,” he had once warned her.

  Mina knew the truth of that. She was the one in torment, and she would do anything to stop her pain.

  There was another way. The dead have no secrets. Not from the Lord of Death.

  Putting her hand to the necklace of black pearls, Mina made up her mind. She would tell Chemosh everything. Lay her soul bare to him. He would help her drag the truth out of the monk.

  Mina grasped the necklace and tore it from around her neck and tossed it into the sea. Her heart eased, she returned to the castle, dressed herself in something pretty, and went to seek out Chemosh.

  She found the Lord of Death in his study, playing khas with Krell.

  Mina and the death knight exchanged looks that acknowledged their mutual loathing, then Krell went back to studying the board. Mina observed him more closely. He looked the same cruel, boorish brute he always looked, yet there was a sleek smugness about him that she found new and troubling. She also found it troubling that he and her lord seemed quite cozy together. Chemosh was actually laughing at something Krell had been saying as she entered the study.

  Mina started to speak, but Chemosh forestalled her. He cast her a negligent glance.

  “Did you enjoy your swim, Mistress?”

  Her heart trembled. His tone was chill, his words an insult. Mistress! He might have been speaking to a stranger.

  “Yes,” Mina replied, and went on quickly before she lost her nerve. “My lord, I must talk with you.” She flicked a glance at Krell. “In private.”

  “I am in the middle of a game,” Chemosh returned languidly. “It appears as though Krell might beat me. What do you think, Krell?”

  “I have you on the run, my lord,” said the death knight without enthusiasm.

  Mina swallowed. “After your game, then, my lord?”

  “I am afraid not,” said Chemosh. He reached out and moved a knight, sliding it across the board and using it to knock one of Krell’s pawns to the floor. “I know all about your lover, Mina, so there is no need for you to keep lying to me.”

  “Lover?” Mina repeated, astonished. “I do not know what you are talking about, my lord. I have no lover.”

  “What about the man you have hidden away in the grotto?” Chemosh asked, and he twisted around in the chair to look her full in face.

  Mina trembled. She could think of ten things to say in her defense, but none of them sounded plausible. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. The hot blood rushed to her cheeks, and she knew in an instant that her flush and her silence had just proclaimed her guilt. “My lord,” she said desperately, finding her voice. “I can explain—”

  “I am not interested in explanations,” Chemosh said coolly, and turned back to his game. “I would slay you for your betrayal, Mistress, but I would then be plagued for eternity by your pitiful ghost. Besides, your death would be a waste of a valuable commodity.”

  He did not look at her as he continued to speak, but pondered his next move on the board.

  “You are to take command of the Beloved, Mistress. They listen to you, obey you. You have battlefield experience. You are the right commander, therefore, to mold them into an army and ready them to march on Nuitari’s Tower. You will organize the Beloved and take them off to a camp I have established at a remote place far from here.”

  The room went dark. The floor tilted, the walls moved. Mina had to grasp hold of a table in order to remain standing.

  “Are you banishing me from your presence, my lord?” she asked faintly, barely able to find breath enough to speak the question.

  He did not deign to reply.

  “I could train them here,” she said.

  “That would not be to my liking. I find that I grow weary of the sight of them. And you.”

  Mina moved numbly across a floor that lurched and shook beneath her feet. Coming to Chemosh, she sank to her knees at his side and caught hold of his arm.

  “My lord, let me explain! I beg you!”

  “I told you, Mina, I am in the middle of a game—”

  “I threw away the pearls!” she cried. “I know I have displeased you. I need to tell you—”

  Chemosh removed his arm from her grasp and rearranged the lace she had disturbed. “You will leave tomorrow. This day, you will remain locked in your chamber under guard. I plan to visit your lover this evening, and I do not want you to sneak off to try to warn him.”

  Mina was near collapse. Her legs trembled; her hands shook. She was covered in chill sweat. Then Krell made a noise. He chuckled, low and deep. She looked into the fiery, piggy eyes of the death knight, and she saw triumph. She knew then who had spied on her.

  Her hatred of Krell gave her the strength to rise to her feet, burned away her tears, and lent her the courage to say, “As you will, my lord.”

  Chemosh moved another piece. “You have leave to go.”

  Mina walked out of that room; she had no idea how. She could not see anything. She could not feel anything. She had lost all sensatio
n. She staggered on as far as she could and managed to reach her bedchamber before darkness overcame her and she sank to the floor and lay there like a dead thing.

  After she had gone, Krell looked down at the board and realized, to his astonishment, he had won.

  The death knight moved a pawn, snatched up the black queen, and carried her off.

  “Your king is trapped, my lord,” Krell stated exultantly. “Nowhere to go. The game is mine.”

  Chemosh looked at him.

  Krell gulped. “Or maybe not. That last move … I made a mistake. That was an illegal move.” He quickly slid the queen back onto her hex. “I apologize, my lord. I have no idea what I was thinking—”

  Chemosh picked up the khas board and flung it in Krell’s face.

  “Should you need me, I will be in the Hall of the Souls Passing. Do not let Mina out of your sight! And pick up the pieces,” Chemosh added, as he walked away.

  “Yes, my lord,” muttered Ausric Krell.

  he cold of the stone floor roused Mina from her swoon. She was shivering so she could barely stand. Dragging herself to her feet, she wrapped herself in the blanket from her bed and went to stand by the window.

  The breeze was moderate. The Blood Sea was quiet. Rolling swells washed over the rocks with barely a splash. Pelicans, flying in formation like a wing of blue dragons, searched for fish. A dolphin’s glistening body broke the surface and glided back down.

  She had to talk to Chemosh. She had to make him listen to her. This was a mistake or rather, mischief.

  Mina walked to the door of her chamber and found it was not bolted as she had feared it might be. She flung it open.

  Ausric Krell stood in front of her.

  Mina cast him a scathing glance and started to walk around him.

  Krell moved to block her.

  Mina was forced to confront him. “Get out of my way.”