Margaret Weis - Amber and Iron

Zeboim snatched up the dark knight piece. Holding it in her hand, she lovingly caressed the figure and crooned to it. “My son! My dearest son! Your soul will be freed. We’ll go to Chemosh immediately.”

There was a pause, as though she were listening, then she said, her voice altering, “Don’t argue with me, Ariakan. Mother knows what is best!”

Cradling the khas piece in her hands, Zeboim stood up. Storm clouds darkened the heavens. The wind lifted, blowing stinging sand into Rhys’s face.

“Don’t leave yet, Your Majesty!” he cried desperately. “Remove the spell from the kender!”

“What kender?” Zeboim asked carelessly. Wisps of cloud coiled around her, ready to carry her off.

Rhys jumped to his feet. He snatched up the kender piece and held it before her.

“The kender risked his life for you,” said Rhys, “as did I. Ask yourself this question, Majesty. Why should Chemosh free your son’s soul?”

“Why? Because I command it, that’s why!” Zeboim returned, though not with her usual spirit. She looked uncertain.

“Chemosh did this for a reason, Majesty,” Rhys said. “He did it because he fears you.”

“Of course, he does,” Zeboim returned, shrugging. “Everyone fears me.”

She hesitated, then said, “But I don’t mind hearing what you have to say on the subject. Why do you think Chemosh fears me?”

“Because you have learned too much about the Beloved, these terrible undead that he has created. You have learned too much about the woman, Mina, who is their leader.”

“You’re right. That chit, Mina. I had forgotten all about her.” Zeboim cast Rhys a glance of grudging acknowledgement. “You are also right in that the Lord of Death will not free my son’s soul, not without coercion. I need something to force his hand. I need Mina. You have to find her and bring her to me. A task, I recall, that I gave you in the first place.”

Zeboim glowered at him. “So why haven’t you done it?”

“I was saving your son, Your Majesty,” Rhys said. “I will resume my search, but to find Mina I require the services of the kender—”

“What kender?”

“This kender. Nightshade, Your Majesty,” Rhys said, holding up the khas piece that was frantically waving its tiny arms. “The kender nightstalker.”

“Oh, very well!” Zeboim flicked sand over the khas piece and Nightshade, all four-and-one half-feet of him, blossomed at Rhys’s side.

“Get me back to normal!” the kender was bellowing.

He looked around and blinked. “Oh, you did. Whew! Thanks!”

Nightshade patted himself all over. He lifted his hand to his head to make certain his topknot was there and it was. He looked at his shirt to make certain he still had one and he did. He had his britches, too—his favorite color, purple, or at least, they’d once been purple. They were now a peculiar color of mauve. He wrung the water out of his shirt, pants, and topknot, and felt better.

“I’ll never complain about being short again,” he confided to Rhys in heartfelt tones.

“If that is all I can do for the two of you,” Zeboim said bitingly, “I have urgent business ...”

“One more thing, Your Majesty,” Rhys said. “Where are we?”

Zeboim cast a vague glance around. “You are on a beach by the sea. How should I know where? It is all the same to me. I pay no attention to these things.”

“We need to be back in Solace, Your Majesty,” said Rhys, “in order to search for Mina. I know you are in a hurry, but if you could just take us there—”

“And would you like me to fill your pockets with emeralds?” Zeboim asked with a sarcastic curl of her lip. “And give you a castle overlooking the shores of the Sirrion Ocean?”

“Yes!” cried Nightshade eagerly.

“No, Majesty,” said Rhys. “Just send us back to—”

He quit speaking because there was no longer any goddess to hear him. There was only Nightshade, several extremely startled looking people, and a mighty vallenwood tree holding a gabled building in its stalwart branches.

A joyful bark split the air. A black and white dog bounded off the landing where she’d been dozing in the sun. The dog came tumbling down the stairs, dodging in and out of people’s legs, nearly upending several.

Speeding across the lawn, Atta launched herself at Rhys and jumped into his arms.

He clasped the wriggling, furry body and hugged her close, his head buried in her fur, his eyes wet with softer water than that of the sea.

Brightly colored stained glass windows caught the last rays of the afternoon sun. People wended their way up and down the long staircase that led from the ground to the Inn of the Last Home in the treetop.

“Solace,” Nightshade said in satisfaction.

“Well, I’ll be the son of a blue-eyed elf-loving ogre!” Gerard clapped Rhys on the back, and then shook his hand and then clapped him on the back again, and then stood grinning at him. “I never expected to see you again this side of the Abyss.”

Gerard paused, then said half-joking and half-not, “I guess you’ll want your kender-herding dog back . . .”

Atta dashed over to give Nightshade a wriggle and a quick lick, then ran back to Rhys. She sat at his feet, gazing up at him, her mouth wide and her tongue hanging out.

“Yes,” said Rhys, reaching down to fondle her ears. “I want my dog back.”

“I was afraid of that. Solace now has the most well-behaved kender in all of Ansalon. No offense, friend,” he added with a glance at Nightshade.

“None taken,” said Nightshade cheerfully. He sniffed the air. “What’s the special on the Inn’s menu tonight?”

“All right, you people, go about your business,” Gerard said, waving his hands at the crowd that had gathered. “The show’s over.” He glanced sidelong at Rhys and said in an undertone, “I take it the show is over, Brother? You’re not going to spontaneously combust or anything like that?”

“I trust not,” answered Rhys cautiously. When Zeboim was involved, he knew better than to promise.

A few still lingered, hoping for more excitement, but when the minutes passed and they saw nothing more interesting than a dripping wet monk and a soaked kender, even the idlers wandered off.

Gerard turned back to stare at Rhys. “What have you been doing, Brother? Washing your robes with yourself inside them? The kender, too.” Reaching out his hand, he plucked a bit of slimy, brownish red plant life from the kender’s hair. “Seaweed! And the nearest ocean is a hundred miles from here.”

Gerard eyed them. “But then, why am I surprised? The last I saw you two, you were both locked inside a jail cell with a crazy woman. The next 20 thing I know, you’ve both vanished and I’m left with a lunatic female who has the power to fling me out of her cell with a flick of her finger, then she locks me out of my own jail and won’t let me back inside. And then she vanishes!”

“I believe I owe you an explanation,” said Rhys.

“I believe you do!” Gerard grunted. “Come into the Inn. You can dry off in the kitchen and Laura will fix you both something to eat—”

“What’s today?” Nightshade interrupted to ask.

“Today? Fourth-day,” said Gerard impatiently. “Why?”

“Fourth-day . . . Oh, the menu special will be lamb chops!” Nightshade said excitedly. “With boiled potatoes and mint jelly.”

“I don’t think going to the Inn would be a good idea,” said Rhys. “We need to speak privately.”

“Oh, but Rhys,” Nightshade wailed, “it’s lamb chops!”

“We’ll go to my house,” said Gerard. “It’s not far. I don’t have lamb chops,” he added, seeing Nightshade looking glum. “But no one stews a chicken better, if I do say so myself.”