Fuming and dripping, Krell stalked into the library where he had everything set up in anticipation of his visitor, whose broken, bleeding body was now providing food for the sharks.
Krell plunked his armored self down in a chair and stared moodily at the game board and the empty chair opposite. Krell had grown sick and tired of playing khas against himself.
Krell was an avid khas player, as were most of the Knights of Takhisis. Steel Brightblade had once jested that knowledge of the game was a requirement for becoming a member of the knighthood, and in that, he had not been far wrong. Ariakan—an excellent player—believed that the intricate game taught people to consider not only their own stratagems but also those of their opponents, enabling them to anticipate their opponents’ moves far in advance. Good khas players made good commanders—or so Ariakan believed.
Krell and Ariakan had spent many hours in contest over the khas board. Memories of those hours had returned full force to Krell as he had plotted his commander’s assassination. Ariakan had always beaten Krell at khas.
The round khas board with its black, red, and white six-sided tiles stood in its accustomed place on a wrought iron stand before the enormous fire pit. Hand-carved jet and green jade pieces glowered at each other over the black, red, and white checkered field of battle. Krell had been in the midst of a game against himself (contests he usually won), but he had quickly cleared his game away in order to set the pieces back in their starting positions.
Now he would have to begin again. Scowling, he reached out his gauntleted hand, grasped a pawn, and moved it onto an adjacent square. He let go of the pawn and was about to stand up to move to the chair on the other side of the board when he changed his mind. He would use another opening. He reached for the pawn and was about to shift its position, when a voice—a living voice—spoke from over his shoulder.
“You can’t do that,” said Mina. “It’s against the rules. You’ve taken your hand off the piece. It has to remain where you placed it.”
In life or death, Ausric Krell had never been so astonished.
He whipped around to see who had spoken. A slender female, clad in sodden wet clothes, with hair that was red as his rage and eyes of amber gold stood with an iron pry bar in her hands. She was in the act of swinging the iron bar at his head.
Startled by the sight of her alive when he’d assumed she was dead, shocked at her temerity and the fact that she wasn’t prostrate in terror before him, and caught off guard by the swiftness and suddenness of her attack, Krell had time for a furious snarl before the iron bar smashed into his helm.
Red hot flame lit up the perpetual darkness in which Krell lived, and then flickered out.
Krell’s darkness went even darker.
Mina’s blow, swung with all the pent-up force of her fear and her determination, knocked Krell’s helm from his body, sent it bounding and clanking across the room to bump up against some of the corpses that he’d shoved into the corner. The armor in which his undead energy had been encased remained upright, seated in the chair, half-twisted about, one hand still extended to pick up the khas piece, the other hand raised in an ineffectual move to try to halt Mina’s attack.
Mina held the bar poised for another hit, watching warily both the helm on the floor and the armor in the chair, ready to strike if the helm wobbled or the bloody armor so much as twitched.
The helm lay still. The armor did move. It might have been on display in some Palanthian noble’s palace. Mina was about to breathe a shivering sigh and lower the prybar when the door blew open behind her, crashing against the stone wall with a heart-stopping bang. Mina lifted the bar and turned swiftly to face this new foe.
The gust of wind ushered in the goddess.
Zeboim seemed clad in the storm, her flowing garments in constant motion, swirling about her like the shifting winds as she entered the room. Mina dropped the iron bar and fell to her knees.
“Goddess of the Sea and Storm, I have done what I promised. Lord Ausric Krell, the traitor knight who most foully murdered your son, is destroyed.”
Her head bowed, Mina glanced from beneath her lashes to see the goddess’s reaction. Zeboim swept past Mina without a glance, her sea-green eyes fixed on the bloody armor, and off in the corner, the metal helm—all that remained of Ausric Krell.
Zeboim touched the armor with her fingertips, then she gave it a shove.
The armor collapsed. The mailed gauntlets fell to the floor. The cuirass sagged sideways in the chair. The greaves toppled to the left and right. His two boots remained standing, stationary, in place. Zeboim walked over to the helm. She thrust out a delicate foot, nudging the helm disdainfully with her toe. The ram’s skull helm rocked a little, then settled. The empty eye sockets, dark as death, stared at nothing.
Mina remained on her knees, her head lowered, her arms crossed in humble supplication across her breast. The wind that was the goddess’s escort was chill and raw, and Mina shivered uncontrollably. She kept watch on the goddess out of the corner of her eye.
“You did this, worm?” Zeboim demanded. “Alone?”
“Yes, Majesty,” Mina answered humbly.
“I don’t believe it.” Zeboim looked swiftly about the room, as if certain there must be an army hidden away in the bookshelves or a mighty warrior tucked into a cupboard. Not finding anything except rats, the goddess looked back at Mina. “Still, you were Mommy’s pet. There must be something more to you than appears on the surface.”
The goddess’s voice softened, warmed to springtime, a ripple of breath over sun-drenched water. “Have you chosen a new god to follow, child?”
Before it had been “worm.” Now it was “child.” Mina hid her smile. She had foreseen this question, and she was prepared with her answer. Keeping her eyes lowered, Mina answered, “My loyalty and my faith are with the dead.”
Zeboim frowned, displeased. “Bah! Takhisis can do nothing for you now. Faith such as yours should be rewarded.”
“I ask for no reward,” Mina replied. “I seek only to serve.”
“You are a liar, child, but such an amusing liar that I’ll let it pass.”
Mina glanced up at the goddess with a twinge of concern. Had Zeboim seen into her heart?
“The weak-minded among the pantheon might be deceived by your show of piety, but I am not,” Zeboim continued disdainfully. “All mortals want a reward in return for their faith. No one ever does something for nothing.”
Mina breathed easier.
“Come now, child,” Zeboim continued in wheedling tones, “you risked your life to destroy that maggot Krell. What is the real reason? And don’t tell me you did it because his treachery offended your fine sense of honor.”
Mina lifted her eyes to meet the gray-green eyes of the goddess. “I would like to have something, if it’s not too much to ask, Majesty.”
“I thought so!” Zeboim was smug. “What do you want, child? A sea chest filled with emeralds? A thousand strands of pearls?
Your own fleet of sailing ships? Or perhaps the fabled treasure of the Dark Knights that lies in the vaults below? I feel generous. Tell me your wish, and I will grant it.”
“The death knight’s helm, My Lady,” Mina replied. “That is what I want.”
“His helm?” Zeboim repeated, amazed. She made a scornful gesture toward the helm that lay on the floor, near the mummified hand of one of his victims. “That heap of metal is worth next to nothing. A traveling circus might give you a few coins for it, though I doubt even they would be much interested.”
“Nevertheless that is what I want,” said Mina. “That is my wish.”