Lleu hummed as he went along. Once he’d sung a dance tune. Then he hummed snatches and fragments of it. Now his humming was no longer recognizable, off-key and jarring, as if he’d forgotten the song, which, Rhys thought, he probably had. Just as he forgot from one moment to the next if he’d eaten or drunk. Just as he forgot Rhys. Just as he forgot his victims the moment he’d slain them.
“Rhys,” said Nightshade suddenly, tugging on Rhys’s wet sleeve. “Look! Where’s he going?”
Rhys had been absorbed in his thoughts that were as gloomy as the day, not paying attention. He had assumed that Lleu would be returning to the Trough, which was where he spent his time when he wasn’t making deadly love to some doomed young woman. Rhys peered through the desultory rain to see that Lleu had veered off in a different direction. He was walking toward the main highway.
“I think he’s leaving town,” said Nightshade.
“I think you’re right,” said Rhys, stopping so fast that he took Atta by surprise. She pattered on a few steps before she realized that she’d lost her master. She turned around, fixed him with a hurt look, as though to say he could have given her some notice, before she shook off the rainwater and came trotting back.
“Come to think of it,” said Nightshade. “I didn’t see any of the Beloved when I went through the market this morning and there were none in the Inn, either. There’s usually always one or two hanging about there.”
“They’re moving on,” said Rhys. “I went to visit the parents of poor Lucy. I was hoping to talk to her, but they said that she had disappeared and so had her husband. Look at how Lleu has moved from town to town. Perhaps, after the Beloved of Chemosh fulfill their mission in one place, they are ordered to move on to the next and the next after that. That way, no one becomes suspicious, as they might if they stayed around too long. And they are all traveling east.”
“How do you know that?” Nightshade asked.
“I don’t, for certain,” Rhys admitted, “except that all this time Lleu has been traveling in that direction. It’s as if something is drawing him …”
“Someone,” Nightshade corrected darkly.
“Chemosh, yes,” said Rhys. “For what reason, I wonder? What purpose?”
Nightshade shrugged. He saw no point in continually asking questions that couldn’t be answered and he came back to the practical.
“Are we going after him?”
“Yes,” said Rhys, resuming walking. “We are.”
Nightshade heaved a dismal sigh. “This is not really getting us anywhere you know. Going from one place to the next, watching your brother eat twenty meals a day and drink enough dwarf spirits to choke a kobold—”
“There’s nothing else to be done,” Rhys returned, frustrated. “The goddess is no help. I’ve asked her to assist me in finding this Mina and in trying to discover what Chemosh is plotting. Zeboim won’t answer my prayers. I went to her shrine and found that it was closed, the door locked. I think she’s deliberately avoiding me.”
“So we just follow your brother and hope he leads us somewhere? Somewhere besides the next tavern, that is.”
“That’s right,” said Rhys.
Nightshade shook his head and trudged on. They had traveled only about a quarter of a mile, however, when they heard shouting and the sound of hoof beats.
Rhys stepped to the side of the road. One of the city guard reigned in his horse next to them.
Nightshade flung his hands in the air. “I didn’t take it,” he said promptly, “or ill did, I’ll give it back.”
The guardsman ignored the kender. “Are you Rhys Mason?”
“I am,” Rhys replied.
“You’re wanted back in Solace. The sheriff sent me to fetch you.”
Rhys looked after the figure of his brother, disappearing into the fog and rain. Whatever Gerard wanted with him, it must be urgent for him to send one of his men.
Rhys turned his steps back toward Solace. Nightshade fell in alongside him.
“The sheriff didn’t say anything about wanting kender,” said the guardsman, glowering.
“He is with me,” said Rhys calmly, placing his hand on Nightshade’s shoulder.
The guardsman hesitated a moment, watched to make certain that they were on their way, then galloped back to report. “What do you suppose the sheriff wants,” Nightshade asked, “since it’s not me?”
Rhys shook his head. “I have no idea. Perhaps it has something to do with one of the murder victims.”
“But no one knows they’re murdered except us.”
“Perhaps he has found out somehow.”
“That would be good, wouldn’t it? At least then we wouldn’t be alone anymore.”
“Yes,” said Rhys, thinking suddenly how very much alone he felt, a single mortal, standing in opposition to a god. “That would be very good.”
They found Gerard waiting impatiently for them at the bottom of the steps leading up to the Inn of the Last Home. He shook hands with Rhys and even gave Nightshade a friendly nod.
“Thanks for coming, Brother,” said Gerard. “I’d like a private word with you, if you don’t mind.”
He took Rhys to one side, said in low tones, “Do you think that kender-herding dog of yours could keep an eye on your little friend for an hour or so? I want you to come to the prison with me. It’s about a prisoner I’ve got there.”
“I would like Nightshade to accompany me,” said Rhys, thinking that if this was one of the Beloved of Chemosh, he would need the kender’s help. “He has special talents—”
“I do, you know,” said Nightshade modestly.
Both men turned and found the kender standing right behind them. Gerard glared at him.
“Oh, by private, I guess you meant private,” Nightshade said. “Anyway, I was just going to add that I don’t mind staying with Atta, Rhys. I’ve already seen the Solace prison, and while it’s very nice,” he added hurriedly for Gerard’s benefit, “it’s not some place I want to visit again.”
“Laura will give him a meal,” Gerard offered. “And the dog, too.”
The meal cinched the deal, as far as Nightshade was concerned. “You don’t need me. You pretty much know what to look for,” he said in an undertone to Rhys. “The eyes. It’s all in the eyes.”
Rhys sent Atta with Nightshade, telling the kender to keep an eye on the dog and commanding the dog, with a quiet word and a gesture, to keep an eye on the kender.
Gerard walked off, and Rhys fell into step alongside him. The two traveled in silence through the streets of Solace. It was now about mid-morning, and despite the rain, the streets were crowded. People called out respectful and friendly greetings to Gerard, who answered with a cheerful wave or nod. Idlers took themselves off at his approach, or if he came upon them too quickly, ducked their heads in guilty nods. Strangers eyed him either boldly or furtively. Gerard took note of everyone, Rhys noticed. He could almost see the man storing up their images in his head for future reference.
“You’re not much of a one for talking, are you, Brother,” Gerard said.
Rhys, seeing no reason to reply, did not.
Gerard smiled. “Anyone else would be pelting me with questions by now.”
“I did not think you would answer them,” Rhys said mildly, “so I saw no reason to ask them.”
“You’re right there. Though it’s more that I can’t answer them than I wouldn’t.”
Gerard wiped rain water from his face.
“That’s our prison, over there. Solace outgrew the old prison, more’s the pity, and so we built this one. It was just finished a month ago. I hear Lleu Mason left town this morning,” Gerard added in the same conversational tone. “You were leaving to go after him?”
“I was, yes,” said Rhys.
“Lleu appeared to behave himself while he was here,” Gerard said, casting a swift, intense glance at Rhys. “Your brother seems kind of peculiar, but no one made any complaints about him.”