Rhys nodded again, continuing to pet Atta, who seemed calmer, listening to the kender talk.
“Then we had lots of visitors—a lot more than you’d expect for people chained up in a cave. First Mina came.” Nightshade shivered. “That was truly awful. She walked up to you and asked you to tell her who she was. She claimed that the first time she saw you, you recognized her—”
Except I didn’t, Rhys thought, troubled. He still did not understand that part of the story.
“—and when you couldn’t tell her who she was, Mina got angry. She thought you were lying, and she said if you didn’t tell she was going to come back to the cave and kill me and Atta. We would die in torment,” Nightshade finished with relish.
“After Mina left, Zeboim popped by. You see what I mean, Rhys? We never had so much company when we were staying in Solace as we did chained up in that cave. Zeboim said for you to tell her who Mina was because all the gods were in an uproar over it, and you said you couldn’t, and then she got mad and said she would watch with pleasure while Mina killed me and Atta and we died in torment.” Nightshade paused for breath and to spit out some sea water. “And after that, you sent me and Atta off to seek help from the monks of Majere in Flotsam, except we never got that far. We only managed to reach the road up there, and that proved very difficult, due to the sand dunes, and I had a talk with your god. I was pretty harsh with him, I can tell you. I told Majere you were going to die because you were being faithful to him and why wasn’t he being faithful to you for a change. I asked him to help Atta and me save you. And then two of the Beloved saw us and decided they wanted to kill me.”
Nightshade sighed. “It was quite a night for people wanting to kill me. Anyway Atta and I ran for it, but we both have short legs, and the Beloved had long legs and even though Atta has two more legs than I do we were falling behind when I bumped into Majere. Blam. Ran right smack into him. He saw that we were in trouble and he sent grasshoppers after the Beloved and drove them off. I reminded him about you sacrificing your life for him, and he said he couldn’t help because there was this strange amber glow in the sky and he had to go do god stuff somewhere else—”
“I don’t think Majere said that” Rhys was glad the darkness hid his smile.
“Well, maybe not,” Nightshade conceded. “Only that’s what he meant. Then he gave me his blessing. Me. A kender. Who had spoken quite harshly to him. So Atta and I ran back to the cave where you were still chained up, only to find Chemosh was there. He wanted you to tell him who Mina was, and he said he was going to kill you, and he probably would have, only Atta bit him on the anklebone. And then the world shook and knocked us all down—even the god.”
Nightshade cocked an eye at Rhys. “Is that right? ’Cause it’s here that things start getting strange. Or rather—stranger. Chemosh was extremely angry. He started yelling at the other gods, wanting to know what was going on. Turns out the shaking was caused by that tower being yanked up out of the Blood Sea which caused huge waves to start rolling onto the shore, and these waves flooded the cave, and you were unconscious and chained to the wall and the water was rising up around you, and it was up to me and Atta to save you.”
Nightshade paused for breath.
“Which you did,” said Rhys, and he embraced the kender.
“I picked the lock on the manacles,” Nightshade said. “The first and only lock I ever picked in my life! My father would have been so proud. Majere helped me pick the lock, you know.”
A sudden thought struck Nightshade. “Say, do you think Majere would help me again if I wanted to pick another lock? ’Cause there’s a baker in Solace who makes these wonderful meat pies, only he closes up shop right after supper, and sometimes I’m hungry in the night and I wouldn’t want to wake him and—”
“No,” said Rhys.
“No what?” asked Nightshade.
“No, I do not think Majere would help you pick the lock on the baker’s back door.”
“Not even to keep from waking the baker up in the middle of the night?”
“No,” Rhys said firmly.
“Ah, well.” Nightshade sighed again, this time quite deeply. “I suppose you’re right. Though I’ll bet if Majere ever tasted those meat pies he might reconsider. Where was I?”
“You had just picked the lock on my manacles,” said Rhys.
“Oh, yes! The water was getting deeper and I was afraid you were going to drown. I tried to drag you out of the cave, but you were too heavy—no offense.”
“None taken,” Rhys said.
“And then six monks of Majere came running into the cave and they picked you up and carried you out. And I guess they healed the bump on your head because here you are and here I am and here’s Atta and we’re all fine. So,” Nightshade said in conclusion, “your brother the Beloved is at peace now. The story’s over and we can go home to your monastery, and Atta can guard sheep, and I’ll visit my friends in the graveyard, and we’ll live happily ever after.”
Rhys realized that this was true. The tale was told, the last chapter written.
The night was dark and the storm was wild and ferocious and strange things were happening, but the storm and the night would soon come to an end, as nights and storms always do. That was the promise of the gods. When day dawned, Rhys and Nightshade and Atta would start back home, back to his monastery. The journey would be a long one, for the monastery was located north of the city of Staughton, which was on the west coast, and they were on the east coast of the vast continent of Ansalon and would have to travel on foot. He was not concerned at the distance. Every step would be devoted to the god. He thought of the work he would do to earn his bread, of the people he would meet, of the good he would try to do along the way, and the journey did not seem long at all.
“Did you hear that?” Nightshade asked suddenly. “It sounded like a yell.”
Rhys hadn’t heard anything except roaring thunder and howling wind and crashing waves. The kender had sharp senses, however, and Rhys had learned not to discount them. He was further convinced by the fact that Atta also heard something. Her head was up, her ears pricked. The dog stared intently out into storm.
“Wait here,” said Rhys.
He walked out of the grotto and the wind smote him with such force that even standing upright was difficult.
The wind blew his long dark hair back from his face, whipped his orange robes around his thin body. The salt spray stung his eyes, the sand tore at his flesh. Shielding his eyes with his hand, he peered about. The lightning flashes were almost constant. He saw the black waves with their white, foaming tops and the seaweed being blow along the empty beach and that was all. He was about to return to the shelter of the grotto when he heard a cry, this time sounding behind him.
A gust of wind caught hold of Nightshade, sending him staggering backward for a few feet, then knocking him flat.
Rhys braced himself against the gale and, reaching down his hand, grabbed hold of Nightshade and hoisted the kender to his feet.
“I told you to wait inside!” Rhys shouted.
“I thought you were talking to Atta!” Nightshade yelled back. The kender turned around to the dog, whose ears were flat against her head from the force of the wind. He shook his finger at her. “Atta, stay inside!”
Rhys was hanging on to Nightshade, who was trying to stand against the wind and not having much luck, when he heard the cry.
“There it is again!” shouted Nightshade.
“Yes, but where?” Rhys returned.
He looked at Atta. She was standing at alert, her ears forward, her tail motionless. She was staring out to sea.