The horse and rider topped the ridge and, sighting them, increased speed, galloping down the road toward them. The rider was cloaked in black. His long hair streamed behind him in the wind.
Nightshade gasped. “Rhys! That’s Chemosh! What do we do?”
“Nothing we can do,” Rhys replied.
The Lord of Death reined in his horse as he drew near. Nightshade looked about wildly for someplace to hide. They were caught out in the open, however. Not a tree or a gully in sight.
Rhys ordered Atta to be quiet and she obeyed for the most part, though the occasional growl got the better of her. He drew Mina close to him, holding his staff in front of her with one hand, keeping his other hand protectively on her shoulder. Nightshade stood stolidly by his friend’s side. Reminding himself he was a kender with horns, he assumed a very fierce look.
“Who is that man?” Mina asked, gazing at the black-cloaked rider curiously. She twisted her head around to look up Rhys. “Do you know him?”
“I know him,” Rhys replied. “Do you know him, Mina?”
“Me?” Mina was amazed. She shook her head. “I never saw him before.”
Chemosh dismounted his horse and began walking toward them.
The horse remained unmoving where he left it, as though it had been changed to stone. Nightshade edged closer to Rhys.
“Render with horns,” Nightshade said to give himself courage. “Kender with horns.”
Atta growled, and Rhys silenced her.
Chemosh ignored the dog and the kender. He flicked an uninterested glance at Rhys. The lord’s attention was focused on Mina. His face was tight, livid with anger. His dark eyes were cold.
Mina stared at Chemosh from behind the barricade formed by the monk’s staff and Rhys felt her tremble. He tightened his hold on her reassuringly.
“I don’t like this man,” Mina said in a shaky voice. “Tell him to go away.”
Chemosh came to a halt and glared down at the little red-haired girl sheltering in Rhys’ arms.
“You can end this game of yours now, Mina,” he said. “You have made me look the fool. You’ve had your laugh. Now come back home with me.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Mina retorted. “I don’t even know you. And Goldmoon told me never to talk to strangers.”
“Mina, stop this nonsense—” Chemosh began angrily, and he reached out his hand to seize her.
Mina kicked the Lord of Death in the shin.
Nightshade sucked in a breath and closed his eyes and waited for the world to end. When the world kept going, Nightshade opened his eyes a slit to see that Rhys had pulled Mina behind him, shielding her with his body. Chemosh was looking exceedingly grim.
“You are putting on a very fine show, Mina, but I have no time for play-acting,” he stated impatiently. “You will come with me, and you will bring with you the artifacts you basely stole from the Hall of Sacrilege. Or I will shortly be seeing your friends in the Abyss—”
Lashing rain drowned out the rest of Chemosh’s threat. The sky grew black as his cloak. Storm clouds boiled and bubbled. Zeboim arrived in a gust of wind and pelting hail.
The goddess leaned down and presented her cheek to Mina.
“Give your Auntie Zee a kiss, dear,” she said sweetly.
Mina buried her face in Rhys’ robes.
Zeboim shrugged and shifted her gaze to Chemosh, who was regarding her with an expression as dark and thunderous as the storm.
“What do you want, Sea Bitch?” he demanded.
“I was worried about Mina,” Zeboim replied, bestowing an affectionate glance on the girl. “What are you doing here, Lord of Rot?”
“I was also concerned—” Chemosh began.
Zeboim laughed. “Concerned with how royally you screwed things up? You had Mina, you had the tower, you had the Solio Febalas, you had the Beloved. And you’ve lost it all. Your Beloved are a gruesome pile of greasy ash lying at the bottom of the Blood Sea. My brother has the tower. The High God has claimed the Solio Febalas. As for Mina, she’s made it painfully clear she wants nothing more to do with you.”
Chemosh did not need to hear the litany of his misfortune recited back to him. He turned his back on the goddess and knelt down beside Mina, who regarded him in wary amazement.
“Mina, my dear, please listen to me. I’m sorry if I frightened you. I’m sorry I hurt you. I was jealous…” Chemosh paused, then said, “Come back to my castle with me, Mina. I miss you. I love you…”
“Mina, my pet, don’t go anywhere with this horrid man,” said Zeboim, shoving the Lord of Death out of the way. “He’s lying. He doesn’t love you. He never did. He’s using you. Come live with your Auntie Zee…”
“I’m going to Godshome,” said Mina, and she took hold of Rhys’ hand. “And it’s a long way from here, so we have to get started. Come on, Mister Monk.”
“Godshome,” said Chemosh after a moment’s astonished silence. “That is a long way from here.” He turned on his heel and walked back to his horse. Mounting, he gazed down at Rhys from beneath dark and lowering brows. “A very long way. And the road is fraught with peril. I’ve no doubt I’ll be seeing you again shortly, Monk.”
He dug his heels into the horse’s flanks and rode off in ire. Zeboim watched him leave, then she turned back to Rhys.
“It is a long way, Rhys,” said Zeboim with a playful smile. “You will be on the road for months, perhaps years. If you live that long. Though now that I think of it…”
Zeboim bent swiftly down to whisper something in Mina’s ear.
Mina listened, frowning, at first, and then her eyes widened. “I can do that?”
“Of course you can, child.” Zeboim patted her on the head. “You can do anything. Have a safe journey, friends.”
Zeboim laughed and, spreading her arms, she became a whipping wind, which then dwindled to a teasing breeze and, still laughing, wafted away.
The road was empty. Rhys sighed in relief and lowered his staff.
“Why did that silly-looking man want me to come with him?” Mina asked.
“He made a mistake,” said Rhys. “He thought you were someone else. Someone he used to know.”
The time was only midafternoon, but Rhys, worn out from the strain of the encounter with the gods and a day of putting up with Mina, decided to make camp early. They spread out their blankets near a stream that wound like a snake through the tall grass. A small grove of trees provided shelter.
Nightshade soon recovered his spirits and began to badger Mina into telling him what the goddess had said to her. Mina shook her head. She was pondering deeply over something. Her brow was creased, her lips pursed. Eventually she shook off whatever was bothering her and, taking off her shoes and stockings, went to play in the creek. They ate a frugal meal of dried peas and smoked meat, then sat around the fire.
“I want to see the map you drew,” Mina said suddenly.
“Why?” Nightshade asked suspiciously, and he clapped his hand protectively over his pouch.
“I just want to look at it,” Mina returned. “Everyone keeps telling me Godshome is such a long way away. I want to see for myself.”
“I showed you once,” Nightshade said.
“Yes, but I want to see it again.”
“Oh, all right. But go wash your hands,” Nightshade ordered as he removed the map from its pouch and spread it out on top of his blanket. “I don’t want greasy finger marks on it.”
Mina ran down to the stream to wash her hands and face.
Rhys had stretched out full-length on the ground, resting after the meal. Atta lay beside him, her chin on his chest. He stroked her fur and gazed into the heavens. The sun stood balanced precariously on the rim of the world. The sky was a blend of soft twilight hues, pinks and golds, purples and oranges. Beyond the sunset, he could feel immortal eyes watching.
Mina came running back, to exhibit moderately clean hands. Nightshade anchored the map with rocks and then showed Mina the route they were going to be taking.