Mina extended her hand, touched the phantom hand of the minotaur.
“Your sword arm is restored.”
Galdar stared at his own reflection. He flexed his left hand, his only hand. His reflection flexed both hands. Burning liquid stung his eyes, and he turned swiftly and angrily away and began to scour the valley, searching for some sign of Mina. Now that he was here, he was impatient to get this over with. He wanted to get past the awkward first meeting, endure the pain of disappointment, leave her with the elf, and go on with living.
“I remember when you lost the arm Mina had given you,” Valthonis said, the first words he’d spoken since he’d been taken captive. “You fell defending Mina from Takhisis, who accused her of conspiring against her and would have slain her in a rage. You shielded Mina with your body and the Dark Queen cut off your arm. Sargas offered to restore your arm, but you refused—”
“Who gave you permission to speak, elf?” Galdar demanded angrily, wondering why he’d let the yammering go on so long.
“No one,” Valthonis said with a half-smile. “I will be silent if you like.”
Galdar didn’t want to admit it, but he found the sound of another voice soothing in this place where only the dead had once spoken, so he said, “Waste your last breaths if you want. Your preaching won’t have any effect on me.”
Galdar halted to stare squint-eyed into the valley. He thought he’d caught sight of movement, of people down there. The pale sunlight seemed to be playing tricks on his eyes, and it was difficult for him to tell if he’d actually seen living beings walking about, or ghosts, or only the strange shadows cast by the loathsome monoliths.
Not shadows, he determined. Or ghosts. There are people down there and they must be those I was told to meet.
There was the monk in the orange robes who was said to be Mina’s escort. But, if so, where was Mina?
“Blast and damn this cursed place!” Galdar said in sudden anger.
He’d been assured Mina would be with the monk, but he saw no sign of her. He hadn’t understood why she should be traveling with a monk anyway. He hadn’t liked this from the beginning and he was liking it less and less.
Removing a length of rope from his belt, Galdar ordered Valthonis to hold out his hands.
“I gave you my word I wouldn’t try to escape,” Valthonis said quietly.
Galdar grunted and tied the rope securely around the elf’s slender wrists. Tying the knot wasn’t easy for the one-armed minotaur. Galdar had to use his teeth to finish the job.
“Bound or not, I can’t escape her,” Valthonis added. “And neither can you, Galdar. You’ve always known Mina was a god, haven’t you?”
“Shut up,” Galdar ordered savagely.
Grasping the elf roughly by the arm, Galdar shoved Valthonis forward.
The next lightning flash was not a bolt, but a sheet of flame that lit the sky and the ground and the mountains with a purple white radiance. Silhouetted against the awful glow, a figure moved toward them, walking calmly through the raging storm, seeming untouched by the gale, unmoved by the lightning, unafraid of the thunder.
“What are you called?” Galdar demanded.
“My name is Mina….”
He had sung her name. They had all sung her name. All those like himself who had followed her to battle and glory and death.
“You did this,” Takhisis raved. “You connived with them to bring about my downfall. You wanted them to sing your name, not my own.”
Mina… Mina…
6
Keeping one hand on Mina’s shoulder, Rhys glanced around to where Nightshade was pointing. He could see the minotaur troops, now leaving the ridgeline, marching away. Two people entered the valley. One was a minotaur wearing the emblem of Sargonnas emblazoned on his leather armor. One was an elf whose hands were bound.
Too late to flee, even if there had been any place to go. The minotaur had spotted them.
The minotaur was armed with a sword, which he wore on his right hip, for his right arm—his sword arm—was missing. He had not drawn his weapon, but he kept his left hand hovering near it. His keen eyes fixed a suspicious gaze on Rhys, then left him and flicked over the rest of the group. His scowl deepened. The minotaur was searching for Mina.
The elf wore simple clothing—green cloak and tunic, well-worn boots, dusty from the road. He was not armed, and though he was obviously the minotaur’s prisoner, he walked with his head up, taking long, graceful, purposeful strides, as one who is accustomed to walking many roads.
The Walking God. Rhys recognized Valthonis, and was about to call out a warning, when he was drowned out by the minotaur’s roar.
“Mina!”
Her name rang out across the valley and bounded off the Lords of Doom, who cast it back in eerie echoes, as though the bones of the world were crying out to her.
“Galdar!” Mina gave a glad shout.
She knocked Rhys aside, hitting him a blow that was like being hit by a lightning bolt. He sagged, stunned, to the ground, unable to move.
“Galdar!” Mina cried again, and ran to him with outstretched arms..
She tried to wrench free and when Rhys tried to stop her, she struck him a blow with her hand that was like being hit by a lightning bolt. He crumpled to the ground and lay there, paralyzed and stunned, unable to move.
Mina was no longer a child. She was a girl, seventeen years old. Her head was shorn like a sheep at shearing. She wore the breastplate of those who called themselves Knights of Neraka, and it was charred and dented and stained with blood, as were her hands and arms up to the elbows. Reaching Galdar, she flung her arms around him and buried her face in his chest.
The minotaur clasped her with his good arm, held her close. Two furrows in the fur on either side of his snout marked the overflow of his feelings.
Seeing that they were both occupied, Nightshade crept over to kneel beside Rhys.
“Are you all right?” Nightshade whispered.
“I will be… in a moment.” Rhys grimaced. He was starting to regain some feeling in his hands and feet. “Don’t let go of Atta!”
“I have her, Rhys,” Nightshade said. He had wound his hand in the long fur at her neck. To his surprise, the dog had not tried to attack the grown-up Mina. Perhaps Atta was now as confused as the kender.
Galdar held Mina tightly and glared at them all defiantly, as though daring any of them to try to take her from him.
“Mina!” he said brokenly, “I came to find you—That is, Sargas sent me—”
“Never mind that now!” Mina said sharply. She pulled away from him, looked up at him. “We have no time, Galdar. Sanction is under siege. The Solamnic knights have it surrounded. I must go there, take command. I will break the siege.”
Her amber eyes flared. “Why do you just stand there? Where is my horse? My weapon? Where are my troops? You must fetch them, Galdar, bring them to me. We don’t have much time. The battle will be lost…”
Galdar blinked in astonishment. “Er… don’t you remember, Mina? You won the battle. You broke the siege of Sanction. Beckard’s Cut—”
She frowned at him and said sharply, “I don’t know what’s got into you, Galdar. Stop wasting my time with such foolery and obey my command.”
“Mina,” Galdar said uneasily, “the siege of Sanction happened long ago during the War of Souls. The war is over. The One God lost. Don’t you remember, Mina? The other gods cast Takhisis out, made her mortal—”
“They killed her,” Mina said softly. Her amber eyes glittered beneath sharply slanting brows. “They were jealous of my Queen, envious of her power. The mortals of this world adored her. They sang her name. The other gods couldn’t allow that, and so they destroyed her.”
Galdar tried to speak a couple of times without success, then he said awkwardly, “They sang your name, Mina.”