Her amber eyes shone, illuminated from within.
“You’re right,” she said, smiling. “They did sing my name.”
Galdar licked his lips. He looked about, as though seeking help. Finding none, he cleared his throat with a rumble and launched into a much-rehearsed speech, talking quickly, without inflection, in haste to reach the end.
“This elf is Valthonis. He used to be Paladine, the leader of the pantheon of gods, the instigator of the fall of Queen Takhisis. My god, Sargas, hopes that you will accept Valthonis as his gift and that you will take your just revenge upon the traitor who brought down… your… our Queen. In return, Sargas hopes you will think well of the him and… and… that you will…”
Galdar stopped. He stared at Mina, stricken.
“That I will what, Galdar?” Mina demanded. “Sargas hopes I will think well of him and I will what?”
“Become his ally,” Galdar said at last.
“You mean—become one of his generals?” Mina asked, frowning. “But I can’t. I am not a minotaur.”
Galdar couldn’t answer her question. He looked about again for help, and this time he found it.
Valthonis answered him. “Sargas want you to become the Queen of Darkness, Mina.”
Mina laughed, as though at some rich jest. Then she saw no one else was laughing. “Galdar, why do you look so glum? That’s funny. Me? The Queen of Darkness!”
Galdar rubbed his muzzle and blinked his eyes rapidly and gazed out somewhere over her head.
“Galdar!” said Mina, suddenly angry. “That is funny!”
“Is the minotaur right, Rhys?” Nightshade asked in a smothered whisper. “Is that elf really Paladine? I always wanted to meet Paladine. Do you think you could intro—”
“Hush, my friend,” said Rhys softly. He rose to his feet, moving fluidly, quietly, trying not to draw attention to himself. “Keep hold of Atta.”
Nightshade took a firm grip on the dog. Eyeing the Walking God, the kender whispered into Atta’s ear, “I expected him to be a lot taller—”
Rhys picked up the emmide and the scrip. He tied the scrip to the top of the staff, then padded across the stone floor, the dust slithering beneath his feet. He came to stand to one side and a little in front of Valthonis.
“This man knows the way to Godshome, Mina,” Rhys said.
Mina’s amber eyes, laden with trapped souls so that they were almost black, shifted to Rhys. Her lip curled in scorn. “Who are you? Where did you come from?”
Rhys smiled. “Those are the very questions you asked of me, Mina, when we first met. The riddle the dragon posed to you. ‘Where did you come from?’ You told me that I knew the answers. I did not know then, but I know now. And so do you, Mina. You know the truth. You have to accept it. You can no longer hide from it. Valthonis is your father, Mina. You are his child. You are a god. A god born of Light.”
Mina went livid. Her amber eyes widened, grew large.
“You lie,” she breathed. The words were soft, barely a whisper.
“Men sang your name, Mina. As did the Beloved. If you kill this man, commit this heinous crime, you will take your place among the Dark Pantheon,” Rhys told her. “The balance will shift. The world will slide into darkness and be consumed. That is what Sargonnas wants. Is that what you want, Mina? You have walked the world. You have met its people. You have seen the misery and destruction and upheaval that is war. Is that what you want?”
Mina’s form altered again and this time she was the Mina of the Beloved, the Mina who had given them the lethal kiss. Her auburn hair was long. She wore black and blood red. She was confident, commanding, and she regarded Valthonis with frowning intensity. Her expression hardened, her lips compressed.
“He killed my Queen!” Mina stated coldly.
She brushed past Galdar, who stared at her with gaping mouth and white-rimmed eyes, his frame trembling in fear. Mina walked over to Valthonis and gazed at him for a long moment, trying to draw him, another insect, into the amber.
He stood calmly under her scrutiny.
Does his mortal mind retain something of the mind of the god? Rhys wondered. Does some part of Valthonis remember that burst of joy at creation’s dawning that brought forth a child of joy and light? Does he remember the searing pain he must have felt upon realizing he had to sacrifice the child for the sake of that very creation?
Rhys did not know the answer. What he did know, what he could see on the elf’s ravaged face, was the grief of the parent who sees a loved child succumb to dark passions.
“Let me help you, Mina.” Valthonis held out his hands to Mina: his bound hands.
Mina stood over him. She held out her hand. “Galdar, give me your sword.”
Galdar looked uneasily at the fallen Valthonis. The minotaur’s hand went to his sword’s hilt. He did not draw the weapon.
“Mina, the monk is right,” Galdar said, anguished. “If you slay this man, you will become Takhisis. And that’s not who you are. You prayed for your men, Mina. Wounded and exhausted, you walked the battlefield and prayed for the souls of those who gave their lives for the cause. You care about people. Takhisis didn’t. She used them, just as she used you!”
“Give me your sword!” Mina repeated angrily.
Galdar shook his horned head. “And at the end, when Takhisis had been cast out of heaven, she blamed you, Mina. Not herself. Never herself. She was going to kill you in a spiteful, vindictive rage. That was Takhisis. Spiteful and vindictive, cruel and vicious and self-serving. Nothing mattered to her except her own aggrandizement, her own ambition. Her children hated her and worked against her. Her consort despised and distrusted her and rejoiced in her downfall. Is this what you want, Mina? Is this what you want to become?”
Mina stood regarding him scornfully. When Galdar paused for breath, she said with a sneer, “I don’t need a sermon. Just give me the damn sword, you stupid, one-armed cow!”
Galdar paled, the pallor visible even beneath his dark fur. A spasm of pain wrenched his body. He cast a glowering glance at heaven, then he drew his sword. He did not give it to Mina. Going to the unconscious Valthonis, the minotaur sliced the bonds that bound the elf’s wrists.
“I’ll have nothing to do with murder,” Galdar said with quiet dignity.
Slamming his sword into the sheath, he turned and started to walk away.
“Galdar! Come back!” Mina shouted furiously.
The minotaur kept walking.
“Galdar! I command you!” Mina cried.
Galdar did not look around. He wound his way among the black monoliths, remnants of dark ambition.
Mina glared at his retreating back, then suddenly sprang after him, running swiftly across the windswept floor. Rhys called out a warning. Galdar turned, just as Mina caught up with him. Ignoring him, she grasped the hilt of the sword and yanked it out of its sheath.
Galdar caught hold of her wrist and tried to wrench his sword from her hand. Mina lashed out in a blind rage, striking him with the hilt of the sword and with the flat of the blade.
Galdar tried to fend her off, but he had only one hand and Mina fought with the strength and fury of a god.
Rhys ran to the minotaur’s aid. Dropping his staff, he grabbed hold of Mina and tried to drag her off Galdar. The big minotaur collapsed, bloodied and groaning, onto the ground. Mina jerked free of Rhys. Shoving him backward, off-balance, she returned to the assault on Galdar, kicking him and hitting any part of him still moving. The minotaur quit groaning and now lay still.
“Mina—” Rhys began.
Mina snarled and slammed her fist deep into Rhys’ diaphragm, so deep the blow stopped his breathing. He tried to draw in air, but the muscles were in spasm and he could only gasp. Mina smashed him in the jaw with her fist, shattering his jawbone. His mouth flooded with blood. Mina stood over him, the minotaur’s heavy sword in her hand, and there was nothing Rhys could do. He was choking on his own blood.