Nightshade had a an idea. “Pooh, I don’t believe you. You’re making that up.”
“It’s the truth!” Mina retorted angrily.
“Then show me,” said Nightshade. He held out his hand for the crystal.
Mina hesitated. “You promise you’ll give it back?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die if I don’t,” Nightshade vowed.
Since he’d sworn this terrible oath, sacred to childhood the world over, Mina agreed. She placed the pyramid-shaped crystal into the kender’s hand.
“What do I do?” he asked, regarding it curiously and now a bit warily. He was wondering, suddenly, if the artifact might take offense at being used by a mystic.
“Hold it to your eye and look at something through it,” said Mina.
“What will I see?”
“How should I know?” she demanded. “It depends on what you’re looking at it, ninny.”
Nightshade held up the crystal and looked at the dwarf wizard lying on the floor. He saw a dwarf wizard lying on the floor. He looked at Caele and saw Caele. He looked at Rhys and saw Rhys. He looked at Atta and saw a dog. Thinking that this was a pretty sorry excuse for an artifact, Nightshade turned the crystal on Mina.
A white light shone down upon her, shone round about her, illuminating her from within and without. Nightshade blinked his eyes, for he was half-blinded. He tried to brave the light, to stare into it, to see more clearly, but the light grew ever more brilliant, ever more radiant. Bright and blinding, the light intensified, forcing the kender to close his eyes to try to block it out. The light expanded and grew; the light of a myriad suns, the first light, the light of creation. Nightshade cried out in pain and dropped the crystal and stood rubbing his burning eyes.
Once, when he was a little kender, he’d stared straight at the sun because his mother had told him not to. For long minutes after, all he’d been able to see were dark splotches like small black suns, and that was all he could see now. He wondered for a brief and terrifying moment if that was all he was ever going to be all to see. And after what he had seen, he wondered if maybe that was all he was going to want to see.
Mina snatched up the fallen crystal.
“Well,” she said. “What did you see?”
“Spots,” Nightshade said, rubbing his eyes.
Mina was disappointed. “Spots? You must have seen something else.”
“I didn’t!” Nightshade returned irritably. “Maybe it’s not working.”
“Maybe you just didn’t know what you were looking at!” Mina chided.
“Oh, I knew,” said Nightshade. Thankfully the spots were starting to fade. He wiped the sweat from his forehead. It seemed odd to be sweating when he could still see the goose-flesh on his arms.
Mina stuffed the artifacts into her pockets and then smiled at him.
“Your turn,” she said.
“For what?”
She waved her hand. “You came with me. You can pick out an artifact. Any one you want.”
Nightshade could see Basalt lying bloody on the floor and he could hear Caele’s shrieks of terror. Nightshade thrust his hands into his pockets.
“No. Thank you, though.”
“’Fraidy cat,” scoffed Mina.
Walking over to the altar of Majere, she picked up something shiny and held it out to Nightshade.
“Here,” she said. “You should have this.”
In her hand was a gold cloak pin in the shape of a grasshopper. Nightshade remembered the time he and Atta had been set upon by two of the Beloved, only to be saved by an army of grasshoppers. The cloak pin had rubies for eyes, and was so skillfully crafted it looked as if it could have jumped away at any moment. Nightshade was quite charmed with it, and he wanted it more than anything he’d ever wanted in his life. His hand quivered in its pocket.
“Are you sure Majere won’t mind if I take it?” he asked. “I wouldn’t want to do anything to make him mad.”
“I’m sure,” said Mina, and before Nightshade could protest, she fastened the pin onto his shirt.
Nightshade stiffened in fright, half-expecting the pin to fly up his nose or knock him on the head. The grasshopper sat quite tamely on his shirt. It seemed to Nightshade, as he marveled over it, that the red eyes winked at him.
“What does it do?” he asked.
“It’s a hopper, ninny,” said Mina. “What do you think it does?”
“Hop?” Nightshade ventured a guess.
“Yes,” she said, “and it will make you hop, too. As high and as far as you want to go.”
“Whoo, boy!” Nightshade breathed.
Rhys had not heard or seen anything. The dwarf howled and Caele swore and Atta barked and Rhys was oblivious. The only sound he heard was the voice of the god.
And then Rhys felt a hand tapping his shoulder and he raised his head. The voice of the god ceased.
“Mister Monk, I have my presents for Goldmoon,” Mina said, showing him the two objects. “We can go now.”
Rhys stood up. He had been kneeling on the floor a long time, seemingly, for his knees hurt and his legs were stiff. Looking about, he was astonished to see the two Black Robes lying on the floor-one trussed and shrieking, the other bloody and unconscious.
He looked to Nightshade for an explanation.
“They made the gods mad,” the kender replied.
Rhys was considerably mystified by this pronouncement, but before he could ask, Mina shouted impatiently that she was ready to leave.
“What do we do with weasel-face and furball?” Nightshade asked.
“Leave them here,” Mina said, glowering. “Seal them up inside to die. That will teach them a lesson.”
“We can’t do that!” Rhys said, shocked.
“Why not? They were going to kill us,” Mina returned.
Rhys looked down at Caele, bound up in the blessed rope, wriggling about on the floor. The half-elf’s fury warred with his fear. One moment he gnashed his teeth and snarled threats and the next he was whining to be saved. The other wizard, Basalt, had regained consciousness and moaned that his head hurt.
“I know how he feels,” Nightshade said with a glance at Mina. “She does have a point, Rhys. The weasel was going to kill you with a magic spell if whatever god that is with the rope hadn’t stopped him. We shouldn’t turn them loose.”
“I’m not going to leave anyone to die,” Rhys said sternly, in a tone that brooked no argument. “We can at least carry them out of here. You grab that end.”
“Ugh!” said Nightshade, wrinkling his nose as he picked up Caele’s bare feet. “I never thought I’d say this, but I’m sorry there’s no more water in here.”
While Mina watched in disapproval, Rhys and Nightshade hauled first Caele, then Basalt, out of the Hall of Sacrilege and dumped the two wizards down onto the damp sand.
“Atta, guard!” said Rhys, pointing at the wizards.
“I don’t think that will be necessary.” Nightshade said in a low voice. “I think someone’s coming to fetch them.”
A man clad in sumptuous black robes walked across the wet sand. The man’s moon-round face was pallid with fury, his eyes cold and glinting. Mina grabbed hold of Rhys’ hand. Atta slunk behind Rhys and Nightshade deemed it prudent to return to the Hall, The man’s wrathful gaze skipped over all of them, rested briefly on Mina, then landed full force on the wizards.
Caele saw what was coming and began to blubber.
“Master Nuitari, it wasn’t my fault! Basalt forced me to come-”
“I forced you!” Basalt began, but his shout made his head hurt and he moaned. “Don’t believe him, Master. It was that mongrel elf-”
The moon face contorted in rage. Nuitari stretched forth his hand, and the two wizards vanished.
The God of the Dark Moon turned to Rhys. “My apologies, Monk of Majere. These two will not bother you again.”
Rhys bowed.
“Excuse me, Nuitari,” Nightshade called from the safety of the doorway, “to make up for the fact that your wizards tried to kill us, could you get rid of the Beloved? I don’t mean to complain, but they’ve invaded your tower and they won’t let us leave.”