“No blood will be shed because of me,” said Valthonis sharply. He cast a stern glance at the Faithful. “Have you walked the road with me all this time and listened to me speak of peace and brotherhood and yet heard nothing I have said to you?”
His voice rasped, and his followers were abashed. They did not know where to look to avoid his angry gaze, and so averted their faces or stared at the ground. Only Elspeth did not look away. Only she met his gaze. He smiled at her in reassurance and then turned back to Galdar.
“I will accompany you on the condition that my companions be allowed to leave unharmed.”
“Those are my orders,” said Galdar. He raised his voice so that all could hear. “Sargas wants peace. He does not want to see blood spilled.”
One of the elves sneered at this, and one of the minotaurs growled, and the two leaped at each other. Galdar flung himself at the minotaur and socked him in the jaw. Elspeth grasped the sword arm of the elven warrior and pulled him back. Startled, the warrior immediately lowered his weapon.
“If you will walk with us, sir,” Galdar said, shaking out his bruised knuckles, “we will act as your escort. Give me your vow that you will not try to escape, and I will not chain you.”
“You have my word,” said Valthonis. “I will not escape. I go with you of my own free will.”
He bade goodbye to the Faithful, giving his hand to each and asking the gods to bless them.
“Do not fear, sir,” said one softly, speaking Silvanesti elven, “we will rescue you.”
“I have given my word,” said Valthonis. “I will not break it.”
“But, sir-”
The Walking God shook his head and turned away, only to find Elspeth blocking him. It seemed she longed to speak, for her jaw trembled and low, animal sounds came from her throat.
Valthonis touched her cheek with his hand. “You need say nothing, child. I understand.”
Elspeth grasped hold of his hand and pressed it to her cheek.
“Take care of her,” Valthonis ordered the Faithful.
He gently freed his hand from her grasp and walked to where Galdar and the minotaur guard stood waiting for him.
“You have my word. And I have yours,” said Valthonis. “My friends depart unharmed.”
“May Sargas take my other arm if I break my oath,” said Galdar. He entered the forest, and Valthonis followed. The minotaur guard closed in around them both.
The Faithful stood on the path amidst the gathering gloom, watching their leader depart. Their elven sight allowed them to keep track of Valthonis for a long while and, then, when they could not see him, they could hear the minotaur crashing and hacking their way through the brush. The Faithful looked at one another. The minotaur had left a trail a blind gully dwarf could follow. They would be easy to track.
One started after them. The silent Elspeth stopped him.
“He gave his word,” she said, using signs, touching her hand to her mouth, then to her heart. “He made his choice.”
Grieving, the Faithful began to trace their steps, returning the way they had come. It was some time before any of them realized that Elspeth was not with them. Mindful of their promise, they began to search for her and at last they found her trail. She walked the same path the Walking God had been traveling-the road to Neraka. She refused to turn aside, and mindful of their promise to care for her, the Faithful accompanied her.
4
Rhys was dreaming that he was being watched and he woke with an alarmed start to find his dream was true. A face hovered over him. Fortunately, the face was one Rhys knew, and he closed his eyes in relief and calmed his racing heart.
Nightshade, chin in hand, was sitting cross-legged beside Rhys, peering down at him. The kender’s expression was gloomy.
“About bloody time you woke up!” Nightshade muttered.
Rhys sighed and kept his eyes closed a moment longer. Until his dream, his slumber had been deep and sweet and easeful, and he let go of sleep with regret. All the more so since it appeared by the glimpse he’d had of Nightshade’s grim expression that waking would not be nearly so pleasant.
“Rhys.” Nightshade poked at him with his finger. “Don’t you dare go back to sleep. Here, Atta, slobber on him.”
“I’m awake,” said Rhys, sitting up and ruffling Atta’s fur, for the dog was unhappy and she pressed her head into his neck for comfort. Still soothing Atta, Rhys sat up and looked about.
“Where are we?” he asked, amazed.
“I can tell you where we’re not,” stated Nightshade glumly. “We’re not in the house of the pretty lady who makes the best gingerbread in the world. Which is where we both were yesterday, and the day before that and we were there when I went to sleep last night, and that’s where we should be this morning, only we’re not. We’re here. Wherever ‘here’ is. And I don’t mind telling you,” the kender added in a tense tone, “that I’d rather be somewhere else. Here is not a nice place.”
Rhys gently put Atta aside and rose swiftly to his feet. The forest was gone, as was the small house, where, as Nightshade had said, he and the kender, Atta and Mina had spent two days and two nights-days and nights of blessed tranquility and peace. They had intended to set out upon the final stage of their journey this morning, but it seemed Mishakal had forestalled him.
They looked out upon a desolate, barren valley slung between the charred ridges of several active volcanoes. Tendrils of steam drifted up from the blackened peaks, trailing into a sky that was a stark and empty blue. The air was chill, the sun small and shrunken and impotent, radiating no warmth. Their shadows straggled across the trackless gray stone floor of the valley and dwindled to nothing. The air was thin and sulpherous, difficult to breathe. Rhys could not seem to take in enough to fill his lungs. Most awful was the silence which had a living quality to it, like an inhaled breath. Watchful, waiting.
Strange rock formations littered this valley. Enormous black crystals, jagged-edged and faceted, thrust up out of the stone. Some standing twenty feet high or more, the monoliths were scattered about the valley at random. They were not a natural formation, did not appear to have sprung up out of the ground. Rather, it seemed they had been cast down from heaven by some immense force whose fury had driven them deep into the valley floor.
“The least you could have done is bring the gingerbread with you,”
Nightshade said. “Now we don’t have any breakfast. I know I agreed to come with you to find the Walking God, but I didn’t know the trip was going to be quite so sudden.”
“I didn’t either,” Rhys said, then added sharply, “Where’s Mina?”
Nightshade jerked a thumb over his shoulder. Mina had waited with him beside the slumbering Rhys until she’d grown bored and wandered off to investigate. She stood some distance away, gazing at her reflection in one of the crystalline monoliths.
“Why are you looking all tense like this?” Nightshade demanded. “What’s wrong?”
“I know where we are,” said Rhys, hurrying over to fetch Mina. “I know this place. And we must leave at once. Atta, come!”
“I’m all for leaving. Though leaving doesn’t look to be as easy as coming,” Nightshade stated, breaking into a run to keep up with Rhys’ long strides. “Especially since we have no idea how the ‘coming’ happened. I don’t think it was Mina. She was asleep on the ground when I woke up and when she woke up, she was as startled and confused as I was.”
Rhys was certain the White Lady had sent them to this terrible place, though he could not imagine why, other than that it was said to be close to Godshome.
“So, Rhys,” said Nightshade, his boots thunking on the stone and causing dust to swirl in small, slithering eddies over the floor like side-winding snakes, “where are we? What is this place?”