Talon Leader Magitt dismounted his horse. “We will set up camp here. Pitch my command tent near the tallest of those monoliths. Galdar, you’re in charge of setting up camp. I trust you can handle that simple task?”
His words seemed unnaturally loud, his voice shrill and raucous. A breath of air, cold and sharp, hissed through the valley, sent the sand into dust devils that swirled across the barren ground and whispered away.
“You are making a mistake, sir,” said Galdar in a soft undertone, to disturb the silence as little as possible. “We are not wanted here.”
“Who does not want us, Galdar?” Talon Leader Magitt sneered. “These rocks?” He slapped the side of a black crystal monolith. “Ha! What a thick-skulled, superstitious cow!”
“We made camp,” said Galdar, his voice low and solemn. “In this valley. Among the blasted ruins of her temple.”
A man could see his reflection in those glossy black planes, a reflection that was distorted, twisted, yet completely recognizable as being a reflection of himself…
These men, long since hardened against every good feeling, looked into the shining black plane of the crystals and were appalled by the faces that looked back. For on those faces they could see their mouths open to sing the terrible song.
Galdar glanced at the black crystalline monoliths that littered the valley, and he could not repress a shudder.
“Go ahead, look into one of them,” he said to Valthonis. “You won’t like what you see. The rock twists your reflection, so that you see yourself as some sort of monster.”
Valthonis stopped to stare at one of the rocks. Galdar halted, too, thinking it would be amusing to see the elf’s reaction. Valthonis gazed at his reflection, then glanced at Galdar. The minotaur stepped up behind the elf to see what he was seeing. The elf’s reflection glistened in the rock. The reflection was the same as the reality-an elf with a weathered face and ancient eyes.
“Hunh,” Galdar grunted. “Maybe the curse on the valley has been lifted. I haven’t been here since the war ended.”
He elbowed Valthonis aside and stood before the rock and gazed boldly at himself.
The Galdar reflected in the rock had two good arms.
“Give me your hand, Galdar,” Mina said to him.
At the sound of her voice, rough, sweet, he heard again the song singing among the rocks. He felt his hackles rise. A shudder went through him, a thrill flashed along his spine. He meant to turn away from her, but he found himself raising his left hand.
“No, Galdar,” said Mina. “Your right hand. Give me your right hand.”
“I have no right hand!” Galdar cried out in rage and anguish.
He watched his arm, his right arm, lift; watched his hand, his right hand, reach out trembling fingers.
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..