“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.
Nightshade tried his best to keep hold of Atta, but the sight of Rhys being attacked was more than the dog could bear. She wrenched free of the kender’s grasp. Nightshade made a grab for her and missed, went sprawling onto his belly. Atta launched herself into the air and smashed bodily into Mina, knocking her down, knocking the sword from her grasp.
Snarling, Atta went for Mina’s throat. She fought the dog, using her hands to try to fling her off. Blood and saliva flew.
Nightshade staggered to his feet. Rhys was spewing up blood. The minotaur was either dead or dying. Valthonis lay unconscious on the ground. The kender was the only man standing, and he didn’t know what to do. His brain was too flustered to think of a spell, and then he realized that no spell, even the most powerful spell cast by the most powerful mystic, could stop a god.
The cold, pale sun flashed off steel.
Mina had managed to grab hold of the sword. Raising it, she slashed at the dog.
Atta collapsed with a pain-filled yelp. Her white fur was stained with blood, but she still struggled to get up, still snapped and snarled. Mina raised the sword to stab her again, this time going for the kill.
Nightshade clasped hold of the little grasshopper pin and gave a galvanized leap. He sailed over one of the black monoliths, and smashed into Mina, knocking the sword from her grasp.
Nightshade landed hard on the ground. Mina recovered herself and both of them dove for the sword, each scrabbling to seize hold of it. Rhys spit out blood and half-crawled, half-flung himself into the fray.
But he was too late.
Mina seized hold of the kender’s topknot of hair and gave a sharp, twisting jerk. Rhys heard a horrible snapping and crunching sound. Nightshade went limp.
Mina let loose his hair and the kender slumped to the ground.
Rhys crawled to his friend’s side. Nightshade stared at him, unseeing. Tears filled Rhys’ eyes. He did not look for Mina. She was going to kill him, too, and he couldn’t stop her. Atta whimpered. The sword had laid open her shoulder to the bone. He gathered the suffering, dying dog close to him, then reached out a blood-stained hand to close Nightshade’s eyes.
A little girl with red braids squatted down beside the kender.
“You can get up now, Nightshade,” said Mina.
When he did not move, she shook him by the shoulder.
“Stop pretending to be asleep, Nightshade,” she scolded. “It’s time to leave. I have to go to Godshome, and you have the map.”
Mina’s voice quivered. “Wake up!” the child gulped. “Please, please wake up.”
The kender did not move.
Mina gave a heart-broken wail and flung herself on the body.
“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry!” she cried over and over in a paroxysm of grief.
“Mina…” Rhys mumbled her name through the blood and bone and broken teeth, and her name echoed back from the Lords of Doom.
“Mina, Mina…”
She stood up. The little girl gazed down sorrowfully at Nightshade, but it was the woman, Mina, who gently closed the staring eyes. The woman, Mina, walked over to Galdar. She laid a hand on him and whispered to him. The woman came back to Atta and petted her gently. Then Mina knelt down beside Rhys. Smiling sadly, she touched him on the forehead.
Amber, warm and golden, slid over him.
7
Mina, the woman, sat next to Valthonis on the hard, windswept stone. She was not wearing armor, nor the black robes of a priestess of Chemosh. She wore a simple gown that fell in folds about her body. Her auburn hair was gathered in soft curls at the back of her neck. She sat quietly, watching the Walking God, waiting for him to regain consciousness.
Valthonis finally sat up, looked about, and his expression grew grave. Rising swiftly, he went to tend to the wounded. Mina watched him dispassionately, her face impassive, unreadable.
“The kender is dead,” she said. “I killed him. The monk and the minotaur and the dog will live, I think.”
Valthonis knelt beside the kender and, gently arranging the broken body into a more seemly form, he spoke a quiet blessing.
“Shake off the dust of the road, little friend. Your boots have star-dust on them now.”
Removing his green cloak, he laid it reverently over the small corpse.
Valthonis bent over Atta, who feebly wagged her tail and gave his hand a swipe with her tongue. He brushed back the black fur that was covered with blood, but he could not find a wound. He stroked her head and then went to see to her master.
“I think I know the monk,” Mina said. “I’ve met him before. I was trying to recall where, and now I remember. It was in a boat… No, not a boat. A tavern that had once been a boat. He was there and I came in and he looked at me and he knew me… He knew who I was…” She frowned slightly. “Except he didn’t…”
Valthonis raised his head and looked into her amber eyes. He saw no longer the countless souls, trapped bug-like within. He saw in her clear eyes terrible knowledge. And he saw himself, reflected off the shining surface.